As Meat Loves Salt (20 page)

'How was the terrain?' asked Nathan.

'Foul, uneven, a few terrible slippery runs, hopeless for cavalry. But we got onto a hill; that helped. And we outnumbered them.'

'Two to one. And had Jesus on our side,' said Ferris.

Russ laughed, while Nathan looked abashed. Blushing, he asked Ferris, 'Did you fight bravely?'

'I didn't run.'

'Four miles of corpses, arse-naked mostly,'Russ said. 'We had need of every stitch.'

I fingered the cap I had been given.

Nathan suddenly turned to me. 'How do you find the pikes, Rupert?'

'I missed Winchester.'

'O aye, Ferris said but I forgot. Next time you'll be right in the thick of it, eh?'

I did not reply.

'Don't you feel afraid?' he insisted.

'I make others afraid of me.' I saw that Ferris, his back to us, was talking to Russ. Grabbing hold of Nathan's arm, I pulled him up until he was on tiptoe and pushed my face into his. He flinched and a tiny squeak escaped him.

'I've got more company than I want these days. Understand?' I laid my hand on my knife, let him see it, then gave him the look which had sent the snapsack thief running.

'Now make your excuses.' I jerked my head in Ferris's direction. The boy turned on me a pair of sky blue eyes, their colour sweetened by tears. He must have felt the shame of those tears, for he straightened himself. I saw that Ferris had turned, and like Russ, was watching us.

'Martin said he would mend a strap for me,' mumbled Nathan. 'I'll see if he be finished.' He whirled about, bowed hastily to Ferris and Russ and nodded to me without looking at my face. Ferris met my eyes with a cold stare.

'I'll bear him company,' said Russ and bowing to Ferris, but not to myself, he went off more slowly.

'I saw that,' said Ferris to me. His voice was jagged with anger; I flinched from his face as Nathan had from mine. We walked onwards in silence.

Behind us I heard one say, 'Nat shogged off quick enough.'There

was brutal laughter, then another voice, jeering, 'You're the man for him, eh? Step up then, say the lad's your friend, you're come to do his fighting for him.'

They laughed again, but when a third man said, 'Walk with that and you'll find a knife in your back,' they fell to muttering.

I began to feel afraid.

'Do you know what Russ was saying to me just before the boy left?' demanded Ferris.

I shrugged.

'He spoke to me of a bad angel. And so did other men while you were lying sick.'

I kept on walking without looking at him.

Ferris cried out, 'I stinted myself to feed you! Why are we fighting this war? Is it not for freedom, a man's right to say what he wants?'

'I only—'

'And to whom he wants?'

'Stop it. Ferris! You're like— like—'

'Yes?'

I was shaking.

'I'm not your creature, Rupert. No matter who has been.'

'You know nothing about it.'

'But I begin to know you.' Ferris tapped my clenched fist. 'Want to hit me? Well, go on. You're much bigger than me.' He jerked his face up towards mine and shouted, 'See if you can break me of having friends!'

Someone behind called out, 'Well said, mate!' I whipped round and saw all the men glaring at me. Until that moment I had not known how much Ferris stood between me and them. I crimsoned, and dropped my hands.

We went side by side in silence. Now I was the one with tears squeezing from my eyelids. When a soldier walked by I turned my head away for shame.

In time my breathing slowed. I kept looking at Ferris, but he marched on with a stride I had never seen him use before. It seemed I had gained some of his facility of reading the body, for I knew this gait was a way of shutting me out.

'You must talk to anyone you like,' I said at last. 'That goes without your saying.' 'I will go and invite them back. Courteously.' 'Keep away from them,' he snapped. 'Will you still walk with me?' 'Would you walk with a bad angel?' 'I'm a man, seeking forgiveness.' 'Say rather you are trying to keep ahold of me.' As soon as he said this something tore within me. What had she
said?
Keep ahold of me till the betrothal.
Then we fought, and she left.

We camped that night at Alresford, where Cromwell's old friend and comrade, Richard Norton, kept the manor. The talk was all of sieges. They said we might be over the walls of Basing-House the next day, and spirits were high. There was even the odd bawdy song, which one of the officers stopped to reprove. He was not a stern reprover. The young man pleading that he sang for the music only, he was given leave to hum the tune without the words.

I had no heart to sing. My sole thought was how to soften and win round my friend. He kept away from me, his face averted, and looked so unhappy I would almost rather he had hit me. Going to where he sat cross-legged tearing at a bit of cheat, I seated myself opposite him and put my beef, the best part of the ration, into his lap.

'Here,' I said, 'I know you have stinted yourself

'I don't want your food.' He took the meat, not unkindly, and laid it on the grass.

'What can I do to prove I'm sorry?' I turned my wrists towards him. 'Here, I'll cut them.'

Ferris stared at me.

I went on, 'Anything you say.'

He shook his head and sighed. 'This is just it, Rupert. This savage way of yours, it—' He pinched his lips together as if keeping something back.

'Take the food, then.'

He took it up, only to hold it out to me. 'Here. What I would have of
you
is liberty.'

'You have it.'

He went on, 'I am sick to my soul, cannot bear more troubles. Friends, companionship - these are my only comforts. Would you take them from me?'

'I am a friend.'

He sighed again.

I took back the beef. 'Why are you sick?' I asked. 'Wound inflamed?'

'That, and—' He bowed his head and his hair fell forward; his body slumped like an unstringed puppet. 'The assault, for one thing. Were we nearer London, I'd desert.'

'You fear injury, death?'

Ferris raised his head and looked curiously at me. 'Have you ever known pain, Rupert — not cut fingers, but pain that makes you scream out — and no help for it?'

I tried to remember.

'No,' he went on, 'I see you never have. But you lay with the wounded at Winchester.'

'They were calling for their mothers.'

'Agony dissolves manhood like wax in a flame. This,' tapping the torn cheek, 'is but a taste.'

We were silent a while, then he went on, 'Death can be kind. There are things I dread more—'

'Infirm? I'd always help you.' I took his hand.

'More that— O, you don't understand me.' He sounded weary of my company. Offended, I loosed my grip.

'None of my friends can help me, no, not Nathan,' Ferris looked hard at me, 'but brawling and jealousy are afflictions I cannot bear.'

'Jealous — that I'm not. And I'll brawl no more.'

'No, Man of Wrath?'There was sadness in his smile.
Man of Wrath, Bad Angel:
I was getting myself some ugly names. Though his anger seemed suddenly burnt out, yet something had changed between us two. Ferris must know that one good blow from me would lay him flat. If he would challenge me to strike him, rather than give up Russ and Nathan, then I must bear myself meekly towards them.

'We'll have our hands full tomorrow,' I said.

'Aye. With a place like that the artillery'll be kept busy,' Ferris agreed. His face grew less melancholy, more thoughtful. "They have it all worked out. We shall be finely placed - ours on the one side, Colonel Dalbier's on the other, or so Russ tells me. I've been moved to one of the great guns.'

'Why?'

"They've got a bigger man for the cannon. He loads faster.'

'You were never made for a soldier, Ferris.'

'I hope God made no man for a sol—' he faltered.

'But you fear I was made for one?'

'Tell me, Rupert, tell me truly. How did you come to be on that road, dressed as you were? Why can't you go back?'

I considered. 'Now is not the time.'

'Will you tell me after the siege?' He spoke softly, tilting his head, trying to win me over.

I rocked my body back and forth, longing to tell, shuddering at the memory of what befell me when I opened my heart to Caro. A hateful thought struck me: he might have heard it all from Tommy.

'There should be no secrets between friends,'urged Ferris. He took my hand; I looked away from his eyes before he could beg it all out of me.

'We'll talk of it later,' I said, feeling his moist palm against mine, and the long well-shaped fingers which had wiped my mouth. 'Pray forgive me what I did today.'I let go of his hand and stretched myself out to sleep.

'I'll tell Nathan and Russ you are sorry,' said Ferris. He rose as if to go.

Aye, do. Beg their pardon for me. You have the gift.' I crushed down the mistrust springing in my breast.

He gazed upon me without speaking.

'Pray go to them,' I urged.

Ferris smiled. 'That's the right good way. I'll talk to them tomorrow.'

He lay down next to me.

'You're staying here?'

'It may be the last time we see one another. Goodnight, my brother in Christ.'

He closed his eyes and seemed soon gone off into a doze. I watched him as he turned his head back and forth, pursing his mouth and brow. Plainly the cut cheek troubled. His hand came up to it repeatedly, and each time fell away: I remembered his wincing from my kiss in the church. Shortly after, I fell asleep.

EIGHT

Mistress Lilly

The next day
we came to Basing, and I found that any talk of being in there at once was madness. Only to gaze on Basing-House was to feel the terrible power in the place, for it was as much citadel as house, with lookouts on every side. These were linked by a guard wall said to be eight feet thick and stuffed with rammed earth able to swallow anything we might throw at it. If no breach were made, then up that wall we must struggle, hindered by our weapons, their men comfortably picking us off from the ramparts.

All behind the wall was of a piece — a fearsome show of strength. To one side was the Old House, of a very fine red brick. It was flanked by two great towers and encircled by a mighty earthwork. Men said the earthwork was most likely built by William the Bastard or his friends, so long had oppression reigned here. In itself the Old House looked ready to outlast any siege whatsoever; but that house was but the half of the place named Basing, for some way off was raised the New House, built in the time of Bluff King Hal. This second was a palace in itself, and though it had suffered hurt from the cannon, it was still of a size to daunt the courage of a besieger. To me it looked like a great many dwellings pushed together and topped by domes. Russ, passing by on his way to the baggage train, told me it had near four hundred rooms, which made Sir John's Beaurepair, which I had once thought so grand, a hovel to it. Some said that these Old and New Houses were joined by a long covered passageway, which made them one, and though Russ told me that was nonsense,

there was no such thing, yet I could not help picturing the defenders scuttling back and forth from one house to the other, like rats in a

pipe.

So much for what lay inside the wall. Outside, where the common

people had lived, not a cottage remained. All had been razed lest they shelter the enemy, for Paulet, intent on the defence of his own, did not scruple to scatter the stones of humbler hearths.

We were encamped in the park, some six thousand men with little occupation until the guns were in place. A Dutchman, Colonel Dalbier, not one of the New Model but engaged with Parliament's blessing in the same enterprise, was already installed and had lost no time, for his battery had done good service. There was a great turret shot down, and part of one wall of the New House. Word went round that when the wall collapsed, goods had spilled into the court below. That sight had warmed the besiegers to their work, for every soldier had heard of the fabulous treasures within.

'Will we really sack it?' I asked a man standing near me.

'What do you think they are come for?' he answered.
They
were a crowd of folk with carts and wagons, camped well back from the field. 'Crows, all of them. The house is as good as a carcass already.'

'Surely the army will take whatever's there?'

'What they can carry. That leaves plenty.'

It was clear now why Cromwell had been on edge to fetch his artillery here before the roads grew too bad. The place was so well defended that there was nothing to do until Ferris and his mates should have smashed us a passage through the walls. I said, thinking aloud, 'But the place is a town in itself

The man smiled. 'Show me the town Cromwell couldn't take. Besides, the God who was with us at Naseby is with us still.'

'If God intends to make it another Naseby-Fight,' I said, plucking one foot, then the other, out of the mud,'He does not show his love in the weather.'

'Lord bless you,' cried the other, 'that's all to the good. Soft earth for the pioneers.'

He moved off. I remained, rain soaking through every thread on my back. Those inside Basing-House, or
Loyalty House
as the Papists

were said to call it, enjoyed the unspeakable comfort of a roof— two roofs — over their heads, along with wine and feather beds. I already knew that some were actors and whatnot, hardly a man among them able for honest work. There were also war-like and unnatural women who had thrown staves at our soldiers from the windows, and swarms of priests, buzzing away at their Latin spells. But we would have a good swat at them and by constant stoning of their wasps' nest we might bring it down at last. At any rate, we would not come away before one side or the other was utterly undone. Looking on the place, I only prayed it would not be ours.

As soon as Cromwell arrived he was in council with Dalbier, and the two together spent some time in reconnaissance. Ferris went with the other gunners up to our breastwork, as they called the foremost defence, built so that a man might hide behind it. Pioneers had crept forward, digging their trenches always at such an angle as to offer no clean sweep to enemy firepower, so that this breastwork was now close to their defences. From time to time came the roar of Dalbier's guns, followed by white smoke drifting across the field.

Nothing could be done, the first few days, but dig latrines and plant the artillery. I made trenches for the former and laid planks across them, knowing that in two days the stench would sicken me, and indeed, every time I had occasion to go there, I wished that men could seal their noses as dogs flatten their ears. Worse still was being there in company. Soldiers complained of their watery arses, their costiveness, their piles, as if any cared to hear, and I was not spared the bestial merriment which for some must accompany each turd or fart. I had never felt my fellows so gross, and would have gone almost anywhere else to relieve Nature, had it not been that, save a sea of mud, there was nowhere to go. Every so often it was bruited that such-and-such a soldier was slipped from the planks head down into the shit-pit, and in these stories I perceived a depraved relish in anything filthy and disgusting that could befall a fellow creature.

While the sky was light I saw nothing of Ferris, unless it were a far-off glimpse of a man who might be him, and whenever shot

landed near his position I clenched my fists and prayed. When at last he came back into the body of the camp I found Nathan glued to him. It was the same the first night and the second. Afraid of me the boy might be, but not so much as to keep off and let me have my friend to myself. I wondered if Ferris had borne my apology as he had promised.

Men passed the time as best they could: cleaning weapons they had not fired, writing letters which might never be read, stone throwing and wrestling. The more godly squinted at their soldier's Bibles. Those men whose wives trailed along with us were better off at this time especially, for along with cooking and mending clothes, the women had much to do nursing the sick. In addition to the usual wounds, a raw cough was spreading rapidly among the troops. All about us was wet, grey and brown. At first we had thought to forage for hedgefruit or coneys in the fields round about, but once men began crossing them they soon became nothing but one great bog of mud. Whatever could be eaten, and much that could not, was gone by the second night.

By day I avoided Nathan and Russ, but since at night they were always with Ferris I was obliged to make one of the company if I would see him at all. A fire would be found or built and our wettest clothes spread next to it. There was no soothing the misery of never being dry: the hands that we rubbed on our chapped skins were split between the fingers. Some grew so weary of damp garments that they sat naked by the fireside, holding steaming shirts and breeches against the flames. During the worst nights a man might wake and find that while he slept, his front turned to the fire, his shirt-tail had frozen stiff at the back. I wondered how many of these men were homeless and masterless, how many had a desperate and bedraggled wife trudging behind with her babes. It was now the middle of October; had there still been a call for sickles and scythes, I guess many would have run.

The long hours of darkness dragged. Russ talked of past exploits, Nathan of the new Jerusalem, and I of nothing. Ferris struck me as weary, which was natural to one in his situation, but I saw that he was fretted by more than guns and gun platforms. He seemed ill at ease, and I sensed he was waiting for me to set things right with Nathan.

It might be the third night, one blessed time when it was late and the boy still not there, that I found Ferris sitting alone by the fire. I was just about to make him a present, half a loaf of good bread, when he spoilt all by cutting into my talk.

'I have done my utmost to make peace with Nat,' he said. 'I have begged forgiveness for your knife. But what good is it, when you do nothing but glare on him?'

'I do not glare,' I cried, and indeed I had no idea of doing so.

Ferris sighed and said that Nathan was young and green, he must be gently handled, and for all he imagined himself a warrior he was but a sprig.

'Then he should not be at war,' I replied.

'I say as much to him myself. He answers that young lads are fighting everywhere—'

'Starvelings, maybe. But he can read and write, has parents, has he not? Why does he stay?'

Ferris regarded me an instant, hesitated, then said, 'To the point. He is easily faced down - as well you know - and there is something besides. He has heard some tale about you.'

'From whom?'

Vexation narrowed my friend's eyes. 'Planning vengeance already? You don't listen to me, you must go about things a softer way. In your place I would—' he stopped, for Russ and Nathan were approaching us.

'I have no need of other friends,'I complained. 'I wish to talk with you alone.'

'And if I am shot tomorrow? These are not bad men. Sit with us, and bear yourself kindly.'

Unhappy, I sat with them. Doubtless I looked ferocious, and did myself no good with the boy. Nathan no longer pestered with his talk, but pained me a new way, by asking how many men had been killed on the artillery, and how close the shot was come to Ferris. This was a thing I had as lief not know, but I held my tongue.

'One of my mates had his face blown off,' said Ferris dully. He held up his arm and I flinched to see the reddish-brown slime stiffening on it.

'What did the surgeons do?' asked Nathan.

'What could they? The men wouldn't even take him, they said it was wasting a hurdle, and I guess they were in the right of it. That was before noon and he was still alive come sundown.' Ferris spoke through gritted teeth.

'But he's dead now?' asked Russ.

'Aye. He died as soon as it got dark.'

Russ and Ferris exchanged a steady look, which I thought I understood and saw that Nathan did not.

'They give us it hot and strong,' Ferris went on. 'Barrow-loads of stones as well as shot and shell.'

'The breastworks are very close,' said Russ, adding for my benefit, 'that makes things bloody,' which was just what I most dreaded to hear.

Ferris said, 'All we can do for now is lob granadoes.' I hated to think of him doing this, for the granadoes, pottery shells full of powder, sometimes went off while still in the soldier's hand. 'But Cromwell does well with the gun platforms. We'll soon get a practicable breach.'

'What's that?' I asked.

'When the walls start to collapse,' Russ explained. 'Then you get a slope the men can run up.'

'The cannon royal,' Ferris added, turning to me, 'fires around - sixty - pounds.' His last words were smeared over by yawns.

Russ told him, 'You should sleep, lad.'There was something like tenderness in his voice. To me he said, 'It's backbreaking work. You won't see any of your milords as gunners, they'll none of them touch it.'