As Meat Loves Salt

‘Here, here!’ Peter shoved a glass of wine into my hand. ‘Down in one. Go to it.’

I was glad to obey.

‘Done like a man,’ said Izzy.

‘When did she show you the gown?’ I repeated, but Zeb and Peter bounded out of the door, eager as dogs to the hare.

‘This is no day for jealousy,’ Izzy said, laying his hand on my arm.

‘I’m not jealous.’

Peter went directly to the garden, while we brothers had first to knock at Caro’s chamber. It should have been her father’s house, but there was nothing to be done about that. I tapped on the door and heard whispering and a stifled laugh within. Godfrey’s voice bade me enter.

She was standing in the middle of the room, her eyes glittering. A cloak had been thrown over the gown, and her hair hung down loosely as befitted a virgin bride. Mary and Anne, clutching branches of gilded rosemary, looked me over from head to toe. I took Caro by the hand as custom demanded, said the traditional ‘Mistress, I hope you are willing’, and allowed Godfrey, who was standing in for her father, to lead me out of the room. The bridesmaids, giggling, went on either side of me, their captive man, while Izzy and Zeb stayed behind to escort Caro.

We slowly descended the stairs. I was in a daze and my shoes, which were not well broken in, pinched. I heard Izzy and Zeb laughing along the corridor. The idea was that Caro should follow me out to the maze, where tables of food and drink would be laid out. There we would pause a while, admiring the delicacies and everybody’s finery, until the time was come when Caro and I should make our vows before those assembled. Then there would be well-wishing, much eating and drinking, presents and diversions (perhaps that kissing game with which she had enticed me all those months back) to the sound of sweet music, and afterwards back into the house to gorge ourselves further until the time came for us to be put to bed. I must get through everything, showing no impatience for that blessed moment when the chamber door would shut out their urgings and jests. Then I would turn to her, trembling, aching, while outside the pastimes went on and everyone pictured, with amusement or envy, our mutual entertainment.

‘God has sent you fair weather,’ said Anne. We passed through the door by the stillroom and a cry went up, ‘There he is!’ The company was assembled and waiting for me just outside the house. Dazzled by the sudden strong light, I with difficulty made out the Master and Mistress, and taking off my hat I bowed to them. Then I looked about me, greeting all the guests with a general bow and a smile. I remarked little Joan, who was lovesick for Mounseer, and another, older dairymaid standing further back in the group. There were also the ostler and his boys, and some of the farmworkers, both men and women, who had laboured by my side in the fields. I wondered did they remember those days, and resent my rise in fortunes.

‘Your mother awaits you in the maze,’ said My Lady, whose face was pink with pleasure. At your mother I started guiltily, for I had not missed her. We strolled in a leisurely fashion towards the maze entrance, and my vanity was tickled when I heard one woman tell another that I was a very proper man.

‘Wait till you see her wedding clothes. Beautiful as the day,’ said Godfrey, craning his head backwards to speak to me. I could not help but grin like a fool, though the fresh collar chafed my neck. I put my finger down it and pulled to loosen the stuff as we stepped between the rosemary hedges.

I am to be espoused. I am to be espoused. Bound to a woman who wondered, in her innocence, if I suspected another man of killing Walshe. The thought was enough to rob me of breath. We rounded the last corner and passed through a high dense arch. There I turned, and waited. Everyone watched me wait.

First came my brothers, pacing with branches of rosemary before them, Izzy’s slight lurch a foil to Zeb’s long supple stride. The sun glanced off their thick black hair, so exactly like my own, all three of us showing like gypsies among our fair-complexioned friends. Both bridesmaids turned towards Zeb as he approached, as daisies open themselves to the dawn.

Caro entered the maze in profile to us, so that I saw first her long neck and the sapphire drop depending from her right ear. Her hair hung down her back. It had been brushed and polished with silk so that it shone beneath the chaplet of wheat and roses. When she turned to face me I took the full force of her beauty, which seemed almost that of a lady, her gown cut low, her neck and shoulders of cream. This was Caro transformed indeed, wondrous tight-laced, in silk the colour of June sky – I could never have procured her such. Her brown eyes rested on me with a delight equal to my own. Drawing near, we bowed and curtseyed each to the other and a general aah of pleasure ran through the company. The bridal finery showed more of her breasts than I had ever seen before: I tried not to gape like a lumpkin at the delicately gleaming skin thus revealed.

‘Son.’ My mother’s voice cut through this delectable contemplation. I went at once to where she was standing in the little gateway cut in the left-hand hedge. We embraced and she wept, saying her Elias stood before her in the flesh. That did please me. Though others had remarked on it, Mother had never yet given me so much in the way of praise as to say I was the print of my father.

‘Do you not think her beautiful, Jacob?’ She indicated Caro. ‘The earrings show very brave against her neck, do they not?’ By which I understood that the two of them had made up their quarrel.

‘She is an angel,’ I said, as all bridegrooms do. I scented pomade on Caro’s hair and wanted to touch it, but feared to spoil the hairdresser’s work. Tears stood in my eyes, I could hardly have said why.

‘Pray come this way – this way, friends—’ That was Peter, whose job it was to shepherd the guests to their rightful places. I turned to see him leading them to some trestle tables disposed about the knot garden. There was one table longer than the rest and he waved laughingly to me, to show that was where we should sit when the thing was done. Half stunned, I listened to the shuffling and rustling, the chatter and laughs as Godfrey helped folk arrange themselves. The field workers were put in a separate group near the hedge. I remembered the day when Caro and I had sat on the knot garden bench and quarrelled over Zeb’s secret.

Holding hands, we stood in the midst of those assembled as if summoned before the officers. Before us on the cloths were light and creamy things, suitable for bride tables: chicken cullis, Devonshire whitepot, quaking pudding and (I thought of Mervyn) a row of syllabubs, each in a separate vessel with a cunning spout for drinking off the liquor. Music drifted from the far end of the knot garden, where a small group of hired players kept a respectful distance. The guests spread themselves and fluffed out their garments, the better to enjoy the warmth of the day.

‘Time we married, Izzy, if this be how it is,’ proclaimed Zeb from the end of the long table, and I wondered if, despite his fears, he still missed Patience.

‘Do you know your words?’ Caro whispered.

‘Yes, but no matter if I forget.’ I had insisted we should have the sponsalia (as the betrothal was called in Latin) de praesenti, for such a betrothal, even without witnesses, made us one just as if we had been joined by the priest. It needed only the swearing of vows. I had a horror of being married by My Lady’s ‘spiritual director’, who stank of Rome, or by Doctor Phelps, the pastor of the village church, who had once preached there that the poor, being God’s special care, should rather be envied than relieved, and that a poor man who complained of his lot did so at the instigation of Mammon, naked greed, ‘for sure he had not the breeding to make right use of riches if he had them’. On that occasion I had sat sizing up the man of God, allowing myself – in fancy – to beat him to his knees. No one had ever fought me and won, and I did not think the good doctor would be the first. Now, with Peter’s glass of wine warming me to a pleasant freedom, I felt more than ever that Phelps was best away. Wed to such a wife as Caro, I thought, ‘tis a poor return to break the parson’s teeth.

‘Why do you laugh?’ Caro pulled on my sleeve.

‘I’ll tell you later.’ Smiling to myself, I glanced up and saw Godfrey coming over to us.

‘It is now. O, I feel sick,’ murmured Caro.

My Lady looked tenderly at her across the dishes of food, calling, ‘Take heart, child. A few minutes and you are man and wife.’

Now I was the one suddenly sick, not for the stumbling words of a vow, or that I might speak foolishly before the company, but for the huge thing I had undertaken. There might come a time, and soon, when my wife repented of her bargain, but there was no breaking off after this, though we should prove scorpions to one another. I saw Zeb staring at me, wondering, it might be, what was become of Patience, or envious of what I had won for my own.

‘Here, wife.’ I put my arm under Caro’s to steady her trembling. Under our feet was the flagged square at the centre of the maze, and around us the knot garden, with other stone flags supporting the trestles. The young men gawped and grinned, while their lasses dug them in the ribs and devoured Caro’s gown with their eyes. Older people looked wistful, or dabbed at their cheeks. My mother sniffled. I heard speeches on my looks, and on hers, spoken out loud as if we were both of us deaf. Izzy nodded to me as if to say, it would come right. Most of all I remarked Zeb, whose features looked to be carved in stone. Though I fixed him, eye to eye, he appeared unaware; one would say he looked not at me, but through me.

‘Have you the ring? Give it here.’ Godfrey thrust a swollen square of lacy stuff towards us.

Caro glanced down at the lace and giggled. ‘My Lady’s pincushion.’

I put the scrap of gold on it. Godfrey snapped his fingers. A little boy in silks ran forward and was placed officiously to my left to hold the cushion. The steward, plainly happy in his work, stepped aside with a swirling movement and the guests grew quiet.

‘Friends, we are here to witness the solemn contract of two of our company,’ Godfrey announced. ‘Known to us all, and respected by all as honest folk and faithful servants. We pray that their union may be long, happy and fruitful.’

‘Amen,’ I answered along with the rest. The moment was come. Clearing my throat, I took a firm grip on Caro’s left hand. ‘I, Jacob, do take thee, Caroline, to my wife, from this day forth, and do call on these here present to witness.’ I then took the wedding band (the boy near bursting with importance all this while) and worked it over her finger. ‘In token of which, I do give thee this ring.’

Her flesh was cold and damp: I pressed it between my warmer, drier palms to infuse her with strength. The music had ceased, and as I thus soothed her I heard jackdaws bickering somewhere on the house roof. Caro now turned to me and said in a high breathless voice, ‘I, Caroline, do take thee, Jacob, to my husband, from this day forth, and do call on these here present to witness.’

I smiled at her. She immediately coughed, was seized by a spasm, and beat her hand against her lace with a frightened movement. A kindly laugh rose from the company, at which her cough cleared. She touched her finger, turning on me a joyous smile: ‘In token of which I do accept this ring.’

And with those few words and that paltry circlet of metal Caro and I were made one flesh. We stood facing the company as if about to perform a dance: I was tempted to bow, and wondered if they would applaud. At last I was bidden kiss her, and a very sweet kiss it was. The Master and Mistress now stepped up to kiss her also, followed by Godfrey, my brothers and Peter’s sisters, and then the folk nearest to us rose up to follow suit, so that she was mobbed on all sides as every person there present sought to give and receive good fortune. They scrambled for the favours on her gown, and on those of Mistress Mary and Mistress Anne. I felt hands pluck at my own coat and saw the ribbons snatched from my brothers also. Young men waved the favours triumphantly in the air and pinned them to their hats.

When the kissing and the snatching of favours were done, the guests made for their seats, but not until grains of wheat had been cast over my wife’s head, for fruitfulness. As we walked to our seats, a young girl cried, ‘Jacob!’ and something struck me on the face before falling to the path. I saw she had thrown me a candied almond. Laughing, protesting, we held up our hands as more sweetmeats, mostly raisins, pelted onto us. Some landed in Caro’s hair and bosom; one or two managed to slip down my tight collar. Caro brushed off comfits as we seated ourselves at the board with our employers and attendants.

The Master and Mistress wished us a long and happy life together, at least the Mistress did, for none could be quite sure what Sir John was trying to say. The company was in high good spirits. We were brought two great silver mazers, full of sops in wine, which we drank down to the cheers of the company. They were filled to the brim again, and we were made to interlink our arms before drinking them, which was easy enough; but then they set us to hold the cups to one another’s mouths. I was afraid I might spoil her dress, but then I saw the Mistress signing to me that it mattered not a jot, so I went ahead with a will and spilt only a few drops and those from my own mouth. It seemed a good game, but one best played in private. It came to me that I had not yet eaten a morsel to mop up so much drink.

‘Let’s to bed directly,’ I whispered to her.

Caro laughed at me, a laugh full of love, and I stored up that laugh for when we were old, when I might say to her, Thus do I remember you on the day we were betrothed.

In the usual way of things I would have waited on my guests, but this was neither my house nor Caro’s, and simple hospitality would not fit the Mistress’s notions. Little boys dressed as cupids handed the dishes round to those who could not reach them, and were much kissed and fondled by the women; I disliked this heathen play-acting, but gathering that the idea had been My Lady’s and was generally considered a most happy one, I complimented her on her delicate fancy. Sir John, seated opposite us, proposed a toast to our health and happiness, in a kingdom going on in the good old way, every man true to his King. My mother fluttered and said I was foolish at times but not a bad lad; I smiled at Sir John and when the toast was over, silently drank off my own, to Black Tom Fairfax. They called the sweet wine white, but it was rather a pale gold, frilled with bubbles at the glass’s edge. I had not finished the toast before another was proposed, and I was handed more wine, this time red.

Caro caught me viewing her through the glass of red wine, and again she laughed.

Sir John was in his element – the liquid one – and those around him only too willing to keep pace. This time the company was invited to wish us fine children for, said the Master, at twenty-five I was of an age when I should have issue, and he hoped he might live to see my son a loyal servant to his own, a speech that made Caro dig her nails in my hand under the table. She need not have feared. I smirked my thanks and stood to toast those who had done us so much good (the red again), after which someone toasted the House of Roche for its unfailing affability and true noblesse (another white). A cupid, his wings bedraggled, ran about with bottles and casks. Then by common consent we turned back to the food, and a quiet hum arose, punctuated by the occasional clink. There was cheesecake and spicecake, along with a most extraordinary dish, exactly like collops of bacon only sweet to the taste, cut from red and white marchpane, and at a separate table, a great heap of bridecakes. I wondered who would cleanse the foul dishes.

Caro looked hot. Having watched her eat a collop of marchpane, nibbling inwards from the edge and turning the thing about in her hand to make a circular scrap which she at last took on her tongue, I offered her another for the sake of such a pretty sight.

Joan came up and spoke quietly into Izzy’s ear. Izzy’s eyes widened, and as she moved away from our table he turned to me and whispered, ‘It seems Mervyn is sick, and accuses Mounseer of poisoning him.’

I thought of the syllabub. ‘And how would Joan know?’

‘She took cream up to the house for cheesecakes, and while she was there—’

Godfrey was at my side again. Izzy waved his hand to say I should hear the rest when he could give it me. I glanced at the Mistress, who had not the look of a woman whose cook has poisoned her son, and concluded that she, like me, fancied the poison was rather come in a winecup.

‘Jacob, the bridecakes,’ Godfrey said.