As Meat Loves Salt

‘On no account say a man in the army sent you, unless you can talk with Isaiah alone,’ I urged. ‘Alone with him, you may give my likeness.’

‘Once we strike camp,’ he said, nodding. ‘If I can get off.’

We agreed on a day’s ration, beer included, to be paid when he brought back the intelligence. Ferris and I would try to distract attention from his departure.

‘Your luck is in,’ said Ferris to me as I pushed forward to my former place.

‘What do you mean?’ I panted.

‘We won’t stop here, or in the next village either. There’s too much daylight left and they want to get to Winchester, then to Basing-House. Cromwell’s afraid the weather will break and mire his artillery in the mud.’

‘You didn’t tell me this before.’

‘Nathan told me while you were with Tommy.’

‘Oh.’ Nathan again, chattering to Ferris about the New Jerusalem.

‘Why do you frown, Rupert?’

‘You know, I should go back, and make restitution.’

‘I said, why do you frown?’

Restitution. It had a glorious sound. I could offer myself for punishment; it was most likely only a choice of deaths, for my head might be shot off in the field. Though powerless in the matter of Caro and Zeb, I could clear Isaiah’s name. But even as I warmed myself at this vision, something gnawed at me. I pictured myself back at the house and my resolution wavered: I could be brave enough now to deliver myself up, but once there, I knew my heart would fail me. At last I saw that it came to this, that Ferris would march on with Nathan, Russ and his other friends while I faced justice alone. At this thought my courage shrivelled like a withered gourd.

We put up for the night in one of those scoured villages. The men were ill content after passing more comfortable billets, and there was much grumbling as they pulled down bales of straw and spread themselves to rest. Tommy was bedded in the barn with us, which was surely the hand of God in my affairs. I asked the officer, who came round to see how we did, if this Basing-House was what they said, the lid on top of a secret hoard of treasure stolen by Papist priests.

‘It’s a nest of Papists entirely,’ he said. ‘John Paulet, that’s the Marquess, is a declared recusant and he has sworn to hold Basing-House for the King. To death, if need be.’

‘And the treasure? Is it really so much?’

‘Who can say? They have golden idols in their churches. We’ll find out, my lads.’

The men returned his grim smile.

‘Why are we to besiege a house?’ asked Ferris. ‘When there are whole towns held by the Cavaliers?’

I saw Tommy step out through the door and close it behind him.

‘It gives courage to the enemy. And, what some might consider worse, it blocks the wool trade, and there are solid citizens in London bothered thereby.’ The officer’s voice was steady. I looked at his creased face, the scars on his right temple, and wondered had he been at Naseby.

‘Their godless riches can be put into godly hands,’ he added in the same flat voice. This was a heart I could not read; I wondered if Ferris could.

We lay down in broken straw. In the night there was a storm overhead. I listened to the usual snoring, then the cough and stir of every man around me under the hammer of the rain and sudden boom of thunder. Some groaned, perhaps for the wet roads and the labour of the coming day. Waiting for Tommy, wondering if he would get back in time, I had not slept at all. When the storm went off I dozed a while, and was woken by water running down my neck. I shifted, and a hand touched mine. My messenger was wintry cold and the rain dropped from his hair onto my shaven head so that I jumped.

He whispered angrily, ‘That’s nothing man, it’s right through to my skin.’

‘I’m sorry for it, Tom. What news?’

He lay down beside me. ‘Rub my hands, for the love of God. They’re ice.’ I did so, and blew on them. Such cold and bony flesh, it was hateful. He could hardly keep his teeth from knocking together. That was like Zeb, feverish.

‘Thin folks feel the cold the most,’ he said.

‘Keep your mind on the ration,’ I suggested, chafing warmth into his fingers. ‘There, put them under your arms.’ The carcass hands slithered out of mine. ‘So, what news?’

‘What do you most want to know?’

I was unsure where to start. ‘Well. Who did you speak to?’

‘I couldn’t come at any Isaiah or any Peter. There’s no such men there.’

My heart sickened. ‘What, then?’

‘A maidservant.’ I almost cried out, but he went on, ‘French, pretty as you’d see anywhere.’

Madeleine. If My Lady had kept her on, Caro could not be returned. Or she might be in gaol. I waited in terror to hear Caro or Patience spoken of, unsure which prospect frightened me more.

‘But you asked after Isaiah?’ I urged.

‘To be sure. She said that she remembered him, and that he was run away; there was a great hurly-burly with the servants, just about the time you joined the army.’ He laughed hoarsely, throat full of phlegm. ‘There’s two men run off with a maid. That was the second maid they lost, she said, and a lad found dead in the pond. Fine house, by the sound of it.’

‘They’ve caught neither maid nor men?’

‘Still looking for them. Not in the right place, eh, Jacob?’

‘And the third brother? Isaiah?’

He hawked and spat.

‘Isaiah? He’s not dead, Tommy?’

‘Not that she knew. They took him before the magistrate. He had a whipping and was turned out of the house; they said he was more fool than knave.’

Whipped. O Izzy, forgive me. ‘If he was no knave, why turn him out?’ I asked. ‘He was a party to their going?’

‘Some said this, some that. They found a great many papers and pamphlets wrapped up secret and buried behind the stables, where this young maid who gave evidence, I forget her name, said the brothers used to go and talk. But again, he had stayed, and that argued innocence. The other servants gave him an excellent character.’

And the Roches turned him out, I thought. I could remember the name of this young maid – young whore, young spy – if he could not. We had buried nothing behind the stables, all had been burnt. I knew now what they were doing that night when I killed the boy, and most likely other nights too. Poor babes as we were, burning our reading and thinking ourselves safe, when these devils had already laid a mine there could tear us in pieces. My breath came in gasps. Suppose I ever came up against Cornish again, my first thought would be to run, be he never so fat and grey.

‘They do say one brother drowned the young lad,’ Tommy added.

In the darkness it was impossible to read his face.

‘They had an old mother,’ I said. ‘I don’t suppose you have news of her?’

‘You never asked for any.’

‘And have they heard anything of this Isaiah since he was turned off?’