The Field of the Cloth of Gold Read Online Free PDF Page A

dry land. ‘I can easily build another boat.’
    ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I suppose so.’
    ‘If things work out here, of course, I won’t need to.’
    ‘So you’re planning on staying?’ said Hen.
    ‘Certainly,’ said Isabella.
    Her belongings lay nearby, and amongst them I could see a neatly folded tent. There was also an eiderdown (tied with silk cord), a tapestry (wrapped in ticking) and a collection of velvet cushions (loose). She stood for a long while taking in her new surroundings, a dreamy expression on her face.
    ‘Aren’t we fortunate,’ she said at last, ‘to have such a lovely meadow?’
    ‘Actually,’ I replied, ‘it’s properly known as the Great Field.’
    The dreamy expression vanished.
    ‘I’m fully aware of that!’ she snapped.
    ‘Oh,’ I said, ‘sorry.’
    ‘Now if you’ll excuse me I’ve got a tent to put up!’
    ‘You don’t need any help then?’
    ‘Correct.’
    Without further comment, Hen and I made a swift withdrawal. When next we looked back, Isabella had already begun her task. She’d chosen a site at the extreme east of the field, close to the river. Evidently she’d done the job before: she tackled it with speed and efficiency, and seemed to be following a tried and tested routine; then, when everything was in place, she heaved on a slender rope and a beautiful crimson tent rose up from the ground. Within minutes, she had the whole structure securely pegged and guyed.
    ‘Most impressive,’ said Hen, as he set off for his own modest quarters.
    Isabella’s work was far from complete. She now began installing her possessions, and this turned out to be a much slower process. She’d positioned the tent facing west, presumably to catch the sun going down, which meant that her doorway was plainly in my view. I lost count of the number of times she carried those precious items in and out while she decided what went where, and only after constant rearrangement was she eventually satisfied.
    Darkness had not yet fallen when Isabella retired for the evening (doubtless in need of a rest after all her exertions). She failed, therefore, to witness Thomas returning across the river. I’d been wondering when he would next grace us with his presence and now, all of a sudden, here he was. I watched intrigued as he came ashore and caught sight of the crimson tent. It looked spectacular in the fiery rays of sunset, and even from a distance I could tell it aroused his interest. Normally, when he arrived back, he swept the field with an all-encompassing glance before switching his attention inward once more: in general he found nothing more engrossing than himself. The crimson tent, by contrast, held his gaze for several seconds. He stood stock still, swathed in his habitual white robes, and gave it a thorough appraisal; then, when presumably he’d seen enough, he continued on his way. A little later I noticed a lamp glowing faintly in the south-east, but it was soon extinguished as he, too, retired for the night.
    The following morning was warm and sunny. A promising day lay ahead, and when I looked out I expected to see one or two early-risers making the most of it. Instead I saw nobody, not even Hen. I knew for sure he’d be roving around somewhere in the west, but for the time being he remained outside my line of vision. All I could see were the two faraway tents, one white and one crimson, both with their entrances fastened, and both silent.
    An hour passed and the sun climbed higher in the sky, yet still nothing stirred. Personally, I found this incomprehensible: how anyone could sleep so late in the morning was quite beyond me. After a further ten minutes, however, there was movement at last. Isabella emerged from her tent, wrapped in a towel, and tiptoed across the grass to the river bank. She spent a while searching for a suitable spot where it wasn’t too steep; then she dropped her towel to the ground and slipped into the water. Effortlessly, she swam over to the other