by Maria McCann
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.
Folk began banging on the tables, calling, ‘Bridecakes, bridecakes!’ and Caro, no longer shy, dragged me up from my seat. Godfrey led us to the table with the bridecakes upon it, Caro on one side and myself on the other, bidding us kiss over it. The pile was just low enough for Caro to lift her lips above the highest one. I bent forward and kissed her to the sound of cheers and shouts; there was clapping of hands. Then there was a gasp, the clapping broke off, and I looked down to see that the hem of my coat had swept a cake off the table to the ground. The cheers resumed, but they were not so loud as they had been, and my wife’s smile when we sat down again was shot through with worry.
‘That is nothing, pure superstition,’ I told her. ‘Do but think, my love! Is it likely a cake, a piece of dough and spice that we make ourselves, should govern our lives?’
‘No,’ she answered; but her voice was uncertain.
‘Jacob is right,’ put in Izzy, who had overheard this. ‘Besides, he is big enough to protect you, is he not! And you have now two brothers to boot.’
Caro kissed his lean cheek. ‘You have always stood brother to me, Izzy.’
I wondered how he liked her saying that.
The music grew louder. Some of the young folks were for dancing, and a set was made up. They continued to dance for the sun shone bright but mild, and were ready next for snap-dragon and other nonsense. During the ceremony I had felt almost nothing, but now sat brimming with happiness. All I could see was my wife, with her trusting eyes, her cheeks made rosy by wine and the O of her lips as she watched the game. A raisin clung to the skin of her neck. Bending forward, I took it between my lips. The men near me cried, ‘Hey-hey!’
‘Jacob is mad passionate in love,’ called Zeb. ‘Pray keep him in order.’
‘In order yourself,’ I retorted. My collar was seized from behind and a shower of raisins fell down my back; whirling round I clapped hold of the trickster and found I had caught Izzy, crept out of his place. I jumped up and caught him in my arms. Caro rose to embrace him also.
‘A very comfortable lass,’ he panted. ‘She doesn’t squeeze like you,’ whereupon Caro did squeeze him, and he her, until they collapsed in laughter.
With the day scarce begun, we had all of us drunk too deep. Sir John was singing, in a voice like boiling jam, about a wencb who had two – his wife here put her hand over his mouth. Something dropping down my shirt, I felt inside and found a tiny heart of scarlet marchpane entangled in my chest hair.
‘They get everywhere,’ said Peter, giving me a lewd wink from across the table.
O could I but run away with her! I had now the right to take her openly to my bed, yet I must go instead through all the merriments of the day, which rightly seen were nothing more than tortures. That was fine sport, I guessed, baiting the eager bridegroom with dances and toasts until he was near crazy. I had never before tasted the cruelty of it. The winks, the looks, the jests all assuming me to be on fire – which I was – the constant fanning of my heat by dangling before me the delights I should come to soon, soon, soon, but not yet—
Caro frowned. ‘Look here, my love.’ She held out a finger: a pretty scarlet globe of liquid swelled from the pad, ran over and trickled down her palm. Exasperated, she put the finger to her mouth.
‘What’s amiss?’
‘The rose chaplet,’ she mumbled. ‘The gardener left some thorns in.’
‘Hold your hand up,’ suggested My Lady.
Caro did so, but the stream of red continued. ‘Fingers are nasty for bleeding,’ she lamented, and put it back in her mouth before it could stain t
he gown.
‘We will tie it up,’ I said. ‘Are there fresh bandages in the stillroom?’
Caro stopped sucking just long enough to say, ‘Aye.’
‘Come on then.’ I rose. There was a general catcalling and cries of, ‘Hot!’ and ‘Caro, beware!’
‘You will excuse us a few minutes, Madam,’ I said.
The Mistress nodded. Caro followed me out of the maze with her hand poised above her head as if to give a signal.
The stillroom smelt sweet. I put my mouth in hers and we kissed very slow and deep, my love holding the injured hand away from our finery. Profiting by her lack of defences, I held her close to me and crushed the gown.
Caro drew back her head. ‘Wait. Here’s the stuff,’ and she pulled away from my embrace to open a drawer full of torn linen. I recognised an old shirt of Sir Bastard’s. Taking one of the finer strips, I tore it in two and bound up the finger, pausing frequently to kiss.
‘The blood’s almost stopped,’ she remarked in a brisk voice which did not fool me, for I had felt her breathe hard against my mouth.
‘Stopped? Mine is rising,’ I murmured. ‘Let us go upstairs and look at the chamber. Say yes, Caro,’ and I bit her ear.
She closed her eyes. ‘We are not to see it yet.’
‘None will know. We can seek out the traps,’ I coaxed, knowing she had a horror of spiders in the bed and was mightily afraid the menservants would put some in.
Caro frowned. ‘Well – if we do not stay long—’
The scent of dust and emptiness was gone, the room now fragrant with roses and pot-pourri. Anne had looped ropes of flowers over the bed and walls, and doubtless managed it better than Patience could ever have done. The floor was strewn thick with rosemary. There was a nonsuch chest for our clothes – that had not been there before – and on it a great bunch of lavender. I dearly loved the perfume of this herb and went up to the chest to smell it.
‘Izzy,’ said Caro. ‘He knows you like lavender.’
She was gazing at the tester bed. New hangings of saye had been fitted, and tied back to show the linen all clean and fair over three good mattresses. The hangings were flesh colour and yellow, signifying desire and joy.
‘Did you choose the colours?’ I asked.
Caro smiled and shook her head. ‘I was told it would be blue.’
I stroked the bolsters with my hand and looked beneath them. On top of the cover lay an embroidered nightgown for Caro and a plainer, but still beautifully worked, one for me. Mine was very large and I knew my wife had made it specially, as a wedding gift.
‘No spiders or hedgehogs,’ I said, passing my hand between the sheets. I took hold of her again, and we pressed close. Her mouth was sweet as crushed strawberries.
‘Enough.’ Caro ducked out of my arms. I thought of grappling her to me directly, and the guests be damned. She went on, ‘For every minute we stay, there will be a jest at us. It might be they are in the stillroom already.’
Reluctantly, I straightened my garments.
‘Giving of gifts comes next.’ Caro examined the bandaged finger. ‘See, the blood is—O, what’s that?’
She was staring out of the window. I went to it and saw a dustcloud moving towards Beaurepair, along the hill road which led to the village and further on, to Champains.
‘Jacob, what is it?’ Her voice trembled. ‘You look—’
I punched the windowsill, making her jump. ‘It is Patience. And Biggin. And Tom Cornish.’
‘Patience!’ Caro’s smile flared an instant and died. ‘With Cornish? That man who – spies?’
I nodded, trying to make out the faces of their companions.
Caro tugged at my sleeve. ‘What should she do with him?’
‘Quiet.’ I watched the distant woman’s skirts rise and fall with the horse. Zeb had been right, then, and it struck me that they were hoping to catch all of us at a swoop. This was why they had lain so quiet: Patience had told them of my betrothal day and they had waited, knowing that on this day, of all others, we would not be away from home.
I turned to Caro. ‘Listen, wife. There is not time to explain. These people mean us harm. We must leave.’
‘What – what harm?’ she stuttered. ‘How can we leave – the gifts—’
‘Run away.’
Caro gaped, then laughed. ‘You’ll not make a fool of me. You can’t see them from here.’
I took her by the shoulders and spoke into her face. ‘It may be that you cannot, but I can. Go get all the money and jewels there are, put them under your gown.’
‘I have none but—’
‘Hers, get hers,’ I cried. ‘These men are come for me. Then go the long way round to the stable, and wait.’
‘But they are not – how are they come for you?’
‘Come to hang me. Shape yourself! Stand here losing time, and you’ll see me kicking my heels.’
‘That can’t be. A man can’t just come—’
‘And then it will be you. Don’t you see? She has told them of our reading!’
Caro stared at me stupidly. ‘To be hanged? For that? Nay, they—’
‘Must I spell it out? They’ll put the boy’s death on us now.’
She flinched away in terror.
‘Get her jewels,’ I repeated, feeling myself in a nightmare wherein I was running for my life and everything conspired to hold me back.
‘But she has been—’
‘Obey your husband,’ I shouted. Caro whirled about and ran through the door. I heard her high-heeled shoes thud along the corridor in the direction of the Mistress’s chamber.
One of the cupids was taking off his wings by the fountain. I hurried to the lad, bade him find the groomsmen, that was Mister Isaiah Cullen and Mister Zebedee, and say they should come at once, on a matter of great importance. ‘And don’t shout it out,’ I urged, showing him a penny. ‘Whisper in their ears, and fetch them back here.’
He ran off and I paced the grass, moaning with impatience. I had not told Caro the entire truth. The three persons I had named were indeed making towards us, but so were a larger group of men from Champains. It seemed my eyes were very much better than hers, for I had also seen muskets, and, hanging from one saddle, a chain.
My brothers arrived together, hot and breathless.
‘Is Caro hurt?’ Izzy panted as I handed the boy his penny. ‘Or is this some jest?’
I waited until the lad was out of earshot before saying, ‘There is an armed party coming along the Champains road: Patience, Walshe and Comish. With reinforcements.’
Never had I seen Zeb look so terrified. His warm colour drained at once. ‘Coming for me?’ he faltered.
‘Why you?’ Izzy’s voice was sharp.
‘Patience – the boy – but that’s none of my doing! You will bear witness, I gave of my tobacco—’
‘Friends do fall out,’ I said. ‘Can you prove you were not with him when he went under?’
Zeb grew paler still. ‘I was asleep in the chamber. But we can none of us stand witness for our brothers! Who will believe us?’
‘Patience? You are sure?’ Izzy urged me.
‘Yes! Yes! And we have no proof against her accusations.’
‘Nor has she any,’ he said.
‘She has her belly to prove some knowledge of us,’ I retorted. ‘And to come thus, they must believe the rest. Let’s be gone.’
Izzy said, ‘We all of us went to bed that night—’
‘They have joined together, and we sink or swim together,’ I cried.
‘Caro is gone to the stable with money and jewels. Will you seize the time?’
They stared at me, Izzy’s eyes screwed up in bewilderment, Zeb’s slowly clearing into decision.
‘You mean run away?’ Izzy asked at last. ‘Now, as we are?’ He looked from Zeb to me as if trying which of us would laugh first and spoil the jest.
Zeb caught hold of him. ‘I see it, Izz. Come with us, for the love of God,’ and he pulled Izzy along in
the direction of the stable.
‘Indeed I will not!’ my elder brother cried, flinging about him. He knocked Zeb’s hand away. ‘I’ve done no wrong.’
‘Tisn’t what you’ve done, but what folk think,’ Zeb pleaded.
‘And if we cut away like a gang of thieves? What will they think then?’
‘Do what you will, I am going now,’ I said.
Izzy said, ‘You have doubtless your reasons.’ His eyes were suddenly grown cold. ‘But take Caro? To what purpose?’
‘She is my wife.’
‘Consider the danger you put her to.’
‘She is my wife,’ I repeated, feeling an obscure shame in the words as I turned and strode towards the stable. Zeb ran after me, then turned back and embraced Izzy. When he at last caught me up his cheeks were wet.
‘We lose time,’ I snapped.
Caro waited, bejewelled and trembling, at the stable door. I coughed at the scent of piss and straw, setting myself to obey Zeb’s orders for he was the only one who knew what he did.
‘Courage, child,’ he called to Caro as he ran about clutching spurs and whips. He was quick in saddling up.
‘Get up behind me,’ I called to Caro as I was about to mount.
‘Behind me, fool,’ Zeb hissed. ‘You’re too big and she needs to be with one who can ride. Give her a hand.’
‘The saddle’s wrong for a woman,’ Caro wailed. Shaking, clawing at Zeb’s coat, she put one leg across the horse, her gown bunching out fantastically on either side. The animal started forward.
‘Don’t squeeze him,’ Zeb rapped out. ‘Put your arms round me.’
‘I can’t do this.’ She was in tears.
‘O, but you will,’ he replied.