As Meat Loves Salt

by Maria McCann

  I went back to my lonely bed, and was seemingly not long asleep when I was called by my familiar incubus. He sat astride me, said I was forgiven for he had always loved me best, kissed and fondled me until I woke, wet and aching, to find I had poured out tears as well as seed.

  Day leaked through cracks in the hut. It was worthless, for nothing remained to do. I had no wish to help with the work, no loves to prosecute, not even a farewell to utter. There remained five days, and as I lay in the straw scratching fresh bites I knew I could not face the time out.

  The key still hung from my neck. The ribbon had originally been red, and was now a rusty blackish-brown. I would go first to the inn; let him get his amours out of the way. Then I would dig up the box of money. Should he want more, he had only to get to Cheapside. The rest must forage for themselves, it was the common fate in our times. I wondered what was become of Botts, and of Rowly. Eunice Walker was most likely Eunice Keats by now. Their lives had moved away from me like the roads around the common, over the hills and out of sight: they were all of them despicable, yet all of them skilled beyond me in that they knew how to live without Ferris.

  If he married Caro he would raise the child. It was, I told myself, most likely Zebedee’s. I only hoped Zeb might one day cross their path in town: I pictured his face on seeing Jacob’s keeper with Caro and in charge of his own son. If Zeb wanted Daniel he would take him, and Ferris, being nowhere able for him in a fight, would be lucky to come off still walking. This thought, which once would have pained me, now made me smile, and that smile was the measure of my misery.

  I rose and dressed. It was still early, for the day was bluish. I thought it would be cool and hoped we might have some rain, then remembered it would make no difference.

  The fire was unravelling sulkily in smoke. Hepsibah bent over it, a soot-stained kitchen demon.

  ‘God give you good day, Brother Jacob.’

  ‘Is there any pottage over?’ I asked.

  ‘Look in the tent.’

  I went in there and found a small bowl of it. There was a spoon lying nearby. I plunged it into the mess and are three or four spoonfuls without tasting them. At once I wanted to retch, but by breathing quietly and taking a little beer in sips I kept the food down. I could not, however, swallow any more. I carried the things over to the fire.

  ‘Thank you, Brother.’ She came to take them from me, and paused, looking into my face, the pot only half given into her hand. ‘Are you well?’

  ‘I have been better.’

  ‘Your eyes are bloodshot.’

  I shrugged. ‘Lack of sleep.’

  ‘I can give you something to bring it on,’ said Hepsibah. There came to me the memory of stroking Ferris to sleep and I pushed it away. She went on, ‘We all of us need rest.’

  ‘No, thank you. I have a most important work on hand, fetching letters for King Christopher.’

  Hepsibah stared at me. ‘You are not yourself. When he sees you I’m sure he’ll not even send you for a letter.’

  ‘Whatever he says.’ I laughed, but she did not join in. ‘Tell him I’m in bed,’ I said, ‘and under his command.’

  Again she stared. ‘I have valerian for sleep. Do you feel feverish, Brother?’

  ‘No.’ I must be haggard indeed, I thought, for as a rule the colonists never concerned themselves with my health, but treated me like a piece of iron.

  As I crossed the grass back to the hut the early morning cold pierced me. My walk in the night, the dreams, all seemed to have cut into my strength. Perhaps I would fall sick unto death.

  He will look into your grave, his hand clasping hers. They will feel themselves free.

  Will he recall my kisses and embraces as they shovel the earth over?

  What does it matter? You will be with Me.

  In the hut I lay with my knees drawn up, arms across my chest, unable to get warm. The Voice continued in whispers as I lay half asleep.

  I will use you at leisure.

  Some time later I woke to find a jug by the side of the bed. I reached out and put my finger to it. It was no hotter than the surrounding air, and the light still fell into the hut but much more brightly and through different cracks. The flesh felt strangely heavy on my bones and the bed, with all its fleas, was become delectable. As I turned myself over there was an ache in my arms and legs like the beginning of cramp, or like a man’s thumb driven into a muscle expressly to give pain. My skull suddenly tightened, but before I could lie down I felt a great longing to drink. The jug had what looked to be crushed roots in the bottom of it: valerian. I took a mouthful, then remembered that I had to get to the inn before Ferris, and that the potion would bring on sleep. I emptied the jug onto the earthen floor before I could be tempted to drink the rest.

  Sitting on the edge of the bed, I tried my legs. When I attempted to stand upright, I fell against the wall of the hut and scraped my face on it. I dressed, wondering if Ferris and Caro were doing the same, and remembered they would have been up and afield hours before. I heard myself laugh aloud. Go for the Letter, Jacob.

  I stepped delicately out from the hut and shaded my eyes, the sun being overhead. They were engaged in digging the new ditches, and I saw at once that he was with them. Caro stood nearby. It was hard to cross the field keeping strong and steady in my walk. As I approached the line of diggers, folk stopped and leant on their spades, glad of some excuse for taking a rest.

  Hepsibah came up to me, looking anxiously into my face. ‘Did you find the medicine?’

  ‘Aye.’ I smiled at her. ‘And slept better for it.’

  ‘Brother Jacob!’ That was Jonathan. ‘We thought you were sick.’

  ‘As you see, I walk and talk. I lacked sleep, that is all.’

  All this time Ferris had kept digging as if I were not there, displaying to the whole colony the coolness between us. I wondered if Susannah had taken her revenge after all, and if some now knew it for a lovers’ quarrel.

  ‘I am very much better,’ I said, ‘but would not wish to dig just now. Perhaps, Brother Christopher, I might go for the letter?’

  He reluctantly turned towards me. I saw by his face that he disliked that ‘Brother Christopher’, but I liked it just then better than ‘Ferris’, which to me meant love. He hesitated, full of mistrust, while Caro, thinking herself unobserved, glanced from one of us to the other.

  ‘Jacob ought not to walk in this heat,’ Hepsibah protested.

  ‘What do you think, Jacob?’ He regarded me solemnly. ‘Do you find yourself well enough?’

  ‘I will go slowly, and be the stronger for the exercise.’

  Ferris unknotted the small purse he wore at his waist. He took out some change and paused; I watched him struggle with himself. As I had expected, lust vanquished prudence, and he held out the money. ‘Pray do not hurry. Rest at the inn before coming back.’

  ‘Have no fear,’ I said.

  As I turned and began my journey over the fields I heard him say, ‘This ditch-digging tires us out of all reason. It is close on noon, shall we break for a while? I would sooner cut wood in the shade.’

  This was a well-loved game, one that I knew by heart. Caro would not go to him directly, he would have tutored her too well for that. She might not even be able to join him. But he would be ready another time when she did come, and their delight all the fiercer.

  I paced myself on the road to the inn, for I felt much weaker than I had revealed to the others. Most of the time I was as good as blinded by the light bouncing up from the stones of the road; once I almost sank down on the grass, but recovered. Let him go to her, let our place be theirs. I should take every gold piece in the box. Back in London, I should find myself work, and in time come to forget him.

  I passed very quickly through the inn yard, with its rosebush and underlying stench. The pale girl was elsewhere. The landlord came in through the same door as last time, Hector having seemingly repaired the thing for it opened meekly.

  ‘Ah!’ the landlord said when
he saw me, ‘there is another of these,’ and he handed me a letter. I saw at once from the paper and the neat hand that it was from Cheapside, and I paid him the money.

  ‘There’s a deal of writing to your friend,’ said he.

  ‘His aunt has been ill some time.’

  ‘She’ll be an elderly lady, as I guess?’ He was inclined to talk, but I told him I was indisposed and should not be come out, and begged his indulgence if I seemed hasty.

  In the road I examined the letter, wondering had Aunt died, or had the girl written to say that her cure was now complete. What is it to you? I heard the Voice say. You will eat no more flesh in that bouse.

  I must know. I broke the seal and opened it, screwing up my eyes for the sun shining on the paper faded the words almost to nothing. The girl wrote that Aunt had taken a turn for the worse, and was unable to speak. Doctor Whiteman was at a loss; two others had been called in but none could rally her. She was sinking.

  Here was a stay of execution given into my hand, for if I once showed it Ferris he would go directly to London and there be safe from Sir George. Not only would his bones be unbroken but the colony most effectively levelled in his absence. I stood paralysed, clutching the letter to my breast. Then I heard again his moans as he lay with Caro. My body shook with great tearing sobs as I crushed the paper into a ball and flung it away from me.

  The man was drawing himself a cup of ale as I went back into the inn.

  ‘You’ve already paid me,’ he said. ‘Are you well? You need to sit down by the look of you.’

  ‘’Tisn’t that. I have a letter to send – pen and paper if you please—’ I counted up what I had in my hand ‘—and a flagon of Rhenish.’

  He raised his eyebrows at this unwonted debauchery, but my money was good, at least as good as the wine he brought me.

  ‘Where do you come from, then?’ he asked, seeing me drink but not write. ‘You don’t talk like folk do here.’

  ‘I was raised near Devizes.’

  ‘That’s by Wales, is it not?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘Yes, surely it is, and they have their own tongue.’

  ‘If you will.’ I could not be bothered with them, nor with him neither.

  ‘Are you Welsh?’

  ‘English. The son of a gentleman, would you have guessed that?’

  Evidently he would not have, for he gave no answer and instead asked me, ‘Is it good country there?’

  ‘Would to God I had never left it.’ I drained my first cup of Rhenish and spread the paper on the table. At the top I wrote My dearest Becs then, losing courage, refilled the cup.

  ‘You’re going at it,’ said the landlord.

  The wine heated me and made my eyes itch, perhaps with fever, perhaps with unshed tears. I took up the pen again and continued:

  It seems these are sad times for us all. I have to tell you that he is hurt in the leg with a scythe and the cut is grown very hot and has set up a fever in him, so it falls to me to open letters and to reply to yours. I have taken it upon me to conceal her condition from him. He is too weak and irrational to grasp it; besides, should the truth reach him we might have his death to answer for, while if he be left in peace and given his rest I feel persuaded he will soon be fit to return to London. Do not write again until I send word. Directly he is strong enough I will bring him. O thou good and faithful servant! Both Aunt and yourself have my prayers night and day. Believe that I hold myself your debtor,

  Jacob Cullen

  My fingers could scarce grip for sweat, and though I sanded the paper, still it showed all spattered where I had handled the pen like a ploughman.

  ‘Here,’ I said to the man as I directed it to Mistress Rebecca, at Snapman’s, Cheapside. ‘Let that go tomorrow. When will it arrive?’

  He scratched his head. ‘Not later than noon.’

  I drank up the rest of the wine and pushed my way out again into the dazzling sun. My steps were unsteady, and my thoughts were as a cud that the cow chews on over and over.

  There was a surging in my ears.

  With money a man lives free, whispered the Voice. There are places on the south bank where a man may purchase a boy—

  I will purchase none.

  No? We must find you a slender yellow-haired lad.

  It faded in laughter.

  I walked on, my eyes on the stones before my feet. Whenever I looked up the fields quivered in the heat. A shimmering pool of water lay in the dip of the road, where there had been none before; it faded into dust as I came closer to it. Perhaps I would sink to the purchase of love, as the Voice said. Once such things have been tasted, how can a man say, So far and no further? Unless he had that iron resolve that will leave off food and drink sooner than break a vow once taken.

  But I could end my misery at the colony. Ferris should never read his letter, and in a few days our slatternly village should be scattered to the winds.

  And I? Where should I be?

  THIRTY

  Unsealing

  ‘Why so late?’ Ferris demanded. ‘It is near dark! We went seeking you on the road!’ He pounded his fist into the palm of his hand. The others stood around scratching their heads.

  ‘I was taken ill,’ I answered. ‘I had to lie under a hedge and rest.’ In fact, I had been sleeping off the Rhenish, and had woken hours later feeling all the better for my indulgence. Facing him now, I was almost well, my flesh soothed by the cool evening air.

  ‘And that is all?’ He turned on me, sensing something. I felt, rather than saw, Susannah and Jonathan stiffen. Whether they feared for him if it came to blows, or disliked it when their saint stamped about and looked ugly, I was unsure. Ugly he certainly looked, his face flushed and eyes pinched up with suspicion.

  ‘Brother Christopher, be calm,’ urged Catherine. ‘Jacob has been unwell all day.’

  He hissed, ‘You are trying what you can to fright me. This is nothing but craft.’

  ‘Craft, going for a letter?’ I asked. ‘Whose craft?’ and saw his eyes flash. ‘Have a care, Brother Christopher,’ I said. ‘Govern your wrath. That has ever been your counsel to me.’

  Ferris was in such a passion as only I, of all the colonists, had seen before. He stepped up to me, making fists of his hands.

  ‘Don’t think I’m too sick to hit back,’ I said.

  He paused, glowering but not daring to strike.

  ‘Well,’ I asked, loud enough for the others to hear, ‘do you want everyone to see you knocked into the ditch?’

  ‘Brother Christopher, beware!’ cried out Caro.

  Ferris could well have done without that cry. Pushing his way between Jonathan and Catherine, he strode over to his hut and began throwing things about.

  ‘Go and clear up in the dairy,’ said Susannah to Catherine and Hathersage. ‘And take Sister Jane with you.’

  ‘I can help Brother Christopher,’ whined my wife. Susannah grabbed her by the hand and took her by force over to Hathersage. Jeremiah had already begun walking away, and could be heard whistling softly in the dusk.

  ‘There’s more than a walk wrong here,’ said a gentle voice. I turned to see Jonathan, and beside him, Hepsibah. He went on, ‘What’s ado, Jacob? Since you came back from London, everything jars between you and him.’

  ‘That’s just it,’ I answered. ‘Everything jars.’

  ‘But you will make it up?’ asked Hepsibah.

  I shook my head.

  After a pause she said, ‘Will you have more valerian?’

  ‘Thank you, I am much better now the heat is gone off.’

  They smiled awkwardly.

  ‘You have only to ask,’ said Hepsibah, turning to go.

  ‘Aye.’

  I was alone. I looked about me and saw a lucky thing: in the excitement of seeing two of the Brothers almost come to blows, the diggers had left their spades in the ditch.

  The path to the hidden place (I would have called it the secret place, but that it was no longer) showed in the fad
ing light like a crease in the bushes. Carrying a spade, I picked my way between branches, recalling that recent visit when I had discovered just what a fool he had made of me. The punctures in my arm began to throb, as if remembering also.

  I wondered had Ferris and Caro been back to their ferny bed that day. Brother Christopher, beware. Soon she would betray the two of them by playing with his fingers in company, or pushing the hair back from his forehead, and after that the rest of the colonists would naturally expect a betrothal. The secrecy in which her loves were conducted at present was sure to suit Caro. But what of this leader who carried on an amour by stealth? Did she find nothing lacking in her Brother Christopher?

  The bush was thicker than when last I had lain there with him. I crawled beneath and found the grass freshly crushed, giving off the perfume of that day when I let him do whatever he would. I heard again his tender, astonished laugh and some words I had stored in my heart ever since.

  He laughs with her, now.

  I felt a pain in my chest.

  Silence them.

  I took the spade and tried to stand upright. It was more difficult than I had reckoned, for the bush was too close to the ground, so that a shovel would have been more useful. Pressing back the branches with my shoulders, I at last straightened up, got some purchase on the lug, and drove it into the ground with my heel. The money was buried just where the base of the bush broke the soil. Almost at once I felt a resistance to the blade, and threw the tool aside to grope with my hands. In a very short time I had the box. It was smaller than I remembered. He had wrapped it in linen so that beneath the cloth it was damp, but clean of soil. I drew up the key on the ribbon round my neck and fumbled for the keyhole. The thing opened easily, and I groped inside. Something pricked the pad of my first finger. I jumped, and it fell away from my hand and rattled among the coins. Putting the finger to my lips I tasted blood. Best not bleed on the papers: I closed the lid again, locked it and slipped the key down my shirt. The box went there, too, for none would see it in the near darkness as I crossed to my hut. I flung the spade away from me and heard it slash though leaves before hitting the earth. I would never use it again. The colonists should wake and not find me; by the time Ferris discovered his treasures rifled I would be on the London road.