As Meat Loves Salt

  ‘We should check the snares this morning,’ I said.

  ‘You think of nothing but snares, Jacob.’

  ‘Because we’ve left them too long.’

  ‘I want to try this first. Snares later.’

  That was the fourth time in two days I had pleaded and been refused. By ‘try’ he meant descend into the sough, to see how it was draining the land. For a fortnight he had talked of little save this underground pond of his creation.

  ‘It’s not safe,’ I said. ‘Water sucks you down.’

  ‘Tie the rope round me then.’

  He had one ready. Unsure how it should be done, I waited until he had stripped to the waist and then looped the rope under his arms. Hathersage was strolling back to us across the field, smiling sleepily to himself. Catherine was evidently his first choice, and, I thought, he might strike home: a woman who could fancy Christopher Ferris might well look kindly on Wisdom Hathersage, each being delicately made, gentle towards the female sort and with a head stuffed full of maggots. We waited while he came up to us, and when he was about ten feet off, he called to me, ‘Shall I help hold the rope?’

  I shook my head and, standing a few paces from the edge, steadied myself for the strain.

  Hathersage watched as Ferris lowered himself into the sough feet first, until his buttocks perched on the edge.

  Ferris grinned at me. ‘Let it out.’

  I saw the sough embrace him, easing over his hips and up his chest. His arms shook. With a gasp he let go of the earth on either side and first his head, then his hands, dropped out of sight. There was a crash, and the rope shot through my fingers, burning them. I clawed at it, cursing, but it slithered across the dry grass and then suddenly stopped, limp in my grasp.

  We ran forward and bent over the hole.

  ‘Brother?’ called Hathersage.

  Ferris shouted something. I could hear a thrashing in the water, and a crackling, snapping sound: the branches.

  I got down and lay on my belly peering into the dark. ‘Ferris, are you hurt?’

  Hathersage towered over me; I saw a crease in his breeches picked out against the brilliant sky.

  Somewhere, not in the sough and not in the field, I heard a laugh and the word Drowned.

  ‘Ferris!’ I cried, more loudly this time.

  There was a scream. Then I heard ‘Jacob’, and other words, indistinguishable but childish with fear.

  ‘I’ll pull you up!’ I bellowed into the hollow beneath me. ‘Hold on!’ I stood and braced myself, but then I heard three words clear: ‘No! Don’t pull!’ The voice rose to a scream at the end: he sounded like an injured wrestler begging an opponent for mercy.

  I would have to go down to him, and someone pull us up both.

  ‘Fetch Harry,’ I shouted to Hathersage. He stared at me.

  ‘Shape yourself! Move!’ I yelled. He turned and stumbled away towards the wood. There was a dull crumpling sound. The grass gave way under Hathersage and he was thrown forwards, clutching at a thorn bush. As he scrabbled to safety, clods and stones rattled down into the sough and loaded the branches; I heard them drop through into the pit, gloop gloop, and knew the water was deep.

  ‘Ferris—!’ I bawled.

  ‘Get away from the edge,’ cried Hathersage, who was pulling himself upright.

  ‘Are you still here? Fetch Harry before I break your neck—’ I collapsed onto my knees. If I went down the hole I might crush him. ‘And bring spades!’ I shouted to Hathersage’s back, then turned my attention to the sough. Earth and stone; water beneath. Perhaps over his head by now.

  ‘Ferris, speak!’

  Silence.

  ‘Tell me where you are!’

  There was a sound like sobbing. I craned forward trying to place it: all I could tell was that it was somewhere near the bottom. I began to descend, clinging to the side which had collapsed, trembling at every pebble that rolled away into the hole. Once halfway, I began grabbing up bits of rock and turf, anything I could get hold of, flinging it all upwards through the mouth of the shaft.

  ‘Careful there below!’ came a voice over my head.

  ‘Get Harry down here!’ I screamed back.

  I could hear the sobs more clearly now: he was alive, and not crushed beneath me. A shadow fell on the rubble. Harry.

  ‘Is it safe for me to come?’ he called.

  ‘Stay away from there,’ and I pointed out where I thought Ferris lay. The smith came scuffing down and handed me a spade.

  The two of us began to dig as a team. From time to time I would heave up a rock or branch and Harry would raise it out of the pit; he later told me that Hathersage bruised and cut himself as he strained to clear the stuff at the top, but at the time I never lifted my eyes from what lay below. We dragged away whatever lay nearest. My hands were torn by the crisscross of branches; parting them, I saw that the water beneath was fouled, dulled from glass to a brownish stone.

  There was a scratching noise, and I looked round to see a clod of earth unfold itself, put forth fingers and arch like a spider.

  ‘Harry!’ I whispered.

  My helper pressed the earth-spider between his palms, comforting it. I was unable to touch the fingers from my side, and dared not cross to them; I thought I would faint. Harry began scooping out the earth round the imprisoned hand with a sharp stone. A forearm was revealed, caked in dust which was turning red where Harry’s stone had pierced the skin. Tightly packed twigs lay across the upper part of the arm. These Harry snatched up and flung aside.

  ‘You can come closer,’ grunted the smith, ‘I see where he is now. Keep this side.’

  I picked my way over and saw branches under where the twigs had been, and lower still, a sheen of pale hair. We bent to heave up the boughs, but could get no purchase and I sweated with fear lest we slip and drop them on him. Stooping, I saw a thin face tilted up at us, eyes closed. He was powdered with earth – light coloured. Dry earth. Not drowned. Not drowned.

  Father of Lies.

  ‘One of us will have to go under and push up,’ said Harry.

  ‘I will.’ I brushed aside small branches until I could see what to do: I would have to slip into the water beside one of the large boughs.

  My shirt caught on the branches; I tore it off, swearing, and threw it into the darkness. Bark scored my skin as I lowered myself, arms aching, until I could go no further. I took a deep breath and let go: the water came up to my chest and was so cold that I cried out, but my feet touched bottom.

  ‘Can you get a grip?’ Harry called.

  ‘This one!’ I shouted. I braced myself under the left-hand bough and pushed. It rose slowly, with a sucking sound; my legs trembled and I had a flash of terror, but then the burden lightened as Harry took hold and lifted.

  ‘Over that way!’

  We swung it around and away from Ferris. I lowered the branch gently, going completely under the foul water in the process, and surfaced to see him slipping down, about to drop under likewise. I splashed back and caught him, holding him upright. I could feel the rope, heavy and wet, dragging round my feet.

  ‘I’ll pass him up to you,’ I called. I heaved Ferris into my arms like a child and waded towards Harry, who had now inched his way further down. ‘Here.’ Unable to see, with Ferris’s back pressed against my nose, I held him up and felt Harry take the weight. There was a tug at my ankle; I freed the rope, and saw my friend carried safely out of the shaft. I had still sufficient strength to drag myself out of the icy water and crawl up again, the debris slipping away beneath me.

  Ferris was lying on the grass, Harry wiping the unconscious face with a wet sleeve. I knelt beside my friend’s outstretched body, clutching his wrist, and suffered a violent qualm, weeping like a woman. I had just enough self-command not to grapple him to me and kiss him.

  When I was able to look up I saw Hathersage, rubbing his sore hands and watching me, then Elizabeth standing next to her spouse. Little Thomas Beste danced about as if in celebration. Botts was arrived,
lugging a case of instruments. He bent to listen for the heart.

  ‘Brother Christopher may think himself fortunate,’ he said.

  ‘Not least in his friends,’ said Harry. He laid his hand on my heaving back. Botts smirked, thinking the words were meant for him, until Harry went on, ‘If he values you aright, I’d say this wipes out the Rowly business and two more like it.’

  The Tunstalls were hastening towards us across the field. Ferris opened his eyes; they were dazed, innocent as when I saw him that night with Nathan, but they slitted when he found Botts crouched over him. He turned his face away from the surgeon’s.

  ‘Jacob?’

  His lips scarce moved; his voice was so faint that I was not sure what I had heard. Botts ignored his attempts to speak and pressed hartshorn under his nostrils: Ferris flinched back from it.

  ‘He doesn’t need that.’ I shoved the vial aside and bent over my friend, whose lips were working: I put my ear to them and caught the whisper, ‘Let him not hurt me.’

  I shook my head. Botts had just finished rooting out two scalpels and was holding their edges up against the sun to see which had fewer nicks in it.

  ‘Letting blood will help lift the swoon,’ he proposed excitedly. I laid my hand on Ferris’s arm and turned my face up to the surgeon.

  ‘He doesn’t wish to be bled.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ Botts returned. ‘I must at least examine him, else we lose precious time.’

  Ferris turned a dog’s eyes on me.

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘He suffers too much pain.’

  ‘It is the nature of a patient to suffer.’ Botts was laying out implements; I saw screws on some of them. ‘Is not the word itself derived from the Latin patiens? That is to say, suffering,’ he translated for the benefit of the rest of us. ‘But the professional man’s way is not the way of sentimental ignorance,’ here he cast scornful eyes on me, ‘for he cures the sufferer despite the pain. Will you help me by restraining him?’ He took hold of Ferris’s left arm and lifted it; my friend gasped. I saw sweat darken the dust on his brow.

  ‘Lay that arm down – softly – softly!’ I ground out between my teeth. ‘Touch him again, and you’ll be in need of a surgeon yourself.’

  Botts raised his eyebrows. He pushed his bloodshot features into mine. ‘Some might call this usage ill advised. I would go further, sir: I would call it barbarous.’ He stood up and looked round for succour, but the others dropped their eyes, all except Hathersage, who had never stopped watching me.

  I stood up also, very close to Botts, as a gentle persuasion. ‘Well then,’ I shrugged, ‘barbarous I am. But I keep my promises. Harry, do I keep my promises?’

  ‘I fear he does,’ Harry said dryly. ‘Best leave things for now.’ He took the surgeon by the arm. ‘Mister Botts, have I leave to talk with you a while?’

  Botts glared up at me, flushed and sullen. I returned the glare. Either he would look away first, or I would black his pig’s eyes for him.

  ‘I beg of you, Mister Botts,’ the smith whispered. Botts dropped his gaze and I exulted silently, fiercely, as Harry led him away.

  I knelt again by Ferris. ‘Can you walk?’ I asked.

  He struggled to sit up, but failed.

  ‘I can support his back,’ suggested Hathersage.

  I went on, ‘Will you let me lift you? With Hathersage’s help?’

  He moaned, ‘Don’t pull me by the arms!’

  ‘Then roll over and kneel,’ I told him. At last, though with cries from him that wrung my innards, I arranged him over my shoulder.

  ‘Give him cold compresses,’ urged the women. I asked them to make us some and they set off in search of cloth to soak in the spring.

  ‘I will see what I can do with the sough,’ said Jonathan, who had remained silent until now. He walked off to the edge of it, and stood contemplating the ruin.

  I took the way to Ferris’s hut, where I intended to stay a while, for I was not going to leave him where Botts might return to the torture. Halfway there I stopped and adjusted his weight on my shoulder.

  ‘Where are you taking me?’ he asked faintly.

  ‘To bed.’

  He giggled.

  ‘Sshh. Rest.’ I nuzzled my face into his side. As I did so I glimpsed something dark: Hathersage walking a yard behind us. My heart jerked, but it was possible he had understood nothing. I turned and asked him would he be so kind as to fetch my blankets from their airing place on top of the tent. He set off willingly and without any knowing look. I then carried Ferris into his own hut and laid him next the bed. There was a bucket of water there, and a dirty linen clout. I sponged the muck as best I could off his face, arms and breast. His head rolled to one side.

  ‘Cold water and rags, here.’ Susannah stood at the door. ‘Shall I put them on him?’

  ‘Let us wait until he can show us the pain.’

  Susannah nodded. ‘You know where I am to be found.’ I had thought she would stay and insist on nursing him, but she left without further talk, ducking out through the door just as Hathersage arrived with my blankets.

  ‘My sincere thanks,’ I said, bending to unfasten my friend’s soaking breeches. Sinking now into sleep, he made no attempt to help me. Hathersage averted his eyes.

  ‘It was nothing,’ he murmured. ‘Shall I fetch you some water also?’

  ‘To drink?’ I looked about and saw a stone jug. ‘There’s beer here.’

  ‘For your face.’ I stared at him, puzzled. He awkwardly went on, ‘Your tears have washed two great channels in the field-dirt.’

  ‘Thank you, Susannah has brought some.’

  He bowed and went out.

  Pondering the meaning of that extraordinary last speech, I stripped my patient. The heavy wet breeches took some time, for though he was light, I feared injuring him further by too brisk a movement. His flesh beneath the cloth was cool and damp, his feet muddy. I washed that off as best I could and the flat scent of pond water filled the hut.

  Laid out thus, Ferris showed himself even thinner than formerly, his belly drawn in high under his ribs like that of a starving dog. Only his shoulders had swelled slightly: the compact, stringy muscle of a lean man. His face was now brown, though it would never darken as deeply as my own; his hands and forearms stood out sharply against the fair skin elsewhere. I did not find him improved. The Devil had granted my wish to watch him sleep, but granted it in his usual cruel fashion, making a pain of a pleasure. Yet pleasure there was. I still desired to watch over him, be his dragon against Botts.

  Catherine tapped at the door of the hut. ‘Jacob? I’ve brought more compresses.’

  I pulled the blankets over Ferris’s nakedness. ‘Thank you most sincerely, but he sleeps. Leave them with me.’

  ‘Let me see him.’ That was forward, for Catherine. She pushed in and gazed on his sleeping face. By the look of her, she ached to pull back the covers, or slip her hand under them and run it down him. I was struck by the similarity between us.

  ‘Catherine,’ I said. She turned to me, eyes big and fearful lest I forbid her entrance to her holy of holies. ‘Would you be so good as to fetch us our food when it is served? I shall stay near him for a day.’

  ‘Of course. Jacob—’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Forgive my churlishness over the milk.’

  ‘You did right to check me when I drank Hathersage’s share.’

  Her face softened. I asked myself why I had spoken thus when we both knew the milk was not for Hathersage. Why had I spared this girl? Even Ferris, always gentler than myself, had been spiteful to Becs. But that was when he feared her. I was not afraid of Catherine. The woman who could draw him away from me must be very different from this creamy innocent; perhaps only a man could draw him now.

  Ferris woke with a confused cry. I stroked his brow and bade him rest; he lay dozing while Catherine put a compress on his head and neck, where he said he had a hurt. She was so gentle, one watching might be hard put to it to guess which of them felt the
touch more acutely. I recalled Becs pushing me about and scolding me after the fight with Rowly; different females act after their different ways, but surely it is fire to gunpowder, letting women nurse men. This one, having served her god, departed full of happiness. He lay blinking at me from under flaps of wet linen.

  ‘Now,’ said I, ‘how do you find yourself? More comfortable?’

  ‘My head aches still. Will you put something on my shoulder blades?’

  ‘Another compress?’ I took up some linen she had left ready in the bucket. ‘Can you raise yourself?’

  Ferris heaved himself up, gritting his teeth; I ran my hand over his back, feeling it all ribs.

  ‘Softly there!’ he cried.

  ‘I barely touched you.’ I remembered the anguished squeal which had so terrified me floating up from the shaft.

  ‘The muscle’s pulled both sides.’

  I arranged a compress under him and held a cup of beer to his lips. He drank greedily. Then I moved him back into a lying posture, not without much gasping and whistling through the teeth on his part.

  ‘What happened down the sough?’ I asked.

  ‘I dropped too fast – I should have bidden you let the rope out slowly—’

  ‘I should have done it without telling.’

  ‘No matter – I went too fast and found myself wedged between those two large branches we put in there. The water was already up to my waist and I couldn’t feel the bottom with my feet. I was frightened of falling further.’

  ‘Why didn’t you pull up?’

  ‘Couldn’t get any purchase. In the end my own weight dragged me through. It was tight – I felt my shoulders give.’ He made an agonized face. ‘I think I screamed then, did I scream? What with that and the water coming up over me.’

  ‘Could you see and hear me?’ I asked.

  ‘There was some light but once you’re under the branches and bushes – methinks now I should have heard you, but I was in a terror, stirring the water up like a fool.’

  ‘I heard you splashing about as if you were drowning.’

  ‘Then you said you would pull me out the same way—!’ He laughed ruefully.