Apples and Prayers (20 page)

‘That's all as well as maybe,' chimed in the voice of the cottager Tom Putt. He stepped forward from our horseshoe line. ‘But what troubles me… more than all of this talk of rites and church and sacraments… what troubles me is taxes. Taxes on sheep, taxes on cloth, taxes coming on ducks and pigs. Might as well tax the bloody air we breathe!'

‘There'll be taxes for taking a shit in the woods next,' muttered some vulgar voice amongst us. It was met with laughter and shouting and pushing from the back. Those of us who stood to the fore were jostled further forward and, once again, the horses shied in their nervousness.

My Lord raised his hand and his voice. ‘Order! Order!'

‘There's no greater taxation on a people, than the tax that weighs on their souls,' said our priest after we'd quietened.

‘It's not changes to the Mass that'll starve us from our homes and leave us begging for scraps on the highway, father. It's prices, rising, rising prices,' replied Tom Putt.

‘Soaring!' shouted Brimley. His fellow Barum grunted in agreement.

‘Four times they've risen in recent months. Four!' This time it was Coleman, the blacksmith, who spoke. His broad flat face sparked in anger.

‘Food prices, six-fold,' called his wife, beside him. Her voice rang with the conviction of someone who knew by experience.

‘Five-fold in timber,' added Woodbine. ‘But I'm with the father on this,' he said. ‘The new Mass is the Devil's work.' His strong frame shook, as the frame of his saw pit must have shook when he was sawing trees.

‘I'm with him too,' said Coleman. ‘But Putt's right. It's the prices that are killing us, not the faith. The faith remains strong, whatever the cost. But how are we going to afford these rises when wages drag so far behind? Faith won't fill our bellies!' He shouted and shook his wiry arms, as if he were a starving beggar clamouring for a loaf of bread.

‘It's impossible for us on fixed wages!' said Rawlings.

‘It's the hoarders we should blame,' Lucombes joined in.

‘Aye, the middlemen. The bloody forestallers!' John Andrews' shaven head barely showed above the crowd, but his voice rose above us all. 

‘They keep their grain and cloth in shortage, then sell it on at ridiculous prices!' It was Reynolds who now spoke, moving the men around him to confused shouting. 

Just as had happened the day before, the tempers of those who were normally friends had now started to fray. Irritation spread between them like a rash of measles, the winter's influenza. My Lord and his son once again called the heated voices to order.

‘One voice at a time, for mercy's sake! We may be moved to fight for our beliefs, but we needn't descend into anarchy with each other.' Sir Walter's horse threw its head from side to side. Its mane whipped the crowd into silence.

When the shouting had quelled, John Toucher stepped forward. I was proud to see my man show pluck, but was afraid for the challenge I knew might be coming.

‘These matters are all well and good, my Lord and gratefully brought before us. But there are others who work against us, besides these middlemen and Protestants.' 

I looked to my feet, so that I wouldn't catch his eye.

‘Go on man,' Sir Walter bade him warily.

‘With all respect, my Lord, isn't it landlords and shepherds across the shire who are in league? Fields fenced off and enclosed. Small strips of perfectly good arable land conjoined into one mighty pasture. It might increase the shepherd's profits, but it pushes honest labourers off their land…'

‘Be careful how you proceed, John Toucher,' my Lord warned him.

‘We all must be careful how we proceed, my Lord. Aren't we all joined here together in this newly seeded rising? What's a grievance for one man, is a grievance for all, whether it's matters of money, or prices, or fields enclosed. Or whether it's even a matter of faith.'

He'd spoken well. My Lord couldn't punish John any more for speaking out against these changes, than he could deny his own recent call to rise against the King's Law. John Toucher had chosen his words well. I wished that he'd taken such cares with me.

‘Where will we be,' he continued, ‘if we lose our land, our strips? Poor vagrants… that's where. And then the Law'll have rebellion on its hands, you'll see…'

‘You miss one thing, John Toucher,' piped up a voice from near beside him. 

Billy Down the shepherd stepped out to take him on in argument. His pimply little head jutted out of his great stinking sheepskin jerkin. He was jumpy, on the defensive and spat terse words from his tense little tongue. 

‘Your small fields are expensive, Toucher. Too dear by half,' he said. ‘They make no sense in money's terms. All of you plant the same crops at the same time. But, doing so, you only farm for your own survival. Wouldn't you rather farm for the marketplace? With larger fields you can change the way you use your land. Then you'll be able to sell more. Think about it. Use your head for once, John Toucher, not your brawn. You'll make greater profits for yourself and have a more comfortable life.'

I knew that John wouldn't take kindly to the challenge. 

‘Use your own thick head, Billy Down,' he spat back at him. ‘I'll only make a profit if I've still got land to farm on. And, anyway, who needs comfort if it comes at your rotten price?'

‘And just what, exactly, d'you suggest I do about the growing need for woollen cloth? I can't lose out on my own market, can I! Where there's demand, I'll sell. You won't do me out of that.' 

‘I don't begrudge you your market,' John replied. ‘But I won't let you have it at my expense, turning arable into pasture. Nor by engrossing and overstocking the commons.'

Billy Down then laughed at him, a course I didn't think was well advised. I hoped that John wouldn't punch another man down in front of my Lord. He bristled, but let his fists hang. 

‘Look at the commons,' said the shepherd. Have you seen them? They haven't been enclosed have they? Show me where they have! You're as free to graze there as any man.'

It was true. I saw then, in John's manner, a resignation to this argument. 

‘Fair enough,' he muttered. ‘But I'm telling you, it won't be long before they are.' With that he bowed his head and merged back into the crowd. 

I admired him for what he'd said, but it struck me, as I watched him, that he was a changed man, a distant man. I feared that I no longer knew him any better than I knew my far-away brothers, who'd abandoned our family a long time past. I knew then that his mind was fixed on his own purpose; that his heart and passions were fixed upon his fields and his labour and were no longer fixed on me. In that moment, I realised I'd never know him again with the intimacy we had, until these months, enjoyed. It made me sad to my very core.

My Lord then gave our meeting its conclusion. 

‘You've had your say. Now listen,' he ordered. ‘We may not be of one accord as to why these things have happened, but we must stand together in our own defence. Those of you who wish to guard your sacred rights and Mother Church, prepare yourselves to march and make demands. Those of you who wish to rally for grievances of land and tax, bring yourselves along as well. Your voices won't be heard if you remain quietly in your homes. God's wounds, we have no choice! The Cornish are marching already. Our cause dies here if we don't act with them now…'

We stared at my Lord for some moments in disbelief. He was actually calling us to rebellion.

‘And who leads the Cornishmen into this county?' asked father Lock.

‘Arundell of Helland,' Sir Walter said. ‘The Cornishmen follow their grandfathers' footsteps from years gone by.'

‘His brothers have influence at court, don't they?' pursued the priest. ‘He'll be fighting his own blood before long.'

‘Many men aren't afraid of fighting their brothers…' said Walter.

‘Men of wealth and position have begun their march on Exeter,' my Lord interrupted him. ‘This won't get far without gentlemen to lead it. Arundell will keep the band in shape, should it come to a fight. He's polished in warfare from foreign campaigns. One of God's soldiers and a friend to Devon. Look to his estates in the shire. We march with them tomorrow!' 

My master then pulled on his reins and his horse span away, his son's horse beside him. The two animals galloped at speed back towards the Barton, in a flurry of manes and din of raucous neighing. 

We gathered behind our priest. Gradually, like the steady drip of a spigot into a pail, we clapped our assent as they rode off. By the time they'd vanished from sight, our circle had already begun to slap each other on the back. With raised voices, we bellowed our purpose to the skies. And then, under our priest's instruction, we knelt and prayed…
Gloria in excelsis Deo. Et in terra pax hominibus bonae voluntatis. Laudamus te
… joining our thoughts for one great hymn to rise above us all to high Heaven.

For my part, it wasn't such a difficult decision to follow my Lord Ponsford. I would offer his retinue service on their march and in their camp. If not I, then who would cook when they were on the road; who would tend to the aches and pains of our men as they trudged across county to the capital? Who would treat my Lady's headaches? 

Besides, John Toucher was clearly resolved to join the struggle, seeking to protect his feudal rights and I wouldn't see my John disappear into an unknown sunset without going along at his side. What with my Lord and Lady and their son, Sir Walter, heading our party, the Barton would be as good as boarded up anyway, for the short time that the endeavour would take. Alford would keep its fires burning, in hope of our welcomed and speedy return. Rawlings, the working boy, would tend to its livestock. The elders of the village who'd stay behind would help them. 

I spoke with Alford about the matter that night, telling her to stay put here in the Barton, where she could help to mind the great house in my absence. With any luck, we'd be home before her baby was born and it would arrive then into a freer land, where it could be fairly christened and brought into the faith.

But Alford told me forcibly that she too was also moved to go along with the Cornishmen. It provoked yet more argument between us.

‘There's no question of it, Alford,' I said. ‘In your condition? Really? You're not fit to travel on a soldier's march.'

‘How so,
not fit to travel
, Morgan?' she turned on me, glaring her eyes like some wild animal in the woods. In that moment, it felt as if my bond with her was as stretched as it was with John Toucher.

‘The way's fraught with danger, Alford. The purpose is perilous.'

‘Fraught with danger? Huh! I can travel where I like, danger or not, Morgan.'

‘Alford, you couldn't even sit on the May Day cart this last month, for all your puking! Have you forgotten so soon?'

‘That's got nothing to do with it, Morgan!' She raised her voice to a pitch I'd never heard from her before and I knew then that I had to return her to her proper station, or else I'd lose this fight. One or the other.

‘It's got everything to do with it, my girl. You
shall
remain at home and see your child born here in peace. It's common sense and I won't hear another word about it!' 

She stared me down defiantly. 

‘And if you ever raise your voice at me like that again,' I said, ‘so help me…' 

It was the first time I remember being truly angry with her, yet in the way a mother is angry with her child, when she worries for its safety.

Nonetheless, she continued. ‘Common sense? I'll have none of your common sense, Morgan. The days are changing. Can't you feel that? Common sense has trampled down the fences and fled the fields. Our men are off to fight for something new. The road will be an open adventure!'

‘An open adventure, Alford?' I laughed. ‘Listen to yourself, you don't know what you're talking about. Didn't you see the blood of that man yesterday at Sampford? Didn't you? Or did that pass you by, by some miracle? Didn't you hear the fear in his cries, the passion of the men's arguments, see their bloody deeds? This isn't some carnival march to the village green, my girl. It's a call to bear arms! What do you think the Cornishmen are carrying, Alford, hay wands?'

‘My hands can be of use there too, Morgan. An army doesn't march on empty stomachs. I can cook and care as well as you. I'm not some little child any more, Morgan. I'm a married woman. I'll be as useful as the next…'

I was furious with her now, but more so with myself for letting things become so out of hand. 

‘Then you'll not admit any danger in this undertaking?' I asked her, trying to calm both of us with cooler tones. ‘Is that what you're telling me, Alford? For if it is, then you're sorely, sorely mistaken…'

‘No, Morgan, I'm not saying the way's free from danger, but…'

‘But what, Alford? What? An army camp's no place for a girl with child. It's no fit place for a self-respecting woman anyways. What'll you be able to do usefully? Tell me!'

She turned away from me then and composed her thoughts in silence. When she'd chosen her phrase, she came close and spoke to me quietly, holding onto my hands. I could feel her own fingers trembling delicately.

‘D'you suppose, Morgan, that you might stop and think for a moment about staying put yourself and leaving John Toucher to go and fight his great fight alone, for land and money and all else he rails about?'

I hardly had to think about her question. 

‘Of course not, Alford,' I replied. ‘I couldn't. I won't see John Toucher go away, never knowing if he's going to be coming back or not…'

‘Then consider my case, Morgan. Please. I can hardly let a husband of less than a month just wander off and leave me here at home, alone, with all the uncertainty of childbirth hanging over my head and all the worries of the fight gathered over his. It'd be unbearable! I won't leave Dufflin, Morgan. It can't be done.'