Consequently, I was surprised when early one morning I heard Brigant’s voice outside my tent.
‘Are you awake?’ he asked quietly.
‘Only just,’ I said. ‘What are you doing up and about at this hour?’
‘Couldn’t sleep,’ he replied.
‘That makes a change.’
‘Can you come out here please?’
I detected a sense of urgency in his tone, so quickly I put on my boots and went outside.
Brigant was peering towards the river.
‘What do you make of those characters?’ he said.
Over on the other bank were three tents, buff-coloured and conical in shape, with white pennants fluttering from their peaks. Standing beside these tents was a small group of men. They were all clad in identical buff tunics, and all looking in our direction.
‘Not sure what to make of them,’ I said. ‘Any idea how long they’ve been there?’
‘No,’ said Brigant. ‘I didn’t see them arrive.’
‘They seem to be sizing us up.’
‘That’s what I was thinking.’
A movement in the south-east caught my eye. Thomas appeared in the doorway of his tent, and he soon noticed the men on the opposite bank. I expected him instantly to go marching towards them, just as he had when Hartopp and his companions first landed. Instead, though, he stayed where he was, observing the newcomers but, for the time being, doing nothing.
Brigant, meanwhile, withdrew to his northern hideaway.
This was the state of affairs for the rest of the morning. One by one, Hen, Hartopp and the others turned out to greet another day, only to be met by the sight of the three conical tents. Last to emerge was Isabella. The sun had risen quite high when I saw her tiptoe to the water’s edge. As usual, she discarded her towel and slipped into the river, swimming a few widths before drifting gently downstream. When she neared the shimmering white tent she paused briefly in the shallows, then headed upriver once again. Isabella completed her daily exercise and came ashore, apparently unaware of developments on the southern bank.
A little later, however, after she’d dressed, I saw her gazing across at the neighbouring field. She stood for a long while shading her eyes with her hand, as if studying the landscape in detail, then she came and spoke to me.
‘I see there are some new arrivals,’ she said.
‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘They’ve been here since early morning.’
‘I like their pointy tents.’
‘Guessed you might.’
‘Don’t like the colour though.’
‘Ah.’
‘Of all the colours in the world, they go and choose buff!’ she said with disdain. ‘Even their clothes! Honestly, some people have no sense of gaiety.’
‘Apart from him,’ I remarked.
Isabella knew exactly who I was talking about. One of the men seemed somehow different from his comrades. He was tall in stature and noticeably bronzed, and wore a purple sash over his tunic. I presumed from his deportment that he was their leader: occasionally he strode amongst them dishing out commands, but at present he was standing alone near the river, contemplating the Great Field as it lay spread out before him.
‘Yes, well, he is rather exceptional,’ said Isabella.
‘I think he’s a bit of a show-off,’ I said, ‘parading up and down in that purple sash of his.’
We watched as he rejoined the other men and issued a stream of orders. Immediately they abandoned their posts and vanished inside two of the tents. Their leader waited for a few moments, took a final glance across the river, then retired into the third tent.
‘I expect they need some sleep if they’ve been travelling all night,’ I said. ‘I imagine they’ve come a long way.’
‘From the far south, I suppose,’ said Isabella.
‘Yes,’ I agreed, ‘most probably.’
As the afternoon passed, the newcomers became a source of increasing conjecture among the rest of us. In due course, Hartopp’s elder son, Hollis, went down to the crossing to get a closer view of the three tents. On his return, he reported that the fluttering pennants all bore the letter J.
‘I wonder what they want?’ said Hartopp.
‘A place to stay, perhaps,’ I suggested.
‘Then why don’t they cross the river?’
This was a good question. Throughout the evening, muffled conversations could be heard inside various tents as the subject was earnestly pondered. Even Hen came over from the west to join the debate. No conclusions were reached, however, and by the following day nothing had changed.
I arose early and looked southward. The men in the other field were already out and about, but at first I could see no sign of their leader. After a while, though, I spotted him patrolling the river bank in the east. He was more or less opposite Isabella’s crimson tent, which he studied briefly from his vantage point before moving on. He treated Hartopp’s small encampment to the same cursory examination, then he turned and headed back the way he’d come, pausing only to glance at the shimmering white tent. Thomas, it should be mentioned, had remained aloof during the previous evening’s discussions. Hitherto, I’d assumed that the continuing presence of the newcomers would be enough to spur him into action, and indeed Hen had expressed a similar view. After all, it was Thomas who swanked around as if he owned the place, and whose tent dominated the lush pastures of the south-east. Yet he’d done nothing beyond quietly observing the situation from his doorway.
Now, as the bronzed individual passed by on the other side of the river, I wondered who would make the next move.
Isabella, needless to say, was allowing nobody to impinge on her daily routine. Around mid-morning she emerged from her tent, tiptoed to the bank, discarded her towel and slipped into the water. I thought she swam rather more vigorously than usual, and she also spent less time drifting inertly downstream. The cause for this may have been a recent change in the weather: the long sultry period was coming to an end at last. The sun still shone brightly, but a breeze was rising and the temperature had dropped a little. Isabella evidently made up the difference by summoning a burst of energy. Afterwards, when she’d dried and dressed, she came over to see me and Hen. We were standing by my tent, just like the day before, gazing into the south. This was now our main pastime. Ever since the arrival of the newcomers, we’d all become preoccupied with events in the neighbouring field. To tell the truth, we did nothing except watch them while they watched us. Although nobody would admit it, the worst problem was the interminable waiting. With these outsiders seemingly poised to strike across the river at any minute, it was difficult to enjoy the peace and tranquillity to which we were accustomed. Isabella was particularly impatient for the matter to be resolved.
‘Come on then, if you’re coming,’ she murmured, her eyes fixed on the distant sentinels.
‘They’re certainly biding their time,’ remarked Hen. ‘Unless, of course, they’re undecided about what to do next.’
‘Well,’ said Isabella, ‘I wish they’d make their minds up.’
Suddenly, and for reasons I couldn’t explain, I felt impelled to put an end to the deadlock. Without a word to the others I set off towards the crossing, uncertain of exactly what I would do when I got there. The men at the other side saw me approaching, but stayed where they were: obviously they were allowing me to come to them. I was struck by the thought that this could be viewed either as a tactical advantage or a sign of weakness. Either way, there was no turning back now, so I entered the shallows and waded to the opposite bank. As I gained dry land, the man with the purple sash strode forward to meet me.