– and the sun shining down across the other side of the ocean, breaking through mist, reaching his home. The welcome light of the sun: it was what he longed for most – and home – his home.
He was jabbed again and teetered on his toes. The next push would give him no choice. This was his ending.
His eyes watered. He could not see. But suddenly he could.
The hood was yanked from his head. He was rammed forward to a surge of yelling. Everything blurred as he looked into the sun. Nothing was distinct except for the noise and the nakedness of his shoulders as his shirt was torn away. Then he saw the people, not so far away and not so many. No one was clad in white or looking up. They were all on his level, and mostly in the shadow of buildings around a courtyard. At last he recognised what all the shouting was about.
They were calling out bids.
5
Silence
‘. . . Except the gravity of some matter do require that she should speak, or else an answer is to be made to such things as are demanded of her, let her keep silence. For there is nothing that doth so much commend . . . a maid, as silence . . .’
—
The sixth Duty of Maids and Young Unmarried Women, from the
New Catechism of Thomas Becon,
Chaplain to Archbishop Cranmer in the reign of Edward VI, first published in 1559 shortly after the accession of Queen Elizabeth I
ELLYN FOUND HER mother in her room. Her hair was made up elegantly, braided in coils under a cap trimmed with lace. Fine lines crazed her skin, like the cracking over an old varnished panel, but her eyes were bright, and the turn of her head was swift. A perfumed pomander hung from a silver girdle at her waist, and, from her ears, trembled little ruby tears.
She was sitting near the fire, embroidering a stomacher with a pattern of strawberries and ladybirds, curling stems and variegated leaves. There was nothing to suggest that she should not be moving about the house or enjoying the garden, going to market and church, or walking along the cliffs. But Ellyn knew her mother would stay where she was as she had done since Thom’s death; her life had become bound within the threads of her handiwork: unthreatened and ordered. Her journeys would be of her own devising while her imagination guided her needle, each stitch taking a small step into a beautiful, tranquil world. It was a world Ellyn could not enter with problems of her own.
At the moment her cheek was kissed, Ellyn’s mother put down her sewing.
‘My sweet,’ she said to Ellyn.
Ellyn knelt at her side.
‘Are you comfortable?’
‘Quite comfortable as I am, where there is not a draught to trouble my poor throat.’
The response was a whisper that Ellyn would never have heard had she not been so close, yet she was used to her mother’s voice, and it did not alarm her.
‘I came to enquire whether you have given all the instructions you wish. I believe Master Gilbert is expected for dinner.’
‘That he is,’ her mother answered while stroking Ellyn’s hair. Ellyn felt the gentle weight of her mother’s hand, moving with the kind of soothing that might be used to calm an excitable pet. ‘Your father is with him now,’ her mother went on. ‘They are at the new warehouse inspecting cloth. Then they will dine here. And you, dear Ellyn, should join them after that.’
It was a mystery to Ellyn, one that had never been properly explained, how her mother, in self-imposed seclusion, could keep abreast of events outside. But this was a fact – she always appeared to know exactly what her family and acquaintances were doing. Her mother was rarely mistaken, though she never became involved and abhorred any confrontation. Ellyn had long ago given up appealing to her for help in her personal battles, especially those with her father; her mother would never oppose him. So she kept her feelings about meeting Master Gilbert to herself – they were not what her father would want to hear. She tried to look pleased. At least she would not
He was jabbed again and teetered on his toes. The next push would give him no choice. This was his ending.
His eyes watered. He could not see. But suddenly he could.
The hood was yanked from his head. He was rammed forward to a surge of yelling. Everything blurred as he looked into the sun. Nothing was distinct except for the noise and the nakedness of his shoulders as his shirt was torn away. Then he saw the people, not so far away and not so many. No one was clad in white or looking up. They were all on his level, and mostly in the shadow of buildings around a courtyard. At last he recognised what all the shouting was about.
They were calling out bids.
5
Silence
‘. . . Except the gravity of some matter do require that she should speak, or else an answer is to be made to such things as are demanded of her, let her keep silence. For there is nothing that doth so much commend . . . a maid, as silence . . .’
—
The sixth Duty of Maids and Young Unmarried Women, from the
New Catechism of Thomas Becon,
Chaplain to Archbishop Cranmer in the reign of Edward VI, first published in 1559 shortly after the accession of Queen Elizabeth I
ELLYN FOUND HER mother in her room. Her hair was made up elegantly, braided in coils under a cap trimmed with lace. Fine lines crazed her skin, like the cracking over an old varnished panel, but her eyes were bright, and the turn of her head was swift. A perfumed pomander hung from a silver girdle at her waist, and, from her ears, trembled little ruby tears.
She was sitting near the fire, embroidering a stomacher with a pattern of strawberries and ladybirds, curling stems and variegated leaves. There was nothing to suggest that she should not be moving about the house or enjoying the garden, going to market and church, or walking along the cliffs. But Ellyn knew her mother would stay where she was as she had done since Thom’s death; her life had become bound within the threads of her handiwork: unthreatened and ordered. Her journeys would be of her own devising while her imagination guided her needle, each stitch taking a small step into a beautiful, tranquil world. It was a world Ellyn could not enter with problems of her own.
At the moment her cheek was kissed, Ellyn’s mother put down her sewing.
‘My sweet,’ she said to Ellyn.
Ellyn knelt at her side.
‘Are you comfortable?’
‘Quite comfortable as I am, where there is not a draught to trouble my poor throat.’
The response was a whisper that Ellyn would never have heard had she not been so close, yet she was used to her mother’s voice, and it did not alarm her.
‘I came to enquire whether you have given all the instructions you wish. I believe Master Gilbert is expected for dinner.’
‘That he is,’ her mother answered while stroking Ellyn’s hair. Ellyn felt the gentle weight of her mother’s hand, moving with the kind of soothing that might be used to calm an excitable pet. ‘Your father is with him now,’ her mother went on. ‘They are at the new warehouse inspecting cloth. Then they will dine here. And you, dear Ellyn, should join them after that.’
It was a mystery to Ellyn, one that had never been properly explained, how her mother, in self-imposed seclusion, could keep abreast of events outside. But this was a fact – she always appeared to know exactly what her family and acquaintances were doing. Her mother was rarely mistaken, though she never became involved and abhorred any confrontation. Ellyn had long ago given up appealing to her for help in her personal battles, especially those with her father; her mother would never oppose him. So she kept her feelings about meeting Master Gilbert to herself – they were not what her father would want to hear. She tried to look pleased. At least she would not
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