Aria Remains

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‘It be a girl,’ William proclaimed. ‘And thou looks upon the most merry of men throughout the entire land.’

‘Throughout the entire world, I wouldst proffer,’ Cordell laughed, slapping his friend across the shoulders with such tremendous force that the ale handed to him only moments before slopped from the top of his flagon.

William had been informed of the news by one of the women Bridgette had asked to be with her as her labour commenced, and the word had then spread with great haste amongst the villagers. Following the news, Cordell and some thirteen of the other men had grabbed hold of William and lead him to the barn they had long since designated ‘Traveller’s Tavern’, in which they spent most of their Sunday afternoons and, should their wives allow it, as many of their workday evenings as they could.

‘Cheers to thee,’ several of the men said in unison, holding their drinks aloft, as William slurped his ale.

‘Wassail!’ called a number of others.

‘Hath thou seen the child as yet?’ one of them asked.

‘No,’ William admitted cheerfully. ‘I stayed for a sip of the wine, although refused the opiate. It was when I caught sight of the stool that I knew the time had arrived for me to make the fastest of departures.’

‘And all be well?’

’So I understand, all be better than well.’

Together the men took their drinks to the grass outside, looking up to the cloudless sky with gratitude, joking and chattering as if they had all been granted the same blessing as William. They knew they owed him a great deal, understanding how much better their lives had become since they first followed him through the trees and onto the land they now called home. And now there was a new member of their collective, a new resident of what they considered the best place any of them could possibly have hoped to live. Despite not yet knowing it, nor being aware that some of those assembled in celebration may not be in a position to fully appreciate it, there would come a day when they would owe the small child, asleep in her mother’s arms, untarnished and unaffected by the universe beyond although her presence had immediately been noted, an even greater debt.

‘Hath thee a name for this new gift?’ asked Fletcher, a younger man keen to be included amongst those William considered his closest friends, who had looked to him as something of a hero since the day he had helped rescue one of his cows who had become caught in a trap of mud.

‘No, no,’ William grinned. ‘Nothing as yet. It is enough that my sweet Bridgette, and of course my new baby girl - which, I confess to thee, still sounds as though it be the sweetest part of a dream - hath come through this miracle without harm. In fit and hearty spirits and health, they be.’

‘Hoorah!’ almost all of the men shouted, while the others, those in the midst of drinking, hastily raised their pots and smiled broadly.

As the day wore on and the sun began its journey away from them for the night, the group of men was joined by everyone else from the village, apart from Bridgette and her sleeping daughter, two of her female friends - already well-experienced in the process of childbirth - and the village’s midwife, the formidable and pious Joan Ward. Now a little worse for wear, the rest were all engaged in cheerful conversations about their lives, and how much they were enjoying living in William’s village.

‘Hush, thee,’ he would say, ‘for this is our village, it belongs to each of us in equal measure and I shall hear no more of it being mine.’

‘To Easthope!’ came the occasional cheer. ‘And to William East, and to Bridgette East, and to the newest star who so brightens the East, the most important of all!’

As the stars already well established began to shine and the sky fell to a glorious purple-blue, and after Henry Fernsby had presented those who remained, who had managed to prolong their revelry, with the latest selection of the wine he had been busy fermenting, William thought he might like to see whether Mrs Ward would allow him a brief visitation with his wife.

‘If thee be quick,’ she told him, idling in the doorway of the house, clearly not happy with this irregular request.

‘I have simply come to see,’ William said, the ale and wine strong both on his breath and his demeanour, ‘that all be well, that my family rests well and comfortable.’

‘All be well,’ Mrs Ward said, pursing her lips, still not wanting to move.

‘Just a moment, I pray.’

‘Very well,’ she agreed with an annoyed tut, finally moving aside.

The windows were still covered and the fire still burned strongly in the hearth, making the hour seem much later and the season some months younger. The odour of garlic and honey haunted the air, the cup from which Bridgette had taken her wine still sat, half-empty, on one of the stools. Taking the wooden stairs as quietly and carefully as his condition allowed, it was in their bedroom, partly hidden behind a hanging blanket attached to the ceiling, that he saw Bridgette sleeping soundly while beside her, carefully cradling the baby, sat Annie Farrow. She looked up as William came closer, smiling and uncovering the newborn so he could see her face.

‘Ah,’ he said quietly. ‘A true beauty she doth be, a true image of her mother.’

’Indeed, she be a most handsome kinchin,’ whispered Annie. ‘Quiet, at that. Barely made a sound, hath she, since she joined this world.’

‘And Bridgette?’ William asked, looking to his wife.

‘I cannot lie, it were not without its problems, although nothing Mrs Ward be unable to quell.’

‘Problems?’

‘Of a lady’s nature, no concern for thee,’ Annie said, smiling again. ‘All be well now, of that thee can be assured.’

Bridgette looked worn, her hair spread across the mattress, her skin flushed from both the exertions her body had been through and the sweltering heat in the hut, yet still William thought he had never seen her look so beautiful, nor in such peaceful repose. As he was about to leave, not wanting to disturb them any further and becoming aware of Mrs Ward’s impatient presence at the top of the stairs, he noticed that she was clutching the small stone bottle they had spotted some weeks earlier when they were still living in Calcote, which they had subsequently taken as an icon of good luck.

‘Well, goodnight to thee,’ William said as he left, bowing so deeply he almost lost his balance. He didn’t need to raise his eyes to the midwife to know her expression was one of the lowest disapproval.

Once he was back outside he started his return to the group of villagers still celebrating the news but, hearing the smooth, calm music of the ocean, he decided instead to go to the cliffs, to have a few moments to himself in which to reflect upon the day. Reaching his favourite spot, a secluded place amongst the bushes where the cliff fell away so sheer that looking over the edge made him feel as if he were standing directly upon the water itself, he carefully sat and closed his eyes. A gentle breeze reached up to him, caressing his face, sweeping through his hair, and for a moment it seemed to him that it was nature herself offering her gratitude for his part in bringing the baby girl into the world.

Such a deep well of contentment resided within him that, as he breathed the sweet perfume of the water and the trees, as he allowed himself the time for his satisfaction at what they had all achieved to unfurl and to be lifted upon the current, he knew that he was, in all likelihood, the happiest and most fortunate, most gratified person alive. So serene did he feel that even the vague remembrance of the deal he had made, and of what it had cost him, appeared to him now as nothing more than the most minor complication, as the barnacle is of such little import to the whale.

It would be, he now felt completely and determinedly convinced, the brightest of futures that awaited them all, that would greet them with a fanfare of all joys and successes. He could imagine nothing that could interrupt their prosperity, that could undermine their community. They would, instead, sail sweetly upon the tranquil waters of their lives, would see their commonwealth grow and flourish, their mornings met with the sparkle of each bounteous new day, their evenings blessed with equanimity.

After he had been seated at the cliff’s edge for the best of half an hour, mesmerised by the breathing of the ocean, soft and demure, in and out, in and out, and the tender shimmer of the stars above him, their ancient lives unifying with his own, accepting him into the universe, he stood, stretched his neck and made his way back to the others. He caught sound of them before he could see them, smiling at their laughter, their bonhomie. I could not, he thought, have done anything better, anything more worthy with my life than that which I have. I have been able to enrich the lives of all these people, have been able to offer them a fresh start and have, I hope, proven myself a good and decent man. And now, as this most significant of days draws to a close, I have, with my most beguiling and sublime consort, brought yet new life into this haven, a life that I feel sure will elevate even further the lives of all she meets.

There were times of trouble, moments of sorrow and fear but, as the parallelipiped of time sheltered all within it and, when viewed from a greater distance and with a greater sense of the entirety, with the knowledge that perfection can only be limited by its own deficiencies, the villagers of Easthope did indeed enjoy the most peaceful and pleasurable of times. There was such happiness and participation in everything they did, such success with their harvests and endeavours in trading, and such untroubled serenity surrounding their existence that it was almost as though they had received special and momentous blessings, they they had each and all been identified and chosen by something greater than themselves.

William had thought a great deal as he put his plans into action. Such was the repression suffered by the villagers of Calcote, the tyrannical rules and exorbitant taxes regularly increased to the point that the burden was almost too much for them to be able to endure, he had developed schemes and systems that he hoped would serve them a great deal better. He had talked with several of the tradesmen that visited the village and had also spoken with travellers he had met over the previous few months, asking them about their own villages, the things that worked for them and the things they said they would like to see improved, if only they were able. He discussed planting and crops, harvests, trading, the way in which their homes were constructed and roads were made, their interaction with their landowners and lords - everything he could think of, everything he wanted to improve upon, inspiration he might be able to draw from them.

Following these suggestions, and augmented by ideas of his own, concepts that had come to him as he thought about what he wanted the new village to be like and how he wanted it to work, he decided upon planting four major crops alongside smaller plantations of other vegetables, including both spring and autumn sowings, and that they would keep cattle and sheep, pigs and poultry. He would introduce a three field system of crop rotation, allowing one to be left fallow each year, and he would build larger ploughs and manufacture flails, hayforks and axes. He had become embittered by the usual practice of the countryside’s division into estates, run by a lord or an institution which inevitably lead to an unfair, exploitative social hierarchy, with those working and producing the food being required to provide for those who were, in effect, their owners. This would not stand for William and for those who would come to live in Easthope. It would be their village, owned and controlled by them all, with everyone benefitting fairly and equally from their labours. They would produce no more than they needed, would do all they could to reduce their waste to a minimum. It would be an honourable and non-discriminatory system, with opportunities for everyone, both men and women, and all of them would have personal and professional rights that would never be repudiated.

Having become aware of the rapid changes to both trade and industry, William learned all he could form those he spoke with, discovering with which items the merchants most commonly dealt, what could be bought and sold and what they could make themselves, planning Easthope’s business accordingly. He knew that trade revolved around credit and wanted to involve as few different dealers as possible in order to secure the least disruption, allowing the village to be seen as a trustworthy and creditable place. As it became more established he sent some of the villagers to Amsterdam, the mercantile centre of the world, and even further afield, making deals in the Rhineland and France, meeting other tradesmen from Afghanistan, Portugal and Russia. It was a grand, complex plan but, through regular meetings, long and detailed dialogue and the education of those amongst them who displayed an interest and leaning towards the subject, the proposition became a success.

Where other parts of the countryside endured peasant uprisings, with soaring prices and rising populations leading to the workers being afflicted by an injurious diminution of their income, increasing rents and the loss of their rights to use common land, Easthope continued to flourish. Although hidden from the rest of the world, with only those who had been specifically invited being able to find and enter the village, William considered it a small price to pay in order to ensure their continued wellbeing. If there ever were any disturbance, any disagreement or problems to disentangle, William would call a committee to act as manorial court, to decide what justice should be handed down, with all issues handled quickly and fairly. One on occasion there had been a dispute between Rowell Casey and George Hampton, wherein Rowell had thought George guilty of adopting some of his chickens. It emerged, following a meeting of the committee and the two parties, that the chickens had, in fact, found their own way onto George’s plot for a few days without him noticing, keen for a change of scenery. He admitted his lack of concentration in regard to his poultry population, agreed to pay Rowell with a handful of eggs over the next four weeks and then, the judgement made, they all went to the Traveller’s Tavern and sampled the latest wine imported from Italy.

A version of that wine, as well as others Fernsby had been perfecting throughout the years, also served as the ideal accompaniment to the marriages Easthope enjoyed. Again, William had suggested changes to the old ways.

‘I believe,’ he had told a full and attentive meeting just a few days after they had settled in the village, ’that it be for the individuals concerned whom they chooseth for wedlock, that it be not the field for relatives to arrange their pieces at their own pleasure, to their own ends. I believe a wedding should be for those who are in love, not those for whom the questions of property or finance rear their unromantic heads. So, I propose we shall be free to mix amongst ourselves, at markets and at fairs and at dances, and that the requirement for matchmakers shall be passed.

‘And this,’ he said in summation, smiling to the villagers as they smiled to him, ‘means that we take care of our hearts and control of our futures, just as we take control of all other parts of our lives. For this be the only way knowest to me and, I believe, is the only way there can be.’

Such sentiments were received with unanimous support from those at the meeting and, having gone on to agree that the exchange of vows ought to be considered only by those involved, and that weddings should be held in the way each particular couple would prefer, with no requirement of religious platitudes should they not be desired, so it was that Easthope decided upon its nuptial needs. These idyllic days, this utopian time, served the community of Easthope well, bringing more parity and happiness than William had dared hope, as he drove his spade into the virgin soil for the very first time. Even, as he often said to Bridgette, the animals seemed so much more content, roaming freely upon the common ground and the fallow fields, basking in the sun, frolicking and scampering around. It truly was a paradisiacal existence, filled with partnership and camaraderie, peace and consideration, with no suggestion that there could ever be even one dark day ahead of them.

William returned to those who still remained in celebration of his daughter’s birth, sitting on the benches and the grass outside the Traveller’s Tavern, and joined them in their joviality. Still the wine and ale flowed, although it was clear that many were now flagging and that the excesses of the day, as well as the bright warmth it had bestowed upon them for many hours, was at last taking its toll. William, too, although wanting this momentous day to continue for as long as possible, was forced to admit that he was nearing defeat and that, soon, he must return home. He wondered how long Mrs Ward would be there, realising now that he had never thought to ask what the procedures were, whether he was even allowed home or if it would be better he find somewhere else to lay his head for the evening, so that he didn’t disturb mother and child. Deciding it would be best to err on the side of caution, he asked Fernsby if he might stay in the Tavern overnight, promising that he would take no further sustenance.

‘William,’ Fernsby said, himself clearly the worse for wear having been persuaded to sample each new barrel of ale, each new vat of wine before he served it to the others, ‘thee hath no need to ask. Please, make thyself at home and imbibe all that thou wouldst.’

And so William found himself a quiet place at the rear of the barn, prepared himself a bed of straw and blankets and, having laid awake for a time, reflecting on what a significant day it had been, he eventually allowed himself to be accepted by the night with such contentment in his heart and such gratitude for what he and Bridgette had received, and for the honour conferred upon them by the other villagers, that he slept as well as the baby girl across the way, who was at that moment immersed in her very first dream.