The Malacia Tapestry (12 page)

‘Let me come up with you, if I may. I like hearing you talk, and believe you have more to say, if you feel so inclined.'

‘I'm sorry, my uncle will require me to help with the work. We have two dozen damask table-cloths to be hemmed before morning.'

‘Then I'll speak to your uncle as well, for you'll surely need company. Don't look so scared, girl – I have no intention of running off with your table-cloths – shins are much more in my line.'

‘Oh, I knew there was something you wanted …' But by dint of trundling Rosa before me as if she were a new kind of battering-ram, I was moving up the stairs; Letitia had no option but to lock the door on the inside, snatch up the thumb of candle, and hasten after me.

‘Please understand, Perian, we are very poor people –'

‘Don't be ashamed, don't be ashamed, I haven't the price of a new plume myself.'

‘I'm not ashamed of being poor, Master Perian. It's the people who make us poor should be ashamed of that. My family works hard to make ends meet, and that's less of a disgrace than idleness. I am just afraid that you may have no stomach for our meagre way of life.'

‘Truth is, I find other people's poverty easier to bear than my own.'

Meagreness was indeed the keynote of the chamber into which we were emerging. As our heads rose above the level of the stairwell, a bone-bare space, most of it in gloom, came into view. The first item that caught my eye was a stretch of naked rafter overhead, with the underside of the tiles showing, and mortar bulging between tiles like fungus. On this uneven surface, like fishy shapes cast over the barred sand of a lagoon, were huge, moving shadows, projected by some people gathered round a table. This table, with its attendant seating – boxes did service for chairs – formed almost the sole furniture of the room.

Four people sat at it. Their faces were turned towards the lamp in the centre of the table; their backs were in permanent eclipse. They bent over the table as if at prayer.

A stale, sickly smell, permeating the room, made me pause. Letitia, leading Rosa, pushed past me to offer explanations to a grey-haired man who half-rose at the table, his face questioning. The others spared me only a hasty glance over one shoulder before continuing work.

Moving further into the room, I saw a round window at one end and perceived from the general disposition of the space that it had been a hay loft. Now it contained the robust old man with grey hair, with whom Letitia was conversing, a frail woman dressed in black, a girl of about Letitia's age and appearance, and a boy of about fifteen years whose dull bovine glance betrayed the mental defective. Near the stair were some scruffy mattresses laid together on the floor. A line of ragged washing hung nearby. The only beautiful thing in the room was the damask, spread on the table and forming a focus for the family's activity.

The old man, propping himself upright with the aid of a stick, made a speech of welcome. For all his years, he had a good, red countryman's face, in contrast with the pallid countenances round him – and in contrast with the scant curls on his head, two of which stuck up like white horns on either side of his brow. He said, ‘You're very welcome here, sir, though this is not the place to which I would welcome a gentleman of your standing.'

‘No, no, don't say that, please. I'm glad to know where my friend Letita lives. I can see you do indeed work hard, Letitia.'

‘She's fine at her craft, sir,' said the old man. ‘You must excuse me that an affliction in the legs prevents me rising. But we are all as cheerful as we are poor in this house, if that is not too grand a word for our loft, and we try to be grateful for our mercies.'

‘Your skill is certainly a mercy, sir, for I saw the fine shirt you made for Bonihatch.'

‘Although we make light of our troubles, our skills are exploited. If the Ottomans don't slay us all, I'm bound to make many more such shirts before I'm done for, thank you for saying what you do. But we Zlatorogs are too poor, I fancy, to provide the Turks with a target.' Here he glanced speculatively at Letitia, as if realizing that there were qualities other than wealth which might attract a marauding Ottoman.

He then proceeded to introduce me to the rest of the company: the dim boy and the girl, who were Letitia's brother and sister; and the woman in black, who was Letitia's mother. She was toothless, but she spoke to me with a grace that had clearly shaped Letitia's upbringing.

‘We were mountain farmers, sir, from the Triglav area,' she said. ‘My husband was drowned in the spring floods when I was giving birth to this dear child here –' pointing to the dull boy. ‘My brother Joze, who is a good man, and never complains of the pains in his legs, has looked after us ever since. At least we do make a living, and things are better in Malacia than in our own country.'

As she spoke, she worked on the white damask, her pallid fingers ceaseless above the cloth, every stitch as correct as a spider's strand.

‘Of course, I'd rather be out in the fields with the cows and the beehives and the hay,' said Letitia's uncle, taking up the tale. ‘But since my misfortune I've learned to stitch as beautifully as a lady, and now that we have connections in the courts, why, we do pretty well.'

‘And those court connections rob and cheat us at every turn, for all they're supposed to be so religious,' Letitia said.

‘That's the way of life, my dear,' said her uncle, turning to me to add, ‘She's rebellious, you see, like all the young.'

‘Master de Chirolo isn't rebellious,' Letitia said fiercely.

‘As I say, we do pretty well,' continued the uncle. ‘This next winter, we should be able to afford a little stove in here, to burn under the table, and that'll keep us cosy all day and every day, provided we manage about the fuel.'

His hands were big and broad and scarred; they showed dark against the faultless white of the table-cloths. Like his widowed sister's, Joze's hands moved surely as he talked, spinning a web to keep the family lives together. Noticing where my gaze rested, he said, ‘I don't consider it unmanly to do this – if it brings food to our mouths, why, then, it's man's work, isn't it? I can make almost any garment now. All it needs is to be shown once – and Letitia's the same, aren't you, love? Dress or frock coats, paletots, monkey jackets, fishing coats, benjamins, beavers, shooting coats, parade uniforms – we turn them all out without argument, if it brings in money. Our garments imitate only the best.' He gave me an ingratiating smile.

‘You are an artist, sir, in your way,' I said, since a compliment was required.

Letitia had seated herself and resumed work as soon as we came in, settling little Rosa beside her. While Rosa sucked her thumb, Letitia kept her gaze on her swift-moving fingers. Now she raised her head to give me a bold look.

‘No, we are not artists as you understand, Perian. We are sweated labour. We sit here from nine in the morning till nine every night, all days of the week, if the work's available, for a pittance.'

‘Except when you are playing Jemima in Bengtsohn's play.'

‘That grand romance earns me more in a day than would the making of a sturdy shooting coat which might last a nobleman ten years.'

‘We hope to see Letitia's performance on the slides, young sir, when Otto's finished his work,' her mother said, deflecting her daughter's complaints. ‘I'm sure her acting's capital.'

‘Oh, capital,' I said, ‘since it consists merely of standing still. And none of us ever muffs our lines, since there are no lines to muff.'

‘Still, it's a beautiful, romantic story,' said Letitia. ‘It makes me cheerful just to think of it.'

‘She's told us the whole story several times over, while we work,' said the mother.

‘We all keep very cheery here,' the uncle said, breaking a small silence, ‘and when we have made enough money we shall go back to Triglav and regain health and happiness and live like free Zlatorogs on the mountains again. Even with my affliction I can get work with a brother of mine who has a smithy.'

Whereupon he began to hum a song from a well-loved opera of Cosin's:

Oh there are mountain-sides where I may stray

Where flashing stream makes roundelay

Where every trail

Invites you, ‘Come away, away
'.

They all began to take up this refrain, even Rosa, who had gulped down the remains of her bun and was now, like the rest, lavishing attention on the damask, over which her hands scrambled like little crabs.

Edging my way round the table, I said at Letitia's left ear, ‘I see you don't care much for conversation with me, so I will make my way home. Do me the kindness, pray, to see me as far as your downstairs door.'

A glance passed between her and her mother, who nodded without interrupting the song. Letitia arose, collected the thumb-nail of candle, and awaited me at the top of the stairs. Bidding farewell to the others, I took her arm and went down with her.

‘This work's no good for you, Letty,' I said softly. ‘You should leave your family and find some interesting job that will pay better.'

‘How can I leave my own family? Trust you to say something like that! You're downright selfish, just as Bonny said you were.'

‘I bought Rosa a bun, didn't I? Don't be on the offensive all the time, or you'll get nowhere – your uncle Joze evidently understands that simple principle.'

‘Never mind him. I won't fawn as he does, if that's what you're hoping. Let me tell you, I'm a Progressive, same as Otto and his wife, and I'm proud of it.'

I held her arm. ‘Don't be a silly girl. That'll only bring you trouble, as if you haven't trouble enough. You'd help your family more by getting a better job and contributing to their income.'

‘They depend on me and I on them. I'm proud of that solidarity. Truth is, I'd be ashamed to leave them.'

‘Do you all sleep together on the floor?'

She hesitated, looking away to hide her face in the shadows. ‘There's no other place to sleep, as you've seen … A friend promises to bring a proper bed one day.'

Slipping an arm about her waist, I said, ‘Let me offer you a bed. No, come, I'm serious, Letitia. I'm not the selfish pig you think. You're a pretty spirited girl and deserve better than this. You shall have my bed and I will happily roll up on the floor in my rug. Don't protest! Call goodnight to your uncle and come away with me.'

She struggled but I held her tight until her candle dripped its wax down my jacket.

‘You would exploit my situation, too! I know what you're after. I've seen the looks you give Armida – yes, and the way you sneak away with the little bitch, don't you worry, Master de Chirolo!'

‘I won't have you say a word against Armida. That's just jealousy speaking. Leave her out of this. I'm making you a proper invitation.'

‘Well, then, you shan't have from me what you get so easily from her, and that's my proper answer!'

Rubbing my nose in her hair – which proved none too sweet-smelling – I said, ‘Now, enough of that. I only offered you a comfortable bed. A little pleasure would be good for you – anyone can see that you aren't properly appreciated here, except as a work-hand. We could have much more fun together, hurting nobody. Come, don't be shy, really I won't hurt you. Besides, dear Letty, you aren't a virgin, are you?'

She twisted her head away from me, turning it into the darkness again.

‘Let me go.'

‘Come with me, just tonight. You shall sleep in bed alone, that I promise. You're no virgin, are you?'

Still looking away, blushing, she said, ‘Only rich girls like Armida can afford the luxury of virtue. Isn't that it?'

‘So it's a luxury, is it? Well, you're obviously not used to luxuries. Most girls I know think it a penance.'

She pulled herself away from me. ‘Go home, Perian. Find someone else – I'm sure it's easy for you. I must work for a few more hours yet.'

‘I only tried to do you a favour – I don't imagine you enjoy sleeping on the same mattress as your mother and your crippled uncle, however cheerful they may be. Not to mention the kids. But I want to ask you a favour, then perhaps you'll feel better.'

While I was talking, I was working closer to her again, wondering if a hand slipped up her skirt might not be more effective than reasoning.

‘What do you want?'

‘Letitia, I've seen how deft your fingers are. Make me a splendid shirt for my General Gerald, like the one you made for Bonihatch but a little grander …'

She pushed my hand away. ‘Bonny told you the price of those shirts. We'll gladly make you one up if we are paid.'

‘Paid! By the holy bones, Letitia! Am I not your friend? Did I offer to charge you for my bed? Can't you just give a friend a shirt? You know I'm pretty well as poor as you, so don't be mercenary.'

‘… It isn't possible …'

‘Nothing's possible with you, it seems. Save your miserable wick – I'm off.'

And with ruffled feelings I made her unlock the door and escaped into the dark court.

With the Turkish emergency, more people than usual were about in the streets. I passed several files of pikemen on the march, and a line of cavalry; but I spoke to nobody, and soon climbed the stairs to my lonely billet in the Street of the Wood Carvers.

The next day was a Friday, when I was due to pay a weekly visit to Seemly Moleskin, the family astrologer. Before I dressed, and as I was giving my amulet its daily polish, the Ottomans outside the city began a bombardment.

I heard a cannon-ball crash somewhere not far distant; later, when I was on the streets, people I spoke to said that the damage was negligible, and the barrage soon stopped.

It may have been that they were aiming for a ship newly arrived up the river, which brought a detachment of heavy cavalry to the aid of Malacia. This was a gesture from the Duke of Tuscady, an ally of Bishop Gondale IX. I went by the Satsuma to see the horses being off-loaded, and the cavalrymen talking to their mounts as to old friends.