Dissolution

I passed an encampment on a snowy piece of waste ground, where a group of workless men had made a camp. Presumably they had lighted here in the hope of finding casual labour at the docks; they had built a lean-to from pieces of driftwood and sacking and sat huddled round a fire. They gave me unfriendly looks as I passed, and a thin yellow cur ran from the camp and barked at the nag. She tossed her head and neighed, and one of the men called the dog to heel. I rode away quickly, patting the horse until she calmed.

We were down at the riverside; ships were drawn up and men were busy unloading. One or two were as dark as Brother Guy. I brought the nag to a halt. Directly ahead a great ocean-going carrack was drawn up at the quay, its square prow ornamented with an obscenely grinning naked mermaid. Men were hauling crates and boxes from the hold; I wondered from what far reach of the round globe it had come. Looking up at the great masts and the mesh of rigging I was surprised to see mist curling round the crow's nest. Wreaths of fog, I now saw, were floating up the river and I could feel distinctly warmer air.

The nag was showing signs of anxiety again and I turned and headed slowly back towards the City, through a street of storehouses. Then I paused. An extraordinary babel of noise was coming from one of the wooden buildings; screeches and yells and a host of voices in strange tongues. It was bizarre, hearing those unearthly sounds in the misty air. Overcome with curiosity, I tied the nag to a post and went across to the warehouse, from which a sharp smell issued.

The open door showed a dreadful sight. The warehouses was full of birds, in three great iron cages each as tall as a man. They were birds such as the old woman had had, which Pepper had reminded me of. There were hundreds of them, of all sizes and innumerable colours: red and green, golden and blue and yellow. They were in the most miserable state: all had had their wings cut, some right to the bone and badly done too, so that the mutilated ends were covered with raw sores; many were diseased, with half their feathers gone, scabs on their bodies and eyes surrounded with pus. For every one that clung with its claws to the sides of the cages another lay dead on the floor among great heaps of powdery droppings. The worst thing was their shrieking; some of the poor birds simply made harsh piteous cries as though appealing for an end to their suffering, but others cried out over and again in a variety of tongues; I heard words in Latin, in English, in languages I did not understand. Two of them, clinging upside down to the bars, shrieked at each other, one calling out 'A fair wind', over and again, while the other answered 'Maria, mater dolorosa' in the accent of a Devon man.

I stood, transfixed by the horrible scene, until I was interrupted by a rough hand on my shoulder. I turned to find a sailor dressed in a greasy jerkin eyeing me suspiciously.

'What business have you here?' he asked sharply. 'If ye've come to trade ye should go to Master Fold's rooms.'

'No – no, I was passing, I heard the noise and wondered what it was.'

He grinned. 'The Tower of Babel, eh, sir? Voices possessed by the spirit and speaking in tongues? Nay, just more of these birds the gentry all want now for playthings.'

'They are in a most pitiful state.'

'There's plenty more where they came from. Some always die on the voyage. More will die from the cold, they're weak brutes. Pretty though, ain't they?'

'Where did you get them?'

'The isle of Madeira. There's a Portuguese merchant there, he's realized there's a market in Europe for them. You should see some of the things he buys and sells, sir; why he ships boatloads of black Negroes from Africa as slaves for the Brazil colonists.' He laughed, showing gold-capped teeth.

I felt a desperate urge to escape from the chill, fetid air of the warehouse. I excused myself and rode away. The harsh cries of the birds, their unearthly simulacra of human speech, followed me down the muddy street.

***

I rode back under the City wall into a London suddenly grey and foggy, full of the sound of water dripping from melting icicles on the house eaves. I halted the nag outside a church. I normally attended church at least once a week, but had not been to a service for over ten days. I was in need of spiritual comfort; I dismounted and went inside.

It was one of those rich City churches attended by merchants. Many London merchants were reformers now and there were no candles. The figures of saints on the rood screen had been painted over and replaced by a biblical verse:

The Lord knoweth how to deliver the godly out of temptations, and to reserve the unjust unto the day of judgement to be punished.