Heartstone

by C. J. Sansom

  ‘It reminded you of the woman by the roadside in France with the dead baby?’

  His blue eyes had that staring look again. ‘The strange thing is I didn’t think much of it at the time. I saw so many things. But afterwards she and that dead baby would suddenly jump into my mind’s eye. Let us change the subject,’ he said wearily. ‘It does me no good to dwell on it.’

  ‘What do you know of Master West? Thank you for finding him so quickly, by the way.’

  ‘We in the army are making it our business to find out about the ships’ officers; we may be serving under them.’ He looked at me seriously. ‘What is this about, Matthew?’

  I hesitated. ‘A private matter. Legal.’

  ‘Well, I am told West is an experienced officer, stern but fair with those under him. When the French come he will have the hardest test of his life before him.’ Leacon looked at me. ‘Is this a question affecting his abilities as an officer? If it is, I should know.’

  ‘No, George, it is not.’

  Leacon nodded, relieved.

  WE HAD RETURNED to the open area in front of the Square Tower. We walked on to a gatehouse giving entrance to the walled Godshouse. A cart full of crates of cackling geese was going in, watched by soldiers with halberds who stood guard. Leacon walked across to them.

  ‘Is the meeting of ships’ officers still going on?’ he asked one.

  ‘Yes, sir. They’ve been in a while.’

  ‘This gentleman has a message for one of the officers.’

  The guard looked at my lawyer’s robe. ‘Is it urgent, sir?’

  ‘We can wait till they are finished.’

  The man nodded. ‘They’re meeting in the great chamber.’

  We passed into the enclosure. Inside was a wide yard, dominated by a large Norman church surrounded by a jumble of tall buildings. At the rear of the complex what had once been a garden was now full of animals in pens – pigs, cows and sheep.

  ‘I’ll go across to the great chamber,’ Leacon said. ‘Leave a message that someone wants to speak to Master West after the meeting. See, there are some benches by the garden, I’ll tell the clerk you’ll wait there.’

  He walked away to the largest building, and I went over to some stone benches set in the shade of the wall. I guessed they had been built for patients and visitors to rest on and look at the garden. It was not a restful place now. The cartload of geese was being unloaded, the geese hissing and cackling as they were carried into a penned-off area. Nearby some large wicker baskets had been piled up. The brightly coloured heads of fighting cocks, brought no doubt for the soldiers’ entertainment, stared out angrily.

  A few minutes later Leacon marched back across the yard. He sat down beside me, took off his helmet with relief, and ran a hand through his blond curls. ‘I’ve got those damned lice,’ he said. ‘This hair comes off today. Well, I’ve left the message. ‘Look for Master West when they come out. I am told he is a tall grey-bearded man.’

  ‘Grey-bearded already? He can’t be much past forty.’

  ‘He may be greyer yet before this is done.’

  ‘What do you think will happen?’ I asked quietly.

  ‘It could be bad, Matthew. You’ve seen the fleet?’

  ‘Ay. I never saw such a sight, even at York. Those great ships. We saw a huge galley rowing in earlier. The Galley Subtle, Hugh Curteys called it.’

  ‘The boy who shot so well? He was remarkable. Yes, I heard the Galley Subtle was coming in. Much good it will do against the twenty-two Lord Lisle has reported the French have. Equipped with powerful cannon and rowed by slaves experienced in Mediterranean fighting. If they get in close, they could sink our big ships before they can fire on them. Our galleasses are clumsy in comparison. And the French have over two hundred warships; even if our ships get close enough to grapple with theirs we are greatly outnumbered. There was word today of our company going on the Great Harry, but nothing is certain. In some ways that would be good, for it is one of the few of our ships which is taller than the French ones. If our archers are up in the castles we would be able to fire down on their decks. Though if they have netting we would have to shoot through that.’

  ‘I saw what looked like netting on top of the Mary Rose aftercastle as we arrived.’

  ‘All the big warships have netting secured across the tops of their decks to stop boarders. If the ships grappled together, and French soldiers tried to clamber onto our decks, they would be caught on top of the netting. There will be pikemen positioned below the netting to stab up at them before they can cut through it with their knives.’ He looked at me. ‘It will be hard and brutal fighting if the warships do grapple.’

  ‘Hugh said the guns in the forts will stop the French getting into Portsmouth Haven.’

  ‘If the French manage to disable our fleet, the French galleys could land men on the Portsea coast. That’s why there are so many soldiers posted along there. And if the French have thirty thousand men – well, we have maybe six thousand soldiers, many of them foreign mercenaries. Nobody knows how the militia will do. They are stout-hearted but little trained. The fear is that the French may land somewhere on Portsea Island and cut it off from the mainland. The King himself could end besieged in Portsmouth. You’ve seen they’re preparing for a siege.’

  ‘Is it really so bad?’

  ‘Chance will play a big part. In a sea battle all depends on the winds, which the sailors say are unpredictable here. That could make or mar us.’ He paused. ‘My advice to you is to get away as soon as you can.’

  I thought of Rich. ‘Someone else gave me that advice earlier today.’

  ‘There could be hard fighting on the beaches.’

  ‘Do you think you will go there or on the ships in the end?’

  ‘I don’t know. But either way my men and I will fight to protect the people. Do not doubt it.’

  ‘I don’t. Not for a moment.’ Leacon had placed his hands on his knees and I saw one was trembling again. He made a fist of it.

  ‘Pray God it does not come to that,’ I said quietly.

  ‘Amen.’ He looked at me. ‘You have changed much since York, Matthew. You seem to have a weight of anxiety and sadness in you.’

  ‘Do I?’ I sighed heavily. ‘Well, perhaps I have reason. Four years ago I drowned a man. Then two years after that I was nearly drowned myself, shut in a sewer with a madman. Since then – ’ I hesitated. ‘I am used to the Thames, George, but the sea – I haven’t seen it since I sailed back from Yorkshire. It seems so vast, I confess it frightens me.’

  ‘You are no longer young, Matthew,’ he said gently. ‘You are well past forty now.’

  ‘Yes, my hair has grey well mingled with the black.’

  ‘You should marry, settle down, have a quiet life.’

  ‘There was one I would have married, a while ago, the widow of a friend. She lives in Bristol now. She writes from time to time. She is my age and in her last letter said she will soon be a grandmother. So yes, I begin to grow old.’

  The sound of voices from the infirmary made us look up. In the doorway men in bright doublets were buckling on swords. Servants were leading horses round from the outhouses. Leacon stood. ‘I will leave you now. I will see you back at camp. Take care.’ He laid a hand on my shoulder, then turned and walked away to the gates. I watched him go, with his soldier’s straight back and long stride.

  OUTSIDE THE infirmary two men were arguing, surrounded by a group of interested onlookers. One was tall and grey bearded, well dressed and with a sword at his waist; the other wore a clerk’s robe. I heard the tall man shout, his voice carrying. ‘I tell you, with three hundred soldiers as well as two hundred sailors and all those cannon she’ll be overloaded! And what about the weight of all the supplies, if we’re victualled for five hundred?’ The clerk said something in reply. ‘Nonsense,’ the grey-bearded man shouted. The clerk shrugged and walked away. The other man detached himself from the group and marched across to where I sat. As he came close I saw Philip
West was not only grey but half-bald. He wore a short jacket and a high-collared doublet with satin buttons, his shirt collar raised to make a little ruff in the new fashion. He halted before me. His tanned, weathered face was deeply lined, his expression strained. He gave me a puzzled frown. ‘Is it you left a message for me?’ he asked in a deep voice.

  I rose stiffly. ‘Yes, sir, if you are Master West.’

  ‘I am Philip West, assistant purser on the Mary Rose. What does a lawyer want with me?’

  I bowed. ‘I am Serjeant Matthew Shardlake. I regret to trouble you now, sir, but I am trying to trace someone. For a client.’ I studied West’s face. If he was around forty now he had aged far beyond his years. His small, deep-set brown eyes were searching, his whole bearing that of a man burdened with responsibility.

  ‘Who do you seek? Quick, man, I have little time.’

  I took a deep breath. ‘A woman from Rolfswood. Ellen Fettiplace.’

  West’s shoulders sank, as though I had placed a final, unbearable burden upon them. ‘Ellen?’ he said quietly. ‘What is this? I have not heard of her in nineteen years. Then two days ago I saw Priddis riding in the town, or what is left of him. And now you come.’

  ‘I have a client who is seeking relatives; he heard there was a family called Fettiplace in Rolfswood. I have come to Hampshire on business and I called in there.’

  West was looking at me intently now. ‘So you do not know whether she is still alive?’

  I hesitated. ‘No.’ I felt as though each lie was drawing me further into a bog. ‘Only that after the accident her reason was affected, and she was taken away to London.’

  ‘Then you have come to me with this, now, for no other reason than someone’s fool curiosity?’ West’s voice rose in anger.

  ‘My client, I am sure, would help Ellen if he knew where she was.’

  ‘And he is called Fettiplace? Does he not know others of that name in London? Does he know nothing of her?’ He frowned, his eyes searching me hard.

  ‘No, sir. That is why he seeks relatives.’

  West sat down on the bench I had vacated, looked away and shook his head a couple of times as though trying to clear it. When he spoke again his tone had changed completely. ‘Ellen Fettiplace was the love of my life,’ he said with quiet intensity. ‘I was going to ask her to marry me, despite – ’ He did not finish the sentence. ‘On the day of the fire I rode over from Petworth to tell her father my intentions. I was with the King’s court, which was on summer Progress at Petworth. Master Fettiplace said he would support the match if Ellen agreed. I had asked him to meet me in private, Ellen was not present. He agreed to the match. Duties meant I had to ride back to Petworth that night, but I planned to travel back and see her two days later, make my proposal. It is not a thing one wants to rush.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But next day a message arrived at Petworth from the curate, telling me about the fire and that Master Fettiplace was dead.’

  ‘Reverend Seckford? I spoke with him when I went to Rolfswood.’

  ‘Then he will have told you Ellen refused to see me after the fire?’

  ‘Yes. Or anyone else. I am sorry.’

  West seemed to want to talk. ‘Ellen liked me, I knew that. But I was not sure she would have me. She would not want to lose her precious independence. Her father allowed her too much.’ He hesitated a long moment, then said, looking at me with haunted eyes that reminded me of Leacon, ‘She was – wilful. She needed someone to master her properly.’ He spoke with a sort of desperate sincerity.

  ‘You think women should be mastered?’

  Anger flared in West’s face again. ‘You presume, sir.’

  ‘I apologize.’

  He continued quietly, ‘What happened to her, it broke me. I never saw her again. So I went to sea. Is that not what men do when their hearts are broken?’ He gave a humourless smile, a rictus showing strong white teeth that seemed to split his brown face in two. He collected himself. ‘Your friend should leave this be. Ellen was taken away to London, she may be dead by now.’

  ‘I know Sir Quintin Priddis conducted the inquest, and afterwards arranged for her to be taken away. In fact I have business with him, in his capacity as feodary of Hampshire.’

  ‘Have you spoken with him about this?’ West asked sharply.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then I advise you not to, and to tell your friend to leave this alone. There were things about that fire it is better not to go into, especially after all this time. Priddis did right: it was better Ellen was taken away.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  He did not answer directly. ‘How much did Seckford tell you about Ellen?’

  ‘He told me her father indulged her, yes, but also that she was good and loving before the fire.’

  ‘People outside families often do not see what goes on behind closed doors.’

  I thought of the Hobbeys. ‘That is true.’

  West clasped his hands together, began wringing them slowly. ‘Ellen was a woman of fierce moods and passions. She used to throw pots and vases at her father when she was angry.’ He hesitated again. ‘There were other things she did, too, that I learned of later.’

  I felt a chill run down my back. ‘What things?’

  ‘When she was younger, if she was angry, she used to set fires sometimes out in the woods. One of my family’s servants told me about it after the foundry fire – he knew one of the foresters.’ West closed his eyes. ‘So you see, sir, though I loved her I knew it was important she be not indulged too much. I can prove nothing, but I think that night when Master Fettiplace told Ellen of my proposal she became angry, and something happened. I do not know what.’

  ‘You mean Ellen set that fire, killed two people?’ I asked incredulously. ‘How could a woman alone have done that?’

  ‘God’s death, sir, how should I know? I have never been able to puzzle it out. But two men died. So tell your friend to leave this matter alone. There are no more Fettiplaces in Rolfswood. Now leave me to try and save this country from invasion.’

  West stood abruptly, gave me a final hard look, then turned and marched back to the infirmary building. Everyone else was gone now save for a groom who stood silently waiting, holding the reins of a horse. I stayed on the bench, my mind in turmoil.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  I RODE BACK through Portsmouth with a head full of dark thoughts. It had never occurred to me that Ellen herself might have started the fire. Could West’s hints be true? I had not liked him, he had a harshness and bitterness in him, but clearly whatever happened at Rolfswood had weighed hard on him ever since. My heart sank further as I remembered Ellen’s words: He burned! The poor man, he was all on fire – I saw his skin melt, turn black and crack! That could be consistent with her causing the fire. But it did not prove it. And there were her other words: They were so strong! I could not move! The sky above – it was so wide – so wide it could swallow me! I remembered Reverend Seckford saying she had had a torn dress, grass stuck to it.

  I was drawn back to the present by angry shouts in front of me. A dozen men, barefoot in the dusty street, sailors perhaps, had stepped into the road and were shouting insults at four foreigners passing on the other side of the street. They were barefoot too, dressed in patched, worn shirts and jerkins. A carter behind me pulled up sharply to avoid hitting the Englishmen.

  ‘Fucking Spanish dogs!’ one shouted. ‘Can’t that ape Emperor Charles even give you decent clothes?’

  ‘Why should we serve with dirty papists? You’re from that bunch shipwrecked in Devon last winter, ain’t you, that the King took into service? You couldn’t even sail a fucking ship properly!’

  The four Spaniards had halted. They glared back at their tormentors, and one of their number stepped into the road facing the Englishmen. ‘Cabrón!’ he shouted angrily. ‘You think we wan’ serve on your ships! Our capitánes make us!’

  ‘Cappytanis! What’s a fucking cappytanis?’

  �
��I fight with Cortés in the New World!’ the Spaniard shouted, ‘Against the Mexica! Heathen dogs like you!’

  Both groups were reaching for their knives now. Then half a dozen soldiers in half-armour, the corner guards, appeared and stepped between the two groups, swords drawn.

  ‘Enough! You’re blocking the King’s highway!’

  Casting fierce looks at each other, the two groups moved on. The soldiers waved the traffic back into motion.

  I was now almost parallel with the Guildhall. Two men stood talking animatedly outside, both in lawyers’ gowns, the elder resting his weight on a stick. Sir Quintin and Edward Priddis. I was not close enough to hear them, but Edward’s expression was worried, a far cry from his air of cold superiority at our meeting. His father seemed to be trying to reassure him. Edward saw me and fell silent at once. I made a bow from the saddle. They bowed back, coldly and formally.

  I RODE THROUGH the city gate to the camp. The smell of urine and ordure seemed stronger than ever. A queue waited outside a barber’s tent; the men who came out were close shaved, their hair cropped. Nearby a group had formed a ring around two soldiers, stripped to the waist, who were wrestling. I saw Barak among those watching, standing beside Carswell. Both had been shaved and Carswell’s hair was cut to a short fuzz like Hugh and David’s. I dismounted and led the horse over to them.

  ‘What did this West have to say?’ Barak asked curtly. I could tell he was still angry with me.

  ‘Something that shook me. I’ll tell you later.’ I turned to Carswell. ‘We should return to Hoyland now. I would like to say farewell to Captain Leacon. Do you know where he is?’