by C. J. Sansom
‘Is the King there?’
‘I heard he went to South Sea Castle to watch the battle. I saw him when he landed – Christ, it took eight men to get him up the steps. Listen, can you get me out of here? Off the island?’
‘No, Sulyard, I can’t. I told you, I am going into Portsmouth.’
He scowled, then gave me a leering wink. ‘You like the boy, eh?’
I sighed. ‘Is there anything else I can do for you?’
‘No. You’ve brought us enough bad luck.’
MY ONLY CHANCE now was to try and find the quartermaster. As I had told Hobbey, I planned to say Emma was a young woman driven by patriotism to impersonate a man and join up – I had heard tavern tales of such things. But I feared she could already have been rushed on board the Great Harry.
I rode past the town walls where the royal tents stood behind the long shallow pond, the Great Morass. There were over thirty of them, each as large as a small house, the heavy fabric woven in the vibrant colours I remembered from York. The largest and most spectacular, heavily guarded, with elaborate designs and threaded with cloth of gold and silver, would be the King’s tent. Soldiers and officials bustled to and fro. From all the tents the flags of England and the Tudor dynasty hung listlessly. I thought, it will be starting to get dark soon, ships do not fight in the dark. That will be the time to get Emma off the Great Harry.
On the seaward side of the pond the sandy, scrubby ground was alive with hundreds of soldiers. Companies had been joined together to form groups of several hundred, the captains patrolling in front on horseback. Nearby a troop of perhaps three hundred pikemen stood at attention, their weapons rising fifteen feet into the air; if the French attempted a coastal landing they would charge them on the beach. Somewhere a drum beat softly, regularly. All along the coastline more groups of pikemen and halberdiers stood ready. There were only a few archers at the front of each group, most would be out on the ships.
At the shore the ground shelved upwards to a little bank, blocking my view of the sea. Cannon were being set up along the top, and men were digging holes and fixing in pointed wooden stakes, angled to point seaward. I saw yet more cannon being dragged across. Ahead of me was the bulk of the new South Sea Castle, a solid, heavy square with wide-angled bastions. It bristled with cannon, as did a smaller fort a little way along the coast. On the tower at the top I saw a group of brightly coloured figures, the one at the centre far larger than the others. The King, watching what was happening out at sea.
There was a tremendous crashing roar, and smoke rose from South Sea Castle as a battery of cannon fired, presumably at the French galleys. Cheers sounded from the soldiers standing on top of the bank, so perhaps one was hit. I remembered Leacon saying the biggest cannon could hit a target over a mile away.
I turned aside, realizing my legs were shaking. Again I fought an overwhelming urge to turn back. I thought of Barak, no doubt still riding northward, and thanked God I had insisted he go. Then I set my jaw and rode on slowly towards the royal encampment. The sun was beginning to sink towards the horizon.
I was a hundred yards from the nearest tent when a soldier stepped in front of me, halberd raised. I halted. ‘What do you want, sir?’ the man asked roughly.
‘I need to speak to someone in the army quartermaster’s office. The matter is urgent. My name is Serjeant Matthew Shardlake, of Lincoln’s Inn.’
‘Wait here.’ As at Portchester – had my meeting with the Queen really been only a few hours ago? – I was left waiting as the soldier disappeared among the tents. I looked over at South Sea Castle; the cluster of bright figures still stood looking out to sea. I heard distant cannonfire from out on the water; no doubt the French galleys firing on our ships; I shuddered at the thought of the huge target the Great Harry would make. The Mary Rose, too, where Philip West would be.
Two captains in half-armour emerged from the nearest tents. They passed me, talking fast and excitedly. ‘Why has d’Annebault brought so few galleys forward? Most are still by the Wight shore – ’
The soldier reappeared, a second beside him, walking fast towards me. He came up to me and spoke, this time in a respectful tone. ‘You’re to come with me, sir. This fellow will take care of your horse.’ The second soldier placed a mounting block beside Oddleg for me to descend. I felt a wave of relief; I had doubted a busy official would find the time to see me.
I dismounted. ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘I will take but a little of his time.’
The soldier nodded and led me away to the tents. Some tent flaps were closed, but where they were open I saw soldiers and officials sitting at trestle tables, talking animatedly. I was led to a large conical tent in the centre of the encampment, cream-coloured with blue patterning at the top, the flap half-closed. The soldier ushered me in with a wave of his arm.
In the dimness inside a man sat at a trestle table, his head bent over papers. A bell and a sconce of candles stood on the table. The man was well dressed, his doublet green silk.
I took off my cap. ‘Thank you for seeing me, Master Quartermaster,’ I said. ‘I crave—’ Then, as the man raised his head, I broke off abruptly.
Richard Rich smiled. ‘Good,’ he said quietly, satisfaction in his voice. ‘Welcome to my working quarters. So you came for the boy. Or, I should say, the girl. I thought you might.’
I stared at him. ‘Where is Emma?’
He smiled, again showing his sharp little teeth. ‘Quite safe, for now. She is with Captain Leacon’s company, who are now under the trusted care of Master Philip West. On the Mary Rose. And now, Master Shardlake, I think we must have a proper talk.’
Chapter Forty-four
STOOLS WERE SET in front of the trestle table; Rich motioned me to sit. Then he leaned forward, linked his small, manicured hands together, and rested his chin on them. His sleeves rustled. His expression was childishly mocking, though his grey eyes were cold and hard.
‘I hear the French galleys have retreated,’ he said conversationally. ‘My servant just brought me word. I think today has just been a skirmish before the main battle.’ His tone was still smoothly pleasant. ‘Though tomorrow it may be a different matter.’
‘I hear our guns can keep them out of Portsmouth Haven.’
‘Yes. But if they were to bottle our fleet up there – which perhaps is what they sought to do today – or sink it, they could use their galleys to make a landing on Portsea Island. You will have seen the cannon being dragged up, and the stakes set in the ground to protect the archers.’ He paused and held my gaze a moment. ‘Well, then there may be a great fight. Perhaps right out there on the seafront.’ He nodded towards the tent flap. I did not reply. I thought, let him talk, see what he reveals. Does he know how much I have guessed? He must do, or he would not have had me brought here. The skin under Rich’s eye twitched and I realized just how much he was on edge.
‘To business,’ he said abruptly. ‘That girl, eh? Coming here and enlisting as a boy. What a strange thing to do.’
‘You know Hugh Curteys is really Emma?’
‘Yes. Though only since yesterday, when my old associate Sir Quintin Priddis told me, just before I came out to you at the Guildhall. He told me because he was afraid you had discovered it. He is implicated in the fraud.’
‘I know.’
‘When did you find out?’
‘Today. It was my unmasking her that sent Emma Curteys fleeing to Portsmouth. She had always wanted to enlist. Now she has nothing to lose.’
Rich inclined his head, like a predatory bird. ‘Only today, Master Shardlake? I would have thought you would have ferreted that amusing fact out before. I have overestimated you.’ He thought a few seconds. ‘I imagine young Curteys is another of those people you try to do good works for, hey? Like Elizabeth Wentworth when we first met, or old Master Wrenne in York?’
‘If you know Hugh Curteys is really Emma, why have you let her on board the Mary Rose?’
He smiled. ‘It was an opportunity, Brother Shardlak
e. I spend my life watching for opportunities. That is why I am a privy councillor. With my responsibilities for supply I see the daily reports on manpower; how many men have deserted, or fallen ill, how many new ones have come forward. Two hours ago I was brought this.’ He flicked a finger through the documents on his desk, then pulled out a list and passed it to me. A name leaped out at me. Hugh Curteys, 18 yrs, Hoyland. Company of Sir Franklin Giffard.
‘You may imagine,’ Rich said, ‘how my eyes widened too at that name. And knowing from Priddis that he – or rather she – was one of your protégées, I wondered whether you might follow her. Had you not, I was not sure what to do with you. Since you ignored my first warning from the apprentices.’ His tone had turned vicious. ‘If you had some fatal accident your friend Barak would be on the case, and no doubt involve your patron the Queen. You have to watch Catherine Parr, she is no fool.’ His eye twitched again. ‘But now, I think, we may come to an agreement. That is why, though I knew Emma Curteys’ true identity, I allowed her to enlist.’
‘You will use her to make a bargain with me.’
Rich leaned forward. ‘After seeing the list I rode straight into Portsmouth. The French fleet had appeared, the King had left the Great Harry, soldiers were milling around, waiting to go on the ships. Some of the senior officers had come ashore to ensure every ship got its correct complement, including Philip West.’ He looked at me.
‘Yes,’ I said quietly. ‘West.’
‘Your friend Captain Leacon’s archers were due to go on the Great Harry, but I spoke to West and arranged for them to go with him on the Mary Rose instead. So he can keep an eye on Emma Curteys for me. Then I came back here to see if you would follow her. She matters nothing to me, of course, she never did. Those corner boys I set to attack you failed to make themselves clear. For which they were punished.’ His icy eyes stared into mine. ‘The case you were meant to drop was not Hugh Curteys’. It was the other one my agent, Master Mylling of the Court of Wards, told me you had been enquiring about.’
‘Ellen Fettiplace,’ I said heavily. ‘That is your connection to West. It was you with him at Rolfswood nineteen years ago.’
Rich leaned back in his chair again. His face was impassive now. ‘So you know.’
‘When I realized you had no connection to the Curteys case, I knew it had to be that.’
‘Who else knows?’ he asked abruptly.
‘Barak,’ I lied. ‘And I have sent him back to London.’
Rich sat, considering. Then a voice called from outside, ‘Sir?’
A spasm of annoyance crossed Rich’s face. ‘Come in, Colin,’ he said heavily.
The door opened and a large, heavy-faced young man, the letters RR emblazoned on his tunic, entered with a taper. Rich gestured to the sconce, and the servant lit the candles, illuminating the tent with yellow light. ‘What news?’ Rich asked.
‘The French have gone.’
‘The soldiers will stay on board tonight?’
‘Yes, sir. They must be ready to engage the French at first light if need be. Sir, a messenger came. The Privy Council is meeting in the King’s tent in an hour.’
‘God’s death,’ Rich snapped, ‘why didn’t you tell me immediately you came in?’
The man reddened. ‘I—’
‘Messages from the Privy Council must be conveyed at once – how many times have I told you? Get out,’ Rich snapped. ‘But stay near enough to hear if I ring my bell for you.’
‘Yes sir.’ He bowed and left. Rich shook his head. ‘Peel is a dolt,’ he said, ‘but it can be useful sometimes to have people around who understand little, and who fear you.’ He composed his features into that superior, contemptuous smile again. I saw it cost him an effort.
‘Now, Brother Shardlake, let me tell you what I propose. A letter from me to Philip West will get you on the Mary Rose. Then you can tell your friend Leacon that the boy he recruited today is a girl, and bring her back. My servant will get a boat to row you there and back. In return, you will say nothing to anybody about what happened at Rolfswood nineteen years ago. It is Philip West, by the way, who has been paying Ellen Fettiplace’s fees at the Bedlam all these years.’
‘I guessed that.’
‘You can take over responsibility for payment yourself if you like, I don’t care.’
‘You have left her safe all this time? If she had ever talked about the rape—’
‘She never knew my name. And West has always threatened to tell the whole story if anything happened to her.’ Rich’s eye twitched again and he blinked angrily. ‘Well, Brother Shardlake, what do you say? There will likely be a battle tomorrow, next day at the latest.’
‘I need to know the whole story,’ I answered steadily. I needed time to think, too.
‘Do we really have to go into that?’ he snapped impatiently.
‘I do,’ I answered. ‘West’s mother told me of the letter he carried from the King to Anne Boleyn that day.’
‘He told me she had. Stupid old mare.’
‘And I want to know what happened at that foundry.’ I needed to know if Ellen had played any part in the deaths of her father and Gratwyck.
Rich’s eyes narrowed.
‘You must have been near thirty then,’ I said. ‘Much older than West. From what he said it was only a junior official that accompanied him.’
‘I was junior then. Despite my striving, despite my attempts to get the patronage of Thomas More, I had advanced only to a lowly position working for the King’s chamberlain.’ He smiled, an odd smile. ‘Do you believe in fortune, Master Shardlake? Fate?’
‘No.’
‘I like to gamble. The world is like the cards. You wait for a run of luck, then when you have it you use your skill to increase it. What happened with that letter began the run of luck that has led me on to the Privy Council.’
‘How did you know what it contained?’
‘I didn’t.’ He laughed. ‘I wouldn’t have dared touch it if I had. I thought it was just a matter of old Queen Catherine nosing out how long the King’s affair with Anne Boleyn might last. Ridiculous old creature, you should have seen her then. Waddling around with her rosary, fat and shapeless from carrying all those children that died. I had put much effort into getting to know anyone I could at court, and had made friends with an elderly maid-in-waiting in the Queen’s household, one of those wonderful old gossips who knows what everyone is doing. I told her I was a loyal servant of the Queen, someone who did not like to see her disgraced by the Boleyn, and so on.’ He smiled at his cleverness. ‘She told Queen Catherine, and through her it was suggested that I cultivate West; the Queen knew he sometimes carried letters to Anne Boleyn. Then she suggested that I intercept this one. Queen Catherine’s spies in the King’s household must have told her it contained something important. So I arranged to accompany Philip West to Rolfswood.’
‘How did you get hold of the letter?’
‘It is enough for you to know that I did.’
‘No, Sir Richard, if we are to make a bargain I must know everything. Remember, Barak is on the road to London even now.’
Rich set his narrow lips. ‘You have met Philip West. He is a man dominated by his passions, even more when he was younger. And like many who think themselves honourable fellows, what really matters to him is his dignity. His reputation, his vanity. What his mother thinks of him.’ He wrinkled his sharp nose in contempt. ‘I rode to Rolfswood with him that day, and waited at an inn nearby while he went to propose marriage to Ellen Fettiplace.’
‘I thought there was a fight, and that he had not intended to propose to her that day, just talk to her father.’
‘No, no. That was a lie he made up for his parents.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘He had quite a passion for the woman. She was no great beauty but there it is.’ He paused. ‘Ah, you mind my saying that. Perhaps you have a liking for this Ellen, too.’
‘No. I do not.’
Rich shrugged. ‘Well, Philip West was convinced she wou
ld accept him, he thought someone of his station would be a good catch for her. But when he returned he told me that she had said no; she did not love him. He was furious, outraged, humiliated. Ranting like a demon in a play. I listened to him maundering on, encouraged him to get more and more drunk in case it gave me a chance to take the letter, but his hand kept going to his shirt where he kept it. He was not going to forget it. Not unless something dramatic happened to distract him. In the end he decided to ride back to Petworth. We had just started out on the road when my second good card turned up. Ellen Fettiplace herself.’
It was warm in the tent, but I felt cold. A moth flew in from a gap somewhere and began fluttering round the candles. I remembered Dyrick slamming his arm down on the moth at Hoyland. Rich ignored it. ‘What does Ellen Fettiplace mean to you?’ he asked. ‘Are you sure she is just another of your waifs and strays, not something more?’
‘No,’ I answered sadly. ‘Nothing more.’
He looked at me hard. ‘She has been a worry to me for years.’ His eye gave a little twitch again. ‘Do you really need me to go on?’
‘Yes, Sir Richard. If we are to bargain, I must know everything that happened to Ellen. And to her father, and his worker.’
‘I can deny this conversation ever happened, you realize that. There are no witnesses.’
‘Of course.’
He frowned, then continued in clipped tones. ‘The girl saw us riding towards her and stopped. West’s face frightened her, I think. Then I said to him, have her anyway, there’s no one else around. He said that by damnation he would. He was too drunk to think of consequences. I had to help him unbuckle his sword – as gentlemen, we both wore swords – then help him off his horse. I thought the girl would run but she stood there with her mouth open as we ran over and seized her. West had his way. I helped hold her down, and while he was on her I took the letter. He did not notice, he was inside her by then, and the girl was beating and clawing at him. I’m surprised he was able to do it, he was very drunk. I took the letter and ran. Unfortunately I had to leave my horse.’