by C. J. Sansom
'And feared corrupt dealing being exposed, and so tried to frighten you off?'
'They would not then know I had the Queen behind me. Though Hobbey will have told them since, in his letter.' I smiled. 'I look forward to this meeting on Friday.' I took a deep breath, and added, 'Before that, given time, I think I may ride out to Rolfswood, see what I might find. Alone.'
'You should not go at all. And certainly not alone.'
'It will do me good to have a night away from here.' I was not going to tell Barak what I had heard of two deaths at the foundry. 'And I want you here, finding out all you can. That servant Ursula, she at least has no love for the Hobbeys. You could try and talk to her.'
He put his head to one side. 'Are you hiding something about Ellen?' he asked shrewdly.
'God's death, Jack,' I snapped, reddening. 'Leave it alone. It is for me to judge what to do. Now, later this morning I am going to reply to Warner. Do you want to write a letter to Tamasin for the post rider to collect?'
'Of course.'
'Then let us get our work done.' I strode on towards the continuing sound of barking, which came from a building near the stables. I looked through an open door into a kennels where a dozen black-and-white hunting dogs stood on thick straw, tethered to the walls by long iron chains. Also chained up were two of the largest greyhounds I had ever seen, their lean bodies a mass of muscle. A man was feeding the hunting dogs chunks of meat from a pail, watched keenly by Fulstowe. The steward looked round, surprised to see me, then bowed.
I nodded at the greyhounds. 'Those are big dogs.'
'They are Hugh and David's greyhounds, Ajax and Apollo. The boys will be here to collect them shortly. Master Avery, they are going hunting. Do not feed them.' He turned back to me. 'On the hunt the other dogs will be sent after the does.
'This hunt of your master's, I gather it is the first here?'
Fulstowe nodded. 'It is. We have been keeping the hounds hungry, to get them keen for the scent of meat. That is Master Avery, whom we have hired as our Master of Hunt.'
The young man stood up and bowed. He was as thin and sinewy as the dogs, with a sharp intelligent face, his leather apron spattered with blood from the meat.
'Master Shardlake is here on legal business,' Fulstowe said.
'I heard.' Avery looked at me keenly.
'Avery is working with our forester,' Fulstowe said. He seemed to have decided to play the bluff steward. 'They have found a large stag in our park.'
'We have, sir,' Avery agreed. 'A fine beast. I look forward to next Monday.'
'The boys must be anticipating the hunt too,' I said.
'They are,' Avery agreed. 'They have come tracking deer with me. But as I said, Master Fulstowe, I would rather Master David did not come again. He makes too much noise. Though Master Hugh is a born tracker, silent as a fox. He has the makings of a fine huntsman.' He smiled. 'You should ask him to show you his heartstone.'
I stared. 'His what?'
'The piece of bone a deer has next to its heart,' Fulstowe explained. 'Master Hugh went on a neighbour's hunt last year and brought a hart down with his arrow.'
Avery smiled. 'Do you not know the old custom, sir, for the heartstone to be given to the lord who brings down the deer?'
'I fear I am a townsman.'
'It is said to have great healing properties.'
'Hugh wears it in a little bag round his neck,' Fulstowe said. His nose crinkled a little. I thought of Emma's cross round my own neck. I took a deep breath.
'Master Fulstowe,' I said. 'We would like to take your deposition now.'
'Very well.' He set his lips tight.
* * *
THE STEWARD said not a word more as we walked back to the house. As we neared the stables, David and Hugh passed us on horseback. Each wore a leather glove on which a hooded goshawk stood balanced. The sun emphasized the scars on Hugh's face, and I looked away. The boys looked curiously at my serjeant's robes, and David gave a little scoffing laugh. Hugh doffed his cap as they passed, riding away to the gate.
We entered Hobbey's study. Fulstowe's face showed relief as he saw Dyrick. Hobbey had left. 'Good morning, master steward,' Dyrick said cheerfully. 'Do not worry, I will make sure Brother Shardlake keeps to the point.' I saw the hourglass had been turned over again; the sand was just beginning to fall. Fulstowe sat, looking at me as steadily as his master had.
'Well, Fulstowe,' I began in a light tone, 'tell me how you became Master Hobbey's steward.'
'I was steward at his house in London. Before Master Hobbey came here.'
'To be a country gentleman.'
'There is no more honourable calling in England.' A touch of truculence entered Fulstowe's voice.
'You will remember when Hugh and his sister came to your master's London house six years ago. And Master Calfhill.'
'I do. My master and mistress treated those poor children as their own.'
Clearly there was no question of shaking Fulstowe's loyalty. I could not catch him out either. I questioned him for twenty minutes, and his recollections echoed those of his master. He repeated that Hugh and Emma were devoted to each other, excluding all others. He recollected little of Michael Calfhill, saying Michael held himself aloof from the rest of the household. Only once did his coolness slip, and that was when I asked about the smallpox. 'It took all three children at once,' he said. 'They must have been out together and caught it from the same person, there was much of it in London that year.' His voice wavered momentarily. 'I remember Mistress Abigail saying all the children had headaches, and felt so tired they could scarcely move. I knew what that meant.'
'Did you help care for them?'
'I carried water and clean bedclothes upstairs. The other servants were too frightened to help. The physician said they should be wrapped in red cloth to bring out the bad humours. I remember I had a job finding red cloth in London then, everyone was after it.'
'I understand Mistress Hobbey insisted on caring for David herself?'
'Yes, though she visited Hugh and Emma constantly. My mistress has never been the same since Emma died.'
'And afterwards Michael was dismissed from the household.'
'My master did not want him near Hugh any more,' Fulstowe answered. 'You must ask him why.' He inclined his head meaningfully.
'How much do you have to do with Hugh now?'
'Most of my dealings are with Master David. I am trying to teach him the running of the estate accounts.' His tone indicated he had a thankless task. 'But I look after both their wardrobes.'
'I see. What about Hugh's lands?'
'He shows little interest in them, says he will sell all when he reaches his majority. Just now he wants to join the army.'
'So you have relatively little to do with Hugh.'
'We all live in the same house. One thing I always do for both boys, since they were fourteen, is shave them. Every few days, and cut their hair too, for that is the fashion with archers. My father was a barber. Master Hugh will go to no barber for fear of being cut, given what his face and neck are like.'
'It must be a very different life for you here, Fulstowe. You are a Londoner, I think, by your voice.'
'It has taken time for us to be accepted down here. Most of the local people did not approve of the Dissolution. And the villagers suffer no master lightly.'
'Different work too. You are responsible for managing the whole estate?'
'I am. Under my master. But all trades are the same, blessed is the penny that gains two. That is my master's principle, and mine.'
'That I can believe.' I smiled. 'Well, that is all, I think. For now,' I added once again.
* * *
ABIGAIL, Dyrick told me, was still ill with a sick headache; they came on her often and sometimes lasted all day. In my room I changed into lighter clothes, then wrote a reply to Warner, asking him to let me know as soon as he had news of Hobbey's affairs. I also mentioned that I had seen Richard Rich on the journey south. Then I ate lunch with
Dyrick, who spent the meal telling me how honest Hobbey and Fulstowe had shown themselves. The boys, he said, would not be back till late afternoon. I left the house, taking my copy of the estate plan which I had brought, and made my way round to Barak's quarters. He gave me a letter he had just written to Tamasin.
'What say you we take a look at Hoyland village?' I asked.
'Dyrick won't like that. He'll think you're suborning the villagers against their master.' His tone was curt; he was still annoyed with me for not taking him to Rolfswood.
'To the devil with Dyrick. Come on.'
'All right. Feaveryear has just left me. He was going over our notes of the depositions, trying to change things here and there. I wouldn't be surprised if his master told him to make difficulties for the sake of it.'
'Then you need some air.'
As we walked round to the gates I glanced over at Abigail's garden, where a servant knelt weeding, noting how much effort she had made in choosing the pretty combinations of flowers. I also noticed the flower beds were designed to form a large H, for Hobbey.
We passed through the gates and followed a dusty path. To one side was a meadow where sheep and a few cattle grazed; I saw the familiar raised shape of a butts there, and wondered how Leacon and the soldiers were faring in Portsmouth. On the other side of the road dense woodland began.
'Whose woods are those?' Barak asked.
I consulted the plan. 'Hobbey's. And that meadow belongs to the village. What did you think of Fulstowe's testimony, by the way?'
'Rehearsed, like his master's.'
'I agree. I wonder if that was why they let us sleep in this morning, to give Dyrick more time to brief them. Well, I have left the door open, to come back with more questions. Ones they can't rehearse.'
We had now passed into a cultivated area, fields divided into wide ploughed strips where men and women and children were busy working. I thought of my own ancestors, generation upon generation of men and women who had spent their lives in hard labour in the fields. Some of the villagers looked up at us. 'Hard work this hot day,' Barak called out cheerfully. They lowered their heads without replying.
We arrived at Hoyland village. Perhaps twenty-five thatched houses straggled along the street. Many were small, little more than one-storey wattle and daub cottages where both people and animals would sleep. A few, though, were larger, with a second storey, and there were a couple of good timber-framed dwellings. Old people and children were working in some of the vegetable patches out front. Again they gave us cold stares, and at one house three children ran inside at our approach.
We had reached the centre of the village. The door of a large building was open, revealing a smith working at his forge, hammering something on his anvil. Coals in the furnace glowed richly red, shimmering in a heat haze. I thought of young Tom Llewellyn.
'The welcoming party's coming,' Barak said quietly.
Three men were walking up the street towards us, all powerfully built, their expressions hostile. Two wore coarse smocks, but the third had a leather jerkin and good woollen hose. He was in his thirties, with a hard, square face, brown hair and keen blue eyes. He stopped a few feet away.
'What's your business, strangers?' he asked in a broad Hampshire burr.
'We are guests at Hoyland Priory,' I answered mildly. 'Out for a walk.'
'Listen to him, Master Ettis,' another said. 'I told you.'
Ettis stepped forward. 'Not too close, fellow,' Barak warned, placing a hand on his dagger.
'Are you the lawyers?' Ettis asked bluntly.
'I am a lawyer,' I answered. 'Master Shardlake.'
'See,' the other said. 'He's come to do us out of the commons. A fucking hunchback too, to make sure we have ill luck.'
Ettis stared at me. 'Well? Is that why you're here? You should know the men of Hoyland fear no lawyers. If you try to cheat us out of our land we'll go to the Court of Requests. We have friends in other villages that have protected their rights. And if Master Hobbey's tree-fellers come on our commons again we'll stop them.'
'That is not my business. I am sent by the Court of Wards to enquire into the welfare of Master Curteys.'
'He means the pocky lad,' Ettis's confederate said.
Ettis continued studying us. 'I heard there were two lawyers at the priory.'
'Master Hobbey's own lawyer is here too. On the same business as I.' I paused and looked at him meaningfully. 'That is not to say he does not have other business too, but I am no part of that.'
Ettis nodded slowly. 'Your interest is only with Master Curteys?'
'Yes. Do you know him?'
He shook his head. 'He doesn't come here. Master David comes sometimes, with his childish airs and graces that would make my old cow laugh.'
'I understand some people from the village work as servants at the house.'
'Some. Most care not to.'
'The servants seem reluctant to speak to us,' I said. 'A pity. Exchanges of information can be useful. Master Hobbey's lawyer's name, by the way, is Vincent Dyrick.'
'Leonard Ettis. Yeoman of this village.'
'Be assured we mean you no harm. We will go back now. But perhaps we might walk this way again, and talk some more?'
'Maybe,' Ettis answered non-committally.
We turned back the way we had come. Barak glanced over his shoulder. 'They're still watching us.'
'They're frightened and angry. They need their commons for grazing and wood.' I smiled. 'But they have a leader, and they know about the Court of Requests. Hobbey and Dyrick will have a fight on their hands.'
'You could have told them that you work there. That would get them on our side.'
'I don't want to anger Hobbey and Dyrick unnecessarily. Not yet. Now come, Hugh should be back soon.'
Chapter Nineteen
WE WENT BACK to the house to find the boys had just returned. Two servants were leading their horses away. Hugh and David stood in front of the entrance, showing their hawks to Feaveryear. Each held one of the big greyhounds on a leash; as Barak and I approached, the dogs sniffed the air. David's dog growled and he jerked its leash. 'Quiet, Ajax.'
Feaveryear was looking with fascination at the speckled plumage of the bird Hugh held at the end of his extended arm. The hawk turned fierce eyes on us, the bells on the jesses securing it to Hugh's gloved hand jingling. Hugh laid his other hand lightly on its back. 'Tush, Jenny, tush.' David had a bag slung over his shoulder, from which a little blood dripped.
'Good catch?' I asked him.
'A brace of plump wood pigeons, and three pheasants. We caught the pigeons on the wing,' he added impressively, his heavy features lighting up. 'A goodly feast for dinner, eh, Hugh?' It struck me David Hobbey seemed very young for eighteen. I remembered the villagers talking of his childish airs and graces.
'It would have been four had your Ajax not half-eaten the one he fetched,' Hugh said.
Feaveryear held out his hand to Hugh's bird. He smiled, his thin face full of wonder. 'Not too close, Master Feaveryear,' Hugh warned. 'She will tolerate none but me.' The hawk flapped its wings and screeched, and Feaveryear jumped back hastily. He tripped and nearly fell, windmilling his thin arms to keep his balance.
David laughed uproariously. 'You look like a scarecrow caught in the wind, clerk.'
Hugh gently pushed the hawk's spread wings back into a folded position. With his free arm he drew a leather hood from his doublet and put it over the bird's head.
Feaveryear's interest was undiminished. 'Did you raise that bird, Master Hugh?'
'No.' Hugh fixed Feaveryear with those cool, unreadable eyes. 'The bird is raised by a falconer. As a chick it is blinded by having its eyelids sewn together, so it comes to depend on people for food. When it is a year old its eyelids are unsewn and it is trained to hunt.'
'But that is cruel.'
David slapped Feaveryear on the shoulder, nearly knocking him over again. 'You are new to the ways of the country.'
Hugh turned to me, the watc
hful look in his eyes again. 'You wished to take my deposition, I think, Master Shardlake?'
'Yes, please. Feaveryear, will you fetch your master? Then we can begin.'
'We will take the birds to their perches,' Hugh said, 'and get the greyhounds away. Mistress Abigail does not like them near the house.' Again, that coldly formal reference to Abigail. The boys headed for the outhouses, and Feaveryear went indoors.
'That David is a taunting little knave,' Barak said. 'Needs a good slap.'
'He is childish, with no great brains. Yet all his father's hopes must rest on him. As for Hugh—I think he left childhood behind long ago. Let us see if we can find out why.'
* * *
WHEN WE ARRIVED in Hobbey's study Dyrick and Feaveryear were already present. A few minutes later Hugh walked in, confidently, almost defiantly. The afternoon sunlight emphasized the marks on his face and neck. I looked away, remembering Bess's comment about his ruined handsomeness. It was not quite so bad as that, but bad enough.
'Pray sit down, Master Hugh,' Dyrick said. He reached across to the hourglass and turned it over. 'To record time spent, for my bill of costs,' he explained with a cold smile. Hugh sat and stared at me, slim, long-fingered hands at rest in his lap. I saw that Feaveryear looked embarrassed.
'I think it best to come straight to the point,' I began. 'No beating the bushes with lawyer's words, as they say.'
'Thank you.'
'We are here because of accusations made by Michael Calfhill, God rest him. He said that when he visited here earlier this year, he found monstrous wrongs had been done to you. Have you any idea what he might have meant?'
He looked me straight in the eye. 'None, sir.'
A triumphant smile crossed Dyrick's face. 'Well,' I said, 'let us see. Tell me, what do you remember of the time when you and your sister became wards?'
'Very little. We were so grief shot we scarcely cared what went on around us.' Despite his words Hugh's tone remained unemotional.
'Michael Calfhill had been your tutor then for over a year. Were you close to him?'