Heartstone ms-5

by C. J. Sansom

  'Men without even hearts to turn to stone,' I said.

  'Oh, we have hearts. For our families, our children whom we educate and make prosperous with the help of our grants of land from the King, and incomes and presents from our clients. But of course,' he said, his face twisting into a sneer, 'you would know nothing about families.'

  Footsteps sounded outside. Peel returned with two gentlemen I had never seen, who bowed deeply to Rich. He came round the table, putting a slim arm round my shoulder. I suppressed a shudder. 'Thank you for coming, gentlemen,' he said. 'My friend Master Shardlake here wishes to put his affairs in order, given what may be about to unfold here. Would you witness his will, as a kindness to me?'

  The two assented. They told me their names and watched as I signed the will and the copy, then each signed in turn as witness. Rich picked up his cap and papers from the table, together with two folded letters and his copy of the will. 'Thank you, gentlemen,' he said. 'And now, I must go, I have to attend the Privy Council.' Then he said loudly, for the witnesses to hear, 'I am glad, friend Shardlake, to have been of service regarding the girl.'

  'You have done what I would expect of you, sir,' I answered evenly.

  The gentlemen bowed and left. Rich still had his hand on my shoulder. He moved it and gave my hump a sharp little smack, whispering in my ear, 'I have often wanted to do that.' Then he turned to Peel, brusque and businesslike. 'Now, Colin, I want you to go with Master Shardlake into Portsmouth, find a boat, and take him out to the Mary Rose.' He placed the two letters in a leather satchel, and handed it to Peel. 'The unsealed one is my letter of authority: it will let you into Portsmouth and get you a boat. The other you are to give into the hands of the addressee, Philip West. No one else. If some ship's officer asks for it, tell them that and invoke my name. Then you are to wait with the boat till Master Shardlake returns, and get him back to shore. There will be someone else with him. Now go. Is my horse at the stables?'

  'Yes, Sir Richard.'

  'Sure you understand all that?' he asked mockingly.

  'Yes, sir.'

  'Brother Shardlake, put him right if he gets it wrong. And now, goodbye.' He bowed, turned, and walked out of the tent. Peel stared at me.

  'You have the letters safe?' I asked.

  'Yes, sir.'

  'Then please, come. Our business is urgent.'

  Chapter Forty-five

  'YOU HAVE A HORSE, sir?' Peel asked.

  'Yes. A soldier took it.'

  'I'll fetch it. It will be quickest to ride to the Camber wharf.' He bowed and hurried away. I stood waiting by the tents, looking out to sea. The sun was sinking towards the horizon; it was yet another peaceful summer evening. At South Sea Castle soldiers milled round the cannon. Men were dragging another big gun across the sandy scrub of the foreshore. Some soldiers had lit small cooking fires; others were dispersing to the tents. The air was cooling rapidly as the sun lowered.

  Peel returned with Oddleg and another horse. 'Can I help you mount, sir?' he asked politely.

  I looked at him curiously, remembering how he had taken Rich's insults in his stride. 'Thank you. You must have seen much of the preparations for this invasion, fellow, working for Sir Richard.'

  His face became guarded. 'I don't listen, sir. I'm just a servant, I do my little jobs and keep my ears closed.'

  I nodded. 'That's a safe way to live.'

  We rode away to the town, skirting the Great Morass. 'Well,' I asked, 'what do you think of all this?'

  'I pray my master gets away if the French do land. But he is a clever man.'

  'That he certainly is.'

  There were no fowl on the still waters of the Morass; the guns must have scared them away. We approached the town walls, where the labourers working on the fortifications were packing up their equipment.

  'Were you with your master in Portsmouth today?' I asked Peel.

  'No, sir. I stayed in camp. We all ran out of the tents when they shouted the French ships were coming. Then the King rode in from Portsmouth.'

  We came round the town walls to the main gate. Peel showed the guard Rich's letter of authority and we were allowed in at once.

  The High Street was deserted now apart from patrolling guards, the windows of the houses and shops all closed and shuttered; I wondered whether the owners had all left. Inside one a dog howled. A solitary cart laden with freshly slaughtered sides of beef lumbered past, dripping blood onto the dust.

  Oyster Street, by contrast, was as crowded as ever, soldiers and sailors jostling with labourers. Now the French had gone more supplies were being loaded onto boats at the wharf. We halted by the warehouses. Across the Camber there were now soldiers on guard even on the empty spit beyond the Round Tower. The English warships stood at anchor out in the Solent.

  'Will we be able to get a boat?' I asked Peel worriedly.

  'We should with my letter, sir. Wait here a minute, if you please. I'll get the horses stabled.'

  'You have the other letter? For Master West?'

  He patted his satchel. 'Safe in here. I am not a fool, sir,' he added in a hurt tone.

  'Of course not.' I looked across at the ships. 'But please, be quick.'

  We dismounted and Peel led the horses away. I saw the huge bulk of the Great Harry. There must have been a great panic on board when they saw the French coming. My eye found the Mary Rose, where Emma was with Leacon's company. A company of soldiers marched down Oyster Street. They must have come straight in from the country, for they kept staring out to sea, eyes wide.

  I heard a shout from below me. Looking down, I saw Peel standing with a boatman in a tiny rowboat at the bottom of some steps. 'Hurry, sir,' he called urgently. 'Before someone requisitions it.'

  * * *

  THE BOATMAN, a young fellow, rowed quickly out, past heavily laden supply boats. I had a view of the French ships in the distance, the setting sun casting a red glow on a close-packed forest of masts. A sudden volley of gunfire sounded from them, booming across the still water. Peel sat up, eyes wide.

  'They're trying to make us jumpy,' the boatman said. 'Bastard French serfs. They're too far off to hit anything.' He turned the boat and headed for the line of warships. Some of the smaller ones had retreated to the harbour, but forty or so rode in a double row, two hundred yards apart, turning slowly on their anchors as the tide ebbed. We rowed out to the Mary Rose. It had been night when I boarded her before, but now, in the fading daylight, I could see how beautiful she was, as well as how massive: the powerful body of the hull, the soaring masts almost delicate by contrast; the complex web of rigging where sailors were clambering; the castles painted with stripes and bars and shields in a dozen bright colours. The gun ports were closed, the ropes by which they were opened from the deck above hanging slack. A boat was already drawn up at the side, and what looked like boxes of arrows were being hauled up through gaps in the blinds to the weatherdeck.

  'I'll row round to the other side,' the boatman said. He pulled past the bow and the immense ropes of the twin anchors, then under the tall foremast with the red and white Tudor Rose emblem at its base. There were no supply boats on the other side. We pulled in. Again someone on the tops shouted, 'Boat ahoy!' and a face appeared on deck, looking down through an open blind.

  Peel shouted up, 'Letter from Sir Richard Rich for Assistant-Purser West!' A few moments later a rope ladder came down, splashing as the end hit the water. Peel and I stood up carefully as the boatman grabbed the end. Peel looked at it anxiously.

  'Climb up behind me,' I told him. 'It's not that bad, just keep a firm hold and don't mind the swaying.' I turned to the boatman. 'You may have to wait a little.'

  'Yes, sir.' He stood too, flexing stiff arms.

  I began climbing the ladder, Peel behind me.

  * * *

  AGAIN I WAS helped through a gap in the blinds by a sailor. This time I was able to descend to the planks of the weatherdeck with a little more dignity. Peel followed, looking shaken. There was an immense bustle o
n the deck, which was full of soldiers as well as sailors. A young officer with a whistle on a purple sash was waiting for us. 'You have a message from Sir Richard Rich for Master West?' he asked abruptly. Peel took the letter from his satchel and held it up for the officer to see the seal.

  'Is it about those supplies we were waiting for?' the officer asked me.

  I hesitated. 'The letter may only be given to Master West, then I must speak with him. I am sorry.'

  The officer turned away. 'Wait here with them,' he ordered one of the sailors, and marched away to the forecastle.

  I looked over the deck. Many of the soldiers sat with their backs against the blinds, between the cannon, some cleaning long arquebuses. Everyone is preparing for battle, I thought. The setting sun cast a red glow, broken by the shadow of the netting, making a strange latticework effect on the deck. Sailors carried pairs of gunballs to the guns in slings, cursing at stray soldiers to get out of the way, setting them up next to the guns in triangular battens. Boxes of equipment were being carried from forecastle to aftercastle across the walkway above the netting. I looked up at the aftercastle, saw heads moving under the netting there. It was too high to distinguish whether any of them were from Leacon's company.

  I turned to the sailor. He was a little bearded man, perhaps forty—old among all the young men. 'How many soldiers on board now?' I asked.

  'Near three hundred,' he answered quietly in a Welsh accent. He looked at me with sudden eagerness. 'Sir, forgive me, but I heard you have a message from Sir Richard Rich. Are they taking some of the soldiers off? We think there are too many; most of the officers agree, but the King's put Vice-Admiral Carew in command of the ship and he won't listen. He's never been aboard till today—'

  'I am sorry, that is not the subject of my message,' I answered gently. 'Where are the new archers that came aboard today?'

  'Up on the ship's castles. They'll sleep up there tonight, the French may come at dawn if the wind favours them. Sir, many of the soldiers can't even walk properly on deck. There was a gust of wind earlier and they were puking up all over the place, the aftercastle deck stinks already. God knows what they'll be like on the open sea. Sir, if you could get a message to Sir Richard Rich—'

  'I fear I have no influence there.' I looked at Peel, who shook his head vigorously. The sailor turned away. A little way off I saw a small group standing between two cannon, talking in a foreign tongue; Flemish I thought. One was nervously reading a rosary, clicking the beads through his fingers. It was something I had not seen for some time, as it had been forbidden by law since Lord Cromwell's time. I guessed the rules would be relaxed for foreign sailors in wartime.

  I caught snatches of conversation: 'I saw a swan today, riding in and out of our ships without a care. Maybe it's an omen, sent by the Lord. A royal bird—'

  'I wish He'd send us one big enough to climb on and fly away—'

  'If the French board, thrust your pike up between their legs—'

  'They'll send the galleys back come dawn, we're sitting targets—'

  I looked up at the high forecastle with its triple decks, where the senior officers' cabins were. I thought again what an astonishing thing the warship was, every part of it intricately interconnected.

  A sharp gust of wind made the Mary Rose roll. It only lasted a moment, but though the sailors ignored it two soldiers nearby staggered, and I heard shouts from the castles above. Some of the sailors laughed, others frowned worriedly. Then I saw West approaching from the forecastle alone, men stepping aside to let him pass.

  * * *

  WEST STOOD before us, fists clenched at his sides. His deep-set eyes were bloodshot. 'You,' he said thickly.

  Peel bowed and held out the letter. 'From Sir Richard Rich, sir.' West tore the seal and read it, then stared at me, perplexed. He said quietly, 'Rich says you are to fetch back one of the archers that came on board today.'

  So he did not know Hugh was really a girl. Rich had not told him that, perhaps fearing he would put him off the ship anyway.

  I looked at the man who had ruined Ellen's life. 'That is right, Master West. In accordance with your bargain.'

  'I must talk to the master. He is in control of this ship, not Sir Richard. He will need persuading to let an enlisted man go.'

  'If we tell him something I know about Hugh Curteys, he will let him go.'

  He glanced again at the letter, then at me. 'Sir Richard says that you and he have made a bargain. About the—the other matter.'

  'We have. A bargain of necessity.'

  West looked at Peel. 'You are one of Sir Richard's bodyservants?'

  'Yes, sir.' Peel lowered his gaze.

  'Then you will know how to keep your mouth shut.' West had spoken quietly. Now he looked at the men around us. 'Come with me, Master Shardlake, let us find somewhere quiet to talk, see how we can best get this Curteys back on shore.' He looked up at the forecastle, then said, 'Not my cabin, we'll get no peace. I'm waiting for food supplies, they should have been here by now. I know a place.'

  He began walking across the crowded deck to the hatch below the aftercastle, near the huge mainmast, which I had descended before. A group of sailors stood on deck, hauling at the rigging to the sound of a beating drum. I looked up at the aftercastle again, wondering if Leacon could hear the sound which brought back the siege of Boulogne. A sailor knelt, carefully lighting the candles inside a row of lanterns on the deck. West took one and then, with a flinty look at me, turned and began descending the ladder. I took a deep breath and followed him.

  We went down to the gundeck. West stood at the foot of the ladder as Peel and I followed. There was nobody there. I looked again at the double row of cannons facing the closed gun ports. Cannonballs and other equipment were stacked neatly by the guns in battens. A barrel was tied securely to the wall. It was marked with a white cross: gunpowder. The light from the grilles in the deck hatches above us was dim, bare feet padded to and fro across them. The floor planks were swept clean.

  'Ready for action tomorrow,' West said grimly. 'Come with me. There's a storeroom up here. Thanks to the disorganization on shore there's nothing but a barrel of rotten pork in it.'

  It was well he had the lamp, for he led me to the part of the gundeck that lay right under the aftercastle. Between an iron gun and a large cabin projecting out onto the gundeck was a small room. It had a sliding door secured with a padlock; West produced a key and slid it open. It was a tiny storeroom, barely five feet square, empty save for a large barrel secured to hooks on the wall with ropes to prevent it sliding with the movement of the ship. There was a lid on it, but the smell of rotten meat still escaped.

  Once inside, West looked at me in silence for a moment. Sounds rose up through the planks from the orlop deck below, muttered voices and scrapings and curses. 'I have taken care of that woman for nineteen years,' he said. 'Rich would have had her killed.'

  'I know.'

  'I protected her.' He spoke with sudden fierceness, his voice shaking.

  'You raped her.'

  'She provoked me.'

  I felt my face twitch with disgust. I said, 'I have made the bargain. Your secret is safe.'

  'Yes.' He nodded. 'It is.' He stared at me a moment longer, then reached back and slid the door open. Peel was standing outside. Somehow it was a different Peel, the blank, deferential servant's expression replaced by a wide, smiling leer. He stepped inside as West pushed me back against the wall. There was barely room for the three of us, but they managed to twist me round and force my arms behind my back. West slid the door shut again with his foot as Peel brought a handkerchief from his doublet and thrust it in my open mouth, nearly choking me. Then West pulled out a dagger and held it to my throat. 'Move and we'll kill you now,' he said quietly. 'You, tie him up.'

  Peel reached into his satchel and pulled out a long length of cord. My arms were pinned. Now I realized why Rich had insisted he place the letter in West's hands himself. I had made a mistake in thinking I could bargain with
him. He had planned the whole thing, right down to pretending that Peel was a half-witted servant.

  My legs were kicked from under me and I crashed heavily to the deck. I gasped, then looked up wildly. Peel was staring down at me, grinning wolfishly. I remembered young Carswell talking of the skills of actors; he could have taken lessons from Peel. No doubt it was a skill that Rich found useful. Peel bent and tied my legs together with more cord, which he also used to bind the gag firmly round my head. He sat me upright against the barrel and ran the cord twice round my middle and the barrel. I was pinioned, voiceless, helpless.

  West stood over me, hands on hips. He looked angry, as though it were he who had been wronged. 'I told you,' he said in a low, trembling voice, 'I have protected that woman for nineteen years. If it consoles you I have felt ashamed all this time. But I have redeemed my honour in the King's service, and I will not let a worthless pen-scraping lawyer take that from me on the eve of battle, not even the merest chance of it. I may die, and then what would the truth do to my poor mother? Not that you care. Well, Rich worked out this way of dealing with you, and I shall be glad to see you dead.'

  'Shall we kill him now?' Peel asked. 'I've got a dagger—'

  West shook his head impatiently. 'No. He has the Queen's patronage, we must be careful. It has to look like an accident if his body is washed ashore. I'll knock him out when it's dark, then weight him and get him over the side somehow. I have the only key to that padlock.'