Heartstone

Chapter Twenty-four

AN HOUR LATER I was sitting in Barak's room.

'It was only a lapdog,' he said. 'Are you sure it wasn't an accident?'

'You didn't see David's smile when he let go the leash. Abigail is his mother, yet he seems to hate her, while Hugh treats her with indifference.'

'Hugh's greyhound attacked the spaniel too?'

'I think he lost hold of its leash. Abigail loved that dog. David couldn't have done anything worse to her. But what did Abigail mean, calling me a fool, saying, "You do not see what is in front of you"? What don't I see?'

Barak considered. 'Something to do with Fulstowe? He is such a haughty fellow, you'd think he owned the place.'

'Whatever it is, I don't think Dyrick knows. When Abigail shouted that out he looked completely astonished. Oh, in God's name, what is going on here?' I pulled my fingers through my hair, as though I could drag an answer from my tired brain, then groaned and stood up. 'It is time for dinner. Jesu knows what that will be like.'

'I'll be glad to get out of here tomorrow. Even to go to Portsmouth.'

I left him and returned to the house. The sun was starting to sink behind the tall new chimneys of the priory. A servant, supervised by Fulstowe, was wiping a patch of grass with a cloth; removing Lamkin's blood, that his mistress might not see. The steward came across.

'Master Shardlake, I was about to look for you. Master Hobbey asks if you would see him in his study.'

HOBBEY SAT in a chair by his desk, looking sombre and pale. He had upturned his hourglass and was watching the sand trickle through. Dyrick sat opposite, frowning. I guessed the two had been conferring. Whatever the outcome it had not pleased Dyrick. For the first time I saw anxiety in his face.

'Please sit, Master Shardlake,' Hobbey said. 'There is something I would tell you.'

I sat. He said quietly, 'My wife has not been truly well for years, ever since poor Emma died. She has unaccountable fears, fantasies. Please discount her outburst earlier. I confess I have concealed how—how agitated she can become.' His pale skin reddened. 'Master Dyrick, too, was not aware of her—state of health.'

I looked at Dyrick. He frowned at the floor. Hobbey continued, 'Abigail loves the boys. But how strange she can be sometimes—that explains Hugh's distance from her. David's, too. This afternoon—I think she really believed David set Ajax on Lamkin deliberately.'

I stared at him. Had Hobbey not seen David's smile? I turned to Dyrick. He looked away and I thought, you saw it. I asked Hobbey, 'What do you think your wife meant, saying I was a fool for not seeing something before my eyes?'

'I do not know. She has—such fantasies.' He sat up and spread his thin white hands wide. 'I ask you only to believe she has never touched Hugh in anger, nor my son until this afternoon.'

I thought, that is probably true, judging by David's shock when his mother set about him; though, given what he had done, her reaction was hardly surprising. 'She said both Hugh and David were unnatural creatures. What could she have meant?'

'I do not know.' Hobbey looked away, and I thought, you are lying. He turned back to me, the sad look settling on his face again. 'It is because of Abigail we mix so little with our neighbours. She does not want to see them.' He set his lips. 'But we will go ahead with the hunt.'

'I am sorry, sir, that she is so unhappy. The loss of her dog will distress her greatly.'

'Oh yes,' Hobbey said with a touch of bitterness. 'Lamkin had become the centre of her life.' He stood up, something heavy and reluctant in his movements. 'Well, dinner is ready. We must eat. And preserve appearances before the servants. Abigail will not be joining us, she has gone to her room.'

IT WAS A sombre meal. Fulstowe joined us at table. For the steward of a substantial house to join the family at dinner sometimes was not unusual, but the way his eyes kept darting between Hobbey, Hugh and David, as though monitoring their behaviour, was strange. I remembered Barak saying Fulstowe acted as though he owned Hoyland Priory.

There was little conversation. I looked between them all, searching for something that was before my eyes but which I had not noticed before; there was nothing. David's eyes were red-rimmed and he looked crushed, somehow smaller. Next to him Hugh concentrated on his meal, eyes downcast and face expressionless, though I sensed the tension in him.

Towards the end of the meal David suddenly laid down his spoon and put his face in his hands. His heavy shoulders shook as he began, silently, to cry. His father reached across and took his arm. 'It was an accident,' Hobbey said gently, as though to a small child. 'Your mother will realize that in time. All will be well. You will see.' On David's other side, Hugh looked away. I wondered, was he jealous that Hobbey favoured David? But no, I thought, he does not care about any of them.

After dinner I went to Dyrick's room. I knocked, and his sharp voice bade me enter. He was sitting at a little desk, reading a letter by candlelight. He looked up, his thin face unwelcoming.

'Is that the letter from your wife, Brother?' I began civilly.

'Yes. She wants me home.'

'That was a horrible scene earlier. The killing of the dog, and Mistress Hobbey's reaction.'

'She didn't touch Hugh,' Dyrick answered sharply.

'She said some strange things. Calling Hugh and David unnatural creatures, saying I could not see something before my eyes.'

He waved a hand dismissively. 'She is deranged.'

'Did Hobbey tell you something, Brother, before he called me in? You seem worried.'

'I worry about my children!' he snapped. 'But what do you know of a parent's affection?' He smacked angrily at the letter. 'I should be at home with them and my wife, not here.' He glared at me, then said, 'I have watched you on this journey. You are a soft man, always looking for some poor creature to rescue. You dig and dig away at this matter, though you find nothing. You would do better to cease this obstinacy and go home. Look for another widow to chase.'

I stiffened with anger. 'What do you mean?'

'It is common gossip around the courts that you doted on Roger Elliard's widow after he died, and would bark and bite at everyone for months after she left London.'

'You churl, you know nothing—'

Dyrick laughed, an angry bitter laugh. 'Ah, at last I have drawn a manly response from you! Take my advice, Brother, marry, get a family of your own to worry over like an anxious hen.'

I stepped forward then. I would have struck Dyrick but I realized that was what he wanted. He had distracted me from my questioning, and if I assaulted him he would report it to the Court of Wards and I would be in trouble. I stepped back. I said quietly, 'I will not strike you, Brother, you are not worth it. I will leave you. But I believe you know what Abigail meant. Your client told you.'

'Leave this matter,' Dyrick said, his voice unexpectedly quiet. To my surprise his face looked almost haggard. 'Let us go home.'

'No,' I answered. I went out and closed the door.

NEXT MORNING I rose early again. It was another fine summer's morning. The tenth of July, ten days already since we left London. As I dressed in my robes for my visit to Priddis, I thought of Dyrick's words the night before. Characteristically vicious, they had nonetheless unsettled me. But I was still sure Hobbey had told him some secret—he had looked worried ever since.

I breakfasted with Barak in the kitchen. Ursula was there, but apart from a brief nod she ignored us. We crossed the great hall to the porch, past the tapestries of the unicorn hunt, their colours shining brightly in the sunlight. I glanced at the representation of the hunters with their bows stealing through the trees. I wondered, would we be gone by the time of Hobbey's hunt on Monday?

'You're quiet this morning,' Barak said.

'It's nothing. Come on.'

The horses had been brought out, and I was pleased to see Oddleg had been fetched for me. Two young manservants were already on horseback; evidently they were to accompany us. Hobbey stood with Dyrick, bent over some papers, Dyrick's black robe shining in the sun like a raven's wings. Nearby, Hugh and David were talking with Feaveryear. Hugh, like Dyrick, wore a broad-brimmed hat. I went up to them. David flushed and looked away. I wondered whether he felt shame for what he had done.

'Ready for the journey?' I asked Hugh.

'Yes. Master Hobbey suggested David and I should stay behind, but I will not be done out of seeing the fleet. Master Hobbey has agreed that we may ride along the side of Portsdown Hill so we can get a view of Portsmouth Haven.'

I looked at the two young servants. 'They are coming too?'

'Gentlemen travellers should be accompanied, and Fulstowe is staying behind, to look after David's mother.' There was a touch of contempt in his voice. I thought, with unexpected anger, you do not care about poor Abigail at all. I turned to Feaveryear. 'Are you looking forward to seeing Portsmouth?'

'I do wonder what it will be like,' he answered soberly.

'We are ready, Master Shardlake,' Hobbey called.

'Ay,' Dyrick said in a biting voice. 'We must not keep Sir Quintin Priddis waiting.'

One of the servants brought the mounting block and helped Hobbey to the saddle. Then he fetched it over and Barak and I mounted. I settled myself in the saddle, patting Oddleg's side.

Then something odd happened. Hugh was about to mount. As he did so Feaveryear said, 'What will we see in Portsmouth, eh, Master Hugh?' and touched him lightly on the arm. There was nothing unusual in the gesture, though it was presumptuous given their difference in status. But Hugh thrust Feaveryear's arm violently aside, nearly toppling the skinny clerk. 'Do not touch me!' he said with sudden anger. 'I will not have it.'

He climbed into the saddle. Dyrick snapped savagely at Feaveryear, 'Don't ever do that again. Who do you think you are, you little booby? Now get on your horse!' Feaveryear obeyed, his face full of hurt.

As we rode through the gate I remembered Hobbey's deposition, the allegation that Michael had touched Hugh in a way a man should not touch a boy. And I thought, what if that were true after all? Could that be why he had reacted so fiercely just now?

THE ROAD was dusty, the sun already hot. We rode past the area where the foresters were still at work, then south, up a long, increasingly steep slope, towards the crest of Portsdown Hill. We passed one of the beacons that would be lit if the French landed; a long sturdy pole with a wooden cage suspended by a chain from the top, filled with dry kindling soaked in tar. A man stood on guard. I rode up to Hugh, who was at the head of our group beside Hobbey and David. I passed Dyrick, who still seemed preoccupied, his coppery eyebrows knitted in a frown.

I said, 'Thank you again, Hugh, for lending me Toxophilus.'

Hugh turned to me, his face shadowed by his wide hat. 'Do you think any better of it on reflection?'

'I agree he is a most learned scholar. I know little of archery, but I know that many worthy people praise it.' I had a sudden memory of the Lady Elizabeth sitting with Catherine Parr, her questions about the virtue and conscience of lawyers. 'But I still think that in the first part of the dialogue Master Ascham rather preened himself, as well as over-flattering the King. And I have read better dialogues. Christopher St Germain, now there is a writer, though he talks of law and politics.'

'I do not know him.'

'Thomas More, then. You have Utopia. With all his faults More never took himself too seriously.'

Hugh laughed. 'Utopia is but a fantasy. A world where all live in peace and harmony, where there is no war.' He looked me in the eye. 'That is not the real world, Master Shardlake, nor one that could ever exist.'

'Strong words for a lad your age. You are too young to remember, but England had twenty years of peace till the King invaded France.'

'Listen to Master Shardlake,' Hobbey said tersely from Hugh's other side. 'He speaks true.'

David had been silent, but now he turned to his father. 'I have an idea,' he said. 'Perhaps in Portsmouth we can find a puppy, bring it back for Mother.'

'No.' Hugh turned and spoke sharply across Hobbey. 'She will need time. You cannot just replace a pet, any more than you can a person.'

David glared at him. 'What do you know about it?'

'You forget, fool, how much I know about mourning.' The cold anger in Hugh's husky voice was chilling.

'Perhaps later you can bring your mother a new dog,' Hobbey said soothingly. Again, he spoke to David as though he were a child. I wondered if this was why David was so immature.

Just then one of the servants called a warning, and we pulled into the side of the road as two big carts rumbled past. They were full of boxes of iron gunballs. From Sussex, I thought, for the Portsmouth guns.

'We should try and pass them, in single file,' Dyrick suggested. 'Otherwise we shall be behind them all day.' We formed a line and rode carefully past the carts. I was behind Hugh. I looked at the back of his scarred neck and thought, I would give a chest of gold to know what goes on inside that head. When we passed the carts I rode up beside him again.

'Your friend the captain of archers,' he asked, 'will he be in Portsmouth?'

'I believe so.' I looked across him to Hobbey. 'Master Hobbey, after we have seen Sir Quintin Priddis, Barak and I will stay behind to seek out my friend.'

Hobbey inclined his head. 'As you wish. Though I warn you, Portsmouth is a rough place just now, full of soldiers and sailors.'

'I would like to meet your friend,' Hugh said.

'No,' Hobbey countered firmly.

'Perhaps you think I would take the chance to run away for a soldier?' Hugh said mockingly.

Hobbey turned on him, his manner suddenly sharp and forceful. 'If you ever tried that, I would have the authorities bring you back at once. You would look a fine fellow then to the brave soldiers.'

Hugh gave me a sardonic half-smile. 'Master Shardlake would help you.'

'Assuredly I would,' I agreed firmly.

We rode on in silence. The ground grew ever steeper as we approached the crest of the hill. We had almost reached it when we turned left. We rode along for a mile or so, through a little town, halting near a large windmill. We rode up to the crest of the hill and I drew in a long breath at the view.

Before us lay a complicated vista of sea and land. The hill descended steeply to an area of flat land cradling an enormous bay, the narrowest of mouths giving onto the Solent, the green and brown of the Isle of Wight beyond. The bay had a sheen like a silver mirror in the noonday heat. The tide was out, revealing large brown mudbanks. Directly below us, at the head of the bay, was a huge square enclosure of white stone that I realized must be Portchester Castle. Over to the west I could see another wide bay, more sandbanks.

Hobbey followed my gaze. 'That is Langstone Harbour. It is too shallow for big ships. The land between Langstone Harbour and Portsmouth Haven is Portsea Island.'

I looked at the wedge of land between the two bays. At the southwestern end of the island, hard by the harbour mouth, I made out a dark smudge that must be Portsmouth. There were numerous ships in Portsmouth Haven. From here some were mere tiny dots but several which had their white sails up looked to be very large. The warships. At anchor out in the Solent there were many more, forty or fifty, ranging from tiny to gigantic in size.

'The fleet,' David said wonderingly. 'Gathering to await the King.'

'And the French,' Barak added soberly.

Hugh looked at me with a smile. 'Have you ever seen such a sight?'

'No,' I answered quietly. 'No, I have not.'

'Those out in the Solent are in deep water. There are many sandbanks there: with luck the French will not know where they are and will ground themselves.'

'They will have their pilots, as we have,' Hobbey observed impatiently.

I said quietly to Hobbey, 'I had not expected Portsmouth Haven to be so large, or to see so many mudbanks.'

'Near the harbour mouth, there is deep water.'

'The whole fleet can get in if they need to, I am sure,' David said proudly. 'Then the guns on either side of the harbour will keep the French out.'

I looked along the long crest of Portsdown Hill, which I realized was part of the long chain of the South Downs. As far as I could see, all along the hilltops, a chain of beacons marched, each with a guard beside it. To my right, the beacons continued, past a large encampment of soldiers' tents.

'Let us go on,' Hobbey said. 'It is near four miles to Portsmouth. Be careful, the road down is steep.'

We began to descend, towards the island.

Chapter Twenty-five

WE RODE SLOWLY down the steep southern escarpment of Portsdown Hill. Ahead, two ox carts stacked with long tree trunks were descending the steep road with difficulty. We could not safely pass, so slowed our pace to ride behind them. I heard a clatter and turned. Feaveryear's horse had stumbled and almost pitched him from the saddle. 'Clumsy oaf,' Dyrick snapped. 'If I'd known you couldn't ride properly I'd never have brought you.'

'I'm sorry,' Feaveryear mumbled. I looked back at him, wishing that just for once he might answer Dyrick back.

Hobbey was looking at the fields of Portsea Island below us. 'There is some good growing land there, David,' he told his son. David did not seem interested. Like Hugh, he was absorbed in watching the ships, the distant specks in the harbour slowly becoming larger.

I said to Hobbey, 'Porchester Castle seems very large, but there are few buildings in the enclosure.'

'It is Roman, that is how they built their castles. It was the key to the defence of Portsmouth Haven till the silting up of the upper harbour isolated it.'

I looked down at Portsea island, a chequerboard of fields, the parts not under cultivation full of cattle and sheep. I made out movement on the roads, people and carts in the lanes heading for the town. I looked out at the Haven; sometimes trees and buildings hid the view but gradually I began to distinguish the ships more clearly. Several long, low craft were moving rapidly through the water, while four enormous warships stood at anchor; all were still like tiny models at this distance. I wondered whether Leacon and his men might be on one of the warships already. I could just make out a blur of movement along the sides of the smaller ships, like the scuttling legs of an insect.

'What are those?' I said to Hugh.

'Galleasses—ships that have both sail and oars. The oarsmen must be practising.'

We rode on, the road thankfully beginning to level out. It was another still, muggy day and I was sweating in my robes again. A bank of trees obstructed our view of the sea, but now I had a clearer view of the island. Several patches of white dots, soldiers' tents I imagined, were scattered along the coast. Next to the narrow mouth of the harbour the town was surrounded by walls, more white tents outside. There were large marshy-looking lakes on two sides of the town walls. Portsmouth, I realized, was a natural fortress.

Hugh pointed to a square white construction halfway along the shore. 'South Sea Castle,' he said proudly. 'The King's new fortress. The cannon there can fire far out to sea.'

I looked out on the Solent, remembering my voyage home from Yorkshire in 1541, all that had happened afterwards. I shivered.

'Are you all right, Master Shardlake?'

'A goose walking over my grave.'

AT THE FOOT OF the hill the road was raised on earthen banks, passing over an area of marsh and mud with a narrow stretch of water in the middle spanned by a stone bridge. On the far side, where the land rose again, was a soldiers' camp. Men sat outside the tents, sewing or carving, a few playing cards or dice. On the bridge soldiers stood inspecting the contents of the cart in front of us.

'This is the only link between Portsea Island and the mainland,' Hobbey said. 'If the French were to take it the island would be cut off.'

'Our guns will sink their fleet before they land,' David said confidently. Absorbed in the view, he seemed to have forgotten about Lamkin, and his mother's attack on him. Yet there was something haunted in his face.

A soldier came up and asked our business. 'Legal matters, in Portsmouth,' Hobbey answered briefly. The soldier glanced at Dyrick's and my robes and waved us on. We clattered over the bridge.

We rode across the island, along a dusty lane between an avenue of trees. Hugh turned to Hobbey, unaccustomed deference in his voice. 'Sir, may we ride across and get a closer look at the ships in the Haven?'

'Yes, please, Father,' David added eagerly.

Hobbey looked at him indulgently. 'Very well.'

We turned along a side lane and rode towards the water. We passed close to a large dockyard where dozens of men were labouring. There were several wooden derricks and a number of low structures including a long, narrow one which I recognized as a rope-walk, where lengths of rope would be coiled together to form thicker ones, dozens of feet long if necessary. Piles of large tree trunks lay around, and carpenters were busy sawing wood into different shapes and sizes. A small ship stood on a bed of mud carved into the shore, supported by thick poles. Men were working hard repairing it. There was a constant sound of hammering.

A little to the south of the dock we turned aside from the lane and halted the horses by a mudflat next to the sea, from which a welcome breeze came. There was a smell of salt and rot, the mud spattered with green seaweed. Here we had a clear view of the ships across the water. Eight of the galleasses, sixty feet long and each with an iron-tipped battering ram in front and several cannon protruding from gun ports at the side, moved across the calm, blue-green water, smooth and fast despite their boxy shape. They were using both sails and long lines of oars. I heard the regular beat of drums marking time for the oarsmen. They made impressive speed. We jumped as one fired its guns, puffs of black smoke rising from their mouths followed by loud reverberating cracks. Then it turned round, astonishingly fast.

Dyrick gave it an anxious look. Hugh gave a little mocking laugh. 'Do not worry, sir, they are only practising. There are no gunballs in the cannon. No need to be afraid.' Dyrick glared at him.

'It is their manoeuvrability that makes them so dangerous to an enemy,' Hugh said with pride.

My attention was focused on the four great warships, anchored at some distance from each other in the harbour. Their sails were reefed now and they rode gently on the calm water. They were enormous, like castles on the sea, dwarfing the galleasses. A big rowing boat was tied to the stern of each, no doubt for transporting men and supplies from shore. It was an extraordinary sight, one I realized few would ever witness. The warships were beautiful, with their clean lines and perfect balance on the water. The sides of the soaring fore- and aftercastles, and the waists in the middle, were brightly painted, the Tudor colours of green and white predominating. Each had four enormous masts, the largest rising a hundred and fifty feet into the air, flags of England and the Tudor dynasty flying at the top. The largest warship made my head spin to look at it; I guessed it was the Great Harry, the King's flagship. A massive flag bearing the royal arms flew from the aftercastle. I saw tiny figures moving to and fro along the decks, and other ant-like figures clambering in the mesh of rigging. High in the masts I made out more men standing in little circular nests.

David said, 'Those are the fighting tops. Your archers may go there.'

Even at this distance and on horseback I had to look up to see the topmasts. Hundreds of seagulls wheeled and swooped among the ships, uttering their loud sad cries.

'That men can make such things,' Hugh said wonderingly.

Two of the galleasses approached the Great Harry. With remarkable speed they turned side on, the oars almost ceasing to swing. The drums stopped. They held position as though about to fire a broadside at the great warship, then the drum sounded again; the galleasses wheeled round and shot down towards the mouth of the harbour. Other galleasses were making the same quick manoeuvres with the other ships. Practice, I thought, for when the French warships come.

David pointed eagerly at the second largest ship. It was the nearest, perhaps a quarter of a mile away. It had a long, high aftercastle and an even higher forecastle from which a long bowsprit, supporting meshed lines of rigging, stretched out fifty feet. At the bottom of the bowsprit a large circular object was fixed, brightly coloured in concentric circles of red and white. 'A rose,' David said. 'That is the Mary Rose.'

'The King's most favoured ship,' Hugh said. 'If only we could see them move. That must be astounding.'

On top of the aftercastle of the Mary Rose I saw a cage of what looked like netting, held in place by wooden struts. I wondered what it was.

Dyrick pointed to what looked like the ribs of some giant beast protruding from the mudflats near us. 'What's that?' he asked Hobbey.

'The ribs of some ship that foundered there. Those sandbanks are treacherous, the big warships have to be careful in the Haven. That is why most are outside, at Spitbank.' He shook his head. 'If the French come it will be difficult, perhaps impossible, to get all our ships in the Haven. At anchor they need two hundred yards to turn, I am told.'

'Just within bowshot of each other,' Hugh observed.

'There may be more dead ribs rising from the sea in a few weeks,' Feaveryear said sombrely.

'You're cheerful,' Barak told him.

'You joke,' Feaveryear said angrily, 'but war is ungodly and God will punish ungodly things.'

'No,' Hugh said. 'Our ships will deal with the French as Harry the Fifth did. Look at them—they are wonders, marvels. If the French come close we will board and destroy them. I wish I could be there.'

'Can you swim?' I asked.

'I can,' David answered proudly.

But Hugh shook his head. 'I never learned. But I am told few sailors can. Most would be carried down by the weight of their clothing.'

I looked at him. 'Do you feel no fear at the thought?'

He stared back with his usual blank expression. 'None.'

'The heartstone he wears protects him.' David said, a touch of mockery in his voice.

'How so?'

'It's supposed to prevent a stag from dying of fear,' Hobbey said wearily.

'Perhaps it does,' Hugh said.

I looked across the boys' close-shaven heads to Hobbey, who raised his eyebrows. On this matter we were on the same side.

WE RODE UP to the town walls, joining the end of a queue of carts waiting to get in. I noticed a gallows a little way outside the walls, a body dangling from it. On a patch of slightly higher ground between the road and one of the large ponds flanking the city was another soldiers' camp, near a hundred conical tents. Men sat outside. I saw one man repairing a brigandyne; he knelt, sewing the heavy armoured jacket, which lay on the ground. Away from the shore the air was muggy again: most of the men had cast off their jerkins and were in their shirts. One small group, though, wore short white coats, each with two red crosses stitched on the back; some village had evidently put together a home-made version of the official costume.

Hugh and David's attention had been caught by a sight familiar enough to me now; a couple of hundred yards away mounds of earth had been thrown up to make butts and some soldiers were practising with their longbows, shooting at oyster shells.

'Come along,' Hobbey said warningly and reluctantly the boys looked away.

We approached the city walls. They were thirty feet high, surrounded by a moat-like ditch and to my surprise built not of stone but of packed mud. Only the small crenellated battlements on top and the large bastions set at intervals were of stone. Men were still working on the walls, some hanging by ropes from the top, piling up new layers of mud and stabilizing them with hurdles and wooden planks. The stone bastion enclosing the main gate was massive, its circular top bristling with cannon. Soldiers patrolled the fighting platform running along the top. Close to, Portsmouth seemed more like a hurriedly erected castle than a town.

We joined the end of a long queue of carts waiting to enter the gate, which stood on a little rise, approached by a bridge across the moat. This town was, indeed, a fortress.

'This earth wall is a far cry from the walls of York,' I said to Barak.

'It's part of the fortifications Lord Cromwell built everywhere along the coasts in '39, when it seemed the French and Spanish might attack together to bring us back under the Pope. They were cobbled together in a hurry. I know that it kept him awake at nights,' he added sadly.

'By heaven, this place stinks,' Hobbey said. He was right, a cesspit smell hung heavy in the air. He looked across to the tents. 'It's the soldiers, using the mill pond as a sewer. Pigs.'

'Where the fuck else are they supposed to go?' Barak muttered under his breath. I thought, he is right; the ordure had nowhere to go in the flat marshy land around the city. The foul odours would only get worse as time passed, threatening disease.

We all turned at the sound of a loud, angry animal bellow. Behind us a heavy wagon drawn by four great horses had pulled up. The sound came from an enormous, muscular bull in a heavy iron cage.

'There's going to be a bull-baiting,' I said to Barak.

'With dogs probably, for the soldiers.'

Looking ahead, we saw that inside the gate was a complicated enclosed barbican, and that a cart loaded with barrels had got itself stuck. More carts pulled up behind us.

'We'll be here for ever,' Dyrick said impatiently.

'Master Shardlake!' I turned as I heard my name called. A young man was running across from the tents. I smiled as I recognized Carswell, the recruit in Leacon's company who hoped to be a playwright. His mobile, humorous face was as tanned as leather now. He bowed to our company. 'You have come to Portsmouth then, sir?'

'Ay, on business. We have just seen the ships in the harbour. We wondered if you might be on one of them.'

Carswell shook his head. 'We haven't been out on a ship yet. We've been stuck in camp. Captain Leacon's around. I can take you to him, I am sure he would be glad to see you. You'll be a while here,' he added, casting an experienced eye at the men struggling with the cart inside the gate.

The bull gave another angry bellow, rocking its cage. One of our servant's horses reared and plunged, the man desperately trying to control it. People in the crowd laughed. 'Your horses will be happier if they wait beside the road till that bull is past,' Carswell observed.

Hobbey nodded, dismounted, and led his horse out of the queue. The rest of us followed, leaving a servant to keep our place. 'I think Carswell here is right,' I told Hobbey. 'I will go and see my friend, just for a few minutes. We are still in good time for our meeting with Sir Quintin.'

'A few minutes only, sir, please.'

Barak and I walked over to the tents with Carswell. This was a chance to see Leacon, ask him about Philip West. I had decided I was going to talk to him if I could.

'This place stinks, doesn't it?' Carswell observed.

'Worse than the Thames banks,' Barak agreed.

Carswell looked at me. 'You'll remember what you said about helping me, sir? When you get back to London?'

I smiled. 'I had not forgotten.'

'I yearn to be home—I hate this waiting, sitting amid this stench like pigs in a sty. We're not allowed into town without passes, and I hear the sailors must stay on the ships. They fear we might fight, or disturb all those merchants negotiating with each other to get the best price for our poor rations. But I am told much of a soldier's life is spent in waiting.'

'So you haven't been on a ship yet?' Barak asked.

'No.' For once Carswell's tone was serious. 'One of our men near fainted when he saw the ships close to—many of us had never seen the sea.' He laughed uneasily. 'Imagine trying to stage that sight in a play. The warships and those galleasses. They're manned by criminals and beggars, not strong enough for such work. Some collapse and die, bodies are brought ashore in the evenings.' His voice took on its jesting note again. 'Do you think, sir, if I brought you before our commander the Earl of Suffolk in your lawyer's robes, you might argue a case for me to leave the army? Say the prospect of danger does not agree with me?'

I laughed. 'Alas, Carswell, the powers of lawyers do not extend so far.'

We were in among the tents now, stepping over guy ropes. Some of the soldiers from the company waved or shouted greetings. Sulyard, sitting outside his tent carving something on his knife handle, gave me a nasty stare. Carswell halted before a large tent, the cross of St George on a little pole at the top. Leacon had just stepped out. 'Captain, sir,' Carswell called. 'A visitor.'

Leacon wore a round helmet, half-armour over his surcoat, his sword at his waist. The tent flap opened and I saw the Welsh boy Tom Llewellyn carrying a document case. Leacon's expression had been anxious, but his face relaxed into a smile as he saw us.

'Master Shardlake! Jack Barak!'

'We have come to Portsmouth on business. There is a hold-up at the gates, young Carswell saw us and brought us over.'

'Good! How is your wife, Jack?'

'Very well, according to her last letter.'

'George,' I said, 'there is something I would speak with you about.'

'About your steward who said he was at Flodden? I have some news there.'

'Have you? I would like to hear it. And George, there is someone else I seek, who may be in Portsmouth. It is important. A man called Philip West, who I believe is an officer on the King's ships.'

'Then he'll be here. Did you hear Lord Lisle's ships had just arrived? There was a skirmish near the Channel Islands. But listen, I must leave now, there is a meeting of the captains in the town: I have to join Sir Franklin Giffard there.' He turned to Llewellyn. 'I am taking young Tom here with me: many of the captains are from Wales and he knows some Welsh from his father.' He raised his eyebrows. 'Diplomacy.' The boy smiled nervously. 'Could you meet me in town later?' Leacon asked. 'Perhaps this afternoon.'

'Certainly. We have a meeting at ten, but after that will be free.'

'The Red Lion tavern for lunch then, say at twelve?'

'I should be pleased.'

'I will arrange for one of the officers I am meeting to stay behind to talk to you. He has an interesting tale to tell about good Master Coldiron.'

'What news of your company? How fare you, Llewellyn?'

'Well, sir. Though those ships fair affrighted us when we saw them.'

'Ay,' Leacon agreed. 'If the men are to go on them, they need to accustom themselves to being at sea. But those in charge keep arguing how best to use us, and nothing is done, for all they tell me how they value us as principal archers.' He sighed heavily. 'Come, will you walk with me back to the road?'

We made our way through the rows of tents. 'What news of the French?' I asked quietly.

He drew a little ahead of Llewellyn. 'Bad. Over two hundred ships gathering at the French ports, packed with thirty thousand soldiers. Lord Lisle encountered a host of their galleys off the Channel Islands last week. The weather turned bad, though, and there was no real action. We are going to need every man if they land here.' He looked at me seriously. 'Those galleys of theirs are large and fast, much superior to our galleasses, and rowed by slaves experienced in Mediterranean warfare. They have two dozen.' He gave me a sombre look. 'You know how many such galleys we have?' I shook my head. 'One.'

'When might they come?'

'A week, perhaps two. Much will depend on the weather, as always at sea.'

I was eager to talk about Coldiron, but saw Leacon was keen to move on. We were beyond the tents now. Then Barak pointed to where the men were practising at the butts and laughed. 'Look at that!'

Hugh and David, in defiance of Hobbey's orders, had dismounted and joined the archers. Hugh was bending to a longbow which he must have borrowed, and as I watched he sent an arrow flying. It hit the oyster shell, shattering it into a dozen pieces. The soldiers clapped. I saw Sulyard in the group, his enemy Pygeon standing at a little distance. A man at the other end of the range hurried up to the butts and fixed another oyster shell to the centre.

'Look at that fellow, sir,' Llewellyn said admiringly to Leacon.

Hugh handed the bow to David. David's arrow just missed the oyster shell and he scowled.

'Who are those lads?' Leacon asked curiously.

'My host's son and his ward.' I saw Hobbey and Dyrick talking agitatedly to Snodin the whiffler, who stood with hands on hips, an aggressive expression on his red face. Hugh bent to the bow again as we walked across to Hobbey and Dyrick.

'Get them away from there!' Hobbey was shouting to Snodin, more angry and agitated than I had ever seen him. 'Tell your men to stop their practice now.'

'But they have been ordered to practise,' Snodin replied in his deep voice, 'by Sir Franklin Giffard himself.' He waved a meaty hand at Leacon as we came up. 'Here, talk to Master Petty—Captain if you like.'

Leacon gave Hobbey and Dyrick a curt nod, then watched as Hugh sent another arrow flying to the oyster shell. Again he broke it. Hobbey grabbed Leacon's arm. 'Are you the captain of this rabble? Get my boys away from those butts. They are defying my explicit orders—'

Leacon pushed Hobbey's arm away. 'I do not care for your manners, sir,' he said sharply. 'Boys they may be, but few enough adults could pull a longbow like that, let alone shoot so well. They must be very well practised.'

'They'd make good recruits,' Snodin said maliciously. 'Especially the taller lad.'

'You insolent dog,' Hobbey snapped.

Dyrick spoke up. 'Captain Leacon, we have an appointment in the city with the feodary of Hampshire. We shall be late.' He looked over to the gates. The obstruction had been cleared and the carts were going slowly in. The bull's cage was just entering.

'I think you had better call Hugh and David over,' I said quietly to Leacon.

'For you, Master Shardlake, certainly. You keep a civil tongue in your head.' He called to the archers. 'Cease firing! You two young fellows, over here!'

Reluctantly, Hugh handed the bow back to its owner, and he and David walked over to us. Leacon smiled at them. 'Well done, lads. Fine shooting.' He looked at Hugh. 'You hit the mark twice in succession, young fellow.'

'We practise every day.' Hugh was staring at Leacon with something like awe. 'Sir, will we repel the French?'

'You won't!' Hobbey, still angry, grabbed him by the shoulder. David flinched and backed away, a frightened expression on his face. So he had not forgotten about yesterday after all.

Hugh turned on Hobbey, his face suddenly red with fury. 'Let me go!' For a second I thought he might lash out.

'Hugh,' I said quietly.

To my relief, Hugh brushed off Hobbey's arm and walked back to the horses. 'Till later,' I said to Leacon. 'I am sorry about that.'

He nodded. 'Back to practice, Goddams,' he called to the soldiers. We remounted and rode up to the gates; Leacon and Llewellyn had already passed through. Once again we were asked our business by the soldiers on guard before we were allowed through. As we rode through the barbican into the sunlight, I heard the steady beat of drums from within.

Chapter Twenty-six

WITHIN THE WALLS, Portsmouth reminded me even more of the interior of a castle. The town was surrounded on all sides by the earth walls, sloping gently down on the inner side, where turf had been laid to stabilize the earth. Much of the enclosed area was given over to market gardens, the town itself being surprisingly small. The street facing us was the only one wholly built up with shops and cottages, the better ones with jutting upper storeys. I saw only one church, down towards the seafront, with another signal lantern on top of its square tower.

'This is the High Street,' Hobbey said. 'We are meeting Master Priddis at the new Guildhall halfway down.'

The street was unpaved, dusty from all the traffic, the air full of the heavy, cloying smell of brewing. We rode past tired-looking labourers, sunburnt sailors in woollen smocks with bare feet, soldiers in their round helmets who must have obtained passes into the town. A well-dressed merchant, a fine lace collar on his shirt, rode along with a pomander held to his nose, a clerk riding alongside calling out figures from a list. Like many others the merchant kept a hand on the purse at his belt.

People were haggling loudly at the open shopfronts. I heard a remarkable babel of tongues among the passers-by: Welsh, Spanish, Flemish. At every corner a little group of soldiers, in half-armour and carrying halberds, stood watching all who passed. I remembered the corner boys. The town crier, resplendent in his red uniform, passed up and down ringing a bell, shouting, 'All women who cannot prove residence by tomorrow will be removed as prostitutes!' A drunk staggered into the road, swigging from a pigskin gourd. 'Join King Harry's navy!' he shouted. 'Six and sixpence a month and all the beer you can drink!' He tottered towards Feaveryear, who pulled his horse aside. 'Godless creature,' he muttered angrily.

'Don't you like a drink now and then, Feaveryear?' Barak asked teasingly.

'My vicar says to keep out of taverns.'

'Sounds like my wife.'

'Hugh and David put up a remarkable show back there,' I said to Feaveryear.

'I envy Master Hugh his prowess.' The little clerk sighed.

'I would not envy him too much. I think his life is no bed of roses.'

Feaveryear stared at me. 'No, sir. You are wrong. Hugh has been brought up well. He is strong, skilled and learned. A true gentleman. It is as my master says; you have no cause against this family.' He spurred his horse and pulled ahead.

THE GUILDHALL was a large, brightly painted wooden building of three storeys. An ostler took our horses to some stables behind. Hobbey told David to wait outside with the servants until we returned, warning them sternly to stay out of the taverns.

'I suppose you want Barak with you,' Dyrick said.

'Yes, Brother, I do.'

Dyrick shrugged. 'Come then, Sam.'

We stepped into a large central hall. A wooden staircase rose to an upper floor. People passed busily to and fro, royal officials and townsmen in their guild uniforms. Hobbey accosted a harassed looking clerk and asked for Sir Quintin Priddis.

'He's upstairs, sir. In the room facing the staircase. Are you the gentlemen come to see him? I fear you are a little late.'

Hobbey rounded on Hugh. 'That business at the butts! Gentlemen do not keep each other waiting.' Hugh shrugged.

We walked upstairs. Barak looked round disparagingly. 'A wooden Guildhall?'

'There can't be more than a few hundred living here normally. The townsfolk must feel swamped.'

We knocked on the door the clerk had indicated. A cultivated voice bade us enter. Inside was a meeting room, sparsely decorated and dominated by a large oaken table at which two men sat, a neat stack of papers before them. The younger wore a lawyer's robe; he was a little over forty, his dark hair worn long, his square face coldly handsome. The elder was in his sixties; grey-haired, wearing a brown robe. He sat crouched, one shoulder much higher than the other, and for a moment I thought Sir Quintin Priddis was another hunchback. Then I saw that one side of his face was frozen and that his left hand, which lay on the table, was a desiccated claw, bone white. He must have had a paralytic seizure. As coroner of Sussex, this was the man who had ordered Ellen to be forced screaming into a coach. Reverend Seckford had described him as a busy, bustling little fellow. Not any more.

We bowed and raised our heads to find two identical pairs of sharp, bright blue eyes examining us across the table.

'Well, this is quite a deputation,' the older man said. His voice was slurred, lisping. 'I had not thought to see so many. And a serjeant, no less. You must be Master Shardlake?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Sir Quintin Priddis, feodary of Hampshire. This is my son Edward, my assistant.' He glanced at the younger man, without affection I thought. 'Now, Master Hobbey I know, and this well-set-up young fellow must be Hugh.' He studied the boy closely. Hugh put up a hand to cover his scars. 'You have grown much, lad, since last I saw you. But why do you keep your hair polled so close? A good head of hair suits a young gentleman.'

'I am an archer, sir,' Hugh answered unemotionally. 'It is the way among us.'

A sardonic smile briefly distorted the right half of Sir Quintin's face. Hobbey said, 'This is Master Vincent Dyrick, my legal representative. The other two are the lawyers' clerks.'

'I am afraid there is a shortage of chairs in this poor place,' Priddis said. 'I cannot ask you to sit. But we shall not be here long; I have a meeting at eleven that cannot wait. Well, Master Shardlake, what questions have you for me?' He gave me a cold smile.

'You will know this case well, sir—'

'Not as a legal dispute.' Edward Priddis spoke quietly and precisely. 'My father knows this as an ordinary wardship, in his capacity as feodary. He assessed the initial value of the lands and has dealt with routine queries from Master Hobbey since then.'

Sir Quintin gave his crooked, mirthless half-smile. 'You see, my son too is a lawyer. As I was at the start of my career. He is right, but you, Master Shardlake, you believe there is some reason for concern.' I looked into those bright blue eyes, but could read nothing of the man except that he still had force and power.

'Sir Quintin,' I asked, 'when you refer to routine queries do you mean the cutting of Master Hugh's woodlands?'

'Indeed. Master Hobbey has always thought these were good times to exploit the demand for wood. I advised him that would be legal if Hugh was credited with the profits. Exploiting a resource on those terms is not waste, rather a wise benefiting from market conditions.'

Edward laid his hands on the papers. 'There are notes here of my father's discussions with Master Hobbey. You are welcome to see them.'

'I am concerned that the amounts recorded in Master Hobbey's accounts may not reflect the amount of prime oak I have seen in the remaining woodlands.'

Hobbey looked at me sharply. Dyrick addressed Priddis. 'The woodland that has been cut had much less oak than that which remains.'

'You will have seen the lands before the woods were cut down, sir,' I said to Priddis.

'I remember seeing mixed woodland. But that was five years ago, at the first cutting. And travel through woodland presents difficulties for me now.' He nodded at his dead white hand.

'Master Hobbey said your son rides the lands for you.'

'That is true,' Edward said. 'And I am sure my father's assessment is right. However,' he added smoothly, 'we will be staying in Portsmouth a few days more, and can journey out to Hoyland. I have no objection to riding out with you to look at the lands. You can show me what you mean.'

And you can interpret it as you like, I thought, for there is no real proof; it is too late to do anything. But, if nothing else, I wanted to get to know this pair better, for Ellen's sake. Edward Priddis would have been around twenty at the time of the fire, I thought, his father in his forties.

Sir Quintin smiled. 'Good. I will come out to Hoyland with you. I could do with a day away from this stinking town. I can still just about ride, but I will have to rest at Master Hobbey's fine house. Well, Master Shardlake, you see how we make every effort to cooperate with the court. We could come next Monday, the thirteenth. In the afternoon.'

Hobbey looked worried. 'Sir, we are having a hunt on Monday. It has been planned for many weeks. It would be awkward—'

'Ah, the hunt,' Priddis said wistfully. 'I used to love hunting. Well, Monday is the only day I can come. I am due to set off for Winchester on Tuesday. We need not get in your way. The hunt should be over by three o'clock, I hazard.'

Dyrick spoke then. 'I see little point in riding through the remains of long-felled woodland to try and work out what sort of trees once grew there. And the Bill of Information that started this matter spoke of monstrous wrongs. But Master Curteys has no complaints, I believe.'

Sir Quintin turned to Hugh. 'What say you, lad? Has any wrong been done to you by Master Hobbey or his family?' I looked at the feodary. He was relaxed, he knew what answer the boy would make.

'No, sir,' Hugh answered quietly. 'Only that I am not allowed to join the army, which is what I wish.'

Priddis laughed creakily. 'So many avoiding their obligations, and here is a fine lad offering to serve. But, young man, your place is at home. And in three years' time, you will be able to sue out your livery and take your place as a gentleman with your own lands.' He waved his good arm. 'Take your hand from your face; I of all people have reason not to be put off by blemishes. Stand forth boldly! If one attracts stares, that is how one must react. Eh, Master Shardlake?'

I did not reply. Hugh lowered his hand, and Priddis studied him a moment more. Then he looked at Hobbey. 'The boy has a pleasant aspect, despite those scars. Is there a marriage in prospect?'

Hobbey shook his head. 'I am leaving Master Hugh free to choose whom he would marry. There is no one at present.'

Priddis looked at me severely. 'It seems, Master Shardlake, that you may have been sent on a fool's errand. Your client risks heavy costs when the case returns to Wards.'

'It is my duty to investigate everything.'

Priddis inclined his head. 'I suppose that is your prerogative.'

Dyrick spoke scathingly. 'I fear Brother Shardlake will be pulling up the floorboards at the priory to see if there are any mice that might bite Hugh.'

Sir Quintin raised a reproving finger. 'Now, Master Dyrick, I am sure he would not go quite that far.'

Edward Priddis murmured to his father, 'We must consider the papers on Sir Martin Osborne's case this morning—'

'Quite right,' Sir Quintin agreed. 'Thank you, gentlemen, I will see you on Monday.' He smiled at Hobbey. 'If your hunting guests see me, tell them I am an old friend who has called by.' He gave his little cackle.

We bowed and left. Outside, Dyrick rounded on me angrily. 'God's blood, Shardlake, why will you not let this go? You saw what Sir Quintin thought of it all. Are you out to embarrass Master Hobbey on the day of his hunt?'

'Calm yourself, Brother. You heard Sir Quintin, he will not advertise his business.'

We walked downstairs in silence. The clerk who had shown us up was talking in deferential tones to two men standing in the doorway of the Guildhall. Both were dressed in fur-lined robes and caps despite the July heat, and each had a fat gold chain round his neck. They turned, and I recognized Sir William Paulet and Sir Richard Rich. I was so shocked I stopped dead at the bottom of the staircase, so that Hobbey bumped into me from behind. Paulet threw me a severe look, but Rich gave a little snort of laughter.

'Master Shardlake,' he said. 'We will not eat you. On my oath, you are turned into a nervous fellow since your time in the Tower.'

Mention of the Tower brought the buzz of conversation among the people in the hallway to a halt. Everyone looked round.

'Your enquiries are still proceeding, Brother Shardlake?' Paulet asked coldly. 'You must have been here, what, a week?'

'Five days, Sir William.'

Rich gave his thin smile. 'Oh, Master Shardlake was ever a persistent fellow. No matter what trouble his persistence may land him in.'

'I act only within the confines of the law,' I answered steadily.

'So must all men,' Rich answered.

'I take it you have been seeing Sir Quintin Priddis?' Paulet asked.

'We have, sir.'

'Quintin Priddis, eh?' Rich's grey eyes widened with curiosity.

'He is the feodary of Hampshire,' Paulet said.

'I knew Sir Quintin when I was studying for the Bar thirty years ago. He gave me some interesting insights about the use of the law. Well, it is a small world at the top. And everyone of importance is heading for Portsmouth now. You should not be so astonished to see me, Master Shardlake.'

'I knew you were coming, Sir Richard. You passed us on the road last week.'

'I did not see you.'

'I was travelling with a company of soldiers.'

'Soldiers, eh? Well, I am in charge of finance for supplying the army, as I was in France last year. Making sure the merchants do not cheat the King.' He snuggled his pointed little chin into his fur collar, a courtier enjoying the display of power. 'Governor Paulet has been seeking my advice on security matters,' he went on. 'There is fighting between the soldiers and sailors who find their way to the city every night. If we could hang a few more—'

'We're short enough of men,' Paulet answered curtly. 'We can't go hanging the ones we've got. I'll speak to the officers again. Now, Sir Richard, the mayor is waiting within—'

'A moment, Sir William,' Rich said softly. 'I would have a brief word with my friend Shardlake.' He waved a hand at our party. 'The rest of you, go.' Barak hesitated, and Rich snapped, 'You too, Jack Barak. Always nosing around, ever since you served Lord Cromwell that lost his head.' Barak turned reluctantly and joined the others at the entrance.

'Now, Matthew Shardlake.' Rich stood close, I saw the heavy gold links of his chain, the smoothness of his narrow cheeks, smelt garlic on his breath. 'Listen to me, well and carefully. It is time for you to complete your business and hasten back to London. The King and Queen are at Godalming, they will be here in the middle of next week. My intelligence is that the King does not know you are Queen Catherine's friend. And if he did, and saw you here, he might be displeased with you again.' He leaned forward, poked my chest with a narrow finger. 'Time to be gone.'

'Sir Richard,' I asked quietly, 'why does it matter to you where I am or what I do?'

Rich inclined his head and smiled. 'Because I do not like you. I do not like the sight of your bent back or your long nose or your busy little eyes with their censorious look. And I am a member of his majesty's Privy Council, so when I say it is time for you to go, you go.' He turned away, his long robe billowing as he walked back to where Paulet stood watching inside the doorway. I went back to the others, my stomach churning. Dyrick looked at me curiously.

'Was that Sir Richard Rich?'

'It was.'

Dyrick laughed. 'I think he does not love you, Brother.'

'No,' I answered quietly. 'No, he does not.'

THE OSTLER brought the horses round. There was little space to mount in the crowded street; one of the horses almost backed into a water carrier bent double under his huge conical basket.

'What did that evil little arsehole want?' Barak whispered.

'Not now. I'll tell you when we're on our own.'

Hobbey looked at David and Hugh. 'We shall ride down to the bottom of Oyster Street. We should be able to see the big ships anchored at Spithead from there. But then we will leave Master Shardlake to meet his friend and go home.'

'Could we not ride out to South Sea?' David asked. 'Look at the new castle?' There was still a sadness in his face; I thought, he seeks distraction.

'I have preparations to make for the hunt. And I want you boys back home. Apart from anything else, these scabby crowds will be alive with fleas.'

I wondered if the boys would argue further, but Hugh merely shrugged. David looked surly.

We rode on down the High Street, past the church, a solid Norman building with heavy buttresses. At a little distance I saw the walls of what looked like a former monastic house; tall, narrow buildings were visible over the wall, and the round tower of a large church.

'That is the old Godshouse,' Hobbey said. 'It was a monastic hospital, and lodging for travellers. It is being used as a meeting place now, and a storehouse for military equipment. We must turn here.'

We had halted in a broad space where several streets met. Opposite us the walls ended at a large square tower. Bronze and iron cannon pointed out to sea, the sun glinting on the bronze barrels. Some soldiers were drilling on a wide platform. Hugh and David looked at them with keen admiration. We turned right into a paved street fronting a little tidal bay almost enclosed by a low, semi-circular spit of land. 'That little harbour is the Camber,' Hobbey said. 'God's death, it smells foul today.'

'The marshy spit is the Point,' Hugh added.

'If we ride down to the other end we can see the ships across the Point,' Hobbey said. 'Come, let us get on.'

It took only a few minutes to ride down Oyster Street. The town wall continued along the eastern half of the spit opposite us, ending in a high round tower topped with more heavy cannon. Oyster Street was full of shops and taverns. Labourers stood outside, drinking beer. We rode carefully past soldiers and sailors, carters and labourers, and numerous merchants engaged in busy argument. At the far end of the street the circular spit of land ended at a narrow opening to the sea. Opposite the opening, at the end of Oyster Street, a broad stone jetty stood surrounded by warehouses. Goods were being carried in constantly from carts that pulled up outside, while other men brought out supplies and loaded them onto little supply boats.

We rode to the jetty, passing a group of well-dressed merchants disputing the price of biscuit with an official. Hugh's gaze was drawn by two labourers carrying a long, slightly curved box carefully to the jetty.

'A longbow box,' he said wistfully.

WE HALTED a little beyond the jetty, where a walkway ran under the town walls. From here we could see across the narrow harbour entrance to the Gosport shore. There several more forts stood, mightily armed with cannon.

Hugh waved an arm across the wide vista. 'See, Master Shardlake, the harbour is protected on all sides by guns, from the Round Tower over to the Gosport forts.'

But my attention had been drawn by a sight even more extraordinary than we had seen in Portsmouth Haven—the forest of high masts in the Solent. Perhaps forty ships stood at anchor, varying in size from enormous to a third the size of the ones we had seen in the Haven. The upper parts of the bigger ships were brightly painted with shields and other emblems, and their decks all bristled with cannon. One large ship was furling its giant sails; a drumbeat sounded across the water as men laboured at the rigging.

Then, as we watched, an extraordinary vessel sped up the Solent towards them. Near two hundred feet long, it had only one mast. The sail was furled, and it was propelled by two dozen giant oars on each side. A large cannon was mounted at the front, and there was an awning at the back, decorated in cloth of gold that sparkled in the sun. There an overseer stood, beating time on a drum. I saw the heads of the rowers moving rapidly to and fro.

'Jesu, what is that?' Dyrick asked, his voice hushed for once.

'I heard the King had built a great galley,' Hobbey answered. 'It is called the Galley Subtle.'

I thought, according to Leacon the French have two dozen.

'Beautiful,' Hugh said quietly. The huge galley changed course, moving past the moored warships towards the mouth of the harbour, leaving a long ribbon of churning white wake.

'There, Shardlake,' Dyrick said. 'Something to tell your friends in London when you get home. Maybe the sight will be some compensation when you see my bill of costs!'

'If we get home,' Barak murmured in a low voice.

Hobbey turned his horse. 'Now, boys, we must go back to Hoyland.'

'Do we have to?' David asked.

'Yes. We can ride up one of the side streets, it will be quieter. Until later, Master Shardlake.' He looked at me steadily. 'And as Vincent said earlier, you saw what Sir Quintin Priddis thought of this matter. I hope and expect it will all be over on Monday. Come, boys.'

HOBBEY AND his party rode away, leaving Barak and me on the walkway. 'It must be almost twelve,' I said.

'Let's get on, then.' The sight of all the ships seemed to have disturbed him. We rode back towards the jetty.

'Hobbey wants this hunt so much,' I mused. 'Yet Abigail said it is not safe. And we still have no clue why—'

He cut across me, his tone sharp, anxious. 'What happened with Rich?'

I told him, adding, 'It is odd he should be waiting there, just like at Whitehall. And with Paulet of all people.' I hesitated. 'And Richard Rich is one who could easily engage some corner boys to set on somebody.'

To my surprise Barak turned his horse round, blocking my way. It whickered nervously, and Oddleg jerked his head back.

'What are you doing?' I asked.

'Trying to make you listen!' Barak's eyes glistened with anger. 'I can't believe you just said that. You see Richard Rich and now you try to tangle him in this. The army is here, all the King's ships are here, nearly everyone important is coming here. Rich is on the Privy Council and Paulet is governor of Portsmouth. Where the hell else would they be? There is nothing to this. Hugh is safe and well and if Mistress Hobbey sees bogles under the bed, who gives a rat's arse?'

I was surprised by the force of his outburst. I said stiffly, 'I think Hobbey and Priddis have been creaming the profits off Hugh's woodland for years.'

Barak grabbed his cap and threw it on the dusty road in frustration. 'But you can't prove it, and Hugh doesn't give a shit anyway! And why in Jesus's holy name would Richard Rich care twopence about the affairs of a small estate in Hampshire? God's death, Mistress Hobbey is not the only one seeing bogles everywhere.'

Barak had been angry with me before, but never like this. 'I only want to ensure Hugh is safe,' I said quietly. 'And you have no need to speak to me like that.'

'You can surely see that he is safe. The little shit.'

'Why do you call him that?'

'Didn't you see him back there, calling that galley thing beautiful. Who were the oarsmen, eh? People picked up off the London streets, like those Corporal Carswell said are brought ashore as corpses. I was on the streets as a child and if I learned anything it was how damned hard it is for any human creature to cling onto this earth. Plenty don't, they get struck down by disease like Joan, or like my first baby that never even saw the light of day. But people like Hugh just want to bring more blood and death. But he's safe enough, living in that damned priory, waited on hand and foot.'

'He would serve in the army if he could!'

'Damn the army! And damn him! We need to get out of here, get home before the fucking French come and blow all those ships to fragments!'

I looked at him. My mind had been so concentrated on Hugh and Ellen that I had forgotten what was going on around us. 'Very well,' I said quietly. 'Unless I find some evidence of serious wrongdoing against Hugh, we will leave on Tuesday, after Priddis and his son have visited. Perhaps you are right. But I want to see what Leacon has to say about Coldiron and this man West.'

'You'd leave Ellen's matter alone too if you'd any sense. Who knows what you may stir up? But so long as we leave on Tuesday.'

I raised a hand. 'I said so. Unless I find this monstrous wrong Michael said had been done to Hugh.'

'You won't. There isn't one.'

Barak turned his horse round and we went past the jetty, back into Oyster Street. Two soldiers, unsteady with drink, shoved a labourer aside. He turned and let out a stream of angry curses. Barak pointed at an inn sign, the royal lion of England painted bright red.

'That's it,' he said. 'Let's get this done.'

Chapter Twenty-seven

BARAK FOUND an ostler to take the horses, and we entered the inn. The interior was hot, noisy, the floor covered with filthy straw. A group of carters were arguing loudly over whether hops or corn were harder to carry; a circle of Italians in striped woollen jerkins sat dicing at a table. Leacon waved to us from a small alcove by the window, where he sat with Tom Llewellyn and an older man. I asked Barak to fetch half a dozen beers from the hatch, and went over to them. Leacon had removed his half-armour and helmet, which lay on the straw beside him.

'A useful meeting?' I asked.

'Not very. They still haven't decided whether we are to be posted on the ships or on shore to repel the French.'

'Pikemen are more use on the shore,' the older man said.

Leacon clapped Llewellyn on the shoulder. 'Tom here tried his Welsh with two captains from Swansea.'

'I'm glad my father was not there to see me stumble,' the boy said ruefully.

'Now, Master Shardlake,' Leacon said, 'I have found your Philip West. He is assistant purser on the Mary Rose. And the ships' officers too are meeting this morning. At the Godshouse.'

'We saw the Godshouse as we rode in.'

'I will take you there afterwards. But first let me introduce Master John Saddler. He is whiffler to a company of pikemen here.'

I nodded to Saddler. He was short and stocky, with small, hard blue eyes and a lantern jaw framed by a short grey beard. I sat, removing my cap and coif with relief. Barak joined us with the drinks and passed them round.

'Now, sir,' Leacon addressed Saddler. 'Tell my friend what you know of that good man William Coldiron.'

Saddler studied me, his eyes coldly speculative. 'That's not his real name, if it's the man I knew. Though he had good reason to change his name. He was christened William Pile. Captain Leacon here has been asking all the old veterans if they'd heard of him. It was the description I recognized. Tall and thin, around sixty now, an eye out and a scar across his face.'

'That's Coldiron.'

'How do you know him, sir?' Saddler asked curiously.

'I have the misfortune to have him for my steward.'

Saddler smiled, showing stumps of discoloured teeth. 'Then watch your silver, sir. And when you return home, ask him what he did with our company's money when he deserted.'

'Deserted? He told me he was at Flodden and killed the Scottish King.'

Saddler laughed. 'Did you believe him?' he asked, mockery in his voice.

'Not for a second. Nor would I continue to employ him, for he is a lazy, lying drunkard, but I feel sorry for his daughter that came with him.'

Saddler's eyes narrowed. 'A daughter? How old would she be?'

'Mid-twenties, I would say. Quite tall, blonde. Her name is Josephine.'

Saddler laughed. 'That's her! That's our old mascot.'

'Your what?'

Saddler leaned back, folding his arms over a flat stomach. 'Let me tell you about William Pile. He was a Norfolk man, like me. We were both levied into the army for the war against the Scots, back in 1513. We were in our twenties then. William was at Flodden, that's true, but unlike me he wasn't standing on that moor as the Scotch pikemen ran down the ridge at us. William Pile's father was an estate reeve and got him a job working in the stores. He was well in the rear that day, as always. Killed the Scottish King, my arse.' He smiled coldly. 'And that's just the beginning. After the 1513 war, which got us fuck all like every war this King's made, we both stayed in the army. Sometimes we'd be with the garrison at Berwick, sometimes in Calais. Boring times mostly, hardly any action. That suited William, though. He liked to spend his days drinking and dicing.'

'So, you knew Coldiron—Pile—well?'

'Surely. Never liked the old shit, but I used to marvel at how he got away with things. We served together for years, I was promoted to whiffler, but William stayed an army clerk, no ambition beyond creaming what he could from the men's rations and cheating at cards. He'd no prospect of marrying, not with that face. Let me guess, he told you he got his injuries at Flodden.'

'That's right.'

Saddler laughed sardonically. 'This is what really happened. One evening in Caernarfon Castle William was playing cards. There was a big Devon fellow with us, six feet tall and with a vile temper when he was drunk, which they all were that night or William would have been more careful in his cheating. When the Devon man realized he'd been done out of a sovereign, he stood up, grabbed his sword and slashed William across the face.' He laughed again. 'God's nails, you should have seen the blood! They thought he would die, but stringy fellows like William are hard to kill. He recovered and came with us to France two years later on campaign.'

'I remember that war. I was a student then.'

'The campaign in '23 was a pathetic affair, the soldiers did little more than raid the countryside round Calais. Put a few French villages to the fire.' He chuckled again. 'Sent the village women running out over the muddy fields screaming, skirts held up round their big French bums.' Saddler looked up, enjoying my look of distaste.

'There was this one village, all the people ran like rabbits as we came down the road. We went in to see what we could take from the houses before we burned them. Don't look like that, master, spoil from stripping the countryside is the only money soldiers make from war. The French will take plenty if they land here. Anyway, there wasn't much in this dump to take back, just a few pigs and chickens. We were setting the houses afire when this little girl ran out of one, screaming at the top of her voice. About three she was. She'd been left behind. Well, some soldiers get soft-hearted.' Saddler shrugged. 'So we took her back to Calais with us. The company cared for her, shared rations with her. She was quite happy, we sewed her a little dress in the company colours, and a little hat with the Cross of St George on.' Saddler took a drink of beer and sniggered. 'You should have seen her, toddling about the barracks waving the little wooden sword we'd made for her. Like I said, our mascot.'

Leacon was staring at Saddler, his face bleak. I fought down my disgust at the man. He went on, 'Her name was Josephine. Jojo we called her. She learned some English from the men. Well, after a while the army was ordered to sail home, tails between our legs again. We were going to leave her behind, find someone in Calais to take her. But William Pile, your Coldiron, he said he'd take Jojo with him. He was thinking of retiring from the army and he would raise her to keep house for him. Maybe other things if she turned out pretty.' Saddler glanced at us, leering. Tom Llewellyn looked shocked. Leacon stared at Saddler as though he were the devil.

'Well, William did retire, but not in the usual way. As soon as we got back to England he stole the company's supply money and disappeared. Took Josephine with him. We were sent to Berwick afterwards and kept on short rations, the officers weren't going to put their hands in their pockets. Never heard of William again till now. He would have been hanged if he'd been caught.' Saddler crossed his arms, still smiling. 'That's the story. Did Josephine turn out pretty, by the way?'

'Pretty enough,' I answered coldly.

Saddler frowned. 'I remember that three months on short rations on the Scottish border. If you can get William Pile hanged that would be a favour to me.'

Leacon stood up and put on his helmet and gorget. Llewellyn followed. 'Thank you, Master Saddler,' Leacon said stiffly. 'Master Shardlake and I have someone to meet and then I must go back to camp. We are grateful for your help.'

Saddler raised his glass and smiled at me. 'Goodbye, sir. Remember me to Madame Josephine.'

OUTSIDE the street seemed more crowded and noisy than ever.

'I'll walk to the Godshouse with you,' Leacon said. 'You may need my authority to get in. I don't have to go back to camp just yet, I just had to get away from Saddler.'

'I understand.'

'What did you make of his story?'

'It fits with what I know of Coldiron.' I smiled grimly. 'I have a hold over him now. I plan to kick him out, but keep Josephine on if she wishes to stay.'

'How does he treat her?'

'Badly. But she obeys every word he says. She believes herself his daughter.'

Leacon looked doubtful. 'Then she may not want to part from him.'

I smiled wryly. 'A meddler may make a worse muddle, eh?'

'That he may,' Barak agreed pointedly. Then he scratched his head fiercely. 'I think I've got lice.'

I shuddered. 'And I can feel fleas. That tavern must be full of them.'

Leacon smiled. 'You should get your hair cut, Jack.'

'Everyone in camp has lice,' Llewellyn added gloomily. 'And I've lost my comb.'

'You're not the only one,' Leacon said. 'I wish you men would remember to keep track of your things.'

Barak looked out over the stinking Camber. Beyond, the masts of the ships moored in the Solent were just visible. 'The foul humours of this place will bring disease before long.'

'Well,' Leacon said firmly, 'here we must stay till the French come.' He turned to Llewellyn. 'Would you go back to camp? Tell Sir Franklin I will return soon.'

'Yes, sir.'

I said to Barak, 'Go back with him, Jack, take the horses and wait for me in camp. I think it would be best if I spoke with Master West alone.'

'All right,' he agreed reluctantly. He and Llewellyn walked back to the tavern. Leacon and I continued down Oyster Street. Leacon said quietly, 'Saddler was on the Scottish campaign last year, he told me about all the plate and cloth he took from Edinburgh. But he is right, soldiers have always seen spoil as the legitimate fruit of war, waited for the cry of "Havoc!" Men like Saddler though—nothing they see affects them, they have hearts like stones. Thank God I only have one or two like that under my command, like Sulyard, who insulted you. When Saddler talked about those villagers running across the fields—' He broke off.

'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 Rolfs-wood.'

'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. 'Cabron!' he shouted angrily. 'You think we wan' serve on your ships! Our capitanes make us!'

'Cappytanis! What's a fucking cappytanis?'

'I fight with Cortes 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?'

'Talking with Sir Franklin in his tent. I don't think they'll be long.'

I looked at the wrestlers. One was a big stocky fellow in his twenties, the other, I saw, was Tom Llewellyn. He had a powerful chest and shoulders for one so young. As I watched Llewellyn managed to throw his opponent on the ground, where he lay panting. Some cheered, others looked morose. Many had the big leather pouches in which they carried their belongings at their waists, and various small items were taken out and handed over. Carswell's neighbour gave him a double-sided nit comb, the thin side black with dead lice, and a tiny bone spoon.

'What's that?' I asked, pointing to the spoon.

'Ear-wax scoop,' Carswell answered cheerfully. 'Useful stuff for waxing your bows.' He threw a cloth to Llewellyn, who wiped his sweating chest. 'Well done, lad.'

'See who's next,' Barak murmured. 'This should be interesting.' I saw that Sulyard and Pygeon had stepped into the ring. They glared at each other as they removed jerkins and shirts. Sulyard was bigger, and his body looked to have a raw-boned strength; but Pygeon, though stringy, had not an ounce of fat on him. Sulyard put his hands on his hips and turned to the crowd. 'We won't be long—those who've put bets on lop-ears get ready to lose your stakes!'

Pygeon did not reply, only stared at Sulyard. He shook his arms to loosen them, then shifted his weight from foot to foot to get his balance. He was taking this seriously. Sulyard grinned at him. 'We should have our own bet, lop-ears,' he said loudly. 'Tell you what, if I win I'll have that rosary you use to say Hail Mary on the quiet. His family are our village recusants, lads!'

'And if I win,' Pygeon shouted, 'I'll have your brigandyne.'

Sulyard looked taken aback. Several in the crowd laughed. Someone shouted, 'Take the bet, Sulyard, as you're so sure of winning.'

Barak said to Carswell, 'Bet you a half groat Sulyard wins.'

'Done.'

The fight went on for ten minutes, Sulyard's thrusting power against Pygeon's unexpected strength. I realized Pygeon meant to tire Sulyard out. Slowly the camp bully weakened. In the end Pygeon put him down, not with a throw but with a steady, powerful movement that made his stringy muscles stand out. The taller man's legs buckled, and then Sulyard was on the ground, panting heavily. Pygeon smiled, savouring his triumph.

'Shake hands and share a loving cup!' Carswell called out.

Pygeon looked down at Sulyard. 'Fetch the brigandyne to me when you are recovered, Master.' He picked up his clothes and walked away. The gamblers who had lost—most of them—reached ruefully for their bags. Barak paid over the half groat. I saw that Leacon had come out of his tent, accompanied by Sir Franklin and Snodin. They stood talking.

'Come, Jack,' I said, 'the afternoon wears on. We must say farewell to Leacon and return to Hoyland.'

Barak raised a hand to the soldiers. 'Farewell, lads, I must return my master to our gracious hosts!'

'You're picking up Carswell's style of humour,' I told him as we walked away.

'No, 'tis my own.'

As we approached Leacon I saw he too had had a barbering. The whiffler Snodin was talking loudly and angrily, 'Milk bellies that can't do without beds. Simpering, mumping weaklings—'

'All right, Snodin,' Sir Franklin said testily. He stared at me as I approached. 'Sir Franklin, I am sorry to interrupt, but I would say goodbye to Master Leacon—'

Sir Franklin waved a hand impatiently. 'A moment. Snodin, send a message about the deserters to Sir William Paulet. He must alert the shires to look for them.'

'Yes, Sir Franklin. The fools,' Snodin burst out with sudden emotion. 'Why did they do it? I trained those men, I know them.' He looked at Sir Franklin. 'Will they hang if they're caught?'

'The King has ordered every deserter to be hanged.'

The whiffler shook his head, bowed and walked off. 'Deserters,' Leacon told me. 'Two went last night.'

'They'll be caught if they return home.'

Barak and I exchanged glances. If we had followed Alderman Carver's advice, Barak would have been a deserter. Leacon shook his head sadly. 'Poor fools. It will be a public hanging if they're caught. All the companies are below strength now. As are the ships—they say the West Country is stripped of fishermen, the women are having to take the boats out.'

'I saw some Spanish sailors in town.'

'They'll take any foreigner that can sail, save French and Scots.'

Even more with his head shaven Leacon looked, like West, far older than his years. Yet West's eyes had been clear and sharp, while Leacon's had that vacant, staring look again. 'George,' I said quietly, 'I fear we must leave you now.'

He nodded. 'Will you be coming back to Portsmouth?'

'I think not. We return to London on Tuesday.' I put out my hand. 'But my prayers, for what they are worth, go with you and your men. And I hope we may meet once more in London, in happier days. Bring Carswell, I will find him a company of actors.'

'Happier days. Yes, I long for those.'

BARAK SEEMED to have got over our argument, perhaps because of the reminder about deserters. As we rode back across Portsea Island, I told him what had passed with West.

'So Ellen could have done it herself.'

'If West is to be believed.'

'Is he?'

'I don't know. If he was responsible for the attack on Ellen, he has a strong motive for saying something likely to make me—or at least, my imaginary client—drop the matter.' I looked at him. 'But do not worry, we will go back on Tuesday as I said. I have no power here, I cannot compel anyone to answer my questions. Least of all Priddis, the one man who could give me information. But back in London,' I added grimly, 'there could be ways of bringing pressure.'

'The Queen?'

'Maybe. When she returns from Portsmouth.'

'And what of Hugh?'

I sighed heavily. 'Unless Priddis's visit produces something, I have no evidence even that there has been fraud. I cannot in good faith incur more costs.'

'I'm glad you are seeing sense,' he said.

We were forced to pull aside from the road by a long line of carts rumbling past, well guarded by soldiers. They were covered with tarpaulins, but protruding from the carts' tails I saw piles of thick fabric, decorated with elaborate, colourful designs in cloth of gold. Barak looked at me. 'Are they—?'

'They look like the royal tents we saw at York.'

Cart after cart rumbled by, heading not for the town but towards the sea.

'Is the King going to set up camp on the coast?' Barak asked incredulously.

'It looks like it. So he's going to come right to the front line. Well, he never lacked courage.'

'Even if they land, the French could never hold England.'

'The Normans did. You're right, though, the people would resist hard. But if there's a chance of bringing us back to Rome the Pope will jump behind the French if they gain a foothold. Emperor Charles too perhaps. God's death,' I burst out angrily, 'has there ever been such a tangle?'

'Lord Cromwell would have been seeking a way out. But the King won't do that.'

'Never. He'll see England drowned in blood first.'

'Well,' Barak said more cheerfully, 'at least back in London you can do something about Coldiron. Thank you,' he said, 'for agreeing to go back.'

I nodded in acknowledgement. 'You worry about Tamasin, don't you?'

'All the time,' he said with feeling.

We rode on, towards Portsdown Hill.

Chapter Twenty-nine

WE ARRIVED AT Hoyland towards seven, exhausted. I washed and combed myself thoroughly to rid myself of the fleas and lice I had picked up, then lay on my bed thinking about Ellen and Hugh. I could see no way out of either impasse.

I was so tired I slept deeply that night. The next day passed peacefully enough. At meals Abigail barely spoke; she seemed listless, defeated. Dyrick was his usual sharp, aggressive self. Hobbey was guarded, Hugh civil enough, seeming indifferent now to my presence. David, though, was in a strange mood, quiet and restive. A couple of times I caught Fulstowe casting sharp looks at the boy. During the day everyone except Abigail was out, making final preparations for the hunt.

In the afternoon I took a walk in the grounds to try and clear my head, for I thought endlessly of Ellen and who could have started that fire, my mind fairly spinning with it all. In Abigail's garden the flowers drooped in the endless sultry heat.

THAT EVENING came the first of the events that was to change the life of the Hobbey family for ever.

I was sitting at the table in my chamber, trying to work out the costs that might be awarded against us at the next hearing. They were considerable. The light was beginning to fail. I was vaguely aware that outside the boys were at the butts again, I could hear them through the open shutters. Then I heard a sudden anguished cry. 'No!'

I rose and looked out of the window. To my amazement Feaveryear was running across the lawn. Hugh and David stood looking at him, too far away for me to make out their expressions. Feaveryear ran as though the devil were after him. He disappeared from view, then I heard running footsteps on the stairs, and a frantic knocking on Dyrick's door.

THE FOLLOWING MORNING, yet another hot, close July day, we all walked to church. Hobbey led the little procession. Abigail was on his arm, in her best clothes but with her head cast down. Then came Dyrick, Barak and I, followed by Fulstowe at the head of the servants. Barak had not wished to go but I had roused him out, saying we should give no cause for criticism. To my surprise, though, Feaveryear was absent.

'Is young Feaveryear unwell?' I asked Dyrick. He had been frowning to himself, preoccupied.

He gave me a sharp, sidelong look. 'I've sent him back to London. There was a letter waiting when we returned from Portsmouth, about a case. I sent him back to deal with it early this morning. There's no point us both wasting our time here,' he said, as ever making a point against me.

'We have had no letters. Barak hoped there might be one from his wife.'

'It came by special messenger from London. It concerns an important case.'

'I thought I saw Feaveryear running across the lawn last night.'

He gave me another sharp look. 'I had called him.'

It was a long walk to the church in the neighbouring village of Okedean. Long too, on their one day of rest, for the Hoyland villagers we passed, who had used the priory church when the nuns were there. Ettis, a pretty wife and three children at his side, crossed our path at the end of a country lane. He bowed and stood aside to let us pass. Abigail gave him a look of hatred.

OKEDEAN CHURCH was small, crowded with the people of both villages. Here, as in Reverend Seckford's church, they evidently cleaved as much as possible to the old ways, the church smelling heavily of incense, saints still in their niches. I wondered what Hugh's parents, the reformers, would have made of it. Hobbey, Dyrick and I took places at the front of the congregation in accordance with our rank, next to a stocky, middle-aged man and his haughty-looking wife, whom Hobbey introduced to us as the owner of the neighbouring manor, Sir Luke and Lady Corembeck. Sir Luke, Hobbey said proudly, was a justice of the peace who would be attending his hunt tomorrow. For the first time I heard deference in his voice.

The vicar gave a sermon calling on all to pray and work for the defence of the country, for the men to attend practice with the local militia. I looked at the Doom painting behind him, Christ on a throne in judgement, his face serene, angels guiding the virtuous to heaven while below the pale and naked sinners tumbled into a lake of fire. I remembered Feaveryear saying soldiers and sailors who died in battle without finding salvation must end in Hell. What had he been running from last night? Where was he?

After the service Hobbey paused for some more words with Sir Luke in the doorway, the servants and villagers walking past us. Lady Corembeck addressed Abigail a couple of times, but she answered in monosyllables, sunk in apathy. At length Hobbey parted from the Corembecks with much bowing, and we walked down the path to the lych gate. Then we saw that a group of about thirty Hoyland villagers were waiting just outside the church, whole families blocking our way. Ettis was at their head. I heard a sharp intake of breath from Hobbey.

Ettis walked over to stand boldly in front of him, his square face set hard. Fulstowe stepped to Hobbey's side and put his hand to his dagger.

'No need for that, Master Fulstowe,' Ettis said quietly. 'I want only to say something to your master.' He indicated the villagers behind him. 'See those people, Master Hobbey. Look hard, you will see some that your steward here has been pressing to abandon their land. My support is growing. We intend to bring a case in the Court of Requests.' Dyrick looked at me suspiciously. Ettis continued, 'So be warned, sir, keep your men off our woodlands, for they will shortly be subject to legal proceedings. I tell you this before all these people here assembled, including Sir Luke Corembeck, our justice of the peace.'

Abigail marched up to him. 'Churl and knave to torment us so!' she shouted, right into his face.

Ettis stared back at her with contempt. Then David ran past his mother and stood before the villagers, his face red. 'Hedge-pigs! Lumps! Cattle! When I am lord here I will drive you all out, you will all beg, beg!'

Some of the villagers laughed. 'Get back to the nursery!' one shouted.

David looked round in helpless frustration. Then he gave a strange, puzzled frown. His limbs started to jerk, little flickering spasms, his eyes rolled up in his head and he collapsed on the ground. The villagers took a step back; there were frightened murmurs from some of the women. Abigail put her hands to her cheeks and uttered a gasping groan. On the ground David was twitching wildly now, like a puppet.

'What's he doing?' someone called out.

'He's possessed, get the priest!'

Then someone said, 'It's the falling sickness,' and Abigail groaned once more.

It was; I had seen it in London. That dread disease where those afflicted seem normal most of the time but can be struck down, out of the blue, to lie jerking on the ground. Some believed it a type of madness, others a form of possession.

Abigail sank on her knees and tried to still her writhing son. 'Help me, Ambrose, for pity's sake!' she cried. 'He'll bite his tongue!' I thought, so this has happened before.

Fulstowe unbuckled his dagger from his belt and thrust the leather scabbard between David's teeth. His lips were flecked with white foam now. I saw Dyrick looking on, astonished. Hobbey stared at his son, then at the watching crowd. He called out, in a voice full of rage and pain, 'Well, you have seen! Now in God's name go, leave us!' Next to him, Hugh stood looking blankly at David. No pity, nothing.

The villagers did not move. A woman said, 'Remember that carpenter who came to live in the village—he had the falling sickness!'

'Ay, we stoned him out!'

Sir Luke Corembeck came to life. 'Disperse, I order you!' he called.

People began to move away, though they looked back at David, with fear and loathing. He lay still a moment, then sat up, groaning. He looked up at his mother. 'My head hurts,' he said and began to cry.

Hobbey came over to him. 'You had an attack,' he said gently. 'It is all right, it is over.'

'They all saw?' David asked in horror. His face wet with tears, he looked wildly round. Hobbey and Fulstowe helped him to his feet. Hobbey clasped his son's arm.

'I am sorry, David,' he said gently. 'I feared this would happen one day. It was the fault of Ettis and his people.' He turned to Sir Luke. 'Thank you, sir, for dispersing them.' At that moment I had to admire Hobbey's dignity. He swallowed hard, then continued, 'I fear, as you have seen, my son has the falling sickness. It comes on seldom, a little rest and he will be as normal again.'

'Ettis and his churls caused this,' Sir Luke said. 'Jesu, it is a fine day when yeomen defy gentlemen.'

We followed the family back down the lanes, Fulstowe and Hugh each with an arm under David's shoulders. I knew this was very serious for the family; among both gentry and villagers David would now be seen as tainted. I gestured to Barak to hang back.

'What about that?' he asked.

'My guess is they've been hiding this for years. Dyrick didn't know—he was amazed. Dear God, that couldn't have happened in a more public way. David Hobbey may be a churl, but he didn't deserve that. By the way, I think there is more to Feaveryear's going than Dyrick said.' I told him what I had seen from the window the previous evening. 'I saw him running as though he'd seen the devil. And Dyrick looks very worried about something.'

'Maybe David had an attack yesterday, too.'

'No. He was standing at the butts with Hugh. Whatever happened, Feaveryear ran to tell Dyrick about it. And now he's gone.'

'When Abigail said after Lamkin was killed that you couldn't see what was before your eyes, she must have meant David.'

I shook my head. 'No. She meant something else. She of all people wouldn't draw my attention to David's condition.' I looked at the group ahead of me: Abigail hovered behind her son. 'Feaveryear's lodging is hard by yours. Did you hear him go?'

'I heard a door slam just after dawn, then his quick little steps. I thought he was going for an early prayer.'

'What made him run like that, I wonder?' I knew his disappearance was important, but not why.

Chapter Thirty

THE WOOD WAS delightfully peaceful in the early morning. The birds sang lustily in the trees; a squirrel watched me from the branch of a beech, its bushy red tail bright against the green leaves. I was sitting on a fallen log beside an oak tree in a little glade, comfortable in the loose jerkin and shirt I had donned for the hunt. Behind me, though, I could hear the murmuring voices of the breakfast party on the the other side of the trees, while stealthy rustlings deeper in the park indicated Master Avery and his men were checking the deer tracks. But I had had to get away from them all, just for a minute. Soon enough we would be riding pell-mell through the hunting park. I reflected on all that had happened on the previous day.

WHEN WE HAD returned from church David had been taken upstairs to lie down, protesting all the while that he was quite recovered. Hobbey asked Dyrick to follow him to his study. I was on my way upstairs when Dyrick appeared once more and asked if I would attend Master Hobbey.

The master of Hoyland Priory sat at his desk, his face grave. He asked me quietly to sit. He picked up the hourglass from his desk and turned it over, sadly watching the grains run through. 'Well, Master Shardlake,' he said quietly, 'you have seen that my son has—an illness. It is something we have tried to keep to ourselves. It has been a great strain on my wife; seeing him in a fit strikes her to the heart. Apart from the family only Fulstowe knew. Mercifully David has never had an attack in front of the servants. We kept it even from Master Dyrick.' He smiled sadly at his lawyer. 'I am sorry for that, Vincent. But now everyone knows. Ettis and his crew will be mocking David in the village tavern tonight.' He put down the hourglass and clenched his hand into a fist.

I spoke quietly. 'Hugh, I take it, has known about David for some time.'

'David had his first attack shortly after Hugh and Emma came to us, when we were still in London.'

'And yet still you wanted Emma to marry David. To marry a ward to someone with such a disability as the falling sickness is not allowed.'

Dyrick said curtly, 'The girl died.' He looked anxiously at Hobbey, as though he might give away more than he should. But what more could there be?

I asked Hobbey, 'Hugh has kept it secret all this time?'

He nodded. His eyes were watchful now. 'He agreed he would tell nobody. And he never has.'

'It seems a hard thing to impose on the boy.'

'The fact he has kept silent surely indicates his loyalty to this family,' Dyrick put in.

'But for you coming, but for this business—' Hobbey's voice trembled angrily for a moment, but he quickly brought himself under control—'it has all put my wife and son under great strain. I think that is why David's attack came now.' He gathered himself. 'I would ask you, as a matter of charity, not to report this to the Court of Wards, not to spread our secret throughout London.'

I studied him. There was a quiet desperation in Hobbey's face, his mouth trembled for a second. 'I will have to consider,' I said.

Hobbey exchanged a look with Dyrick. He sighed. 'I should go, there are arrangements regarding the hunt.'

'You are sure it is still wise to go ahead with that?' Dyrick asked.

'Yes. I will hold my head high,' Hobbey added with a touch of his old firmness. 'Face them. And you must come, Vincent, as my lawyer it would be expected. Master Shardlake,' he said, 'will you attend too?'

I hesitated, realizing this was a change of tactics, an attempt to ingratiate himself with me. Then I nodded. 'Thank you. It may ease me of the stiffness I feel after all my days of riding.'

Hobbey stood. 'Bring your clerk, if he wishes to come.' He looked utterly exhausted. 'And afterwards, Sir Quintin and his son will be arriving. I must arrange hospitality for them.'

I WENT TO my room and sat down heavily on the bed. Should I report David's condition to the Court of Wards? I had no wish to. But just how far had living with this tense family and its secret affected Hugh? After a few moments' more thought, I walked up the corridor and knocked at Hugh's door. After a moment he opened it. 'Master Shardlake,' he said quietly. 'Come in.'

I followed him into the tidy room. It was dim, the shutters half-drawn against the bright afternoon light. A book lay open on his desk, More's Utopia.

'You have been giving More another try?' I asked.

'Yes, last night. I fear, Master Shardlake, I still find him a dreamer. And Sam Feaveryear said he burned many good men as heretics while he was Lord Chancellor.'

'Yes, he did.'

'Then who was he to condemn the violence of war?'

I thought, this boy could make a scholar. I said, 'Feaveryear has gone.'

He crossed to the window and looked through the shutters. 'Yes, I got used to seeing his strange little face about. I am told Master Dyrick has sent him back to London.'

'An urgent case, apparently. He left this morning.' I hesitated. 'I saw him running across the lawn yesterday evening.'

Hugh turned, his face expressionless. 'Master Dyrick had shouted for him.'

'I did not hear him call. I thought I heard someone shout, "No!" '

'You must have misheard, sir. Master Dyrick came out and called. His master's call would always bring poor Sam running.' He looked at me, his blue-green eyes keen. 'Was that why you came to see me?'

'No.'

'I thought not.'

'David's secret is out.'

'I wish it were not.'

'Master Hobbey told me you and your sister learned of his condition shortly after you came to the Hobbeys.'

Hugh sat down on his bed, looking up at me. 'One day not long after we joined the Hobbeys, David and Emma and I were at class with Master Calfhill. He was angry with David, he had not done his set work and Master Calfhill threatened to tell his father. David told him to go and do something abominable with a sheep. Then suddenly David fell off his chair and began shaking and foaming, just like you saw today. Emma and I were frightened, we thought his bad words had called God's justice down on him. We still believed such things in those days,' he added with a bitter little smile. 'But Master Calfhill recognized the symptoms. He settled David and held his tongue down with a ruler, as Fulstowe did today with his scabbard.'

'And David's parents made you and your sister keep the secret?'

'They asked us to.' His voice was toneless.

I said, 'You do not love them as a family, do you? Any of them?'

Hugh's long, scarred face twitched and for a moment he looked like a child again. Then his composure returned and he stared back at me. 'Despite everything,' he said quietly, 'they spent the next months pressing my sister to marry David. Despite his falling sickness, despite his braggart, bullying ways.'

'Emma disliked David?'

'She loathed him. Already when she was thirteen he was pawing at her skirts.' Hugh's face darkened. 'I hit him for it. Master Calfhill took our part. He told us Emma could refuse to marry David. She could go to Wards and tell them David had a taint of body.'

'That is quite right. It would be what is called a Ravishment of Wards,' I said quietly. 'But Master Hobbey still wanted to tie her share of your father's lands to his family.'

'Emma and I made plans.' Anger entered Hugh's voice. 'If Master and Mistress Hobbey persisted with their pressure we would threaten to take them to their precious Court of Wards. Master Calfhill had researched the law, he told us that although boys cannot come out of wardship till they are twenty-one, girls can inherit their lands at fourteen.'

'Yes, unless they refuse a suitable marriage.'

'A suitable marriage. We planned to wait a few more months till Emma was fourteen, then we would take her lands, sell them, and run away together.'

'Did you tell Master Calfhill your plans?'

'No. Perhaps we should have trusted him,' Hugh added sadly.

'It would have been complicated, you would have needed a lawyer.'

Hugh gave a high-pitched, bitter laugh. It startled me. 'It was never put to the test, was it? My sister died, and then it did not matter any more.' His face twitched again; for a second I thought he would cry but his expression settled into blankness again. I thought, if only Michael Calfhill and Reverend Broughton had known of David's condition before the wardship was granted. Hugh sighed, then scratched his chest in sudden irritation.

'I hope you do not have fleas,' I said. 'I brought some back from Portsmouth, but thought I had got rid of them.'

'No, I have more scars there, they itch.' He scratched again, but carefully.

'Do you wear Emma's cross there?' I asked gently.

He looked up. 'No, Master Shardlake, I keep it in my drawer. I find it hard to look at.'

'That is sad.'

'Perhaps you should not have brought it. No, I still wear my heartstone. You are right, I do not love the Hobbeys. You are good at getting people to talk, sir. But if I cannot go to war, then I will stay here. That is my wish, and you may say so to the Court of Wards.'

'Why, Hugh?'

He spread his long-fingered hands, gave another bitter laugh. 'Where else would I go? I am used to the life here, and I do not want a court battle with Master Hobbey. In three years I can sue out my livery and leave.'

'And then what will you do? Go for a soldier?'

'Perhaps.'

'If I can help you then, Hugh, you will find me at Lincoln's Inn.'

He smiled sadly again. 'Thank you, Master Shardlake.' He looked at me intently. 'In three years—yes, then I may need a friend in the world beyond this place.'

SOME BIRDS flapping their wings in one of the trees surrounding the glade brought me back to myself. I stood and walked back through the wood to a big clearing; there were about thirty people there. Hobbey and the huntsman Avery, together with Fulstowe and Sir Luke Corembeck and two other well-dressed middle-aged men, were bent over a plan of the park set on a sawn-off tree trunk. Large white cloths had been set on the grass, strewn with cushions. There Lady Corembeck sat with two middle-aged ladies. All were dressed for company, the women's dresses silk and satin, fashionable hoods covering their hair, faces and necks powdered with whitelead. Servants brought glasses of wine and plates of bread and cheese. A little way off some twenty men, those from Hoyland village recruited to help with the hunt, stood with half a dozen horses and the hunting dogs, held on leashes. Barak was talking to them. I was pleased to see Oddleg among the horses.

Hugh and David, with two other boys who looked to be sons of the guests, stood talking with Dyrick. The boys were dressed in different shades of green, as were the villagers. The men with Hobbey wore pinked or slashed doublets, but in pale shades, the usual bright colours of fine clothes absent. The four boys held their unstrung bows and had arrowbags at their belts. I saw swan and peacock feathers on the arrows' fletches, marks of status, and all wore gloves and wrist guards of horn or embossed leather. David showed no sign of his attack the previous day, but cast worried glances at the two young guests, no doubt wondering if they knew.

The hunt breakfast was the prelude; the ladies would stay here while the menfolk hunted the stag, hopefully returning with it in the large wheeled cart that stood nearby, next to the cloth set with knives and clamps where the animal would be dissected before the company. Sometimes ladies hunted, but not today. I remembered Princess Elizabeth and the Queen telling me she already accompanied the hunt.

The women were conversing with Abigail, lightly but, I saw, uneasily too. They would probably know what had happened outside the church yesterday. Abigail was trying to make conversation, but her voice was high with tension and she fiddled constantly with her napkin. 'This will be my son's first hunt,' she said. 'It is time such a fine strong boy enjoyed a hunt.' She looked at the other women defiantly, gave a frightened whinny of a laugh. One of the hunting dogs barked sharply and she flinched. I remembered the whispered conversation I had overheard, Abigail saying it was not safe to have the hunt.

Barak left the servants and came over to me. 'Sure you want to do this?' he asked.

'I have been on a hunt before,' I replied sharply.

'It's more than I have. But they say you should experience everything once, save incest and the plague.'

'Master Shardlake!' Hugh was walking over to us. He seemed relaxed now. 'Are you ready?'

'Yes,' I replied. 'What is to happen?'

'Myself and the other three archers—' he nodded at David and the other boys—'will lie in wait at different points along the route. Fulstowe, too.'

'A great honour for a steward.'

'Master Hobbey believes he deserves it,' he answered blandly.

'I thought usually the young men rode with the chase rather than waiting in ambush in the woods.'

'Ah, but we want to test our archery skills. Master Stannard there is second in command of his local militia, ten miles off. Here, lads!' He waved an arm, and David came across with the two others and Dyrick. Dyrick looked ill at ease. I was introduced to Master Stannard and Master Belton, the sons of the two men looking over the plan with Hobbey. Both were only in their late teens; but it was social rank that counted in the military. I thought of Sir Franklin Giffard, past command yet still in charge of Leacon's company.

'We saw some militiamen training on the way here last week,' I said.

'I'm getting them well trained up in my district,' Master Stannard said proudly. He was a tall well-built lad, with a round face and swaggering manner. Master Belton was smaller, still with spots peppering his face. 'Equipment is the problem,' Stannard went on. 'By law they should all have their own weapons but many do not even have bows. But they will be ready to march when the beacons are lit.'

'No greater army ever seen in England,' David said. I looked at him. There seemed a hectic quality to his excited tones. He met my eye and looked away.

Master Stannard nodded. 'If we have to, we will crush them by sheer numbers. And I shall lead my militia. Today will be good practice, perhaps I shall take down the stag and gain the heartstone.'

Young Stannard turned to Hugh. 'You gained the heartstone at my father's hunt two years ago, did you not? At only sixteen.'

'I did,' Hugh answered with pride.

'It can heal many ills, I am told.'

'Normally I wear it round my neck. But today I brought it to show you.' Hugh took off his gloves and reached into the pouch at his belt. He took out a tiny leather bag with a cord attached, opened it and tipped a small, round whitish object into his palm. Barak wrinkled his nose with distaste, but the boys studied it with interest.

'Even should I gain another, I will always keep this one,' Hugh said with quiet pride. The boys looked impressed.

Dyrick stepped up to me. 'I see the horse you have been riding has been brought out for you. He looks a steady beast.'

'He is.' I looked at Dyrick in surprise. For once he was making amiable conversation.

Hobbey called out, 'All of you that are going on the hunt, over here please!' He waved an arm, and the male guests and the Hoyland men walked across to him. Dyrick put a detaining hand on my arm.

'Brother Shardlake,' he said quietly, 'Feodary Priddis and his son will be here this afternoon. You will have a chance to take young Priddis to view the woods. But afterwards I would ask you to agree that we leave tomorrow. The case I sent Feaveryear away to deal with is difficult. I should be there.'

'A Court of Wards matter?'

'An injunction.' He took a deep breath. 'And if we leave tomorrow, Master Hobbey has agreed each side in this matter will pay their own costs, out of court. It is a very pretty bargain for your client, you must agree. But otherwise,' he resumed his usual aggressive manner, 'I promise we shall press for full costs in court.'

'Hobbey has agreed this?' I asked, astonished. It was a very good offer, not one a lawyer would normally make when his opponent's case had effectively fallen apart.

'He has. He wants you gone. Christ's blood, man, has he not enough trouble?' Dyrick spoke with unusual passion.

I considered. There was only one reason for Hobbey to make this offer; he wanted to make sure David's condition was not made public in London.

'My client is not here,' I said.

'Come, man, you can agree informally. She will do what you advise. She and the Queen,' he added bitterly.

'I will consider, once I have viewed Hugh's lands with Priddis.' I looked up, to see Hobbey staring at me intently. 'Come. We should join the rest.'

WE GATHERED round the tree trunk, and Hobbey introduced Dyrick and me briefly to his new guests as his lawyers. I glanced at Avery. The young man was dressed in leaf-coloured green, a silver hunting horn slung from a baldric round his neck. He had a new air of authority about him as he pointed at the map.

'This is how we plan to conduct the hunt.' The map showed the rectangular hunting park, pathways through the trees sketched in. Avery took a piece of charcoal and drew a cross near the outer edge. 'We are here,' he said. 'We will all ride along this path until we reach this track, which turns off. When we are riding, gentlemen, it is important to be as quiet as possible so as not to startle the deer, which are here.' He drew a circle at a point some way up the track. 'My men have been tracking them constantly; this is where they lay down to rest last night.'

'And then we will have them,' Hobbey said with quiet satisfaction.

Avery looked at him seriously. 'Not quite, sir. That is when the real hunt begins. Then, and only then, may you forget about silence. The dogs will be loosed, and all the riders must concentrate on separating the stag from the does and fauns, which are only a secondary quarry.'

'The rascal, as they are called.' Corembeck smiled knowledgeably. 'It is all right, sir, I have been hunting many a time.'

'But if you will excuse me, sir,' Avery said, 'not everyone present has.' He looked around the company, his expression serious. 'This stag is large, perhaps seven years old, with ten tines on his antlers. It is important to guide him onto the path we wish him to take, but not to get too close lest he turn at bay. As for the rascal, set the dogs on them, with six of the Hoyland villagers to ride after them. The rest of you villagers should wait by the hurdles set across gaps in the trees on the main path, and shout to scare the stag should he try to break through. There are only eight does and some fauns among the rascal, the dogs should bring some down and you men can finish them off with swords or bows.' Avery studied the villagers. 'Master Clements, you are in charge of the dogs.'

The young cottager he had addressed smiled broadly. 'I am ready, sir.'

'The rest of you, is there anything you do not understand?'

'If we kill a doe or faun, do we get a choice of the best meat?' a villager asked.

'You have been told so,' Hobbey answered sharply.

'We'll take a haunch back for Master Ettis,' another said, and they laughed. Even among the men Hobbey had recruited, it seemed, there was a rebellious mood. Abigail, sitting on her cushions, turned and glared at the villager who had spoken. 'Nicholas,' she called, 'see that man gets no meat for his rudeness.'

'Gentlemen!' Avery slapped a gloved hand on the map. 'Please, your attention! We will be dealing with a strong and fierce beast!'

'My apologies,' Hobbey said. He glared at Abigail. 'My wife will ruin all with her tongue.'

There was a gasp of indrawn breath among the women at Hobbey's public insult to his wife. Abigail flushed and turned away. A muscle twitched in Hobbey's cheek. Then he looked back to Avery. 'Continue,' he snapped.

The huntsman took a deep breath. 'Once the stag is roused out, the hunt proper will begin. We chase him back to the main path, then on to where the archers lie in wait. You men at the hurdles must do your job well, not be frightened if the stag rushes towards you. Away from the path, in the wood, a stag is far fleeter than a horse.'

'That is right,' Corembeck agreed portentously.

Next Avery drew five crosses at points well up the path. 'The archers will be waiting here—Master Hugh, Master David, Fulstowe and our two young guests. You set off ahead of the rest. To one of you will go the honour of loosing the fatal shot, bringing down the stag.' He looked at the archers. 'Remember, find good cover and a clear line of shot. And keep still.' He surveyed the company. 'As the stag is driven to the archers I will sound my horn—like this—to warn them to be ready. If I need to summon the archers for any reason I will blow my horn thus.' He sounded a different note. 'Now, is all clear?'

There was a chorus of assent. Avery nodded. 'Very well, sirs, to your mounts. Handlers, keep careful hold of the dogs!'

WE WATCHED AS David and Hugh, Fulstowe and the two other boys rode into the wood in single file. A few minutes later Avery gave a signal and the rest of us followed. The only sound was the occasional jingle of harness, quickly silenced. The dogs, though straining at their leashes, knew to be silent. I was between Barak and Dyrick, just behind Hobbey, who rode with Corembeck. At the head Avery set a slow, steady pace. I sensed Oddleg was uneasy at this strange, silent progress and patted him gently.

After half an hour Avery raised a hand and pointed down a narrow side track. It was hard to make no noise as the horses rode along it, brushing against the branches which grew to the edges. And then, as suddenly as when Barak and I had stumbled upon the doe, we were facing a clearing full of deer. It was as Avery had said, several does and fauns, and a large stag too, all feeding peacefully. The animals turned, tensing instantly. The stag raised its head.

And then it began, the rush of quickening blood and the pell-mell chase we had been waiting for. In an instant the does and fauns had turned and fled. The hunting dogs, loosed, sped past us. Six riders rode after them, crashing through the wood.

The rest of us faced the big stag. On my one previous hunt, long ago, I had not seen the stag until it was dead. This one was bigger, the great antlers with their sharp points waving menacingly. It lowered its head at Corembeck, who was nearest. 'To the side, sir,' Avery said quietly but clearly. Corembeck guided his horse slowly to the left, smiling with tense excitement. In a second the stag had shot through the resulting gap, back down the path, the massive muscles of its hind legs flexing as it ran. Avery blew his horn and we all followed him, urging our horses on. Barak grinned, his face alight. 'Jesu, this is something!' he called out breathlessly.

We chased the stag down the track. A group of men stood on the road, calling 'Hey! Hey!' and waving their arms to make it turn right, towards the archers. It shot on down the path and we careered after it. At one point where the trees thinned the stag turned aside, but a big wooden hurdle had been erected across the gap. It turned back to the path and fled on, precious moments lost. As it turned I glimpsed the whites of its eyes, full of terror.

The stag picked up speed, outrunning the horses. I had to focus every sense on riding, watching for overhanging branches. Barak might have been enjoying this but I was not; I feared the dangers of riding so fast in a forest; dreaded the crack of a protruding branch against head or knee.

Then the great beast turned its head towards another gap in the trees, and plunged sideways. There was another hurdle there but it was low. The stag crouched; it was going to try and jump, but villagers had appeared beside the hurdle, waving and shouting. But the stag did not run on; it turned and stood facing us. The riders skidded to a halt. I was still at the front, next to Hobbey now. The stag made a sound, more like a bellow than a grunt, lowered its head and waved its great antlers from side to side. Avery blew his horn, the note that would summon the archers. Then the stag lowered its head and charged.

It ran straight at Hobbey's mount, catching his horse on the neck. The horse screamed and reared; Hobbey gave a loud cry and toppled backwards, onto me. Oddleg plunged and I felt myself falling, Hobbey on top of me. We landed in a thick bank of stinging nettles, their softness saving us from serious injury, Hobbey's weight driving the breath from my body. I pushed him off, before he suffocated me, sharp nettle stings biting at my hands and neck. Then I heard a loud 'thwack', a soft grunt from the stag and a crash.

I drew deep whooping breaths as Barak ran across and helped me into a sitting position. Avery was helping Hobbey to his feet. Gasping, I looked round. A villager was holding Oddleg, who did not seem injured, though Hobbey's horse lay kicking in the undergrowth. The men from the village were running up to us. In the centre of the path lay the stag, surrounded by the hunters, an arrow protruding from its chest. As I watched, it took a long, shuddering breath, twitched and lay still. Hugh came up and stood over it, bow in hand, his face a sheen of sweat. Young Master Stannard ran up and clapped him on the shoulder. 'Well done, Master Curteys. What a shot!'

A slow smile of satisfaction spread across Hugh's features. 'Yes,' he said. 'Yes, I did it again.'

Hobbey was breathing fast, clearly shaken. Hugh glanced at him, then looked at me. 'You are hurt, sir,' he said. 'There is blood on your wrist.'

I touched my arm, there was what felt like a deep cut below the elbow. I winced. 'I must have landed on a piece of wood.'

'Let me look,' Barak said.

I removed my doublet and rolled up my sleeve. There was a nasty cut on my forearm, blood leaking fast. 'You need that bound up,' Barak said. 'Here, let me cut off that sleeve, the shirt's ripped anyway.'

As Barak tended my wound, Hobbey stepped over to his ward. 'Hugh,' he said, his voice shaking, 'thank you, you saved the hunt. Maybe even my life.'

Hugh gave him a wintry smile. 'I told you, sir, I would make a good shot on the field of battle.'

A horn sounded from somewhere deep in the wood. 'They've killed the does,' Sir Luke said. 'Here, you men, move the stag to the side of the path so the cart can come up. And help Master Hobbey's horse.' The fallen animal was brought to its feet, fortunately uninjured though trembling violently. Four villagers grabbed the stag by the antlers, and dragged it, trailing blood, to the verge.

THE HUNT DISPERSED, Hobbey ordering everyone to walk or ride back to the clearing. A servant led his limping horse away. Hugh left with the two young gentlemen, enjoying their congratulations. Avery went up the path to fetch Fulstowe and David, who must have been too far up the path to have heard the horn. Hobbey stood, dusty, his clothes torn, rubbing his pale hands. 'I am sorry I fell on you, sir,' he said. 'Will your arm be all right?'

'I think so. Come, Barak, let us go back to the house.' I stood, but at once the wood spun round me. Barak helped me sit down again.

'You've had a shock. Rest here awhile.'

Dyrick laughed. 'Be careful, Nicholas, or he'll find some way of suing you for trespass against the person.'

'Be quiet,' Hobbey snapped. Dyrick's face darkened and he looked as though he were about to say something, but then he turned and stalked away down the path, just as Avery reappeared with Fulstowe and David. David looked at the stag, the arrow stuck deep in its chest. Fulstowe stepped close. 'A fine shot,' he said admiringly. 'We should raise cups to Master Hugh tonight. He deserves the heartstone as a new trophy.'

'Had the stag run on to us,' David said sulkily, 'I would have got him. It should have been my kill.'

'God's death, boy,' Hobbey snapped. 'It knocked Master Shardlake and I over. It could have hurt us badly! Fulstowe is right, you should be congratulating Hugh.'

David's eyes widened. I had never heard Hobbey shout at his son before. David cried out, 'Oh yes, Hugh is always better than me! At everything. Hugh, Hugh, Hugh!' He glared at me. 'Hugh that the hunchback thinks so badly treated.'

'Go home!' Hobbey pointed at his son with a trembling finger.

David muttered an obscenity and crashed away into the wood, clutching his bow. I glimpsed angry tears on his face. Hobbey turned to Fulstowe in time to catch him smiling at the exhibition. His eyes narrowed. 'Go, steward,' he said. 'Meet the cart and tell them to get this stag loaded up.'

'Yes, sir,' Fulstowe said, an ironic touch in his voice. He too walked away.

'Agh, my hands,' Hobbey said. 'I need to find some dock leaves. Avery, come with me, you know these woods.'

Avery's eyes narrowed at being addressed like a household servant; nonetheless he accompanied Hobbey down the path. Barak and I were left alone with the dead stag. The birds, driven from the scene by all the clamour, slowly returned to their roosts, and their song began again.

'This'll be some story to tell Tammy when I get home,' Barak said.

'Dyrick offered me a deal on costs before the hunt,' I said quietly. 'If we leave tomorrow after Priddis's visit, each side will pay their own. I think it's because of David. I think I must accept.' I sighed. 'The mysteries of this house will have to be left to themselves.'

'Thank God for that.' Barak looked at me, a rueful smile on his face.

Creaking wheels sounded on the path. Half a dozen men guided the big cart we had seen at the clearing down the lane. It was dripping blood from the does and fauns, which must already have been taken to the clearing.

'Come on,' I said. 'I'm all right now. Let's go.'

We rode slowly down the path, the servants with the cart doffing their caps as we passed them. It was further than I had realized. My arm throbbed painfully.

I was thinking we must be at the glade soon when Barak touched my shoulder. 'Look,' he said quietly. 'What's that? Through there?'

'Where?' I looked through the trees. 'I can't see anything.'

'Something bright, like clothing.' He dismounted and walked into the wood. I dismounted too and followed, then almost walked into him from behind as he came to a dead stop.

'What is it?—'

I broke off at the extraordinary scene before us. Ahead of us was the little dell I had found that morning, with the fallen log leaning against a tree. For a second my mind whirled, for it seemed I was seeing the unicorn hunt on the tapestry in Hobbey's hall brought to life. A woman with long fair hair sat on the log, her back against the tree, arms folded on her lap. She stayed quite silent, not moving at our appearance. The images were mixed up and for a second I thought I saw a unicorn's horn projecting from her brow. Then I realized what was really there. Abigail Hobbey, pinned to the tree behind her by an arrow through her head.