Heartstone

Chapter Forty-three

I SAT FOR several minutes watching the extraordinary scene in the distance. The English ships, at anchor and with sails reefed, looked terrifyingly vulnerable. I wondered why the huge French fleet did not advance and assumed the wind was against them. A little way along from me, near the burning beacon, a group of country women stood watching the fighting. They were silent, anxious-looking, and I wondered if they had menfolk down there.

My instinct was that I was too late, I should turn and ride back. But Emma had been only three hours ahead of me at most; if she had come to Portsmouth she could surely not have found her way into battle yet. I thought of her watchfulness, her carefully considered speech. With the companies short of men it was perfectly possible she could get herself taken on, all the more now the French were here. I remembered Hobbey saying how Abigail had helped her bind up her breasts as they grew, and Hugh rubbing uncomfortably at 'his' chest. How much discomfort must she have undergone these last six years?

At the bridge linking the mainland to Portsea Island everything had changed since the morning. Now people were trying to get off the island, not on to it. A stream of people was crossing from the seaward side; women with babies, children, old people hobbling on sticks, all fleeing a possible siege. Most were poor; they carried bundles or hauled their possessions stacked on rickety carts. I remembered Leacon talking of the populace of the French countryside, begging and starving beside the road. I thought, is this about to happen here?

I waited till the refugees had passed. They began wearily climbing Portsdown Hill. An old couple started to argue about whether to abandon their cart, which contained a dismantled truckle bed, some poor clothes, pewter plates and a couple of stools. People trying to get past shouted at them to get out of the way. Then I heard drums, and a company of militia with an assortment of weapons marched rapidly down the hill. The refugees jumped quickly aside. The soldiers marched rapidly past me, the half-armour some wore clinking and rattling. The guards at the bridge saluted as they tramped across in a cloud of yellow dust.

When they had gone, I rode up to the nearest guard and asked what the latest news was. He looked at me with irritation. 'The Frenchies have come, that's what.' He was an enlisted man, who normally would not have dared talk to someone of my class like that; but as I had seen many times now, the war was dissolving social boundaries.

'Can I get into the city?'

'Everyone's trying to leave.'

'There is someone I need to try and get out. A friend.'

'Well, master lawyer, if you can persuade them to let you in, I wish you the best of luck.' He gave me a glance of grudging respect, and waved me on.

ON PORTSEA ISLAND the soldiers' tents still stood, but they were all empty now, the flaps open, only a handful of men on guard. Small objects were scattered here and there on the grass—a bowl, a spoon, a cap—the soldiers had been called away in a hurry.

As I approached the town walls, where men still laboured hard to strengthen the fortifications, I passed another group of refugees trudging towards the bridge, among them a group of prostitutes, their painted faces streaked and dusty. Then I had to pull into the side again to allow another company of soldiers to march past; foreign mercenaries this time in bright slashed doublets, talking in German. I had a view of the fleet: the ships still rode at anchor, among them the Great Harry and the Mary Rose; I saw the Galley Subtle with the galleasses, between the warships and the huge French galleys half a mile off. I wondered if Leacon and his company were already aboard the Great Harry. A cloud of dark smoke came from the front of a French galley, followed by a distant boom; an English galleass had fired back.

I reached the tents outside the city. As I feared, they, too, were empty. Looking up at the walls, I saw the soldiers lining the top had their backs to me, watching what was happening out at sea; the city wall now blocked my view. I turned Oddleg towards the tents, hoping someone had been left on guard who could give me information, but could see nobody. It was strange riding among the tents and hearing no noise, no shouting or clattering. The tents of Leacon's company, like the others, were empty. I was about to turn back when I heard a voice calling weakly.

'Lawyer Shardlake! Over here!'

I followed the voice to a tent from which a cesspit smell emanated. Hesitantly, I looked through the open flap. In the half-light within I saw bowls and clothing scattered about. In a corner a man lay, half-covered by a blanket. It was Sulyard, the bully who had been so full of bravado the night before. His ugly bony face was white as a sheet. 'It is you,' he said. 'I thought I was having bad visions.'

'Sulyard? What ails you?'

'There was a barrel of bad beer last night. When we went into Portsmouth this morning four of us were sent back with the flux.' He gave a little smile, and I saw that he was glad.

'Where is the rest of the company?'

'On the Great Harry. Listen, can you get me something to drink? There's beer in the tent with the green flag.'

I went and found the tent he described. There were some barrels of beer and drinking vessels stored there and I filled a tankard. I took it back to him. He drank greedily, then he gave me an amused, calculating look. 'Have you come for the boy?'

'What boy?' I asked eagerly. 'Do you mean Hugh Curteys?'

'The one that was with you the first time you came here, the good archer.'

'Have you seen him? Please, tell me.'

'We were supposed to go on the ships this morning, but the King was on the Great Harry and they weren't going to put us on till he'd gone across to the Mary Rose. We were waiting on the wharf, when your lad ran up. Hot and dusty, carrying a bow. He recognized Captain Leacon and asked to join the company. By then four of us were crouched against a wall shitting like dogs, and the company's already short. So the captain took him on, and sent us sick ones back.'

'I need to find that boy.'

'You'll have a job. Just after, there was a great commotion and the King's barge came speeding back to shore. Then the French fleet comes into view round the Isle of Wight.' With difficulty, Sulyard leaned up on his elbows. 'Do you know what's happened since? Have the French landed?' I understood the reason for his unaccustomed civility; it was not just drink he wanted; he was afraid the French would come and butcher him in his tent.

'No. They're skirmishing out at sea. Listen, did they take the boy on board the Great Harry?'

'They must have done.'

'I must try and find him. I must go into town.'

'They won't let you in, they've been clearing civilians out all morning. You'd need to go to the army quartermaster's office at the royal tents.'

'Is the King there?'

'I heard he went to South Sea Castle to watch the battle. I saw him when he landed—Christ, it took eight men to get him up the steps. Listen, can you get me out of here? Off the island?'

'No, Sulyard, I can't. I told you, I am going into Portsmouth.'

He scowled, then gave me a leering wink. 'You like the boy, eh?'

I sighed. 'Is there anything else I can do for you?'

'No. You've brought us enough bad luck.'

MY ONLY CHANCE now was to try and find the quartermaster. As I had told Hobbey, I planned to say Emma was a young woman driven by patriotism to impersonate a man and join up—I had heard tavern tales of such things. But I feared she could already have been rushed on board the Great Harry.

I rode past the town walls where the royal tents stood behind the long shallow pond, the Great Morass. There were over thirty of them, each as large as a small house, the heavy fabric woven in the vibrant colours I remembered from York. The largest and most spectacular, heavily guarded, with elaborate designs and threaded with cloth of gold and silver, would be the King's tent. Soldiers and officials bustled to and fro. From all the tents the flags of England and the Tudor dynasty hung listlessly. I thought, it will be starting to get dark soon, ships do not fight in the dark. That will be the time to get Emma off the Great Harry.

On the seaward side of the pond the sandy, scrubby ground was alive with hundreds of soldiers. Companies had been joined together to form groups of several hundred, the captains patrolling in front on horseback. Nearby a troop of perhaps three hundred pikemen stood at attention, their weapons rising fifteen feet into the air; if the French attempted a coastal landing they would charge them on the beach. Somewhere a drum beat softly, regularly. All along the coastline more groups of pikemen and halberdiers stood ready. There were only a few archers at the front of each group, most would be out on the ships.

At the shore the ground shelved upwards to a little bank, blocking my view of the sea. Cannon were being set up along the top, and men were digging holes and fixing in pointed wooden stakes, angled to point seaward. I saw yet more cannon being dragged across. Ahead of me was the bulk of the new South Sea Castle, a solid, heavy square with wide-angled bastions. It bristled with cannon, as did a smaller fort a little way along the coast. On the tower at the top I saw a group of brightly coloured figures, the one at the centre far larger than the others. The King, watching what was happening out at sea.

There was a tremendous crashing roar, and smoke rose from South Sea Castle as a battery of cannon fired, presumably at the French galleys. Cheers sounded from the soldiers standing on top of the bank, so perhaps one was hit. I remembered Leacon saying the biggest cannon could hit a target over a mile away.

I turned aside, realizing my legs were shaking. Again I fought an overwhelming urge to turn back. I thought of Barak, no doubt still riding northward, and thanked God I had insisted he go. Then I set my jaw and rode on slowly towards the royal encampment. The sun was beginning to sink towards the horizon.

I was a hundred yards from the nearest tent when a soldier stepped in front of me, halberd raised. I halted. 'What do you want, sir?' the man asked roughly.

'I need to speak to someone in the army quartermaster's office. The matter is urgent. My name is Serjeant Matthew Shardlake, of Lincoln's Inn.'

'Wait here.' As at Portchester—had my meeting with the Queen really been only a few hours ago?—I was left waiting as the soldier disappeared among the tents. I looked over at South Sea Castle; the cluster of bright figures still stood looking out to sea. I heard distant cannonfire from out on the water; no doubt the French galleys firing on our ships; I shuddered at the thought of the huge target the Great Harry would make. The Mary Rose, too, where Philip West would be.

Two captains in half-armour emerged from the nearest tents. They passed me, talking fast and excitedly. 'Why has d'Annebault brought so few galleys forward? Most are still by the Wight shore—'

The soldier reappeared, a second beside him, walking fast towards me. He came up to me and spoke, this time in a respectful tone. 'You're to come with me, sir. This fellow will take care of your horse.' The second soldier placed a mounting block beside Oddleg for me to descend. I felt a wave of relief; I had doubted a busy official would find the time to see me.

I dismounted. 'Thank you,' I said. 'I will take but a little of his time.'

The soldier nodded and led me away to the tents. Some tent flaps were closed, but where they were open I saw soldiers and officials sitting at trestle tables, talking animatedly. I was led to a large conical tent in the centre of the encampment, cream-coloured with blue patterning at the top, the flap half-closed. The soldier ushered me in with a wave of his arm.

In the dimness inside a man sat at a trestle table, his head bent over papers. A bell and a sconce of candles stood on the table. The man was well dressed, his doublet green silk.

I took off my cap. 'Thank you for seeing me, Master Quartermaster,' I said. 'I crave—' Then, as the man raised his head, I broke off abruptly.

Richard Rich smiled. 'Good,' he said quietly, satisfaction in his voice. 'Welcome to my working quarters. So you came for the boy. Or, I should say, the girl. I thought you might.'

I stared at him. 'Where is Emma?'

He smiled, again showing his sharp little teeth. 'Quite safe, for now. She is with Captain Leacon's company, who are now under the trusted care of Master Philip West. On the Mary Rose. And now, Master Shardlake, I think we must have a proper talk.'

Chapter Forty-four

STOOLS WERE SET in front of the trestle table; Rich motioned me to sit. Then he leaned forward, linked his small, manicured hands together, and rested his chin on them. His sleeves rustled. His expression was childishly mocking, though his grey eyes were cold and hard.

'I hear the French galleys have retreated,' he said conversationally. 'My servant just brought me word. I think today has just been a skirmish before the main battle.' His tone was still smoothly pleasant. 'Though tomorrow it may be a different matter.'

'I hear our guns can keep them out of Portsmouth Haven.'

'Yes. But if they were to bottle our fleet up there—which perhaps is what they sought to do today—or sink it, they could use their galleys to make a landing on Portsea Island. You will have seen the cannon being dragged up, and the stakes set in the ground to protect the archers.' He paused and held my gaze a moment. 'Well, then there may be a great fight. Perhaps right out there on the seafront.' He nodded towards the tent flap. I did not reply. I thought, let him talk, see what he reveals. Does he know how much I have guessed? He must do, or he would not have had me brought here. The skin under Rich's eye twitched and I realized just how much he was on edge.

'To business,' he said abruptly. 'That girl, eh? Coming here and enlisting as a boy. What a strange thing to do.'

'You know Hugh Curteys is really Emma?'

'Yes. Though only since yesterday, when my old associate Sir Quintin Priddis told me, just before I came out to you at the Guildhall. He told me because he was afraid you had discovered it. He is implicated in the fraud.'

'I know.'

'When did you find out?'

'Today. It was my unmasking her that sent Emma Curteys fleeing to Portsmouth. She had always wanted to enlist. Now she has nothing to lose.'

Rich inclined his head, like a predatory bird. 'Only today, Master Shardlake? I would have thought you would have ferreted that amusing fact out before. I have overestimated you.' He thought a few seconds. 'I imagine young Curteys is another of those people you try to do good works for, hey? Like Elizabeth Wentworth when we first met, or old Master Wrenne in York?'

'If you know Hugh Curteys is really Emma, why have you let her on board the Mary Rose?'

He smiled. 'It was an opportunity, Brother Shardlake. I spend my life watching for opportunities. That is why I am a privy councillor. With my responsibilities for supply I see the daily reports on manpower; how many men have deserted, or fallen ill, how many new ones have come forward. Two hours ago I was brought this.' He flicked a finger through the documents on his desk, then pulled out a list and passed it to me. A name leaped out at me. Hugh Curteys, 18 yrs, Hoyland. Company of Sir Franklin Giffard.

'You may imagine,' Rich said, 'how my eyes widened too at that name. And knowing from Priddis that he—or rather she—was one of your protegees, I wondered whether you might follow her. Had you not, I was not sure what to do with you. Since you ignored my first warning from the apprentices.' His tone had turned vicious. 'If you had some fatal accident your friend Barak would be on the case, and no doubt involve your patron the Queen. You have to watch Catherine Parr, she is no fool.' His eye twitched again. 'But now, I think, we may come to an agreement. That is why, though I knew Emma Curteys' true identity, I allowed her to enlist.'

'You will use her to make a bargain with me.'

Rich leaned forward. 'After seeing the list I rode straight into Portsmouth. The French fleet had appeared, the King had left the Great Harry, soldiers were milling around, waiting to go on the ships. Some of the senior officers had come ashore to ensure every ship got its correct complement, including Philip West.' He looked at me.

'Yes,' I said quietly. 'West.'

'Your friend Captain Leacon's archers were due to go on the Great Harry, but I spoke to West and arranged for them to go with him on the Mary Rose instead. So he can keep an eye on Emma Curteys for me. Then I came back here to see if you would follow her. She matters nothing to me, of course, she never did. Those corner boys I set to attack you failed to make themselves clear. For which they were punished.' His icy eyes stared into mine. 'The case you were meant to drop was not Hugh Curteys'. It was the other one my agent, Master Mylling of the Court of Wards, told me you had been enquiring about.'

'Ellen Fettiplace,' I said heavily. 'That is your connection to West. It was you with him at Rolfswood nineteen years ago.'

Rich leaned back in his chair again. His face was impassive now. 'So you know.'

'When I realized you had no connection to the Curteys case, I knew it had to be that.'

'Who else knows?' he asked abruptly.

'Barak,' I lied. 'And I have sent him back to London.'

Rich sat, considering. Then a voice called from outside, 'Sir?'

A spasm of annoyance crossed Rich's face. 'Come in, Colin,' he said heavily.

The door opened and a large, heavy-faced young man, the letters RR emblazoned on his tunic, entered with a taper. Rich gestured to the sconce, and the servant lit the candles, illuminating the tent with yellow light. 'What news?' Rich asked.

'The French have gone.'

'The soldiers will stay on board tonight?'

'Yes, sir. They must be ready to engage the French at first light if need be. Sir, a messenger came. The Privy Council is meeting in the King's tent in an hour.'

'God's death,' Rich snapped, 'why didn't you tell me immediately you came in?'

The man reddened. 'I—'

'Messages from the Privy Council must be conveyed at once—how many times have I told you? Get out,' Rich snapped. 'But stay near enough to hear if I ring my bell for you.'

'Yes sir.' He bowed and left. Rich shook his head. 'Peel is a dolt,' he said, 'but it can be useful sometimes to have people around who understand little, and who fear you.' He composed his features into that superior, contemptuous smile again. I saw it cost him an effort.

'Now, Brother Shardlake, let me tell you what I propose. A letter from me to Philip West will get you on the Mary Rose. Then you can tell your friend Leacon that the boy he recruited today is a girl, and bring her back. My servant will get a boat to row you there and back. In return, you will say nothing to anybody about what happened at Rolfswood nineteen years ago. It is Philip West, by the way, who has been paying Ellen Fettiplace's fees at the Bedlam all these years.'

'I guessed that.'

'You can take over responsibility for payment yourself if you like, I don't care.'

'You have left her safe all this time? If she had ever talked about the rape—'

'She never knew my name. And West has always threatened to tell the whole story if anything happened to her.' Rich's eye twitched again and he blinked angrily. 'Well, Brother Shardlake, what do you say? There will likely be a battle tomorrow, next day at the latest.'

'I need to know the whole story,' I answered steadily. I needed time to think, too.

'Do we really have to go into that?' he snapped impatiently.

'I do,' I answered. 'West's mother told me of the letter he carried from the King to Anne Boleyn that day.'

'He told me she had. Stupid old mare.'

'And I want to know what happened at that foundry.' I needed to know if Ellen had played any part in the deaths of her father and Gratwyck.

Rich's eyes narrowed.

'You must have been near thirty then,' I said. 'Much older than West. From what he said it was only a junior official that accompanied him.'

'I was junior then. Despite my striving, despite my attempts to get the patronage of Thomas More, I had advanced only to a lowly position working for the King's chamberlain.' He smiled, an odd smile. 'Do you believe in fortune, Master Shardlake? Fate?'

'No.'

'I like to gamble. The world is like the cards. You wait for a run of luck, then when you have it you use your skill to increase it. What happened with that letter began the run of luck that has led me on to the Privy Council.'

'How did you know what it contained?'

'I didn't.' He laughed. 'I wouldn't have dared touch it if I had. I thought it was just a matter of old Queen Catherine nosing out how long the King's affair with Anne Boleyn might last. Ridiculous old creature, you should have seen her then. Waddling around with her rosary, fat and shapeless from carrying all those children that died. I had put much effort into getting to know anyone I could at court, and had made friends with an elderly maid-in-waiting in the Queen's household, one of those wonderful old gossips who knows what everyone is doing. I told her I was a loyal servant of the Queen, someone who did not like to see her disgraced by the Boleyn, and so on.' He smiled at his cleverness. 'She told Queen Catherine, and through her it was suggested that I cultivate West; the Queen knew he sometimes carried letters to Anne Boleyn. Then she suggested that I intercept this one. Queen Catherine's spies in the King's household must have told her it contained something important. So I arranged to accompany Philip West to Rolfswood.'

'How did you get hold of the letter?'

'It is enough for you to know that I did.'

'No, Sir Richard, if we are to make a bargain I must know everything. Remember, Barak is on the road to London even now.'

Rich set his narrow lips. 'You have met Philip West. He is a man dominated by his passions, even more when he was younger. And like many who think themselves honourable fellows, what really matters to him is his dignity. His reputation, his vanity. What his mother thinks of him.' He wrinkled his sharp nose in contempt. 'I rode to Rolfswood with him that day, and waited at an inn nearby while he went to propose marriage to Ellen Fettiplace.'

'I thought there was a fight, and that he had not intended to propose to her that day, just talk to her father.'

'No, no. That was a lie he made up for his parents.' He raised his eyebrows. 'He had quite a passion for the woman. She was no great beauty but there it is.' He paused. 'Ah, you mind my saying that. Perhaps you have a liking for this Ellen, too.'

'No. I do not.'

Rich shrugged. 'Well, Philip West was convinced she would accept him, he thought someone of his station would be a good catch for her. But when he returned he told me that she had said no; she did not love him. He was furious, outraged, humiliated. Ranting like a demon in a play. I listened to him maundering on, encouraged him to get more and more drunk in case it gave me a chance to take the letter, but his hand kept going to his shirt where he kept it. He was not going to forget it. Not unless something dramatic happened to distract him. In the end he decided to ride back to Petworth. We had just started out on the road when my second good card turned up. Ellen Fettiplace herself.'

It was warm in the tent, but I felt cold. A moth flew in from a gap somewhere and began fluttering round the candles. I remembered Dyrick slamming his arm down on the moth at Hoyland. Rich ignored it. 'What does Ellen Fettiplace mean to you?' he asked. 'Are you sure she is just another of your waifs and strays, not something more?'

'No,' I answered sadly. 'Nothing more.'

He looked at me hard. 'She has been a worry to me for years.' His eye gave a little twitch again. 'Do you really need me to go on?'

'Yes, Sir Richard. If we are to bargain, I must know everything that happened to Ellen. And to her father, and his worker.'

'I can deny this conversation ever happened, you realize that. There are no witnesses.'

'Of course.'

He frowned, then continued in clipped tones. 'The girl saw us riding towards her and stopped. West's face frightened her, I think. Then I said to him, have her anyway, there's no one else around. He said that by damnation he would. He was too drunk to think of consequences. I had to help him unbuckle his sword—as gentlemen, we both wore swords—then help him off his horse. I thought the girl would run but she stood there with her mouth open as we ran over and seized her. West had his way. I helped hold her down, and while he was on her I took the letter. He did not notice, he was inside her by then, and the girl was beating and clawing at him. I'm surprised he was able to do it, he was very drunk. I took the letter and ran. Unfortunately I had to leave my horse.'

'What if the girl talked?'

'I planned to say she was confused, that I had tried to stop West and fled for help when I realized I couldn't.' He considered. 'And I was willing to take the risk, to gain the Queen as a patron.'

I frowned. 'But your promotion came through Thomas Cromwell, Catherine of Aragon's enemy.'

'Oh, Cromwell saw I could be a useful man.'

'Please continue, Sir Richard.' He gave me a long cold stare, and I suppressed a shudder at the thought of what he would have liked to do to me had I not had the Queen's protection.

'After I left West I planned to go to the nearest town and hire a horse. But I got lost in those woods and it soon became too dark even to see my way. Then I heard West blundering about in the trees, cursing and shouting my name. He had missed the letter. And he knew those woods, he had been brought up there. I managed to lose him, then I saw a light ahead, and made for it. I thought it was some house or inn where I could seek shelter.' A cloud crossed Rich's face, and I realized he had been afraid that night, alone in the woods.

'The foundry,' I said.

'Yes, it was the Fettiplace foundry. There was some old man sitting on a straw bed there, drinking. I said I was lost and he told me the way to Rolfswood. He invited me to stay, I think he was awestruck having a gentleman appear out of the blue. I decided to wait, hoping West would give up or fall down drunk, which I learned later is what he did. While I sat I read the letter. The damned seal had broken when I took it off West. I was astounded, for in it the King said he intended to marry Anne; he thought he could get the Pope on his side if Catherine refused. I hadn't realized that, I thought it was just some silly endearments to his mistress.'

'So you took the letter to Catherine of Aragon and gave her warning of the King's intentions.'

'Yes. God's death, the King must have been angry when West said he had lost it. I wonder West kept his head. Next year when the King went to Catherine saying he believed their marriage contravened biblical law and that was why they had had no sons, she already knew what his plans were. She'd had months to stew in her anger.'

'If the King found out what you had done—'

'Catherine of Aragon never told him she had intercepted that letter. She always protected her servants, that was her strategy to keep people loyal. I began my way up the ladder that night—and changed my loyalties when in the struggle that followed I saw Anne Boleyn would be the victor.'

'So what you helped West to do to Ellen, that set you on your upward path.'

'If you like. But it wasn't quite as simple as that. That night, as I was sitting in that old foundry, the door banged open. I feared West had found me but it was the girl who appeared, dishevelled and wild-looking. When she saw me she screamed and pointed and shouted, "Rape!" That man Gratwyck forgot his drink, got up and came towards me with a stick in his hand. Fortunately I had kept my sword. I slashed at him with it. I didn't kill him, but he fell into the fire he had lit and a moment later he was on fire himself, stumbling and shrieking around the place.' Rich paused and looked at me. 'It was self-defence, you see, not murder. I confess it shocked me, and when I turned back to the girl she was gone.

'I ran out into the night after her, but she had disappeared. I had to think what to do. I went back to the foundry, but it was already well on fire, Gratwyck still shrieking somewhere inside. So I walked up the path by that pond, looking for the girl.'

'What would you have done, had you found her?'

He shrugged. 'I did not find her. Instead I stepped straight into an older man in a robe.'

'Master Fettiplace.'

'He yelled, "Who are you?" I think he had been out looking for his daughter and come to the foundry to see whether she might be there, though I do not know. He grabbed at me, so I put my sword through him.' Rich spoke quite unemotionally, as though reading a document in court. 'I knew I had to get rid of him before people were attracted by the fire. I couldn't put him in the building, it was ablaze from end to end by now. But it was a moonlit night, I saw a boat by the pond, I rowed him out and sunk him with a discarded lump of iron I found nearby. I walked until dawn broke, then I hired a horse from an inn and rode back to Petworth.'

You were afraid, I thought: walking through the night in a terrified panic after what you'd done.

Rich said, 'Next day West sought me out. I denied I had anything to do with the fire, I said I rode straight back to Petworth, and though he suspected me there was no proof. As for the letter and the rape, I told him we must both keep quiet. But the fool rode back to Rolfswood again, to try and speak to Ellen. That was dangerous, it gave me some sleepless nights. But fortunately the girl had lost her wits, and after a while West and his family arranged with Priddis for her to be taken to the Bedlam. Priddis, as you can imagine, was well paid to ask no questions.'

'So now you have made a new bargain with Philip West.'

'Yes. I am good at bargains.'

'He had insisted Ellen be left alive.'

Rich frowned. 'He said if she ever came to harm he would tell the whole story. He was full of remorse then, he had decided to go to the King's ships. He is half mad—I think part of him wants to die. Though with his honour preserved.' Rich sneered. 'That is why, when I met him today, he agreed to take the Curteys girl on board his ship, so I could bargain for your silence.'

'My silence over what happened at Rolfswood, in return for getting Emma Curteys off that ship. I see. And what of Ellen?'

He spread his little hands. 'I will leave her safe in the Bedlam, under your eye. I understand she would never leave, even if she could.'

I thought hard. But Rich was right. I could perhaps destroy him, but then I would never get Emma Curteys off the Mary Rose. I thought, you will get away with murder. But he had already; I remembered his betrayal of Thomas More, his persecution of heretics in Essex. I asked, 'How can you be sure I will not take Emma off the ship, see her safe, and expose you anyway?'

'Oh, I have thought of that.'

'I guessed you would.' I added, 'You killed Mylling, too, didn't you?'

'He was in my pay, with standing instructions to inform me if anyone asked after Ellen Fettiplace. He told me you had been nosing around. And then, do you know, he tried to blackmail me, asked for more money. He did not know his young clerk was in my pay too. I could not afford any risks, so I arranged for the clerk to deal with him. Shutting him up in that Stinkroom place was a good idea; if he had survived it could be said the door shutting on him was an accident. Young Master Alabaster has his job now.' He bent his head to search among his papers. 'And now,' he concluded briskly, 'here it is.' He pulled out a paper and passed it across to me. 'Your will.'

I jerked backwards, nearly falling off my stool, for wills are made in contemplation of death. Rich gave a mocking laugh. 'Do not worry. Everyone is making wills in this camp with the battle coming. Look through it, there are spaces for your legacies.'

I looked down. I make this will at Portsmouth, the French fleet before me, in contemplation of death. Then the executor's clause: I appoint Sir Richard Rich, of Essex, Privy Councillor to his majesty the King, as my sole executor. Afterwards, the first legacy was already inserted: To the aforesaid Sir Richard Rich, with a request for forgiveness for dishonourable accusations I have laid against him over many years, but who has now shown me his true friendship, 50 marks. There was space for more gifts, then the date, 18th of July 1545, and space for me and two witnesses to sign.

Rich passed over two blank sheets of paper. 'Copy it out twice,' he instructed briskly, in charge again. 'One copy for me to keep, for I have little doubt you will make a new will when you return to London. That matters not, the fifty marks is a nominal amount, as anyone can see. I want this will, which will be witnessed by a couple of reputable men from this camp who do not know me or you, and who can testify later that your will was made quite freely, for I shall show it in court should you ever make accusations against me.' He tilted his neat little head. 'No legacies to Ellen Fettiplace, by the way.'

I read the draft will again. Neat, tidy, like everything Rich did, except for that first venture at Rolfswood when he had taken huge risks and murdered a man in a panic. He held out a quill and spoke quietly. 'If you betray me, if you leave me with nothing to lose, then believe me something will happen to Ellen Fettiplace. So there you are, we have each other tied up neatly.'

I took the quill and began to write. As I did so I heard voices outside, clatter, noise: the King's party, returning from South Sea Castle. I heard people talking in low, serious tones as they passed Rich's tent.

When I had finished, Rich took the will and read both copies carefully. He nodded. 'Yes, large gifts to Jack and Tamasin Barak and to Guy Malton, as I expected. Small gifts to the boys who work in your household.' Then he looked up with an amused expression. 'Who is this Josephine Coldiron you leave a hundred marks to? Are you keeping some whore with you at Chancery Lane?'

'She, too, works in my household.'

Rich shrugged, studied the documents once more for some slip or trick, then nodded, satisfied, and rang the little bell on his desk. A moment later Peel came in. 'Fetch a couple of gentlemen here,' Rich said. 'The higher their status the better. Officials, not anyone who may be involved in any fighting tomorrow. I want them to survive to remember witnessing my friend Shardlake here signing his will.' He looked at the hourglass. 'Be quick, time runs on.'

When Peel had gone, Rich said, 'When the witnesses come we must pretend to be friends, you understand. Just for a moment.'

'I understand,' I said heavily.

Rich looked at me, curious now. 'You were once a friend of Lord Cromwell's; you could have risen to the top had you not fallen out with him.'

'His price was too high.'

'Ah, yes, we councillors are wicked men. But you, I think, like above all to feel you are in the right. Helping the poor and weak. Justified, as the radical Protestants say. As consolation for how you look, perhaps.' He smiled ironically. 'You know, there are men of conscience on the Privy Council. People like me and Paulet and Wriothesley sit round the council table and listen to them; Hertford snarling at Gardiner and Norfolk about correct forms of religion. We listen afterwards as they plot to put each other in the fire. But some of us, as Sir William Paulet says, bend to the wind rather than be broken by it. Those with conscience are too obsessed with the rightness of their cause to survive, in the end. But the King knows the value of straight, hard counsel, and that is why men like us survive while others go to the axe.'

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

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

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

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

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

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

'Yes, Sir Richard.'

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

'Yes, sir.'

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

'You have the letters safe?' I asked.

'Yes, sir.'

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

Chapter Forty-five

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

'Yes. A soldier took it.'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'That he certainly is.'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I began climbing the ladder, Peel behind me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'We have. A bargain of necessity.'

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

'Yes, sir.' Peel lowered his gaze.

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

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

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

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

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

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

'I know.'

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

'You raped her.'

'She provoked me.'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Peel smiled at me. 'Accidents happen on ships, you see, Master Shardlake. Civilians who come on board at nightfall can fall overboard.'

West bit his lip. 'I've got to go and get that food onto the ship, we haven't enough for tonight—' His eyes widened at the sound of footsteps. He stepped quickly outside, shutting the door and leaving me with Peel. I recognized the purser's voice. 'What are you doing in there?' he asked West. His voice was puzzled, but not suspicious.

'Checking that last barrel of pork, sir. It's rancid.'

'The supplies still aren't here. The cook says there's barely enough stockfish left with all the soldiers staying on board overnight. The master says you've to go over to the warehouses now yourself, bring those supplies across at once. Or we'll have nothing and there'll be trouble. Get one of the rowboats going back.'

'Does it have to be me?'

'You're the one that's supposed to be negotiating with them. Go now.'

I heard the purser's footsteps retreating again, then the door slid open. 'You heard that?' West asked.

'Yes.' Peel gave my shin a vicious kick. 'You're going to be trouble to the end, aren't you?'

'Listen,' West said urgently. 'You must get off the ship, people will be asking who that boatman is. I'll deal with Shardlake later. I have to go now. After I come back I'll find a time when it's quiet, it usually is for a while about three, then kill him and sling him through one of the gun ports.' West looked down at me. His face was anguished, I realized that unlike Peel he did not relish coldblooded murder. But I knew, too, that he would do it. He was, as Rich had said, a man concerned ultimately with his own honour. He would die for his vanity, and kill for it too.

I WAS LEFT IN total darkness. I heard, faintly, footsteps and murmuring voices from the aftercastle above, an officer's whistle. I thought, Leacon and his men are up there, and Emma. There would be no taking her off now. I lay helpless on the floor. The smell from the barrel behind me was horrible. I felt a savage anger against West and Rich but also against myself. My obsessive quarrying for the truth about Ellen and Hugh had ended here. And Ellen: would West still protect her from Rich after this? Better I had never left London in the first place.

I heard someone moving about in the cabin next door, but there was no way I could call for attention. I tried banging my feet on the floor, every movement sending sharp twinges of pain into my back, but I was so tightly bound I was able only to make a light scraping noise, too faint to be noticed next door.

After a while I noticed tiny points of flickering light above and below me. Lamplight, I realized, coming through minute gaps in the planking. Darkness must have fallen.

The smell from the barrel of rotten meat grew worse than ever in the hot, thick, stinking air. Twice footsteps sounded outside but they passed on. Then I heard bangs and grunts and muttering from outside, I thought from the companionway to the upper deck which I had descended. I wondered if West had fetched the supplies and they were being brought down to the kitchen. I heard a voice. 'Do you want some in the little storeroom, sir?'

West's voice answered sharply. 'No! Down to the kitchen.'

The noise went on for a long time, then ceased. Then I heard West's voice again, on an angry note. 'What are you three men doing here?'

A Devon accent answered, 'We've to stay down here with the cannon tonight, sir, to make sure all is safe lest the ship roll. Orders from the master. There's a full barrel of gunpowder here, sir.'

There was silence. I could almost feel West, outside, wondering how he might be able to get rid of these men, kill me, and dispose of me. Then, to my relief, I heard his footsteps retreating.

For hours and hours I lay there, constantly moving my bound body to try and ease the pains that racked it, fearing that West might find some way to get rid of those sailors keeping watch on the gun-deck. All the time the dim pinhole points of light came and went, and muffled voices and occasional whistles sounded from the deck above. I doubt anyone on the Mary Rose slept much that night.

Chapter Forty-six

DESPITE THE PAIN, I found myself drifting in and out of an exhausted doze, starting awake from spasms in my back or shoulders. Several times footsteps outside made me start, fearing West was returning, but always they passed on. The noises of the ship quieted for a while, leaving an hour or two of uneasy near silence save for a bell tolling a change of watch. I was desperately thirsty, my mouth as dry as the gag Peel had stuffed into it.

I dozed again, and found myself dreaming. I was riding into Hampshire with the soldiers, marching along the green, tunnel-like lanes. I was at the head of the company, beside Leacon. Suddenly he turned and said, 'Who's that?' I followed his gaze and realized that some of the soldiers I knew, Carswell and Llewellyn and Pygeon and Sulyard, were carrying a bier on which a body in white grave clothes lay. It was Ellen.

I started awake. A voice, somewhere, shouting, 'Hurry!' Other noises were audible from above, footsteps and whistles, scurrying feet, and though I had no way of knowing I guessed dawn had come. Someone shouted for crews to move into position; I realized with relief that the guncrews had come down. They would probably be here the rest of the day, preventing West from dealing with me. His mission on shore and the posting of guards by the guns had made him miss the opportunity of dealing with me at dead of night.

I heard whistles, then a steady rumbling that set the plank floor of my prison vibrating. Then another whistle and a series of clatters. It sounded as though the gun ports had been opened, cannon moved forward and then back. A practice? It must have been, for it happened two or three more times. From the noises, there seemed to be activity all over the ship. I tried to work out what people were saying, but could only catch stray words.

It was impossible to calculate the passage of time. The room, which had cooled a little in the middle of the night, became very hot again, the stink of rotten meat even stronger. Sometime later I heard distant gunfire, whether from our ships or the French galleys I could not tell. At one point I heard a loud cheer from the decks above, a distinct cry of 'Got the galley!' There was more gunfire, sometimes close, sometimes far away. After one shot I felt a dull reverberation through the deck beneath me, and outside someone shouted, 'Are we hit?' Then I heard a number of men running down the companionway and continuing down to the decks below. I thought I caught the word 'Pump!' My heart raced with panic at the thought of being trapped in the tiny cabin if the ship was hit, but nothing more happened. I felt sick, and despite the pain the effort brought to my bound arms I leaned my head forward as far as I could, for were I to vomit with the gag in my mouth I would choke. Then I heard a knock on the door, a gentle hesitant knock, and a voice calling, 'Matthew?' It was Leacon.

A wave of relief ran through me. I tried to move, despite the pain that flashed through my body, terrified he would leave. I managed to scrape my bound heels across the floor. 'Matthew?' he called again. He had heard. I scraped my heels again. There was a moment's silence, then a crash as Leacon put his shoulder to the door. Someone outside called 'Hey!'

'There's someone shut up in here!' A moment later, with a tremendous crash, the flimsy door splintered open and light spilled through, searing my eyes.

The voice outside called again, 'What in God's name's going on, man?'

Leacon was staring through the open doorway, unbelievingly. 'There's a civilian in here!' he called back. He smashed his shoulder against the door again, making a gap wide enough to enter. The officer who had called out to him came across and stared in at me, wide-eyed.

'What the hell—do you know him?'

'Yes, he is a friend.'

'God's holy wounds! Who the fuck tied him up in there? Sort it out,' the officer snapped. 'Get him off the gundeck!'

Leacon stepped into the cabin. He took out his knife, cut my bonds and removed the gag. I lay on my back and groaned, sucking in air, unable for the moment to move.

'God's death, who did this to you?' Leacon's face was tired, dirty, streaked with perspiration. He wore his helmet, a padded jack and his officer's sword.

'Philip West.' My voice came out as a croak. 'I found out—something—that he once did.'

'You came on board to confront him?' Leacon asked unbelievingly.

'Yes. What time is it?'

'Past three o'clock.'

'Jesu. I've been here since last night. What's happening? I heard gunfire—'

'The French have brought five of their galleys forward again, but our guns are keeping them at a distance. We hit one. It trailed back to the main fleet, listing. There's no wind, neither our warships nor theirs can move. The French have used some galleys to land on the Isle of Wight. We can see fires. Just as well, if they'd sent them all against us we'd be in worse trouble. If there's a wind when the tide is right we're going to sail out against them.'

'What's happening outside? I heard the cannon being moved, but no firing.'

'They're making the guncrews pass the time with practice. This waiting is hard.'

'Someone shouted something about a pump. I thought we'd been hit—'

'Some men went below to see, but they don't think it's anything serious.'

I sighed with relief. 'How did you find me?'

'I overheard two sailors saying a lawyer boarded last night and went below with West, and the boat left without him. They said you were still on the ship, you never came back up. They said—' he hesitated.

'I can guess. Hunchbacks bring bad luck. Well, this time their superstition saved me.'

'I questioned them and they were definite. So I came down to look. I started by going along the gundeck, found that closed door and found you.'

'Where is West?'

'Somewhere on board. He went ashore last night to fetch supplies, but half the beer he brought back is bad. My men are parched with thirst. He's probably up in the forecastle with the purser. I told Sir Franklin I was going to try and find out what was happening with the beer.'

'Thank you. Thank you. You have saved my life. How are the men?'

'Tired and hungry. More than half are up on the aftercastle, including the section you know. I'm with them. Others have gone to the forecastle decks. But they're resolute, they'll fight and die if it comes.' Pride and pain mingled in his voice. 'I have to get back to them. Can you stand if I help you?'

I forced myself to my feet, biting my lip against the pain. 'God's death,' Leacon burst out. 'West must be mad, leaving you in here.'

'He meant to deal with me last night, but by the time he'd finished getting the stores some men had been stationed on guard. He and Richard Rich planned this yesterday. I thought I had made a bargain with Rich. Dear God, I was a fool.'

He shook his head sadly. 'West is known as a fair, hard-working officer.' He looked at me accusingly. 'You should have told me he was dangerous.'

'I did not understand how dangerous until yesterday. But Barak said I was using you and he was right. I am sorry.'

'Where is Jack?'

'Well on his way to London.' I took a deep breath. 'George, there is something else you will find hard to believe. Something Rich used to get me on the ship—and it's why your company was put on the Mary Rose. Yesterday you took on a new recruit. Hugh Curteys.'

'Yes,' he answered, sounding defensive. 'He came in the afternoon, he wanted to enlist and I let him. I remembered seeing him that time before, and recalled what a good archer he was. He said his guardian had agreed.'

I smiled wryly. 'Did you believe that?'

'All the companies are under-strength. If I had refused he would only have got himself into another.'

'George, Hugh Curteys is not who he says. He is not even a boy. "He" is a girl, Hugh's sister. She has been impersonating him for years.'

He looked at me blankly. 'What?'

'That wretched man Hobbey forced the impersonation on her, for gain. He has admitted it. George, please, take me up to the aftercastle with you. Let me show you.'

He looked at me dubiously. 'Can you make it up there?'

'Yes. If you help me. Please.'

He looked me in the eye. 'You realize you should try and get off this ship, now. There are a few rowboats going between the ships and shore with messages.'

'I must take Emma Curteys with me. I've got this far, against all my enemies could throw at me.'

Leacon looked round the little cabin, shook his head again, then said, 'Come.'

'Thank you again, George.'

As I moved away, my robe caught on a splinter in the planking of the wall. I threw off the filthy, dusty thing, then tore off my coif too. In my shirt, I followed Leacon from the little cabin. As I went out I heard cannonfire. It sounded close.

OUTSIDE, guncrews of half a dozen men stood round the cannon in positions of readiness, in their shirts or bare-chested. The gun ports were open. The air was stifling, thick with the stench of unwashed bodies. Each member of the guncrews stood in a fixed place: one holding a long ladle; another with a wooden linstock and smouldering taper, ready to light the powder; a third with an iron gunball at his feet, ready to load. The master gunners stood behind the guns, watching an officer in doublet and hose, sword at his waist and a whistle round his neck, pacing up and down between the double row of guns. The men lifted tired, strained faces to stare at us. The officer stepped forward, glaring at me. 'Who the hell are you? Who put you in there?'

'Assistant-Purser West. He—'

A whistle sounded loudly from the top of the ladder. The officer thrust out his arm to stop us moving. 'Stay back! Wait here!'

The whistle had been a signal. The officer blew his own whistle and I watched as another practice followed, the crews swinging smoothly into motion, moving with speed and grace. The iron cannon were loaded with shot from the back, the bronze ones, which had been hauled back for the purpose, from chambers at the front. Vents on top of the guns were filled with powder and the bronze guns were rolled forward, the ropes binding them to the walls slackening. The movement made the deck tremble again. Each master gunner placed the taper next to a hole at the back of each gun, into which another man had already mimed pouring in a dob of powder from a flask. Then everyone stopped and waited, still as a tableau for half a minute, until another whistle sounded. The guns were hauled inboard again, and the gunballs removed. Everyone took up their former positions. The officer said, 'Good enough. We'll give them a hot cannonade!' He inclined his head at us. 'Get out, quick!'

We passed between the guncrews. I remember one man holding a linstock staring at me as I went by. He was shirtless, with a short, scarred, muscular body, a square bearded face. He looked at me as though I were something from another world, an apparition.

We walked to the ladder. At the bottom Leacon said quietly, 'Can you make it up?'

'After all I've been through to get here? Yes.'

I climbed after him, though the effort sent pain slicing through my shoulders. Fresh, salt air wafted down from above, making my head swim for a moment. Leacon reached the deck and helped me up. Again, through the stout netting, I saw the great masts rearing up into the blue sky of another hot July day. The sails were still furled, but on deck and up in the rigging sailors stood in position, ready to release them on command. The deck was more crowded than ever, everyone at battle positions. As below, guncrews had taken up positions of readiness beside the cannon. Half the blinds were open, giving me a view of the Great Harry and the other warships beyond on one side, and on the other the Isle of Wight, where, away in the distance, I saw smoke rising from several large fires.

I looked along the deck. Archers stood at some of the open blinds, and perhaps fifty pikemen stood together, nine-foot-long half-pikes raised with tips poking through the netting, ready to thrust up at boarders. An officer with a whistle round his neck stood watching; he glanced up at the fighting top in the topmast where lookouts stood, the only ones with a clear view of what was happening.

Near us, on the opposite side of the deck, three officers were arguing. One I recognized as the purser. The second was Philip West. He looked haggard as he spoke to the third man, a tall officer in his forties, richly dressed. He had a dark brown beard framing a long, frowning face, a pomander as well as a sword at his waist. Round his neck he wore a massive whistle on a long gold chain. He was examining what looked like a tiny sundial. He looked up as West finished speaking.

'If the beer's bad,' he said impatiently, 'they'll just have to do without.'

The purser answered, 'The men are parched. And starting to murmur—'

'Then give them what there is!'

'They won't drink it, Sir George,' West said impatiently. 'It's bad—'

Sir George Carew shouted back, 'Don't talk to me like that, knave! God's death, they'd best behave, all of them. The King is watching at South Sea Castle, and he'll have a special eye on this ship!'

West turned his head away. He saw me then; his mouth fell open in astonishment and horror. I met his gaze grimly. There was nothing he could do to me here. Leacon stared at him too, angrily, then turned to me. 'Let's go up.'

We mounted via the space under the aftercastle, next to the mainmast, and arrived on the lower aftercastle deck, where helmeted handgunners stood with arquebuses and hailshot pieces propped against the side of the ship. There were no blinds here, only portholes at eye-level for them to stick their weapons through. I had a view through a wide doorway giving on to the walkway between the castles, above the netting. Two sailors in check shirts stood in the doorway leading to the aftercastle, watching as a pair of soldiers carried a long box across the walkway from the forecastle end. On either side of the doorway the two long cannon I had seen from the weatherdeck on my first visit were positioned, angled to fire outwards past the ship through a gap in the rigging, guncrews beside them. The cannon were bronze, beautifully ornate. Looking back, I saw two lines of handgunners, their feet braced, their long, heavy weapons thrust through little portholes. If the Mary Rose grappled with a French ship, they would fire hailshot of metal and stone at the opposing crew.

'More arrows,' the soldiers said as they reached the doorway.

'Give them here.' The sailors took the box and carried it to the ladder, which continued upwards. They climbed up nimbly, then descended again to resume their positions in the doorway. Leacon and I ascended to the top deck of the aftercastle, into the sunshine, underneath another span of netting fixed to wooden supports that enclosed the deck. The aftercastle was far longer than the weatherdeck, and just as crowded. Around half Leacon's company were there, perhaps twenty men standing at open blinds on each side, with a few placed behind ready to replace any who fell. Snodin was pacing slowly up and down the deck, his plump face set hard. He saw me and stared with an astonished frown. Like the men on the deck below most wore helmets and cotton jacks—Pygeon, some way off, had on the bright red brigandyne he had won from Sulyard. The men held strung bows upright at their sides, angled carefully so the tops did not touch the enclosing netting above, arrowbags at their waists, bracers on their wrists. The box of arrows lay open in the middle of the deck. Here and there the archers were interspersed with swivel gunners, their thin, six-foot long weapons fixed to the rail above the blinds. The guns were at rest, muzzles up and long tails resting on the deck. At the far end of the aftercastle, under an enormous flag of St George, Sir Franklin Giffard stared down the deck, his face set and resolute. Through the open blind next to me I saw the sea, forty feet below. I swallowed and looked away. Then I looked backwards, and stared.

From here, looking through open blinds at the back of the aftercastle, I could see not only our ships and the distant French fleet, which appeared to be in the same position as the night before, but, perhaps half a mile ahead, the French galleys. Four of the enormous, sleek things faced us. They were drawn up stern to stern, like a four-spoked wheel, turning slowly on the sparkling water, so they could, each in turn, bring the cannon in the bows round to face us. I could see the oars flashing, the dark shapes of the double cannon in the prows. Some of our galleasses, pathetically small by comparison, faced them. As I watched, a puff of smoke billowed up and out as a galley fired at one of our ships further down the line. A boom echoed across the water.

I turned and looked down the rows of archers. I saw Carswell and Llewellyn at adjacent blinds, other familiar faces, all shining with sweat.

It was hard to pick Emma out among the archers but I saw her, in helmet and jack, up near the stern. She still carried the beautiful slim bow with horn tips that I recognized from Hoyland. When she saw me her face reddened with fury and her hand went instinctively to her throat. Leacon looked along the deck at her. Their eyes met. Emma's scarred face wavered a moment, then set hard.

Sir Franklin had seen us. He marched between the rows of men, hand on sword hilt, frowning. No doubt he was astonished by my appearing yet again, this time on the Mary Rose herself. I followed Leacon towards him. A strong breeze rose suddenly, ruffling my hair. The ship tipped a little, and several of the archers and swivel gunners staggered. Leacon reached Sir Franklin, then bent to whisper in his ear. As he did so, I heard whistles and shouts from the main deck below.

Sir Franklin jerked upright, stared at Leacon, then at me. He laughed. 'What?'

'Easy enough to determine, sir,' Leacon said. Sir Franklin stared at Emma, then nodded. He and Leacon walked up the deck to her. I followed them.

'Is it true?' Leacon asked her sharply. 'What Master Shardlake just told me about you?'

Emma hesitated, then answered quietly, 'I do not understand, sir.'

Doubt flickered across Leacon's face. In her uniform Emma was utterly convincing. He said quietly, 'If I have to, I'll find out the truth here and now. In front of everyone.'

'There is nothing to find, Captain.' I had to admire her courage as she made her bluff.

Leacon took a deep breath, then reached out and lifted off her close-fitting helmet. He stared at the short brown fuzz, studied her face again, then said, 'Remove your jack, soldier.'

There was muttering up and down the ranks. The men still stood in position, but most had turned their heads to stare. Slowly, Emma removed her arrowbag, then took off her jack and dropped it to the deck. She stood there, the wind that had risen ruffling her white shirt. Leacon put his hands to her collar and ripped the shirt open. The heartstone was tied round her neck in its tiny leather pouch, over a white linen band. The band was drawn tightly across her chest, but above it the tops of her breasts made a slight swell. I feared Leacon might force her to untie the band but he had seen enough. There was an excited muttering among the men.

'What's that? Is it a bandage? Is he hurt?'

'Shit, I think it's a woman.'

'Be quiet!' Sir Franklin called out. Leacon spoke quietly to Emma. 'Why have you done this? Why have you made a mockery of my company?'

Emma crossed her arms. 'I wanted to fight, sir. You've seen that I'm a good archer.'

Sir Franklin stepped up to her. He raised his hand and I thought he would strike her, but he turned to Leacon, and said, voice trembling with fury, 'Can she be got off the ship?'

'Maybe. If a boat comes over.'

'Go and find one. Get her out of sight for now. Under the aftercastle. Anywhere.' He looked round at the gawping soldiers. Emma stared at me, arms held tight across her breasts, her eyes full of pain and anger.

The Mary Rose lurched violently. Some of the men staggered again, grabbing at the rails or reaching up to the enclosing netting. I had been aware of more whistles and shouted commands from below, and now I heard a loud rattling from the stern; the anchors were being raised. Turning round, I saw huge white sails billow out from the bowsprit and foremast, snapping and cracking in the rising breeze. Over to the left sails unfurled on the Great Harry too, then on the other ships. The Mary Rose rocked once more, then began moving slowly forward towards the galleys. It had begun. We were going into battle.

Chapter Forty-seven

SEVERAL SHORT, PIERCING whistle blasts sounded from the foot of the ladder. Sir Franklin shouted, 'To positions!'

Leacon looked at Emma and me grimly. 'Go down to the space under the aftercastle and stay there!' he said, then walked away to his men. Most still had their heads turned in our direction but now they were looking past us to where, beyond the forecastle and the raised foresail, the galleys faced us. There was another crack and billow of canvas as the lateen sail at the back of the ship was set. Though I could feel little movement—just the ship rising and falling gently—the Mary Rose was approaching the galleys at considerable speed. I looked at the soldiers again; Carswell gave me a frightened smile and shrugged, as though to say, now we have all come to it, and you too. Pygeon, sweating in his brigandyne, crossed himself. Leacon went to stand in the centre of the aftercastle beside Snodin, near where Emma's jack lay. 'Stay steady, lads,' Snodin said in a quiet, sympathetic tone such as I had never heard him use before.

The deck shifted and I almost fell. A nearby sailor, in position by the topmast rigging, shouted at us, 'Get your shoes off! Then get off this deck, out of our way!'

I kicked off my shoes and ran to the ladder. Emma hesitated, then did the same. As we reached the hatch, I glanced backwards. The Mary Rose had pulled ahead of the rest of the fleet now, the Great Harry was behind us; all the other ships seemed to be following. Through the open blind of the archer next to me I glimpsed South Sea Castle in the distance. I looked down; far below I saw frothing waves as the Mary Rose cut through the water. My stomach lurched.

I began descending the ladder. I looked back at Emma. She hesitated again, then, with a savage look, followed me.

I clambered slowly down, trying to ignore the pain in my arms and shoulders. On the deck below the handgunners still stood with feet braced looking through their little ports, while on each side of the ladder the gun teams stood ready at the two long cannons. Through the wide door giving on to the walkway above the netting I saw we were still heading fast for the galleys. The two sailors still stood one on each side of the door, likewise staring ahead. Then the Mary Rose began to turn. The port side dipped, pitching me off the ladder onto the deck. I hit my shoulder and cried out with pain. The sailors next to us looked round for a moment. The ship dipped even further, then righted itself.

I tried to rise. Pain shot down my arm. I managed to get to my feet. Emma hesitated, looking at me. I said, 'I can't use the ladder.'

'We were told to go to the space under the aftercastle.'

'You go. I can't.'

For the first time her expression was indecisive, uncertain. She stepped off the ladder and stood beside me. The ship was still turning, some of the handgunners were clutching at the ports now with one hand. Staring ahead, I realized the Mary Rose intended to face the galleys side on, bringing her cannon to bear. I felt giddy and sank to the floor. Emma looked down at her torn shirt, the heartstone swinging on its cord. It was still hard to believe she was not a boy. She pulled the ends of the shirt together, then sat down beside me. 'Afraid, Master Shardlake?' she asked coldly.

'Leacon is right,' I answered. 'Everyone should be afraid to die.'

She laughed harshly. 'Rather die fighting than hang.' Her voice seemed perceptibly higher. Something else she had had to keep under control all these years.

I said, 'David is not dead, though he is badly hurt.'

She lowered her head, then spoke quietly. 'I did not mean to kill him. I thought I would kill you and Barak, but I couldn't.'

'I know.'

She did not answer, but sat with head bowed. I looked ahead again. The four galleys were close now, I saw their sides were richly gilded with the arms of France. They circled round, still in their square formation, bringing their guns into position to fire on the Mary Rose. I said, as steadily as I could given my thudding heart, 'It's coming.'

'Let it,' Emma answered without looking up.

I said, 'If we get out of this, Hobbey will pass your wardship to me. Then you can decide what you want to be.'

She looked up, her face set hard again. 'If we live I'll find another company. Fight the Scots, perhaps.'

'I risked all to try and save you.'

'Why?' she asked. 'Why did you? I never wanted—'

'To give you a chance. A choice—'

I broke off at the sound of a cracking boom. Dark grey smoke billowed out from the front of the galley facing us. There was an odd silence lasting perhaps twenty seconds, then one of the sailors said, 'That was close.'

Then from below came a shout of 'Give fire!' followed by the loudest noise I have ever heard, as all the cannon on the starboard side of the Mary Rose fired on the galleys, one after another after another, a series of tremendous crashing roars. I felt the impact travel up through my legs, making my very bones shake, and a dreadful pressure on the inside of my ears. The decks trembled and creaked. I turned to Emma; she had looked up, her eyes alight with excitement.

As the smoke cleared I saw the galleys were undamaged. The Mary Rose began turning to port, fast and steeply. I heard a cracking of sails. Then, through the doorway, I felt a sudden strong gust of wind.

'That's too fast,' one of the sailors said.

The ship heeled to starboard. I thought it would be like the earlier manoeuvre and she would right herself, but she tilted more and more. The soldiers on the port side, which rose high as the starboard side dipped lower, clung to the side of the portholes; their guns began slipping back through them and crashing down the decks. Looking through the doorway I saw a man fall off the topmast into the web of rigging, swivel guns fall from the topdeck railing, into the sea. I heard crashing and shouting below the netting enclosing the weatherdeck as men and equipment slid and fell. All this took only seconds, but the time seems to stretch out in my memory, detail after terrible detail. All the soldiers on our deck, and their guns, were now tumbling and crashing against the starboard side. The long cannon on the port side, too, began slipping from its mount.

'Get out of here!' the sailor beside us shouted to his fellow. They went down on hands and knees and began crawling rapidly out onto the walkway above the netting, grasping the sides for the ship was tilted at such an angle now it was impossible to walk. Under the netting men were screaming. I saw hands reaching up through the mesh.

'Come on!' I shouted to Emma. I began crawling after the sailors, gritting my teeth against the pain in my shoulders. For a second I thought she might stay behind, but I heard her shuffling after me. We got out onto the walkway. Men were hacking frantically up at the stout netting with their knives. A hand reached up and grasped my arm, a frantic voice shouted, 'Help us!' but then water crashed over us, the cold a sudden shock, and I felt myself carried outwards. In the seconds I rode the top of the onrushing water I saw dozens of soldiers falling from the aftercastle through open or broken blinds. I saw the red of Pygeon's heavy brigandyne as he fell past me like a stone, eyes wide with horror, and Snodin's plump form, arms windmilling frantically, mouth open and screaming. The men threw up great splashes as they hit the sea, then disappeared, the weight of their clothing and helmets taking them at once to the bottom. All those men, all of them. And from the hundreds trapped below the netting, and on the lower decks, I heard a terrible screaming. Then the cold waters came over my head and I thought, this is it, the end I feared, drowning. And suddenly all the pains in my body were gone.

SEVERAL MOMENTS of utter, absolute terror, and then I felt myself carried up and outward, and my head was in the air again. I took a frantic breath, kicking wildly at the water. I had been swept some yards out from the Mary Rose. The giant ship was on its side now, rapidly sinking. Part of the foresail floated on the surface, and the topmast and foremast, almost horizontal, hung out over the frothing water. Tiny brown shapes were climbing up them; I realized they were rats. Amazingly a couple of the men in the fighting top high on the foremast had survived; they clung on, calling piteously for help, the great mast I had craned my neck to look up at now only a few feet above the waves. The terrible screaming from the soldiers and sailors trapped below the netting had ceased. I looked round wildly; perhaps a couple of dozen men were, like me, kicking and shouting in the water; a few bodies floated face down. More rats scrabbled in the water. A great bubble of air burst a few feet from me. The ship sank lower, below the water's surface.

I felt a force dragging me down again. Perhaps it was the ship settling on the seabed fifty feet below—as my head went under, I saw, amid hundreds more bubbles, the dim shape of the forecastle. It seemed to be moving, breaking away from the hull. I closed my eyes against the terror of it all, and seemed to see the face of the man I had once drowned staring at me sorrowfully.

Then the dragging ceased. I kicked frantically upwards, bringing my head above water again, desperately sucking in air. At a little distance the Great Harry was bearing straight down on the French galleys. After what had happened to the Mary Rose she was not going to turn broadside. One of the galleys fired and there was an answering roar from the guns near the bow of the Great Harry. Smoke drifted out over the water. I grasped frantically at something floating past. It was a longbow, too light to take my weight. I was fearfully cold, and suddenly light-headed. I felt myself sink again; and remembered hearing somewhere that if you are drowning, the third time you go down is the last.

Then a hand grasped my arm and pulled me up. I stared, wide-eyed, at Emma. She was clinging to something, a broad wooden circle with a short spar attached, the circle painted with alternating red and white rose petals. The emblem from the bow of the Mary Rose. I scrabbled at it. It was not heavy enough to support both of us, but by kicking our feet we were able to keep our heads above water. The pain in my shoulder returned from the effort of holding on, and my teeth began chattering with cold; even with the emblem to hold on to we could not survive long. Faint cries still sounded across the water from the few still left alive.

I saw the galleys break formation and retreat, rowing back to the French fleet. We were much closer to the French ships now; I could make out individual warships. Dozens and dozens of them, painted in black and yellow and green, drawn up in a long line three abreast. One at the front carried a massive papal flag, the keys of St Peter. I looked across the spar to Emma. Her face was wild, frantic. 'Where are they all?' she asked. 'The soldiers, the men?'

'Gone,' I managed to gulp out. 'Drowned.' I looked to where the Mary Rose had been; there was nothing to be seen now in the still-bubbling sea save the tips of the two masts a few feet above the water, men still clinging to the fighting tops, and the floating sail.

I heard a shout and turned to see a rowboat from one of the English ships approaching. Others were following, fishing the living from the water. The boat drew level and hands reached down to pull us out. Emma was landed in the boat first; I was dropped on top of her like a hooked fish. I looked round, into the horrified face of a sailor. 'The Mary Rose is gone,' he said.

Chapter Forty-eight

I WOKE TO semi-darkness. I realized I was on land; the ground beneath me was still. I was thirstier than ever in my life, the dryness reaching from deep in my chest to the back of my nose. I swallowed, tasted salt, and raised myself painfully up on my elbows. My shoulders were painfully stiff and sore. I saw that I was in a long, low room with small high windows; it was dark outside. I was lying on rough sacks on a dusty floor, a smelly blanket on top of me. Other men lay in rows along the walls. Someone was groaning. A couple of men with candles were moving to and fro. I tried to call out but could only manage a croak. One of the men carrying the candles came over with a heavy, limping walk. He stood over me: he was middle-aged with a seamed, lined face. I croaked out the words, 'Drink. Please.'

He knelt beside me, placing a leather pouch to my lips. 'Slowly, matey,' he said, as a blessed trickle of weak beer ran down my throat. 'Don't gulp.'

I lay back, gasping. 'Where are we?'

'In one of the Oyster Street warehouses. They brought all of you here that survived. I'm Edwin, I work on the loading usually.'

I croaked, 'How many? How many saved?'

'Thirty-five pulled alive from the water. Those of you in a bad state were brought here. There are fifteen of you. One died earlier, God rest him.'

'Thirty-five,' I breathed. 'Out of—'

'Five hundred. The rest are at the bottom of the Solent.' His face, tanned and weatherbeaten, was sombre. 'I knew some of them; I was a sailor till I smashed my leg five years ago.'

'Did any soldiers survive?'

'Two or three in the fighting tops managed to cling on. No others. The soldiers were heavy clad, they—'

'Drowned. I saw. And heard the men under the netting, screaming—' My eyes were suddenly hot and stinging, though there was no moisture left in me for tears.

'Here,' the old sailor said, 'easy now. Drink some more beer. You brought up a lot of water in the boat before you lost consciousness.'

I asked, 'Did you see it? Did you see the ship go down?'

'Everyone on shore did. We all heard the screaming too, as the King did at South Sea Castle.'

'He saw the Mary Rose sink?'

'They say he cried out, "Oh, my gallant gentlemen! Oh, my gallant men!" He thought of the gentlemen first, of course,' he added bitterly.

'Why? Why did she sink?'

Edwin shook his head. 'Some are saying the gun ports weren't closed quickly enough as the ship turned. Others have it she was top-heavy with all the cannon, and too many soldiers on board. I heard she might have been hit, too, by the galleys. Whatever the cause, all those men are dead.'

'The French—what happened? The Great Harry fired on the galleys—'

'The galleys went back to the main fleet. They were trying to draw us into deep water to do battle with the French fleet, but Lord Lisle wasn't to be had like that. We'd have been overwhelmed.'

'I saw fires on the Isle of Wight.'

'The French have landed near two thousand men there, but they're being beaten back. The two fleets are still at a stand-off. They're badly led, luckily for us. Though if the wind favours their ships they could still attack ours. You should leave, soon as you can.' He gave me a little more beer, then looked at me curiously. 'We've been wondering, sir, what you were doing on board. You're not a sailor or soldier. You sound like a gentleman.'

'I shouldn't have been there. I intended to get off, but then the ship sailed out.'

'Where were you on the Mary Rose?'

'On the aftercastle. By the walkway over the netting. I managed to crawl out onto it.'

Edwin nodded. 'And you were in your shirt, so you didn't just fall to the bottom like so many.'

I lay back again. Memories of what had happened were returning in fractured jerks: the ship heeling over at that impossible angle, the man grasping at me as I crawled across the walkway, Emma behind. I said, 'There was someone in the water with me—'

Edwin got to his feet, wincing. He had had a fracture below one knee; it had set badly, at a strange angle. 'Yes,' he said, 'there was a boy rescued with you. You were both clinging to the Mary Rose emblem. You were lucky. The boatmen tried to pull the emblem in, but it sank—'

'A boy?'

'Yes. Well-set-up lad, with a scarred face.' He looked at me again. 'Your son, perhaps?'

'No. But sh—he—saved me. Where is he?'

'Gone. I was one of those helping survivors off the boats. He was lying face down underneath you. He seemed unconscious, but when the boat hit the wharf he shoved you off, went up the steps like a monkey and ran away down Oyster Street. We called after him—he seemed injured, holding one arm tight across his chest. But he just kept running. You didn't know him?'

'No. I only wondered what happened to him. He pulled me onto the spar. Tell me, did any officers survive?'

'No. They were all under the netting.'

I remembered West arguing with Carew and the master. So he was dead too, they all were. Vividly, in bright, terrible flashes, I saw Leacon's company falling into the sea, sinking to the bottom in an instant.

I SLEPT INTERMITTENTLY. The man who had been groaning became quiet; he must have died, for I saw Edwin and his fellows carry a body out, draped in a blanket. It was worse being awake; I kept seeing, again and again, the deaths of Leacon and his men. Then I would remember them tramping down the country lanes, the arguments and jokes and little kindnesses; Leacon riding at the front with Sir Franklin, hating the sound of drums. Edwin and his colleague gave me more to drink, and later tried to make me take a little soup, but I could not bear to eat.

Next time I woke it was daylight. I felt rested now, in body at least. I looked at the man on the sacks next to me, a young sailor. He said something in Spanish. I was too tired to remember the few words I knew and shook my head apologetically. I struggled to get to my feet, but only managed three faltering steps before my head swam and I had to grasp at a pillar. Edwin limped towards me. 'You're still weak, sir,' he said. 'You were insensible some time, you should lie down again. Try to eat something.'

'I can't.' A horrible thought struck me. 'Have any of the king's officials been here?'

He laughed bitterly. 'No. The royal party haven't left South Sea Castle and the tents.'

'The Queen—is she there?'

'No. At Portchester. The only visitor we've had is from the town council; they're arguing with Governor Paulet over whether they or the army should pay for the care of those here.' He gave me that inquisitive look again. 'Were you expecting someone?'

I shook my head. I let go of the pillar, and staggered back to my sacks.

WHEN NEXT I woke night had fallen again. I was conscious of someone sitting next to me and sat up with a start. It was Barak, on a stool, with a lamp next to him.

'Jack?' I asked hesitantly, for my dreams had been peopled with phantoms.

He took a deep breath. 'Ay.'

'How did you get here?'

'When you didn't arrive at Petersfield I rode back to Hoyland to see if they had news of you or Emma. They said neither of you had returned so I rode down here. I arrived this morning and learned Leacon's company had gone down with the Mary Rose. I could see the top of the masts sticking out of the water. I thought you were fucking dead,' he burst out in sudden anger. 'Then I learned some survivors had been brought here and came to see.'

'I was on the aftercastle, I managed to get off into the water. Emma rescued me.'

'She lives too?'

'Yes, but when the boat brought us ashore she ran away. On the ship—I told Leacon who she was; he made her take off her jack and helmet, open her shirt. I exposed her as a woman. But it saved her. Jack, they're all gone. Leacon, Carswell, Llewellyn, everyone we knew.' Tears sprang to my eyes. 'It was my fault, it was because of me that Rich put them on that ship—' I started to weep.

Then Barak did something I would never have expected—he leaned forward and took me in his arms.

LATER I WAS able to sit up. I told Barak the story—my imprisonment by West, the scenes on the aftercastle, escaping via the walkway and being helped by Emma in the water. He told me he had picked up some letters that had been delivered to Hoyland—Tamasin was well, but worried that he had not returned to London. Guy said Coldiron was becoming troublesome and surly over his protectiveness towards Josephine.

'That doesn't surprise me,' I said.

He did not reply for a moment, then burst out angrily, 'Why didn't you send me a message?'

'I'm sorry. All I could think of was that our friends died because of me.'

'If it hadn't been George Leacon's company, it would have been another, a different set of women and children mourning.'

'But knowing them—' I shook my head desperately—'knowing them makes all the difference.'

'It was Richard Rich put them on the Mary Rose,' he said.

'Because he knew West was there. I saw them fall into the water. They never had a chance. I should have died with them: that would have been justice.'

'What good would that do? Another man dead? Me left to tell Tamasin and Guy? I thought I was going to have to do that, you know.'

I looked at him. 'I am sorry.' I sighed. 'How is David? I should have asked—I cannot seem to order my thoughts.'

'Dyrick was still at the priory, he wouldn't let me see Hobbey or David.' Barak looked at me hard. 'You should ride out and tell them Emma's alive. They'll have heard the Mary Rose went down with five hundred men by now, they'll be worried if they don't hear. You could get up if you'd eat something. That Edwin says you won't.'

'I can't eat.' I sat silent for a moment. 'Philip West—he had the death in action he wanted.'

'Action? He died because the arseholes in charge of this mess overloaded the Mary Rose and put a man who knew nothing of ships in charge. So they're saying in the taverns, anyway.'

'Just before Leacon and I went up to the aftercastle, we saw West. I looked at him—he knew I would bring him to account. I was so full of—righteousness. As I have been all along.'

'Does Rich think you're dead?' Barak asked.

'I don't know. I thought he might come here. But no one from the court has been.'

'Then with West dead, Ellen may be in danger from him. Have you thought of that?'

I put my head in my hands. 'I can't think of anything but those men—'

He reached out and grasped my hand roughly. 'It's time you pulled yourself together. Come, rouse yourself, there are still things to be done.'

Chapter Forty-nine

IT WAS ANOTHER DAY before I felt able to set out. Barak had forced me to eat, and had even gone out into Portsmouth to find new clothes for me. Gunfire still sounded frequently during the day. He told me the French had been repelled from the Isle of Wight, but the two fleets still stood facing each other, the French were sending galleys forward to try and hit our ships and tempt us out, though after the loss of the Mary Rose only our galleasses had been sent against them. In Portsmouth he managed to find a tailor, who supplied me with an outfit which made me look, if not a lawyer, at least like a gentleman.

'They fear the French will try to land elsewhere,' Barak said when he had given me the clothes. 'There are still soldiers coming in—I heard the King has ordered a new levy from London, and more shot from the Sussex ironworks. We have to go,' he concluded.

We were still in the old warehouse, sitting on stools and eating pottage by the pile of sacks that had become my bed. Most of the men who had been brought to the warehouse had left now; besides me there were only three with broken limbs and one poor sailor, very young, who seemed to have lost his mind and spent most of the time weeping in a corner. I had not been able to face going outside; I dreaded the prospect of looking again at the open sea. I had thought, was this how it began for Ellen?

'They want to try and refloat the Mary Rose when it's safe,' Barak said. 'Bring in Italian engineers, to recover the guns, at least.' He hesitated. 'The topmasts can be seen above the water at low tide.'

I kept silent. Barak put down his bowl. 'Right,' he said in businesslike tones. 'You know what we're going to do tomorrow.'

'Yes. We go to Portchester Castle and I ask to see the Queen.'

'I've confirmed she's still there, and the King at the tents. You talk to the Queen and then we go home. The horses are still stabled at the inn. We can stop at Hoyland on the way home, if you wish.'

I smiled sadly. 'We have indeed changed places, have we not? It is you who thinks everything out, makes plans for me to implement.'

'Always was that way really, if you ask me.'

I laughed, but it was a hollow sound. My mind kept returning to those images of the Mary Rose sinking; sometimes they crowded at me so I could not think. It was Barak who had worked out that to ensure Ellen's safety now I must go to the Queen, tell her Rich's secret.

I said, 'West would have died on the Mary Rose whatever happened, wouldn't he?'

'Of course he would,' Barak answered with the sort of irritated patience that was starting to creep into his voice. 'He was a senior officer, wasn't he?'

'Yes. For his death at least I have no responsibility.'

'Nor the others. It was the ship being overloaded with soldiers, the gun ports cut too close to the water, or any one of the other reasons being bruited around. Whatever it was, it wasn't you.'

'I think I will never be the same,' I said quietly. 'This has broken me.'

'You'll see things clearly with time; you always do.'

'I hope so, Jack. I hope so.'

WE SET OUT early the next morning. Yet another hot July day. My heart began thumping as soon as I stepped out of the warehouse.

'Ships all in the same places,' Barak said. 'The French haven't sent the galleys forward yet today.'

I looked out across the Point. The fleet still rode at anchor out on the Solent, in fact more small ships had joined it, but one great ship was missing. Though it set my stomach fluttering with fear, my eyes searched out over the water. 'You can't see the masts from here,' Barak said gently.

'Will they send word to the families of the men who were lost? Leacon's company came from Hertfordshire.'

Barak looked out at the ships. 'They won't be able to send anyone. Returning soldiers will tell the families when this is over.'

'I will tell Leacon's parents at least, go to Kent. Dear God, I owe them that.'

He answered gently, 'Let's get our business done and return to London first.'

We walked towards the inn where Oddleg was stabled. A company of tired-looking soldiers marched past us towards the wharf. I studied their faces, then asked quietly, 'When you were out in the city yesterday, I don't suppose there was any sign of Emma?'

'I asked around, spoke to the soldiers at the gate. No one remembers a brown-haired boy in a torn shirt. I think she's got herself away.'

WE FOUND THE horses and rode out through the town gate: I left Portsmouth for the last time with head bowed, unable to look back. There were new soldiers in the tents where Leacon's company had been encamped. We spurred the horses to a canter, riding north across Portsea Island, and crossed the bridge over the muddy creek to the Hampshire mainland; then left, to Portchester Castle. I kept my gaze away from the seaward side of the road; I could not bear to look out there.

I had no letter now, no authority to get into the castle. I dared not ask for Warner. But faced with the guards by the moat I found my fear and shrinking left me, my lawyer's tricks of speech and manner came back and I told them—truthfully enough—that I was a lawyer who worked for the Queen and had been on the Mary Rose. I managed to get the name out, although it brought a fresh churning to my stomach.

I had expected the officer in charge to be impressed, but he only looked at me dubiously. 'What was a lawyer doing on the Mary Rose? There's dozens round Portsmouth now saying they're survivors of the sinking. Most are hoping for pensions. If you're a lawyer, where's your robe?'

I lost my temper. 'At the bottom of the Solent! I tell you, I was on that ship; it will haunt me all my days! Now get a message to the Queen, it's urgent. She'll see me. If she won't, you can throw me in the moat for all I care.'

He looked at me doubtfully again, but sent a soldier to take my message in. Barak clapped me on the arm. 'That's better,' he said in relieved tones. 'See, you're getting back to your old self.'

I did not reply. Seeing the soldiers had made me think again of Leacon and the company, the water splashing up around them as they fell and drowned. I gripped Oddleg's reins, saw my knuckles turn white.

HALF AN HOUR later I was shown into a richly furnished chamber. Barak had been ordered to wait in the courtyard. The Queen sat at a desk, writing. As ever, two maids-in-waiting were with her, sewing in a bay window. They rose and bowed. Robert Warner stood beside the desk. He gave me an angry stare as I bowed deeply to the Queen. She got up. I saw she still looked strained and tired.

'The guard told me you were on the Mary Rose, Matthew?' she said gently.

'I was, your majesty.' I found I was blinking back tears. At a nod from the Queen, Warner guided me to a chair. Queen Catherine stood, hands folded over her lap, looking down at me.

'What happened?' she asked softly.

I took a deep breath, but for a moment no words came. 'I am sorry, your majesty. I hastened to get here, but—forgive me, I find it hard to speak.' My voice trembled.

'Take your time.' The Queen waved at her ladies. 'Rosamond, bring some wine.'

After a few moments I collected myself. I said, 'I have the answer to what was done to Hugh Curteys. And to poor Michael Calfhill, who was driven to kill himself. And then—I have something to tell you about Sir Richard Rich and the woman I know in the Bedlam. Something dark and secret.'

Warner spoke for the first time. 'If it involves Rich, your majesty, you should be careful. Master Shardlake, is this something safe for the Queen to know?'

I hesitated, then said, 'Perhaps you are right. My judgement of late has been wanting, God knows.'

The Queen smiled, that sudden touch of irrepressible humour. 'No, Matthew, you cannot lead me this far up the path and then abandon me. Tell me everything, and I shall judge what is to be done.'

So I told her the story of my discovery at Hoyland, and Emma's attack on David, though I minimized the extent of David's injuries and did not say that he had killed Abigail. I told of Emma's flight to Portsmouth, my bargain with Rich and the journey to the Mary Rose, my imprisonment by West. And the ship rolling over beneath me and sinking. At that my voice faltered again.

After I finished the Queen was silent a full minute. Her shoulders slumped, then rose again with resolution. She asked quietly, 'Have you no idea what has become of Emma Curteys?'

'No. Though she has no money, and left Portsmouth in nothing but a shirt.'

'Rogues!' she burst out, in a fury such as I had never seen before, her colour rising. 'Rogues and villains, to do that to a young girl for money. And as for what Richard Rich did, that is even worse. Well, the girl Emma may be gone but Rich shall not imperil the safety of that poor woman in the Bedlam!'

'What will you do, your majesty?' Warner asked anxiously. 'The King—'

The Queen shook her head. 'I will deal with this.' She stood. 'Sir Richard Rich, I think, is here at Portchester. Have him fetched.'

'But your majesty—'

'Have him fetched,' she repeated, steel in her voice. She turned to the ladies. 'Leave us, this is a privy matter.'

Warner hesitated, then bowed and left, the maids-in-waiting following. The Queen and I were alone. The anger in her brown eyes had changed to concern. I felt tears come to my eyes again.

'The Mary Rose—it must have been terrible. The King saw her go down—he was stricken by it. Lady Carew was with him, he comforted her.'

'The soldiers on the aftercastle, it was because of me they were brought there. Barak says if it had not been them it would have been another company, and he is right, but—I keep seeing them, thinking I caused their deaths.'

'That is natural, if wrong.' She smiled again, sadly. 'But words do not help, do they? Only time and prayer can do that.'

'Prayer, your majesty?' I repeated hollowly.

'Yes, prayer.'

'I have lost the art.'

She reached out her hand and laid it on mine. A soft, shapely hand, scented. Then she lifted it abruptly as a knock sounded on the door. She called, 'Enter,' and Warner ushered in Richard Rich, his sharp little head buried in the thick fur collar of his grey robe, gold chain of office round his neck. His hard little eyes swept the room. Then he saw me, his eyes widened and he stepped back. I thought, so Barak was right, you thought me dead. Rich staggered and might have fallen had Warner not grasped his thin little shoulders. Rich looked at the Queen, remembered where he was, and bowed deeply. The Queen stared at him with eyes as hard as his own.

'Sir Richard,' she said grimly, 'I see you believed Master Shardlake dead.'

Rich brought himself under control. 'I heard he was on the Mary Rose, your majesty. They said only a few sailors and soldiers survived.'

The Queen spoke quietly, her eyes never leaving Rich's face. 'I know you sent him on board the Mary Rose, to be killed by the man West, who is dead now, and who for all his grievous faults at least tried to protect the life of the woman whose life you helped him ravage.'

Rich gave me a wolfish look. 'I do not know what this man has told you, your majesty, but he is my enemy. He will say aught—'

'I believe what he has said, Sir Richard. It makes sense, given the things I know you are capable of. The killing of the clerk Mylling—'

'He shut himself in that chamber—'

She continued as though he had not spoken. 'Your conspiracy with West to murder Master Shardlake, your allowing Emma Curteys to go on the Mary Rose, knowing who she was, I know everything, all the way back to the time you stole the King's letter to Anne Boleyn and took it to Catherine of Aragon—'

Rich licked his thin lips. He pointed at me. 'Nothing of this can be proved. West is dead—'

'His mother lives. She could testify that letter was stolen; there are not many left who were at court nineteen years ago, but there may be some who will remember you going with West. I could soon start an enquiry. And the King will certainly remember that letter—'

Rich's eye began twitching. 'Bring me a bible, your majesty. I will swear on it before you—'

'When did you sell your soul to the devil?' the Queen asked quietly.

Rich reddened, opened his mouth, then closed it hard, his pointed little chin jutting but the tic under his eye twitching again. The Queen said, 'Listen to me, Richard Rich. The woman Ellen Fettiplace, and Master West's mother, are now under my personal protection. As West is dead, I shall pay Ellen's fees at the Bedlam myself so long as she chooses to stay there. If anything happens to her, or to Matthew, I promise you on my oath—and my oath is not made lightly—I shall tell the King all you have done, starting with your theft of that letter, which gave Catherine of Aragon notice he intended to divorce her.'

Rich said nothing. The Queen's face flushed with anger.

'Do you understand? Answer your Queen, churl!'

He said, very quietly, 'I understand, your majesty.'

'One thing more,' I added. My voice sounded thick from the hatred I felt for Rich. 'There is a will, that he tricked me into making. He has a copy. It must be destroyed.'

The Queen turned to Warner. 'Robert, Master Rich will bring the copy to you within the hour. You will personally destroy it.'

Rich looked at the Queen with hunted, twitching eyes. She stared him down. 'I will bring it,' he said.

'Good. Then get out of my sight. And stay out of it.'

Rich bowed, then began walking backwards out of the room. From the doorway he gave me a look. It told me plainly that if ever I found myself at his mercy again, I would die, slowly and painfully, while he watched.

As the door closed behind him I drew a deep breath. Warner, too, visibly relaxed. The Queen alone still stared angrily at the closed door.

WARNER TOOK Barak and me to the gate of Portchester Castle. He had not spoken, but as we parted he said quietly, 'Regarding Sir Quintin Priddis and his son, the Queen may want to act against them, but I shall argue against it. It would make these matters public and do no good to the Court of Wards. The King much values the profits it brings, and I do not want the Queen arguing with him.'

'I understand,' I said.

He took a deep breath. 'And after this I feel it might be safer if the Queen did not instruct you in any more cases.'

I nodded. 'Given where this one led?'

He spoke quietly. 'If you love her, as I do, you will leave her in peace now.'

'I agree, Master Warner. And I am sorry again that I accused you.'

He nodded, then reached out a hand. 'Goodbye, Matthew,' he said.

'Goodbye, Robert, and thank you.' I hesitated, 'Beware of Richard Rich. I fear I have made him into the Queen's enemy.'

'I will.'

Barak and I rode across the bridge over the moat. My eyes turned to the sea, then flickered away. I drew a deep breath.

'To Hoyland,' I said. 'Then home.'

We turned and rode away from Portchester Castle, away from the sea.

Chapter Fifty

TWO HOURS LATER we rode again down the narrow lane to Hoyland Priory. We passed through the gate and faced the house. Poor Abigail's flowers had mostly died and the grass on the once neat lawns was starting to grow high. The windows were shuttered. I saw the butts by the nuns' graveyard had gone.

I had been relieved to turn inland, but now, as we rode towards the porch, the gentle motion of the horse seemed all at once like a heaving deck. I grasped the reins, pulled Oddleg to a halt, and closed my eyes, breathing heavily.

'All right?' Barak asked anxiously.

'Yes. Just give me a moment.'

'There's Dyrick.'

I opened my eyes. Dyrick had come out onto the steps. He stood there in his black robe, frowning at us. The sight restored me; I would not let that man see my weakness. Dyrick called over his shoulder into the hall, and a boy ran out to take the horses.

'You're back at last,' Dyrick said in his grating voice as we approached. 'It's been four days. Master Hobbey has been out of his mind with worry. Where is Emma? Did you find her?'

I had to smile at how, even now, he had to be argumentative. Yet I could see he had been mightily worried; fearing no doubt that what the Hobbeys had done to Emma might have been discovered.

'I found her, Dyrick. But she would not return with me. She ran away again, I do not know where she is.'

'We heard of the Mary Rose sinking, the attack on the Isle of Wight.'

'The French failed to take it. Though they are still in the Solent.' I had already agreed with Barak to say nothing about being on the Mary Rose. There was no point. 'The lawn is starting to look unkempt,' I said.

Dyrick grunted. 'Half the servants have left. Even that old crone Ursula has gone, saying the household's cursed. They've all run back to the village, to try and ingratiate themselves with Ettis. He has been released, by the way. Master Hobbey kept his word.'

'Where is he?'

'In his study. He never leaves it now, save to go to his son.'

'How is David?'

'Recovering, but they think he will never walk properly again. And Jesu knows what is happening in his mind. I fear he may spill out the whole story,' Dyrick added in a pettish tone. 'He needs to be kept somewhere where he can be watched.'

I stared at him. His words reminded me of how West and Rich had protected themselves after Ellen's rape. Nothing like that, I would make sure, would happen to David.

NICHOLAS HOBBEY sat at his desk. When we came in I saw the sad blankness that had been on his face since Abigail's death, then a kind of desperate eagerness. He had, I saw, lost weight.

'Emma! Have you news of her? We have been waiting.' There was an old man's querulousness in his voice now.

'We were detained in Portsmouth. There has been fighting—'

'Yes. They brought the news the Mary Rose was lost. But, sir, Emma—'

I took a deep breath. 'I found her, but she ran away again. She has left Portsmouth. I do not know where she is now.'

His face fell. 'Is she still—pretending to be her brother?'

'I think she will continue to do so. That identity is all she has known for years.'

Dyrick said, 'She can't last for long on the road. She took no money.'

'It is possible she may try to join a company somewhere.'

Hobbey groaned. 'Sleeping in hedges, stealing food from gardens—'

Dyrick added angrily, 'And any day she could be caught and exposed for who she really is.'

I said, 'Emma is intelligent. She will realize she cannot support herself, that she risks discovery. I think there is a chance at least that she may seek me out.'

'In London?' Hobbey asked.

'I told her I was taking her wardship, that I would leave her to decide what to make of her life.'

'Then pray God she does come to you.' Hobbey sighed, then added, 'I plan to go back to London myself, sell this wretched place and buy a small house, somewhere quiet. It will be easier for David, and I can find better help for his afflictions there.'

'Afflicted he is,' Dyrick said emphatically.

'Do you think I, of all people, do not know that?' Hobbey snapped. He turned back to me. 'I will get a good price for this house and all these woods. Sir Luke Corembeck has expressed an interest.' He turned to Dyrick, with another touch of his old sharpness. 'Make sure of the price, Vincent. I leave the negotiation to you. Whatever we make will be all David and I have to live on in the future, once—once my old debts are paid off. Master Shardlake, will you hold Emma's share if she has not returned by the time Hoyland is sold?'

'I will.'

'We'd get more if we had the village woodlands,' Dyrick grumbled.

'Well, we don't,' Hobbey said. 'Leave tomorrow, Vincent, get the negotiations moving from London. I am sick of the sight of you,' he added. Dyrick's face darkened. Hobbey turned to me. 'Master Shardlake, I want you, if you will, to see David. To reassure him you plan to say nothing of what happened to his mother.'

I nodded agreement. I still felt the responsibility of keeping that secret; I needed to see how David was.

HOBBEY AND I ascended the stairs. He walked slowly, clinging to the banister. 'Before we see David, Master Shardlake, there is something I wanted to ask you.'

'Yes?'

'I hope you are right and that Emma may come to you in London. But if she is exposed, do you think she will tell—' he winced, gripping the banister—'that David killed his mother? I believe she guessed it was him.' He stared at me intently. His first concern was still his son.

'I doubt it. From what she said in Portsmouth she feels a deep guilt for what she did to David.'

Hobbey took another step, then stopped again and looked me in the face. 'What was I doing?' he asked. 'What were we thinking of, all those years?'

'I do not believe any of you were thinking clearly, not for a long time. You were all too afraid. Except for Fulstowe, who was out to get what he could from the situation.'

Hobbey looked around the great hall, the culmination of all his ambition. 'And I was blind to how my son was becoming—deranged. I blame myself for what he did.' He sighed. 'Well, it is all over now. Dyrick tries to talk me out of leaving, but my mind is made up.'

He led me into David's room. It had a good four-poster bed, chairs and cushions, and an old tapestry on the wall showing a battle from Roman times. No books, unlike Hugh's room. David lay in the bed; he had been looking up at the ceiling, but when we came in he struggled to rise. Hobbey raised a hand.

'No, no. You will pull at your bandages.'

David fixed me with a frightened gaze. Lying there he looked like a trapped, terrified little boy, the stubble on his cheeks making him seem all the more pathetic.

'How do you fare, David?' I asked gently.

'It hurts,' he said. 'The doctor stitched me up.'

Hobbey said, 'David was brave. He did not cry out once, did you, my son?' He took a deep breath. 'Master Shardlake has come to tell you he will say nothing of what happened to your mother.'

Tears welled up in David's eyes. 'I think I was mad, sir. I shot at you and then I killed my poor mother. I seemed able to think of nothing else but shooting at people, all the time. I had to keep our secret, keep Emma with us. Even if I had to kill—' He had been talking fast, almost gabbling, but suddenly he paused, looked at me, and asked in a passionate voice, 'Sir, can God ever forgive such a sin as I have committed?'

I looked into his wild eyes. 'I am no cleric, David, but if someone truly repents, they say He will forgive even the greatest sin.'

'I pray ceaselessly, sir,' he said through his tears. 'For forgiveness and for my mother.'

'That is all you can do, David,' his father said, going forward and taking his hand. His words reminded me of what Catherine Parr had said to me a few hours ago. I looked down at the floor.

'What news of Emma?' David asked tremulously.

'Master Shardlake saw her in Portsmouth. She is truly sorry for what she did to you.'

'I deserved it,' David said. He looked at me, and I saw that even now he loved her. I shuddered to think of what had gone on in his mind these last six years, warping it utterly. 'Where is she now?' he asked.

Hobbey hesitated. 'We are not sure. But we believe her safe.'

'Will I see her again?'

'I do not think so, David. If she goes to anyone it will be Master Shardlake.'

David looked at me again. 'I loved her, you see, I loved Emma all these years.' I nodded. 'I never thought of her as Hugh. That was why, when I feared we might actually be exposed, I think—I think the devil took hold of me. But I loved her. I loved my poor mother too, I realized as soon as I had—I had killed her.' He burst out sobbing, tears streaming down his face.

Hobbey hung his head.

'I wonder—' I said. Hobbey looked at me. I hesitated, for I had brought enough nightmare cases to Guy. Yet he thrived on the most difficult patients, perhaps he even needed something like this now. And it would be a way for me to keep an eye on the Hobbeys. I said, 'If you come to London, I know a physician, a good man. He may be able to help David.'

Hobbey said eagerly, 'Might he help him walk again?'

'I cannot promise that.'

'I do not deserve to,' David burst out passionately.

I said, though again only to comfort the poor creature, 'Leave that to God.'

AN HOUR LATER Barak and I rode out of Hoyland Priory for the last time and turned on to the London road. Before I left I had done one more thing; I went into Emma's room and took the little cross from where it still lay in the drawer by the bed.

'Home,' Barak said. 'Home at last. To see my son born.' I looked at him, noticing the paunch he had begun to carry in London was gone. He followed my gaze. 'Soon have the weight back on,' he said cheerfully. 'Rest and some good beer, that'll do it.'

Yet there was a delay. We passed the turning for Rolfswood, and I had looked up the road to Sussex between the steep banks. Then a couple of miles further on we found three soldiers standing across the road, blocking it. They told us that up the road a bridge had collapsed and was being repaired. It was late in the afternoon, and the soldiers told us we would have to find somewhere to stay for the night.

Barak was angry. 'Isn't there any way we can get past? There's only two of us and my wife in London has a baby due soon.'

'Nobody goes across till the repair's completed. There are soldiers and supplies waiting to go to Portsmouth.'

Barak looked ready to argue, but I said, 'Let us make a virtue of necessity, Jack, and go to Rolfswood.'

He turned away from the soldier's stare. 'Come on, then,' he muttered, waiting till we were out of their hearing to follow the comment with a string of oaths.

ROLFSWOOD was quiet again, peaceful in the summer evening. We passed Buttress's house. 'What will you do about that rogue?' Barak asked.

'As with Priddis, I doubt there is anything I can do. If I try to raise the issue of whether he and Priddis got together to forge Ellen's signature, it just opens up the story of the rape. And I do not think that would be in anyone's interest now.'

'At least Rich has had his wings clipped.'

'A little. And we can leave West's mother to believe her son died a hero.'

'I wonder what the inquest on poor Master Fettiplace will decide.'

'Murder by persons unknown, I am sure. Let us leave it there.'

We rode on to the inn, where we found a place for the night. We ate dinner, then I left Barak alone, for I had a visit to make.

THE VICARAGE looked as tumbledown as ever, the gnarled cherry tree in full leaf in the unkempt garden. Reverend Seckford answered my knock. He looked sober for once, though there was a beer stain on his surplice. He invited me in. I told him the whole story, about West and Ellen, and David and Emma, and the men I had seen die on the Mary Rose.

It was dark by the time I concluded; Seckford had lit candles in his parlour. He had prevailed on me to share a jug of beer; I had drunk one mug to his three. When I finished the story he sat with bowed head, plump hands trembling on his lap. Then he looked up. 'This King has had three wars against France, and lost all of them. All for his own glory. You know, the Church has a doctrine called just war. St Thomas Aquinas wrote on it, though the doctrine is much older than that. A State going to war must have tried all other options, must have justice on its side and have an honourable purpose in mind. None of Henry's wars has been like that. Though he claims to be God's representative on earth.'

'Which wars do have justice on their side, Master Seckford?'

He raised his cup to his lips with a shaking hand. 'Some, perhaps. But not this King's.' He spoke with sudden anger. 'Blame him, blame him for the men dead on the Mary Rose, the soldiers and the women and children in France. And even for Philip West, may his sins be forgiven.'

'I keep seeing my friend's face, all the other soldiers, I see them crashing into the water. Over and again.' I smiled wryly. 'A woman I admire greatly tells me to seek refuge in prayer.'

'You should.'

I burst out, 'How can God allow such things to happen? How? I think of that ship going down, of the savagery Reformers and Catholics show to each other, of Emma and Hobbey and David and sometimes—forgive me, but sometimes I think God only laughs at us.'

Seckford put down his cup. 'I understand how people can think like that nowadays. And if God were all powerful, perhaps you would be right. But the Gospels tell a different story. The Cross, you see. For myself I think Christ suffers with us.'

'What is the good of that, Reverend Seckford? How does that help?'

'The age of miracles is long gone. See—' He picked up his mug again. 'He cannot even stop me drinking, though I would like Him to.'

'Why?' I asked. 'Why can he not?'

He smiled sadly. 'I do not know, I am only a drunken old country priest. But I have faith. It is the only way to live with the mystery.'

I shook my head. 'Faith is beyond me now.'

Seckford smiled. 'You do not like mysteries, do you? You like to solve them. As you have solved the mystery of Ellen.'

'At such cost.'

He looked at me. 'You will take care of her?'

'I will do all I can.'

'And that poor girl Emma, and the wreckage of that Hobbey family?'

'So far as possible.'

Seckford leaned forward, placed his trembling hand on my arm. '"Faith, Hope and Charity,"' he quoted. '"But the greatest of these is charity."'

'That is an old-fashioned doctrine nowadays.'

'The best, nonetheless, Master Shardlake. Remember me to Ellen when you see her. And tonight I shall light candles in the church for your friend George Leacon and his men. I shall make it a blaze of colour for them.'

He laid a shaking hand on mine. But I found it poor comfort.

Chapter Fifty-one

BARAK AND I ARRIVED back in London five days later, on the afternoon of the 27th of July. We had been away almost a month. We had returned the horses at Kingston and made the final leg of the journey, like the first, by boat. Even the tidal swell of the river made me feel uneasy, though I tried to hide it.

We walked up through Temple Gardens. Dyrick would be back in his chambers soon; if Emma appeared I would have to liaise with him to get Hugh's—as the court supposed Emma to be—wardship transferred to me. But if she were never seen again I could do nothing.

Fleet Street and the Strand presented the same aspect as when we had left; groups of corner boys in blue robes boldly scrutinizing passers-by; posters pasted to the buildings warning of French spies. The boatman had told us more soldiers were being sent south; the French were still in the Solent.

Barak invited me to come to his house to see Tamasin, but I knew he would rather greet her alone so I said I must go to my chambers. We parted at the bottom of Chancery Lane. He promised to be in chambers the following morning. I walked on, turning in at Lincoln's Inn gate. I wanted to see how things fared there, and also to consider how I would tackle Coldiron when I returned home.

GATEHOUSE COURT was hot, dusty-smelling in the summer sun. Barristers and clerks walked to and fro within the square of red brick buildings. Here there was no sign of war. I felt myself relax at the old familiar scene as I walked to my chambers. I had sent Skelly a note from Esher saying I would shortly be back, and he rose to greet me with a smile.

'Are you well, sir?' From the hesitation in his voice I could tell the strain of what I had been through showed on my face.

'Well enough. And you? Your wife and children?'

'We are all in good health, thanks be to God.'

'Everything well here?'

'Yes, sir. A few new cases are in, to come on in the new term.'

'Good.' I sighed. 'I want to encourage some new work.'

'We heard about the French trying to invade the Isle of Wight, the loss of the Mary Rose in front of the King himself. They're sending another fifteen hundred men down from London—'

'Yes, the road to Portsmouth was busy with men and supplies on our way back.'

'Nobody seems to know what will happen next. The ship Hedgehog blew up in the Thames the same day the Mary Rose sank; some say she was blown up by French spies, though others blame the stock of gunpowder she carried not being supervised properly—'

'I would guess that is more likely. Were many killed?'

'A good many. Sir, are you all right?' He darted forward as I grasped at a corner of a table, for the floor had seemed to shift beneath my feet.

'Tired, that is all. It has been a long journey. Now, are those new papers in my office? I should look at them.'

'Sir—' Skelly asked.

I answered impatiently, 'Yes?'

'How is Jack? Is there any news of his wife? I think his baby is due soon.'

I smiled. 'Jack is well, Tamasin too I believe. I left him going to her.'

I went into my office, shut the door, and leaned against it. Sweating, I waited for the feeling that the ground was moving to stop.

I LOOKED OVER the new papers, then turned my mind to the subject of Coldiron and Josephine. I was still considering how to tackle him when there was a knock at the door. Skelly came in and closed it.

'Sir, there's a young man to see you. He called two days ago, asking for you. He says he knows you from a place called Hoyland. Though he—'

I sat bolt upright. 'Show him in,' I said, trying to keep the excitement and relief from my voice. 'Now.'

I sat behind my desk, my heart beating fast. But it was not Emma that Skelly ushered in, it was Sam Feaveryear. He stood before me, brushing a lock of greasy hair from his forehead in that familiar gesture. I fought down my disappointment.

'Well, Feaveryear,' I said heavily, 'have you brought a message from your master?'

He hesitated, then said, 'No, sir. I have decided—I will work for Master Dyrick no more.'

I raised my eyebrows. Feaveryear said, in a sudden rush of words, 'I did wrong, sir. I found something out at Hoyland. I let Master Dyrick send me away, but I should have told you. It has been on my conscience ever since. Hugh was really—'

'I know already. Emma Curteys.'

Feaveryear took a deep breath. 'When I met Hugh there was something—something that attracted me to him.' He began twisting his thin hands together. 'I thought—I thought the devil was tempting me to a great sin. I prayed for guidance, but I could not stop how I felt. He did not like me looking at him, but I could not help myself. Then one day, I realized—'

'And told Dyrick.'

'I thought he would do something for—for the girl. But he said the matter was his client's secret and must be protected, and sent me away. I thought, I prayed, and I realized—it cannot be right, sir, what has happened to her.'

I spoke sharply. 'The family made her impersonate her dead brother for years, for gain. Now she has run away, and nobody knows where she is.'

'Oh, sir.' He gulped. 'May I sit down?'

I waved him to a stool. He collapsed onto it, the picture of misery.

'Do you know,' I asked, 'what happened to Abigail Hobbey?'

'Yes,' he replied in a small voice. 'My master wrote. He said the man Ettis had been arrested for her murder.'

'He has been released. It was not him.' I leaned forward and said angrily, 'Why did you not tell anyone about Hugh?'

'I could not be disloyal to my master. But I have been thinking and praying, and when Master Dyrick wrote saying he was returning tomorrow I realized—' Feaveryear looked at me with pleading intensity. 'He is not a good man, is he?'

I shrugged.

'I—I wonder, sir, whether perhaps I could come and work for you. You are known as a good lawyer, sir, a champion of the poor.'

I looked at Feaveryear's miserable face. I wondered how far his coming to me had been motivated by conscience, how much by the desire to get an alternative post. I could not tell.

'Feaveryear,' I said quietly, 'I have no room for another clerk. My advice to you is to seek work from some crusty old cynic of a lawyer, who will take whatever work he is given and not fall prey to the illusion that whoever he acts for must always be in the right. An illusion, I regret, I have sometimes had too. Then, perhaps, without someone's shadow to hide behind, you will grow up at last.'

He lowered his head, looked disappointed. I said more gently, 'I will see if I can find such a lawyer who might need a clerk.'

He looked up, sudden resolution on his face. 'I will not work for Master Dyrick again. Whatever happens, I will not go back to him.'

I smiled. 'Then there is hope for you, Feaveryear. I will see what I can do.'

SOON AFTER I left and walked the short distance to my house. I let myself in and stood in the hall. I heard the boys' voices from the kitchen. I remembered Joan and felt a deep pang of sadness. Then I became aware of someone looking at me from the top of the stairs. I stared up at Coldiron. He began descending with his light step, his eye alight with curiosity. 'Sir,' he said, 'welcome back. Did you see anything at Portsmouth? I heard there was a battle, the French seen off in front of the King himself.'

I did not reply. He came to the foot of the stairs and stopped. He looked at me uncertainly, sensing something. He said, 'They're sending more men out of London. Young Simon still wants to join up if the war goes on.'

'Over my dead body,' I answered quietly. 'Where is Dr Malton?'

'In the parlour. I—'

'Join us in fifteen minutes.' I turned away, leaving him uneasy.

IN THE PARLOUR Guy sat reading. He looked up at me in delighted surprise, got to his feet and came over, grasping me by the arms. I was pleased to see he seemed more like his old self, the weary sadness less marked in his brown face.

'You are back at last,' he said. 'But you look tired.'

'I have seen terrible things, Guy, worse than you can believe. I will tell you later.'

He frowned. 'Is Jack all right?'

'Yes. He has been a rock these past weeks. He has gone on to Tamasin. How is she?'

He smiled. 'Large, and tired, and irritated. But everything goes well. About ten days now till she is due, I would say.'

'And you?'

'I feel better than for a long time. You know, my energy seems to be returning. I want to go back to my house, start practising again. And if the corner boys return—well, it is in God's hands.'

'I am heartily glad.'

'You know what has helped me? Keeping Coldiron in order. By Jesu, he was an insolent rogue that first week. But I did not let him get away with his tricks. I called him out for his insolence, as I said in my letter. Then he was quiet and obedient for a while, but last week he got angry with Josephine again—'

'You said.'

'He set about her with a ladle. I took it off him.'

'Good. I have asked him to come in here shortly. But first I have something to tell you about him, something I did not trust to a letter in case the rogue opened it.'

I related what the soldier in Portsmouth had told me about Josephine's origin, and Coldiron's desertion after stealing his company's funds. 'He is a wanted man,' I concluded.

'It does not surprise me,' Guy said quietly. 'What are you going to do?'

I answered grimly, 'You will see.'

A few minutes later there was a knock and Coldiron entered. He took up a military stance in the middle of the floor. I said, 'Well, Coldiron. Or, I should say, William Pile.'

He did not move, but his stance stiffened.

'I met an old comrade of yours in Portsmouth. Someone you used to play cards with. One John Saddler.'

Coldiron took a deep breath. 'I remember Saddler. A dishonourable fellow. Soldiers with a grievance tell lies readily, sir.'

'He was at Flodden with you, when you were a purser in the rear. He remembered how later you took Josephine from France when she was a small girl.'

He gulped, his Adam's apple moving up and down in his stringy throat. His voice rose. 'Lies,' he said. 'Lies and slander—yes, slander. I rescued Jojo from a burning French village, I saved her life.'

'No, you didn't. You took her like a chattel when you decided to desert, having stolen your company's money. A hanging offence.'

'It's all lies!' Coldiron shouted. He swallowed, brought himself under control. His voice turned wheedling. 'Why would you believe Saddler, sir? A vicious liar. Old soldiers never get any justice,' he added pathetically.

'Easy enough to make enquiries. Then you will get the justice you deserve.'

His face took on a hunted look. 'Does Josephine know who she really is?' I asked sharply.

'She remembers the burning village, her life in camp. She knows I gave her a life, a place in the world. I rescued her, I'm all she has. I treated her as my daughter.'

'Guy,' I said, 'would you do me a small favour? Go and fetch Josephine.'

Coldiron turned to him as he went to the door. 'Sir,' he said pleadingly, 'you don't believe these lies?'

Guy did not answer. When he had gone Coldiron and I stood facing each other. He licked his lips. 'Sir, please don't report this. If it came to a trial they might believe Saddler's lies.'

'They will be able to check what he says with the company records. Then we will have the truth.'

'Just let Josephine and me go,' he said pleadingly. 'We'll leave, as soon as you like. Though I'm an old man, injured in the King's service—'

'Injured when you were caught cheating at cards, I heard.'

His face twisted with anger for a moment, but he said no more. The door opened again and Guy came in. Josephine trailed after him, looking afraid.

'Sir,' she said at once. 'Have I done something wrong? Father—'

'Shut your face, Jojo,' Coldiron told her warningly. 'Keep quiet.'

I said, 'Josephine, you are not in trouble. But I know William Coldiron is not your father. Coldiron is not even his real name.'

Josephine had been shifting nervously from foot to foot but now she became very still, her face watchful, eyes narrowed. And I realized her stupidity and clumsiness were largely an act. A part she had grown used to playing for Coldiron over the years, as Emma Curteys had learned to play the part of her brother. No doubt that was how Coldiron liked her to be—silly, clumsy, dependent.

'When I was in Portsmouth,' I continued. 'I learned some things about Master Coldiron. How he really got his injury—'

'It was at Flodden, sir,' she said.

'Lies. And he deserted from his company years later, when he took you.'

She looked at Guy. He nodded. She turned to Coldiron. 'You said you had to leave, Father, the men were going to do bad things to me and you wanted to protect me—'

'I said shut up,' Coldiron hissed, 'you stupid clumsy French mare.'

She stopped speaking at once. 'I am going to let you go, Coldiron,' I said. 'I will not report your crimes—I would not have your disgrace visited on Josephine. Go now. But you, Josephine, I would like you to stay and work for me. If you want to.'

Her lip trembled. 'But sir, you know—Dr Malton knows—how useless I am.'

'You are,' Coldiron said hotly. 'You need me to look after you, stop you messing everything up.'

I turned to her. 'That is not true.'

'We will look after you, Josephine,' Guy said gently. She looked between us, then her face crumpled and she raised her hands to her face, sobbing. Guy walked over and patted her shoulder.

'Leave her alone, you brown shit!' Coldiron shouted out. 'And you, you crookback bastard! You've always been against me; you hate soldiers, any real men, that aren't weaklings and cripples and cowards—'

Suddenly I lost all reason. I ran at him. Coldiron jerked away in surprise as I grasped him by the shoulders, turned him round and marched him into the hall. Simon and Timothy had heard the raised voices and were standing in the kitchen doorway, open-mouthed.

'Tim!' I shouted. 'Open the door!'

Coldiron howled, 'No, not in front of the boys! No!' He struggled as Timothy ran and threw open the door. I propelled Coldiron through it. He went flying, landing face down on the ground at the bottom of the steps. He howled like a stuck pig, then turned and stared up at me. As I slammed the door in his face the best thing was that just behind me Coldiron saw Simon and Timothy laughing and clapping their hands.

Chapter Fifty-two

I RETURNED TO the parlour. Josephine sat at the table, calmer now, Guy beside her. She looked up at me, a direct look rather than her usual averted gaze. 'Is he gone, sir?' she asked tremulously.

I breathed hard. My shoulders were hurting now. 'Yes, he is.'

Guy asked gently, 'Do you remember your last name, Josephine, from when you were small?'

'No.' She bowed her head. 'But I remember the village, the house burning.' She looked up at me. 'I remember some of the soldiers in the camp were kind. But then he took me away.' Then she gave a deep sigh. 'How will I manage without him?'

Guy said, 'Do you wish to? You could still follow him.'

'But I am nobody, nothing.'

'We do not think so, or we would not have asked you to stay.'

Josephine jumped violently as a loud knocking sounded at the front door. She grabbed Guy's hand. 'He has come back! Sir, he will be angry, help me please—'

I strode out and opened the door. Simon and Timothy were still standing beside it, their faces gleeful. I threw it open. Coldiron stood on the step. He quailed for a moment at my expression, then said, 'My things, sir. The money in my chest, my clothes, my little mementos—you can't keep them!' His voice rose to a shout. 'It's not legal! And I'm due wages! Keep Jojo, keep her, but I want my wages!'

I turned to the boys. 'Go to Coldiron's room, put everything in his chest, bring it down and put it outside. No need to be too careful in packing it.' Coldiron had stepped forward, he was trying to get back in, but I slammed the door in his face once more.

'Yes, sir!' Timothy ran quickly away up the stairs. I thought, I am setting a bad example to these boys. As Simon turned to follow I put a hand on his shoulder. 'Wait,' I said.

'Yes, sir?'

I looked into the thin face beneath the untidy blond hair. He was as tall as me now. I asked quietly, 'Do you still want to be a soldier?'

He hesitated, then said, 'After you left, sir, I came to realize—Master Coldiron told many lies, didn't he?'

'Yes, he did. But Simon, if you still think of going for a soldier, come to me first, and I will see if I can find some men who have done real fighting for you to talk to. Then if you still want to do it I will not stand in your way.'

'Sir, I was thinking. Before you left, you spoke of helping me to an apprenticeship—'

I smiled. 'Yes. I will, if that is what you want.'

He looked round. Guy and Josephine were standing in the parlour doorway. Josephine was trembling and her face was streaked with tears. She had heard Coldiron saying we could keep her. Simon looked at her, then back at me, a blush coming to his face. 'Is Josephine staying?' he asked.

'Well, Josephine?' I asked quietly.

She answered, tremblingly, 'Yes, Simon. I am staying.'

Shortly after the boys bumped and banged Coldiron's little chest down the stairs. I opened the door. He was sitting morosely on the steps. I watched him drag the chest out through my gate and off down Chancery Lane. My last sight of him was when he turned and shook a skinny fist at me.

EVENING WAS drawing on. I stood in the parlour, looking out at the garden. Guy had been with Josephine in the kitchen, easing her back into her life, getting her to prepare dinner with the boys. He came back looking thoughtful. I smiled. 'I will need a new steward now. How would you like the job?'

He raised his eyebrows. 'I think going back to medicine may be easier.' He hesitated, then said with unexpected diffidence, 'I thought of returning to my house next week.'

'I will get the boys to clean it out first. They and Josephine.' I looked at him seriously. 'Will she be able to manage without Coldiron?'

'It will not be easy. If you could get some kindly decent old fellow to take Coldiron's place, that might help, give her a sense of order. She will need that, for a time at least. And you need a man in charge of the household, otherwise there may be gossip about you and her.'

I nodded, smiling. 'I think young Simon is the one with an interest there.'

'I have noticed that. I think you should tell him she needs help, but peace and quiet too. He is a good lad, I think he will understand.'

I sat down. I was silent a minute, then said, 'Well, I have seen to Coldiron. But there is something else I have to deal with.'

'Ellen?'

'While I was away I discovered what happened to her. She was raped. One of the men involved is dead, the other now in a position where he can do her no harm. And the Queen is taking over payment of her fees.'

He gave me a long, steady look. 'What happened in Hampshire, Matthew?'

'It is a long story. I may have a new patient for you if you want him, by the way, a sad unhappy boy, badly injured by an arrow.' I looked at Guy. 'He did a terrible thing, it preys much on him. He is—well, he is very sick in his mind. But he was injured trying to save my life, and Barak's.'

'Is it Hugh Curteys?'

'No. His name is David Hobbey. Guy, I will tell you everything, but first I must go to the Bedlam, tell Ellen she is safe. And free.'

'Be careful with her, Matthew. And I am not sure she can ever be free.'

'Before I had only questions for her, now I have answers. It must be me who does this.'

'You know she has been in love with you.'

'Then I owe it to her to make clear, at last, that there is no hope for us there.'

I FETCHED Genesis from the stables and rode across to the Bedlam. Hob Gebons opened the door to me. His heavy face fell. 'You're back.'

'Yes. And I would like to talk to Keeper Shawms.' I lowered my voice. 'I know everything about Ellen now, Hob.'

The keeper was in his office. I sat down without asking. Shawms stared at me, a calculating look on his fat, stubbly face. He had on the same stained jerkin he was wearing when I had left. I wondered, where does he spend all the money he gets?

He grunted. 'Metwys has been to see me.'

'Let me guess what he said. Ellen is now under the protection of the Queen, who will meet her fees from now on.'

He nodded. 'That's right. How d'you swing that?'

'By finding the truth about who raped Ellen nineteen years ago. It was the one who paid her fees, Philip West. He is dead. Another man was involved, but he can do her no harm now she has the protection of Queen Catherine. Did Metwys tell you who he is?'

'No. And I don't want to know. Will Ellen leave now?' he asked. 'I don't mind, she can go when she likes if the Queen wishes. There's no—'

'No order of lunacy, nor ever was. I know that too. Beatrice West must have paid the warden well to take her in, all those years ago. Arranged by Sir Quintin Priddis I have no doubt. You would like her out of your hair now, I dare say. Well, I would like her to leave too, but I doubt she will.' I leaned forward. 'Make sure that she is well treated, and pay her, too, for the work she does, or I will ensure the Queen hears about it.'

He looked at me, shook his head. 'You're a persistent devil, aren't you?'

'Yes.' I stood. 'And now, where is she?'

'In her room. Look, I don't want you upsetting her again. That doesn't do anyone any good.'

'She needs to know where she stands. Goodbye, Master Shawms.'

I LOOKED THROUGH the bars of Ellen's door. She was sitting on her bed, quietly sewing. Her expression was sad, but composed. I remembered the terror in her face the last time I had seen her. I would not bring her to that again, I swore.

I knocked and went in. She looked up. Her face went hard and cold.

'Good day, Ellen,' I said.

'You have returned,' she answered evenly.

'Yes. This morning. Have you been well treated while I was away?'

'Yes. Gebons has been unusually friendly. I wondered if you had paid him to be.'

'I wanted to see you were not mistreated while I was away.' She did not reply. I asked, 'Has Master Shawms said anything to you?'

'No.' She looked apprehensive. 'About what?'

I drew a deep breath. 'Ellen,' I said gently, 'I do not want to rake over the past again.' A tense watchfulness came into her face. I continued, 'But I have been to Sussex. You are safe now from those men.' I had decided to say nothing of the discovery of her father's body. 'The Queen herself has taken responsibility for your fees. And if you ever want to leave here, you can. You are free, Ellen.'

She looked at me, intently, fearfully. 'What has happened to him? To—Philip?'

I hesitated again. She said, 'Tell me!'

'He is dead, Ellen. He went down on the Mary Rose.'

She sat very still, staring into space. Then she said, quietly, with cold, whispered anger, 'He deserved it.' It was the same phrase Emma had used standing over Abigail's body, and David about what had happened to him.

'He did a terrible thing to you.'

She looked at me, her expression utterly weary. 'And the man who was with him that day? What of him?'

I hesitated. 'Do you know who he was?'

'I only remember a skinny little fellow.' She shuddered, her whole body trembling. I realized the depth of emotion she had been holding in, all these wasted years.

'He is now a high official of state. It is better you do not know his name. But he can do you no harm now.'

'Because you told the Queen what was done to me?' I heard anger in her voice now.

'It was the only way to protect you.'

She stared into space, hands trembling above her sewing. Then she put her work down, turned and looked me full in the face. 'I was content here,' she said, 'content as ever I could be. You should not have interfered.'

'I have freed you from a great threat.'

She laughed bitterly. 'To do that you should have been at Rolfswood nineteen years ago. You talk as though I cared one whit what happens to me now. I am past that. I did care for a while, when I thought you loved me. I see now that is impossible. Do you know who made me understand that?'

'No.'

'Your friend Guy. Oh, he said nothing directly, but somehow he made me realize. He is clever,' she said bitterly. 'But you let me go on believing there might be hope for two years. You did not have the courage to tell me the truth. You are a coward, Matthew.'

'I could have been killed trying to find out the truth about you!' I burst out.

'I never asked you to!' She took a couple of long, deep breaths, then said in tones of bitter contempt, 'Have you ever loved anyone, I wonder? Can you?'

'We do not choose who we love. I love—' I checked myself.

'I do not care now,' she answered. She looked away. 'Leave me. I do not want to see you again. I hate you now.' The anger had gone from her voice, only the weariness was left.

'Is that what you really want?' I asked. 'For me never to come back?'

'Yes.' Still she looked away. 'And that is what you want too, in your heart. I see that now. When mad folks are brought to see things they see them very clearly.'

'You are not mad.'

'I said, go.'

She did not meet my gaze as I walked through the door, closed it behind me, and looked at her for the last time through the bars before turning away.

I RODE HOME. My mind was a blank, I could not think, even the sight of a foreign-looking man being chased down Cheapside by a group of whooping corner boys barely registered. I stabled Genesis and walked round to the front of the house. Simon was looking out from an upstairs window. When I opened the door he was running down the stairs towards me.

'Master Shardlake—'

'What has happened? Is Josephine—'

'She is all right, sir. But Mistress Tamasin—her woman came round to fetch Master Guy. Her baby's coming early, she thinks something's wrong—'

I turned away and started running down Chancery Lane, past lawyers who stopped and stared, to Barak's house.

HE OPENED the door. He was dishevelled, wild-eyed, a mug of beer in his hand. From the closed door of the bedroom across the hall I heard screams of pain.

Barak pulled me in. He sank down on the little wooden settle in the hall. I said, 'Is Guy—'

'In there with her. I'd not been back half an hour when her waters broke. It shouldn't have come for near two weeks. The last time the baby came when it was due.'

'Where is Goodwife Marris?'

'In with Guy. They shut the door on me.'

'Here—' I took the cup of beer from his hand, he was gesticulating so wildly I feared he might spill it. 'What did Guy say?'

'He says it's just early. Goodwife Marris was frightened, she ran for him—'

'Well, second babies can come early, you know that.'

He gave an anguished look at the closed door, from behind which screams still came.

'It only means the baby's coming—'

He said wildly, 'If anything happens to her, I couldn't bear it, I'd take to drink again—she's everything—'

'I know. I know.'

'I don't care if it's a girl—' He broke off. The screaming had stopped. There was a long, terrifying moment of silence. Then, faintly, we heard another sound, the grizzling cry of a baby. Barak's mouth fell open. The door opened and Guy came out, wiping his hands on a towel. He smiled.

'Jack, you have a fine, healthy son.'

He jumped up, ran over and pumped Guy's hand. 'Thank you! Thank you!' He was panting with relief.

'Thank Tamasin. She did the work. It was easy enough in the end—' But Barak had rushed past him into the room. I followed more slowly.

Goodwife Marris stood by the bed, holding a tiny form wrapped in swaddling clothes. Barak threw himself on Tamasin.

'Take care, fool,' she said softly. She smiled, stroked his head. 'Go and see your son.'

He went over to the child. Guy and I looked over Goodwife Marris's shoulder. 'He's—he's wonderful,' Barak said. Gently he took one of the baby's tiny hands in his own.

'He is,' I said, though in truth all babies look the same to me, like little old men. But he seemed healthy, screaming at the top of his lungs. I saw he had a fuzz of blond hair like Tamasin's.

Barak turned to Guy, his face momentarily anxious. 'He is healthy?'

'As healthy a child as I ever saw.'

Barak looked again at his son. 'Just think,' he said quietly. 'He could live to see a new century. Think of that, think of that.'

'Your John,' Tamasin said quietly from the bed.

Barak thought a moment, looked at me, then said, 'Tammy, do you mind if we give him another name?'

'What?' she asked, surprised.

'Let us call him George,' he answered softly. 'Like our first baby. I'd like to name him George Llewellyn Carswell.' He looked at me. 'To remember them.'