Heartstone (Matthew Shardlake #5)(103)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘I would like to meet your friend,’ Hugh said.

‘No,’ Hobbey countered firmly.

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

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

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

‘Assuredly I would,’ I agreed firmly.

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

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

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

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

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

‘And the French,’ Barak added soberly.

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

‘No,’ I answered quietly. ‘No, I have not.’

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

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

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

‘Near the harbour mouth, there is deep water.’

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

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

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

We began to descend, towards the island.





Chapter Twenty-five


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

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

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