Heartstone (Matthew Shardlake #5)(106)

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

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

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

‘With dogs probably, for the soldiers.’

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

‘We’ll be here for ever,’ Dyrick said impatiently.

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

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

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

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

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

‘A few minutes only, sir, please.’

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

‘This place stinks, doesn’t it?’ Carswell observed.

‘Worse than the Thames banks,’ Barak agreed.

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

I smiled. ‘I had not forgotten.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Master Shardlake! Jack Barak!’

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

‘Good! How is your wife, Jack?’

‘Very well, according to her last letter.’

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

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

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

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