Heartstone (Matthew Shardlake #5)(175)

‘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.’