Heartstone (Matthew Shardlake #5)(180)

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.’