Heartstone (Matthew Shardlake #5)(182)

‘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.