Heartstone (Matthew Shardlake #5)(192)

‘They fear the French will try to land elsewhere,’ Barak said when he had given me the clothes. ‘There are still soldiers coming in – I heard the King has ordered a new levy from London, and more shot from the Sussex ironworks. We have to go,’ he concluded.

We were still in the old warehouse, sitting on stools and eating pottage by the pile of sacks that had become my bed. Most of the men who had been brought to the warehouse had left now; besides me there were only three with broken limbs and one poor sailor, very young, who seemed to have lost his mind and spent most of the time weeping in a corner. I had not been able to face going outside; I dreaded the prospect of looking again at the open sea. I had thought, was this how it began for Ellen?

‘They want to try and refloat the Mary Rose when it’s safe,’ Barak said. ‘Bring in Italian engineers, to recover the guns, at least.’ He hesitated. ‘The topmasts can be seen above the water at low tide.’

I kept silent. Barak put down his bowl. ‘Right,’ he said in businesslike tones. ‘You know what we’re going to do tomorrow.’

‘Yes. We go to Portchester Castle and I ask to see the Queen.’

‘I’ve confirmed she’s still there, and the King at the tents. You talk to the Queen and then we go home. The horses are still stabled at the inn. We can stop at Hoyland on the way home, if you wish.’

I smiled sadly. ‘We have indeed changed places, have we not? It is you who thinks everything out, makes plans for me to implement.’

‘Always was that way really, if you ask me.’

I laughed, but it was a hollow sound. My mind kept returning to those images of the Mary Rose sinking; sometimes they crowded at me so I could not think. It was Barak who had worked out that to ensure Ellen’s safety now I must go to the Queen, tell her Rich’s secret.

I said, ‘West would have died on the Mary Rose whatever happened, wouldn’t he?’

‘Of course he would,’ Barak answered with the sort of irritated patience that was starting to creep into his voice. ‘He was a senior officer, wasn’t he?’

‘Yes. For his death at least I have no responsibility.’

‘Nor the others. It was the ship being overloaded with soldiers, the gun ports cut too close to the water, or any one of the other reasons being bruited around. Whatever it was, it wasn’t you.’

‘I think I will never be the same,’ I said quietly. ‘This has broken me.’

‘You’ll see things clearly with time; you always do.’

‘I hope so, Jack. I hope so.’



WE SET OUT early the next morning. Yet another hot July day. My heart began thumping as soon as I stepped out of the warehouse.

‘Ships all in the same places,’ Barak said. ‘The French haven’t sent the galleys forward yet today.’

I looked out across the Point. The fleet still rode at anchor out on the Solent, in fact more small ships had joined it, but one great ship was missing. Though it set my stomach fluttering with fear, my eyes searched out over the water. ‘You can’t see the masts from here,’ Barak said gently.

‘Will they send word to the families of the men who were lost? Leacon’s company came from Hertfordshire.’

Barak looked out at the ships. ‘They won’t be able to send anyone. Returning soldiers will tell the families when this is over.’

‘I will tell Leacon’s parents at least, go to Kent. Dear God, I owe them that.’

He answered gently, ‘Let’s get our business done and return to London first.’

We walked towards the inn where Oddleg was stabled. A company of tired-looking soldiers marched past us towards the wharf. I studied their faces, then asked quietly, ‘When you were out in the city yesterday, I don’t suppose there was any sign of Emma?’

‘I asked around, spoke to the soldiers at the gate. No one remembers a brown-haired boy in a torn shirt. I think she’s got herself away.’



WE FOUND THE horses and rode out through the town gate: I left Portsmouth for the last time with head bowed, unable to look back. There were new soldiers in the tents where Leacon’s company had been encamped. We spurred the horses to a canter, riding north across Portsea Island, and crossed the bridge over the muddy creek to the Hampshire mainland; then left, to Portchester Castle. I kept my gaze away from the seaward side of the road; I could not bear to look out there.

I had no letter now, no authority to get into the castle. I dared not ask for Warner. But faced with the guards by the moat I found my fear and shrinking left me, my lawyer’s tricks of speech and manner came back and I told them – truthfully enough – that I was a lawyer who worked for the Queen and had been on the Mary Rose. I managed to get the name out, although it brought a fresh churning to my stomach.

I had expected the officer in charge to be impressed, but he only looked at me dubiously. ‘What was a lawyer doing on the Mary Rose? There’s dozens round Portsmouth now saying they’re survivors of the sinking. Most are hoping for pensions. If you’re a lawyer, where’s your robe?’

I lost my temper. ‘At the bottom of the Solent! I tell you, I was on that ship; it will haunt me all my days! Now get a message to the Queen, it’s urgent. She’ll see me. If she won’t, you can throw me in the moat for all I care.’