Heartstone (Matthew Shardlake #5)(57)

‘I congratulate you.’

‘But where shall we be at Christmas?’ Llewellyn asked sadly.

‘We’ll beat those Frenchies,’ Carswell said confidently. ‘You’ll be happily in bed with your Tessy come Twelfth Night. If they have beds in Yiewsley village: I’ve heard you all still sleep with the cows.’

‘No, that’s Harefield men, like Sulyard.’ Llewellyn looked at me. ‘There are four of us here from our village.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘When we left, the girls garlanded us with flowers, everyone stood cheering as a lute player led us down the road. A far cry from our reception here.’

‘Come on,’ Carswell said. ‘Let’s get this bacon back to camp, before I start drooling.’

They walked away. ‘That’s got us well in with the troops,’ Barak said.

‘Jesu knows we need some friends on this journey.’

He looked at me. ‘That was Richard Rich back there on the road, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes. Probably on his way to Portsmouth. The sooner we get to Hoyland Priory and back again, the better.’



AFTER LUNCH the company rested for an hour, sitting out the hottest part of the day. Then the soldiers were called back into line.

We marched on steadily. By the time we reached Guildford, late in the afternoon, some of the recruits were drooping with exhaustion. We marched through the town without stopping, a few small boys running alongside and cheering, but most of the townsfolk barely looking at us; many companies of soldiers would have passed through these last weeks.

Not long after we mounted a crest of sandstone hills, then descended into a river valley. It was about six o’clock, the sun starting to sink. We saw Godalming at last, cradled by the hills and dominated by the tall spire of a large church. A man stood at the gate of a meadow, looking at us expectantly. At a signal from Leacon, the men fell out and sank exhausted to the roadside. Leacon rode back to us.

‘I am leaving Snodin in charge of the men,’ he said. ‘That is the field allotted them to camp in tonight. I am riding into town with the purser to buy rations and see if I can find some new shoes. Some of the men are limping badly.’

‘That they are.’

‘I’ll probably have to pay a high price. How merchants are profiting from this war. I’ll return to stay with the men, but you and your friends may as well ride in with me and find an inn. We can pick you up on the main road as we march through tomorrow. At six, we have to keep up the pace.’

‘We’ll be ready,’ Dyrick answered, though he was as tired and dusty as I.



WE RODE INTO Godalming. Leacon and his purser left us to find the mayor, and we went to look for an inn. Most were full, but we found places at last. Barak and Feaveryear would have to share a room again. I went up to my chamber, took off my boots and lay down on the mattress, a feather one this time. I was almost asleep when there was a knock at the door and Barak entered.

‘Come with me into town,’ he begged. ‘Let’s find somewhere else to eat. I can’t bear a whole evening with Feaveryear.’

I heaved myself to my feet, wincing at my sore back and thighs. ‘Nor I with Dyrick.’

We found another inn, with better food than the night before. It was a companionable meal without Dyrick and Feaveryear. But as we stepped out into the street again I felt an urge to be alone for a while; I had been constantly in company for two days.

‘I think I will look at the church,’ I said.

‘A spot of prayer?’

‘Churches are good for contemplation.’

He sighed. ‘Back to nestle with Feaveryear, then.’

I walked up the main street and into the church. The hushed space reminded me of childhood days, for this was as traditional a church as the law allowed. The evening sun shone straight in through the brightly stained west window, making the interior a dim red. A chantry priest recited Masses for the dead in a side chapel.

I walked slowly down the nave. Then I saw, in another side chapel, bent before the altar rail, a figure in a dusty white coat. George Leacon. He must have heard my footsteps stop for he turned round. He looked utterly weary.

‘Forgive me,’ I said quietly. ‘I came to look at the church.’

He smiled sadly. ‘I was trying to communicate with my Maker.’

‘I remember at York you were working hard at reading the Bible.’

‘I still have that bible.’ He looked at me, his face anguished now. ‘These days it strikes me how full of war the Bible is. The Old Testament, at least, and the Book of Revelation.’

I sat on the altar-rail steps. After that long day in the saddle I doubted I could kneel. ‘Yes,’ I agreed.

‘I need to get away from images of war.’ Leacon’s tone was suddenly fierce. ‘I read the New Testament, I pray for images of battle to stop crowding into my head, but – they will not.’

I wondered again at how the open boyish face I remembered had become so thin, so stark. ‘You said you were in France last year,’ I prompted gently.

‘Ay.’ He turned so he was sitting beside me. ‘Those recruits, they have no notion what war is. When you knew me four years ago, Master Shardlake, I had had an easy form of soldiering. Garrison duty on the northern border or in Calais, or guarding the King’s palaces. No war, only border ruffles with the Scots. Yes, I saw reivers there brought back dead for their heads to be displayed on Berwick Castle. But I had never killed a man. And then, you remember, I was dismissed.’