Heartstone (Matthew Shardlake #5)(6)

I turned to Guy. ‘God’s death, that man!’ Guy shook his head wearily. A moment later Coldiron appeared in the doorway. He bowed, then stood stiffly to attention. As ever, I found his face difficult to look at. A long, deep scar ran from his receding hairline to his eyepatch and continued down to the corner of his mouth. He had told me when I interviewed him that it was the result of a sword thrust received at the Battle of Flodden against the Scots over thirty years before. I had sympathized, as I always did with those who were disfigured, and that had influenced me in taking him on, though there was also the fact that, with two large instalments of tax due to the King, I had to be careful with money and he did not demand high wages. In truth I had not much liked him even then.

‘What were you doing out there with the boys?’ I asked. ‘Josephine says nothing has been done to prepare dinner.’

‘I’m sorry, sir,’ he answered smoothly. ‘Only Simon and Timothy were asking me about my time as a soldier. God bless them, they want to do what they can to defend their country from invasion. They pestered me to show them how soldiers drill.’ He spread his hands. ‘Wouldn’t let me alone. It stirs their blood to know I fought the Scots last time they invaded us, that I was the man who cut down King James IV.’

‘Are they going to defend us with broomsticks?’

‘The time may be coming when even such callow boys may need to take up bills and halberds. They say the Scots are up to their old pranks again, ready to march on us while the French threaten us from the south. I believe it, I know those redshanks. And if foreign spies set fire to London—’ He gave Guy a sidelong look, so quick it was barely noticeable, but Guy saw it and turned away.

‘I don’t want you drilling Timothy and Simon,’ I said curtly, ‘however great your knowledge of the arts of war. Those of housekeeping are your work now.’

Coldiron did not turn a hair. ‘Of course, sir. I won’t let the boys press me like that again.’ He bowed deeply once more and left the room. I stared at the closed door.

‘He made the boys go out and drill,’ Guy said. ‘I saw it. Timothy at least did not want to.’

‘That man is a liar and a rogue.’

Guy smiled sadly, raising an eyebrow. ‘You do not think he killed the Scottish King?’

I snorted. ‘Every English soldier who was at Flodden claims he did it. I am thinking of dismissing him.’

‘Perhaps you should,’ Guy said, uncharacteristically for he was the gentlest of men.

I sighed. ‘It’s his daughter I feel sorry for. Coldiron bullies her as well as the boys.’ I passed a hand over my chin. ‘I am due to visit the Bedlam tomorrow, by the way, to see Ellen.’

He gave me a direct look, his face as sad as any man’s I have seen. ‘By going there every time she says she is ill – well, it may not be to the benefit of either of you in the long run. Whatever she is suffering, she lacks the right to summon you at will.’



I LEFT EARLY next morning to visit the Bedlam. The night before I had finally come to a decision about Ellen. I did not like what I planned to do, but could see no alternative. I donned my robe and riding boots, collected my riding crop and walked round to the stables. I had decided to ride across the city, and my way lay down the broader, paved streets. Genesis was in his stall, nose in the feed bucket. Timothy, whose duties included the stable, was stroking him. As I entered, the horse looked up and gave a whicker of welcome. I patted his cheek, running my hand down his stiff, bristly whiskers. I had had him five years; he had been a young gelding then, now he was a mature, peaceful animal. I looked down at Timothy. ‘You have been mixing those herbs with his fodder as I asked?’

‘Yes, sir. He likes them.’

Seeing Timothy’s smiling, gap-toothed face, I felt a clutch at my heart. He was an orphan, with no one in the world outside my household, and I knew he felt Joan’s loss deeply. I nodded, then said gently, ‘Timothy, if Master Coldiron sets you and Simon to play at soldiers again, you are to tell him I said no, do you understand?’

The boy looked worried, shifted from foot to foot. ‘He says it’s important for us to learn, sir.’

‘Well, I say you are too young. Now, fetch the mounting block, there’s a good lad.’ I said to myself, that man will go.



I RODE DOWN Holborn Hill and through the gate in the city wall at Newgate, the grim, smoke-blackened stone of the jail hard by. Outside the entrance to the old Christ’s Hospital two halberdiers stood to attention. I had heard it was being used, like other former monastic properties, to store the King’s weapons and banners. I thought again of my friend Roger’s plans for the Inns of Court to found a new hospital for the poor. I had tried to carry on his work after his death, but the weight of taxation for the wars was such that everyone was pinching and sparing.

As I passed the Shambles a blizzard of small goose feathers swept out from under a yard door, causing Genesis to stir anxiously. Blood, too, was seeping into the street. The war meant a huge demand for arrows for the King’s armouries, and I guessed they were killing geese for the primary feathers the fletchers would use. I thought of the View of Arms I had witnessed the previous day. Fifteen hundred men had already been recruited from London and sent south, a large contingent from the sixty thousand souls in the city. And the same thing was going on all over the country; I hoped that hard-faced officer would forget about Barak.