Heartstone (72 page)

THE CAMBER was full of rowboats tying up for the night. We found a boatman, a stocky middle-aged man, who agreed to take us across to the
Mary Rose
, then wait and bring us back. We followed him down the slippery steps. Above us music and voices sounded from the Oyster Street taverns. The man set the oars in the rowlocks and pushed out into the open sea towards the lines of ships. Behind them the sunset was shading into dark blue, starkly outlining the forest of masts.

All at once we were in a world of near silence, the sounds from the town fading. The air, too, was suddenly clean and salty. The water was calm, but out at sea for the first time in four years I felt uneasy. I gripped the side of the boat hard and looked back to shore. I could see the city walls, the Square Tower and, beyond the town walls, the soldier's tents lining the coast, all turned pink by the setting sun.

‘Thank you for doing this,' I said to Leacon. ‘After that trouble with the men.'

‘Thank God I thought to ensure fresh meat tonight. The biscuit's going bad. There's a couple of men down with the flux. And one man accidentally slashed himself with his knife yesterday. At least I think it was an accident. The company's down to eighty-eight.'

I looked back again to the retreating shore. Now I could see all the way down to South Sea Castle, a little pink block in the sunset, becoming tiny as we rowed out further into the Solent. Reluctantly, I turned my head away.

Slowly, we approached the warships. As we drew closer we saw haloes of dim light flickering above the decks from candles and lamps. The sound of a pipe and drum drifted across the water. Leacon stared ahead, preoccupied, then said with a sort of quiet desperation, ‘I have to encourage my men, I must. I must try and lighten their mood, though I know the nightmare they may face.'

‘God knows you are doing what you can.'

‘Does He?'

We had almost reached the warships now, their masts and high castles seeming impossibly tall, gigantic plaited ropes stretching down to the water securing the anchors. The light was almost gone, the bright paintwork on the upper decks turned to shades of grey. The boatman swung away to avoid a stream of ordure running from a beakhead latrine. Voices and more music drifted down as the vast hull of the
Great Harry
reared before us. Something was happening on the main deck. A little platform had been built projecting out over the water, a pulley dangling from it. It was being used to heave something up from a large rowboat. I realized to my astonishment that it was a large, high-backed chair, covered with an oilcloth, in which an enormous dead pig had been tied.

‘Careful,' I heard someone shout. ‘It's bumping the side!'

‘What on earth is going on?' I asked the boatman.

‘Some freak of sailors' humour,' he answered disapprovingly.

We rowed past the flagship to the
Mary Rose
, the rose emblem above the bowsprit dimly outlined. I craned my neck to stare up.

The lowest, central section of the ship was perhaps twenty feet high; the long aftercastle, of at least two storeys, double that. The forecastle was taller still, three levels of decks projecting out over the bow like enormous steps. A sudden breeze came, and I heard a strange singing noise in the web of rigging that soared from decks to topmast. As we drew in close I heard a cry from the fighting top, high on the mainmast. ‘Boat ahoy!'

The boatman steered in to the centre of the ship, between the high castles. I looked apprehensively at the great dark hull, wondering how we would get on board. My eye travelled upwards to squares outlined in tar that must be the gun ports, stout ropes running up from rings in the centre to holes in the painted squares above, the green and white Tudor colours alternating with red crosses on a white background, the colours of St George.

‘How do we get up?' I asked apprehensively.

Leacon nodded up at the painted squares. ‘Those panels can be slid out. They'll drop a rope ladder down from one.'

We came athwart, and the rowboat knocked against the hull with a bump. A panel was removed and a head looked out. A voice called down the watchword I had heard in camp: ‘God save King Henry!'

‘And long to reign over us!' Leacon shouted back. ‘Petty-Captain Leacon, Middlesex archers! Official business for Assistant-Purser West!'

The head was withdrawn, and a moment later a rope ladder was thrown down. It uncoiled, the end splashing into the water beside us.

OUR BOATMAN hauled the ladder aboard, then turned to us. ‘Climb up, sirs. One at a time, please.'

Leacon grasped the ladder and climbed onto it. He began to ascend. I watched apprehensively as he moved upwards steadily, hand over hand. I started with surprise as, a little above my head, a gun port suddenly swung outwards. There was the sound of squeaking wheels from within, and the mouth of a huge cannon appeared in the gap with a strange, juddering movement. ‘That axle needs greasing,' a sharp voice called. The cannon was withdrawn, and the gun-port lid banged shut. I looked up to where Leacon had reached the top of the ladder. Hands reached through the opened blind and he squeezed through the narrow gap.

‘Now you, sir,' the boatman said. I took a deep breath, grasped the rungs, and climbed up. I did not look down. The gentle bobbing of the boat was disorientating. I reached the blind and hands stretched out to help me through. It was a drop of several feet to the deck, and I stumbled and nearly fell. ‘It's a fucking lawyer,' someone said in wonderment.

Leacon took my arm. ‘I've asked a sailor to go and look for Master West.'

I looked around. Thick rope netting with a small mesh enclosed the deck, secured to the rail above the blinds and, in the middle, to a wooden central spar seven feet above our heads supported by thick posts running the length of the open weatherdeck. The wide spar formed a walkway above us, running between the two castles; a sailor was padding across in bare feet. I looked up at the twenty-foot-high aftercastle. Two long, ornate bronze cannon projected from it, angled to fire outwards. Two more projected from the forecastle, pointing in the opposite direction.

‘What a creation,' I said quietly. I looked along the weatherdeck. It was around forty feet wide and almost as long, dominated by three iron cannon on each side, a dozen feet long and lashed to wheeled carriages. The deck was illuminated by haloes of dim light from tallow candles inside tall horn lanterns. Perhaps sixty sailors sat in little groups between the guns, playing dice or cards; they were barefoot, most with jerkins over their shirts and some with round woolly hats, for there was a cool breeze now. Many were young, though already with weatherbeaten faces. A small mongrel greyhound sat beside one group, avidly watching a game of cards. Some of the sailors looked over at me with cool curiosity, doubtless wondering who I was, their eyes little points of light. One group was talking in what I recognized as Spanish, another sat listening intently to a cleric reading aloud from the Bible: ‘Then he arose, and rebuked the winds and the sea; and there was a great calm.' A rancid meaty smell and little wafts of steam rose from some of the hatches with heavy wooden grilles set along the deck.

‘First time aboard a warship, sir?' One of the sailors who had helped me aboard had stayed with us, from curiosity perhaps.

‘Yes.' I looked up, through the netting, to the fighting top high on the foremast. There the man who had called out our presence stood looking out to sea once more. A small boy was clambering up the rigging, as rapidly as the Queen's monkey in its cage at Hampton Court.

A sailor sitting nearby turned and spoke to me in a heavy, jocular tone. ‘Have you come to make them fetch up our dinner, master lawyer?' I noticed that nearly everyone had wooden spoons and empty bowls beside them. ‘Our bellies are barking.'

‘Let's hope it's edible,' another man grumbled. He was poking something from under his fingernails with a tool from a tiny steel manicure set. He winced as he extracted a large splinter.

‘That's enough, Trevithick,' our sailor answered. ‘This gentleman's on official business.' He lowered his voice. ‘The food's corrupted through lying too long in the barrels, sir. We don't like the smells coming from below. We were supposed to get fresh supplies today but they ain't come.'

‘Food is ever the main concern among the soldiers too,' Leacon said. He looked at the barefoot sailors. ‘Food and shoes, though you sailors don't seem to worry about those.'

‘The soldiers should go barefoot like us, then they wouldn't slip and slide whenever they come on board.'

The
Mary Rose
moved slightly with the breeze, and I almost stumbled again. On the walkway above me two sailors, carrying a long heavy box between them, barely checked their stride as they walked across. They disappeared through a doorway into the aftercastle. Our sailor, bored with us, moved away.

‘I can see why your men were intimidated,' I said quietly to Leacon. ‘I've been on ships before, but this-'

He nodded. ‘Ay, though I don't doubt their courage in the rush of battle.' I looked up again at the aftercastle. I saw more netting there on the top deck, secured to a central spar, dimly illumined by light from lamps below. Someone up there was strumming a lute, the sound drifting down. Leacon followed my gaze. ‘We practised on the aftercastle of the
Great Harry
today, firing through the blinds on the top deck. It was hard to get a good shot.'

‘The sailors seem in a poor humour.'

‘They're hard to discipline, they've been dragged together from all over the realm and beyond. Some are privateers.'

I smiled. ‘Are you showing your prejudices, George?'

‘They didn't mind showing theirs earlier, laughing at my men.'

A thin wiry man in a striped jerkin picked his way towards us; he carried a horn lantern whose light was brighter than the sailors', a good beeswax candle inside. He bowed briefly, then addressed Leacon in a Welsh accent. ‘You have business with Master West, Captain?'

‘This man does. He needs to speak with him urgently.'

‘He's down in the galley with the cook. You'll have to go to him, sir.'

‘Very well. Can you take me?'

He looked at me dubiously. ‘The galley is down in the hold. Can you manage it?'

I answered sharply, ‘I got up on the ship, didn't I?'

‘Your robe will suffer, sir. Best take it off.'

Leacon took it. ‘I'll wait for you here,' he said. ‘But please do not be long.'

I stood in my shirt, shivering slightly. ‘Don't worry, sir,' the sailor said. ‘It's warm enough where we're going.'

He led the way along the deck to the forecastle. As I followed I tripped beside a group of card players, accidentally sending a tiny dice flying; a man retrieved it with a quick scooping motion. ‘I am sorry,' I said. He looked at me with hard hostility.

Just before the aftercastle we reached an open hatch where a wide ladder descended into darkness. The sailor turned to me. ‘We go down here.'

‘What's your name?'

‘Morgan, sir. Now, please follow me down carefully.'

He put his feet on the ladder. I waited till the top of his head disappeared, then began to descend.

I had to feel carefully for the rungs in the semi-darkness, and thanked God the ship was barely stirring. It grew hotter. Water dripped somewhere. At the foot of the ladder there was some light, more lanterns hanging from beams. I saw it was the gundeck. Well over a hundred feet long, it ran below the castles, almost the whole length of the ship. Further down the gundeck some areas were partitioned off into little rooms, the backs of cannon projecting between them. To my surprise there was enough headroom to stand. I looked down at the cannon on their wheeled carriages. The nearest was iron; the one next to it bronze, stamped with a large Tudor rose, a crown above, gleaming with an odd sheen in the lantern light. A harsh smell of powder mixed with the cooking smell; pods of broom and laurel leaves tied against the walls to sweeten the air had little effect.

Men were checking stone and iron gunballs for size against wooden boards with large circular holes, then stacking them carefully inside triangular containers beside each cannon. Two officers looked on: one bearded and middle-aged, a silver whistle round his neck on a silk sash, the other younger. ‘This job should have been finished before dark,' the older officer growled. He saw us and stared at me, raising his chin interrogatively. Morgan bowed deeply.

‘This gentleman has a message from shore, sir, for Master West. He is down in the galley.'

‘Don't get in the men's way,' the officer told me curtly. Morgan led me some way down the gundeck. We came to another hatch, with a ladder leading down. ‘This goes right down to the galley, sir,' Morgan said.

‘Who was that?'

‘The master. He's in charge of the ship.'

‘I thought that was the captain.'

Morgan laughed. ‘Captain Grenville doesn't know the
Mary Rose
, though at least he's a seaman, unlike some of the captains. Most are knighted gentlemen, you see, to put us in awe.' Like Sir Franklin with the soldiers, I thought.

Morgan stepped to the ladder and began nimbly descending again. I followed.

We passed another deck, full of stores in partitioned areas. I made out barrels and chests, coils of immensely thick rope. Billows of hot steam rose up from below now. The ship shifted slightly, groaning and creaking, and one of my feet almost slipped. A red glow was visible underneath us, accompanied by a wave of heat, the smell of bad meat increasingly powerful. I glanced down at Morgan; his face was redly illuminated from below. ‘Where are you from?' I asked.