Heartstone (79 page)

‘But Emma just tried to kill David, and nearly killed us!' Barak was proving hard to persuade.

‘She didn't kill us, though she easily could have. And I don't think she meant to kill David. She could have shot him through the heart as easily as she could us, but she didn't. My guess is she will be desperately regretting what she did. I learned enough of his - her - nature when we were here before to understand that.'

‘Him - her - God's nails!' Barak shouted. ‘Are you going to take her home? Will you dress her in tunics or frocks?'

‘I will help her to find somewhere to live in London. What she makes of her future then will be up to her. This is the one chance I have of fulfilling my promise to the Queen and Mistress Calfhill, whose son died because he felt he had to help her. We owe something to Michael, too.'

Dyrick looked at Hobbey. ‘I can negotiate a better deal than that for you.'

‘Don't be a fool, Vincent,' Hobbey said dismissively. He reached out a hand to me. ‘Again, I agree to it all. Everything. Thank you, Master Shardlake, thank you.'

I could not take his hand. I looked him in the eye. ‘I am not doing this for you, Master Hobbey. It is for Emma, and David, to try and bring some future for them out of all this ruination.'

BARAK AND I left the house an hour later. It was early afternoon now, the sun high and hot. We pulled the horses to a halt outside the priory gate.

‘You're stark mad,' Barak told me.

‘Perhaps I am. But mad or no, it is time for you to go home. No more words now. With hard riding you might make Petersfield tonight. I will try to find Emma, then follow you. If I do not catch up with you tonight, ride on tomorrow and I will meet you on the road.'

‘How can you trust Hobbey and Dyrick?'

‘Hobbey is a broken man now, you saw that. All he has left is David. And Dyrick knows what is good for him.'

‘So much for Dyrick believing his clients were always in the right. He was as corrupt as Hobbey.'

‘I still think he believed Hobbey was in the right, at least until he discovered Emma's identity. Some lawyers need to believe that. But yes, after the discovery his only concern was to save his own position. And as for what he would have done to the villagers-'

Barak looked back through the gates at the untended flower beds. ‘Poor old Abigail. She'll get no justice out of this, you realize that.'

‘I think in her heart she would have wanted to see David and Emma safe. I think she too was haunted by guilt.'

‘What about Rich? Mylling? The corner boys? Did you believe what they said?'

‘I think I know what happened there, and it did not involve Hobbey or Dyrick. I will pick up that matter in London. I will say no more now - if I am right it could be dangerous to know. But I will tell the Queen. This time Richard Rich may find he has gone too far.'

‘Sure you won't tell me?'

‘Quite sure. Tamasin would not want me to.'

‘If Emma has chosen to go for a soldier, it is what she always wanted. Why not leave her to follow her choice?'

I answered firmly, ‘She has been so hemmed all these years she is in no right mind to make a decision like that.'

He shook his head. ‘You are determined to rescue her whether she wants it or no. Whatever the consequences. As with Ellen.'

‘Yes.'

‘What if she's not in Portsmouth?'

‘Then there will be nothing else I can do, and I will return alone. Now, goodbye, Jack.' I put out my hand. ‘Until tonight or tomorrow.'

‘Mad,' he said. ‘Completely mad. Try to stay safe, for God's sake.'

He turned his horse, spurred it, and rode fast up towards the London road. He disappeared round a bend. I patted Oddleg. ‘Come, back to Portsmouth.' I said.

THE ROAD SOUTH was strangely quiet. I thought, it is Sunday. No, that was tomorrow. From the deep-set lanes I smelt smoke several times and thought, are the charcoal-burners working as far south as this? I heard shouts, too.

I began the slow climb up Portsdown Hill. And then, near the top, the air became thick with smoke and I saw a burning beacon, men milling round it. My heart thumping, I crested the escarpment. Smoke from beacon after beacon was visible, in a line all along the hills. I looked down, across Portsea Island to the sea. Then my jaw dropped and I gripped Oddleg's reins, hard.

Most of the warships were still at anchor in the Solent, though some of the smaller ships were in the harbour, small dots from here. In front of the warships half a dozen larger dots were manoeuvring rapidly to and fro. I heard a sound like the rumble of thunder that could only be cannon firing. I thought, those ships are moving and turning so fast they must be galleys, as big as the
Galley Subtle
. Then I saw, at the eastern end of the Isle of Wight in the distance, an enormous dark smudge. The French fleet had arrived. The invasion had begun.

THE BATTLE

I SAT FOR several minutes watching the extraordinary scene in the distance. The English ships, at anchor and with sails reefed, looked terrifyingly vulnerable. I wondered why the huge French fleet did not advance and assumed the wind was against them. A little way along from me, near the burning beacon, a group of country women stood watching the fighting. They were silent, anxious-looking, and I wondered if they had menfolk down there.

My instinct was that I was too late, I should turn and ride back. But Emma had been only three hours ahead of me at most; if she had come to Portsmouth she could surely not have found her way into battle yet. I thought of her watchfulness, her carefully considered speech. With the companies short of men it was perfectly possible she could get herself taken on, all the more now the French were here. I remembered Hobbey saying how Abigail had helped her bind up her breasts as they grew, and Hugh rubbing uncomfortably at ‘his' chest. How much discomfort must she have undergone these last six years?

At the bridge linking the mainland to Portsea Island everything had changed since the morning. Now people were trying to get off the island, not on to it. A stream of people was crossing from the seaward side; women with babies, children, old people hobbling on sticks, all fleeing a possible siege. Most were poor; they carried bundles or hauled their possessions stacked on rickety carts. I remembered Leacon talking of the populace of the French countryside, begging and starving beside the road. I thought, is this about to happen here?

I waited till the refugees had passed. They began wearily climbing Portsdown Hill. An old couple started to argue about whether to abandon their cart, which contained a dismantled truckle bed, some poor clothes, pewter plates and a couple of stools. People trying to get past shouted at them to get out of the way. Then I heard drums, and a company of militia with an assortment of weapons marched rapidly down the hill. The refugees jumped quickly aside. The soldiers marched rapidly past me, the half-armour some wore clinking and rattling. The guards at the bridge saluted as they tramped across in a cloud of yellow dust.

When they had gone, I rode up to the nearest guard and asked what the latest news was. He looked at me with irritation. ‘The Frenchies have come, that's what.' He was an enlisted man, who normally would not have dared talk to someone of my class like that; but as I had seen many times now, the war was dissolving social boundaries.

‘Can I get into the city?'

‘Everyone's trying to leave.'

‘There is someone I need to try and get out. A friend.'

‘Well, master lawyer, if you can persuade them to let you in, I wish you the best of luck.' He gave me a glance of grudging respect, and waved me on.

ON PORTSEA ISLAND the soldiers' tents still stood, but they were all empty now, the flaps open, only a handful of men on guard. Small objects were scattered here and there on the grass-abowl, a spoon, a cap - the soldiers had been called away in a hurry.

As I approached the town walls, where men still laboured hard to strengthen the fortifications, I passed another group of refugees trudging towards the bridge, among them a group of prostitutes, their painted faces streaked and dusty. Then I had to pull into the side again to allow another company of soldiers to march past; foreign mercenaries this time in bright slashed doublets, talking in German. I had a view of the fleet: the ships still rode at anchor, among them the
Great Harry
and the
Mary Rose
; I saw the
Galley Subtle
with the galleasses, between the warships and the huge French galleys half a mile off. I wondered if Leacon and his company were already aboard the
Great Harry
. A cloud of dark smoke came from the front of a French galley, followed by a distant boom; an English galleass had fired back.

I reached the tents outside the city. As I feared, they, too, were empty. Looking up at the walls, I saw the soldiers lining the top had their backs to me, watching what was happening out at sea; the city wall now blocked my view. I turned Oddleg towards the tents, hoping someone had been left on guard who could give me information, but could see nobody. It was strange riding among the tents and hearing no noise, no shouting or clattering. The tents of Leacon's company, like the others, were empty. I was about to turn back when I heard a voice calling weakly.

‘Lawyer Shardlake! Over here!'

I followed the voice to a tent from which a cesspit smell emanated. Hesitantly, I looked through the open flap. In the half-light within I saw bowls and clothing scattered about. In a corner a man lay, half-covered by a blanket. It was Sulyard, the bully who had been so full of bravado the night before. His ugly bony face was white as a sheet. ‘It is you,' he said. ‘I thought I was having bad visions.'

‘Sulyard? What ails you?'