Heartstone

I heard a shout from below me. Looking down, I saw Peel standing with a boatman in a tiny rowboat at the bottom of some steps. 'Hurry, sir,' he called urgently. 'Before someone requisitions it.'

* * *

THE BOATMAN, a young fellow, rowed quickly out, past heavily laden supply boats. I had a view of the French ships in the distance, the setting sun casting a red glow on a close-packed forest of masts. A sudden volley of gunfire sounded from them, booming across the still water. Peel sat up, eyes wide.

'They're trying to make us jumpy,' the boatman said. 'Bastard French serfs. They're too far off to hit anything.' He turned the boat and headed for the line of warships. Some of the smaller ones had retreated to the harbour, but forty or so rode in a double row, two hundred yards apart, turning slowly on their anchors as the tide ebbed. We rowed out to the Mary Rose. It had been night when I boarded her before, but now, in the fading daylight, I could see how beautiful she was, as well as how massive: the powerful body of the hull, the soaring masts almost delicate by contrast; the complex web of rigging where sailors were clambering; the castles painted with stripes and bars and shields in a dozen bright colours. The gun ports were closed, the ropes by which they were opened from the deck above hanging slack. A boat was already drawn up at the side, and what looked like boxes of arrows were being hauled up through gaps in the blinds to the weatherdeck.

'I'll row round to the other side,' the boatman said. He pulled past the bow and the immense ropes of the twin anchors, then under the tall foremast with the red and white Tudor Rose emblem at its base. There were no supply boats on the other side. We pulled in. Again someone on the tops shouted, 'Boat ahoy!' and a face appeared on deck, looking down through an open blind.

Peel shouted up, 'Letter from Sir Richard Rich for Assistant-Purser West!' A few moments later a rope ladder came down, splashing as the end hit the water. Peel and I stood up carefully as the boatman grabbed the end. Peel looked at it anxiously.

'Climb up behind me,' I told him. 'It's not that bad, just keep a firm hold and don't mind the swaying.' I turned to the boatman. 'You may have to wait a little.'

'Yes, sir.' He stood too, flexing stiff arms.

I began climbing the ladder, Peel behind me.

* * *

AGAIN I WAS helped through a gap in the blinds by a sailor. This time I was able to descend to the planks of the weatherdeck with a little more dignity. Peel followed, looking shaken. There was an immense bustle on the deck, which was full of soldiers as well as sailors. A young officer with a whistle on a purple sash was waiting for us. 'You have a message from Sir Richard Rich for Master West?' he asked abruptly. Peel took the letter from his satchel and held it up for the officer to see the seal.

'Is it about those supplies we were waiting for?' the officer asked me.

I hesitated. 'The letter may only be given to Master West, then I must speak with him. I am sorry.'

The officer turned away. 'Wait here with them,' he ordered one of the sailors, and marched away to the forecastle.

I looked over the deck. Many of the soldiers sat with their backs against the blinds, between the cannon, some cleaning long arquebuses. Everyone is preparing for battle, I thought. The setting sun cast a red glow, broken by the shadow of the netting, making a strange latticework effect on the deck. Sailors carried pairs of gunballs to the guns in slings, cursing at stray soldiers to get out of the way, setting them up next to the guns in triangular battens. Boxes of equipment were being carried from forecastle to aftercastle across the walkway above the netting. I looked up at the aftercastle, saw heads moving under the netting there. It was too high to distinguish whether any of them were from Leacon's company.

I turned to the sailor. He was a little bearded man, perhaps forty—old among all the young men. 'How many soldiers on board now?' I asked.

'Near three hundred,' he answered quietly in a Welsh accent. He looked at me with sudden eagerness. 'Sir, forgive me, but I heard you have a message from Sir Richard Rich. Are they taking some of the soldiers off? We think there are too many; most of the officers agree, but the King's put Vice-Admiral Carew in command of the ship and he won't listen. He's never been aboard till today—'

'I am sorry, that is not the subject of my message,' I answered gently. 'Where are the new archers that came aboard today?'

'Up on the ship's castles. They'll sleep up there tonight, the French may come at dawn if the wind favours them. Sir, many of the soldiers can't even walk properly on deck. There was a gust of wind earlier and they were puking up all over the place, the aftercastle deck stinks already. God knows what they'll be like on the open sea. Sir, if you could get a message to Sir Richard Rich—'

'I fear I have no influence there.' I looked at Peel, who shook his head vigorously. The sailor turned away. A little way off I saw a small group standing between two cannon, talking in a foreign tongue; Flemish I thought. One was nervously reading a rosary, clicking the beads through his fingers. It was something I had not seen for some time, as it had been forbidden by law since Lord Cromwell's time. I guessed the rules would be relaxed for foreign sailors in wartime.

I caught snatches of conversation: 'I saw a swan today, riding in and out of our ships without a care. Maybe it's an omen, sent by the Lord. A royal bird—'

'I wish He'd send us one big enough to climb on and fly away—'

'If the French board, thrust your pike up between their legs—'

'They'll send the galleys back come dawn, we're sitting targets—'

I looked up at the high forecastle with its triple decks, where the senior officers' cabins were. I thought again what an astonishing thing the warship was, every part of it intricately interconnected.

A sharp gust of wind made the Mary Rose roll. It only lasted a moment, but though the sailors ignored it two soldiers nearby staggered, and I heard shouts from the castles above. Some of the sailors laughed, others frowned worriedly. Then I saw West approaching from the forecastle alone, men stepping aside to let him pass.

* * *

WEST STOOD before us, fists clenched at his sides. His deep-set eyes were bloodshot. 'You,' he said thickly.

Peel bowed and held out the letter. 'From Sir Richard Rich, sir.' West tore the seal and read it, then stared at me, perplexed. He said quietly, 'Rich says you are to fetch back one of the archers that came on board today.'

So he did not know Hugh was really a girl. Rich had not told him that, perhaps fearing he would put him off the ship anyway.

I looked at the man who had ruined Ellen's life. 'That is right, Master West. In accordance with your bargain.'

'I must talk to the master. He is in control of this ship, not Sir Richard. He will need persuading to let an enlisted man go.'

'If we tell him something I know about Hugh Curteys, he will let him go.'

He glanced again at the letter, then at me. 'Sir Richard says that you and he have made a bargain. About the—the other matter.'

'We have. A bargain of necessity.'

West looked at Peel. 'You are one of Sir Richard's bodyservants?'

'Yes, sir.' Peel lowered his gaze.

'Then you will know how to keep your mouth shut.' West had spoken quietly. Now he looked at the men around us. 'Come with me, Master Shardlake, let us find somewhere quiet to talk, see how we can best get this Curteys back on shore.' He looked up at the forecastle, then said, 'Not my cabin, we'll get no peace. I'm waiting for food supplies, they should have been here by now. I know a place.'