Heartstone

There were shouts of agreement. Sir Franklin, like Leacon still mounted, turned and stared with an outraged expression. Leacon dismounted hastily and went up to the men.

'No!' he called out. 'This land is fenced, it's the hunting ground of some gentleman or even the King! I won't have you breaking the law!'

'Come, Captain!' someone called out. 'We're country lads, we can soon catch something.'

'Ay! Master Purser's keeping us short. We can't fight on empty bellies!'

'And what if you meet a forester?' Leacon asked.

To my surprise Pygeon spoke up, his words tumbling over each other in his nervousness. 'God made the forests and game to serve man, sir, not to be fenced in for the sport of those who have full bellies!' There were more shouts of agreement, and for the first time I sensed a challenge to Leacon's authority. The whiffler Snodin marched across, purple-faced. 'Rebellious bastard!' he shouted right in Pygeon's face, adorning it with spittle.

'Drunken old cunt,' I heard Sulyard murmur. Several men laughed. Leacon stared them down. Many lowered their eyes but not all. Some crossed their arms and looked defiant.

'Maybe you're right!' Leacon said loudly. 'I'm a poor farmer's son myself, I've no time for enclosers of land! But if you take game and meet a forester then you'll hang, soldiers or no. And that'll be a fine thing to be said of a company of the warbow! I promise when we get to Liphook I'll make sure you get a good meal, if I have to hold Master Purser upside down and shake the last groat from his doublet!'

'Can I help you shake him, Captain?' Carswell called. As in the village the day before, his humour broke the tension and the men laughed.

After eating, many of the men went to a spot on the wattle fence enclosing the hunting park, ostentatiously pissing against it. After my own repast of bread and bacon, I walked over to where Leacon sat. He had handled the angry soldiers skilfully, and it was hard to realize this was the same man as the agonized figure I had spoken with the night before. 'How are you and your friends bearing up with the ride?' he asked. I sensed a new reserve in his voice.

'Stiff and sore, but that is only to be expected.'

'Your colleague's young clerk finds it hard, I think.'

'Feaveryear is managing. Just.' I looked at Leacon keenly, wondering if he regretted his confidences. 'A couple of men were arguing just now over whether a bowl was theirs or the King's,' I said to make conversation.

'Yes, some brought their own but many had to have bowls and spoons issued from the stores. A wooden bowl may be a prized possession in a poor family. It is the same with the bows: only those with good ones, like Llewellyn, were allowed to bring their own. Most are standard issue from the armouries. It is the poorer men who hadn't equipment to bring, and yet their pay will be docked. Strange, is it not?' He smiled mirthlessly.

Dyrick came up to us, nodding to Leacon before addressing me. 'Master Shardlake, I would speak with you confidentially, if I may.'

We sat together at the side of the road. The rest of us were tanned now, but Dyrick's face was still red, sunburned skin peeling off one cheek above the coppery stubble on his lean face. He said, 'Master Hobbey has turned part of the priory lands into a hunting park. Only a small one, but well stocked with game.' He gave me one of his hard looks. 'He is to hold his first hunting party in ten days' time. Many local gentlefolk will be present. It will be an important event for my client.'

'I hope we shall be gone by then.'

'But lest we are not, I trust you will not tell any of the local society the purpose of our visit.'

'As I said about the villagers, Brother Dyrick, I look to make no trouble for Master Hobbey. But I will make no commitments about what I may say or do.'

'I shall be watching you carefully, Brother Shardlake.' Dyrick's expression was intent, his green-brown eyes locked on mine. 'My client has come far, from wool merchant to country gentleman. Perhaps one day he may be Sir Nicholas. I will not see his prospects harmed.'

'All I want is to ensure Hugh Curteys' lands and welfare are properly looked after. Why can you not realize that?'

'You will soon see that they are.'

'Then all will be well, Brother.'

There was silence for a moment, then Dyrick asked, 'Have you ever hunted?'

'When I was young, once. Though it was not to my taste, the beasts harried along to their deaths. They have no chance.'

Dyrick laughed scoffingly. 'There speaks the Court of Requests lawyer. Even deer get your sympathy. Well, it will be my first hunt if we are still there, though like you I hope we will not be.' He grunted. 'I did not come from the class that hunts. I am the son of a poor clerk—I have had to struggle up the ladder of life. From Church school to a scholarship at the Temple, to a lowly job as a lawyer at the King's court—'

'You worked at court? Perhaps you met people I know. Robert Warner, for example?'

'The Queen's solicitor? No, I had a grubbing clerkly job. I left to test my wits in litigation.' He looked at me hard again. 'Master Hobbey comes from lowly origins too. But I hear your father was a rich farmer, Brother Shardlake.' There was a sneer in his voice.

'Not so rich, a yeoman only. And I was told my grandfather's grandfather was a serf. That is where most of us have come from in the end.'

'I admire those who come from nothing and aim high.'

I smiled. 'You are one of our "new-made men", Brother Dyrick.'

'And proud of it. In England we are not slaves like the French.'

We looked at the soldiers. A little group with Sulyard at its centre were talking in low voices and laughing unpleasantly, mocking someone no doubt, and Barak had struck up a conversation with Carswell and the Welsh boy. Dyrick stood, brushing grass from his rear. 'Another thing,' he added, 'your man Barak, like Feaveryear, will be expected to stay out of the house. Master Hobbey does not approve of over-familiar servants.'

He walked away. I watched him, reflecting with a sardonic smile that new-made men are often the worst snobs.

* * *

DURING THE afternoon clouds began rolling in from the west and it turned cooler. I saw Leacon looking at the sky. A fierce downpour such as had been common in June would soon turn the road from dust to mud. Leacon nodded at the drummer, who began a fast beat to get the men to pick up their pace.

We stopped briefly on another woodland road at about four to water the horses at a pond and give them some rest. Beer was passed round and I took the chance to tell Barak of my conversation with Dyrick.

'Hobbey will probably lodge Feaveryear and me in the woodshed.' He nodded to where the clerk sat on a bank a little way off, reading a psalter.

'I think we'll need three days to take depositions and see what case Hugh Curteys is in. Then we get ourselves back.'

'What if they are doing something nasty to him?'

'Then we will bring him back with us, and Dyrick can—'

'Fuck himself with a red-hot poker. I heard one of the lads telling in detail how he'd do that to Snodin.'

'Look at that!' We turned at the sound of a shout. One of the soldiers was pointing over the trees to the east. 'A forest fire.' I saw a column of smoke rising up a mile or so away. It grew denser, and I caught the first smell of smoke.

'It's not a fire,' young Llewellyn said. 'It's charcoal burners. We're on the western fringes of the iron-working area here.'

I looked over at him curiously. 'How do you know?'

'I've been there, sir. When I finish my apprenticeship I plan to move to Sussex to work. Anyone with skill at the forge can command good money in the blast furnaces. I went to Sussex last year to look for opportunities—there are ironworks everywhere, making everything from arrowheads to decorated firebacks. I went to Buxted, where they cast cannon. What a place.' He shook his head in wonder. 'Dozens of men working in huge buildings. You can hear the noise miles away, but the wages are good.' He bent and picked a blade of grass, slowly tearing it. 'Tess and my parents do not wish me to go.' He looked at me seriously. 'But it is a way for a man like me who cannot write to better himself. Is that not a good thing to do?'