Heartstone

'You call me master.'

'Piss off, you lumpish puttock!'

I decided to go and join them; I still liked to keep an eye on Barak when there was drink around, for all he would call me an old hen, and I had a couple of questions for Llewellyn.

As I crossed the field, I noticed Feaveryear sitting with Pygeon outside a tent. That poor young fellow, how his ears stuck out. Feaveryear was talking animatedly, though Pygeon was carving something on his knife handle, peering at it closely in the fading light. As I watched, Feaveryear got up and walked away. Pygeon gave me a hostile look.

'Have you come to convert me too, sir?'

'I do not know what you mean, fellow.'

'Yonder clerk would have me deny the blood of Christ is in the Eucharist. He should be careful, men have been burned for less. We cleave to the old ways in Harefield.'

I sighed. If Feaveryear was starting to preach his radical views to the soldiers, it was as well we would part company with them on the morrow. 'No, Pygeon,' I said. 'I am no preacher of any doctrine.' He grunted and returned to his carving. The knife was one of the long ones carried by all the soldiers, serviceable equally as tool and weapon. I saw what he was carving, MARY SAVE OUR SOULS, in lettering of remarkable intricacy and skill.

'That is well done,' I said.

'I look to the Virgin to save us if we come to battle.'

'I am going to join the men by the fire,' I said. 'Will you come?'

Pygeon shook his head and bent again to his carving. I wondered if he feared more mockery from Sulyard. I went across to the fire, lowering myself gingerly to the earth next to Llewellyn and Carswell. I saw the men were slowly roasting a couple of rabbits and a chicken.

'A mug of beer, sir?' Carswell offered. I took it and glanced at Barak, but he was deep in conversation with some of the other men.

'Thank you. What are you cooking? If you've been poaching you had best make sure Captain Giffard does not see you.'

He laughed. 'The local man said we could hunt some rabbits. There's too many of them round here, they're eating the crops. Some of the men had a little practice with their bows in the woods.'

'That looks like a chicken. Not taken from some farm, I hope.'

'No, sir,' Carswell answered, his face suddenly solemn. His features, unremarkable enough, had the mobility of a comic. 'That's a type of rabbit they have down here.'

'It's got wings.'

'Strange place, Hampshire.'

I laughed, then turned to Llewellyn. 'There is something I would ask you,' I said, in a low voice so Barak would not hear.

'Yes, sir?'

'You spoke yesterday about the ironworks in the Weald. What is the difference between the new furnaces and the old ones—the bloomeries, I believe they are called.'

'The new blast furnaces are much bigger, sir, and the iron comes out molten, rather than in a soft lump. The blast furnaces cast it into prepared moulds. They have started to mould cannon.'

'Is it true the bloomeries do not operate in summer?'

'Yes. They mostly employ local people who work the fields in summer and the foundries in winter. While the new furnaces often have dozens of men who work all year round.'

'So a bloomery furnace is empty all summer?'

'Probably they would have a man there to keep an eye on things, taking supplies of charcoal and the like ready for the winter.'

I saw Barak looking across at me. 'Thank you, Llewellyn,' I said.

'Thinking of leaving the law for the iron trade, sir?' Carswell called after me as I went to sit next to Barak. The light was fading fast, and an extraordinary number of moths had appeared, grey-white shapes wheeling and circling in the dusk.

* * *

BARAK LOOKED AT me shrewdly. 'What were you muttering to Llewellyn about? Wouldn't be anything to do with Ellen, would it?'

'Let's concentrate on Hugh Curteys for now,' I answered snappishly.

'You've found where Rolfswood is, haven't you? You're going to go there and nose around if you get the chance.'

'I'll have to see.'

'I think you should leave well alone.'

'I know what you think!' I burst out with sudden anger. 'I'll do what I think best!'

There was another raucous laugh from Sulyard. 'Lovers' tiff !' he called out, staring at Barak and me. He was very drunk, gobbling and tumbling his words, his face alight with malice.

'Shut your face, or I'll shut it for you.' Barak half-rose, his look threatening.

Sulyard pointed at me. 'Hunchbacks bring bad luck, everyone knows that! Though we're probably fucked already, with a dozy old captain and a tippling whiffler to fight under.'

I looked round the circle of faces; a swirl of smoke made my eyes sting. The men looked away uncomfortably. Sulyard rose unsteadily to his feet and pointed at me.

'Don't you give me the evil eye! You—'

'Stop it!' Everyone turned at the shout. Pygeon had followed me and stood some feet off. 'Stop it, you fool! We're all in this together! You're not in the village any more. You can't steal game and ducks from poor folk as you like, spend your days telling people to call you master!'

Sulyard roared, 'I'll have your balls!' Pygeon stood uncertainly as Sulyard, shaking off the restraining hand of another soldier, reached for his knife.

Then a tall, white-coated figure appeared and hit Sulyard a mighty smack across the face. He staggered, rallied, and reached for his knife again.

Leacon faced him. 'Strike me, you foul-mouthed rogue, and it's mutiny!' he shouted, then added more softly, 'but I'll deal with you man to man if that's what you want.'

Sulyard, a trickle of blood dripping from a cut, let his arms fall to his sides. He stood swaying, like a puppet with the strings cut. 'I meant no mutiny,' he said. He swayed again, then yelled out, 'I want only to live! To live!'

'Then stay sober and work with your fellows. That's a soldier's best chance of surviving.'

'Coward!' someone shouted from the dark. Sulyard turned to the voice, hesitated, then stumbled off into the dark. Leacon turned back to his men. 'He'll probably fall over soon. Someone go and find him in a while, dump him in his tent. He can apologize to Master Shardlake in front of you all tomorrow morning.' He turned away. I followed, catching him up.

'Thank you for that, George. But no public apology, please. He would not mean it and I would not wish to leave the company on such a note.'

Leacon nodded. 'Very well. But there should be some restitution.'

'Such things have happened to me before. They will again.' I hesitated, then added, 'He is frightened of what may come.'

Leacon looked at me. 'I know. As we near Portsmouth a lot of them are becoming apprehensive. But what I said was true: if it comes to battle, discipline and working together are everyone's best chance of survival. Though it is a matter of chance and chaos in the end.' He was silent a moment, then said, 'This afternoon, those drums made me want to scream.' He paused again. 'Master Shardlake, after what I said at Godalming, do you—do you truly think me fit to lead? I will have to, Sir Franklin will be no use. He is good for pulling the men into line—last night a bunch of them got to drinking and rowdiness, and a few words from him shut them up. But you have seen him—he is too old to lead men into battle.'