I heard a murmur behind me. ‘That was him, at Fulford. The King made him bare his back to the crowd.’ I turned to see a pair of clerks looking over their shoulders at me. I frowned at them and they turned away. So the story of what had happened at Fulford Cross was already growing in the telling, I thought bitterly, as stories do. Would I never be allowed to forget my humiliation by King Henry? I wondered what they would say if they knew he might be no more than a Kentish archer’s grandson.
‘Oh, God.’ Barak lurched abruptly, then bent forward and vomited on the deck. He lost his balance, pitched forward and fell with a thud on the boards. There was a burst of laughter from the clerks, and the sailors working at the mast looked over and grinned. I helped him to his feet. Tamasin took his other arm and we led him to sit down next to Giles. The acid smell of vomit made my own stomach heave. Barak’s face was white as paper. He put his head between his knees and groaned, then lifted it and looked at me.
‘I hate being ill, and having only one fucking leg that works properly!’ he burst out. ‘I hate it!’ He glared at the clerks. ‘I’d make those arseholes laugh if I was fit!’
‘You’ll be back to normal soon.’
‘You can rest when you get back to London, Jack,’ Tamasin said. She looked at me appealingly behind Barak’s back. ‘Perhaps Master Shardlake will let you stay at his house for a while, so his housekeeper can look after you, speed your recovery.’
‘Yes,’ I said awkwardly. ‘Yes, we can do that.’
‘I don’t want any favours. Oh, God.’ He put his head between his knees again.
I walked to the rail to escape the smell of vomit. I felt annoyed at Tamasin’s request; the calculating little piece had made it when I could least refuse. But she was right, he could not yet cope on his own; he would try to do too much and injure himself again.
After a few minutes I went back to where Barak still sat with his head between his knees, Tamasin’s arm round him. On his other side Giles was slumped heavily on the bench. His stillness sent a momentary chill down my spine, until I touched him and his eyes opened.
‘Giles?’ I asked gently. ‘Are you all right?’ He winced with pain.
‘I must have fallen asleep.’
‘Barak has been sick, he fell over. Did you not hear?’
He looked tired, tired to death. He essayed a smile. ‘Not a good sailor, eh? It is a long time since I was at sea, but fortunately I have never got sick.’ He looked over to the mudbanks in the distance. ‘We are still in sight of Yorkshire, then.’
‘I gather it will be many hours before we are out of the estuary.’
‘I wonder how Madge is coping, without me to fuss over.’
‘When we get to London, Giles, my first task will be to help you find your nephew. Barak will help too.’
Giles lowered his voice. ‘How are things between you and him?’
‘Ah. You have noticed something was amiss.’
‘It has been hard not to, these last days. Something to do with the girl?’
‘In a roundabout way.’ I looked at the coastline, a little further off now. ‘But do not worry about that. We will be all right once all this is over, once we are back in our routine at Lincoln’s Inn.’ I smiled at him. ‘And then we will find your nephew.’
He looked at me thoughtfully. ‘How will you go about it? Finding Martin?’
‘We can go to Garden Court, and if he is not there, the Inn Treasurer can tell us where he practises.’
He nodded. ‘So it should be quite simple.’
‘Yes.’ I said, hoping to God it would be.
FOR THE NEXT three days the weather stayed calm and bright, and though it was uncomfortable sitting around on deck or cramped in those tiny cabins, it could have been a great deal worse. We saw nothing of Rich or Maleverer; doubtless they were in comfortable quarters below decks. Giles too spent most of his time in his cabin, in his tiny bunk. He lay quietly, seeming withdrawn. I suspected he was in much pain, and worried about him.
Although the weather made life easier for the passengers, we heard the captain was unhappy, for in place of the gale there was now only the lightest of winds and the ship had to tack endlessly. On the fourth day the news went round that we would have to pull in at Great Yarmouth on the Norfolk coast, for we had not enough supplies left to complete the voyage. I saw Maleverer arguing fiercely with the captain, saying enough time had been lost, but the captain stood his ground.
We were at Great Yarmouth two days, taking on supplies. We learned the Progress had now dissolved at Lincoln. The King was hurrying south as fast as possible, for he had had word that Prince Edward was ill.
‘The life on which the Tudor dynasty depends,’ Giles said as we sat together on the deck, watching as the ship pulled away from Great Yarmouth. He had come up for some air, saying he felt better, though to me he still looked ill and frequently made those little winces of pain that cut me to the heart. Barak, who had found his sea-legs, was standing at the rail with Tamasin. We had spoken little in the last few days.
‘Unless Queen Catherine becomes pregnant,’ Giles ruminated. ‘But they’ve been married over a year now, and nothing. Perhaps the King can father no more children.’
‘Perhaps,’ I said hesitantly. Knowing what I knew about the Queen, I did not want to get involved in a discussion along those lines.
‘If the Prince dies,’ Giles continued, ‘who then will be heir to the throne? The Countess of Salisbury’s family wiped out, both the King’s daughters disinherited. What confusion King Henry would leave us then.’ He gave a bitter little laugh.
I got up. ‘I must stretch my legs, Giles, they are stiff.’ He wrapped the rug he had brought up more tightly around his big frame. ‘It will get cold now we are out at sea,’ I told him. ‘Perhaps you should go down again,’ I added, hesitantly for I knew how he disliked being treated like an invalid. But he said, ‘Yes, I will go below. Help me, would you?’
I saw him down to his cabin and returned to the deck. Tamasin and Barak were still talking at the rail, laughing. I felt excluded. I saw Barak incline his head to where a sailor was walking along the deck. To my astonishment, half a dozen rats swung by their tails from one hand, their long black bodies dripping blood on to the deck.
‘The ship’s ratcatcher,’ Barak said to Tamasin with a grin. She screwed up her pretty face and turned her head away. He nudged her. ‘D’you know what the main perk of his job is?’
‘No. I don’t want to.’
‘He gets to eat the rats.’
‘Sometimes you are disgusting,’ she said.
‘Better than the weevilly old biscuits they get.’ He laughed.
Just then the two soldiers climbed out of the hatchway leading below deck. They waited as Broderick followed them up, his hands and feet chained, a scrawny pitiful figure beside the two big men. He was followed up by Sergeant Leacon, and then Radwinter.
The soldiers led Broderick across to the rail. He stood there, looking out to sea, a man on either side in case he thought to jump over the rail. Sergeant Leacon looked out over the deck, taking deep breaths of fresh air. Radwinter, seeing me, came over.
‘Master Shardlake.’
His face had a tired, pinched look, and his hair and beard were longer, unkempt. He must have been below decks with Broderick nearly all the time since we left Hull. It struck me it was a long time since he had been as neat and dapper as when I first saw him at York Castle.
‘Well, Radwinter,’ I said. ‘Not long now to London, let us hope.’
‘No.’ He looked up at the sails. ‘I fancy there is more of a wind. I heard the captain say this was an unlucky voyage.’