Chapter Twenty-six

WITHIN THE WALLS, Portsmouth reminded me even more of the interior of a castle. The town was surrounded on all sides by the earth walls, sloping gently down on the inner side, where turf had been laid to stabilize the earth. Much of the enclosed area was given over to market gardens, the town itself being surprisingly small. The street facing us was the only one wholly built up with shops and cottages, the better ones with jutting upper storeys. I saw only one church, down towards the seafront, with another signal lantern on top of its square tower.

‘This is the High Street,’ Hobbey said. ‘We are meeting Master Priddis at the new Guildhall halfway down.’

The street was unpaved, dusty from all the traffic, the air full of the heavy, cloying smell of brewing. We rode past tired-looking labourers, sunburnt sailors in woollen smocks with bare feet, soldiers in their round helmets who must have obtained passes into the town. A well-dressed merchant, a fine lace collar on his shirt, rode along with a pomander held to his nose, a clerk riding alongside calling out figures from a list. Like many others the merchant kept a hand on the purse at his belt.

People were haggling loudly at the open shopfronts. I heard a remarkable babel of tongues among the passers-by: Welsh, Spanish, Flemish. At every corner a little group of soldiers, in half-armour and carrying halberds, stood watching all who passed. I remembered the corner boys. The town crier, resplendent in his red uniform, passed up and down ringing a bell, shouting, ‘All women who cannot prove residence by tomorrow will be removed as prostitutes!’ A drunk staggered into the road, swigging from a pigskin gourd. ‘Join King Harry’s navy!’ he shouted. ‘Six and sixpence a month and all the beer you can drink!’ He tottered towards Feaveryear, who pulled his horse aside. ‘Godless creature,’ he muttered angrily.

‘Don’t you like a drink now and then, Feaveryear?’ Barak asked teasingly.

‘My vicar says to keep out of taverns.’

‘Sounds like my wife.’

‘Hugh and David put up a remarkable show back there,’ I said to Feaveryear.

‘I envy Master Hugh his prowess.’ The little clerk sighed.

‘I would not envy him too much. I think his life is no bed of roses.’

Feaveryear stared at me. ‘No, sir. You are wrong. Hugh has been brought up well. He is strong, skilled and learned. A true gentleman. It is as my master says; you have no cause against this family.’ He spurred his horse and pulled ahead.

THE GUILDHALL was a large, brightly painted wooden building of three storeys. An ostler took our horses to some stables behind. Hobbey told David to wait outside with the servants until we returned, warning them sternly to stay out of the taverns.

‘I suppose you want Barak with you,’ Dyrick said.

‘Yes, Brother, I do.’

Dyrick shrugged. ‘Come then, Sam.’

We stepped into a large central hall. A wooden staircase rose to an upper floor. People passed busily to and fro, royal officials and townsmen in their guild uniforms. Hobbey accosted a harassed looking clerk and asked for Sir Quintin Priddis.

‘He’s upstairs, sir. In the room facing the staircase. Are you the gentlemen come to see him? I fear you are a little late.’

Hobbey rounded on Hugh. ‘That business at the butts! Gentlemen do not keep each other waiting.’ Hugh shrugged.

We walked upstairs. Barak looked round disparagingly. ‘A wooden Guildhall?’

‘There can’t be more than a few hundred living here normally. The townsfolk must feel swamped.’

We knocked on the door the clerk had indicated. A cultivated voice bade us enter. Inside was a meeting room, sparsely decorated and dominated by a large oaken table at which two men sat, a neat stack of papers before them. The younger wore a lawyer’s robe; he was a little over forty, his dark hair worn long, his square face coldly handsome. The elder was in his sixties; grey-haired, wearing a brown robe. He sat crouched, one shoulder much higher than the other, and for a moment I thought Sir Quintin Priddis was another hunchback. Then I saw that one side of his face was frozen and that his left hand, which lay on the table, was a desiccated claw, bone white. He must have had a paralytic seizure. As coroner of Sussex, this was the man who had ordered Ellen to be forced screaming into a coach. Reverend Seckford had described him as a busy, bustling little fellow. Not any more.

We bowed and raised our heads to find two identical pairs of sharp, bright blue eyes examining us across the table.

‘Well, this is quite a deputation,’ the older man said. His voice was slurred, lisping. ‘I had not thought to see so many. And a serjeant, no less. You must be Master Shardlake?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Sir Quintin Priddis, feodary of Hampshire. This is my son Edward, my assistant.’ He glanced at the younger man, without affection I thought. ‘Now, Master Hobbey I know, and this well-set-up young fellow must be Hugh.’ He studied the boy closely. Hugh put up a hand to cover his scars. ‘You have grown much, lad, since last I saw you. But why do you keep your hair polled so close? A good head of hair suits a young gentleman.’

‘I am an archer, sir,’ Hugh answered unemotionally. ‘It is the way among us.’

A sardonic smile briefly distorted the right half of Sir Quintin’s face. Hobbey said, ‘This is Master Vincent Dyrick, my legal representative. The other two are the lawyers’ clerks.’

‘I am afraid there is a shortage of chairs in this poor place,’ Priddis said. ‘I cannot ask you to sit. But we shall not be here long; I have a meeting at eleven that cannot wait. Well, Master Shardlake, what questions have you for me?’ He gave me a cold smile.

‘You will know this case well, sir—’

‘Not as a legal dispute.’ Edward Priddis spoke quietly and precisely. ‘My father knows this as an ordinary wardship, in his capacity as feodary. He assessed the initial value of the lands and has dealt with routine queries from Master Hobbey since then.’

Sir Quintin gave his crooked, mirthless half-smile. ‘You see, my son too is a lawyer. As I was at the start of my career. He is right, but you, Master Shardlake, you believe there is some reason for concern.’ I looked into those bright blue eyes, but could read nothing of the man except that he still had force and power.

‘Sir Quintin,’ I asked, ‘when you refer to routine queries do you mean the cutting of Master Hugh’s woodlands?’

‘Indeed. Master Hobbey has always thought these were good times to exploit the demand for wood. I advised him that would be legal if Hugh was credited with the profits. Exploiting a resource on those terms is not waste, rather a wise benefiting from market conditions.’

Edward laid his hands on the papers. ‘There are notes here of my father’s discussions with Master Hobbey. You are welcome to see them.’

‘I am concerned that the amounts recorded in Master Hobbey’s accounts may not reflect the amount of prime oak I have seen in the remaining woodlands.’

Hobbey looked at me sharply. Dyrick addressed Priddis. ‘The woodland that has been cut had much less oak than that which remains.’

‘You will have seen the lands before the woods were cut down, sir,’ I said to Priddis.

‘I remember seeing mixed woodland. But that was five years ago, at the first cutting. And travel through woodland presents difficulties for me now.’ He nodded at his dead white hand.

‘Master Hobbey said your son rides the lands for you.’

‘That is true,’ Edward said. ‘And I am sure my father’s assessment is right. However,’ he added smoothly, ‘we will be staying in Portsmouth a few days more, and can journey out to Hoyland. I have no objection to riding out with you to look at the lands. You can show me what you mean.’

And you can interpret it as you like, I thought, for there is no real proof; it is too late to do anything. But, if nothing else, I wanted to get to know this pair better, for Ellen’s sake. Edward Priddis would have been around twenty at the time of the fire, I thought, his father in his forties.

Sir Quintin smiled. ‘Good. I will come out to Hoyland with you. I could do with a day away from this stinking town. I can still just about ride, but I will have to rest at Master Hobbey’s fine house. Well, Master Shardlake, you see how we make every effort to cooperate with the court. We could come next Monday, the thirteenth. In the afternoon.’

Hobbey looked worried. ‘Sir, we are having a hunt on Monday. It has been planned for many weeks. It would be awkward—’

‘Ah, the hunt,’ Priddis said wistfully. ‘I used to love hunting. Well, Monday is the only day I can come. I am due to set off for Winchester on Tuesday. We need not get in your way. The hunt should be over by three o’clock, I hazard.’

Dyrick spoke then. ‘I see little point in riding through the remains of long-felled woodland to try and work out what sort of trees once grew there. And the Bill of Information that started this matter spoke of monstrous wrongs. But Master Curteys has no complaints, I believe.’

Sir Quintin turned to Hugh. ‘What say you, lad? Has any wrong been done to you by Master Hobbey or his family?’ I looked at the feodary. He was relaxed, he knew what answer the boy would make.

‘No, sir,’ Hugh answered quietly. ‘Only that I am not allowed to join the army, which is what I wish.’

Priddis laughed creakily. ‘So many avoiding their obligations, and here is a fine lad offering to serve. But, young man, your place is at home. And in three years’ time, you will be able to sue out your livery and take your place as a gentleman with your own lands.’ He waved his good arm. ‘Take your hand from your face; I of all people have reason not to be put off by blemishes. Stand forth boldly! If one attracts stares, that is how one must react. Eh, Master Shardlake?’

I did not reply. Hugh lowered his hand, and Priddis studied him a moment more. Then he looked at Hobbey. ‘The boy has a pleasant aspect, despite those scars. Is there a marriage in prospect?’

Hobbey shook his head. ‘I am leaving Master Hugh free to choose whom he would marry. There is no one at present.’

Priddis looked at me severely. ‘It seems, Master Shardlake, that you may have been sent on a fool’s errand. Your client risks heavy costs when the case returns to Wards.’

‘It is my duty to investigate everything.’

Priddis inclined his head. ‘I suppose that is your prerogative.’

Dyrick spoke scathingly. ‘I fear Brother Shardlake will be pulling up the floorboards at the priory to see if there are any mice that might bite Hugh.’

Sir Quintin raised a reproving finger. ‘Now, Master Dyrick, I am sure he would not go quite that far.’

Edward Priddis murmured to his father, ‘We must consider the papers on Sir Martin Osborne’s case this morning—’

‘Quite right,’ Sir Quintin agreed. ‘Thank you, gentlemen, I will see you on Monday.’ He smiled at Hobbey. ‘If your hunting guests see me, tell them I am an old friend who has called by.’ He gave his little cackle.

We bowed and left. Outside, Dyrick rounded on me angrily. ‘God’s blood, Shardlake, why will you not let this go? You saw what Sir Quintin thought of it all. Are you out to embarrass Master Hobbey on the day of his hunt?’

‘Calm yourself, Brother. You heard Sir Quintin, he will not advertise his business.’

We walked downstairs in silence. The clerk who had shown us up was talking in deferential tones to two men standing in the doorway of the Guildhall. Both were dressed in fur-lined robes and caps despite the July heat, and each had a fat gold chain round his neck. They turned, and I recognized Sir William Paulet and Sir Richard Rich. I was so shocked I stopped dead at the bottom of the staircase, so that Hobbey bumped into me from behind. Paulet threw me a severe look, but Rich gave a little snort of laughter.

‘Master Shardlake,’ he said. ‘We will not eat you. On my oath, you are turned into a nervous fellow since your time in the Tower.’

Mention of the Tower brought the buzz of conversation among the people in the hallway to a halt. Everyone looked round.

‘Your enquiries are still proceeding, Brother Shardlake?’ Paulet asked coldly. ‘You must have been here, what, a week?’

‘Five days, Sir William.’

Rich gave his thin smile. ‘Oh, Master Shardlake was ever a persistent fellow. No matter what trouble his persistence may land him in.’

‘I act only within the confines of the law,’ I answered steadily.

‘So must all men,’ Rich answered.

‘I take it you have been seeing Sir Quintin Priddis?’ Paulet asked.

‘We have, sir.’

‘Quintin Priddis, eh?’ Rich’s grey eyes widened with curiosity.

‘He is the feodary of Hampshire,’ Paulet said.

‘I knew Sir Quintin when I was studying for the Bar thirty years ago. He gave me some interesting insights about the use of the law. Well, it is a small world at the top. And everyone of importance is heading for Portsmouth now. You should not be so astonished to see me, Master Shardlake.’

‘I knew you were coming, Sir Richard. You passed us on the road last week.’

‘I did not see you.’

‘I was travelling with a company of soldiers.’

‘Soldiers, eh? Well, I am in charge of finance for supplying the army, as I was in France last year. Making sure the merchants do not cheat the King.’ He snuggled his pointed little chin into his fur collar, a courtier enjoying the display of power. ‘Governor Paulet has been seeking my advice on security matters,’ he went on. ‘There is fighting between the soldiers and sailors who find their way to the city every night. If we could hang a few more—’

‘We’re short enough of men,’ Paulet answered curtly. ‘We can’t go hanging the ones we’ve got. I’ll speak to the officers again. Now, Sir Richard, the mayor is waiting within – ’

‘A moment, Sir William,’ Rich said softly. ‘I would have a brief word with my friend Shardlake.’ He waved a hand at our party. ‘The rest of you, go.’ Barak hesitated, and Rich snapped, ‘You too, Jack Barak. Always nosing around, ever since you served Lord Cromwell that lost his head.’ Barak turned reluctantly and joined the others at the entrance.

‘Now, Matthew Shardlake.’ Rich stood close, I saw the heavy gold links of his chain, the smoothness of his narrow cheeks, smelt garlic on his breath. ‘Listen to me, well and carefully. It is time for you to complete your business and hasten back to London. The King and Queen are at Godalming, they will be here in the middle of next week. My intelligence is that the King does not know you are Queen Catherine’s friend. And if he did, and saw you here, he might be displeased with you again.’ He leaned forward, poked my chest with a narrow finger. ‘Time to be gone.’

‘Sir Richard,’ I asked quietly, ‘why does it matter to you where I am or what I do?’

Rich inclined his head and smiled. ‘Because I do not like you. I do not like the sight of your bent back or your long nose or your busy little eyes with their censorious look. And I am a member of his majesty’s Privy Council, so when I say it is time for you to go, you go.’ He turned away, his long robe billowing as he walked back to where Paulet stood watching inside the doorway. I went back to the others, my stomach churning. Dyrick looked at me curiously.

‘Was that Sir Richard Rich?’

‘It was.’

Dyrick laughed. ‘I think he does not love you, Brother.’

‘No,’ I answered quietly. ‘No, he does not.’

THE OSTLER brought the horses round. There was little space to mount in the crowded street; one of the horses almost backed into a water carrier bent double under his huge conical basket.

‘What did that evil little arsehole want?’ Barak whispered.

‘Not now. I’ll tell you when we’re on our own.’

Hobbey looked at David and Hugh. ‘We shall ride down to the bottom of Oyster Street. We should be able to see the big ships anchored at Spithead from there. But then we will leave Master Shardlake to meet his friend and go home.’

‘Could we not ride out to South Sea?’ David asked. ‘Look at the new castle?’ There was still a sadness in his face; I thought, he seeks distraction.

‘I have preparations to make for the hunt. And I want you boys back home. Apart from anything else, these scabby crowds will be alive with fleas.’

I wondered if the boys would argue further, but Hugh merely shrugged. David looked surly.

We rode on down the High Street, past the church, a solid Norman building with heavy buttresses. At a little distance I saw the walls of what looked like a former monastic house; tall, narrow buildings were visible over the wall, and the round tower of a large church.

‘That is the old Godshouse,’ Hobbey said. ‘It was a monastic hospital, and lodging for travellers. It is being used as a meeting place now, and a storehouse for military equipment. We must turn here.’

We had halted in a broad space where several streets met. Opposite us the walls ended at a large square tower. Bronze and iron cannon pointed out to sea, the sun glinting on the bronze barrels. Some soldiers were drilling on a wide platform. Hugh and David looked at them with keen admiration. We turned right into a paved street fronting a little tidal bay almost enclosed by a low, semi-circular spit of land. ‘That little harbour is the Camber,’ Hobbey said. ‘God’s death, it smells foul today.’

‘The marshy spit is the Point,’ Hugh added.

‘If we ride down to the other end we can see the ships across the Point,’ Hobbey said. ‘Come, let us get on.’

It took only a few minutes to ride down Oyster Street. The town wall continued along the eastern half of the spit opposite us, ending in a high round tower topped with more heavy cannon. Oyster Street was full of shops and taverns. Labourers stood outside, drinking beer. We rode carefully past soldiers and sailors, carters and labourers, and numerous merchants engaged in busy argument. At the far end of the street the circular spit of land ended at a narrow opening to the sea. Opposite the opening, at the end of Oyster Street, a broad stone jetty stood surrounded by warehouses. Goods were being carried in constantly from carts that pulled up outside, while other men brought out supplies and loaded them onto little supply boats.

We rode to the jetty, passing a group of well-dressed merchants disputing the price of biscuit with an official. Hugh’s gaze was drawn by two labourers carrying a long, slightly curved box carefully to the jetty.

‘A longbow box,’ he said wistfully.

WE HALTED a little beyond the jetty, where a walkway ran under the town walls. From here we could see across the narrow harbour entrance to the Gosport shore. There several more forts stood, mightily armed with cannon.

Hugh waved an arm across the wide vista. ‘See, Master Shardlake, the harbour is protected on all sides by guns, from the Round Tower over to the Gosport forts.’

But my attention had been drawn by a sight even more extraordinary than we had seen in Portsmouth Haven – the forest of high masts in the Solent. Perhaps forty ships stood at anchor, varying in size from enormous to a third the size of the ones we had seen in the Haven. The upper parts of the bigger ships were brightly painted with shields and other emblems, and their decks all bristled with cannon. One large ship was furling its giant sails; a drumbeat sounded across the water as men laboured at the rigging.

Then, as we watched, an extraordinary vessel sped up the Solent towards them. Near two hundred feet long, it had only one mast. The sail was furled, and it was propelled by two dozen giant oars on each side. A large cannon was mounted at the front, and there was an awning at the back, decorated in cloth of gold that sparkled in the sun. There an overseer stood, beating time on a drum. I saw the heads of the rowers moving rapidly to and fro.

‘Jesu, what is that?’ Dyrick asked, his voice hushed for once.

‘I heard the King had built a great galley,’ Hobbey answered. ‘It is called the Galley Subtle.’

I thought, according to Leacon the French have two dozen.

‘Beautiful,’ Hugh said quietly. The huge galley changed course, moving past the moored warships towards the mouth of the harbour, leaving a long ribbon of churning white wake.

‘There, Shardlake,’ Dyrick said. ‘Something to tell your friends in London when you get home. Maybe the sight will be some compensation when you see my bill of costs!’

‘If we get home,’ Barak murmured in a low voice.

Hobbey turned his horse. ‘Now, boys, we must go back to Hoyland.’

‘Do we have to?’ David asked.

‘Yes. We can ride up one of the side streets, it will be quieter. Until later, Master Shardlake.’ He looked at me steadily. ‘And as Vincent said earlier, you saw what Sir Quintin Priddis thought of this matter. I hope and expect it will all be over on Monday. Come, boys.’

HOBBEY AND his party rode away, leaving Barak and me on the walkway. ‘It must be almost twelve,’ I said.

‘Let’s get on, then.’ The sight of all the ships seemed to have disturbed him. We rode back towards the jetty.

‘Hobbey wants this hunt so much,’ I mused. ‘Yet Abigail said it is not safe. And we still have no clue why—’

He cut across me, his tone sharp, anxious. ‘What happened with Rich?’

I told him, adding, ‘It is odd he should be waiting there, just like at Whitehall. And with Paulet of all people.’ I hesitated. ‘And Richard Rich is one who could easily engage some corner boys to set on somebody.’

To my surprise Barak turned his horse round, blocking my way. It whickered nervously, and Oddleg jerked his head back.

‘What are you doing?’ I asked.

‘Trying to make you listen!’ Barak’s eyes glistened with anger. ‘I can’t believe you just said that. You see Richard Rich and now you try to tangle him in this. The army is here, all the King’s ships are here, nearly everyone important is coming here. Rich is on the Privy Council and Paulet is governor of Portsmouth. Where the hell else would they be? There is nothing to this. Hugh is safe and well and if Mistress Hobbey sees bogles under the bed, who gives a rat’s arse?’

I was surprised by the force of his outburst. I said stiffly, ‘I think Hobbey and Priddis have been creaming the profits off Hugh’s woodland for years.’

Barak grabbed his cap and threw it on the dusty road in frustration. ‘But you can’t prove it, and Hugh doesn’t give a shit anyway! And why in Jesus’s holy name would Richard Rich care twopence about the affairs of a small estate in Hampshire? God’s death, Mistress Hobbey is not the only one seeing bogles everywhere.’

Barak had been angry with me before, but never like this. ‘I only want to ensure Hugh is safe,’ I said quietly. ‘And you have no need to speak to me like that.’

‘You can surely see that he is safe. The little shit.’

‘Why do you call him that?’

‘Didn’t you see him back there, calling that galley thing beautiful. Who were the oarsmen, eh? People picked up off the London streets, like those Corporal Carswell said are brought ashore as corpses. I was on the streets as a child and if I learned anything it was how damned hard it is for any human creature to cling onto this earth. Plenty don’t, they get struck down by disease like Joan, or like my first baby that never even saw the light of day. But people like Hugh just want to bring more blood and death. But he’s safe enough, living in that damned priory, waited on hand and foot.’

‘He would serve in the army if he could!’

‘Damn the army! And damn him! We need to get out of here, get home before the fucking French come and blow all those ships to fragments!’

I looked at him. My mind had been so concentrated on Hugh and Ellen that I had forgotten what was going on around us. ‘Very well,’ I said quietly. ‘Unless I find some evidence of serious wrongdoing against Hugh, we will leave on Tuesday, after Priddis and his son have visited. Perhaps you are right. But I want to see what Leacon has to say about Coldiron and this man West.’

‘You’d leave Ellen’s matter alone too if you’d any sense. Who knows what you may stir up? But so long as we leave on Tuesday.’

I raised a hand. ‘I said so. Unless I find this monstrous wrong Michael said had been done to Hugh.’

‘You won’t. There isn’t one.’

Barak turned his horse round and we went past the jetty, back into Oyster Street. Two soldiers, unsteady with drink, shoved a labourer aside. He turned and let out a stream of angry curses. Barak pointed at an inn sign, the royal lion of England painted bright red.

‘That’s it,’ he said. ‘Let’s get this done.’

Chapter Twenty-seven

BARAK FOUND an ostler to take the horses, and we entered the inn. The interior was hot, noisy, the floor covered with filthy straw. A group of carters were arguing loudly over whether hops or corn were harder to carry; a circle of Italians in striped woollen jerkins sat dicing at a table. Leacon waved to us from a small alcove by the window, where he sat with Tom Llewellyn and an older man. I asked Barak to fetch half a dozen beers from the hatch, and went over to them. Leacon had removed his half-armour and helmet, which lay on the straw beside him.

‘A useful meeting?’ I asked.

‘Not very. They still haven’t decided whether we are to be posted on the ships or on shore to repel the French.’

‘Pikemen are more use on the shore,’ the older man said.

Leacon clapped Llewellyn on the shoulder. ‘Tom here tried his Welsh with two captains from Swansea.’

‘I’m glad my father was not there to see me stumble,’ the boy said ruefully.

‘Now, Master Shardlake,’ Leacon said, ‘I have found your Philip West. He is assistant purser on the Mary Rose. And the ships’ officers too are meeting this morning. At the Godshouse.’

‘We saw the Godshouse as we rode in.’

‘I will take you there afterwards. But first let me introduce Master John Saddler. He is whiffler to a company of pikemen here.’

I nodded to Saddler. He was short and stocky, with small, hard blue eyes and a lantern jaw framed by a short grey beard. I sat, removing my cap and coif with relief. Barak joined us with the drinks and passed them round.

‘Now, sir,’ Leacon addressed Saddler. ‘Tell my friend what you know of that good man William Coldiron.’

Saddler studied me, his eyes coldly speculative. ‘That’s not his real name, if it’s the man I knew. Though he had good reason to change his name. He was christened William Pile. Captain Leacon here has been asking all the old veterans if they’d heard of him. It was the description I recognized. Tall and thin, around sixty now, an eye out and a scar across his face.’

‘That’s Coldiron.’

‘How do you know him, sir?’ Saddler asked curiously.

‘I have the misfortune to have him for my steward.’

Saddler smiled, showing stumps of discoloured teeth. ‘Then watch your silver, sir. And when you return home, ask him what he did with our company’s money when he deserted.’

‘Deserted? He told me he was at Flodden and killed the Scottish King.’

Saddler laughed. ‘Did you believe him?’ he asked, mockery in his voice.

‘Not for a second. Nor would I continue to employ him, for he is a lazy, lying drunkard, but I feel sorry for his daughter that came with him.’

Saddler’s eyes narrowed. ‘A daughter? How old would she be?’

‘Mid-twenties, I would say. Quite tall, blonde. Her name is Josephine.’

Saddler laughed. ‘That’s her! That’s our old mascot.’

‘Your what?’

Saddler leaned back, folding his arms over a flat stomach. ‘Let me tell you about William Pile. He was a Norfolk man, like me. We were both levied into the army for the war against the Scots, back in 1513. We were in our twenties then. William was at Flodden, that’s true, but unlike me he wasn’t standing on that moor as the Scotch pikemen ran down the ridge at us. William Pile’s father was an estate reeve and got him a job working in the stores. He was well in the rear that day, as always. Killed the Scottish King, my arse.’ He smiled coldly. ‘And that’s just the beginning. After the 1513 war, which got us fuck all like every war this King’s made, we both stayed in the army. Sometimes we’d be with the garrison at Berwick, sometimes in Calais. Boring times mostly, hardly any action. That suited William, though. He liked to spend his days drinking and dicing.’

‘So, you knew Coldiron – Pile – well?’

‘Surely. Never liked the old shit, but I used to marvel at how he got away with things. We served together for years, I was promoted to whiffler, but William stayed an army clerk, no ambition beyond creaming what he could from the men’s rations and cheating at cards. He’d no prospect of marrying, not with that face. Let me guess, he told you he got his injuries at Flodden.’

‘That’s right.’

Saddler laughed sardonically. ‘This is what really happened. One evening in Caernarfon Castle William was playing cards. There was a big Devon fellow with us, six feet tall and with a vile temper when he was drunk, which they all were that night or William would have been more careful in his cheating. When the Devon man realized he’d been done out of a sovereign, he stood up, grabbed his sword and slashed William across the face.’ He laughed again. ‘God’s nails, you should have seen the blood! They thought he would die, but stringy fellows like William are hard to kill. He recovered and came with us to France two years later on campaign.’

‘I remember that war. I was a student then.’

‘The campaign in ’23 was a pathetic affair, the soldiers did little more than raid the countryside round Calais. Put a few French villages to the fire.’ He chuckled again. ‘Sent the village women running out over the muddy fields screaming, skirts held up round their big French bums.’ Saddler looked up, enjoying my look of distaste.

‘There was this one village, all the people ran like rabbits as we came down the road. We went in to see what we could take from the houses before we burned them. Don’t look like that, master, spoil from stripping the countryside is the only money soldiers make from war. The French will take plenty if they land here. Anyway, there wasn’t much in this dump to take back, just a few pigs and chickens. We were setting the houses afire when this little girl ran out of one, screaming at the top of her voice. About three she was. She’d been left behind. Well, some soldiers get soft-hearted.’ Saddler shrugged. ‘So we took her back to Calais with us. The company cared for her, shared rations with her. She was quite happy, we sewed her a little dress in the company colours, and a little hat with the Cross of St George on.’ Saddler took a drink of beer and sniggered. ‘You should have seen her, toddling about the barracks waving the little wooden sword we’d made for her. Like I said, our mascot.’

Leacon was staring at Saddler, his face bleak. I fought down my disgust at the man. He went on, ‘Her name was Josephine. Jojo we called her. She learned some English from the men. Well, after a while the army was ordered to sail home, tails between our legs again. We were going to leave her behind, find someone in Calais to take her. But William Pile, your Coldiron, he said he’d take Jojo with him. He was thinking of retiring from the army and he would raise her to keep house for him. Maybe other things if she turned out pretty.’ Saddler glanced at us, leering. Tom Llewellyn looked shocked. Leacon stared at Saddler as though he were the devil.

‘Well, William did retire, but not in the usual way. As soon as we got back to England he stole the company’s supply money and disappeared. Took Josephine with him. We were sent to Berwick afterwards and kept on short rations, the officers weren’t going to put their hands in their pockets. Never heard of William again till now. He would have been hanged if he’d been caught.’ Saddler crossed his arms, still smiling. ‘That’s the story. Did Josephine turn out pretty, by the way?’

‘Pretty enough,’ I answered coldly.

Saddler frowned. ‘I remember that three months on short rations on the Scottish border. If you can get William Pile hanged that would be a favour to me.’

Leacon stood up and put on his helmet and gorget. Llewellyn followed. ‘Thank you, Master Saddler,’ Leacon said stiffly. ‘Master Shardlake and I have someone to meet and then I must go back to camp. We are grateful for your help.’

Saddler raised his glass and smiled at me. ‘Goodbye, sir. Remember me to Madame Josephine.’

OUTSIDE the street seemed more crowded and noisy than ever.

‘I’ll walk to the Godshouse with you,’ Leacon said. ‘You may need my authority to get in. I don’t have to go back to camp just yet, I just had to get away from Saddler.’

‘I understand.’

‘What did you make of his story?’

‘It fits with what I know of Coldiron.’ I smiled grimly. ‘I have a hold over him now. I plan to kick him out, but keep Josephine on if she wishes to stay.’

‘How does he treat her?’

‘Badly. But she obeys every word he says. She believes herself his daughter.’

Leacon looked doubtful. ‘Then she may not want to part from him.’

I smiled wryly. ‘A meddler may make a worse muddle, eh?’

‘That he may,’ Barak agreed pointedly. Then he scratched his head fiercely. ‘I think I’ve got lice.’

I shuddered. ‘And I can feel fleas. That tavern must be full of them.’

Leacon smiled. ‘You should get your hair cut, Jack.’

‘Everyone in camp has lice,’ Llewellyn added gloomily. ‘And I’ve lost my comb.’

‘You’re not the only one,’ Leacon said. ‘I wish you men would remember to keep track of your things.’

Barak looked out over the stinking Camber. Beyond, the masts of the ships moored in the Solent were just visible. ‘The foul humours of this place will bring disease before long.’

‘Well,’ Leacon said firmly, ‘here we must stay till the French come.’ He turned to Llewellyn. ‘Would you go back to camp? Tell Sir Franklin I will return soon.’

‘Yes, sir.’

I said to Barak, ‘Go back with him, Jack, take the horses and wait for me in camp. I think it would be best if I spoke with Master West alone.’

‘All right,’ he agreed reluctantly. He and Llewellyn walked back to the tavern. Leacon and I continued down Oyster Street. Leacon said quietly, ‘Saddler was on the Scottish campaign last year, he told me about all the plate and cloth he took from Edinburgh. But he is right, soldiers have always seen spoil as the legitimate fruit of war, waited for the cry of “Havoc!” Men like Saddler though – nothing they see affects them, they have hearts like stones. Thank God I only have one or two like that under my command, like Sulyard, who insulted you. When Saddler talked about those villagers running across the fields – ’ He broke off.

‘It reminded you of the woman by the roadside in France with the dead baby?’

His blue eyes had that staring look again. ‘The strange thing is I didn’t think much of it at the time. I saw so many things. But afterwards she and that dead baby would suddenly jump into my mind’s eye. Let us change the subject,’ he said wearily. ‘It does me no good to dwell on it.’

‘What do you know of Master West? Thank you for finding him so quickly, by the way.’

‘We in the army are making it our business to find out about the ships’ officers; we may be serving under them.’ He looked at me seriously. ‘What is this about, Matthew?’

I hesitated. ‘A private matter. Legal.’

‘Well, I am told West is an experienced officer, stern but fair with those under him. When the French come he will have the hardest test of his life before him.’ Leacon looked at me. ‘Is this a question affecting his abilities as an officer? If it is, I should know.’

‘No, George, it is not.’

Leacon nodded, relieved.

WE HAD RETURNED to the open area in front of the Square Tower. We walked on to a gatehouse giving entrance to the walled Godshouse. A cart full of crates of cackling geese was going in, watched by soldiers with halberds who stood guard. Leacon walked across to them.

‘Is the meeting of ships’ officers still going on?’ he asked one.

‘Yes, sir. They’ve been in a while.’

‘This gentleman has a message for one of the officers.’

The guard looked at my lawyer’s robe. ‘Is it urgent, sir?’

‘We can wait till they are finished.’

The man nodded. ‘They’re meeting in the great chamber.’

We passed into the enclosure. Inside was a wide yard, dominated by a large Norman church surrounded by a jumble of tall buildings. At the rear of the complex what had once been a garden was now full of animals in pens – pigs, cows and sheep.

‘I’ll go across to the great chamber,’ Leacon said. ‘Leave a message that someone wants to speak to Master West after the meeting. See, there are some benches by the garden, I’ll tell the clerk you’ll wait there.’

He walked away to the largest building, and I went over to some stone benches set in the shade of the wall. I guessed they had been built for patients and visitors to rest on and look at the garden. It was not a restful place now. The cartload of geese was being unloaded, the geese hissing and cackling as they were carried into a penned-off area. Nearby some large wicker baskets had been piled up. The brightly coloured heads of fighting cocks, brought no doubt for the soldiers’ entertainment, stared out angrily.

A few minutes later Leacon marched back across the yard. He sat down beside me, took off his helmet with relief, and ran a hand through his blond curls. ‘I’ve got those damned lice,’ he said. ‘This hair comes off today. Well, I’ve left the message. ‘Look for Master West when they come out. I am told he is a tall grey-bearded man.’

‘Grey-bearded already? He can’t be much past forty.’

‘He may be greyer yet before this is done.’

‘What do you think will happen?’ I asked quietly.

‘It could be bad, Matthew. You’ve seen the fleet?’

‘Ay. I never saw such a sight, even at York. Those great ships. We saw a huge galley rowing in earlier. The Galley Subtle, Hugh Curteys called it.’

‘The boy who shot so well? He was remarkable. Yes, I heard the Galley Subtle was coming in. Much good it will do against the twenty-two Lord Lisle has reported the French have. Equipped with powerful cannon and rowed by slaves experienced in Mediterranean fighting. If they get in close, they could sink our big ships before they can fire on them. Our galleasses are clumsy in comparison. And the French have over two hundred warships; even if our ships get close enough to grapple with theirs we are greatly outnumbered. There was word today of our company going on the Great Harry, but nothing is certain. In some ways that would be good, for it is one of the few of our ships which is taller than the French ones. If our archers are up in the castles we would be able to fire down on their decks. Though if they have netting we would have to shoot through that.’

‘I saw what looked like netting on top of the Mary Rose aftercastle as we arrived.’

‘All the big warships have netting secured across the tops of their decks to stop boarders. If the ships grappled together, and French soldiers tried to clamber onto our decks, they would be caught on top of the netting. There will be pikemen positioned below the netting to stab up at them before they can cut through it with their knives.’ He looked at me. ‘It will be hard and brutal fighting if the warships do grapple.’

‘Hugh said the guns in the forts will stop the French getting into Portsmouth Haven.’

‘If the French manage to disable our fleet, the French galleys could land men on the Portsea coast. That’s why there are so many soldiers posted along there. And if the French have thirty thousand men – well, we have maybe six thousand soldiers, many of them foreign mercenaries. Nobody knows how the militia will do. They are stout-hearted but little trained. The fear is that the French may land somewhere on Portsea Island and cut it off from the mainland. The King himself could end besieged in Portsmouth. You’ve seen they’re preparing for a siege.’

‘Is it really so bad?’

‘Chance will play a big part. In a sea battle all depends on the winds, which the sailors say are unpredictable here. That could make or mar us.’ He paused. ‘My advice to you is to get away as soon as you can.’

I thought of Rich. ‘Someone else gave me that advice earlier today.’

‘There could be hard fighting on the beaches.’

‘Do you think you will go there or on the ships in the end?’

‘I don’t know. But either way my men and I will fight to protect the people. Do not doubt it.’

‘I don’t. Not for a moment.’ Leacon had placed his hands on his knees and I saw one was trembling again. He made a fist of it.

‘Pray God it does not come to that,’ I said quietly.

‘Amen.’ He looked at me. ‘You have changed much since York, Matthew. You seem to have a weight of anxiety and sadness in you.’

‘Do I?’ I sighed heavily. ‘Well, perhaps I have reason. Four years ago I drowned a man. Then two years after that I was nearly drowned myself, shut in a sewer with a madman. Since then – ’ I hesitated. ‘I am used to the Thames, George, but the sea – I haven’t seen it since I sailed back from Yorkshire. It seems so vast, I confess it frightens me.’

‘You are no longer young, Matthew,’ he said gently. ‘You are well past forty now.’

‘Yes, my hair has grey well mingled with the black.’

‘You should marry, settle down, have a quiet life.’

‘There was one I would have married, a while ago, the widow of a friend. She lives in Bristol now. She writes from time to time. She is my age and in her last letter said she will soon be a grandmother. So yes, I begin to grow old.’

The sound of voices from the infirmary made us look up. In the doorway men in bright doublets were buckling on swords. Servants were leading horses round from the outhouses. Leacon stood. ‘I will leave you now. I will see you back at camp. Take care.’ He laid a hand on my shoulder, then turned and walked away to the gates. I watched him go, with his soldier’s straight back and long stride.

OUTSIDE THE infirmary two men were arguing, surrounded by a group of interested onlookers. One was tall and grey bearded, well dressed and with a sword at his waist; the other wore a clerk’s robe. I heard the tall man shout, his voice carrying. ‘I tell you, with three hundred soldiers as well as two hundred sailors and all those cannon she’ll be overloaded! And what about the weight of all the supplies, if we’re victualled for five hundred?’ The clerk said something in reply. ‘Nonsense,’ the grey-bearded man shouted. The clerk shrugged and walked away. The other man detached himself from the group and marched across to where I sat. As he came close I saw Philip West was not only grey but half-bald. He wore a short jacket and a high-collared doublet with satin buttons, his shirt collar raised to make a little ruff in the new fashion. He halted before me. His tanned, weathered face was deeply lined, his expression strained. He gave me a puzzled frown. ‘Is it you left a message for me?’ he asked in a deep voice.

I rose stiffly. ‘Yes, sir, if you are Master West.’

‘I am Philip West, assistant purser on the Mary Rose. What does a lawyer want with me?’

I bowed. ‘I am Serjeant Matthew Shardlake. I regret to trouble you now, sir, but I am trying to trace someone. For a client.’ I studied West’s face. If he was around forty now he had aged far beyond his years. His small, deep-set brown eyes were searching, his whole bearing that of a man burdened with responsibility.

‘Who do you seek? Quick, man, I have little time.’

I took a deep breath. ‘A woman from Rolfswood. Ellen Fetti-place.’

West’s shoulders sank, as though I had placed a final, unbearable burden upon them. ‘Ellen?’ he said quietly. ‘What is this? I have not heard of her in nineteen years. Then two days ago I saw Priddis riding in the town, or what is left of him. And now you come.’

‘I have a client who is seeking relatives; he heard there was a family called Fettiplace in Rolfswood. I have come to Hampshire on business and I called in there.’

West was looking at me intently now. ‘So you do not know whether she is still alive?’

I hesitated. ‘No.’ I felt as though each lie was drawing me further into a bog. ‘Only that after the accident her reason was affected, and she was taken away to London.’

‘Then you have come to me with this, now, for no other reason than someone’s fool curiosity?’ West’s voice rose in anger.

‘My client, I am sure, would help Ellen if he knew where she was.’

‘And he is called Fettiplace? Does he not know others of that name in London? Does he know nothing of her?’ He frowned, his eyes searching me hard.

‘No, sir. That is why he seeks relatives.’

West sat down on the bench I had vacated, looked away and shook his head a couple of times as though trying to clear it. When he spoke again his tone had changed completely. ‘Ellen Fettiplace was the love of my life,’ he said with quiet intensity. ‘I was going to ask her to marry me, despite – ’ He did not finish the sentence. ‘On the day of the fire I rode over from Petworth to tell her father my intentions. I was with the King’s court, which was on summer Progress at Petworth. Master Fettiplace said he would support the match if Ellen agreed. I had asked him to meet me in private, Ellen was not present. He agreed to the match. Duties meant I had to ride back to Petworth that night, but I planned to travel back and see her two days later, make my proposal. It is not a thing one wants to rush.’

‘No.’

‘But next day a message arrived at Petworth from the curate, telling me about the fire and that Master Fettiplace was dead.’

‘Reverend Seckford? I spoke with him when I went to Rolfs-wood.’

‘Then he will have told you Ellen refused to see me after the fire?’

‘Yes. Or anyone else. I am sorry.’

West seemed to want to talk. ‘Ellen liked me, I knew that. But I was not sure she would have me. She would not want to lose her precious independence. Her father allowed her too much.’ He hesitated a long moment, then said, looking at me with haunted eyes that reminded me of Leacon, ‘She was – wilful. She needed someone to master her properly.’ He spoke with a sort of desperate sincerity.

‘You think women should be mastered?’

Anger flared in West’s face again. ‘You presume, sir.’

‘I apologize.’

He continued quietly, ‘What happened to her, it broke me. I never saw her again. So I went to sea. Is that not what men do when their hearts are broken?’ He gave a humourless smile, a rictus showing strong white teeth that seemed to split his brown face in two. He collected himself. ‘Your friend should leave this be. Ellen was taken away to London, she may be dead by now.’

‘I know Sir Quintin Priddis conducted the inquest, and afterwards arranged for her to be taken away. In fact I have business with him, in his capacity as feodary of Hampshire.’

‘Have you spoken with him about this?’ West asked sharply.

‘No.’

‘Then I advise you not to, and to tell your friend to leave this alone. There were things about that fire it is better not to go into, especially after all this time. Priddis did right: it was better Ellen was taken away.’

‘What do you mean?’

He did not answer directly. ‘How much did Seckford tell you about Ellen?’

‘He told me her father indulged her, yes, but also that she was good and loving before the fire.’

‘People outside families often do not see what goes on behind closed doors.’

I thought of the Hobbeys. ‘That is true.’

West clasped his hands together, began wringing them slowly. ‘Ellen was a woman of fierce moods and passions. She used to throw pots and vases at her father when she was angry.’ He hesitated again. ‘There were other things she did, too, that I learned of later.’

I felt a chill run down my back. ‘What things?’

‘When she was younger, if she was angry, she used to set fires sometimes out in the woods. One of my family’s servants told me about it after the foundry fire – he knew one of the foresters.’ West closed his eyes. ‘So you see, sir, though I loved her I knew it was important she be not indulged too much. I can prove nothing, but I think that night when Master Fettiplace told Ellen of my proposal she became angry, and something happened. I do not know what.’

‘You mean Ellen set that fire, killed two people?’ I asked incredulously. ‘How could a woman alone have done that?’

‘God’s death, sir, how should I know? I have never been able to puzzle it out. But two men died. So tell your friend to leave this matter alone. There are no more Fettiplaces in Rolfswood. Now leave me to try and save this country from invasion.’

West stood abruptly, gave me a final hard look, then turned and marched back to the infirmary building. Everyone else was gone now save for a groom who stood silently waiting, holding the reins of a horse. I stayed on the bench, my mind in turmoil.

Chapter Twenty-eight

I RODE BACK through Portsmouth with a head full of dark thoughts. It had never occurred to me that Ellen herself might have started the fire. Could West’s hints be true? I had not liked him, he had a harshness and bitterness in him, but clearly whatever happened at Rolfswood had weighed hard on him ever since. My heart sank further as I remembered Ellen’s words: He burned! The poor man, he was all on fire – I saw his skin melt, turn black and crack! That could be consistent with her causing the fire. But it did not prove it. And there were her other words: They were so strong! I could not move! The sky above – it was so wide – so wide it could swallow me! I remembered Reverend Seckford saying she had had a torn dress, grass stuck to it.

I was drawn back to the present by angry shouts in front of me. A dozen men, barefoot in the dusty street, sailors perhaps, had stepped into the road and were shouting insults at four foreigners passing on the other side of the street. They were barefoot too, dressed in patched, worn shirts and jerkins. A carter behind me pulled up sharply to avoid hitting the Englishmen.

‘Fucking Spanish dogs!’ one shouted. ‘Can’t that ape Emperor Charles even give you decent clothes?’

‘Why should we serve with dirty papists? You’re from that bunch shipwrecked in Devon last winter, ain’t you, that the King took into service? You couldn’t even sail a fucking ship properly!’

The four Spaniards had halted. They glared back at their tormentors, and one of their number stepped into the road facing the Englishmen. ‘Cabrón!’ he shouted angrily. ‘You think we wan’ serve on your ships! Our capitánes make us!’

‘Cappytanis! What’s a fucking cappytanis?’

‘I fight with Cortés in the New World!’ the Spaniard shouted, ‘Against the Mexica! Heathen dogs like you!’

Both groups were reaching for their knives now. Then half a dozen soldiers in half-armour, the corner guards, appeared and stepped between the two groups, swords drawn.

‘Enough! You’re blocking the King’s highway!’

Casting fierce looks at each other, the two groups moved on. The soldiers waved the traffic back into motion.

I was now almost parallel with the Guildhall. Two men stood talking animatedly outside, both in lawyers’ gowns, the elder resting his weight on a stick. Sir Quintin and Edward Priddis. I was not close enough to hear them, but Edward’s expression was worried, a far cry from his air of cold superiority at our meeting. His father seemed to be trying to reassure him. Edward saw me and fell silent at once. I made a bow from the saddle. They bowed back, coldly and formally.

I RODE THROUGH the city gate to the camp. The smell of urine and ordure seemed stronger than ever. A queue waited outside a barber’s tent; the men who came out were close shaved, their hair cropped. Nearby a group had formed a ring around two soldiers, stripped to the waist, who were wrestling. I saw Barak among those watching, standing beside Carswell. Both had been shaved and Carswell’s hair was cut to a short fuzz like Hugh and David’s. I dismounted and led the horse over to them.

‘What did this West have to say?’ Barak asked curtly. I could tell he was still angry with me.

‘Something that shook me. I’ll tell you later.’ I turned to Carswell. ‘We should return to Hoyland now. I would like to say farewell to Captain Leacon. Do you know where he is?’

‘Talking with Sir Franklin in his tent. I don’t think they’ll be long.’

I looked at the wrestlers. One was a big stocky fellow in his twenties, the other, I saw, was Tom Llewellyn. He had a powerful chest and shoulders for one so young. As I watched Llewellyn managed to throw his opponent on the ground, where he lay panting. Some cheered, others looked morose. Many had the big leather pouches in which they carried their belongings at their waists, and various small items were taken out and handed over. Carswell’s neighbour gave him a double-sided nit comb, the thin side black with dead lice, and a tiny bone spoon.

‘What’s that?’ I asked, pointing to the spoon.

‘Ear-wax scoop,’ Carswell answered cheerfully. ‘Useful stuff for waxing your bows.’ He threw a cloth to Llewellyn, who wiped his sweating chest. ‘Well done, lad.’

‘See who’s next,’ Barak murmured. ‘This should be interesting.’ I saw that Sulyard and Pygeon had stepped into the ring. They glared at each other as they removed jerkins and shirts. Sulyard was bigger, and his body looked to have a raw-boned strength; but Pygeon, though stringy, had not an ounce of fat on him. Sulyard put his hands on his hips and turned to the crowd. ‘We won’t be long – those who’ve put bets on lop-ears get ready to lose your stakes!’

Pygeon did not reply, only stared at Sulyard. He shook his arms to loosen them, then shifted his weight from foot to foot to get his balance. He was taking this seriously. Sulyard grinned at him. ‘We should have our own bet, lop-ears,’ he said loudly. ‘Tell you what, if I win I’ll have that rosary you use to say Hail Mary on the quiet. His family are our village recusants, lads!’

‘And if I win,’ Pygeon shouted, ‘I’ll have your brigandyne.’

Sulyard looked taken aback. Several in the crowd laughed. Someone shouted, ‘Take the bet, Sulyard, as you’re so sure of winning.’

Barak said to Carswell, ‘Bet you a half groat Sulyard wins.’

‘Done.’

The fight went on for ten minutes, Sulyard’s thrusting power against Pygeon’s unexpected strength. I realized Pygeon meant to tire Sulyard out. Slowly the camp bully weakened. In the end Pygeon put him down, not with a throw but with a steady, powerful movement that made his stringy muscles stand out. The taller man’s legs buckled, and then Sulyard was on the ground, panting heavily. Pygeon smiled, savouring his triumph.

‘Shake hands and share a loving cup!’ Carswell called out.

Pygeon looked down at Sulyard. ‘Fetch the brigandyne to me when you are recovered, Master.’ He picked up his clothes and walked away. The gamblers who had lost – most of them – reached ruefully for their bags. Barak paid over the half groat. I saw that Leacon had come out of his tent, accompanied by Sir Franklin and Snodin. They stood talking.

‘Come, Jack,’ I said, ‘the afternoon wears on. We must say farewell to Leacon and return to Hoyland.’

Barak raised a hand to the soldiers. ‘Farewell, lads, I must return my master to our gracious hosts!’

‘You’re picking up Carswell’s style of humour,’ I told him as we walked away.

‘No, ’tis my own.’

As we approached Leacon I saw he too had had a barbering. The whiffler Snodin was talking loudly and angrily, ‘Milk bellies that can’t do without beds. Simpering, mumping weaklings—’

‘All right, Snodin,’ Sir Franklin said testily. He stared at me as I approached. ‘Sir Franklin, I am sorry to interrupt, but I would say goodbye to Master Leacon – ’

Sir Franklin waved a hand impatiently. ‘A moment. Snodin, send a message about the deserters to Sir William Paulet. He must alert the shires to look for them.’

‘Yes, Sir Franklin. The fools,’ Snodin burst out with sudden emotion. ‘Why did they do it? I trained those men, I know them.’ He looked at Sir Franklin. ‘Will they hang if they’re caught?’

‘The King has ordered every deserter to be hanged.’

The whiffler shook his head, bowed and walked off. ‘Deserters,’ Leacon told me. ‘Two went last night.’

‘They’ll be caught if they return home.’

Barak and I exchanged glances. If we had followed Alderman Carver’s advice, Barak would have been a deserter. Leacon shook his head sadly. ‘Poor fools. It will be a public hanging if they’re caught. All the companies are below strength now. As are the ships – they say the West Country is stripped of fishermen, the women are having to take the boats out.’

‘I saw some Spanish sailors in town.’

‘They’ll take any foreigner that can sail, save French and Scots.’

Even more with his head shaven Leacon looked, like West, far older than his years. Yet West’s eyes had been clear and sharp, while Leacon’s had that vacant, staring look again. ‘George,’ I said quietly, ‘I fear we must leave you now.’

He nodded. ‘Will you be coming back to Portsmouth?’

‘I think not. We return to London on Tuesday.’ I put out my hand. ‘But my prayers, for what they are worth, go with you and your men. And I hope we may meet once more in London, in happier days. Bring Carswell, I will find him a company of actors.’

‘Happier days. Yes, I long for those.’

BARAK SEEMED to have got over our argument, perhaps because of the reminder about deserters. As we rode back across Portsea Island, I told him what had passed with West.

‘So Ellen could have done it herself.’

‘If West is to be believed.’

‘Is he?’

‘I don’t know. If he was responsible for the attack on Ellen, he has a strong motive for saying something likely to make me – or at least, my imaginary client – drop the matter.’ I looked at him. ‘But do not worry, we will go back on Tuesday as I said. I have no power here, I cannot compel anyone to answer my questions. Least of all Priddis, the one man who could give me information. But back in London,’ I added grimly, ‘there could be ways of bringing pressure.’

‘The Queen?’

‘Maybe. When she returns from Portsmouth.’

‘And what of Hugh?’

I sighed heavily. ‘Unless Priddis’s visit produces something, I have no evidence even that there has been fraud. I cannot in good faith incur more costs.’

‘I’m glad you are seeing sense,’ he said.

We were forced to pull aside from the road by a long line of carts rumbling past, well guarded by soldiers. They were covered with tarpaulins, but protruding from the carts’ tails I saw piles of thick fabric, decorated with elaborate, colourful designs in cloth of gold. Barak looked at me. ‘Are they – ?’

‘They look like the royal tents we saw at York.’

Cart after cart rumbled by, heading not for the town but towards the sea.

‘Is the King going to set up camp on the coast?’ Barak asked incredulously.

‘It looks like it. So he’s going to come right to the front line. Well, he never lacked courage.’

‘Even if they land, the French could never hold England.’

‘The Normans did. You’re right, though, the people would resist hard. But if there’s a chance of bringing us back to Rome the Pope will jump behind the French if they gain a foothold. Emperor Charles too perhaps. God’s death,’ I burst out angrily, ‘has there ever been such a tangle?’

‘Lord Cromwell would have been seeking a way out. But the King won’t do that.’

‘Never. He’ll see England drowned in blood first.’

‘Well,’ Barak said more cheerfully, ‘at least back in London you can do something about Coldiron. Thank you,’ he said, ‘for agreeing to go back.’

I nodded in acknowledgement. ‘You worry about Tamasin, don’t you?’

‘All the time,’ he said with feeling.

We rode on, towards Portsdown Hill.

Chapter Twenty-nine

WE ARRIVED AT Hoyland towards seven, exhausted. I washed and combed myself thoroughly to rid myself of the fleas and lice I had picked up, then lay on my bed thinking about Ellen and Hugh. I could see no way out of either impasse.

I was so tired I slept deeply that night. The next day passed peacefully enough. At meals Abigail barely spoke; she seemed listless, defeated. Dyrick was his usual sharp, aggressive self. Hobbey was guarded, Hugh civil enough, seeming indifferent now to my presence. David, though, was in a strange mood, quiet and restive. A couple of times I caught Fulstowe casting sharp looks at the boy. During the day everyone except Abigail was out, making final preparations for the hunt.

In the afternoon I took a walk in the grounds to try and clear my head, for I thought endlessly of Ellen and who could have started that fire, my mind fairly spinning with it all. In Abigail’s garden the flowers drooped in the endless sultry heat.

THAT EVENING came the first of the events that was to change the life of the Hobbey family for ever.

I was sitting at the table in my chamber, trying to work out the costs that might be awarded against us at the next hearing. They were considerable. The light was beginning to fail. I was vaguely aware that outside the boys were at the butts again, I could hear them through the open shutters. Then I heard a sudden anguished cry. ‘No!’

I rose and looked out of the window. To my amazement Feaveryear was running across the lawn. Hugh and David stood looking at him, too far away for me to make out their expressions. Feaveryear ran as though the devil were after him. He disappeared from view, then I heard running footsteps on the stairs, and a frantic knocking on Dyrick’s door.

THE FOLLOWING MORNING, yet another hot, close July day, we all walked to church. Hobbey led the little procession. Abigail was on his arm, in her best clothes but with her head cast down. Then came Dyrick, Barak and I, followed by Fulstowe at the head of the servants. Barak had not wished to go but I had roused him out, saying we should give no cause for criticism. To my surprise, though, Feaveryear was absent.

‘Is young Feaveryear unwell?’ I asked Dyrick. He had been frowning to himself, preoccupied.

He gave me a sharp, sidelong look. ‘I’ve sent him back to London. There was a letter waiting when we returned from Portsmouth, about a case. I sent him back to deal with it early this morning. There’s no point us both wasting our time here,’ he said, as ever making a point against me.

‘We have had no letters. Barak hoped there might be one from his wife.’

‘It came by special messenger from London. It concerns an important case.’

‘I thought I saw Feaveryear running across the lawn last night.’

He gave me another sharp look. ‘I had called him.’

It was a long walk to the church in the neighbouring village of Okedean. Long too, on their one day of rest, for the Hoyland villagers we passed, who had used the priory church when the nuns were there. Ettis, a pretty wife and three children at his side, crossed our path at the end of a country lane. He bowed and stood aside to let us pass. Abigail gave him a look of hatred.

OKEDEAN CHURCH was small, crowded with the people of both villages. Here, as in Reverend Seckford’s church, they evidently cleaved as much as possible to the old ways, the church smelling heavily of incense, saints still in their niches. I wondered what Hugh’s parents, the reformers, would have made of it. Hobbey, Dyrick and I took places at the front of the congregation in accordance with our rank, next to a stocky, middle-aged man and his haughty-looking wife, whom Hobbey introduced to us as the owner of the neighbouring manor, Sir Luke and Lady Corembeck. Sir Luke, Hobbey said proudly, was a justice of the peace who would be attending his hunt tomorrow. For the first time I heard deference in his voice.

The vicar gave a sermon calling on all to pray and work for the defence of the country, for the men to attend practice with the local militia. I looked at the Doom painting behind him, Christ on a throne in judgement, his face serene, angels guiding the virtuous to heaven while below the pale and naked sinners tumbled into a lake of fire. I remembered Feaveryear saying soldiers and sailors who died in battle without finding salvation must end in Hell. What had he been running from last night? Where was he?

After the service Hobbey paused for some more words with Sir Luke in the doorway, the servants and villagers walking past us. Lady Corembeck addressed Abigail a couple of times, but she answered in monosyllables, sunk in apathy. At length Hobbey parted from the Corembecks with much bowing, and we walked down the path to the lych gate. Then we saw that a group of about thirty Hoyland villagers were waiting just outside the church, whole families blocking our way. Ettis was at their head. I heard a sharp intake of breath from Hobbey.

Ettis walked over to stand boldly in front of him, his square face set hard. Fulstowe stepped to Hobbey’s side and put his hand to his dagger.

‘No need for that, Master Fulstowe,’ Ettis said quietly. ‘I want only to say something to your master.’ He indicated the villagers behind him. ‘See those people, Master Hobbey. Look hard, you will see some that your steward here has been pressing to abandon their land. My support is growing. We intend to bring a case in the Court of Requests.’ Dyrick looked at me suspiciously. Ettis continued, ‘So be warned, sir, keep your men off our woodlands, for they will shortly be subject to legal proceedings. I tell you this before all these people here assembled, including Sir Luke Corembeck, our justice of the peace.’

Abigail marched up to him. ‘Churl and knave to torment us so!’ she shouted, right into his face.

Ettis stared back at her with contempt. Then David ran past his mother and stood before the villagers, his face red. ‘Hedge-pigs! Lumps! Cattle! When I am lord here I will drive you all out, you will all beg, beg!’

Some of the villagers laughed. ‘Get back to the nursery!’ one shouted.

David looked round in helpless frustration. Then he gave a strange, puzzled frown. His limbs started to jerk, little flickering spasms, his eyes rolled up in his head and he collapsed on the ground. The villagers took a step back; there were frightened murmurs from some of the women. Abigail put her hands to her cheeks and uttered a gasping groan. On the ground David was twitching wildly now, like a puppet.

‘What’s he doing?’ someone called out.

‘He’s possessed, get the priest!’

Then someone said, ‘It’s the falling sickness,’ and Abigail groaned once more.

It was; I had seen it in London. That dread disease where those afflicted seem normal most of the time but can be struck down, out of the blue, to lie jerking on the ground. Some believed it a type of madness, others a form of possession.

Abigail sank on her knees and tried to still her writhing son. ‘Help me, Ambrose, for pity’s sake!’ she cried. ‘He’ll bite his tongue!’ I thought, so this has happened before.

Fulstowe unbuckled his dagger from his belt and thrust the leather scabbard between David’s teeth. His lips were flecked with white foam now. I saw Dyrick looking on, astonished. Hobbey stared at his son, then at the watching crowd. He called out, in a voice full of rage and pain, ‘Well, you have seen! Now in God’s name go, leave us!’ Next to him, Hugh stood looking blankly at David. No pity, nothing.

The villagers did not move. A woman said, ‘Remember that carpenter who came to live in the village – he had the falling sickness!’

‘Ay, we stoned him out!’

Sir Luke Corembeck came to life. ‘Disperse, I order you!’ he called.

People began to move away, though they looked back at David, with fear and loathing. He lay still a moment, then sat up, groaning. He looked up at his mother. ‘My head hurts,’ he said and began to cry.

Hobbey came over to him. ‘You had an attack,’ he said gently. ‘It is all right, it is over.’

‘They all saw?’ David asked in horror. His face wet with tears, he looked wildly round. Hobbey and Fulstowe helped him to his feet. Hobbey clasped his son’s arm.

‘I am sorry, David,’ he said gently. ‘I feared this would happen one day. It was the fault of Ettis and his people.’ He turned to Sir Luke. ‘Thank you, sir, for dispersing them.’ At that moment I had to admire Hobbey’s dignity. He swallowed hard, then continued, ‘I fear, as you have seen, my son has the falling sickness. It comes on seldom, a little rest and he will be as normal again.’

‘Ettis and his churls caused this,’ Sir Luke said. ‘Jesu, it is a fine day when yeomen defy gentlemen.’

We followed the family back down the lanes, Fulstowe and Hugh each with an arm under David’s shoulders. I knew this was very serious for the family; among both gentry and villagers David would now be seen as tainted. I gestured to Barak to hang back.

‘What about that?’ he asked.

‘My guess is they’ve been hiding this for years. Dyrick didn’t know – he was amazed. Dear God, that couldn’t have happened in a more public way. David Hobbey may be a churl, but he didn’t deserve that. By the way, I think there is more to Feaveryear’s going than Dyrick said.’ I told him what I had seen from the window the previous evening. ‘I saw him running as though he’d seen the devil. And Dyrick looks very worried about something.’

‘Maybe David had an attack yesterday, too.’

‘No. He was standing at the butts with Hugh. Whatever happened, Feaveryear ran to tell Dyrick about it. And now he’s gone.’

‘When Abigail said after Lamkin was killed that you couldn’t see what was before your eyes, she must have meant David.’

I shook my head. ‘No. She meant something else. She of all people wouldn’t draw my attention to David’s condition.’ I looked at the group ahead of me: Abigail hovered behind her son. ‘Feaveryear’s lodging is hard by yours. Did you hear him go?’

‘I heard a door slam just after dawn, then his quick little steps. I thought he was going for an early prayer.’

‘What made him run like that, I wonder?’ I knew his disappearance was important, but not why.

Chapter Thirty

THE WOOD WAS delightfully peaceful in the early morning. The birds sang lustily in the trees; a squirrel watched me from the branch of a beech, its bushy red tail bright against the green leaves. I was sitting on a fallen log beside an oak tree in a little glade, comfortable in the loose jerkin and shirt I had donned for the hunt. Behind me, though, I could hear the murmuring voices of the breakfast party on the the other side of the trees, while stealthy rustlings deeper in the park indicated Master Avery and his men were checking the deer tracks. But I had had to get away from them all, just for a minute. Soon enough we would be riding pell-mell through the hunting park. I reflected on all that had happened on the previous day.

WHEN WE HAD returned from church David had been taken upstairs to lie down, protesting all the while that he was quite recovered. Hobbey asked Dyrick to follow him to his study. I was on my way upstairs when Dyrick appeared once more and asked if I would attend Master Hobbey.

The master of Hoyland Priory sat at his desk, his face grave. He asked me quietly to sit. He picked up the hourglass from his desk and turned it over, sadly watching the grains run through. ‘Well, Master Shardlake,’ he said quietly, ‘you have seen that my son has – an illness. It is something we have tried to keep to ourselves. It has been a great strain on my wife; seeing him in a fit strikes her to the heart. Apart from the family only Fulstowe knew. Mercifully David has never had an attack in front of the servants. We kept it even from Master Dyrick.’ He smiled sadly at his lawyer. ‘I am sorry for that, Vincent. But now everyone knows. Ettis and his crew will be mocking David in the village tavern tonight.’ He put down the hourglass and clenched his hand into a fist.

I spoke quietly. ‘Hugh, I take it, has known about David for some time.’

‘David had his first attack shortly after Hugh and Emma came to us, when we were still in London.’

‘And yet still you wanted Emma to marry David. To marry a ward to someone with such a disability as the falling sickness is not allowed.’

Dyrick said curtly, ‘The girl died.’ He looked anxiously at Hobbey, as though he might give away more than he should. But what more could there be?

I asked Hobbey, ‘Hugh has kept it secret all this time?’

He nodded. His eyes were watchful now. ‘He agreed he would tell nobody. And he never has.’

‘It seems a hard thing to impose on the boy.’

‘The fact he has kept silent surely indicates his loyalty to this family,’ Dyrick put in.

‘But for you coming, but for this business – ’ Hobbey’s voice trembled angrily for a moment, but he quickly brought himself under control – ‘it has all put my wife and son under great strain. I think that is why David’s attack came now.’ He gathered himself. ‘I would ask you, as a matter of charity, not to report this to the Court of Wards, not to spread our secret throughout London.’

I studied him. There was a quiet desperation in Hobbey’s face, his mouth trembled for a second. ‘I will have to consider,’ I said.

Hobbey exchanged a look with Dyrick. He sighed. ‘I should go, there are arrangements regarding the hunt.’

‘You are sure it is still wise to go ahead with that?’ Dyrick asked.

‘Yes. I will hold my head high,’ Hobbey added with a touch of his old firmness. ‘Face them. And you must come, Vincent, as my lawyer it would be expected. Master Shardlake,’ he said, ‘will you attend too?’

I hesitated, realizing this was a change of tactics, an attempt to ingratiate himself with me. Then I nodded. ‘Thank you. It may ease me of the stiffness I feel after all my days of riding.’

Hobbey stood. ‘Bring your clerk, if he wishes to come.’ He looked utterly exhausted. ‘And afterwards, Sir Quintin and his son will be arriving. I must arrange hospitality for them.’

I WENT TO my room and sat down heavily on the bed. Should I report David’s condition to the Court of Wards? I had no wish to. But just how far had living with this tense family and its secret affected Hugh? After a few moments’ more thought, I walked up the corridor and knocked at Hugh’s door. After a moment he opened it. ‘Master Shardlake,’ he said quietly. ‘Come in.’

I followed him into the tidy room. It was dim, the shutters half-drawn against the bright afternoon light. A book lay open on his desk, More’s Utopia.

‘You have been giving More another try?’ I asked.

‘Yes, last night. I fear, Master Shardlake, I still find him a dreamer. And Sam Feaveryear said he burned many good men as heretics while he was Lord Chancellor.’

‘Yes, he did.’

‘Then who was he to condemn the violence of war?’

I thought, this boy could make a scholar. I said, ‘Feaveryear has gone.’

He crossed to the window and looked through the shutters. ‘Yes, I got used to seeing his strange little face about. I am told Master Dyrick has sent him back to London.’

‘An urgent case, apparently. He left this morning.’ I hesitated. ‘I saw him running across the lawn yesterday evening.’

Hugh turned, his face expressionless. ‘Master Dyrick had shouted for him.’

‘I did not hear him call. I thought I heard someone shout, “No!” ’

‘You must have misheard, sir. Master Dyrick came out and called. His master’s call would always bring poor Sam running.’ He looked at me, his blue-green eyes keen. ‘Was that why you came to see me?’

‘No.’

‘I thought not.’

‘David’s secret is out.’

‘I wish it were not.’

‘Master Hobbey told me you and your sister learned of his condition shortly after you came to the Hobbeys.’

Hugh sat down on his bed, looking up at me. ‘One day not long after we joined the Hobbeys, David and Emma and I were at class with Master Calfhill. He was angry with David, he had not done his set work and Master Calfhill threatened to tell his father. David told him to go and do something abominable with a sheep. Then suddenly David fell off his chair and began shaking and foaming, just like you saw today. Emma and I were frightened, we thought his bad words had called God’s justice down on him. We still believed such things in those days,’ he added with a bitter little smile. ‘But Master Calfhill recognized the symptoms. He settled David and held his tongue down with a ruler, as Fulstowe did today with his scabbard.’

‘And David’s parents made you and your sister keep the secret?’

‘They asked us to.’ His voice was toneless.

I said, ‘You do not love them as a family, do you? Any of them?’

Hugh’s long, scarred face twitched and for a moment he looked like a child again. Then his composure returned and he stared back at me. ‘Despite everything,’ he said quietly, ‘they spent the next months pressing my sister to marry David. Despite his falling sickness, despite his braggart, bullying ways.’

‘Emma disliked David?’

‘She loathed him. Already when she was thirteen he was pawing at her skirts.’ Hugh’s face darkened. ‘I hit him for it. Master Calfhill took our part. He told us Emma could refuse to marry David. She could go to Wards and tell them David had a taint of body.’

‘That is quite right. It would be what is called a Ravishment of Wards,’ I said quietly. ‘But Master Hobbey still wanted to tie her share of your father’s lands to his family.’

‘Emma and I made plans.’ Anger entered Hugh’s voice. ‘If Master and Mistress Hobbey persisted with their pressure we would threaten to take them to their precious Court of Wards. Master Calfhill had researched the law, he told us that although boys cannot come out of wardship till they are twenty-one, girls can inherit their lands at fourteen.’

‘Yes, unless they refuse a suitable marriage.’

‘A suitable marriage. We planned to wait a few more months till Emma was fourteen, then we would take her lands, sell them, and run away together.’

‘Did you tell Master Calfhill your plans?’

‘No. Perhaps we should have trusted him,’ Hugh added sadly.

‘It would have been complicated, you would have needed a lawyer.’

Hugh gave a high-pitched, bitter laugh. It startled me. ‘It was never put to the test, was it? My sister died, and then it did not matter any more.’ His face twitched again; for a second I thought he would cry but his expression settled into blankness again. I thought, if only Michael Calfhill and Reverend Broughton had known of David’s condition before the wardship was granted. Hugh sighed, then scratched his chest in sudden irritation.

‘I hope you do not have fleas,’ I said. ‘I brought some back from Portsmouth, but thought I had got rid of them.’

‘No, I have more scars there, they itch.’ He scratched again, but carefully.

‘Do you wear Emma’s cross there?’ I asked gently.

He looked up. ‘No, Master Shardlake, I keep it in my drawer. I find it hard to look at.’

‘That is sad.’

‘Perhaps you should not have brought it. No, I still wear my heartstone. You are right, I do not love the Hobbeys. You are good at getting people to talk, sir. But if I cannot go to war, then I will stay here. That is my wish, and you may say so to the Court of Wards.’

‘Why, Hugh?’

He spread his long-fingered hands, gave another bitter laugh. ‘Where else would I go? I am used to the life here, and I do not want a court battle with Master Hobbey. In three years I can sue out my livery and leave.’

‘And then what will you do? Go for a soldier?’

‘Perhaps.’

‘If I can help you then, Hugh, you will find me at Lincoln’s Inn.’

He smiled sadly again. ‘Thank you, Master Shardlake.’ He looked at me intently. ‘In three years – yes, then I may need a friend in the world beyond this place.’

SOME BIRDS flapping their wings in one of the trees surrounding the glade brought me back to myself. I stood and walked back through the wood to a big clearing; there were about thirty people there. Hobbey and the huntsman Avery, together with Fulstowe and Sir Luke Corembeck and two other well-dressed middle-aged men, were bent over a plan of the park set on a sawn-off tree trunk. Large white cloths had been set on the grass, strewn with cushions. There Lady Corembeck sat with two middle-aged ladies. All were dressed for company, the women’s dresses silk and satin, fashionable hoods covering their hair, faces and necks powdered with whitelead. Servants brought glasses of wine and plates of bread and cheese. A little way off some twenty men, those from Hoyland village recruited to help with the hunt, stood with half a dozen horses and the hunting dogs, held on leashes. Barak was talking to them. I was pleased to see Oddleg among the horses.

Hugh and David, with two other boys who looked to be sons of the guests, stood talking with Dyrick. The boys were dressed in different shades of green, as were the villagers. The men with Hobbey wore pinked or slashed doublets, but in pale shades, the usual bright colours of fine clothes absent. The four boys held their unstrung bows and had arrowbags at their belts. I saw swan and peacock feathers on the arrows’ fletches, marks of status, and all wore gloves and wrist guards of horn or embossed leather. David showed no sign of his attack the previous day, but cast worried glances at the two young guests, no doubt wondering if they knew.

The hunt breakfast was the prelude; the ladies would stay here while the menfolk hunted the stag, hopefully returning with it in the large wheeled cart that stood nearby, next to the cloth set with knives and clamps where the animal would be dissected before the company. Sometimes ladies hunted, but not today. I remembered Princess Elizabeth and the Queen telling me she already accompanied the hunt.

The women were conversing with Abigail, lightly but, I saw, uneasily too. They would probably know what had happened outside the church yesterday. Abigail was trying to make conversation, but her voice was high with tension and she fiddled constantly with her napkin. ‘This will be my son’s first hunt,’ she said. ‘It is time such a fine strong boy enjoyed a hunt.’ She looked at the other women defiantly, gave a frightened whinny of a laugh. One of the hunting dogs barked sharply and she flinched. I remembered the whispered conversation I had overheard, Abigail saying it was not safe to have the hunt.

Barak left the servants and came over to me. ‘Sure you want to do this?’ he asked.

‘I have been on a hunt before,’ I replied sharply.

‘It’s more than I have. But they say you should experience everything once, save incest and the plague.’

‘Master Shardlake!’ Hugh was walking over to us. He seemed relaxed now. ‘Are you ready?’

‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘What is to happen?’

‘Myself and the other three archers – ’ he nodded at David and the other boys – ‘will lie in wait at different points along the route. Fulstowe, too.’

‘A great honour for a steward.’

‘Master Hobbey believes he deserves it,’ he answered blandly.

‘I thought usually the young men rode with the chase rather than waiting in ambush in the woods.’

‘Ah, but we want to test our archery skills. Master Stannard there is second in command of his local militia, ten miles off. Here, lads!’ He waved an arm, and David came across with the two others and Dyrick. Dyrick looked ill at ease. I was introduced to Master Stannard and Master Belton, the sons of the two men looking over the plan with Hobbey. Both were only in their late teens; but it was social rank that counted in the military. I thought of Sir Franklin Giffard, past command yet still in charge of Leacon’s company.

‘We saw some militiamen training on the way here last week,’ I said.

‘I’m getting them well trained up in my district,’ Master Stannard said proudly. He was a tall well-built lad, with a round face and swaggering manner. Master Belton was smaller, still with spots peppering his face. ‘Equipment is the problem,’ Stannard went on. ‘By law they should all have their own weapons but many do not even have bows. But they will be ready to march when the beacons are lit.’

‘No greater army ever seen in England,’ David said. I looked at him. There seemed a hectic quality to his excited tones. He met my eye and looked away.

Master Stannard nodded. ‘If we have to, we will crush them by sheer numbers. And I shall lead my militia. Today will be good practice, perhaps I shall take down the stag and gain the heartstone.’

Young Stannard turned to Hugh. ‘You gained the heartstone at my father’s hunt two years ago, did you not? At only sixteen.’

‘I did,’ Hugh answered with pride.

‘It can heal many ills, I am told.’

‘Normally I wear it round my neck. But today I brought it to show you.’ Hugh took off his gloves and reached into the pouch at his belt. He took out a tiny leather bag with a cord attached, opened it and tipped a small, round whitish object into his palm. Barak wrinkled his nose with distaste, but the boys studied it with interest.

‘Even should I gain another, I will always keep this one,’ Hugh said with quiet pride. The boys looked impressed.

Dyrick stepped up to me. ‘I see the horse you have been riding has been brought out for you. He looks a steady beast.’

‘He is.’ I looked at Dyrick in surprise. For once he was making amiable conversation.

Hobbey called out, ‘All of you that are going on the hunt, over here please!’ He waved an arm, and the male guests and the Hoyland men walked across to him. Dyrick put a detaining hand on my arm.

‘Brother Shardlake,’ he said quietly, ‘Feodary Priddis and his son will be here this afternoon. You will have a chance to take young Priddis to view the woods. But afterwards I would ask you to agree that we leave tomorrow. The case I sent Feaveryear away to deal with is difficult. I should be there.’

‘A Court of Wards matter?’

‘An injunction.’ He took a deep breath. ‘And if we leave tomorrow, Master Hobbey has agreed each side in this matter will pay their own costs, out of court. It is a very pretty bargain for your client, you must agree. But otherwise,’ he resumed his usual aggressive manner, ‘I promise we shall press for full costs in court.’

‘Hobbey has agreed this?’ I asked, astonished. It was a very good offer, not one a lawyer would normally make when his opponent’s case had effectively fallen apart.

‘He has. He wants you gone. Christ’s blood, man, has he not enough trouble?’ Dyrick spoke with unusual passion.

I considered. There was only one reason for Hobbey to make this offer; he wanted to make sure David’s condition was not made public in London.

‘My client is not here,’ I said.

‘Come, man, you can agree informally. She will do what you advise. She and the Queen,’ he added bitterly.

‘I will consider, once I have viewed Hugh’s lands with Priddis.’ I looked up, to see Hobbey staring at me intently. ‘Come. We should join the rest.’

WE GATHERED round the tree trunk, and Hobbey introduced Dyrick and me briefly to his new guests as his lawyers. I glanced at Avery. The young man was dressed in leaf-coloured green, a silver hunting horn slung from a baldric round his neck. He had a new air of authority about him as he pointed at the map.

‘This is how we plan to conduct the hunt.’ The map showed the rectangular hunting park, pathways through the trees sketched in. Avery took a piece of charcoal and drew a cross near the outer edge. ‘We are here,’ he said. ‘We will all ride along this path until we reach this track, which turns off. When we are riding, gentlemen, it is important to be as quiet as possible so as not to startle the deer, which are here.’ He drew a circle at a point some way up the track. ‘My men have been tracking them constantly; this is where they lay down to rest last night.’

‘And then we will have them,’ Hobbey said with quiet satisfaction.

Avery looked at him seriously. ‘Not quite, sir. That is when the real hunt begins. Then, and only then, may you forget about silence. The dogs will be loosed, and all the riders must concentrate on separating the stag from the does and fauns, which are only a secondary quarry.’

‘The rascal, as they are called.’ Corembeck smiled knowledgeably. ‘It is all right, sir, I have been hunting many a time.’

‘But if you will excuse me, sir,’ Avery said, ‘not everyone present has.’ He looked around the company, his expression serious. ‘This stag is large, perhaps seven years old, with ten tines on his antlers. It is important to guide him onto the path we wish him to take, but not to get too close lest he turn at bay. As for the rascal, set the dogs on them, with six of the Hoyland villagers to ride after them. The rest of you villagers should wait by the hurdles set across gaps in the trees on the main path, and shout to scare the stag should he try to break through. There are only eight does and some fauns among the rascal, the dogs should bring some down and you men can finish them off with swords or bows.’ Avery studied the villagers. ‘Master Clements, you are in charge of the dogs.’

The young cottager he had addressed smiled broadly. ‘I am ready, sir.’

‘The rest of you, is there anything you do not understand?’

‘If we kill a doe or faun, do we get a choice of the best meat?’ a villager asked.

‘You have been told so,’ Hobbey answered sharply.

‘We’ll take a haunch back for Master Ettis,’ another said, and they laughed. Even among the men Hobbey had recruited, it seemed, there was a rebellious mood. Abigail, sitting on her cushions, turned and glared at the villager who had spoken. ‘Nicholas,’ she called, ‘see that man gets no meat for his rudeness.’

‘Gentlemen!’ Avery slapped a gloved hand on the map. ‘Please, your attention! We will be dealing with a strong and fierce beast!’

‘My apologies,’ Hobbey said. He glared at Abigail. ‘My wife will ruin all with her tongue.’

There was a gasp of indrawn breath among the women at Hobbey’s public insult to his wife. Abigail flushed and turned away. A muscle twitched in Hobbey’s cheek. Then he looked back to Avery. ‘Continue,’ he snapped.

The huntsman took a deep breath. ‘Once the stag is roused out, the hunt proper will begin. We chase him back to the main path, then on to where the archers lie in wait. You men at the hurdles must do your job well, not be frightened if the stag rushes towards you. Away from the path, in the wood, a stag is far fleeter than a horse.’

‘That is right,’ Corembeck agreed portentously.

Next Avery drew five crosses at points well up the path. ‘The archers will be waiting here – Master Hugh, Master David, Fulstowe and our two young guests. You set off ahead of the rest. To one of you will go the honour of loosing the fatal shot, bringing down the stag.’ He looked at the archers. ‘Remember, find good cover and a clear line of shot. And keep still.’ He surveyed the company. ‘As the stag is driven to the archers I will sound my horn – like this – to warn them to be ready. If I need to summon the archers for any reason I will blow my horn thus.’ He sounded a different note. ‘Now, is all clear?’

There was a chorus of assent. Avery nodded. ‘Very well, sirs, to your mounts. Handlers, keep careful hold of the dogs!’

WE WATCHED AS David and Hugh, Fulstowe and the two other boys rode into the wood in single file. A few minutes later Avery gave a signal and the rest of us followed. The only sound was the occasional jingle of harness, quickly silenced. The dogs, though straining at their leashes, knew to be silent. I was between Barak and Dyrick, just behind Hobbey, who rode with Corembeck. At the head Avery set a slow, steady pace. I sensed Oddleg was uneasy at this strange, silent progress and patted him gently.

After half an hour Avery raised a hand and pointed down a narrow side track. It was hard to make no noise as the horses rode along it, brushing against the branches which grew to the edges. And then, as suddenly as when Barak and I had stumbled upon the doe, we were facing a clearing full of deer. It was as Avery had said, several does and fauns, and a large stag too, all feeding peacefully. The animals turned, tensing instantly. The stag raised its head.

And then it began, the rush of quickening blood and the pell-mell chase we had been waiting for. In an instant the does and fauns had turned and fled. The hunting dogs, loosed, sped past us. Six riders rode after them, crashing through the wood.

The rest of us faced the big stag. On my one previous hunt, long ago, I had not seen the stag until it was dead. This one was bigger, the great antlers with their sharp points waving menacingly. It lowered its head at Corembeck, who was nearest. ‘To the side, sir,’ Avery said quietly but clearly. Corembeck guided his horse slowly to the left, smiling with tense excitement. In a second the stag had shot through the resulting gap, back down the path, the massive muscles of its hind legs flexing as it ran. Avery blew his horn and we all followed him, urging our horses on. Barak grinned, his face alight. ‘Jesu, this is something!’ he called out breathlessly.

We chased the stag down the track. A group of men stood on the road, calling ‘Hey! Hey!’ and waving their arms to make it turn right, towards the archers. It shot on down the path and we careered after it. At one point where the trees thinned the stag turned aside, but a big wooden hurdle had been erected across the gap. It turned back to the path and fled on, precious moments lost. As it turned I glimpsed the whites of its eyes, full of terror.

The stag picked up speed, outrunning the horses. I had to focus every sense on riding, watching for overhanging branches. Barak might have been enjoying this but I was not; I feared the dangers of riding so fast in a forest; dreaded the crack of a protruding branch against head or knee.

Then the great beast turned its head towards another gap in the trees, and plunged sideways. There was another hurdle there but it was low. The stag crouched; it was going to try and jump, but villagers had appeared beside the hurdle, waving and shouting. But the stag did not run on; it turned and stood facing us. The riders skidded to a halt. I was still at the front, next to Hobbey now. The stag made a sound, more like a bellow than a grunt, lowered its head and waved its great antlers from side to side. Avery blew his horn, the note that would summon the archers. Then the stag lowered its head and charged.

It ran straight at Hobbey’s mount, catching his horse on the neck. The horse screamed and reared; Hobbey gave a loud cry and toppled backwards, onto me. Oddleg plunged and I felt myself falling, Hobbey on top of me. We landed in a thick bank of stinging nettles, their softness saving us from serious injury, Hobbey’s weight driving the breath from my body. I pushed him off, before he suffocated me, sharp nettle stings biting at my hands and neck. Then I heard a loud ‘thwack’, a soft grunt from the stag and a crash.

I drew deep whooping breaths as Barak ran across and helped me into a sitting position. Avery was helping Hobbey to his feet. Gasping, I looked round. A villager was holding Oddleg, who did not seem injured, though Hobbey’s horse lay kicking in the undergrowth. The men from the village were running up to us. In the centre of the path lay the stag, surrounded by the hunters, an arrow protruding from its chest. As I watched, it took a long, shuddering breath, twitched and lay still. Hugh came up and stood over it, bow in hand, his face a sheen of sweat. Young Master Stannard ran up and clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Well done, Master Curteys. What a shot!’

A slow smile of satisfaction spread across Hugh’s features. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Yes, I did it again.’

Hobbey was breathing fast, clearly shaken. Hugh glanced at him, then looked at me. ‘You are hurt, sir,’ he said. ‘There is blood on your wrist.’

I touched my arm, there was what felt like a deep cut below the elbow. I winced. ‘I must have landed on a piece of wood.’

‘Let me look,’ Barak said.

I removed my doublet and rolled up my sleeve. There was a nasty cut on my forearm, blood leaking fast. ‘You need that bound up,’ Barak said. ‘Here, let me cut off that sleeve, the shirt’s ripped anyway.’

As Barak tended my wound, Hobbey stepped over to his ward. ‘Hugh,’ he said, his voice shaking, ‘thank you, you saved the hunt. Maybe even my life.’

Hugh gave him a wintry smile. ‘I told you, sir, I would make a good shot on the field of battle.’

A horn sounded from somewhere deep in the wood. ‘They’ve killed the does,’ Sir Luke said. ‘Here, you men, move the stag to the side of the path so the cart can come up. And help Master Hobbey’s horse.’ The fallen animal was brought to its feet, fortunately uninjured though trembling violently. Four villagers grabbed the stag by the antlers, and dragged it, trailing blood, to the verge.

THE HUNT DISPERSED, Hobbey ordering everyone to walk or ride back to the clearing. A servant led his limping horse away. Hugh left with the two young gentlemen, enjoying their congratulations. Avery went up the path to fetch Fulstowe and David, who must have been too far up the path to have heard the horn. Hobbey stood, dusty, his clothes torn, rubbing his pale hands. ‘I am sorry I fell on you, sir,’ he said. ‘Will your arm be all right?’

‘I think so. Come, Barak, let us go back to the house.’ I stood, but at once the wood spun round me. Barak helped me sit down again.

‘You’ve had a shock. Rest here awhile.’

Dyrick laughed. ‘Be careful, Nicholas, or he’ll find some way of suing you for trespass against the person.’

‘Be quiet,’ Hobbey snapped. Dyrick’s face darkened and he looked as though he were about to say something, but then he turned and stalked away down the path, just as Avery reappeared with Fulstowe and David. David looked at the stag, the arrow stuck deep in its chest. Fulstowe stepped close. ‘A fine shot,’ he said admiringly. ‘We should raise cups to Master Hugh tonight. He deserves the heartstone as a new trophy.’

‘Had the stag run on to us,’ David said sulkily, ‘I would have got him. It should have been my kill.’

‘God’s death, boy,’ Hobbey snapped. ‘It knocked Master Shardlake and I over. It could have hurt us badly! Fulstowe is right, you should be congratulating Hugh.’

David’s eyes widened. I had never heard Hobbey shout at his son before. David cried out, ‘Oh yes, Hugh is always better than me! At everything. Hugh, Hugh, Hugh!’ He glared at me. ‘Hugh that the hunchback thinks so badly treated.’

‘Go home!’ Hobbey pointed at his son with a trembling finger.

David muttered an obscenity and crashed away into the wood, clutching his bow. I glimpsed angry tears on his face. Hobbey turned to Fulstowe in time to catch him smiling at the exhibition. His eyes narrowed. ‘Go, steward,’ he said. ‘Meet the cart and tell them to get this stag loaded up.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Fulstowe said, an ironic touch in his voice. He too walked away.

‘Agh, my hands,’ Hobbey said. ‘I need to find some dock leaves. Avery, come with me, you know these woods.’

Avery’s eyes narrowed at being addressed like a household servant; nonetheless he accompanied Hobbey down the path. Barak and I were left alone with the dead stag. The birds, driven from the scene by all the clamour, slowly returned to their roosts, and their song began again.

‘This’ll be some story to tell Tammy when I get home,’ Barak said.

‘Dyrick offered me a deal on costs before the hunt,’ I said quietly. ‘If we leave tomorrow after Priddis’s visit, each side will pay their own. I think it’s because of David. I think I must accept.’ I sighed. ‘The mysteries of this house will have to be left to themselves.’

‘Thank God for that.’ Barak looked at me, a rueful smile on his face.

Creaking wheels sounded on the path. Half a dozen men guided the big cart we had seen at the clearing down the lane. It was dripping blood from the does and fauns, which must already have been taken to the clearing.

‘Come on,’ I said. ‘I’m all right now. Let’s go.’

We rode slowly down the path, the servants with the cart doffing their caps as we passed them. It was further than I had realized. My arm throbbed painfully.

I was thinking we must be at the glade soon when Barak touched my shoulder. ‘Look,’ he said quietly. ‘What’s that? Through there?’

‘Where?’ I looked through the trees. ‘I can’t see anything.’

‘Something bright, like clothing.’ He dismounted and walked into the wood. I dismounted too and followed, then almost walked into him from behind as he came to a dead stop.

‘What is it? – ’

I broke off at the extraordinary scene before us. Ahead of us was the little dell I had found that morning, with the fallen log leaning against a tree. For a second my mind whirled, for it seemed I was seeing the unicorn hunt on the tapestry in Hobbey’s hall brought to life. A woman with long fair hair sat on the log, her back against the tree, arms folded on her lap. She stayed quite silent, not moving at our appearance. The images were mixed up and for a second I thought I saw a unicorn’s horn projecting from her brow. Then I realized what was really there. Abigail Hobbey, pinned to the tree behind her by an arrow through her head.

Part Five

THE UNQUIET DEAD

Chapter Thirty-one

BARAK AND I sat at the end of the big dining table in the great hall of Hoyland Priory. Fulstowe, Dyrick and Sir Luke Corembeck stood talking in low, intent voices under the old stained-glass window. Sir Quintin Priddis sat on a chair by the empty fireplace, his good hand on his stick and the dead white one in his lap, watching them with a cynical smile. Behind him Edward Priddis stood in his dark robe, his expression serious. They had been sitting in the hall when we returned from the discovery of Abigail’s body.

‘Ettis had every reason to hate her,’ Fulstowe was saying. ‘He had suffered from her tongue; he knew my poor mistress was strong against his defiance.’

‘She faced him when he was shouting at my client in his own study a few days ago,’ Dyrick agreed. ‘I was there.’

Fulstowe nodded grimly. ‘I know him well as a troublemaker. He is the only one with the fire and recklessness to risk his neck. Sir Luke, I beg you, use your authority as magistrate to have him brought back here. Question him; find out where he was today.’

Sir Luke scratched a plump cheek, then nodded. ‘That would perhaps be a reasonable step, until the coroner arrives. I can get my servants to bring him in. There is a cellar at my house where we can keep him.’

Priddis cackled suddenly. ‘You have found your murderer, then?’ he called out. ‘A village leader, opposed to your enclosure plans. Convenient.’

Sir Luke bridled. ‘Ettis is a hot-headed rogue, Master Feodary, and an enemy of this family. He should be questioned.’

Priddis shrugged. ‘It matters naught to me. But when the coroner arrives from Winchester he might think efforts would have been better spent checking the movements of everyone on the hunt.’

‘That is being done, sir,’ Dyrick replied.

‘Ettis would not run,’ I said. ‘He has a wife and three children.’

‘Full enquiries will be carried out by the coroner,’ Corembeck replied haughtily, ‘but in the meantime it will do no harm to secure Ettis.’

‘When will the coroner be here?’ Dyrick asked Fulstowe.

‘Not until the day after tomorrow at the earliest, even if our messenger finds clear roads between here and Winchester, which I doubt.’

Barak looked downcast. As first finders of the body we would have to stay until the inquest. But I could not help feeling pleased. The carapace of mystery around this family would surely crack open now. Then I thought, guiltily, poor Abigail.

Sir Quintin looked at his son. ‘Well, Edward, you might as well go and look at Hugh Curteys’ property, that is why we are here after all. Unless you and Master Shardlake fear another arrow flying from those woods. Fulstowe tells me someone shot at you too, a few days ago.’

‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘Though it was a warning shot, intended to miss.’

‘I am not afraid, Father,’ Edward said sharply.

I said, ‘We will be riding through a cleared area. The big trees have all been felled; there is nowhere for an archer to hide.’ I looked across at Dyrick. ‘Will you come?’

‘I should stay with Master Hobbey. And, Fulstowe, I want you to give the messenger going to fetch the coroner a letter to my clerk Feaveryear. It must be forwarded to London as fast as possible, I do not care what it costs.’

Edward Priddis looked at me. ‘Then I will change my clothes, sir, and we can go.’

BARAK HAD BEEN the first to recover from the awful sight in the glade. He had walked silently over the grass and gently touched Abigail’s hand. ‘She is still warm,’ he said.

I approached the body. Abigail’s eyes were wide open, her last emotion must have been sudden shock. I saw that a yellow woodland flower lay beside the body, some of the petals torn off. I thought, she must have picked it as she walked here. I looked at the arrow protruding obscenely from her white brow. The fletches were of goose feather. I remembered the boys had carried peacock and swan, but could not remember if they had had ordinary goose-feather arrows in their arrowbags too. There was hardly any blood, just a small red circle round the arrow shaft.

‘We’ll have to go and tell them,’ Barak said quietly. I could hear, faintly, the murmur of voices just on the other side of the trees. I put a hand on his arm.

‘Let us take a minute to look round before this dell is full of people.’ I pointed to the trees. ‘He shot from that direction. Come, help me see if we can find the place.’

We tried to follow the killer’s line of sight. A little way into the trees, an oak blocked my path. I turned; I was looking straight at poor Abigail’s body. I glanced down and saw the faint imprint of the sole of a shoe in the soft earth.

‘He stood right here,’ I said. ‘He could have been walking along the road, as we were, and like us caught a glimpse of that bright yellow dress through the trees. Then he walked here silently, put an arrow to his bow and shot her.’

‘So it wasn’t planned?’

‘Not if it happened that way.’

‘What if she arranged to meet someone here, and they killed her?’

‘That’s possible. But she may have come here to get away from all the company, as I did. It can’t have been easy sitting with those women, knowing they had probably been told about David.’

Barak looked at the body. ‘Poor creature. What harm did she ever really do anyone? She was bad-tempered and rude, but so are many. Why kill her?’

‘I don’t know. Unless she had other secrets besides David, and someone took the chance to silence her.’ I remembered the conversation I had overheard between Abigail and Hobbey. ‘She was afraid that something would happen on the hunt. And now it has.’

WHEN WE WALKED into the clearing I saw everyone had returned. Hugh and David, with Hobbey, Fulstowe and Dyrick, stood watching with the rest of the party as servants in bloody smocks cut open the stomach of a large doe under Avery’s supervision. Five more had been dumped in a heap nearby. The unmaking of the quarry, I remembered they called this.

The dogs had been leashed and were held by the villagers. They pulled forward, panting and wagging their tails. Avery reached deep into the doe’s innards and with a hefty tug pulled out a long trail of intestines. He cut them to pieces with a large knife and threw chunks to the dogs; their reward.

I told Fulstowe first, taking him aside. He was shocked out of his normal calm, his eyes opened wide and he stepped backwards, crying, ‘What?’ in a voice that made everybody turn. Then he collected himself, his face setting in tight lines.

‘Best not tell everyone at once,’ I said quietly.

‘I must tell Master Hobbey and the boys.’

I looked on as Fulstowe went to Hobbey, then Hugh, then David, speaking quietly to each in turn. Their reactions were entirely different. Hobbey had been watching the unmaking with an indulgent smile, his composure restored after his fall. When Fulstowe told him he stood still for a moment. Then he staggered backwards and would have fallen had not a servant grasped him. He stood, half-supported by the man, staring at Fulstowe as he approached Hugh and David. Hugh frowned, looked unbelieving, but David screamed, ‘Mother! My mother!’ He reached out his hand in a strange gesture, as though clawing at the air for support, but when Fulstowe reached out to him he batted his hands away, then began weeping piteously.

Everyone was looking at the family now, in puzzlement and fear. The women rose from their cushions. Fulstowe stood and addressed everyone.

‘There has been – ’ he paused – ‘an accident. To Mistress Abigail. I fear she is dead. Sir Luke, would you please come with me?’

There were gasps and exclamations. ‘Please,’ Fulstowe said, ‘Master Dyrick, Master Shardlake, come too.’

I stepped forward. ‘Fulstowe, are there any servants who have been on duty waiting on the women the whole morning?’

Fulstowe considered, then pointed to a boy Hugh and David’s age. ‘Moorcock, you’ve been here all the time, haven’t you?’

The boy nodded, looking frightened.

‘Lad,’ I asked, ‘when did Mistress Abigail leave the clearing?’

‘About twenty minutes ago. I heard her tell Mistress Stannard she needed to go to the pissing place.’

One of the ladies spoke up. ‘She did, but she went in the wrong direction. The appointed place is over there.’ She pointed to a little path some way off.

‘Who from the hunting party was back in the clearing by then?’ I asked the servant.

‘Hardly anybody, sir. Sir Luke had returned, then Master Avery, who said the stag had turned at bay. I think everyone else came back after Mistress Hobbey left.’

Mistress Stannard looked at Fulstowe. ‘What has happened to her?’

He did not reply. I said, ‘Master Avery, would you come too?’ He rose, brushing bloody hands on his smock, and followed us back into the trees.

IN THE DELL bluebottles were buzzing round the wound on Abigail’s brow. Corembeck’s mouth dropped open. ‘Murder,’ he breathed. Dyrick for once said nothing, staring at the corpse in horror.

‘I thought it best to keep that quiet for now,’ Fulstowe said. ‘You, Sir Luke, are the magistrate. What should we do?’

‘Who found the body?’

I stepped forward. ‘My clerk and I.’

‘We must send to Winchester, for Coroner Trevelyan. At once.’ Corembeck put a hand to his brow, where sweat stood out.

‘Why is Avery here?’ Fulstowe asked me, nodding to the bloodstained huntmaster. ‘This is hardly appropriate—’

‘Because he knows these woodlands,’ I answered curtly. ‘Master Avery, there is something I would show you if you would follow me.’

I led the way to the place where the half-footprint was. ‘Yes,’ Avery said quietly. ‘He fired from here.’ He bent to a branch just in front of me; a twig was broken off, hanging by its stem. ‘See, this was in his way. He broke it, quietly enough not to disturb her.’ He looked at me. ‘I think this man was an experienced archer. Not one of the household servants or the villagers I have been training up. He – well, he hit the centre of his mark.’

‘Thank you.’ I led the way back to the glade. Abigail, who had been constantly fidgeting in life, sat horribly still. But as I stepped into the glade I saw someone else had arrived there. Hugh Curteys was in the act of picking up the flower Abigail had dropped. He placed it gently in her lap, then muttered something. It sounded like, ‘You deserved this.’

WHEN WE RETURNED to the clearing the stag had been brought in on the cart. It was left with the does, and a long procession of shocked guests and servants filed back to the house. David, still weeping, was supported by his father. Hobbey’s face remained blank with shock. Behind them Hugh walked with Fulstowe, saying nothing.

‘It could have been Hugh or David,’ Barak said quietly.

‘Or Fulstowe. Why, almost nobody from the hunt was back when Abigail left the clearing.’

Dyrick fell into step with us. ‘Avery’s wrong,’ he said. ‘It could have been someone from the village. So many young men practise archery nowadays. Older ones too. Well, we won’t be leaving here tomorrow,’ he added bitterly. ‘We’ll have to wait for the coroner. Me as Master Hobbey’s lawyer, you two as first finders. We’ll be here till the inquest. Damn it.’

Did he feel nothing for Abigail? I stared at him. ‘I want to see my children,’ he snapped.

You could have done it, I thought, you flounced off alone after Hobbey snapped at you. And you are an archer: you were talking about teaching your son.

Barak’s shoulders slumped. ‘I begin to wonder if I’ll ever see my child born now,’ he said sorrowfully. ‘I must write to Tamasin.’

‘And I to Warner.’

We arrived back at the house. As we approached the steps to the porch, the front door banged open and Leonard Ettis marched out, a frown on his face. He stopped and stared at the procession, the weeping David supported by the pale, shocked Hobbey.

Fulstowe strode over to Ettis. ‘What are you doing here?’ he barked.

‘I came to see you,’ he retorted. ‘To find out if your men still intend to enter our woods this week. Or try to. But there was nobody here but that savage-mouthed old cripple sitting in the hall.’

‘Mind your tongue,’ Fulstowe snapped.

‘Oh yes, watch what I say.’ Ettis laughed. ‘It’ll be a different story when I lead the village militia to fight the French.’

Barak and I exchanged glances. ‘Priddis,’ I said. ‘I had forgotten all about him.’

‘It was the hunt today.’ Fulstowe looked narrowly at Ettis. ‘Surely you had not forgotten that?’

‘I thought you might be back and this matter can’t wait. We need an answer from you.’ He looked over the little crowd, stared again at Hobbey and David. ‘Has something happened?’

‘Mistress Hobbey is dead,’ Fulstowe replied bluntly.

Ettis stared. ‘What?’

‘Shot dead with an arrow by an unknown assailant. Which way did you come to the house, Ettis?’

The yeoman’s eyes widened. ‘You – do you accuse me?’

Corembeck stepped forward. ‘Which way did you come, Ettis?’

Ettis glared at him. ‘From the village.’

‘Not through the woods?’

‘No!’

‘Alone?’ Fulstowe asked.

Ettis took a step forward and for a moment I thought he would strike the steward. Then he turned and marched away down the drive. Dyrick looked meaningfully at Corembeck.

We walked into the hall, where Priddis and his son sat waiting. Fulstowe told them what had happened. I saw the old man’s eyes light up with greedy curiosity. For him, I realized, this was an unexpected piece of excitement.

I WENT UPSTAIRS to change for my ride with Edward Priddis. I felt guilty now for wanting to stay. Barak wanted so much to return to Tamasin. Looking out of the window, I remembered, sadly, Feaveryear and the two boys practising at the butts. David and Hugh had both disappeared to their rooms when we returned; I did not know who, if anyone, was with them.

When I went back downstairs Sir Quintin was still ensconced in his chair by the fireplace with his son, watching all that was going on with horrible amused interest. I asked Barak to stay in the great hall, and listen to all that was said. Edward rose and we went to fetch the horses. As we rode out, Edward’s manner was cool and distant, but civil enough.

‘This is a terrible thing for you to find here,’ I said.

He nodded seriously. ‘These are strange and dreadful times.’

‘What news of the French in Portsmouth?’ I asked.

‘They say their fleet has been sighted off the Sussex coast. People are becoming fearful.’

‘Yes, there is much fear underneath people’s show of confidence.’

‘Nonetheless,’ he said firmly, ‘we must face whatever comes.’

I studied him. Edward had bushy eyebrows like his father, and a firm, obstinate set to his mouth. ‘I believe your father knows Sir Richard Rich,’ I said.

He gave me a wintry smile. ‘Yes, he is an old acquaintance. We met and had a talk with him at the Portsmouth Guildhall. The day you brought Hugh Curteys there. I hear the merchants who have overcharged the army or provided bad food come to Sir Richard Rich in fear and trembling. I imagine he will soon cut through their excuses about having to charge more because of the new coinage. Sir Richard learned the art of interrogation under a master. Cromwell. But you will know that.’ Again that wintry smile, a piercing look from those blue eyes.

‘Rich spoke of me?’

Edward smiled coldly. ‘A little. He asked my father about the case you have on down here. He said you can become – very strongly involved with your clients.’

‘No bad thing in a lawyer, surely, Brother.’ I inclined my head, hiding the anxiety I felt at Rich’s continued interest in me.

‘True.’

‘Did you qualify at Gray’s Inn, like your father?’

‘I did. I worked on official service in London for a while. After a few years I came back to Winchester, to help Father in his work.’

‘You must do the bulk of it now, I hazard.’

‘Oh, Father still holds the reins. I am but his trusty steed.’ I caught a note of bitterness. Are you waiting to succeed him? I wondered.

‘Look over to your right, Brother,’ I said. ‘Those are Hugh Curteys’ lands that were cleared some years ago.’

We came to a halt, near the area of cleared woodland Barak and I had seen on our ride. New trees, little more than saplings, stood amid thick undergrowth and the mossy stumps of old trees. It was hot, still and quiet. I said, ‘I think there was more oak in this land than the accounts allow.’

‘And the evidence for that?’ Edward asked sharply.

‘The fact the uncleared area of woodland to the south has a great deal of oak.’

‘The soil may be different.’

‘It looked very similar when I rode through it a few days ago.’

‘The day an arrow was shot at you?’ He looked at me curiously.

‘Yes. Everyone thought it was a poacher. But after today I wonder.’

‘A madman roaming these woods,’ Edward mused. He glanced apprehensively at the distant trees.

‘Sir Luke seems to think he has his suspect.’

‘He may be wrong. Perhaps some deserter from the army is in hiding out in the trees. He tried to kill you, then came across poor Mistress Hobbey. He may have wished to rob her.’

‘I do not believe she had a purse with her. The family would have noticed if one was gone.’

‘Still, you will forgive me if I say I would like to keep the inspection brief.’

‘This area is quite open, and we are out of bowshot from the trees. I suggest we ride through the cleared area, look at how many oak stumps we can see.’

‘If you insist.’ Edward looked across at the treeline, about five hundred yards away. He was nervous; I wondered whether pride had made him accede to his father’s suggestion that we still make this ride. We rode on, guiding the horses carefully.

‘I gather your family comes from near Rolfswood,’ I said casually. I had decided to see what I could find out. Edward Priddis was clever, and a smooth talker, but I sensed he lacked his father’s strength of character.

‘That is so. Though my father moved to Winchester when he became feodary of Hampshire.’

‘Do you ever visit there now?’

‘Not since my mother died ten years ago, God rest her. It was her family who came from those parts. Do you have connections there, Serjeant Shardlake? I do not recall hearing your name before.’

‘I have a client who thought he may have family in Rolfswood. He asked me to visit, see if I could trace them. I went there a few days ago.’

‘Did you find them?’ Edward smiled pleasantly, though his eyes were keen as ever.

‘No. But I stayed overnight, learned of a tragedy there nineteen years ago. A foundry burned to the ground, the founder killed with one of his assistants. The founder’s daughter went mad afterwards. Their name was Fettiplace, that is the name my client was looking for. Your father was coroner then, I believe.’

Edward considered. ‘I remember it vaguely. I was not at home then, I had started at Cambridge. I did a degree before going to Gray’s Inn,’ he added proudly. ‘I seem to remember my father helped the girl, who went mad.’

‘That was good of him,’ I said neutrally. I thought, I have seen enough of your father to see there is no shred of charity in him. I remembered Reverend Seckford telling me how Priddis had supervised Ellen’s forced removal from her place of safety.

‘He is not as hard as people think,’ Edward said stiffly. ‘He does a difficult job.’

‘There is another family I heard of, that you may know. The Wests.’

‘Oh yes, they are important landowners. Mistress West has always ruled the roost around Rolfswood. Did you meet her too?’

‘I only heard of her and her son. He is an officer on the King’s ships now. Philip West. He would have been about your age.’

‘I met him once or twice when I was a boy. But I returned seldom after I went to Cambridge. You seem to have made detailed enquiries, Brother Shardlake.’

‘It was an interesting story.’

Edward brought his horse to a halt and surveyed the landscape. ‘In truth, sir, I think it impossible to tell what trees once grew here. The old trunks are all overgrown. And we are approaching a little too near the treeline for my comfort.’

‘Look at the new young trees growing up,’ I answered quietly. ‘Fully half must be oaks. And see all the high old oaks in the forest ahead.’

Edward made a show of looking carefully, though I was sure he had noticed everything I had. Then he turned to me, and asked quietly, ‘What do you wish to achieve from this case, Master Shard-lake?’

‘Justice for Hugh Curteys. It is clear to me this land was mainly forested with oak, though Master Hobbey’s accounts show oaks as barely a quarter of the trees felled.’

‘Yet Hugh Curteys himself said, at the Guildhall, that he is quite content.’

‘He is a young man with no head for business. And when these woods were felled he was a child.’

‘So you would go back to the Court of Wards and ask for what – restitution? It would take great time, Brother, and expense, trouble to a whole family, including Hugh, that has just suffered a great tragedy. A surveyor would have to be paid for, and he would likely find nothing conclusive. Consider, Master Shardlake, is it worth it? Especially when Master Hobbey has offered to be more than reasonable over costs.’

‘You know of his offer?’

‘Brother Dyrick told me, just before we left.’ He raised his heavy eyebrows. ‘He seems greatly fumed with this matter.’

I met his gaze. You and your father took a cut of those profits, I thought. But I had already decided to accept Dyrick’s offer. Without Hugh’s support I could do nothing. But there was no need to commit myself just yet as we had to stay here anyway. ‘I will think more on it,’ I said.

He shrugged. ‘Very well. Even so, I think you know you must settle. And now may we go back? I am anxious Father does not get overtired.’

‘Very well.’

As Edward turned his horse I caught him smiling secretively, sure the case was over.

WHEN WE RETURNED the house was still and hushed, old Priddis sitting alone by the empty fireplace. He looked up. ‘Well, Edward,’ he asked, ‘is all well with the woodlands?’

‘Master Shardlake and I have had a sensible discussion.’

Sir Quintin gave me a long stare, then grunted. ‘Help me, Edward, I would get up.’

Edward helped the old man to his feet. Sir Quintin stood, breathing heavily, his useless arm swinging by his side. The whiteness of his withered hand reminded me of poor Abigail’s dead face, and I had to suppress a shudder.

‘I have had enough of this place,’ Sir Quintin said pettishly, ‘everyone in such a state. I want to get away.’

‘Very well,’ Edward answered soothingly. ‘I will prepare the horses. By the way, Father,’ he added lightly, ‘Master Shardlake has visited Rolfswood. He was talking of that tragedy at the foundry – you remember, when you were coroner?’

Sir Quintin’s eyes narrowed and he looked at me hard for a moment. Then he waved his good hand and said, ‘I barely remember it, it was an age ago. I have dealt with so many cases in my life. Come, Edward, help me outside.’ He leaned forward, staring into my face. ‘Goodbye, Master Shardlake. I hope you will see the sense in letting this matter drop. These people have enough trouble, it seems to me.’

I went up to my room, stood looking out of the window at the butts. I had learned nothing from the Priddises. I felt helpless frustration and anger. There was a knock on the door, and Barak came in. He seemed anxious.

‘How are the family?’ I asked. ‘None of them was in the great hall.’

‘Fulstowe told me to get out of the house shortly after you left. But as I was leaving a rider arrived with a letter for you. I hoped it might be more news from London, but I don’t recognize the hand.’

He reached into his doublet and pulled out a piece of cheap paper, crudely sealed with wax. My name and ‘Hoyland Priory’ were scrawled on the front. I opened it.

‘Is it from home?’ Barak asked eagerly.

I shook my head. ‘No.’

The note was in a scrawled hand, it was dated 12 July, the day before, and signed John Seckford, Curate of Rolfswood.

Chapter Thirty-two

I PASSED BARAK the note. He read it, then handed it back, looking at me hard. ‘What the hell does he mean?’

‘I don’t know.’ I paced the room. ‘Something serious. I could ride there tomorrow and come back the next day – Wednesday – the coroner won’t be here before then.’

He said quietly, ‘You’re glad we can’t go home tomorrow, aren’t you?’

‘That’s not fair,’ I answered, all the more hotly because his words had struck home. ‘We would have gone but for Abigail’s death. How could I know this would happen? And you cannot think I am glad that poor woman was killed. Even though an inquest may reveal what has been going on here.’

‘All right. But part of you is still glad, isn’t it?’

‘Here is a chance to solve both matters.’

‘You forget there may be a battle eight miles south of here any day now. And, if we lose, French troops may be marching up that road and in here. It’s a fine property for soldiers to loot.’

‘That risk we are stuck with. But – ’ I looked at him – ‘I will go to Rolfswood alone tomorrow.’

‘Oh, I’m coming,’ Barak replied in definite tones. ‘I’m not staying by myself in this madhouse.’

I KNOCKED ON the door of Hobbey’s study. He said quietly, ‘Come in.’ He was sitting at his desk, watching the sand run through the hourglass. I realized it was the first time I had ever been alone with him. I felt a stab of sympathy. Within two days the secret of his son’s illness had been exposed and his wife murdered. He looked bereft.

‘Well, Master Shardlake,’ he asked with a sigh, ‘did you and Master Priddis ride the woods?’

‘We did.’

He waved a hand. ‘Perhaps you could discuss it with Vincent. I cannot concentrate just now.’

‘I understand. Sir, may I express my condolences for your poor wife’s death? God rest her soul.’

He lowered his eyes, then said, in a voice suddenly full of emotion, ‘Everyone disliked poor Abigail. I know they did. But you should have seen her when I married her, she was so pretty, so light-hearted. If she had not married me – ’ His voice trailed away.

‘How are the boys?’ I asked. I thought, in a normal family Hugh and David would have been with Hobbey, they would all have been comforting each other.

‘David is in great distress. Fulstowe is with him. And Hugh – ’ He sighed. ‘Hugh is about the house somewhere. Sir Luke is organizing a search of the woodlands, by the way. People from the village are helping, they are much disturbed at the prospect of some madman roaming the woods. Sir Luke suggests none of us leave the house and gardens for now.’

‘Has Ettis been taken in for questioning?’

‘Yes. He hated this family.’ Hobbey frowned. ‘Vincent says that if there is no trace of a stranger in the woods, he must be a suspect. Surely that must be right.’ He frowned. I thought, Dyrick will be running things here now, Dyrick and Fulstowe between them.

‘Well,’ I answered quietly, ‘it will be up to the coroner when he arrives. The reason I came, Master Hobbey, is to tell you a messenger has brought a letter from the Sussex village where I have another matter in hand. I plan to go there tomorrow, then return the following day to see the coroner. I know he will need to speak to me and Barak as first finders.’

‘Very well,’ he replied without interest.

I hesitated, aware that what I had to say next should really be said with Dyrick present. But it was eating away at me. ‘Last week, sir, I accidentally overheard you and your wife talking in her room. She said she did not want to have the hunt, she indicated she did not think it was safe.’

Hobbey was silent a moment. Then he spoke, without raising his head, but slowly and clearly. ‘My wife had become afraid of everyone and everything, Master Shardlake. I told you before, she was not well. She had come to feel that nothing and no one was safe.’ He picked up the hourglass, stared at the falling sand, then up at me, a strange expression on his thin face. ‘All my life,’ he said slowly, ‘everything I have striven to build, those I have loved, everything is running out, like the sand in this glass. Do you believe in fate, Master Shardlake, in nemesis?’

‘No, sir. I do not understand how God orders the world, but I do not think it is like that.’

‘It all began with you coming here.’ His voice was still quiet, his tone strange, one of mild curiosity. ‘This wretched case. I doubt David would have had his fit without it. You encourage my tenants to rebel; do not deny it, I have my informants in the village. And now my wife is dead. I wonder if perhaps you are my nemesis.’

‘I wish to be no one’s nemesis, Master Hobbey.’

‘Do you not? I wonder.’ Still he spoke quietly, but now he looked at me, his eyes suddenly as sharp and questing as they had ever been. ‘Well, perhaps I am wrong, perhaps it started with Michael Calfhill, with – ’ A spasm of pain crossed his face, and he seemed to come back to himself. ‘We should not really be discussing such things without Vincent here,’ he said, his tone formal again. ‘I will see you in two days, Master Shardlake.’ And he nodded dismissively.

BARAK AND I left for Rolfswood early the next morning. I could have done without another ride; my bandaged arm was sore and my back ached after the hunt. The weather was close again, the sky grey.

I said little as we rode; Hobbey’s words the previous day had unsettled me. I had told myself I had only encouraged Ettis against a bullying landlord, that David could have had a seizure at any time, and above all that nobody knew who had killed Abigail, or why. But I could understand why Hobbey might see me as his nemesis.

The evening before I had written to Warner, telling him what had happened. I told him too about Dyrick’s offer on costs. Then I wrote to Guy, saying we were not coming home just yet. Afterwards I walked round to the stables to fetch the letter Barak had written to Tamasin; we would leave them at Cosham for the post rider to collect. On my way out I passed David’s room, and heard deep, wrenching sobs, Fulstowe’s voice talking in low, reassuring tones.

On my way back to the house with the letters I saw Hugh in the distance, sitting on the half-tumbled wall of the old nuns’ cemetery. I went up to him. His long face was sad, his mouth pulled down. He looked up at me, a dreadful weariness in his eyes.

‘My condolences,’ I said quietly.

He bowed his head slightly. In the fading light his scars could not be clearly seen, he looked boyishly handsome but somehow all the more vulnerable. ‘Thank you,’ he said, ‘but you should know I felt nothing for Mistress Hobbey. I thought I might, now, but I do not.’

‘You put a flower in her lap this morning.’

‘Yes. I felt sorry for her then.’

I said quietly, ‘You were saying something when we came on you with the body.’ I looked him in the eye. ‘It sounded like, “You deserved this.” ’

He was silent a moment, then said, ‘God preserve me, I may have done.’ He stared ahead.

‘Why?’

He spoke very quietly. ‘When we first knew her, I think in her way she did want to mother me, and especially my sister. But for both her and Master Hobbey, that came second to – ’ his voice caught for a moment – ‘to money. They wanted the use of our lands, and they tried to make Emma marry David, as I told you. When I saw her I felt sorry for her but angry too. So, yes, I did say that.’

‘Have you ever seen a dead person before?’

‘Yes. My mother and father. They would not let me see my sister – her face was ravaged by smallpox. I wish they had.’ He looked at me. ‘Will you tell the coroner of my words?’

‘I think you should tell him yourself, Hugh. Tell him how you felt about Abigail.’

He looked at me hard. I wondered whether, like Hobbey, he was thinking of all the trouble that had come here since I arrived.

I asked him, ‘Who do you think murdered Mistress Hobbey?’

‘I have no idea.’ He frowned. ‘Do you believe it was me?’

I shook my head. ‘Like you, Hugh, I have no idea.’ I looked across at the graveyard. Ursula had left some flowers at the nun’s grave again.

‘But you heard my words, and thought it might be me?’ Hugh’s face flushed with anger, highlighting his scars.

‘I only wondered, Hugh, what you meant.’

‘You said you would be my friend.’ He stood then, clenching his fists. I was aware that he was as tall as me, and stronger.

‘I accuse no one, Hugh. But from the beginning I have sensed this entire family has been hiding something. As well as David’s condition.’

‘You are wrong,’ he said.

‘I rode your lands with Edward Priddis today. I believe Master Hobbey has been falsifying his accounts. Probably in league with Sir Quintin. I think they may have robbed you of hundreds of pounds.’

An expression of contempt crossed his face. ‘When will you realize, sir, I care naught, one way or the other? And now, Master Shardlake, please leave me alone.’

ON THE RIDE we saw more supply carts heading south, carrying everything from carpenters’ equipment to pikes and helmets. We pulled in to allow another company of archers to pass. I wondered how Leacon’s company was faring, whether they had been on board the ships yet.

Around noon we turned into the road to Sussex. We stopped for some food at the inn I had visited on my previous journey. ‘You’ve been very quiet,’ Barak said to me over his beer. ‘You have that inward expression you wear when something bites at you.’

‘I am thinking I have done little but make enemies since I came to Hoyland.’ I told him of my talk with Hugh, and of Hobbey saying I was his nemesis. ‘Hobbey set me wondering whether, if I had never come, Abigail might still be alive.’

‘Something was likely to happen to that family sooner or later. They are all as mad as a box of frogs.’

‘Who killed Abigail, Jack? Hobbey was right – everyone disliked her – but to murder her?’

‘They’ll set Ettis up for it if they can.’

‘I think Dyrick is considering just that possibility. But there’s no evidence.’

‘Juries get rigged in these country places. If you want to do something useful, see the inquest is handled lawfully.’

‘Yes. And you are right about the family. Their relationships are so – distorted – I cannot help thinking someone in that house killed her.’

‘But who?’

‘Fulstowe has a lot of power there for a steward. When servants have power over an employer it is usually because they know a secret. One they would not wish to risk through an unstable woman blurting it out.’

‘But what secret?’

‘I don’t know.’ I looked at him. ‘Thank you again for coming with me.’

‘Truth to tell, if I was there I would only be pacing around waiting for another messenger. I’m famished for news of Tamasin.’

‘Maybe even the royal messengers are finding it hard to get through.’

‘If only I could get home,’ he said with sudden intensity.

I smiled sadly. ‘Is it not strange how even in death, poor Abigail seems to be a nuisance to everyone? She was killed by an archer of some skill. But that covers so many possibilities. The boys, Fulstowe, Ettis. Even Dyrick said he was once a skilled archer and is teaching his children.’

‘But not Hobbey?’

I shook my head. ‘He does not have the skill or the – the passion, that is the word. It was a passionate, angry act. Someone who knew he would be hanged if he were caught but, at the moment he saw her at least, did not care.’

‘Not old Ursula then. She hated Abigail all right, but I can’t see her pulling a bow.’

‘Now you are being foolish.’ I drained my mug of beer. ‘Come, we should be back on the road.’

‘Only trying to lighten your mood a little. God knows we could both do with it.’