C.J. Sansom - Heartstone

'They're lined up for battle,' Barak said quietly.

I looked out to the eastern end of the Isle of Wight. Somewhere, out of sight still, the enemy was approaching across that calm blue sea.

AT THE BRIDGE between the mainland and Portsea Island there were large soldiers' encampments now on both sides of the tidal stream, and heavy cannon. I had put on my lawyer's robes and we were allowed through when I said we had business in the town. Supplies were still coming, many of the loaded carts heading towards the long line of tents along the coast.

As we rode downhill, Barak said, 'Those are the royal tents behind that little lake.'

'Yes.' I counted twenty of the huge tents, in a myriad of different colours and designs, strung out parallel to the coast. More were being erected.

'Do you think the King is going to camp there and watch the sea battle if it comes?'

'Perhaps. Maybe the Queen too.'

'You have to admire old Henry's courage.'

'Or foolhardiness. Come, let's find Leacon.'

OUTSIDE THE city walls, where men still laboured hard to thicken the mud walls, companies of soldiers were practising manoeuvres: running with long pikes held before them, staging mock battles with bills, improving their archery at makeshift butts. All the men were brown from their time in the sun. Officers, mostly on horseback, rode to and fro supervising them, but I did not see Leacon. There were so many more tents that it was hard to get our bearings. The stink of ordure was unbearable.

We found the place where Leacon's company had been billeted and dismounted. All the tents in this part of the camp, though, were closed and empty except for one some way off, where a young soldier sat alone, eating bread and cheese from a wooden trencher. I recognized him as one of Leacon's men. His face was spotted with mosquito bites, and I noticed the long collar above his tunic was frayed, the tunic itself filthy. I asked if he knew where the rest of the company was.

'Gone to the ships, sir,' he answered. 'To get their sea legs and practise shooting from a ship. I've been left to guard the tents. They'll be back tonight.'

'We saw some warships out at sea.'

'Yes. The Great Harry and the Mary Rose and the Murrain are out, they said. There's five companies gone on them.'

'Thank you.'

Barak asked him, 'How do you find this life, mate?'

'Never seen anything like it. The King is coming to view the fleet tomorrow. And they say the French will be here in a few days. Two weeks ago I was a churchwarden's assistant. That'll teach me to practise archery.'

'Ay, it can be a dangerous thing.'

The soldier gestured at his trencher. 'Look at this shit they're giving us to eat. Half-mouldy cheese and bread like a stone. Reminds me of the famine back in '27, when I was a child. I've walked with bent legs ever since.' He took a drink from a wooden tankard at his side. I saw a Latin phrase embossed in large letters: If God be for us,who can be against us?

'I hope you find a safe billet, fellow,' I said.

'Thank you.'

We rode away. 'What now?' Barak asked.

'To the Godshouse, see if they can tell us where Master West might be.'

'Probably out in harbour, on the Mary Rose .'

'He may be ashore, or come ashore tonight.' I said hesitantly, 'We should try to find an inn in town. We may have to stay the night.'

He sighed and said, 'All right, one night if need be. Jesu, that soldier, I thought, he could have been me. So I owe you one night here.'

I looked up at the walls as we rode on to the town, the soldiers patrolling to and fro along the fighting platform at the top. The great guns bristled at the towers, long black barrels pointing outwards at us.

WE HAD TO WAIT a long time at the gate. The soldiers were questioning everyone about their business in Portsmouth, wary no doubt of French spies. I said I had legal business at the Guildhall, and that got us through.

Portsmouth was even more crowded now, tents pitched everywhere within the walls, soldiers practising drill. We rode down the High Street, steering through the crowd of merchants and labourers, soldiers and sailors, English and foreign. Many of the servicemen, like the soldiers at the camp, were starting to look ragged and dirty. Heavy carts still lumbered towards the wharf, drivers shouting at people to get out of the way. The sour stench of sweat was everywhere, mingling with the harsh smell from the brewhouses.

Barak wriggled. 'Shit, I've got fleas again already.'

'Must have been from the camp. Let's try to find a clean inn, then go to the Godshouse.'

We turned into Oyster Street and rode towards the wharf. The tide was full, the Camber filled with rowboats waiting their turn to deliver goods from the wharf to the ships. We rode almost to the wharf; from here we could see out across the low-lying Point to where the triple line of ships stood at anchor in the Solent. They looked even more breathtaking than on our first visit, for now there were well over fifty, of all sizes from the giant warships to small forty-foot vessels. Few had any of their sails up; even the Galley Subtle stood with its oars at rest. The very stillness of the fleet added to its solid might, the only moving things the flags on the masts of the large warships flapping in the light breeze. An enormous flag of St George flew from the foremast of the Mary Rose above the brightly painted triple decks of the forecastle. I saw the giant bulk of the Great Harry sailing slowly away into the Solent, some of its great white sails raised.

Barak followed my gaze. 'Maybe Leacon and the company are there.'

'Then they won't be back for hours.'

WE FOUND an inn in Oyster Street. It catered for the wealthier clientele, No Brawlers or Chiders scrawled on a large sign by the door. The innkeeper charged a shilling to take us. He would not be beaten down, saying we were lucky to get accommodation at all.

'I hear the King comes tomorrow,' I said.

'Ay. In the morning, to view the ships. The populace have been told to line the streets.'

'There must be many royal officials seeking accommodation in town.'

He shook his head. ' They're all comfortable in the royal tents along the coast. If Portsmouth is besieged, they'll ride off. It's us poor citizenry who'll be trapped here.'

We stabled the horses, took our panniers to our little room, then went out again. We walked back up Oyster Street, hands on belts for fear of cutpurses among the milling crowds, towards the open space in front of the Square Tower. On the platform soldiers with spiked bills marched and turned to drumbeats. A group of small boys stood watching and cheering.

There was a sudden tremendous crash that sent me jumping backwards. Barak flinched too, though the soldiers did not break step. One of the boys pointed at me and laughed. 'See the hunchback jump! Yah! Crookback!'

'Fuck off, you little arseholes!' Barak shouted. The boys fled, laughing. We stared up at the Square Tower, where wreaths of grey-black smoke were dispersing into the sky. A group of soldiers bent to reload one of the huge cannon pointing out to sea. Practice, I guessed.

We walked down to the Godshouse gate. This time we did not have Leacon to help us gain entry; I told the guard we had business with a senior officer on the Mary Rose , Master Philip West, and asked where he might be. 'It is a legal matter,' I said, 'important family news. We would not have come to Portsmouth today unless it were necessary.'

'No one's coming now if they can avoid it. You should talk to one of the clerks at the old infirmary.'