C.J. Sansom - Heartstone

We passed between the guncrews. I remember one man holding a linstock staring at me as I went by. He was shirtless, with a short, scarred, muscular body, a square bearded face. He looked at me as though I were something from another world, an apparition.

We walked to the ladder. At the bottom Leacon said quietly, 'Can you make it up?'

'After all I've been through to get here? Yes.'

I climbed after him, though the effort sent pain slicing through my shoulders. Fresh, salt air wafted down from above, making my head swim for a moment. Leacon reached the deck and helped me up. Again, through the stout netting, I saw the great masts rearing up into the blue sky of another hot July day. The sails were still furled, but on deck and up in the rigging sailors stood in position, ready to release them on command. The deck was more crowded than ever, everyone at battle positions. As below, guncrews had taken up positions of readiness beside the cannon. Half the blinds were open, giving me a view of the Great Harry and the other warships beyond on one side, and on the other the Isle of Wight, where, away in the distance, I saw smoke rising from several large fires.

I looked along the deck. Archers stood at some of the open blinds, and perhaps fifty pikemen stood together, nine-foot-long half-pikes raised with tips poking through the netting, ready to thrust up at boarders. An officer with a whistle round his neck stood watching; he glanced up at the fighting top in the topmast where lookouts stood, the only ones with a clear view of what was happening.

Near us, on the opposite side of the deck, three officers were arguing. One I recognized as the purser. The second was Philip West. He looked haggard as he spoke to the third man, a tall officer in his forties, richly dressed. He had a dark brown beard framing a long, frowning face, a pomander as well as a sword at his waist. Round his neck he wore a massive whistle on a long gold chain. He was examining what looked like a tiny sundial. He looked up as West finished speaking.

'If the beer's bad,' he said impatiently, 'they'll just have to do without.'

The purser answered, 'The men are parched. And starting to murmur—'

'Then give them what there is!'

'They won't drink it, Sir George,' West said impatiently. 'It's bad—'

Sir George Carew shouted back, 'Don't talk to me like that, knave! God's death, they'd best behave, all of them. The King is watching at South Sea Castle, and he'll have a special eye on this ship!'

West turned his head away. He saw me then; his mouth fell open in astonishment and horror. I met his gaze grimly. There was nothing he could do to me here. Leacon stared at him too, angrily, then turned to me. 'Let's go up.'

We mounted via the space under the aftercastle, next to the mainmast, and arrived on the lower aftercastle deck, where helmeted handgunners stood with arquebuses and hailshot pieces propped against the side of the ship. There were no blinds here, only portholes at eye-level for them to stick their weapons through. I had a view through a wide doorway giving on to the walkway between the castles, above the netting. Two sailors in check shirts stood in the doorway leading to the aftercastle, watching as a pair of soldiers carried a long box across the walkway from the forecastle end. On either side of the doorway the two long cannon I had seen from the weatherdeck on my first visit were positioned, angled to fire outwards past the ship through a gap in the rigging, guncrews beside them. The cannon were bronze, beautifully ornate. Looking back, I saw two lines of handgunners, their feet braced, their long, heavy weapons thrust through little portholes. If the Mary Rose grappled with a French ship, they would fire hailshot of metal and stone at the opposing crew.

'More arrows,' the soldiers said as they reached the doorway.

'Give them here.' The sailors took the box and carried it to the ladder, which continued upwards. They climbed up nimbly, then descended again to resume their positions in the doorway. Leacon and I ascended to the top deck of the aftercastle, into the sunshine, underneath another span of netting fixed to wooden supports that enclosed the deck. The aftercastle was far longer than the weatherdeck, and just as crowded. Around half Leacon's company were there, perhaps twenty men standing at open blinds on each side, with a few placed behind ready to replace any who fell. Snodin was pacing slowly up and down the deck, his plump face set hard. He saw me and stared with an astonished frown. Like the men on the deck below most wore helmets and cotton jacks—Pygeon, some way off, had on the bright red brigandyne he had won from Sulyard. The men held strung bows upright at their sides, angled carefully so the tops did not touch the enclosing netting above, arrowbags at their waists, bracers on their wrists. The box of arrows lay open in the middle of the deck. Here and there the archers were interspersed with swivel gunners, their thin, six-foot long weapons fixed to the rail above the blinds. The guns were at rest, muzzles up and long tails resting on the deck. At the far end of the aftercastle, under an enormous flag of St George, Sir Franklin Giffard stared down the deck, his face set and resolute. Through the open blind next to me I saw the sea, forty feet below. I swallowed and looked away. Then I looked backwards, and stared.

From here, looking through open blinds at the back of the aftercastle, I could see not only our ships and the distant French fleet, which appeared to be in the same position as the night before, but, perhaps half a mile ahead, the French galleys. Four of the enormous, sleek things faced us. They were drawn up stern to stern, like a four-spoked wheel, turning slowly on the sparkling water, so they could, each in turn, bring the cannon in the bows round to face us. I could see the oars flashing, the dark shapes of the double cannon in the prows. Some of our galleasses, pathetically small by comparison, faced them. As I watched, a puff of smoke billowed up and out as a galley fired at one of our ships further down the line. A boom echoed across the water.

I turned and looked down the rows of archers. I saw Carswell and Llewellyn at adjacent blinds, other familiar faces, all shining with sweat.

It was hard to pick Emma out among the archers but I saw her, in helmet and jack, up near the stern. She still carried the beautiful slim bow with horn tips that I recognized from Hoyland. When she saw me her face reddened with fury and her hand went instinctively to her throat. Leacon looked along the deck at her. Their eyes met. Emma's scarred face wavered a moment, then set hard.

Sir Franklin had seen us. He marched between the rows of men, hand on sword hilt, frowning. No doubt he was astonished by my appearing yet again, this time on the Mary Rose herself. I followed Leacon towards him. A strong breeze rose suddenly, ruffling my hair. The ship tipped a little, and several of the archers and swivel gunners staggered. Leacon reached Sir Franklin, then bent to whisper in his ear. As he did so, I heard whistles and shouts from the main deck below.

Sir Franklin jerked upright, stared at Leacon, then at me. He laughed. 'What?'

'Easy enough to determine, sir,' Leacon said. Sir Franklin stared at Emma, then nodded. He and Leacon walked up the deck to her. I followed them.

'Is it true?' Leacon asked her sharply. 'What Master Shardlake just told me about you?'

Emma hesitated, then answered quietly, 'I do not understand, sir.'

Doubt flickered across Leacon's face. In her uniform Emma was utterly convincing. He said quietly, 'If I have to, I'll find out the truth here and now. In front of everyone.'

'There is nothing to find, Captain.' I had to admire her courage as she made her bluff.

Leacon took a deep breath, then reached out and lifted off her close-fitting helmet. He stared at the short brown fuzz, studied her face again, then said, 'Remove your jack, soldier.'