C.J. Sansom - Heartstone

'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.'