Heartstone Read online

  Leacon was walking from group to group, stopping for a word with the men. Unlike Sir Franklin he made a point of being with the soldiers, listening to their complaints. Snodin, I saw, was sitting in front of a tent on his own, drinking slowly and steadily from a large flagon of beer, frowning at anyone who looked at him. On the edge of the field Barak sat round a campfire with a dozen soldiers from the rearward section. I envied his ease with the young men; since the encounter in the village most had been pleasant enough to me, but with the cautious reserve due to a gentleman. Carswell, the corporal, was there with the Welsh boy Llewellyn. I had noticed the two seemed to be friends, though they were quite unalike: young Llewellyn was a fine lad but with little humour, while Carswell was brimming with it. But every jester needs his foil. Sulyard, the troublemaker, was sitting there, wearing his brightly dyed brigandyne. He cuffed his neighbour on the head and spoke, in loud slurred tones I could hear across the field.

  ‘You call me master.’

  ‘Piss off, you lumpish puttock!’

  I decided to go and join them; I still liked to keep an eye on Barak when there was drink around, for all he would call me an old hen, and I had a couple of questions for Llewellyn.

  As I crossed the field, I noticed Feaveryear sitting with Pygeon outside a tent. That poor young fellow, how his ears stuck out. Feaveryear was talking animatedly, though Pygeon was carving something on his knife handle, peering at it closely in the fading light. As I watched, Feaveryear got up and walked away. Pygeon gave me a hostile look.

  ‘Have you come to convert me too, sir?’

  ‘I do not know what you mean, fellow.’

  ‘Yonder clerk would have me deny the blood of Christ is in the Eucharist. He should be careful, men have been burned for less. We cleave to the old ways in Harefield.’

  I sighed. If Feaveryear was starting to preach his radical views to the soldiers, it was as well we would part company with them on the morrow. ‘No, Pygeon,’ I said. ‘I am no preacher of any doctrine.’ He grunted and returned to his carving. The knife was one of the long ones carried by all the soldiers, serviceable equally as tool and weapon. I saw what he was carving, mary save our souls, in lettering of remarkable intricacy and skill.

  ‘That is well done,’ I said.

  ‘I look to the Virgin to save us if we come to battle.’

  ‘I am going to join the men by the fire,’ I said. ‘Will you come?’

  Pygeon shook his head and bent again to his carving. I wondered if he feared more mockery from Sulyard. I went across to the fire, lowering myself gingerly to the earth next to Llewellyn and Carswell. I saw the men were slowly roasting a couple of rabbits and a chicken.

  ‘A mug of beer, sir?’ Carswell offered. I took it and glanced at Barak, but he was deep in conversation with some of the other men.

  ‘Thank you. What are you cooking? If you’ve been poaching you had best make sure Captain Giffard does not see you.’

  He laughed. ‘The local man said we could hunt some rabbits. There’s too many of them round here, they’re eating the crops. Some of the men had a little practice with their bows in the woods.’

  ‘That looks like a chicken. Not taken from some farm, I hope.’

  ‘No, sir,’ Carswell answered, his face suddenly solemn. His features, unremarkable enough, had the mobility of a comic. ‘That’s a type of rabbit they have down here.’

  ‘It’s got wings.’

  ‘Strange place, Hampshire.’

  I laughed, then turned to Llewellyn. ‘There is something I would ask you,’ I said, in a low voice so Barak would not hear.

  ‘Yes, sir?’

  ‘You spoke yesterday about the ironworks in the Weald. What is the difference between the new furnaces and the old ones – the bloomeries, I believe they are called.’

  ‘The new blast furnaces are much bigger, sir, and the iron comes out molten, rather than in a soft lump. The blast furnaces cast it into prepared moulds. They have started to mould cannon.’

  ‘Is it true the bloomeries do not operate in summer?’

  ‘Yes. They mostly employ local people who work the fields in summer and the foundries in winter. While the new furnaces often have dozens of men who work all year round.’

  ‘So a bloomery furnace is empty all summer?’

  ‘Probably they would have a man there to keep an eye on things, taking supplies of charcoal and the like ready for the winter.’

  I saw Barak looking across at me. ‘Thank you, Llewellyn,’ I said.

  ‘Thinking of leaving the law for the iron trade, sir?’ Carswell called after me as I went to sit next to Barak. The light was fading fast, and an extraordinary number of moths had appeared, grey-white shapes wheeling and circling in the dusk.

  BARAK LOOKED AT me shrewdly. ‘What were you muttering to Llewellyn about? Wouldn’t be anything to do with Ellen, would it?’

  ‘Let’s concentrate on Hugh Curteys for now,’ I answered snappishly.

  ‘You’ve found where Rolfswood is, haven’t you? You’re going to go there and nose around if you get the chance.’

  ‘I’ll have to see.’

  ‘I think you should leave well alone.’

  ‘I know what you think!’ I burst out with sudden anger. ‘I’ll do what I think best!’

  There was another raucous laugh from Sulyard. ‘Lovers’ tiff!’ he called out, staring at Barak and me. He was very drunk, gobbling and tumbling his words, his face alight with malice.

  ‘Shut your face, or I’ll shut it for you.’ Barak half-rose, his look threatening.

  Sulyard pointed at me. ‘Hunchbacks bring bad luck, everyone knows that! Though we’re probably fucked already, with a dozy old captain and a tippling whiffler to fight under.’

  I looked round the circle of faces; a swirl of smoke made my eyes sting. The men looked away uncomfortably. Sulyard rose unsteadily to his feet and pointed at me.

  ‘Don’t you give me the evil eye! You – ’

  ‘Stop it!’ Everyone turned at the shout. Pygeon had followed me and stood some feet off. ‘Stop it, you fool! We’re all in this together! You’re not in the village any more. You can’t steal game and ducks from poor folk as you like, spend your days telling people to call you master!’

  Sulyard roared, ‘I’ll have your balls!’ Pygeon stood uncertainly as Sulyard, shaking off the restraining hand of another soldier, reached for his knife.

  Then a tall, white-coated figure appeared and hit Sulyard a mighty smack across the face. He staggered, rallied, and reached for his knife again.

  Leacon faced him. ‘Strike me, you foul-mouthed rogue, and it’s mutiny!’ he shouted, then added more softly, ‘but I’ll deal with you man to man if that’s what you want.’

  Sulyard, a trickle of blood dripping from a cut, let his arms fall to his sides. He stood swaying, like a puppet with the strings cut. ‘I meant no mutiny,’ he said. He swayed again, then yelled out, ‘I want only to live! To live!’

  ‘Then stay sober and work with your fellows. That’s a soldier’s best chance of surviving.’

  ‘Coward!’ someone shouted from the dark. Sulyard turned to the voice, hesitated, then stumbled off into the dark. Leacon turned back to his men. ‘He’ll probably fall over soon. Someone go and find him in a while, dump him in his tent. He can apologize to Master Shardlake in front of you all tomorrow morning.’ He turned away. I followed, catching him up.

  ‘Thank you for that, George. But no public apology, please. He would not mean it and I would not wish to leave the company on such a note.’

  Leacon nodded. ‘Very well. But there should be some restitution.’

  ‘Such things have happened to me before. They will again.’ I hesitated, then added, ‘He is frightened of what may come.’

  Leacon looked at me. ‘I know. As we near Portsmouth a lot of them are becoming apprehensive. But what I said was true: if it comes to battle, discipline and working together are everyone’s best chance of survival. Though it is a matter of chance
and chaos in the end.’ He was silent a moment, then said, ‘This afternoon, those drums made me want to scream.’ He paused again. ‘Master Shardlake, after what I said at Godalming, do you – do you truly think me fit to lead? I will have to, Sir Franklin will be no use. He is good for pulling the men into line – last night a bunch of them got to drinking and rowdiness, and a few words from him shut them up. But you have seen him – he is too old to lead men into battle.’

  ‘I told you last night, you are as fine a leader as any they could have.’

  ‘Thank you,’ he answered quietly. ‘I feared you thought otherwise.’

  ‘No. On my soul.’

  ‘Pray for us, after we part.’

  ‘Right readily. Though it is long since I felt God listens to my prayers.’

  IT WAS STRANGE passing the night in a tent with Dyrick. He snored mightily, disturbing my sleep. Next morning we all rode out, saddle-sore, and I, painfully conscious of my aching back. It was our final day’s journey. Sulyard’s face was heavy as a bladder from his drinking the evening before. As he took his place in the ranks some of the soldiers gave him unpleasant looks – I guessed because he had shown his fear. Snodin, though, looked no worse than usual – the sign of a true drunkard.

  We set off again. The tramp of marching feet, the rumble of the carts behind us, the dust rising up and covering us, had become a familiar daily routine. But this was the last day; the soldiers would go all the way to Portsmouth, but according to Dyrick we had only a few miles to travel before passing a village called Horndean and turning off to Hoyland.

  It was another hot, sultry day. The soldiers sang through most of the morning, more bawdy versions of courtly love songs, so inventive in their obscenity they made me smile. We passed into forested country again, interspersed with stretches of downland and meadow and the occasional village, where people were going to church for Sunday service. The soldiers ceased their bawdy songs out of respect.

  Then, two miles on, where the road narrowed and ran between high forested banks, we found an enormous cart that had lost a wheel and turned over, blocking the road from side to side. It had been carrying a huge iron cannon, fifteen feet long, which had slipped the thick ropes securing it and lay on the ground. The four great horses that had been pulling it stood grazing by the bank. The carter persuaded the soldiers to stop and help repair his vehicle; the cannon had come from Sussex and, he said, should have been taken to Portsmouth by sea.

  While some of the men lifted the empty cart and others put the spare wheel on the axle and tried to tighten it, the rest of the company fell out, finding places to sit on the banks of the narrow lane. Dyrick strolled up and down with Feaveryear, looking at the wood, then came over to where Barak and I sat.

  ‘May we join you?’ They sat down. Dyrick waved a gloved hand at the trees. ‘This land, like Master Hobbey’s, is part of the ancient Forest of Bere. Do you know its history?’

  ‘Only that it is an ancient royal forest from Norman times.’

  ‘Well done, Brother. But little used: successive kings have preferred the New Forest. Bere Forest has been shrinking little by little for centuries, cottagers establishing the squatters’ rights you are so keen on, hamlets growing into villages, land sold off by successive kings or granted to the Church like the Hoyland Priory estate. It comprises miles and miles of trees like this.’

  I looked up into the forest. The growth here seemed very old, huge oaks and elms, the green undergrowth below heavy and tangled. Despite the days of hot weather a damp earthy smell came from it.

  There was a crash from the cart: the new wheel had been fixed, but as soon as the men released their hold it fell off again, the cart lurching once more onto its side. Dyrick groaned. ‘We shall be here all day.’ He stood up. ‘Come, Feaveryear, help me adjust my horse’s harness.’ He walked away, Feaveryear rising hastily to follow him.

  ‘He doesn’t want his little clerk telling us his secrets,’ Barak said scoffingly. ‘He need not fear. Feaveryear is loyal as a dog.’

  ‘Have you got to know him any better?’

  ‘All he seems willing to talk about is his salvation, the wickedness of the world, and how this journey is a waste of his honoured master’s time.’

  We looked up as Carswell approached us, a serious expression on his face. He bowed. ‘Sir, I am sorry for the trouble last night. I wanted you to know, few think like Sulyard.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  He hesitated. ‘May I ask you something?’

  ‘If you wish.’ I waved a hand to the bank beside me. I smiled encouragingly, expecting some legal query.

  ‘I hear the London lawyers have their own band of players,’ he said unexpectedly.

  ‘Plays are often performed at the Inns of Court, but no, the actors’ companies are independent bodies of men.’

  ‘What sort of people are they?’

  ‘A roistering lot, I believe, but they must work hard or they could not perform as they do.’

  ‘Are they well paid?’

  ‘No, badly. And life is hard in London these days. Have you a wish to be an actor, Carswell?’

  His face reddened. ‘I want to write plays, sir. I used to go and see the religious plays when they were allowed and as a boy I wrote little playlets of my own. I learned to write at the church school. They would have had me for a scholar, but my family is poor.’

  ‘Most plays today are full of religious controversy, like John Bale’s. It can be a dangerous occupation.’

  ‘I want to write comedies, stories to make people laugh.’

  ‘Did you write any of the naughty songs you sing?’ Barak asked.

  ‘Many are mine,’ he said proudly.

  ‘Most comedies in London are foreign,’ I said. ‘Italian mainly.’

  ‘But why should there not be English ones too? Like old Chaucer?’

  ‘By God, Carswell, you are a well-read fellow.’

  ‘Archery and reading, sir, those were always my pastimes. To my parents’ annoyance; they wanted me to work on the farm.’ He pulled a face. ‘I needed to get away, I was happy to join up. I thought once this war is over I might come to London. Maybe earn my bread with some players, learn more about how plays are made.’

  I smiled. ‘You have thought this out, I see. Ay, we need some English comic writing today if ever we did.’

  We were interrupted by Snodin marching across. ‘Come, Carswell,’ he snapped. ‘We’re going to have some archery practice in a field down the road. Leave your betters alone, you mammering prick.’

  ‘He’s doing no harm,’ Barak said.

  Snodin narrowed his eyes. ‘He’s a soldier and he’ll do as I say.’

  ‘Yes, Master Snodin.’ Carswell hastily got up and followed the whiffler. I called after him, ‘Ask for me at Lincoln’s Inn when you return.’

  ‘There’s an unusual fellow,’ I said to Barak. ‘And you should be careful of antagonizing another officer. One was enough.’

  ‘Arsehole. As for Carswell, you’d do better not to encourage him. Half those actor folk drink themselves into the gutter.’

  ‘You are in a poor humour today. Missing Tamasin?’

  ‘I wonder how she is faring all the time.’ He looked at me. ‘And I wonder what you are planning to do about that Ellen.’

  I did not reply.

  IT WAS AFTERNOON, and we had eaten by the roadside, before the cart was finally repaired. It took twenty men with ropes to reload the cannon. The cart pulled in to the side of the road to let the company past. We continued south, ever deeper into the Forest of Bere.

  I made my way up to the head of the company, where Leacon rode with Sir Franklin. ‘George,’ I said, ‘we will be parting shortly.’

  ‘Ay. I am sorry for it.’

  ‘And I. But before we go I wonder if I could ask another favour.’

  ‘I will help if I can. What is it?’

  ‘If Portsmouth is full of soldiers, I imagine a good proportion of those who served professionally in the past
will be there.’

  ‘Yes. Portsmouth is becoming the focus of all the military activity.’

  ‘If you get the chance, I wonder if you could ask whether anyone ever heard of a man called William Coldiron. He is my steward, for the time being at least.’ I told him the story of Coldiron and Josephine, how from what I had overheard in the tavern it seemed he had never married. ‘If anyone knows his history, I would be interested to hear it. I do not believe his tales of killing the King at Flodden, but certainly he has been a soldier.’

  ‘I will ask if I get the chance.’

  ‘If you do, maybe you could write to me at home.’

  ‘I will. And if you should come to Portsmouth while you’re here, look for me. Though I will have a busy time keeping these fellows in order. I hear the town is chaos, full of foreign soldiers and sailors. The company will be pleased to see you too.’

  ‘They do not all think me an unlucky hunchback?’

  ‘Only a few joltheads like Sulyard.’

  ‘Thank you. That means a lot.’

  I rode back to the rear of the company. The road began slowly ascending and the pace slowed. I was half asleep in the saddle when Dyrick roughly shook my arm.

  ‘We turn off here.’

  I sat up. To our right a narrow lane led into deep, shadowed woodland. We pulled aside. I called out, ‘George! We leave you here!’

  Leacon and Sir Franklin turned. Leacon gestured to the drummer, who ceased drumming. The company halted, and Leacon rode back to us. He gripped my hand tightly. ‘Farewell, then.’

  ‘Thank you for letting us ride with you.’

  ‘Yes,’ Dyrick added with unaccustomed grace. ‘I think we would have had another two days’ riding without you to speed us on.’

  I looked into the captain’s tired, haunted eyes. ‘I am glad we met again,’ I said sincerely.

  ‘And I. We must move on now, it will be late when we reach Portsmouth.’ Dyrick called a farewell to Sir Franklin, and he half-raised a gloved hand.

  Some of the soldiers called goodbyes. Carswell waved. Leacon rode back to the head of the company.