Heartstone

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.'

'Thank you.' We passed into the Godshouse courtyard. Barak looked at me dubiously. 'Should we be lying to these people?' he asked.

'It's the only way I'll get to see West.'

'You realize he may not be happy to answer your questions.'

'I'll tell him the information I have came from his mother. As it did.'

I looked around. Everywhere men in uniform or the bright robes of senior officials were walking and talking. We went up to the door of the old infirmary, where I told the guard my story about needing to see West. He let us pass inside.

The infirmary, still with its stained-glass windows showing saints in postures of prayer and supplication, had been partitioned off into a series of rooms. Through an open doorway I saw two officials arguing, a paper on the table between them. 'I tell you she can't take the extra hundred soldiers,' one said in urgent tones. 'The refit's made her even heavier—'

'She made it safe from Deptford, didn't she?' the other answered dismissively. He slapped the paper. 'These are the complements decided for each ship, approved by the King. Do you want to go to Portchester and argue with him?' The man looked up and caught my eye. Frowning irritably, he reached over and slammed the door shut.

A black-robed clerk passed, accompanied by a man in a lawyer's robe. I stepped in front of him. 'Excuse me, Brother, might you help me? I need to speak urgently with of one of the ship's officers, Philip West. I believe he is on the Mary Rose.'

The clerk paused, impressed by my serjeant's robe. 'All the officers are staying on the ships now. I doubt they'd let a civilian on board. Perhaps you could send a message.'

That was bad news. I considered. 'I know one of the army officers; I understand his company are out at sea today.'

'They'll be rowed back to harbour at dusk. There's not room for the soldiers to sleep on the ships.'

'I see. Thank you.'

The two men hurried on. 'I want to find Leacon when he comes back,' I told Barak. 'See if he can get me aboard the Mary Rose.'

'What, you're going to try and speak to West on his ship? If it was him that attacked Ellen, you'll be at his mercy.'

'On a ship full of soldiers and sailors? No. And I'll go alone,' I added. 'A private talk would be best. No arguments, it is decided. Now come, let's pass the afternoon at that inn, keep away from these foul humours.'

Barak gave me a searching, worried look. I turned and walked back out to the busy courtyard. Near the infirmary steps two men in their thirties were talking. One had a stern face, short black beard, and a long dark robe. The other was familiar, a green doublet setting off his coppery beard, a cap with a string of pearls on his head. Sir Thomas Seymour, whom I had last seen with Rich in that doorway at Hampton Court. He stood listening attentively to the other man.

'D'Annebault's a soldier, not a sailor,' the black-bearded man said confidently. 'He can't command a fleet that size—'

'The militia between here and Sussex are ready to stop any landing,' Seymour answered proudly.