Heartstone

'I think in her heart she would have wanted to see David and Emma safe. I think she too was haunted by guilt.'

'What about Rich? Mylling? The corner boys? Did you believe what they said?'

'I think I know what happened there, and it did not involve Hobbey or Dyrick. I will pick up that matter in London. I will say no more now—if I am right it could be dangerous to know. But I will tell the Queen. This time Richard Rich may find he has gone too far.'

'Sure you won't tell me?'

'Quite sure. Tamasin would not want me to.'

'If Emma has chosen to go for a soldier, it is what she always wanted. Why not leave her to follow her choice?'

I answered firmly, 'She has been so hemmed all these years she is in no right mind to make a decision like that.'

He shook his head. 'You are determined to rescue her whether she wants it or no. Whatever the consequences. As with Ellen.'

'Yes.'

'What if she's not in Portsmouth?'

'Then there will be nothing else I can do, and I will return alone. Now, goodbye, Jack.' I put out my hand. 'Until tonight or tomorrow.'

'Mad,' he said. 'Completely mad. Try to stay safe, for God's sake.'

He turned his horse, spurred it, and rode fast up towards the London road. He disappeared round a bend. I patted Oddleg. 'Come, back to Portsmouth.' I said.

* * *

THE ROAD SOUTH was strangely quiet. I thought, it is Sunday. No, that was tomorrow. From the deep-set lanes I smelt smoke several times and thought, are the charcoal-burners working as far south as this? I heard shouts, too.

I began the slow climb up Portsdown Hill. And then, near the top, the air became thick with smoke and I saw a burning beacon, men milling round it. My heart thumping, I crested the escarpment. Smoke from beacon after beacon was visible, in a line all along the hills. I looked down, across Portsea Island to the sea. Then my jaw dropped and I gripped Oddleg's reins, hard.

Most of the warships were still at anchor in the Solent, though some of the smaller ships were in the harbour, small dots from here. In front of the warships half a dozen larger dots were manoeuvring rapidly to and fro. I heard a sound like the rumble of thunder that could only be cannon firing. I thought, those ships are moving and turning so fast they must be galleys, as big as the Galley Subtle. Then I saw, at the eastern end of the Isle of Wight in the distance, an enormous dark smudge. The French fleet had arrived. The invasion had begun.

Part Six

THE BATTLE

Chapter Forty-three

I SAT FOR several minutes watching the extraordinary scene in the distance. The English ships, at anchor and with sails reefed, looked terrifyingly vulnerable. I wondered why the huge French fleet did not advance and assumed the wind was against them. A little way along from me, near the burning beacon, a group of country women stood watching the fighting. They were silent, anxious-looking, and I wondered if they had menfolk down there.

My instinct was that I was too late, I should turn and ride back. But Emma had been only three hours ahead of me at most; if she had come to Portsmouth she could surely not have found her way into battle yet. I thought of her watchfulness, her carefully considered speech. With the companies short of men it was perfectly possible she could get herself taken on, all the more now the French were here. I remembered Hobbey saying how Abigail had helped her bind up her breasts as they grew, and Hugh rubbing uncomfortably at 'his' chest. How much discomfort must she have undergone these last six years?

At the bridge linking the mainland to Portsea Island everything had changed since the morning. Now people were trying to get off the island, not on to it. A stream of people was crossing from the seaward side; women with babies, children, old people hobbling on sticks, all fleeing a possible siege. Most were poor; they carried bundles or hauled their possessions stacked on rickety carts. I remembered Leacon talking of the populace of the French countryside, begging and starving beside the road. I thought, is this about to happen here?

I waited till the refugees had passed. They began wearily climbing Portsdown Hill. An old couple started to argue about whether to abandon their cart, which contained a dismantled truckle bed, some poor clothes, pewter plates and a couple of stools. People trying to get past shouted at them to get out of the way. Then I heard drums, and a company of militia with an assortment of weapons marched rapidly down the hill. The refugees jumped quickly aside. The soldiers marched rapidly past me, the half-armour some wore clinking and rattling. The guards at the bridge saluted as they tramped across in a cloud of yellow dust.