Heartstone

'Enough survived to climb the rubble into the town. Then it was hand-to-hand fighting, swords and bills, hacking and crunching and blood everywhere. The French—and they are brave men, as good as ours—retreated to the upper part of Boulogne and held out another week. I was wounded slightly in my side, I passed out and woke shivering in pain in a leaky tent, trying to keep rats away from my wound.' He gave a harsh laugh. 'They said I had been a brave soldier and promoted me to petty-captain.'

'Brave indeed, in a situation so terrible I can barely imagine.'

'It isn't the fighting in the town I remember most,' Leacon said. 'Though I killed several Frenchmen then and was myself in mortal danger. It's that hill below, like the inside of a slaughterhouse. So many dead. Many nights I dream I am there again. I struggle through that landscape, looking for pieces of my men, trying to identify them so I can put them together again.' He took a deep breath. 'If we fight the French ships, if we board, that will be hand-to-hand fighting. I got Snodin to address the men on the second day, tell them what it might be like. I know he was at Boulogne too. I could not bring myself to do it.'

I could think of nothing to say. I put my hand on his arm.

'I'm a fine fellow to lead soldiers, eh?' He laughed bitterly. 'When I am like this within?'

'You lead them well. I can see they respect you.'

'They would not if they could see how I really am. I can control myself for most of the time. But then I think of what I may be leading those men and boys to. Some like Sulyard are keen to fight, but even they have no conception what it will be like.'

'George, if you were not leading them it might be someone with less care for his men, who would not trouble to get good shoes for them.'

'I hate the drums.' There was desperation in Leacon's voice now. 'When we marched uphill at Boulogne the companies were always led by drummers, beating as loud as they could to compete with the cannon. I hate the sound, I always hear it in my dreams.' He looked at me. 'If only I could go home, to the farm. But I can't, we are all sworn in. You should thank God, Master Shardlake, that you are a civilian.'

Chapter Fifteen

THAT NIGHT I slept deeply. When the innkeeper woke me at five I had a vague memory of a dream involving Ellen, which left me with a heavy, troubled feeling.

The four of us were waiting on our horses outside the inn when the company marched through. Dyrick was in one of his sulky moods again, perhaps because I had abandoned him the night before. Sir Franklin rode at the head of his men with a haughty expression, Leacon with his face set and closed.

We took our places at the rear as the soldiers tramped south once more. Many of the recruits looked dull-eyed with the long boredom of the march; but several who had been limping now wore new shoes. The whiffler Snodin was again marching just in front of me; he reeked like a beer keg.

Soon after leaving Godalming, we crossed the border into Hampshire. We were in the western fringes of the Weald, mostly flat, forested country, massive old oaks among elm and beech. Areas of hunting ground were fenced in with high, strong wooden palings. We marched through tunnel-like lanes where the trees sometimes met overhead, a green dimness with spatters of bright sunlight on the road. A rich loamy smell came from the woodland. Once I saw a dozen bright butterflies dancing in a patch of sunlight. On the march there had been a constant sound of birds flapping away at our approach, but the butterflies ignored us as we passed, many of the men turning to watch them.

Again we halted near midday, in a broad, wooded lane near a stream. The horses were led to the water and the men crowded round the carts to receive the rations bought at Godalming. I heard complaints that there was only fruit and bread and cheese again, though a fat man who was the company purser pleaded the limited buying power of the new coins. One man called out, 'We've got our bows, let's hunt our own supplies. Come on, Goddams, let's get some rabbits or partridges, maybe a deer!'

There were shouts of agreement. Sir Franklin, like Leacon still mounted, turned and stared with an outraged expression. Leacon dismounted hastily and went up to the men.

'No!' he called out. 'This land is fenced, it's the hunting ground of some gentleman or even the King! I won't have you breaking the law!'

'Come, Captain!' someone called out. 'We're country lads, we can soon catch something.'

'Ay! Master Purser's keeping us short. We can't fight on empty bellies!'

'And what if you meet a forester?' Leacon asked.