by C. J. Sansom
'What was that business about buttons earlier?'
'You may have noticed some soldiers have buttons on their shirts, while others tie them with aiglets. Sir Franklin believes only gentlemen should be allowed to wear buttons. It is, shall we say, something of an obsession.'
'Buttons?' Barak repeated disbelievingly.
'Yes. Not that he is altogether wrong, the men like keeping as many as they can of the social distinctions they had before. That is part of the trouble between Sulyard and Pygeon. They come from the same village—Pygeon is a labourer's son, Sulyard the son of a yeoman. Though only a second son.'
'Whose inheritance was ever what the cat left on the malt heap.'
'He was keen to join the company, and he is a good longbow-man.'
'Would there had never been need to recruit this army,' I said.
Leacon looked across to the village, then round to where a long field of strips crested the downland. People were hard at work weeding their rows. He spoke with sudden passion. 'We have to protect these people, Master Shardlake. That is why this army was levied. And now I must find where the captain has wandered off to.' He strode away.
'I think I offended him,' I said to Barak.
'He must know what people think of the war.'
'Yet in the end he is right about the need to defend ourselves. And he and his men are the ones who must do it.'
'Come on,' Barak said. 'Let's go to the village. I wouldn't mind a piece of bacon.'
* * *
THE VILLAGE had no real centre; longhouses of various sizes were jumbled together at odd angles, paths weaving between them. In front of the bakehouse, a low square building, a table was loaded with bacon and thick slices of ham. Several soldiers were arguing with the women who had come out to us and now stood behind it. Sulyard was at the centre of the argument, shouting. More villagers were coming out of their houses.
One of the old women was waving a coin at Sulyard with just the air of outraged fury I had seen in Cheapside ten days before. 'This is no proper coin!' she shouted. 'It's not silver! Shame on you, the King's soldiers trying to cheat us!'
Sulyard bawled back. 'It's one of the new coins, you doltish country mare! It's a testoon, a shilling!'
A tall old man stepped up to him, grim-faced. 'Don't you insult my wife, ape!' He gave Sulyard a little push. Another soldier stepped forward and shoved him back.
'Don't you push Sulyard! Ape he is, but he's our ape!'
Carswell, the corporal, raised his hands. 'Come, lads. Don't make trouble, or we'll end marching in the jacks all day.'
'These clods don't understand the coinage!' Sulyard said with a mocking laugh. The growing crowd of villagers murmured ominously. Barefoot children looked on excitedly.
'Please,' Carswell called out, 'be calm! Our ape speaks true, these are the new coins of the realm!' Sulyard gave him a nasty look.
'Then pay in the old ones!' a young man called out.
The young archer Llewellyn stepped forward. 'They're all spent. Please, Goodwife, we've had scarce anything but bread and cheese for three days.'
The old woman folded her arms. 'That's your problem, my pretty.'
'We should send that old woman against the damned French,' Sulyard shouted. 'They'd flee at the sight of her.'
A couple of villagers, older men, stepped forward. Carswell looked round desperately, then saw me. He pointed. 'See, we have a gentleman with us, a lawyer. He'll confirm what we say.'
The villagers gave me hostile looks. I hesitated, then said, 'There is indeed a new coinage.'
'So soldiers take hunchback lawyers with them now to cheat folks!' Nothing could mollify the old woman. The villagers growled agreement.
I stepped forward. 'See, the coins have the King's head on them.'
'It's not silver!' the old woman shrieked in my face. 'I know how silver looks and feels!'
'It's mixed with copper. They are worth eightpence of the old money in London.'
'Ninepence!' one of the soldiers called out hopefully.
'Eightpence,' I repeated firmly.
The old woman shook her head. 'Don't care. Don't want that rubbish!'
'Come, Margaret,' one of the old men said. 'We killed Martin's pig to get this meat, we need to sell it.'
I took my purse. 'I'll pay, in the old money. Then the soldiers can repay me, eightpence for a new testoon.'
There was a murmur of agreement among the villagers. The old woman still looked suspicious, but said, 'You can have the lot for four shillings in proper silver. It should be five given the insults I've had, but we'll say four.'
It was a hard bargain, but I nodded agreement. The tension, which had been singing in the hot midday air, relaxed as I handed over a dozen silver groats, which the old woman examined ostentatiously before nodding and waving a hand at the meat. The soldiers took portions. The villagers returned to their houses, giving us hostile looks over their shoulders.
Carswell collected money from the recruits, then approached me. 'Thank you, sir, on behalf of the men. Here is their money. If we'd got into a fight we'd have been in the shit with the officers.' He hesitated, then added, 'It would be a favour if you did not mention this to Captain Leacon.'
'Ay,' Tom Llewellyn added. 'We know you are his friend.'
I smiled. 'Word has travelled fast.'
Sulyard swaggered by, giving us a dirty look. I noticed he wore pearl buttons on his jerkin, and remembered what Leacon said about the differences in the soldiers' clothes. He said, 'You stopped a promising fight brewing there, Carswell, you dog-hearted scut.'
'With old people and children?' Carswell asked. Sulyard was now attracting hostile looks from some of the other soldiers. He turned and swaggered away.
'Sorry about him, sir,' Carswell said. 'Come on, Welshy, let's get back.'
I looked at Llewellyn curiously. 'You are not Welsh, by your voice?'
'No, sir. But my father is. He trained me to the warbow,' he added proudly. A shadow crossed his face. 'Though I like my work at the forge too.'
Carswell nudged him. 'And your girly, eh? He's to be married at Christmas.'
'I congratulate you.'
'But where shall we be at Christmas?' Llewellyn asked sadly.
'We'll beat those Frenchies,' Carswell said confidently. 'You'll be happily in bed with your Tessy come Twelfth Night. If they have beds in Yiewsley village: I've heard you all still sleep with the cows.'
'No, that's Harefield men, like Sulyard.' Llewellyn looked at me. 'There are four of us here from our village.' He shook his head sadly. 'When we left, the girls garlanded us with flowers, everyone stood cheering as a lute player led us down the road. A far cry from our reception here.'
'Come on,' Carswell said. 'Let's get this bacon back to camp, before I start drooling.'
They walked away. 'That's got us well in with the troops,' Barak said.
'Jesu knows we need some friends on this journey.'
He looked at me. 'That was Richard Rich back there on the road, wasn't it?'
'Yes. Probably on his way to Portsmouth. The sooner we get to Hoyland Priory and back again, the better.'
* * *
AFTER LUNCH the company rested for an hour, sitting out the hottest part of the day. Then the soldiers were called back into line.
We marched on steadily. By the time we reached Guildford, late in the afternoon, some of the recruits were drooping with exhaustion. We marched through the town without stopping, a few small boys running alongside and cheering, but most of the townsfolk barely looking at us; many companies of soldiers would have passed through these last weeks.
Not long after we mounted a crest of sandstone hills, then descended into a river valley. It was about six o'clock, the sun starting to sink. We saw Godalming at last, cradled by the hills and dominated by the tall spire of a large church. A man stood at the gate of a meadow, looking at us expectantly. At a signal from Leacon, the men fell out and sank exhausted to the roadside. Leacon rode back to us.
&n
bsp; 'I am leaving Snodin in charge of the men,' he said. 'That is the field allotted them to camp in tonight. I am riding into town with the purser to buy rations and see if I can find some new shoes. Some of the men are limping badly.'
'That they are.'
'I'll probably have to pay a high price. How merchants are profiting from this war. I'll return to stay with the men, but you and your friends may as well ride in with me and find an inn. We can pick you up on the main road as we march through tomorrow. At six, we have to keep up the pace.'
'We'll be ready,' Dyrick answered, though he was as tired and dusty as I.
* * *
WE RODE INTO Godalming. Leacon and his purser left us to find the mayor, and we went to look for an inn. Most were full, but we found places at last. Barak and Feaveryear would have to share a room again. I went up to my chamber, took off my boots and lay down on the mattress, a feather one this time. I was almost asleep when there was a knock at the door and Barak entered.
'Come with me into town,' he begged. 'Let's find somewhere else to eat. I can't bear a whole evening with Feaveryear.'
I heaved myself to my feet, wincing at my sore back and thighs. 'Nor I with Dyrick.'
We found another inn, with better food than the night before. It was a companionable meal without Dyrick and Feaveryear. But as we stepped out into the street again I felt an urge to be alone for a while; I had been constantly in company for two days.
'I think I will look at the church,' I said.
'A spot of prayer?'
'Churches are good for contemplation.'
He sighed. 'Back to nestle with Feaveryear, then.'
I walked up the main street and into the church. The hushed space reminded me of childhood days, for this was as traditional a church as the law allowed. The evening sun shone straight in through the brightly stained west window, making the interior a dim red. A chantry priest recited Masses for the dead in a side chapel.
I walked slowly down the nave. Then I saw, in another side chapel, bent before the altar rail, a figure in a dusty white coat. George Leacon. He must have heard my footsteps stop for he turned round. He looked utterly weary.
'Forgive me,' I said quietly. 'I came to look at the church.'
He smiled sadly. 'I was trying to communicate with my Maker.'
'I remember at York you were working hard at reading the Bible.'
'I still have that bible.' He looked at me, his face anguished now. 'These days it strikes me how full of war the Bible is. The Old Testament, at least, and the Book of Revelation.'
I sat on the altar-rail steps. After that long day in the saddle I doubted I could kneel. 'Yes,' I agreed.
'I need to get away from images of war.' Leacon's tone was suddenly fierce. 'I read the New Testament, I pray for images of battle to stop crowding into my head, but—they will not.'
I wondered again at how the open boyish face I remembered had become so thin, so stark. 'You said you were in France last year,' I prompted gently.
'Ay.' He turned so he was sitting beside me. 'Those recruits, they have no notion what war is. When you knew me four years ago, Master Shardlake, I had had an easy form of soldiering. Garrison duty on the northern border or in Calais, or guarding the King's palaces. No war, only border ruffles with the Scots. Yes, I saw reivers there brought back dead for their heads to be displayed on Berwick Castle. But I had never killed a man. And then, you remember, I was dismissed.'
'Unjustly.'
'And so I returned to my parents' farm, which you saved for us in that court action.'
'I owed you a debt.'
'That was a good life, if a hard one. But my parents grew older, they could do less work and we had to hire labourers. Then, in the spring of last year, my old captain came. He said the King was going to invade France and they needed all the soldiering men they could get. The pay was good and I agreed.' He looked at me intently. 'I had no idea what it would be like. Does that not sound stupid, childish, coming from one who was a professional soldier?'
'What happened?'
Leacon now spoke with a sort of quiet, desperate fervour. 'I sailed first to Scotland with Lord Hertford's fleet. Did you know, the King ordered him to wage a war that would spare neither women nor children? Lord Hertford did not want to, but the King insisted. We landed at a place called Leith and sacked it, burned every house to the ground and set the women and children running into the countryside. My company stayed there so I saw no more action then, but the rest of the army went to Edinburgh and did the same, razed everything to the ground. The men came back laden with booty, anything of value they could take from the houses. The boats were so laden it was feared some might sink. But spoil is part of war—without hope of gain soldiers are reluctant to march into enemy country.'
'And now the Scots threaten to invade us, with the soldiers the French have sent them.'
'Yes. King Francis wants England humbled for good.' Leacon ran a hand through his curls. 'We sailed straight from Scotland to France. In July, just a year ago. I was in charge of a half-company of archers. They are all dead now.'
'All?'
'Every one. We landed in Calais and marched straight to Boulogne. The countryside between had already been ravaged by foraging soldiers. As in Scotland the fields had been trampled, villages burned. I remember local people standing by the road, old people and women and children in rags, everything they owned taken or destroyed. Starving in the rain, there was nothing but rain and cold winds in France last year. I remember how pale their faces were.' His voice fell almost to a whisper. 'There was a woman, a baby in one skinny arm, holding out the other for alms. As I marched past I saw her baby was dead, its eyes open and glassy. Its mother hadn't realized yet.' Leacon stared at me fixedly. 'We were not allowed to stop. I could see it affected the men but I had to encourage them, keep them marching. You have to, you have to.' He stopped, with a great sigh. 'And the French will do the same if they land, for revenge. Their captains will cry, "Havoc," and it will be the turn of their men to take booty from us.'
'All because the King wanted glory,' I said bitterly.
A spasm of disgust crossed Leacon's face. 'We marched right past Henry when we reached the outskirts of Boulogne. He was in his camp, all the splendid tents up on a hill. I saw him, a huge figure encased from head to foot in armour, sitting on the biggest horse I ever saw, watching the battle. Well out of range of the French cannons pounding our men from the city, of course.' Leacon swallowed hard, then continued. 'Our company marched uphill, under fire from the French—Boulogne is on a hill, you see. All our forces could do was hunker down under mud embankments, firing back into the town with our cannon, moving forward by inches. I saw Boulogne turned to rubble.' He looked at me, then said, 'You will not know what it is like to kill a man.'
I hesitated. 'I did kill a man once. I had to or he would have killed me. I drowned him, held him under the water of a muddy pond. I still remember the sounds he made. Later I was nearly drowned myself, in a sewer tunnel flooded with water. Ever since I have been terrified of drowning, yet felt it would be a kind of justice.'
'There is no justice,' Leacon said quietly. 'No meaning. That is what I fear. I beg God to take my memories from me but he will not.' He looked at the richly gilded statue of the Virgin Mary on the altar, her expression quiet, contemplative, immeasurably distant. He resumed his terrible story.
'When the part of Boulogne nearest us was blown almost to dust we were ordered to advance. The King had gone home by then; it was September, wetter and muddier than ever. Hundreds of us struggled uphill through the mud, French cannon firing down on us all the time. Then, when we got closer, their archers and arque-busiers fired from among the tumbled stones. The nearer we got to the town the more men fell. My company of archers shot many French cannoneers and archers. But we were a target ourselves, and many of my men were blown to fragments by the cannons.' He laughed suddenly, wildly, a terrible sound echoing round the dark church. 'Fragments,' Leacon repeated. 'A little
word for such a meaning. All that great muddy slope covered with hands and bits of legs, great joints of meat in scraps of uniform, pools of bloody slime among the mud and tumbled stone. A friend's head in a puddle, still with the helmet on.' He cast his head down, gave a mighty sigh, then looked up.
'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.'
