by C. J. Sansom
Barak considered. 'Something to do with Fulstowe? He is such a haughty fellow, you'd think he owned the place.'
'Whatever it is, I don't think Dyrick knows. When Abigail shouted that out he looked completely astonished. Oh, in God's name, what is going on here?' I pulled my fingers through my hair, as though I could drag an answer from my tired brain, then groaned and stood up. 'It is time for dinner. Jesu knows what that will be like.'
'I'll be glad to get out of here tomorrow. Even to go to Portsmouth.'
I left him and returned to the house. The sun was starting to sink behind the tall new chimneys of the priory. A servant, supervised by Fulstowe, was wiping a patch of grass with a cloth; removing Lamkin's blood, that his mistress might not see. The steward came across.
'Master Shardlake, I was about to look for you. Master Hobbey asks if you would see him in his study.'
* * *
HOBBEY SAT in a chair by his desk, looking sombre and pale. He had upturned his hourglass and was watching the sand trickle through. Dyrick sat opposite, frowning. I guessed the two had been conferring. Whatever the outcome it had not pleased Dyrick. For the first time I saw anxiety in his face.
'Please sit, Master Shardlake,' Hobbey said. 'There is something I would tell you.'
I sat. He said quietly, 'My wife has not been truly well for years, ever since poor Emma died. She has unaccountable fears, fantasies. Please discount her outburst earlier. I confess I have concealed how—how agitated she can become.' His pale skin reddened. 'Master Dyrick, too, was not aware of her—state of health.'
I looked at Dyrick. He frowned at the floor. Hobbey continued, 'Abigail loves the boys. But how strange she can be sometimes—that explains Hugh's distance from her. David's, too. This afternoon—I think she really believed David set Ajax on Lamkin deliberately.'
I stared at him. Had Hobbey not seen David's smile? I turned to Dyrick. He looked away and I thought, you saw it. I asked Hobbey, 'What do you think your wife meant, saying I was a fool for not seeing something before my eyes?'
'I do not know. She has—such fantasies.' He sat up and spread his thin white hands wide. 'I ask you only to believe she has never touched Hugh in anger, nor my son until this afternoon.'
I thought, that is probably true, judging by David's shock when his mother set about him; though, given what he had done, her reaction was hardly surprising. 'She said both Hugh and David were unnatural creatures. What could she have meant?'
'I do not know.' Hobbey looked away, and I thought, you are lying. He turned back to me, the sad look settling on his face again. 'It is because of Abigail we mix so little with our neighbours. She does not want to see them.' He set his lips. 'But we will go ahead with the hunt.'
'I am sorry, sir, that she is so unhappy. The loss of her dog will distress her greatly.'
'Oh yes,' Hobbey said with a touch of bitterness. 'Lamkin had become the centre of her life.' He stood up, something heavy and reluctant in his movements. 'Well, dinner is ready. We must eat. And preserve appearances before the servants. Abigail will not be joining us, she has gone to her room.'
* * *
IT WAS A sombre meal. Fulstowe joined us at table. For the steward of a substantial house to join the family at dinner sometimes was not unusual, but the way his eyes kept darting between Hobbey, Hugh and David, as though monitoring their behaviour, was strange. I remembered Barak saying Fulstowe acted as though he owned Hoyland Priory.
There was little conversation. I looked between them all, searching for something that was before my eyes but which I had not noticed before; there was nothing. David's eyes were red-rimmed and he looked crushed, somehow smaller. Next to him Hugh concentrated on his meal, eyes downcast and face expressionless, though I sensed the tension in him.
Towards the end of the meal David suddenly laid down his spoon and put his face in his hands. His heavy shoulders shook as he began, silently, to cry. His father reached across and took his arm. 'It was an accident,' Hobbey said gently, as though to a small child. 'Your mother will realize that in time. All will be well. You will see.' On David's other side, Hugh looked away. I wondered, was he jealous that Hobbey favoured David? But no, I thought, he does not care about any of them.
After dinner I went to Dyrick's room. I knocked, and his sharp voice bade me enter. He was sitting at a little desk, reading a letter by candlelight. He looked up, his thin face unwelcoming.
'Is that the letter from your wife, Brother?' I began civilly.
'Yes. She wants me home.'
'That was a horrible scene earlier. The killing of the dog, and Mistress Hobbey's reaction.'
'She didn't touch Hugh,' Dyrick answered sharply.
'She said some strange things. Calling Hugh and David unnatural creatures, saying I could not see something before my eyes.'
He waved a hand dismissively. 'She is deranged.'
'Did Hobbey tell you something, Brother, before he called me in? You seem worried.'
'I worry about my children!' he snapped. 'But what do you know of a parent's affection?' He smacked angrily at the letter. 'I should be at home with them and my wife, not here.' He glared at me, then said, 'I have watched you on this journey. You are a soft man, always looking for some poor creature to rescue. You dig and dig away at this matter, though you find nothing. You would do better to cease this obstinacy and go home. Look for another widow to chase.'
I stiffened with anger. 'What do you mean?'
'It is common gossip around the courts that you doted on Roger Elliard's widow after he died, and would bark and bite at everyone for months after she left London.'
'You churl, you know nothing—'
Dyrick laughed, an angry bitter laugh. 'Ah, at last I have drawn a manly response from you! Take my advice, Brother, marry, get a family of your own to worry over like an anxious hen.'
I stepped forward then. I would have struck Dyrick but I realized that was what he wanted. He had distracted me from my questioning, and if I assaulted him he would report it to the Court of Wards and I would be in trouble. I stepped back. I said quietly, 'I will not strike you, Brother, you are not worth it. I will leave you. But I believe you know what Abigail meant. Your client told you.'
'Leave this matter,' Dyrick said, his voice unexpectedly quiet. To my surprise his face looked almost haggard. 'Let us go home.'
'No,' I answered. I went out and closed the door.
* * *
NEXT MORNING I rose early again. It was another fine summer's morning. The tenth of July, ten days already since we left London. As I dressed in my robes for my visit to Priddis, I thought of Dyrick's words the night before. Characteristically vicious, they had nonetheless unsettled me. But I was still sure Hobbey had told him some secret—he had looked worried ever since.
I breakfasted with Barak in the kitchen. Ursula was there, but apart from a brief nod she ignored us. We crossed the great hall to the porch, past the tapestries of the unicorn hunt, their colours shining brightly in the sunlight. I glanced at the representation of the hunters with their bows stealing through the trees. I wondered, would we be gone by the time of Hobbey's hunt on Monday?
'You're quiet this morning,' Barak said.
'It's nothing. Come on.'
The horses had been brought out, and I was pleased to see Oddleg had been fetched for me. Two young manservants were already on horseback; evidently they were to accompany us. Hobbey stood with Dyrick, bent over some papers, Dyrick's black robe shining in the sun like a raven's wings. Nearby, Hugh and David were talking with Feaveryear. Hugh, like Dyrick, wore a broad-brimmed hat. I went up to them. David flushed and looked away. I wondered whether he felt shame for what he had done.
'Ready for the journey?' I asked Hugh.
'Yes. Master Hobbey suggested David and I should stay behind, but I will not be done out of seeing the fleet. Master Hobbey has agreed that we may ride along the side of Portsdown Hill so we can get a view of Portsmouth Haven.'
I looked at the two young servan
ts. 'They are coming too?'
'Gentlemen travellers should be accompanied, and Fulstowe is staying behind, to look after David's mother.' There was a touch of contempt in his voice. I thought, with unexpected anger, you do not care about poor Abigail at all. I turned to Feaveryear. 'Are you looking forward to seeing Portsmouth?'
'I do wonder what it will be like,' he answered soberly.
'We are ready, Master Shardlake,' Hobbey called.
'Ay,' Dyrick said in a biting voice. 'We must not keep Sir Quintin Priddis waiting.'
One of the servants brought the mounting block and helped Hobbey to the saddle. Then he fetched it over and Barak and I mounted. I settled myself in the saddle, patting Oddleg's side.
Then something odd happened. Hugh was about to mount. As he did so Feaveryear said, 'What will we see in Portsmouth, eh, Master Hugh?' and touched him lightly on the arm. There was nothing unusual in the gesture, though it was presumptuous given their difference in status. But Hugh thrust Feaveryear's arm violently aside, nearly toppling the skinny clerk. 'Do not touch me!' he said with sudden anger. 'I will not have it.'
He climbed into the saddle. Dyrick snapped savagely at Feaveryear, 'Don't ever do that again. Who do you think you are, you little booby? Now get on your horse!' Feaveryear obeyed, his face full of hurt.
As we rode through the gate I remembered Hobbey's deposition, the allegation that Michael had touched Hugh in a way a man should not touch a boy. And I thought, what if that were true after all? Could that be why he had reacted so fiercely just now?
* * *
THE ROAD was dusty, the sun already hot. We rode past the area where the foresters were still at work, then south, up a long, increasingly steep slope, towards the crest of Portsdown Hill. We passed one of the beacons that would be lit if the French landed; a long sturdy pole with a wooden cage suspended by a chain from the top, filled with dry kindling soaked in tar. A man stood on guard. I rode up to Hugh, who was at the head of our group beside Hobbey and David. I passed Dyrick, who still seemed preoccupied, his coppery eyebrows knitted in a frown.
I said, 'Thank you again, Hugh, for lending me Toxophilus.'
Hugh turned to me, his face shadowed by his wide hat. 'Do you think any better of it on reflection?'
'I agree he is a most learned scholar. I know little of archery, but I know that many worthy people praise it.' I had a sudden memory of the Lady Elizabeth sitting with Catherine Parr, her questions about the virtue and conscience of lawyers. 'But I still think that in the first part of the dialogue Master Ascham rather preened himself, as well as over-flattering the King. And I have read better dialogues. Christopher St Germain, now there is a writer, though he talks of law and politics.'
'I do not know him.'
'Thomas More, then. You have Utopia. With all his faults More never took himself too seriously.'
Hugh laughed. 'Utopia is but a fantasy. A world where all live in peace and harmony, where there is no war.' He looked me in the eye. 'That is not the real world, Master Shardlake, nor one that could ever exist.'
'Strong words for a lad your age. You are too young to remember, but England had twenty years of peace till the King invaded France.'
'Listen to Master Shardlake,' Hobbey said tersely from Hugh's other side. 'He speaks true.'
David had been silent, but now he turned to his father. 'I have an idea,' he said. 'Perhaps in Portsmouth we can find a puppy, bring it back for Mother.'
'No.' Hugh turned and spoke sharply across Hobbey. 'She will need time. You cannot just replace a pet, any more than you can a person.'
David glared at him. 'What do you know about it?'
'You forget, fool, how much I know about mourning.' The cold anger in Hugh's husky voice was chilling.
'Perhaps later you can bring your mother a new dog,' Hobbey said soothingly. Again, he spoke to David as though he were a child. I wondered if this was why David was so immature.
Just then one of the servants called a warning, and we pulled into the side of the road as two big carts rumbled past. They were full of boxes of iron gunballs. From Sussex, I thought, for the Portsmouth guns.
'We should try and pass them, in single file,' Dyrick suggested. 'Otherwise we shall be behind them all day.' We formed a line and rode carefully past the carts. I was behind Hugh. I looked at the back of his scarred neck and thought, I would give a chest of gold to know what goes on inside that head. When we passed the carts I rode up beside him again.
'Your friend the captain of archers,' he asked, 'will he be in Portsmouth?'
'I believe so.' I looked across him to Hobbey. 'Master Hobbey, after we have seen Sir Quintin Priddis, Barak and I will stay behind to seek out my friend.'
Hobbey inclined his head. 'As you wish. Though I warn you, Portsmouth is a rough place just now, full of soldiers and sailors.'
'I would like to meet your friend,' Hugh said.
'No,' Hobbey countered firmly.
'Perhaps you think I would take the chance to run away for a soldier?' Hugh said mockingly.
Hobbey turned on him, his manner suddenly sharp and forceful. 'If you ever tried that, I would have the authorities bring you back at once. You would look a fine fellow then to the brave soldiers.'
Hugh gave me a sardonic half-smile. 'Master Shardlake would help you.'
'Assuredly I would,' I agreed firmly.
We rode on in silence. The ground grew ever steeper as we approached the crest of the hill. We had almost reached it when we turned left. We rode along for a mile or so, through a little town, halting near a large windmill. We rode up to the crest of the hill and I drew in a long breath at the view.
Before us lay a complicated vista of sea and land. The hill descended steeply to an area of flat land cradling an enormous bay, the narrowest of mouths giving onto the Solent, the green and brown of the Isle of Wight beyond. The bay had a sheen like a silver mirror in the noonday heat. The tide was out, revealing large brown mudbanks. Directly below us, at the head of the bay, was a huge square enclosure of white stone that I realized must be Portchester Castle. Over to the west I could see another wide bay, more sandbanks.
Hobbey followed my gaze. 'That is Langstone Harbour. It is too shallow for big ships. The land between Langstone Harbour and Portsmouth Haven is Portsea Island.'
I looked at the wedge of land between the two bays. At the southwestern end of the island, hard by the harbour mouth, I made out a dark smudge that must be Portsmouth. There were numerous ships in Portsmouth Haven. From here some were mere tiny dots but several which had their white sails up looked to be very large. The warships. At anchor out in the Solent there were many more, forty or fifty, ranging from tiny to gigantic in size.
'The fleet,' David said wonderingly. 'Gathering to await the King.'
'And the French,' Barak added soberly.
Hugh looked at me with a smile. 'Have you ever seen such a sight?'
'No,' I answered quietly. 'No, I have not.'
'Those out in the Solent are in deep water. There are many sandbanks there: with luck the French will not know where they are and will ground themselves.'
'They will have their pilots, as we have,' Hobbey observed impatiently.
I said quietly to Hobbey, 'I had not expected Portsmouth Haven to be so large, or to see so many mudbanks.'
'Near the harbour mouth, there is deep water.'
'The whole fleet can get in if they need to, I am sure,' David said proudly. 'Then the guns on either side of the harbour will keep the French out.'
I looked along the long crest of Portsdown Hill, which I realized was part of the long chain of the South Downs. As far as I could see, all along the hilltops, a chain of beacons marched, each with a guard beside it. To my right, the beacons continued, past a large encampment of soldiers' tents.
'Let us go on,' Hobbey said. 'It is near four miles to Portsmouth. Be careful, the road down is steep.'
We began to descend, towards the island.
Chapter Twenty-five
WE RODE SLOWLY down the steep southern escarpment of Portsdown Hill. Ahead, two ox carts stacked with long tree trunks were descending the steep road with difficulty. We could not safely pass, so slowed our pace to ride behind them. I heard a clatter and turned. Feaveryear's horse had stumbled and almost pitched him from the saddle. 'Clumsy oaf,' Dyrick snapped. 'If I'd known you couldn't ride properly I'd never have brought you.'
'I'm sorry,' Feaveryear mumbled. I looked back at him, wishing that just for once he might answer Dyrick back.
Hobbey was looking at the fields of Portsea Island below us. 'There is some good growing land there, David,' he told his son. David did not seem interested. Like Hugh, he was absorbed in watching the ships, the distant specks in the harbour slowly becoming larger.
I said to Hobbey, 'Porchester Castle seems very large, but there are few buildings in the enclosure.'
'It is Roman, that is how they built their castles. It was the key to the defence of Portsmouth Haven till the silting up of the upper harbour isolated it.'
I looked down at Portsea island, a chequerboard of fields, the parts not under cultivation full of cattle and sheep. I made out movement on the roads, people and carts in the lanes heading for the town. I looked out at the Haven; sometimes trees and buildings hid the view but gradually I began to distinguish the ships more clearly. Several long, low craft were moving rapidly through the water, while four enormous warships stood at anchor; all were still like tiny models at this distance. I wondered whether Leacon and his men might be on one of the warships already. I could just make out a blur of movement along the sides of the smaller ships, like the scuttling legs of an insect.
'What are those?' I said to Hugh.
'Galleasses—ships that have both sail and oars. The oarsmen must be practising.'
We rode on, the road thankfully beginning to level out. It was another still, muggy day and I was sweating in my robes again. A bank of trees obstructed our view of the sea, but now I had a clearer view of the island. Several patches of white dots, soldiers' tents I imagined, were scattered along the coast. Next to the narrow mouth of the harbour the town was surrounded by walls, more white tents outside. There were large marshy-looking lakes on two sides of the town walls. Portsmouth, I realized, was a natural fortress.
