Heartstone ms-5

by C. J. Sansom

  'More arrows,' the soldiers said as they reached the doorway.

  'Give them here.' The sailors took the box and carried it to the ladder, which continued upwards. They climbed up nimbly, then descended again to resume their positions in the doorway. Leacon and I ascended to the top deck of the aftercastle, into the sunshine, underneath another span of netting fixed to wooden supports that enclosed the deck. The aftercastle was far longer than the weatherdeck, and just as crowded. Around half Leacon's company were there, perhaps twenty men standing at open blinds on each side, with a few placed behind ready to replace any who fell. Snodin was pacing slowly up and down the deck, his plump face set hard. He saw me and stared with an astonished frown. Like the men on the deck below most wore helmets and cotton jacks—Pygeon, some way off, had on the bright red brigandyne he had won from Sulyard. The men held strung bows upright at their sides, angled carefully so the tops did not touch the enclosing netting above, arrowbags at their waists, bracers on their wrists. The box of arrows lay open in the middle of the deck. Here and there the archers were interspersed with swivel gunners, their thin, six-foot long weapons fixed to the rail above the blinds. The guns were at rest, muzzles up and long tails resting on the deck. At the far end of the aftercastle, under an enormous flag of St George, Sir Franklin Giffard stared down the deck, his face set and resolute. Through the open blind next to me I saw the sea, forty feet below. I swallowed and looked away. Then I looked backwards, and stared.

  From here, looking through open blinds at the back of the aftercastle, I could see not only our ships and the distant French fleet, which appeared to be in the same position as the night before, but, perhaps half a mile ahead, the French galleys. Four of the enormous, sleek things faced us. They were drawn up stern to stern, like a four-spoked wheel, turning slowly on the sparkling water, so they could, each in turn, bring the cannon in the bows round to face us. I could see the oars flashing, the dark shapes of the double cannon in the prows. Some of our galleasses, pathetically small by comparison, faced them. As I watched, a puff of smoke billowed up and out as a galley fired at one of our ships further down the line. A boom echoed across the water.

  I turned and looked down the rows of archers. I saw Carswell and Llewellyn at adjacent blinds, other familiar faces, all shining with sweat.

  It was hard to pick Emma out among the archers but I saw her, in helmet and jack, up near the stern. She still carried the beautiful slim bow with horn tips that I recognized from Hoyland. When she saw me her face reddened with fury and her hand went instinctively to her throat. Leacon looked along the deck at her. Their eyes met. Emma's scarred face wavered a moment, then set hard.

  Sir Franklin had seen us. He marched between the rows of men, hand on sword hilt, frowning. No doubt he was astonished by my appearing yet again, this time on the Mary Rose herself. I followed Leacon towards him. A strong breeze rose suddenly, ruffling my hair. The ship tipped a little, and several of the archers and swivel gunners staggered. Leacon reached Sir Franklin, then bent to whisper in his ear. As he did so, I heard whistles and shouts from the main deck below.

  Sir Franklin jerked upright, stared at Leacon, then at me. He laughed. 'What?'

  'Easy enough to determine, sir,' Leacon said. Sir Franklin stared at Emma, then nodded. He and Leacon walked up the deck to her. I followed them.

  'Is it true?' Leacon asked her sharply. 'What Master Shardlake just told me about you?'

  Emma hesitated, then answered quietly, 'I do not understand, sir.'

  Doubt flickered across Leacon's face. In her uniform Emma was utterly convincing. He said quietly, 'If I have to, I'll find out the truth here and now. In front of everyone.'

  'There is nothing to find, Captain.' I had to admire her courage as she made her bluff.

  Leacon took a deep breath, then reached out and lifted off her close-fitting helmet. He stared at the short brown fuzz, studied her face again, then said, 'Remove your jack, soldier.'

  There was muttering up and down the ranks. The men still stood in position, but most had turned their heads to stare. Slowly, Emma removed her arrowbag, then took off her jack and dropped it to the deck. She stood there, the wind that had risen ruffling her white shirt. Leacon put his hands to her collar and ripped the shirt open. The heartstone was tied round her neck in its tiny leather pouch, over a white linen band. The band was drawn tightly across her chest, but above it the tops of her breasts made a slight swell. I feared Leacon might force her to untie the band but he had seen enough. There was an excited muttering among the men.

  'What's that? Is it a bandage? Is he hurt?'

  'Shit, I think it's a woman.'

  'Be quiet!' Sir Franklin called out. Leacon spoke quietly to Emma. 'Why have you done this? Why have you made a mockery of my company?'

  Emma crossed her arms. 'I wanted to fight, sir. You've seen that I'm a good archer.'

  Sir Franklin stepped up to her. He raised his hand and I thought he would strike her, but he turned to Leacon, and said, voice trembling with fury, 'Can she be got off the ship?'

  'Maybe. If a boat comes over.'

  'Go and find one. Get her out of sight for now. Under the aftercastle. Anywhere.' He looked round at the gawping soldiers. Emma stared at me, arms held tight across her breasts, her eyes full of pain and anger.

  The Mary Rose lurched violently. Some of the men staggered again, grabbing at the rails or reaching up to the enclosing netting. I had been aware of more whistles and shouted commands from below, and now I heard a loud rattling from the stern; the anchors were being raised. Turning round, I saw huge white sails billow out from the bowsprit and foremast, snapping and cracking in the rising breeze. Over to the left sails unfurled on the Great Harry too, then on the other ships. The Mary Rose rocked once more, then began moving slowly forward towards the galleys. It had begun. We were going into battle.

  Chapter Forty-seven

  SEVERAL SHORT, PIERCING whistle blasts sounded from the foot of the ladder. Sir Franklin shouted, 'To positions!'

  Leacon looked at Emma and me grimly. 'Go down to the space under the aftercastle and stay there!' he said, then walked away to his men. Most still had their heads turned in our direction but now they were looking past us to where, beyond the forecastle and the raised foresail, the galleys faced us. There was another crack and billow of canvas as the lateen sail at the back of the ship was set. Though I could feel little movement—just the ship rising and falling gently—the Mary Rose was approaching the galleys at considerable speed. I looked at the soldiers again; Carswell gave me a frightened smile and shrugged, as though to say, now we have all come to it, and you too. Pygeon, sweating in his brigandyne, crossed himself. Leacon went to stand in the centre of the aftercastle beside Snodin, near where Emma's jack lay. 'Stay steady, lads,' Snodin said in a quiet, sympathetic tone such as I had never heard him use before.

  The deck shifted and I almost fell. A nearby sailor, in position by the topmast rigging, shouted at us, 'Get your shoes off! Then get off this deck, out of our way!'

  I kicked off my shoes and ran to the ladder. Emma hesitated, then did the same. As we reached the hatch, I glanced backwards. The Mary Rose had pulled ahead of the rest of the fleet now, the Great Harry was behind us; all the other ships seemed to be following. Through the open blind of the archer next to me I glimpsed South Sea Castle in the distance. I looked down; far below I saw frothing waves as the Mary Rose cut through the water. My stomach lurched.

  I began descending the ladder. I looked back at Emma. She hesitated again, then, with a savage look, followed me.

  I clambered slowly down, trying to ignore the pain in my arms and shoulders. On the deck below the handgunners still stood with feet braced looking through their little ports, while on each side of the ladder the gun teams stood ready at the two long cannons. Through the wide door giving on to the walkway above the netting I saw we were still heading fast for the galleys. The two sailors still stood one on each side of the door, likewise staring ahead. Then
the Mary Rose began to turn. The port side dipped, pitching me off the ladder onto the deck. I hit my shoulder and cried out with pain. The sailors next to us looked round for a moment. The ship dipped even further, then righted itself.

  I tried to rise. Pain shot down my arm. I managed to get to my feet. Emma hesitated, looking at me. I said, 'I can't use the ladder.'

  'We were told to go to the space under the aftercastle.'

  'You go. I can't.'

  For the first time her expression was indecisive, uncertain. She stepped off the ladder and stood beside me. The ship was still turning, some of the handgunners were clutching at the ports now with one hand. Staring ahead, I realized the Mary Rose intended to face the galleys side on, bringing her cannon to bear. I felt giddy and sank to the floor. Emma looked down at her torn shirt, the heartstone swinging on its cord. It was still hard to believe she was not a boy. She pulled the ends of the shirt together, then sat down beside me. 'Afraid, Master Shardlake?' she asked coldly.

  'Leacon is right,' I answered. 'Everyone should be afraid to die.'

  She laughed harshly. 'Rather die fighting than hang.' Her voice seemed perceptibly higher. Something else she had had to keep under control all these years.

  I said, 'David is not dead, though he is badly hurt.'

  She lowered her head, then spoke quietly. 'I did not mean to kill him. I thought I would kill you and Barak, but I couldn't.'

  'I know.'

  She did not answer, but sat with head bowed. I looked ahead again. The four galleys were close now, I saw their sides were richly gilded with the arms of France. They circled round, still in their square formation, bringing their guns into position to fire on the Mary Rose. I said, as steadily as I could given my thudding heart, 'It's coming.'

  'Let it,' Emma answered without looking up.

  I said, 'If we get out of this, Hobbey will pass your wardship to me. Then you can decide what you want to be.'

  She looked up, her face set hard again. 'If we live I'll find another company. Fight the Scots, perhaps.'

  'I risked all to try and save you.'

  'Why?' she asked. 'Why did you? I never wanted—'

  'To give you a chance. A choice—'

  I broke off at the sound of a cracking boom. Dark grey smoke billowed out from the front of the galley facing us. There was an odd silence lasting perhaps twenty seconds, then one of the sailors said, 'That was close.'

  Then from below came a shout of 'Give fire!' followed by the loudest noise I have ever heard, as all the cannon on the starboard side of the Mary Rose fired on the galleys, one after another after another, a series of tremendous crashing roars. I felt the impact travel up through my legs, making my very bones shake, and a dreadful pressure on the inside of my ears. The decks trembled and creaked. I turned to Emma; she had looked up, her eyes alight with excitement.

  As the smoke cleared I saw the galleys were undamaged. The Mary Rose began turning to port, fast and steeply. I heard a cracking of sails. Then, through the doorway, I felt a sudden strong gust of wind.

  'That's too fast,' one of the sailors said.

  The ship heeled to starboard. I thought it would be like the earlier manoeuvre and she would right herself, but she tilted more and more. The soldiers on the port side, which rose high as the starboard side dipped lower, clung to the side of the portholes; their guns began slipping back through them and crashing down the decks. Looking through the doorway I saw a man fall off the topmast into the web of rigging, swivel guns fall from the topdeck railing, into the sea. I heard crashing and shouting below the netting enclosing the weatherdeck as men and equipment slid and fell. All this took only seconds, but the time seems to stretch out in my memory, detail after terrible detail. All the soldiers on our deck, and their guns, were now tumbling and crashing against the starboard side. The long cannon on the port side, too, began slipping from its mount.

  'Get out of here!' the sailor beside us shouted to his fellow. They went down on hands and knees and began crawling rapidly out onto the walkway above the netting, grasping the sides for the ship was tilted at such an angle now it was impossible to walk. Under the netting men were screaming. I saw hands reaching up through the mesh.

  'Come on!' I shouted to Emma. I began crawling after the sailors, gritting my teeth against the pain in my shoulders. For a second I thought she might stay behind, but I heard her shuffling after me. We got out onto the walkway. Men were hacking frantically up at the stout netting with their knives. A hand reached up and grasped my arm, a frantic voice shouted, 'Help us!' but then water crashed over us, the cold a sudden shock, and I felt myself carried outwards. In the seconds I rode the top of the onrushing water I saw dozens of soldiers falling from the aftercastle through open or broken blinds. I saw the red of Pygeon's heavy brigandyne as he fell past me like a stone, eyes wide with horror, and Snodin's plump form, arms windmilling frantically, mouth open and screaming. The men threw up great splashes as they hit the sea, then disappeared, the weight of their clothing and helmets taking them at once to the bottom. All those men, all of them. And from the hundreds trapped below the netting, and on the lower decks, I heard a terrible screaming. Then the cold waters came over my head and I thought, this is it, the end I feared, drowning. And suddenly all the pains in my body were gone.

  * * *

  SEVERAL MOMENTS of utter, absolute terror, and then I felt myself carried up and outward, and my head was in the air again. I took a frantic breath, kicking wildly at the water. I had been swept some yards out from the Mary Rose. The giant ship was on its side now, rapidly sinking. Part of the foresail floated on the surface, and the topmast and foremast, almost horizontal, hung out over the frothing water. Tiny brown shapes were climbing up them; I realized they were rats. Amazingly a couple of the men in the fighting top high on the foremast had survived; they clung on, calling piteously for help, the great mast I had craned my neck to look up at now only a few feet above the waves. The terrible screaming from the soldiers and sailors trapped below the netting had ceased. I looked round wildly; perhaps a couple of dozen men were, like me, kicking and shouting in the water; a few bodies floated face down. More rats scrabbled in the water. A great bubble of air burst a few feet from me. The ship sank lower, below the water's surface.

  I felt a force dragging me down again. Perhaps it was the ship settling on the seabed fifty feet below—as my head went under, I saw, amid hundreds more bubbles, the dim shape of the forecastle. It seemed to be moving, breaking away from the hull. I closed my eyes against the terror of it all, and seemed to see the face of the man I had once drowned staring at me sorrowfully.

  Then the dragging ceased. I kicked frantically upwards, bringing my head above water again, desperately sucking in air. At a little distance the Great Harry was bearing straight down on the French galleys. After what had happened to the Mary Rose she was not going to turn broadside. One of the galleys fired and there was an answering roar from the guns near the bow of the Great Harry. Smoke drifted out over the water. I grasped frantically at something floating past. It was a longbow, too light to take my weight. I was fearfully cold, and suddenly light-headed. I felt myself sink again; and remembered hearing somewhere that if you are drowning, the third time you go down is the last.

  Then a hand grasped my arm and pulled me up. I stared, wide-eyed, at Emma. She was clinging to something, a broad wooden circle with a short spar attached, the circle painted with alternating red and white rose petals. The emblem from the bow of the Mary Rose. I scrabbled at it. It was not heavy enough to support both of us, but by kicking our feet we were able to keep our heads above water. The pain in my shoulder returned from the effort of holding on, and my teeth began chattering with cold; even with the emblem to hold on to we could not survive long. Faint cries still sounded across the water from the few still left alive.

  I saw the galleys break formation and retreat, rowing back to the French fleet. We were much closer to the French ships now; I could make out individual warships. D
ozens and dozens of them, painted in black and yellow and green, drawn up in a long line three abreast. One at the front carried a massive papal flag, the keys of St Peter. I looked across the spar to Emma. Her face was wild, frantic. 'Where are they all?' she asked. 'The soldiers, the men?'

  'Gone,' I managed to gulp out. 'Drowned.' I looked to where the Mary Rose had been; there was nothing to be seen now in the still-bubbling sea save the tips of the two masts a few feet above the water, men still clinging to the fighting tops, and the floating sail.

  I heard a shout and turned to see a rowboat from one of the English ships approaching. Others were following, fishing the living from the water. The boat drew level and hands reached down to pull us out. Emma was landed in the boat first; I was dropped on top of her like a hooked fish. I looked round, into the horrified face of a sailor. 'The Mary Rose is gone,' he said.

  Chapter Forty-eight

  I WOKE TO semi-darkness. I realized I was on land; the ground beneath me was still. I was thirstier than ever in my life, the dryness reaching from deep in my chest to the back of my nose. I swallowed, tasted salt, and raised myself painfully up on my elbows. My shoulders were painfully stiff and sore. I saw that I was in a long, low room with small high windows; it was dark outside. I was lying on rough sacks on a dusty floor, a smelly blanket on top of me. Other men lay in rows along the walls. Someone was groaning. A couple of men with candles were moving to and fro. I tried to call out but could only manage a croak. One of the men carrying the candles came over with a heavy, limping walk. He stood over me: he was middle-aged with a seamed, lined face. I croaked out the words, 'Drink. Please.'

  He knelt beside me, placing a leather pouch to my lips. 'Slowly, matey,' he said, as a blessed trickle of weak beer ran down my throat. 'Don't gulp.'