by C. J. Sansom
One or two men glared back at him. One called out, ‘You sure that mad boy didn’t kill his mother?’
‘Ay,’ another added. ‘He’s possessed by a demon, that one.’
‘No!’ Mistress Ettis spoke up. ‘He is but a child, leave him alone!’ Then she said loudly to Fulstowe, ‘It is not the boy that has sent my husband to jail, it is you.’ She pointed to Dyrick. ‘And that black crow!’
There was fresh murmuring. A man bent down, picked up a pebble from the driveway, and shied it at Dyrick. He jumped aside, then turned and ran into the house. The group laughed.
I raised my hands. ‘Go! Do not make a disturbance! And make no trouble for the jurors in the village. Lodge your complaint with me at Lincoln’s Inn!’ I looked at Fulstowe. ‘Now, master steward, I will see this messenger. Come, Barak.’
THE MESSENGER was sitting at the kitchen table, where Ursula had given him some beer with bread and cheese. He stood and bowed at our entrance, then handed me a packet of letters. I opened it: inside was a letter addressed to me in Warner’s writing, one from Guy, and a third for Barak, which I handed to him. ‘Thank you, fellow,’ I said to the messenger. ‘How far have you come?’
‘From Portchester Castle. The royal party arrived there yesterday. Master Warner said to come at once, there have been delays with private letters. The ones from London are a few days old.’
I thanked him again. ‘Let us go to your room,’ I said to Barak. ‘Get some privacy.’
As we walked round the side of the house he said, ‘There could have been trouble with the villagers there.’
‘I know.’
He laughed scornfully. ‘Did you see Dyrick twist and run when that pebble was thrown? He’s like many who are free with bold words, he ran at a hint of violence. I wish young Feaveryear had been here to see it.’
‘I was never able to fathom why Feaveryear was sent away so suddenly. It had something to do with Hugh and David, I am sure.’
He looked at me seriously. ‘You finally shot your bolt with the family in there. You were hard on them.’
‘I had to do something for Ettis. I thought if they knew how Abigail was regarded we might get a verdict of murder by persons unknown. Priddis helped stop that. Did you hear what he said to me afterwards?’
‘Yes. He’s dangerous.’
‘I know. I wonder whether Mistress Ettis has the stomach to take the issue of the woods forward? I suspect the villagers will rely on her.’
‘She seemed a woman of spirit to me. Reminded me a little of Tamasin, only older. Now come, let’s get these letters open.’
In his room, Barak tore open Tamasin’s letter and read it eagerly, while I perused Guy’s. It was dated four days previously, the twelfth of July:
Dear Matthew,
I have received your letter. You will be pleased to hear that Tamasin continues very well, though increasingly tired as her time approaches. At home Coldiron has been surly since I called him to order, yet not impertinent. Josephine seems to have gained a little confidence – I heard her tell young Simon, who was saying again how he wished he could go to fight, that war is a wicked thing and she wished heartily God would stir up a universal peace among his people. I was pleased to see it, though it turned my mind back to that time she swore in French.
I have visited Ellen again. On the surface she seems returned to normal, cheerful and working with patients as though nothing had happened. She told me she was in good sort and I need not call again. But she did not mention you at all, and I sensed much hidden feeling under the smooth surface.
As I was leaving the Bedlam, Hob Gebons came to me and said that two days before Keeper Shawms had a visit from Warden Metwys. Gebons, knowing your concern to be informed of all that might concern Ellen, tried to overhear, but they spoke low and he could hear little. He told me though that at one point voices were raised: Metwys shouted that ‘she’ must be moved if her mouth is no longer safe, and Shawms replied you had the Queen’s protection and he would not do it.
Matthew, I think you should return, as soon as you can.
Your loving friend,
Guy
I looked up at Barak. ‘What does Tamasin say?’
He smiled. ‘That she is bored, and tired, and heavy. She wants me home.’ He took a long breath of relief. ‘What about Guy?’
I passed the letter over to Barak and opened the one from Warner. It was dated yesterday, he had got it to me fast. When I opened the letter I understood why; inside was a little folded note in the Queen’s own handwriting. I broke the seal. It was dated the day before, 15 July, from Portchester.
Dear Matthew,
I have received your letter, and was shocked to hear of the death of poor Mistress Hobbey. It seems there is little or nothing against Master Hobbey, and if that poor boy does not wish to proceed we should not entangle him in the coils of Wards at this time. I know that Mistress Calfhill will agree.
We have just arrived at Portchester Castle. The King will be travelling to Portsmouth in two days. Latest reports of French numbers and the progress along the Channel of their ships are very troubling. You should leave now, return to London.
I turned to Warner’s letter; it was brief, the script without his usual care and written in a hurry.
Dear Matthew,
The court is arrived at Portchester Castle. I enclose a letter from the Queen; we agree you should return to London as soon as possible. Please accept Brother Dyrick’s offer on costs. I hope and trust the inquest has found the killer. On that subject, I heard the inquest’s verdict into Master Mylling was one of accidental death.
Here the King is much concerned by the approach of the French fleet. I may be unable to write further till this desperate crisis is resolved, one way or another.
With greetings and salutations,
Robert Warner
I passed both letters over to Barak. ‘I never had a letter from the Queen before.’
‘Lucky you. Well, that’s the end of the Curteys case.’
‘I know. This room is sticky. Let’s get out.’
We stepped out into the windless summer evening. I looked over at the tiled roof, solid old walls and new high chimneys of Hoyland Priory.
‘This will be our last night at this place, thank God,’ Barak said. He looked at me. ‘D’you still think Warner could be connected with Ellen somehow?’
‘I don’t know.’ I took a deep breath. ‘Tomorrow morning we can leave first thing. I will go to Portsmouth, and you take the road for London. With luck I will only be there a few hours, and can catch you up on the road the next day.’
‘Don’t go.’
‘I must.’
‘The French could arrive.’
‘I must speak to West. It was I stirred up the hornets’ nest at Rolfswood.’
‘And you’re going to try and get the hornets back in?’
‘I am going to try and find out what happened at that foundry.’
He shook his head. ‘Fuck it. Listen, I’ll come with you to Portsmouth tomorrow.’
‘No. Go back to London. I’ll find Leacon, maybe he can help me reach West again.’
‘You shouldn’t go alone.’
I looked at him. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Provided we leave as soon as you’ve seen West. If I let you go alone, I fear you’ll stay and land in more danger.’
I smiled. ‘Then – thank you.’
He spoke with a sudden forcefulness; ‘When we get back to London, you have to change. You can’t go on living like this. And nor can I.’ He looked at me hard again, but there was concern as well as censure in his eyes.
I smiled sadly. ‘Leacon said something similar to me. About getting old.’
‘And obsessive. Never more so.’
I took a deep breath. ‘Then it seems that now I need you to guide me. Thank you, Jack.’
WE RETURNED TO the house. I thought, he is right, when we get back it is time I made a life for myself, instead of living through other
people’s tragedies. I realized that was what I had been doing for years: there had been so many, brought by the wild changes and conflicts the King had forced on England, perhaps it was my response to the wider madness.
Fulstowe stood in the great hall, looking at the space where the tapestries had been. He turned to me with a hostile look, his fair beard and hair contrasting with his jet-black mourning doublet.
‘Do you know where Sir Quintin and his son are?’ I asked shortly.
‘Departed.’
‘And the family?’
The steward glared at me, any last shred of deference gone. ‘I will not have you trouble them. Not after the state you reduced them to at the inquest.’
‘You should mind your manners, steward,’ I said quietly.
‘I am in charge of this household under Master Hobbey. I say again, I will not have you disturb them.’
‘Where is Master Dyrick?’
‘With Master Hobbey.’
‘We leave tomorrow. Tell Master Dyrick I will need to speak with him before we go.’
He looked relieved at that news. ‘I will. There will be no dinner in the hall tonight. Food will be served to people in their rooms.’ He turned on his heel and walked away.
I went up to my room. Soon after there was a knock at my door and Dyrick entered, his face dark and angry. ‘You will be pleased to know, sir,’ he said, ‘that Master Hobbey is prostrate. And David is much upset.’
‘Not as upset as Master Ettis, I’ll wager.’
I looked at him. I felt guilty for what I believed I had had to do at the inquest, but for Dyrick I felt only anger and contempt. I had believed earlier that, ridiculously unpleasant as he was, he genuinely thought I was treating Hobbey unjustly over Hugh; but after his role in the pursuit of Ettis I knew he was corrupt and cruel.
He sneered. ‘Ettis. Whose wife no doubt will take his place as your client.’
I said, ‘You will be pleased to hear I have authority to accept your offer to end Hugh Curteys’ case on the basis of no costs.’
‘Ah yes, that royal messenger.’ He smiled nastily. ‘And I noticed you and Master Hugh seem no longer to be friends. And after what you made him do this afternoon I imagine he will be as glad to be rid of you as everyone else here.’
‘Oh, it is not over yet, Brother Dyrick,’ I answered quietly. ‘There is the villagers’ case to come. And still a murderer to be found, incidentally.’
‘He has been found.’
‘I do not think even you believe Ettis guilty.’
‘Body of our Lord!’ he burst out. ‘You are the most troublesome fellow I ever encountered!’
‘Calm yourself, Brother.’
‘I will be calm when you and your impertinent clerk leave this house.’
‘And I hope you remain calm when next we meet, at Ettis’s trial or in the Court of Requests. I have your mark now, Dyrick, I see you clearly.’
‘You see nothing. You never have. Master Hobbey and the family, by the way, can I think do without your farewells.’ Dyrick flounced out, closing the door with an ear-splitting bang.
WE ROSE EARLY the following morning. We breakfasted in the kitchen, and said farewell to old Ursula, toiling there as usual, who thanked us for our interest in Hugh. ‘Though you never found why they told that wicked lie about Master Calfhill saying he loved Hugh, did you, sir?’
‘No, Ursula. And without Hugh’s cooperation, I do not think anyone can.’
She looked at me imploringly. ‘You will help Master Ettis, though? He’s a good man. He never killed Mistress Hobbey.’
‘Of course.’ I looked at her seriously. ‘Have you any idea who could have, Ursula?’
‘None, sir. It was a wicked act, for all her strange ways. God pardon her.’
‘Amen. I will not be returning here, but if you hear anything I should know, will you tell Mistress Ettis? She knows how to contact me.’
‘I will, sir. Unless the French get us all first.’ She curtsied deeply, but I could see my lack of success had disappointed her.
Outside it was another hot, still day. We loaded our saddlebags onto Oddleg and the horse Barak had been using. I thought, in three or four days we shall be returning them to the supplier at Kingston.
‘What will you do about the Rolfswood inquest?’ Barak asked after we had mounted.
‘When we get back to London I will make contact with the Sussex coroner. I will ensure Priddis is questioned. I’ll ask the Queen to use her influence if need be.’
‘That will all take time.’
‘I know.’
‘Look there,’ he said quietly. I followed his gaze to where David and Hugh were walking together from the house to the butts with their bows and arrowbags. Hugh turned and saw us. He laid down his bow and came over to me, his expression cold. David simply stood and stared.
‘You are leaving then?’ Hugh said abruptly.
‘Yes. And you will shortly hear the claim in the Court of Wards is to be abandoned.’
‘I wish it had never been started.’
I held out my hand. ‘Farewell, Hugh.’
The boy looked at it, then stared at me coldly again.
‘Will you give farewell to my master?’ Barak asked hotly. ‘Impertinent puppy, all he has done has been to try and help you.’
Hugh met his gaze. ‘Like making me tell the inquest what I felt about Mistress Hobbey? A strange kind of help. And now, I am going to try to distract David with some practice of honest archery.
We may be needed, mere boys as we are, if the French approach up that road.’ He turned on his heel and walked away.
‘Come, Jack,’ I said quietly. ‘Time we were gone.’
AGAIN WE TRAVELLED south through the summer woodland. Trees were still being felled in Hugh’s woods. Two carts loaded with oak trunks, the ends still damp with sap, pulled out of a side track and rumbled south towards Portsmouth.
We pressed on, through the rich summer landscape, the air becoming hotter as the morning advanced. We rode up the long steep incline of Portsdown Hill, hard going for the horses, and crested the escarpment. There we halted and looked down again on that extraordinary view. Nearly all the fleet seemed to be anchored out in the Solent now, only a few small ships lay in Portsmouth Haven. The ships were gathered together in three long lines, except for three – a giant, which had to be the Great Harry, and two other big ships that were sailing east along the coast of Portsea Island.
‘They’re lined up for battle,’ Barak said quietly.
I looked out to the eastern end of the Isle of Wight. Somewhere, out of sight still, the enemy was approaching across that calm blue sea.
AT THE BRIDGE between the mainland and Portsea Island there were large soldiers’ encampments now on both sides of the tidal stream, and heavy cannon. I had put on my lawyer’s robes and we were allowed through when I said we had business in the town. Supplies were still coming, many of the loaded carts heading towards the long line of tents along the coast.
As we rode downhill, Barak said, ‘Those are the royal tents behind that little lake.’
‘Yes.’ I counted twenty of the huge tents, in a myriad of different colours and designs, strung out parallel to the coast. More were being erected.
‘Do you think the King is going to camp there and watch the sea battle if it comes?’
‘Perhaps. Maybe the Queen too.’
‘You have to admire old Henry’s courage.’
‘Or foolhardiness. Come, let’s find Leacon.’
OUTSIDE THE city walls, where men still laboured hard to thicken the mud walls, companies of soldiers were practising manoeuvres: running with long pikes held before them, staging mock battles with bills, improving their archery at makeshift butts. All the men were brown from their time in the sun. Officers, mostly on horseback, rode to and fro supervising them, but I did not see Leacon. There were so many more tents that it was hard to get our bearings. The stink of ordure was unbearable.
We found the place where Le
acon’s company had been billeted and dismounted. All the tents in this part of the camp, though, were closed and empty except for one some way off, where a young soldier sat alone, eating bread and cheese from a wooden trencher. I recognized him as one of Leacon’s men. His face was spotted with mosquito bites, and I noticed the long collar above his tunic was frayed, the tunic itself filthy. I asked if he knew where the rest of the company was.
‘Gone to the ships, sir,’ he answered. ‘To get their sea legs and practise shooting from a ship. I’ve been left to guard the tents. They’ll be back tonight.’
‘We saw some warships out at sea.’
‘Yes. The Great Harry and the Mary Rose and the Murrain are out, they said. There’s five companies gone on them.’
‘Thank you.’
Barak asked him, ‘How do you find this life, mate?’
‘Never seen anything like it. The King is coming to view the fleet tomorrow. And they say the French will be here in a few days. Two weeks ago I was a churchwarden’s assistant. That’ll teach me to practise archery.’
‘Ay, it can be a dangerous thing.’
The soldier gestured at his trencher. ‘Look at this shit they’re giving us to eat. Half-mouldy cheese and bread like a stone. Reminds me of the famine back in ’27, when I was a child. I’ve walked with bent legs ever since.’ He took a drink from a wooden tankard at his side. I saw a Latin phrase embossed in large letters: If God be for us, who can be against us?
‘I hope you find a safe billet, fellow,’ I said.
‘Thank you.’
We rode away. ‘What now?’ Barak asked.
‘To the Godshouse, see if they can tell us where Master West might be.’
