Heartstone: A Shardlake Novel

by C. J. Sansom

  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 H
arry 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. Dozens 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.’

  I lay back, gasping. ‘Where are we?’

  ‘In one of the Oyster Street warehouses. They brought all of you here that survived. I’m Edwin, I work on the loading usually.’

  I croaked, ‘How many? How many saved?’

  ‘Thirty-five pulled alive from the water. Those of you in a bad state were brought here. There are fifteen of you. One died earlier, God rest him.’

  ‘Thirty-five,’ I breathed. ‘Out of – ’

  ‘Five hundred. The rest are at the bottom of the Solent.’ His face, tanned and weatherbeaten, was sombre. ‘I knew some of them; I was a sailor till I smashed my leg five years ago.’

  ‘Did any soldiers survive?’

  ‘Two or three in the fighting tops managed to cling on. No others. The soldiers were heavy clad, they—’

  ‘Drowned. I saw. And heard the men under the netting, screaming – ’ My eyes were suddenly hot and stinging, though there was no moisture left in me for tears.

  ‘Here,’ the old sailor said, ‘easy now. Drink some more beer. You brought up a lot of water in the boat before you lost consciousness.’

  I asked, ‘Did you see it? Did you see the ship go down?’

  ‘Everyone on shore did. We all heard the screaming too, as the King did at South Sea Castle.’

  ‘He saw the Mary Rose sink?’

  ‘They say he cried out, “Oh, my gallant gentlemen! Oh, my gallant men!” He thought of the gentlemen first, of course,’ he added bitterly.

  ‘Why? Why did she sink?’

  Edwin shook his head. ‘Some are saying the gun ports weren’t closed quickly enough as the ship turned. Others have it she was top-heavy with all the cannon, and too many soldiers on board. I heard she might have been hit, too, by the galleys. Whatever the cause, all those men are dead.’

  ‘The French – what happened? The Great Harry fired on the galleys – ’

  ‘The galleys went back to the main fleet. They were trying to draw us into deep water to do battle with the French fleet, but Lord Lisle wasn’t to be had like that. We’d have been overwhelmed.’

  ‘I saw fires on the Isle of Wight.’

  ‘The French have landed near two thousand men there, but they’re being beaten back. The two fleets are still at a stand-off. They’re badly led, luckily for us. Though if the wind favours their ships they could still attack ours. You should leave, soon as you can.’ He gave me a little more beer, then looked at me curiously. ‘We’ve been wondering, sir, what you were doing on board. You’re not a sailor or soldier. You sound like a gentleman.’

  ‘I shouldn’t have been there. I intended to get off, but then the ship sailed out.’

  ‘Where were you on the Mary Rose?’

  ‘On the aftercastle. By the walkway over the netting. I managed to crawl out onto it.’

  Edwin nodded. ‘And you were in your shirt, so you didn’t just fall to the bottom like so many.’

  I lay back again. Memories of what had happened were returning in fractured jerks: the ship heeling over at that impossible angle, the man grasping at me as I crawled across the walkway, Emma behind. I said, ‘There was someone in the water with me – ’

  Edwin got to his feet, wincing. He had had a fracture below one knee; it had set badly, at a strange angle. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘there was a boy rescued with you. You were both clinging to the Mary Rose emblem. You were lucky. The boatmen tried to pull the emblem in, but it sank – ’

  ‘A boy?’

  ‘Yes. Well-set-up lad, with a scarred face.’ He looked at me again. ‘Your son, perhaps?’

  ‘No. But sh – he – saved me. Where is he?’

  ‘Gone. I was one of those helping survivors off the boats. He was lying face down underneath you. He seemed unconscious, but when the boat hit the wharf he shoved you off, went up the steps like a monkey and ran away down Oyster Street. We called after him – he seemed injured, holding one arm tight across his chest. But he just kept running. You didn’t know him?’

  ‘No. I only wondered what happened to him. He pulled me onto the spar. Tell me, did any officers survive?’

  ‘No. They were all under the netting.’

  I remembered West arguing with Carew and the master. So he was dead too, they all were. Vividly, in bright, terrible flashes, I saw Leacon’s company falling into the sea, sinking to the bottom in an instant.

  I SLEPT INTERMITTENTLY. The man who had been groaning became quiet; he must have died, for I saw Edwin and his fellows carry a body out, draped in a blanket. It was worse being awake; I kept seeing, again and again, the deaths of Leacon and his men. Then I would remember them tramping down the country lanes, the arguments and jokes and little kindnesses; Leacon riding at the front with Sir Franklin, hating the sound of drums. Edwin and his colleague gave me more to drink, and later tried to make me take a little soup, but I could not bear to eat.

  Next time I woke it was daylight. I felt rested now, in body at least. I looked at the man on
the sacks next to me, a young sailor. He said something in Spanish. I was too tired to remember the few words I knew and shook my head apologetically. I struggled to get to my feet, but only managed three faltering steps before my head swam and I had to grasp at a pillar. Edwin limped towards me. ‘You’re still weak, sir,’ he said. ‘You were insensible some time, you should lie down again. Try to eat something.’

  ‘I can’t.’ A horrible thought struck me. ‘Have any of the king’s officials been here?’

  He laughed bitterly. ‘No. The royal party haven’t left South Sea Castle and the tents.’

  ‘The Queen – is she there?’

  ‘No. At Portchester. The only visitor we’ve had is from the town council; they’re arguing with Governor Paulet over whether they or the army should pay for the care of those here.’ He gave me that inquisitive look again. ‘Were you expecting someone?’

  I shook my head. I let go of the pillar, and staggered back to my sacks.

  WHEN NEXT I woke night had fallen again. I was conscious of someone sitting next to me and sat up with a start. It was Barak, on a stool, with a lamp next to him.

  ‘Jack?’ I asked hesitantly, for my dreams had been peopled with phantoms.

  He took a deep breath. ‘Ay.’

  ‘How did you get here?’

  ‘When you didn’t arrive at Petersfield I rode back to Hoyland to see if they had news of you or Emma. They said neither of you had returned so I rode down here. I arrived this morning and learned Leacon’s company had gone down with the Mary Rose. I could see the top of the masts sticking out of the water. I thought you were fucking dead,’ he burst out in sudden anger. ‘Then I learned some survivors had been brought here and came to see.’

  ‘I was on the aftercastle, I managed to get off into the water. Emma rescued me.’

  ‘She lives too?’