Heartstone (26 page)

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.'

Chapter Fifteen

T
HAT NIGHT
I slept deeply. When the innkeeper woke me at five I had a vague memory of a dream involving Ellen, which left me with a heavy, troubled feeling.

The four of us were waiting on our horses outside the inn when the company marched through. Dyrick was in one of his sulky moods again, perhaps because I had abandoned him the night before. Sir Franklin rode at the head of his men with a haughty expression, Leacon with his face set and closed.

We took our places at the rear as the soldiers tramped south once more. Many of the recruits looked dull-eyed with the long boredom of the march; but several who had been limping now wore new shoes. The whiffler Snodin was again marching just in front of me; he reeked like a beer keg.

Soon after leaving Godalming, we crossed the border into Hampshire. We were in the western fringes of the Weald, mostly flat, forested country, massive old oaks among elm and beech. Areas of hunting ground were fenced in with high, strong wooden palings. We marched through tunnel-like lanes where the trees sometimes met overhead, a green dimness with spatters of bright sunlight on the road. A rich loamy smell came from the woodland. Once I saw a dozen bright butterflies dancing in a patch of sunlight. On the march there had been a constant sound of birds flapping away at our approach, but the butterflies ignored us as we passed, many of the men turning to watch them.

Again we halted near midday, in a broad, wooded lane near a stream. The horses were led to the water and the men crowded round the carts to receive the rations bought at Godalming. I heard complaints that there was only fruit and bread and cheese again, though a fat man who was the company purser pleaded the limited buying power of the new coins. One man called out, 'We've got our bows, let's hunt our own supplies. Come on, Goddams, let's get some rabbits or partridges, maybe a deer!'

There were shouts of agreement. Sir Franklin, like Leacon still mounted, turned and stared with an outraged expression. Leacon dismounted hastily and went up to the men.

'No!' he called out. 'This land is fenced, it's the hunting ground of some gentleman or even the King! I won't have you breaking the law!'

'Come, Captain!' someone called out. 'We're country lads, we can soon catch something.'

'Ay! Master Purser's keeping us short. We can't fight on empty bellies!'

'And what if you meet a forester?' Leacon asked.

To my surprise Pygeon spoke up, his words tumbling over each other in his nervousness. 'God made the forests and game to serve man, sir, not to be fenced in for the sport of those who have full bellies!' There were more shouts of agreement, and for the first time I sensed a challenge to Leacon's authority. The whiffler Snodin marched across, purple-faced. 'Rebellious bastard!' he shouted right in Pygeon's face, adorning it with spittle.

'Drunken old cunt,' I heard Sulyard murmur. Several men laughed. Leacon stared them down. Many lowered their eyes but not all. Some crossed their arms and looked defiant.

'Maybe you're right!' Leacon said loudly. 'I'm a poor farmer's son myself, I've no time for enclosers of land! But if you take game and meet a forester then you'll hang, soldiers or no. And that'll be a fine thing to be said of a company of the warbow! I promise when we get to Liphook I'll make sure you get a good meal, if I have to hold Master Purser upside down and shake the last groat from his doublet!'

'Can I help you shake him, Captain?' Carswell called. As in the village the day before, his humour broke the tension and the men laughed.

After eating, many of the men went to a spot on the wattle fence enclosing the hunting park, ostentatiously pissing against it. After my own repast of bread and bacon, I walked over to where Leacon sat. He had handled the angry soldiers skilfully, and it was hard to realize this was the same man as the agonized figure I had spoken with the night before. 'How are you and your friends bearing up with the ride?' he asked. I sensed a new reserve in his voice.

'Stiff and sore, but that is only to be expected.'

'Your colleague's young clerk finds it hard, I think.'

'Feaveryear is managing. Just.' I looked at Leacon keenly, wondering if he regretted his confidences. 'A couple of men were arguing just now over whether a bowl was theirs or the King's,' I said to make conversation.

'Yes, some brought their own but many had to have bowls and spoons issued from the stores. A wooden bowl may be a prized possession in a poor family. It is the same with the bows: only those with good ones, like Llewellyn, were allowed to bring their own. Most are standard issue from the armouries. It is the poorer men who hadn't equipment to bring, and yet their pay will be docked. Strange, is it not?' He smiled mirthlessly.

Dyrick came up to us, nodding to Leacon before addressing me. 'Master Shardlake, I would speak with you confidentially, if I may.'

We sat together at the side of the road. The rest of us were tanned now, but Dyrick's face was still red, sunburned skin peeling off one cheek above the coppery stubble on his lean face. He said, 'Master Hobbey has turned part of the priory lands into a hunting park. Only a small one, but well stocked with game.' He gave me one of his hard looks. 'He is to hold his first hunting party in ten days' time. Many local gentlefolk will be present. It will be an important event for my client.'

'I hope we shall be gone by then.'

'But lest we are not, I trust you will not tell any of the local society the purpose of our visit.'

'As I said about the villagers, Brother Dyrick, I look to make no trouble for Master Hobbey. But I will make no commitments about what I may say or do.'

'I shall be watching you carefully, Brother Shardlake.' Dyrick's expression was intent, his green-brown eyes locked on mine. 'My client has come far, from wool merchant to country gentleman. Perhaps one day he may be Sir Nicholas. I will not see his prospects harmed.'

'All I want is to ensure Hugh Curteys' lands and welfare are properly looked after. Why can you not realize that?'

'You will soon see that they are.'

'Then all will be well, Brother.'

There was silence for a moment, then Dyrick asked, 'Have you ever hunted?'

'When I was young, once. Though it was not to my taste, the beasts harried along to their deaths. They have no chance.'

Dyrick laughed scoffingly. 'There speaks the Court of Requests lawyer. Even deer get your sympathy. Well, it will be my first hunt if we are still there, though like you I hope we will not be.' He grunted. 'I did not come from the class that hunts. I am the son of a poor clerk - I have had to struggle up the ladder of life. From Church school to a scholarship at the Temple, to a lowly job as a lawyer at the King's court--'

'You worked at court? Perhaps you met people I know. Robert Warner, for example?'

'The Queen's solicitor? No, I had a grubbing clerkly job. I left to test my wits in litigation.' He looked at me hard again. 'Master Hobbey comes from lowly origins too. But I hear your father was a rich farmer, Brother Shardlake.' There was a sneer in his voice.

'Not so rich, a yeoman only. And I was told my grandfather's grandfather was a serf. That is where most of us have come from in the end.'

'I admire those who come from nothing and aim high.'

I smiled. 'You are one of our "new-made men", Brother Dyrick.'

'And proud of it. In England we are not slaves like the French.'

We looked at the soldiers. A little group with Sulyard at its centre were talking in low voices and laughing unpleasantly, mocking someone no doubt, and Barak had struck up a conversation with Carswell and the Welsh boy. Dyrick stood, brushing grass from his rear. 'Another thing,' he added, 'your man Barak, like Feaveryear, will be expected to stay out of the house. Master Hobbey does not approve of over-familiar servants.'

He walked away. I watched him, reflecting with a sardonic smile that new-made men are often the worst snobs.

D
URING THE
afternoon clouds began rolling in from the west and it turned cooler. I saw Leacon looking at the sky. A fierce downpour such as had been common in June would soon turn the road from dust to mud. Leacon nodded at the drummer, who began a fast beat to get the men to pick up their pace.

We stopped briefly on another woodland road at about four to water the horses at a pond and give them some rest. Beer was passed round and I took the chance to tell Barak of my conversation with Dyrick.

'Hobbey will probably lodge Feaveryear and me in the woodshed.' He nodded to where the clerk sat on a bank a little way off, reading a psalter.

'I think we'll need three days to take depositions and see what case Hugh Curteys is in. Then we get ourselves back.'

'What if they are doing something nasty to him?'

'Then we will bring him back with us, and Dyrick can--'

'Fuck himself with a red-hot poker. I heard one of the lads telling in detail how he'd do that to Snodin.'

'Look at that!' We turned at the sound of a shout. One of the soldiers was pointing over the trees to the east. 'A forest fire.' I saw a column of smoke rising up a mile or so away. It grew denser, and I caught the first smell of smoke.

'It's not a fire,' young Llewellyn said. 'It's charcoal burners. We're on the western fringes of the iron-working area here.'

I looked over at him curiously. 'How do you know?'