âSuch achievement for a youngling,' Barak said, straight faced. David frowned, unsure if he were jesting. Then he strung the bow, bent to it, came up and loosed the arrow. It sped through the air and hit the target, missing the centre by a few inches.
âNot quite so good as Hugh,' Fulstowe said quietly, with a little smile.
David rounded on him. âI have the greater strength. Set the butts further off and I would beat him easily.'
âI think perhaps your argument is groundless,' I ventured to the boys. â
Toxophilus
says range and accuracy are both needed. You both excel, and if one has a little more of each quality than the other, what matter?'
âDavid and I have been jesting and bickering these last five years, sir,' Hugh said wearily. âIt is what we do, the subject matters not. Tell me,' he added earnestly, âwhat is it you find to criticize in
Toxophilus
?'
âHis liking for war. And his praise for the King has a crawling quality.'
âShould we not foster the arts of war to protect ourselves?' Hugh asked with quiet intensity. âAre we to allow the French to invade and have their will with us?'
âNo. But we should ask how we came to this. If the King had not invaded France last yearâ'
âFor hundreds of years Gascony and Normandy were ours.' For the first time I heard Hugh speak with real passion. âIt was our birthright from the Normans before upstart French nobles started calling themselves kingsâ'
âSo King Henry would say.'
âHe is right.'
âDo not let Father hear you talking like that,' David said. âYou know he will not let you go for a soldier.' Then, to my surprise, his voice took on a note of entreaty. âAnd without you who should I have to hunt with?' David turned to me. âWe went out this morning, and our greyhounds caught half a dozen hares. Though my fast hound caught moreâ'
âBe quiet,' Hugh said with sudden impatience. âYour endless who-is-better-than-who will drive me brainsick!'
David looked hurt. âBut competition is the spice of life. In Father's businessâ'
âAre we not supposed to be gentlemen now? Do you know what a hobby is, Master Shardlake?'
âA hunting hawk,' I answered.
âAy, the smallest and meanest of birds.'
David's eyes widened with hurt. I thought he might burst into tears.
âThat's enough, both of you,' Fulstowe snapped. To my surprise he spoke as though he had the authority of a parent. Both boys were silent at once.
âPlease do not argue,' Feaveryear said with sudden emotion, his prominent Adam's apple jerking up and down. âYou are brothers, Christiansâ'
He was interrupted by a loud voice calling his name. Dyrick was striding across the lawn. He looked angry, his face almost as red as his hair. âWhat are you doing shooting with the boys? And you, Barak! You were told to keep to the servants' quarters. Master steward, do you not know your master's instructions?'
Fulstowe did not reply, but gave Dyrick a cold look. âThe boys invited us,' Barak said, a dangerous edge to his voice.
âSo we did, sir,' Hugh said. âFor some new company.'
Dyrick ignored them. âCome with me, Sam! Quick! Ettis and a bunch of clods from the village are shouting Master Hobbey down in his own study. I want what they say recorded!'
âYes, sir,' Feaveryear answered humbly. Dyrick turned and strode away, Feaveryear following.
âCome boys,' Fulstowe said. âI think we should go in. And it is not sensible to argue in front of our guests.' He looked at Hugh and David, and some understanding seemed to pass between the three. They went off after Dyrick and Feaveryear. Barak glanced over the building, eyes narrowed. âWe could go for a little walk and pass under the study window. It's at the back of the house. We might find something out. See, they have opened all the windows to let in the breeze.'
I hesitated, then nodded. âThis case leads me into bad habits,' I muttered as I followed him round to the back of the house, where a stretch of lawn faced the old convent wall. Raised voices could be heard from Hobbey's study. I recognized the Hampshire burr of Ettis, whom we had met in the village. He was shouting. âYou want to steal our commons. Then where will the poor villagers get wood and food for their pigs?'
âTake care, Goodman Ettis!' Dyrick's loud rasp cut like a knife. âYour boorish ways will serve you ill here. Do not forget that some of the cottagers have already sold their land to Master Hobbey. So less common land will be needed.'
âOnly four. And only when you threatened them with repossession when they got behind with their rent. And the grant is clear! The priory granted Hoyland village our woods near four hundred years ago.'
âYou have only your poor English translation of itâ'
âWe cannot read that Norman scribble!' another voice with a Hampshire accent shouted.
We were right under the window now. Fortunately the sill was above our heads. I looked round uneasily, fearing some servant might appear round the side of the house.
Dyrick replied forcefully, âThis grant only says the village should have use of all the woodland it needs.'
âThe area was mapped out, clear as day.'
âThat was done before the Black Death, since when Hoyland, like every village in England, has far fewer people. The woodland area should be correspondingly reduced.'
âI know what you have planned,' Ettis shouted back at Dyrick. âFell all our woodland, make great profit, then take the village lands and turn everything over to more woodland. No knife-tongued lawyer will talk us out of our rights! We will go to the Court of Requests!'
âYou'd better hurry, then,' I heard Hobbey answer smoothly. âI've ordered my woodsmen to start again on the area you wrongly call yours next week. And you people had better not impede them.'
âNote they've been warned, Feaveryear,' Dyrick added. âIn case we need to show the magistrate.'
âWho is in your pocket,' Ettis said bitterly.
Then we heard a bang, which must have been the door opening and slamming against the wall. Abigail's voice cried out shrilly, âRogues and vagabonds! Nicholas, Fulstowe tells me they shot an arrow at the hunchback lawyer in the forest! You villains!' she screamed.
âShot?' Hobbey sounded shocked. âAbigail, what do you mean?'
âI have just seen Master Shardlake,' Dyrick said. âHe looks no worse than he ever does.'
âHe wasn't hit! But they did it!'
Then I heard Fulstowe's voice: he must have heard the commotion and come in. âShardlake and his clerk were shot at while riding Master Hugh's woodland. They surprised a deer: it must have been a poacher warning them off. No one was hurt, nor meant to be,' he added impatiently.
âYou stupid woman!' It was the first time I had heard Hobbey lose control. Abigail began to cry. The room had fallen silent. I inclined my head, and we began moving quietly away, round the side of the house.
âThat was getting interesting,' Barak said.
âI was concerned someone would come out and see us. And I think we heard enough.' I frowned. âThat woman is so frightened.'
âShe's mad.'
âIt's hard to know. By the way, did you notice the way the boys took orders from Fulstowe earlier? And from what we heard there Fulstowe doesn't bother showing much respect to Abigail.'
âWho is right about the woods?' Barak asked.
âI'd need to see the land grant. But if there's a defined area, that stands well for the villagers.'
âIf I go into the village while you're away, maybe it's time to tell them you are counsel at Requests. Then we might get some information.'
I considered. âYes. Do it. See Ettis. Tell him if they write to chambers I'll apply for an injunction as soon as I get back. On condition they say nothing to Hobbey.' I smiled. âI can tell Hobbey about it on the day we leave.'
âYou are turning into a Machiavelli since becoming a Court of Wards lawyer.'
I looked at him seriously. âAsk Ettis to tell us in return all he can about Hugh. Something is going on in this house that we cannot see. I swear it.'
Chapter Twenty-one
SEVEN O'CLOCK the next morning found me riding north along the Portsmouth road, already a mile from Hoyland Priory. Once again I had taken Oddleg. He walked along rapidly, seeming happy to be on a long journey again. The weather was fine, a scent of dewy grass on the air which was still cool at that hour. It would be hot later, and I wore a doublet of light wool, grateful to have left my robes behind. As I rode I pondered the conversation I had had, just before I left, with Hugh.
I had asked to be called at six, and been woken by a knock on the door. Fulstowe put his head round. âThere is some breakfast downstairs, sir,' he said, adding, âI understand you are travelling to Sussex and will not be back until tomorrow afternoon.'
âYes. A piece of business for another client. Thank you.' I had already told Hobbey that, and no more-I was not going to tell them anything about Ellen. I rose and dressed. Then I picked up Emma's decorated cross from my bedside table and Hugh's copy of
Toxophilus
. I stepped quietly into the corridor and walked along to Hugh's room. I hesitated briefly, then knocked. I had gone there the previous evening, but either he was not there or was not answering. Here was a rare chance to speak with him undisturbed.
This time he answered the door, already dressed in shirt and doublet.
âI am sorry to disturb you so early,' I said, âbut I am setting out for Sussex now, and I wanted to return your book.'
He hesitated a moment before inviting me in, as courtesy demanded.
The room was furnished with a bed, a chest and a table, and a wall hanging in green and white stripes, the Tudor colours. On a shelf above the table I saw, to my surprise, a collection of perhaps two dozen books. The room smelled strongly of wax and Hugh's bow, unstrung, leaned against a corner of the bed. A box of wax and a rag lay beside it.
âI am polishing my bow.' He gave a little smile. âMistress Abigail prefers me to do it outside, but at this hour who will know?'
âIt is early indeed.'
âI like to rise before everyone else, have some time to myself before
they
are all up.' I caught a note of contempt in Hugh's voice and looked at him keenly. He coloured and put a hand to his neck. He is very conscious of those marks, I thought.
âYou have many books,' I said. âMay I look?'
âPlease do.'
There were Latin and Greek classics, a book on manners for young gentlemen, and copies of
Sir Gawain and the Green Knight
,
The Book of the Hunt
and Boorde's
Dietary of Health
, as well as Sir Thomas More's
Utopia
. There were, unusually, no religious works save a New Testament.
âA fine collection,' I observed. âFew people your age have so many.'
âSome were my father's, and Master Hobbey fetched some for me from London. But I have no one to discuss them with since our last tutor left.'
I took down
The Book of the Hunt
. âThis is the classic work on hunting, I believe.'
âIt is. Originally by a Frenchman, but translated by the Duke of York, who died at Agincourt. When nine thousand English archers routed a huge French army,' he added proudly. He sat down on the bed.
âAre you looking forward to the hunt next week?' I asked.
âVery much. It will only be my third. We do not socialize much here.'
âI understand it has taken time for the local gentlefolk to accept the family.'
âIt is only the prospect of the hunt that is bringing them. So Mistress Abigail says at least.' I realized how isolated Hugh was down here, David too.
âAt my last hunt it was I who brought down the hart,' Hugh added proudly.
âI was told you were awarded the heartstone, that you wear it round your neck still.'
His hand rose to his neck again. His eyes narrowed. âBy whom?'
âMaster Avery.'
âYou have been questioning him about me?'
âHugh, the only reason I am here is to look into your welfare.'
Those unreadable blue-green eyes met mine. âI told you yesterday, sir, I have no complaints.'
âBefore I left London, Bess Calfhill gave me something for you. Something Mistress Hobbey gave to Michael. It was your sister's.' I opened my hand and showed him the decorated cross. At once tears started to his eyes. He turned his head away.
âMichael kept it till he died?' Hugh asked, his voice hoarse.
âYes, he did.' I laid the cross on the bed beside him. Hugh reached out and grasped it. He took out a handkerchief, wiped his eyes, then looked at me.
âMistress Calfhill remembers my sister?'
âVery fondly.'
He was silent a moment, grasping the cross tightly. Then he asked, âWhat is London like now? I have been here so long. I remember little more than the noise, people always shouting in the streets, and then the quiet of our garden.' Again I sensed a weariness in him that a boy of his age should not feel.
âIf you went to university you could meet new people your age, Hugh, discuss books from morn to night. Master Hobbey must make provision if you want to go.'
He looked up, gave a tight smile, then quoted: â“In study every part of the body is idle, which encourages gross and cold humours.”'
â
Toxophilus
?'
âYes. You know I wish not to study but to go to war. Use my skills at the bow.'