Heartstone (85 page)

‘Assistant-Purser West. He—'

A whistle sounded loudly from the top of the ladder. The officer thrust out his arm to stop us moving. ‘Stay back! Wait here!'

The whistle had been a signal. The officer blew his own whistle and I watched as another practice followed, the crews swinging smoothly into motion, moving with speed and grace. The iron cannon were loaded with shot from the back, the bronze ones, which had been hauled back for the purpose, from chambers at the front. Vents on top of the guns were filled with powder and the bronze guns were rolled forward, the ropes binding them to the walls slackening. The movement made the deck tremble again. Each master gunner placed the taper next to a hole at the back of each gun, into which another man had already mimed pouring in a dob of powder from a flask. Then everyone stopped and waited, still as a tableau for half a minute, until another whistle sounded. The guns were hauled inboard again, and the gunballs removed. Everyone took up their former positions. The officer said, ‘Good enough. We'll give them a hot cannonade!' He inclined his head at us. ‘Get out, quick!'

We passed between the guncrews. I remember one man holding a linstock staring at me as I went by. He was shirtless, with a short, scarred, muscular body, a square bearded face. He looked at me as though I were something from another world, an apparition.

We walked to the ladder. At the bottom Leacon said quietly, ‘Can you make it up?'

‘After all I've been through to get here? Yes.'

I climbed after him, though the effort sent pain slicing through my shoulders. Fresh, salt air wafted down from above, making my head swim for a moment. Leacon reached the deck and helped me up. Again, through the stout netting, I saw the great masts rearing up into the blue sky of another hot July day. The sails were still furled, but on deck and up in the rigging sailors stood in position, ready to release them on command. The deck was more crowded than ever, everyone at battle positions. As below, guncrews had taken up positions of readiness beside the cannon. Half the blinds were open, giving me a view of the
Great Harry
and the other warships beyond on one side, and on the other the Isle of Wight, where, away in the distance, I saw smoke rising from several large fires.

I looked along the deck. Archers stood at some of the open blinds, and perhaps fifty pikemen stood together, nine-foot-long half-pikes raised with tips poking through the netting, ready to thrust up at boarders. An officer with a whistle round his neck stood watching; he glanced up at the fighting top in the topmast where lookouts stood, the only ones with a clear view of what was happening.

Near us, on the opposite side of the deck, three officers were arguing. One I recognized as the purser. The second was Philip West. He looked haggard as he spoke to the third man, a tall officer in his forties, richly dressed. He had a dark brown beard framing a long, frowning face, a pomander as well as a sword at his waist. Round his neck he wore a massive whistle on a long gold chain. He was examining what looked like a tiny sundial. He looked up as West finished speaking.

‘If the beer's bad,' he said impatiently, ‘they'll just have to do without.'

The purser answered, ‘The men are parched. And starting to murmur-'

‘Then give them what there is!'

‘They won't drink it, Sir George,' West said impatiently. ‘It's bad—'

Sir George Carew shouted back, ‘Don't talk to me like that, knave! God's death, they'd best behave, all of them. The King is watching at South Sea Castle, and he'll have a special eye on this ship!'

West turned his head away. He saw me then; his mouth fell open in astonishment and horror. I met his gaze grimly. There was nothing he could do to me here. Leacon stared at him too, angrily, then turned to me. ‘Let's go up.'

We mounted via the space under the aftercastle, next to the mainmast, and arrived on the lower aftercastle deck, where helmeted handgunners stood with arquebuses and hailshot pieces propped against the side of the ship. There were no blinds here, only portholes at eye-level for them to stick their weapons through. I had a view through a wide doorway giving on to the walkway between the castles, above the netting. Two sailors in check shirts stood in the doorway leading to the aftercastle, watching as a pair of soldiers carried a long box across the walkway from the forecastle end. On either side of the doorway the two long cannon I had seen from the weatherdeck on my first visit were positioned, angled to fire outwards past the ship through a gap in the rigging, guncrews beside them. The cannon were bronze, beautifully ornate. Looking back, I saw two lines of handgunners, their feet braced, their long, heavy weapons thrust through little portholes. If the
Mary Rose
grappled with a French ship, they would fire hailshot of metal and stone at the opposing crew.

‘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.

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.