WE RODE SLOWLY down the steep southern escarpment of Portsdown Hill. Ahead, two ox carts stacked with long tree trunks were descending the steep road with difficulty. We could not safely pass, so slowed our pace to ride behind them. I heard a clatter and turned. Feaveryear’s horse had stumbled and almost pitched him from the saddle. ‘Clumsy oaf,’ Dyrick snapped. ‘If I’d known you couldn’t ride properly I’d never have brought you.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Feaveryear mumbled. I looked back at him, wishing that just for once he might answer Dyrick back.
Hobbey was looking at the fields of Portsea Island below us. ‘There is some good growing land there, David,’ he told his son. David did not seem interested. Like Hugh, he was absorbed in watching the ships, the distant specks in the harbour slowly becoming larger.
I said to Hobbey, ‘Porchester Castle seems very large, but there are few buildings in the enclosure.’
‘It is Roman, that is how they built their castles. It was the key to the defence of Portsmouth Haven till the silting up of the upper harbour isolated it.’
I looked down at Portsea island, a chequerboard of fields, the parts not under cultivation full of cattle and sheep. I made out movement on the roads, people and carts in the lanes heading for the town. I looked out at the Haven; sometimes trees and buildings hid the view but gradually I began to distinguish the ships more clearly. Several long, low craft were moving rapidly through the water, while four enormous warships stood at anchor; all were still like tiny models at this distance. I wondered whether Leacon and his men might be on one of the warships already. I could just make out a blur of movement along the sides of the smaller ships, like the scuttling legs of an insect.
‘What are those?’ I said to Hugh.
‘Galleasses – ships that have both sail and oars. The oarsmen must be practising.’
We rode on, the road thankfully beginning to level out. It was another still, muggy day and I was sweating in my robes again. A bank of trees obstructed our view of the sea, but now I had a clearer view of the island. Several patches of white dots, soldiers’ tents I imagined, were scattered along the coast. Next to the narrow mouth of the harbour the town was surrounded by walls, more white tents outside. There were large marshy-looking lakes on two sides of the town walls. Portsmouth, I realized, was a natural fortress.
Hugh pointed to a square white construction halfway along the shore. ‘South Sea Castle,’ he said proudly. ‘The King’s new fortress. The cannon there can fire far out to sea.’
I looked out on the Solent, remembering my voyage home from Yorkshire in 1541, all that had happened afterwards. I shivered.
‘Are you all right, Master Shardlake?’
‘A goose walking over my grave.’
AT THE FOOT OF the hill the road was raised on earthen banks, passing over an area of marsh and mud with a narrow stretch of water in the middle spanned by a stone bridge. On the far side, where the land rose again, was a soldiers’ camp. Men sat outside the tents, sewing or carving, a few playing cards or dice. On the bridge soldiers stood inspecting the contents of the cart in front of us.
‘This is the only link between Portsea Island and the mainland,’ Hobbey said. ‘If the French were to take it the island would be cut off.’
‘Our guns will sink their fleet before they land,’ David said confidently. Absorbed in the view, he seemed to have forgotten about Lamkin, and his mother’s attack on him. Yet there was something haunted in his face.
A soldier came up and asked our business. ‘Legal matters, in Portsmouth,’ Hobbey answered briefly. The soldier glanced at Dyrick’s and my robes and waved us on. We clattered over the bridge.
We rode across the island, along a dusty lane between an avenue of trees. Hugh turned to Hobbey, unaccustomed deference in his voice. ‘Sir, may we ride across and get a closer look at the ships in the Haven?’
‘Yes, please, Father,’ David added eagerly.
Hobbey looked at him indulgently. ‘Very well.’