We turned along a side lane and rode towards the water. We passed close to a large dockyard where dozens of men were labouring. There were several wooden derricks and a number of low structures including a long, narrow one which I recognized as a rope-walk, where lengths of rope would be coiled together to form thicker ones, dozens of feet long if necessary. Piles of large tree trunks lay around, and carpenters were busy sawing wood into different shapes and sizes. A small ship stood on a bed of mud carved into the shore, supported by thick poles. Men were working hard repairing it. There was a constant sound of hammering.
A little to the south of the dock we turned aside from the lane and halted the horses by a mudflat next to the sea, from which a welcome breeze came. There was a smell of salt and rot, the mud spattered with green seaweed. Here we had a clear view of the ships across the water. Eight of the galleasses, sixty feet long and each with an iron-tipped battering ram in front and several cannon protruding from gun ports at the side, moved across the calm, blue-green water, smooth and fast despite their boxy shape. They were using both sails and long lines of oars. I heard the regular beat of drums marking time for the oarsmen. They made impressive speed. We jumped as one fired its guns, puffs of black smoke rising from their mouths followed by loud reverberating cracks. Then it turned round, astonishingly fast.
Dyrick gave it an anxious look. Hugh gave a little mocking laugh. ‘Do not worry, sir, they are only practising. There are no gunballs in the cannon. No need to be afraid.’ Dyrick glared at him.
‘It is their manoeuvrability that makes them so dangerous to an enemy,’ Hugh said with pride.
My attention was focused on the four great warships, anchored at some distance from each other in the harbour. Their sails were reefed now and they rode gently on the calm water. They were enormous, like castles on the sea, dwarfing the galleasses. A big rowing boat was tied to the stern of each, no doubt for transporting men and supplies from shore. It was an extraordinary sight, one I realized few would ever witness. The warships were beautiful, with their clean lines and perfect balance on the water. The sides of the soaring fore-and aftercastles, and the waists in the middle, were brightly painted, the Tudor colours of green and white predominating. Each had four enormous masts, the largest rising a hundred and fifty feet into the air, flags of England and the Tudor dynasty flying at the top. The largest warship made my head spin to look at it; I guessed it was the Great Harry, the King’s flagship. A massive flag bearing the royal arms flew from the aftercastle. I saw tiny figures moving to and fro along the decks, and other ant-like figures clambering in the mesh of rigging. High in the masts I made out more men standing in little circular nests.
David said, ‘Those are the fighting tops. Your archers may go there.’
Even at this distance and on horseback I had to look up to see the topmasts. Hundreds of seagulls wheeled and swooped among the ships, uttering their loud sad cries.
‘That men can make such things,’ Hugh said wonderingly.
Two of the galleasses approached the Great Harry. With remarkable speed they turned side on, the oars almost ceasing to swing. The drums stopped. They held position as though about to fire a broadside at the great warship, then the drum sounded again; the galleasses wheeled round and shot down towards the mouth of the harbour. Other galleasses were making the same quick manoeuvres with the other ships. Practice, I thought, for when the French warships come.
David pointed eagerly at the second largest ship. It was the nearest, perhaps a quarter of a mile away. It had a long, high aftercastle and an even higher forecastle from which a long bowsprit, supporting meshed lines of rigging, stretched out fifty feet. At the bottom of the bowsprit a large circular object was fixed, brightly coloured in concentric circles of red and white. ‘A rose,’ David said. ‘That is the Mary Rose.’
‘The King’s most favoured ship,’ Hugh said. ‘If only we could see them move. That must be astounding.’
On top of the aftercastle of the Mary Rose I saw a cage of what looked like netting, held in place by wooden struts. I wondered what it was.
Dyrick pointed to what looked like the ribs of some giant beast protruding from the mudflats near us. ‘What’s that?’ he asked Hobbey.
‘The ribs of some ship that foundered there. Those sandbanks are treacherous, the big warships have to be careful in the Haven. That is why most are outside, at Spitbank.’ He shook his head. ‘If the French come it will be difficult, perhaps impossible, to get all our ships in the Haven. At anchor they need two hundred yards to turn, I am told.’
‘Just within bowshot of each other,’ Hugh observed.
‘There may be more dead ribs rising from the sea in a few weeks,’ Feaveryear said sombrely.
‘You’re cheerful,’ Barak told him.
‘You joke,’ Feaveryear said angrily, ‘but war is ungodly and God will punish ungodly things.’
‘No,’ Hugh said. ‘Our ships will deal with the French as Harry the Fifth did. Look at them – they are wonders, marvels. If the French come close we will board and destroy them. I wish I could be there.’
‘Can you swim?’ I asked.
‘I can,’ David answered proudly.
But Hugh shook his head. ‘I never learned. But I am told few sailors can. Most would be carried down by the weight of their clothing.’