‘Hugh said the guns in the forts will stop the French getting into Portsmouth Haven.’
‘If the French manage to disable our fleet, the French galleys could land men on the Portsea coast. That’s why there are so many soldiers posted along there. And if the French have thirty thousand men – well, we have maybe six thousand soldiers, many of them foreign mercenaries. Nobody knows how the militia will do. They are stout-hearted but little trained. The fear is that the French may land somewhere on Portsea Island and cut it off from the mainland. The King himself could end besieged in Portsmouth. You’ve seen they’re preparing for a siege.’
‘Is it really so bad?’
‘Chance will play a big part. In a sea battle all depends on the winds, which the sailors say are unpredictable here. That could make or mar us.’ He paused. ‘My advice to you is to get away as soon as you can.’
I thought of Rich. ‘Someone else gave me that advice earlier today.’
‘There could be hard fighting on the beaches.’
‘Do you think you will go there or on the ships in the end?’
‘I don’t know. But either way my men and I will fight to protect the people. Do not doubt it.’
‘I don’t. Not for a moment.’ Leacon had placed his hands on his knees and I saw one was trembling again. He made a fist of it.
‘Pray God it does not come to that,’ I said quietly.
‘Amen.’ He looked at me. ‘You have changed much since York, Matthew. You seem to have a weight of anxiety and sadness in you.’
‘Do I?’ I sighed heavily. ‘Well, perhaps I have reason. Four years ago I drowned a man. Then two years after that I was nearly drowned myself, shut in a sewer with a madman. Since then – ’ I hesitated. ‘I am used to the Thames, George, but the sea – I haven’t seen it since I sailed back from Yorkshire. It seems so vast, I confess it frightens me.’
‘You are no longer young, Matthew,’ he said gently. ‘You are well past forty now.’
‘Yes, my hair has grey well mingled with the black.’
‘You should marry, settle down, have a quiet life.’
‘There was one I would have married, a while ago, the widow of a friend. She lives in Bristol now. She writes from time to time. She is my age and in her last letter said she will soon be a grandmother. So yes, I begin to grow old.’
The sound of voices from the infirmary made us look up. In the doorway men in bright doublets were buckling on swords. Servants were leading horses round from the outhouses. Leacon stood. ‘I will leave you now. I will see you back at camp. Take care.’ He laid a hand on my shoulder, then turned and walked away to the gates. I watched him go, with his soldier’s straight back and long stride.
OUTSIDE THE infirmary two men were arguing, surrounded by a group of interested onlookers. One was tall and grey bearded, well dressed and with a sword at his waist; the other wore a clerk’s robe. I heard the tall man shout, his voice carrying. ‘I tell you, with three hundred soldiers as well as two hundred sailors and all those cannon she’ll be overloaded! And what about the weight of all the supplies, if we’re victualled for five hundred?’ The clerk said something in reply. ‘Nonsense,’ the grey-bearded man shouted. The clerk shrugged and walked away. The other man detached himself from the group and marched across to where I sat. As he came close I saw Philip West was not only grey but half-bald. He wore a short jacket and a high-collared doublet with satin buttons, his shirt collar raised to make a little ruff in the new fashion. He halted before me. His tanned, weathered face was deeply lined, his expression strained. He gave me a puzzled frown. ‘Is it you left a message for me?’ he asked in a deep voice.
I rose stiffly. ‘Yes, sir, if you are Master West.’
‘I am Philip West, assistant purser on the Mary Rose. What does a lawyer want with me?’
I bowed. ‘I am Serjeant Matthew Shardlake. I regret to trouble you now, sir, but I am trying to trace someone. For a client.’ I studied West’s face. If he was around forty now he had aged far beyond his years. His small, deep-set brown eyes were searching, his whole bearing that of a man burdened with responsibility.
‘Who do you seek? Quick, man, I have little time.’
I took a deep breath. ‘A woman from Rolfswood. Ellen Fettiplace.’
West’s shoulders sank, as though I had placed a final, unbearable burden upon them. ‘Ellen?’ he said quietly. ‘What is this? I have not heard of her in nineteen years. Then two days ago I saw Priddis riding in the town, or what is left of him. And now you come.’
‘I have a client who is seeking relatives; he heard there was a family called Fettiplace in Rolfswood. I have come to Hampshire on business and I called in there.’
West was looking at me intently now. ‘So you do not know whether she is still alive?’