I RODE BACK through Portsmouth with a head full of dark thoughts. It had never occurred to me that Ellen herself might have started the fire. Could West’s hints be true? I had not liked him, he had a harshness and bitterness in him, but clearly whatever happened at Rolfswood had weighed hard on him ever since. My heart sank further as I remembered Ellen’s words: He burned! The poor man, he was all on fire – I saw his skin melt, turn black and crack! That could be consistent with her causing the fire. But it did not prove it. And there were her other words: They were so strong! I could not move! The sky above – it was so wide – so wide it could swallow me! I remembered Reverend Seckford saying she had had a torn dress, grass stuck to it.
I was drawn back to the present by angry shouts in front of me. A dozen men, barefoot in the dusty street, sailors perhaps, had stepped into the road and were shouting insults at four foreigners passing on the other side of the street. They were barefoot too, dressed in patched, worn shirts and jerkins. A carter behind me pulled up sharply to avoid hitting the Englishmen.
‘Fucking Spanish dogs!’ one shouted. ‘Can’t that ape Emperor Charles even give you decent clothes?’
‘Why should we serve with dirty papists? You’re from that bunch shipwrecked in Devon last winter, ain’t you, that the King took into service? You couldn’t even sail a fucking ship properly!’
The four Spaniards had halted. They glared back at their tormentors, and one of their number stepped into the road facing the Englishmen. ‘Cabrón!’ he shouted angrily. ‘You think we wan’ serve on your ships! Our capitánes make us!’
‘Cappytanis! What’s a fucking cappytanis?’
‘I fight with Cortés in the New World!’ the Spaniard shouted, ‘Against the Mexica! Heathen dogs like you!’
Both groups were reaching for their knives now. Then half a dozen soldiers in half-armour, the corner guards, appeared and stepped between the two groups, swords drawn.
‘Enough! You’re blocking the King’s highway!’
Casting fierce looks at each other, the two groups moved on. The soldiers waved the traffic back into motion.
I was now almost parallel with the Guildhall. Two men stood talking animatedly outside, both in lawyers’ gowns, the elder resting his weight on a stick. Sir Quintin and Edward Priddis. I was not close enough to hear them, but Edward’s expression was worried, a far cry from his air of cold superiority at our meeting. His father seemed to be trying to reassure him. Edward saw me and fell silent at once. I made a bow from the saddle. They bowed back, coldly and formally.
I RODE THROUGH the city gate to the camp. The smell of urine and ordure seemed stronger than ever. A queue waited outside a barber’s tent; the men who came out were close shaved, their hair cropped. Nearby a group had formed a ring around two soldiers, stripped to the waist, who were wrestling. I saw Barak among those watching, standing beside Carswell. Both had been shaved and Carswell’s hair was cut to a short fuzz like Hugh and David’s. I dismounted and led the horse over to them.
‘What did this West have to say?’ Barak asked curtly. I could tell he was still angry with me.
‘Something that shook me. I’ll tell you later.’ I turned to Carswell. ‘We should return to Hoyland now. I would like to say farewell to Captain Leacon. Do you know where he is?’
‘Talking with Sir Franklin in his tent. I don’t think they’ll be long.’
I looked at the wrestlers. One was a big stocky fellow in his twenties, the other, I saw, was Tom Llewellyn. He had a powerful chest and shoulders for one so young. As I watched Llewellyn managed to throw his opponent on the ground, where he lay panting. Some cheered, others looked morose. Many had the big leather pouches in which they carried their belongings at their waists, and various small items were taken out and handed over. Carswell’s neighbour gave him a double-sided nit comb, the thin side black with dead lice, and a tiny bone spoon.
‘What’s that?’ I asked, pointing to the spoon.
‘Ear-wax scoop,’ Carswell answered cheerfully. ‘Useful stuff for waxing your bows.’ He threw a cloth to Llewellyn, who wiped his sweating chest. ‘Well done, lad.’