‘Let’s see what’s happening,’ Barak said.
We went outside, meeting the innkeeper who was coming from the parlour with a tray of mugs. ‘What was that gunfire?’ I asked.
He laughed at my anxious look. ‘They’re testing the cannon at the Round Tower and over at Gosport. Making sure we can cover the harbour entrance if the French appear.’ A sneer crossed his face. ‘Did you notice a big capstan by the tower?’
‘Yes.’
‘There’s supposed to be a chain with links a foot long stretching across the harbour mouth, that would keep any ship out. But it was taken for repair last year, and it’s never come back. So we’ll need guns if the French come.’
‘I thought for a moment they had.’
‘You’ll see and hear much more if they do,’ the innkeeper said. He walked away.
‘That shook me,’ Barak admitted. ‘Let’s get out.’
WE LEFT THE INN and walked up to the High Street. Outside the Guildhall a crowd had gathered to watch a strange-looking company of soldiers pass by. Instead of armour they wore knee-length tunics under short decorated waistcoats; their legs were bare and they had sandals instead of boots. Most were tall and strongly built, with hard faces under their helmets.
‘More mercenaries, by the look of them,’ I said. ‘I wonder where these are from.’
A boy next to us piped up. ‘Ireland, Master,’ he said excitedly. ‘They’re the kerns, they’re being paid to fight the French instead of the King’s soldiers.’
The Irish marched by, looking neither to left nor right. The crowd dispersed, and a man who had been watching from the Guildhall doorway became visible. It was Edward Priddis. He stared at us for a second, then turned and went back inside. Barak put his hand on my arm, pointing to an open window.
‘Look,’ he said quietly.
Sir Quintin was seated at a table, glaring out at us. There was another man beside him. He turned, and I saw that it was Richard Rich.
‘Oh shit,’ Barak whispered.
Rich rose and marched smartly out of the room. A moment later he appeared in the doorway, looking angrier than I had ever seen him, spots of red in his pale cheeks. He marched across the road to me.
‘What in hell’s name are you doing here?’ His voice was quiet as ever, but a vicious hiss rather than his usual mocking tones. ‘Why are you pursuing Sir Quintin Priddis like this?’ I saw a little tic jump at the corner of his eye. ‘I have been hearing about your disgraceful performance at the inquest into that woman’s death.’
I made myself look him in the face. ‘I did not know you were acquainted with the Hobbeys, Sir Richard.’
‘I am not. But I knew Sir Quintin once, and he has told me of your obsession with some supposed injustice to the Hugh Curteys boy, and your persecution – ’ he almost snarled the word – ‘of that family. You go too far, master lawyer. Remember where that led you once before. If you have come to trouble Sir Quintin again—’
‘My presence in Portsmouth is nothing to do with that case, Sir Richard.’
‘Then what are you doing here? Eh?’
‘I have legal business—’
‘What business? With whom?’
‘Sir Richard, you know such information is privileged.’
The flat grey eyes glared into mine, the black pupils like needles. ‘How long are you here?’
‘I leave tomorrow.’
‘When the King comes to Portsmouth. You had better be gone.’ He leaned forward. ‘Remember I am a privy councillor, Master Shardlake, and this is a city preparing for war. If I wanted, I could have Governor Paulet lock you up as a suspected French spy.’
Chapter Thirty-eight
WE WALKED BACK down the High Street. My mind was in a whirl. ‘Jack,’ I said. ‘This goes deeper than I thought. Rich is personally involved.’
‘Did you see his eye twitching? I thought he was going to strike you.’
‘I think he went back inside before he lost control of himself. So that’s it. That meeting with Rich and Seymour at Hampton Court was truly no accident. He arranged it, he set those corner boys on me. Rich is connected somehow to whatever happened to Hugh. There was something, there is something.’ I paused. ‘And Michael Calfhill died. And the clerk Mylling … If that’s so, the scale of this …’
‘All the more reason to get out of here. You know how dangerous Rich is.’
I considered. ‘He could have had me arrested if he wanted to, right there, on some trumped-up charge. But he didn’t. Whatever connects him to the Hobbeys and Hugh, he doesn’t want me talking of it, to Paulet or anyone.’
‘How did he learn you were being brought into that case so early?’
I spoke heavily. ‘The only other person who knew what my business was with the Queen that day was Robert Warner.’
‘Who you think might be connected to the Rolfswood matter too.’