I turned aside, realizing my legs were shaking. Again I fought an overwhelming urge to turn back. I thought of Barak, no doubt still riding northward, and thanked God I had insisted he go. Then I set my jaw and rode on slowly towards the royal encampment. The sun was beginning to sink towards the horizon.
I was a hundred yards from the nearest tent when a soldier stepped in front of me, halberd raised. I halted. ‘What do you want, sir?’ the man asked roughly.
‘I need to speak to someone in the army quartermaster’s office. The matter is urgent. My name is Serjeant Matthew Shardlake, of Lincoln’s Inn.’
‘Wait here.’ As at Portchester – had my meeting with the Queen really been only a few hours ago? – I was left waiting as the soldier disappeared among the tents. I looked over at South Sea Castle; the cluster of bright figures still stood looking out to sea. I heard distant cannonfire from out on the water; no doubt the French galleys firing on our ships; I shuddered at the thought of the huge target the Great Harry would make. The Mary Rose, too, where Philip West would be.
Two captains in half-armour emerged from the nearest tents. They passed me, talking fast and excitedly. ‘Why has d’Annebault brought so few galleys forward? Most are still by the Wight shore – ’
The soldier reappeared, a second beside him, walking fast towards me. He came up to me and spoke, this time in a respectful tone. ‘You’re to come with me, sir. This fellow will take care of your horse.’ The second soldier placed a mounting block beside Oddleg for me to descend. I felt a wave of relief; I had doubted a busy official would find the time to see me.
I dismounted. ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘I will take but a little of his time.’
The soldier nodded and led me away to the tents. Some tent flaps were closed, but where they were open I saw soldiers and officials sitting at trestle tables, talking animatedly. I was led to a large conical tent in the centre of the encampment, cream-coloured with blue patterning at the top, the flap half-closed. The soldier ushered me in with a wave of his arm.
In the dimness inside a man sat at a trestle table, his head bent over papers. A bell and a sconce of candles stood on the table. The man was well dressed, his doublet green silk.
I took off my cap. ‘Thank you for seeing me, Master Quartermaster,’ I said. ‘I crave—’ Then, as the man raised his head, I broke off abruptly.
Richard Rich smiled. ‘Good,’ he said quietly, satisfaction in his voice. ‘Welcome to my working quarters. So you came for the boy. Or, I should say, the girl. I thought you might.’
I stared at him. ‘Where is Emma?’
He smiled, again showing his sharp little teeth. ‘Quite safe, for now. She is with Captain Leacon’s company, who are now under the trusted care of Master Philip West. On the Mary Rose. And now, Master Shardlake, I think we must have a proper talk.’
Chapter Forty-four
STOOLS WERE SET in front of the trestle table; Rich motioned me to sit. Then he leaned forward, linked his small, manicured hands together, and rested his chin on them. His sleeves rustled. His expression was childishly mocking, though his grey eyes were cold and hard.
‘I hear the French galleys have retreated,’ he said conversationally. ‘My servant just brought me word. I think today has just been a skirmish before the main battle.’ His tone was still smoothly pleasant. ‘Though tomorrow it may be a different matter.’
‘I hear our guns can keep them out of Portsmouth Haven.’
‘Yes. But if they were to bottle our fleet up there – which perhaps is what they sought to do today – or sink it, they could use their galleys to make a landing on Portsea Island. You will have seen the cannon being dragged up, and the stakes set in the ground to protect the archers.’ He paused and held my gaze a moment. ‘Well, then there may be a great fight. Perhaps right out there on the seafront.’ He nodded towards the tent flap. I did not reply. I thought, let him talk, see what he reveals. Does he know how much I have guessed? He must do, or he would not have had me brought here. The skin under Rich’s eye twitched and I realized just how much he was on edge.
‘To business,’ he said abruptly. ‘That girl, eh? Coming here and enlisting as a boy. What a strange thing to do.’
‘You know Hugh Curteys is really Emma?’
‘Yes. Though only since yesterday, when my old associate Sir Quintin Priddis told me, just before I came out to you at the Guildhall. He told me because he was afraid you had discovered it. He is implicated in the fraud.’
‘I know.’
‘When did you find out?’
‘Today. It was my unmasking her that sent Emma Curteys fleeing to Portsmouth. She had always wanted to enlist. Now she has nothing to lose.’
Rich inclined his head, like a predatory bird. ‘Only today, Master Shardlake? I would have thought you would have ferreted that amusing fact out before. I have overestimated you.’ He thought a few seconds. ‘I imagine young Curteys is another of those people you try to do good works for, hey? Like Elizabeth Wentworth when we first met, or old Master Wrenne in York?’