‘Brother Shardlake, put him right if he gets it wrong. And now, goodbye.’ He bowed, turned, and walked out of the tent. Peel stared at me.
‘You have the letters safe?’ I asked.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Then please, come. Our business is urgent.’
Chapter Forty-five
‘YOU HAVE A HORSE, sir?’ Peel asked.
‘Yes. A soldier took it.’
‘I’ll fetch it. It will be quickest to ride to the Camber wharf.’ He bowed and hurried away. I stood waiting by the tents, looking out to sea. The sun was sinking towards the horizon; it was yet another peaceful summer evening. At South Sea Castle soldiers milled round the cannon. Men were dragging another big gun across the sandy scrub of the foreshore. Some soldiers had lit small cooking fires; others were dispersing to the tents. The air was cooling rapidly as the sun lowered.
Peel returned with Oddleg and another horse. ‘Can I help you mount, sir?’ he asked politely.
I looked at him curiously, remembering how he had taken Rich’s insults in his stride. ‘Thank you. You must have seen much of the preparations for this invasion, fellow, working for Sir Richard.’
His face became guarded. ‘I don’t listen, sir. I’m just a servant, I do my little jobs and keep my ears closed.’
I nodded. ‘That’s a safe way to live.’
We rode away to the town, skirting the Great Morass. ‘Well,’ I asked, ‘what do you think of all this?’
‘I pray my master gets away if the French do land. But he is a clever man.’
‘That he certainly is.’
There were no fowl on the still waters of the Morass; the guns must have scared them away. We approached the town walls, where the labourers working on the fortifications were packing up their equipment.
‘Were you with your master in Portsmouth today?’ I asked Peel.
‘No, sir. I stayed in camp. We all ran out of the tents when they shouted the French ships were coming. Then the King rode in from Portsmouth.’
We came round the town walls to the main gate. Peel showed the guard Rich’s letter of authority and we were allowed in at once.
The High Street was deserted now apart from patrolling guards, the windows of the houses and shops all closed and shuttered; I wondered whether the owners had all left. Inside one a dog howled. A solitary cart laden with freshly slaughtered sides of beef lumbered past, dripping blood onto the dust.
Oyster Street, by contrast, was as crowded as ever, soldiers and sailors jostling with labourers. Now the French had gone more supplies were being loaded onto boats at the wharf. We halted by the warehouses. Across the Camber there were now soldiers on guard even on the empty spit beyond the Round Tower. The English warships stood at anchor out in the Solent.
‘Will we be able to get a boat?’ I asked Peel worriedly.
‘We should with my letter, sir. Wait here a minute, if you please. I’ll get the horses stabled.’
‘You have the other letter? For Master West?’
He patted his satchel. ‘Safe in here. I am not a fool, sir,’ he added in a hurt tone.
‘Of course not.’ I looked across at the ships. ‘But please, be quick.’
We dismounted and Peel led the horses away. I saw the huge bulk of the Great Harry. There must have been a great panic on board when they saw the French coming. My eye found the Mary Rose, where Emma was with Leacon’s company. A company of soldiers marched down Oyster Street. They must have come straight in from the country, for they kept staring out to sea, eyes wide.
I heard a shout from below me. Looking down, I saw Peel standing with a boatman in a tiny rowboat at the bottom of some steps. ‘Hurry, sir,’ he called urgently. ‘Before someone requisitions it.’
THE BOATMAN, a young fellow, rowed quickly out, past heavily laden supply boats. I had a view of the French ships in the distance, the setting sun casting a red glow on a close-packed forest of masts. A sudden volley of gunfire sounded from them, booming across the still water. Peel sat up, eyes wide.