The noise went on for a long time, then ceased. Then I heard West’s voice again, on an angry note. ‘What are you three men doing here?’
A Devon accent answered, ‘We’ve to stay down here with the cannon tonight, sir, to make sure all is safe lest the ship roll. Orders from the master. There’s a full barrel of gunpowder here, sir.’
There was silence. I could almost feel West, outside, wondering how he might be able to get rid of these men, kill me, and dispose of me. Then, to my relief, I heard his footsteps retreating.
For hours and hours I lay there, constantly moving my bound body to try and ease the pains that racked it, fearing that West might find some way to get rid of those sailors keeping watch on the gundeck. All the time the dim pinhole points of light came and went, and muffled voices and occasional whistles sounded from the deck above. I doubt anyone on the Mary Rose slept much that night.
Chapter Forty-six
DESPITE THE PAIN, I found myself drifting in and out of an exhausted doze, starting awake from spasms in my back or shoulders. Several times footsteps outside made me start, fearing West was returning, but always they passed on. The noises of the ship quieted for a while, leaving an hour or two of uneasy near silence save for a bell tolling a change of watch. I was desperately thirsty, my mouth as dry as the gag Peel had stuffed into it.
I dozed again, and found myself dreaming. I was riding into Hampshire with the soldiers, marching along the green, tunnel-like lanes. I was at the head of the company, beside Leacon. Suddenly he turned and said, ‘Who’s that?’ I followed his gaze and realized that some of the soldiers I knew, Carswell and Llewellyn and Pygeon and Sulyard, were carrying a bier on which a body in white grave clothes lay. It was Ellen.
I started awake. A voice, somewhere, shouting, ‘Hurry!’ Other noises were audible from above, footsteps and whistles, scurrying feet, and though I had no way of knowing I guessed dawn had come. Someone shouted for crews to move into position; I realized with relief that the guncrews had come down. They would probably be here the rest of the day, preventing West from dealing with me. His mission on shore and the posting of guards by the guns had made him miss the opportunity of dealing with me at dead of night.
I heard whistles, then a steady rumbling that set the plank floor of my prison vibrating. Then another whistle and a series of clatters. It sounded as though the gun ports had been opened, cannon moved forward and then back. A practice? It must have been, for it happened two or three more times. From the noises, there seemed to be activity all over the ship. I tried to work out what people were saying, but could only catch stray words.
It was impossible to calculate the passage of time. The room, which had cooled a little in the middle of the night, became very hot again, the stink of rotten meat even stronger. Sometime later I heard distant gunfire, whether from our ships or the French galleys I could not tell. At one point I heard a loud cheer from the decks above, a distinct cry of ‘Got the galley!’ There was more gunfire, sometimes close, sometimes far away. After one shot I felt a dull reverberation through the deck beneath me, and outside someone shouted, ‘Are we hit?’ Then I heard a number of men running down the companionway and continuing down to the decks below. I thought I caught the word ‘Pump!’ My heart raced with panic at the thought of being trapped in the tiny cabin if the ship was hit, but nothing more happened. I felt sick, and despite the pain the effort brought to my bound arms I leaned my head forward as far as I could, for were I to vomit with the gag in my mouth I would choke. Then I heard a knock on the door, a gentle hesitant knock, and a voice calling, ‘Matthew?’ It was Leacon.
A wave of relief ran through me. I tried to move, despite the pain that flashed through my body, terrified he would leave. I managed to scrape my bound heels across the floor. ‘Matthew?’ he called again. He had heard. I scraped my heels again. There was a moment’s silence, then a crash as Leacon put his shoulder to the door. Someone outside called ‘Hey!’
‘There’s someone shut up in here!’ A moment later, with a tremendous crash, the flimsy door splintered open and light spilled through, searing my eyes.
The voice outside called again, ‘What in God’s name’s going on, man?’
Leacon was staring through the open doorway, unbelievingly. ‘There’s a civilian in here!’ he called back. He smashed his shoulder against the door again, making a gap wide enough to enter. The officer who had called out to him came across and stared in at me, wide-eyed.
‘What the hell – do you know him?’
‘Yes, he is a friend.’
‘God’s holy wounds! Who the fuck tied him up in there? Sort it out,’ the officer snapped. ‘Get him off the gundeck!’