‘Gone,’ I managed to gulp out. ‘Drowned.’ I looked to where the Mary Rose had been; there was nothing to be seen now in the still-bubbling sea save the tips of the two masts a few feet above the water, men still clinging to the fighting tops, and the floating sail.
I heard a shout and turned to see a rowboat from one of the English ships approaching. Others were following, fishing the living from the water. The boat drew level and hands reached down to pull us out. Emma was landed in the boat first; I was dropped on top of her like a hooked fish. I looked round, into the horrified face of a sailor. ‘The Mary Rose is gone,’ he said.
Chapter Forty-eight
I WOKE TO semi-darkness. I realized I was on land; the ground beneath me was still. I was thirstier than ever in my life, the dryness reaching from deep in my chest to the back of my nose. I swallowed, tasted salt, and raised myself painfully up on my elbows. My shoulders were painfully stiff and sore. I saw that I was in a long, low room with small high windows; it was dark outside. I was lying on rough sacks on a dusty floor, a smelly blanket on top of me. Other men lay in rows along the walls. Someone was groaning. A couple of men with candles were moving to and fro. I tried to call out but could only manage a croak. One of the men carrying the candles came over with a heavy, limping walk. He stood over me: he was middle-aged with a seamed, lined face. I croaked out the words, ‘Drink. Please.’
He knelt beside me, placing a leather pouch to my lips. ‘Slowly, matey,’ he said, as a blessed trickle of weak beer ran down my throat. ‘Don’t gulp.’
I lay back, gasping. ‘Where are we?’
‘In one of the Oyster Street warehouses. They brought all of you here that survived. I’m Edwin, I work on the loading usually.’
I croaked, ‘How many? How many saved?’
‘Thirty-five pulled alive from the water. Those of you in a bad state were brought here. There are fifteen of you. One died earlier, God rest him.’
‘Thirty-five,’ I breathed. ‘Out of – ’
‘Five hundred. The rest are at the bottom of the Solent.’ His face, tanned and weatherbeaten, was sombre. ‘I knew some of them; I was a sailor till I smashed my leg five years ago.’
‘Did any soldiers survive?’
‘Two or three in the fighting tops managed to cling on. No others. The soldiers were heavy clad, they—’
‘Drowned. I saw. And heard the men under the netting, screaming – ’ My eyes were suddenly hot and stinging, though there was no moisture left in me for tears.
‘Here,’ the old sailor said, ‘easy now. Drink some more beer. You brought up a lot of water in the boat before you lost consciousness.’
I asked, ‘Did you see it? Did you see the ship go down?’
‘Everyone on shore did. We all heard the screaming too, as the King did at South Sea Castle.’
‘He saw the Mary Rose sink?’
‘They say he cried out, “Oh, my gallant gentlemen! Oh, my gallant men!” He thought of the gentlemen first, of course,’ he added bitterly.
‘Why? Why did she sink?’
Edwin shook his head. ‘Some are saying the gun ports weren’t closed quickly enough as the ship turned. Others have it she was top-heavy with all the cannon, and too many soldiers on board. I heard she might have been hit, too, by the galleys. Whatever the cause, all those men are dead.’
‘The French – what happened? The Great Harry fired on the galleys – ’
‘The galleys went back to the main fleet. They were trying to draw us into deep water to do battle with the French fleet, but Lord Lisle wasn’t to be had like that. We’d have been overwhelmed.’
‘I saw fires on the Isle of Wight.’
‘The French have landed near two thousand men there, but they’re being beaten back. The two fleets are still at a stand-off. They’re badly led, luckily for us. Though if the wind favours their ships they could still attack ours. You should leave, soon as you can.’ He gave me a little more beer, then looked at me curiously. ‘We’ve been wondering, sir, what you were doing on board. You’re not a sailor or soldier. You sound like a gentleman.’
‘I shouldn’t have been there. I intended to get off, but then the ship sailed out.’
‘Where were you on the Mary Rose?’
‘On the aftercastle. By the walkway over the netting. I managed to crawl out onto it.’
Edwin nodded. ‘And you were in your shirt, so you didn’t just fall to the bottom like so many.’
I lay back again. Memories of what had happened were returning in fractured jerks: the ship heeling over at that impossible angle, the man grasping at me as I crawled across the walkway, Emma behind. I said, ‘There was someone in the water with me – ’
Edwin got to his feet, wincing. He had had a fracture below one knee; it had set badly, at a strange angle. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘there was a boy rescued with you. You were both clinging to the Mary Rose emblem. You were lucky. The boatmen tried to pull the emblem in, but it sank – ’
‘A boy?’
‘Yes. Well-set-up lad, with a scarred face.’ He looked at me again. ‘Your son, perhaps?’