Heartstone (25 page)

Carswell, the corporal, raised his hands. 'Come, lads. Don't make trouble, or we'll end marching in the jacks all day.'

'These clods don't understand the coinage!' Sulyard said with a mocking laugh. The growing crowd of villagers murmured ominously. Barefoot children looked on excitedly.

'Please,' Carswell called out, 'be calm! Our ape speaks true, these are the new coins of the realm!' Sulyard gave him a nasty look.

'Then pay in the old ones!' a young man called out.

The young archer Llewellyn stepped forward. 'They're all spent. Please, Goodwife, we've had scarce anything but bread and cheese for three days.'

The old woman folded her arms. 'That's your problem, my pretty.'

'We should send that old woman against the damned French,' Sulyard shouted. 'They'd flee at the sight of her.'

A couple of villagers, older men, stepped forward. Carswell looked round desperately, then saw me. He pointed. 'See, we have a gentleman with us, a lawyer. He'll confirm what we say.'

The villagers gave me hostile looks. I hesitated, then said, 'There is indeed a new coinage.'

'So soldiers take hunchback lawyers with them now to cheat folks!' Nothing could mollify the old woman. The villagers growled agreement.

I stepped forward. 'See, the coins have the King's head on them.'

'It's not silver!' the old woman shrieked in my face. 'I know how silver looks and feels!'

'It's mixed with copper. They are worth eightpence of the old money in London.'

'Ninepence!' one of the soldiers called out hopefully.

'Eightpence,' I repeated firmly.

The old woman shook her head. 'Don't care. Don't want that rubbish!'

'Come, Margaret,' one of the old men said. 'We killed Martin's pig to get this meat, we need to sell it.'

I took my purse. 'I'll pay, in the old money. Then the soldiers can repay me, eightpence for a new testoon.'

There was a murmur of agreement among the villagers. The old woman still looked suspicious, but said, 'You can have the lot for four shillings in proper silver. It should be five given the insults I've had, but we'll say four.'

It was a hard bargain, but I nodded agreement. The tension, which had been singing in the hot midday air, relaxed as I handed over a dozen silver groats, which the old woman examined ostentatiously before nodding and waving a hand at the meat. The soldiers took portions. The villagers returned to their houses, giving us hostile looks over their shoulders.

Carswell collected money from the recruits, then approached me. 'Thank you, sir, on behalf of the men. Here is their money. If we'd got into a fight we'd have been in the shit with the officers.' He hesitated, then added, 'It would be a favour if you did not mention this to Captain Leacon.'

'Ay,' Tom Llewellyn added. 'We know you are his friend.'

I smiled. 'Word has travelled fast.'

Sulyard swaggered by, giving us a dirty look. I noticed he wore pearl buttons on his jerkin, and remembered what Leacon said about the differences in the soldiers' clothes. He said, 'You stopped a promising fight brewing there, Carswell, you dog-hearted scut.'

'With old people and children?' Carswell asked. Sulyard was now attracting hostile looks from some of the other soldiers. He turned and swaggered away.

'Sorry about him, sir,' Carswell said. 'Come on, Welshy, let's get back.'

I looked at Llewellyn curiously. 'You are not Welsh, by your voice?'

'No, sir. But my father is. He trained me to the warbow,' he added proudly. A shadow crossed his face. 'Though I like my work at the forge too.'

Carswell nudged him. 'And your girly, eh? He's to be married at Christmas.'

'I congratulate you.'

'But where shall we be at Christmas?' Llewellyn asked sadly.

'We'll beat those Frenchies,' Carswell said confidently. 'You'll be happily in bed with your Tessy come Twelfth Night. If they have beds in Yiewsley village: I've heard you all still sleep with the cows.'

'No, that's Harefield men, like Sulyard.' Llewellyn looked at me. 'There are four of us here from our village.' He shook his head sadly. 'When we left, the girls garlanded us with flowers, everyone stood cheering as a lute player led us down the road. A far cry from our reception here.'

'Come on,' Carswell said. 'Let's get this bacon back to camp, before I start drooling.'

They walked away. 'That's got us well in with the troops,' Barak said.

'Jesu knows we need some friends on this journey.'

He looked at me. 'That was Richard Rich back there on the road, wasn't it?'

'Yes. Probably on his way to Portsmouth. The sooner we get to Hoyland Priory and back again, the better.'

A
FTER LUNCH
the company rested for an hour, sitting out the hottest part of the day. Then the soldiers were called back into line.

We marched on steadily. By the time we reached Guildford, late in the afternoon, some of the recruits were drooping with exhaustion. We marched through the town without stopping, a few small boys running alongside and cheering, but most of the townsfolk barely looking at us; many companies of soldiers would have passed through these last weeks.

Not long after we mounted a crest of sandstone hills, then descended into a river valley. It was about six o'clock, the sun starting to sink. We saw Godalming at last, cradled by the hills and dominated by the tall spire of a large church. A man stood at the gate of a meadow, looking at us expectantly. At a signal from Leacon, the men fell out and sank exhausted to the roadside. Leacon rode back to us.

'I am leaving Snodin in charge of the men,' he said. 'That is the field allotted them to camp in tonight. I am riding into town with the purser to buy rations and see if I can find some new shoes. Some of the men are limping badly.'

'That they are.'

'I'll probably have to pay a high price. How merchants are profiting from this war. I'll return to stay with the men, but you and your friends may as well ride in with me and find an inn. We can pick you up on the main road as we march through tomorrow. At six, we have to keep up the pace.'

'We'll be ready,' Dyrick answered, though he was as tired and dusty as I.

W
E RODE INTO
Godalming. Leacon and his purser left us to find the mayor, and we went to look for an inn. Most were full, but we found places at last. Barak and Feaveryear would have to share a room again. I went up to my chamber, took off my boots and lay down on the mattress, a feather one this time. I was almost asleep when there was a knock at the door and Barak entered.

'Come with me into town,' he begged. 'Let's find somewhere else to eat. I can't bear a whole evening with Feaveryear.'

I heaved myself to my feet, wincing at my sore back and thighs. 'Nor I with Dyrick.'

We found another inn, with better food than the night before. It was a companionable meal without Dyrick and Feaveryear. But as we stepped out into the street again I felt an urge to be alone for a while; I had been constantly in company for two days.

'I think I will look at the church,' I said.

'A spot of prayer?'

'Churches are good for contemplation.'

He sighed. 'Back to nestle with Feaveryear, then.'

I walked up the main street and into the church. The hushed space reminded me of childhood days, for this was as traditional a church as the law allowed. The evening sun shone straight in through the brightly stained west window, making the interior a dim red. A chantry priest recited Masses for the dead in a side chapel.

I walked slowly down the nave. Then I saw, in another side chapel, bent before the altar rail, a figure in a dusty white coat. George Leacon. He must have heard my footsteps stop for he turned round. He looked utterly weary.

'Forgive me,' I said quietly. 'I came to look at the church.'

He smiled sadly. 'I was trying to communicate with my Maker.'

'I remember at York you were working hard at reading the Bible.'

'I still have that bible.' He looked at me, his face anguished now. 'These days it strikes me how full of war the Bible is. The Old Testament, at least, and the Book of Revelation.'

I sat on the altar-rail steps. After that long day in the saddle I doubted I could kneel. 'Yes,' I agreed.

'I need to get
away
from images of war.' Leacon's tone was suddenly fierce. 'I read the New Testament, I pray for images of battle to stop crowding into my head, but - they will not.'

I wondered again at how the open boyish face I remembered had become so thin, so stark. 'You said you were in France last year,' I prompted gently.

'Ay.' He turned so he was sitting beside me. 'Those recruits, they have no notion what war is. When you knew me four years ago, Master Shardlake, I had had an easy form of soldiering. Garrison duty on the northern border or in Calais, or guarding the King's palaces. No war, only border ruffles with the Scots. Yes, I saw reivers there brought back dead for their heads to be displayed on Berwick Castle. But I had never killed a man. And then, you remember, I was dismissed.'

'Unjustly.'

'And so I returned to my parents' farm, which you saved for us in that court action.'

'I owed you a debt.'

'That was a good life, if a hard one. But my parents grew older, they could do less work and we had to hire labourers. Then, in the spring of last year, my old captain came. He said the King was going to invade France and they needed all the soldiering men they could get. The pay was good and I agreed.' He looked at me intently. 'I had no idea what it would be like. Does that not sound stupid, childish, coming from one who was a professional soldier?'

'What happened?'

Leacon now spoke with a sort of quiet, desperate fervour. 'I sailed first to Scotland with Lord Hertford's fleet. Did you know, the King ordered him to wage a war that would spare neither women nor children? Lord Hertford did not want to, but the King insisted. We landed at a place called Leith and sacked it, burned every house to the ground and set the women and children running into the countryside. My company stayed there so I saw no more action then, but the rest of the army went to Edinburgh and did the same, razed everything to the ground. The men came back laden with booty, anything of value they could take from the houses. The boats were so laden it was feared some might sink. But spoil is part of war - without hope of gain soldiers are reluctant to march into enemy country.'

'And now the Scots threaten to invade us, with the soldiers the French have sent them.'

'Yes. King Francis wants England humbled for good.' Leacon ran a hand through his curls. 'We sailed straight from Scotland to France. In July, just a year ago. I was in charge of a half-company of archers. They are all dead now.'

'All?'

'Every one. We landed in Calais and marched straight to Boulogne. The countryside between had already been ravaged by foraging soldiers. As in Scotland the fields had been trampled, villages burned. I remember local people standing by the road, old people and women and children in rags, everything they owned taken or destroyed. Starving in the rain, there was nothing but rain and cold winds in France last year. I remember how pale their faces were.' His voice fell almost to a whisper. 'There was a woman, a baby in one skinny arm, holding out the other for alms. As I marched past I saw her baby was dead, its eyes open and glassy. Its mother hadn't realized yet.' Leacon stared at me fixedly. 'We were not allowed to stop. I could see it affected the men but I had to encourage them, keep them marching. You have to, you have to.' He stopped, with a great sigh. 'And the French will do the same if they land, for revenge. Their captains will cry, "Havoc," and it will be the turn of their men to take booty from us.'

'All because the King wanted glory,' I said bitterly.

A spasm of disgust crossed Leacon's face. 'We marched right past Henry when we reached the outskirts of Boulogne. He was in his camp, all the splendid tents up on a hill. I saw him, a huge figure encased from head to foot in armour, sitting on the biggest horse I ever saw, watching the battle. Well out of range of the French cannons pounding our men from the city, of course.' Leacon swallowed hard, then continued. 'Our company marched uphill, under fire from the French - Boulogne is on a hill, you see. All our forces could do was hunker down under mud embankments, firing back into the town with our cannon, moving forward by inches. I saw Boulogne turned to rubble.' He looked at me, then said, 'You will not know what it is like to kill a man.'