Heartstone (28 page)

‘You worked at court? Perhaps you met people I know. Robert Warner, for example?'

‘The Queen's solicitor? No, I had a grubbing clerkly job. I left to test my wits in litigation.' He looked at me hard again. ‘Master Hobbey comes from lowly origins too. But I hear your father was a rich farmer, Brother Shardlake.' There was a sneer in his voice.

‘Not so rich, a yeoman only. And I was told my grandfather's grandfather was a serf. That is where most of us have come from in the end.'

‘I admire those who come from nothing and aim high.'

I smiled. ‘You are one of our “new-made men”, Brother Dyrick.'

‘And proud of it. In England we are not slaves like the French.'

We looked at the soldiers. A little group with Sulyard at its centre were talking in low voices and laughing unpleasantly, mocking someone no doubt, and Barak had struck up a conversation with Carswell and the Welsh boy. Dyrick stood, brushing grass from his rear. ‘Another thing,' he added, ‘your man Barak, like Feaveryear, will be expected to stay out of the house. Master Hobbey does not approve of over-familiar servants.'

He walked away. I watched him, reflecting with a sardonic smile that new-made men are often the worst snobs.

DURING THE afternoon clouds began rolling in from the west and it turned cooler. I saw Leacon looking at the sky. A fierce downpour such as had been common in June would soon turn the road from dust to mud. Leacon nodded at the drummer, who began a fast beat to get the men to pick up their pace.

We stopped briefly on another woodland road at about four to water the horses at a pond and give them some rest. Beer was passed round and I took the chance to tell Barak of my conversation with Dyrick.

‘Hobbey will probably lodge Feaveryear and me in the woodshed.' He nodded to where the clerk sat on a bank a little way off, reading a psalter.

‘I think we'll need three days to take depositions and see what case Hugh Curteys is in. Then we get ourselves back.'

‘What if they are doing something nasty to him?'

‘Then we will bring him back with us, and Dyrick can—'

‘Fuck himself with a red-hot poker. I heard one of the lads telling in detail how he'd do that to Snodin.'

‘Look at that!' We turned at the sound of a shout. One of the soldiers was pointing over the trees to the east. ‘A forest fire.' I saw a column of smoke rising up a mile or so away. It grew denser, and I caught the first smell of smoke.

‘It's not a fire,' young Llewellyn said. ‘It's charcoal burners. We're on the western fringes of the iron-working area here.'

I looked over at him curiously. ‘How do you know?'

‘I've been there, sir. When I finish my apprenticeship I plan to move to Sussex to work. Anyone with skill at the forge can command good money in the blast furnaces. I went to Sussex last year to look for opportunities - there are ironworks everywhere, making everything from arrowheads to decorated firebacks. I went to Buxted, where they cast cannon. What a place.' He shook his head in wonder. ‘Dozens of men working in huge buildings. You can hear the noise miles away, but the wages are good.' He bent and picked a blade of grass, slowly tearing it. ‘Tess and my parents do not wish me to go.' He looked at me seriously. ‘But it is a way for a man like me who cannot write to better himself. Is that not a good thing to do?'

‘I suppose so. But for those around you, perhaps not. Though it is easy for me to say.'

‘I will do it.' He frowned and picked another blade of grass.

‘So we are near the Sussex border?' I asked.

‘Yes. The ironworks here in the west are fewer and more old-fashioned, but there is still plenty of work for them.' He turned and looked at me, the light blue eyes in his tanned face anxious. ‘Do you not think my idea a good one, sir?'

‘I hear the foundries are dangerous places to work.'

‘Less dangerous than soldiering,' Llewellyn answered with feeling.

TOWARDS SIX the company halted outside the little town of Liphook, where a local man waited beside our allotted meadow. The soldiers marched in and began unloading the tents under Snodin's supervision. The clouds above were still heavy and thick, the air cool, but it was not yet raining. Leacon told us he was sleeping with the company again, but advised us to find an inn; the man whose field it was had assured him there would be heavy rain before the evening was out. Leacon's manner towards me still had that new remoteness, which saddened me.

‘You don't let the men into the towns?' I asked him.

‘No. Strict orders. They'd just get drunk and there is always someone who will cause trouble.'

‘What of Sir Franklin?'

‘He'll stay with the men. He believes it's a captain's place, though sleeping in a tent gives him gout. Now I should go and supervise things; I will come into town with the purser later, and try to get some decent food for the men. Meet us in the town square tomorrow morning at seven. Leave your horses in camp if you like,' he said. ‘We'll bring them.'

‘Seven. A late start, then.'

‘I have promised the men a shave before we leave tomorrow morning. One of the recruits is a barber.'

‘I could do with one too.'

‘For archers it is a point of pride. Long hair and a beard may get in the way if you are drawing arrows at the rate of half a dozen a minute.'

‘Perhaps we might meet in Liphook later, for a drink?'

‘No, I had best return with the supplies. Goodnight.' He walked away.

LIPHOOK WAS small, a village rather than a town, and there were only two inns. As at Cobham, there were carts everywhere. There was only one room at the better inn, which I let Dyrick and Feaveryear take. A small bribe secured Barak andIa little room at the other. Barak flopped down on the bed, sending up a cloud of dust from his clothes.

‘I wonder if Dyrick will let Feaveryear crouch praying in their room. Dear God, I hope Master Hobbey doesn't make me share with him.'

‘Maybe he will convert you to his saintly ways.'

‘Let's hope we find Hugh Curteys happy as a pig in muck.'

‘Amen to that.' I stretched my legs. ‘God's death, I swear I heard the bones creak.' I hesitated, then said, ‘I think I will go for a walk, stretch my legs. And see if I can find a barber.'

Barak looked up in surprise. ‘Are you not going to rest?'

‘I will be back later.' I went out quickly, uncomfortable that I had not told the truth. I had decided Liphook was a good place to begin my enquiries about Ellen. Having sworn not to involve Barak, I had not mentioned her name since we left London. Nor had he, though I knew he would not have forgotten my intention to investigate her past.

I DECIDED to ask first at the larger inn. I paused, though, at a barber's shop in a side street and had a shave. Dyrick, had mentioned earlier that he would look for a barber in Liphook and I found myself hoping he would not find it; let him turn up at Hoyland Priory looking unkempt. I shook my head: his endless competitiveness was infecting me.

The inn parlour was busy and I had to elbow my way to the serving hatch, where a plump, weary-looking man stood handing out mugs of beer. I waited my turn, ordered a beer, then laid a groat on the bar and leaned forward. ‘I am looking for information about a place over the Sussex border,' I said quietly. ‘Rolfswood.'

He looked at me curiously. ‘I come from near there.'

‘How far is it?'

‘You need to get off the Portsmouth road south of Horndean, then take the road east about five miles.'

‘Is it a big place?'

‘No. A little market town.' He looked at me curiously. ‘What d'ye want at Rolfswood? Not much there since the ironworks went.'

‘They work iron there?'

‘Used to. There's a small seam to the north. There was a little bloomery furnace in Rolfswood, but since it burned down the ore gets taken east.'

‘Burned down?' I remembered Ellen's face, her words:
He burned! The poor man, he was all on fire!

‘When I was a young man the owner and his assistant were killed. It must be twenty years ago.'

‘An accident while they were - what is it - casting?'

The potman took the groat, then leaned over the bar. ‘No. It was during the summer, the old bloomery foundries only operate in the winter. What's your interest, sir?'

‘Can you remember the names of the people who were killed?'

‘I've been gone a long time, but I remember the owner's name: Fettiplace.'

My mind raced. Twenty years ago, the very time Ellen had been attacked and put in the Bedlam. Something else had happened in Rolfswood, as well as the rape. Two people had died.
He burned!

My heart pounded. I turned abruptly from the hatch, and found myself looking straight at Feaveryear, who had been standing behind me, his greasy locks dangling over his sunburned brow.

Three days of irritation with Dyrick's jibes and Feaveryear's sour face boiled over. ‘God's death, clerk,' I cried. ‘Have you been eavesdropping?'

Feaveryear's mouth dropped open. ‘No, sir, I was behind you in the queue. I came in for a beer.'

I looked around. ‘Where's Dyrick? You are a spy, clerk!'

‘I am not, Master Shardlake.' Feaveryear spoke hotly, his big Adam's apple twitching. ‘Master Dyrick wanted to sleep, he sent me out and I came here. On my honour as a Christian, I heard you say something to that man about an ironworks that burned down, that is all.'

He seemed genuinely outraged. I saw how tired he looked, dark rings under his eyes. ‘I am sorry,' I said quietly. ‘I should not have shouted. Come and sit down.'

Feaveryear followed me reluctantly to a place on a bench. ‘I apologize if I was mistaken,' I said. ‘I have other business in Sussex, for another client.'