Heartstone

I realized the Mary Rose intended to face the galleys side on, bringing her cannon to bear. I felt giddy and sank to the floor. Emma looked down at her torn shirt, the heartstone swinging on its cord. It was still hard to believe she was not a boy. She pulled the ends of the shirt together, then sat down beside me. 'Afraid, Master Shardlake?' she asked coldly.

'Leacon is right,' I answered. 'Everyone should be afraid to die.'

She laughed harshly. 'Rather die fighting than hang.' Her voice seemed perceptibly higher. Something else she had had to keep under control all these years.

I said, 'David is not dead, though he is badly hurt.'

She lowered her head, then spoke quietly. 'I did not mean to kill him. I thought I would kill you and Barak, but I couldn't.'

'I know.'

She did not answer, but sat with head bowed. I looked ahead again. The four galleys were close now, I saw their sides were richly gilded with the arms of France. They circled round, still in their square formation, bringing their guns into position to fire on the Mary Rose. I said, as steadily as I could given my thudding heart, 'It's coming.'

'Let it,' Emma answered without looking up.

I said, 'If we get out of this, Hobbey will pass your wardship to me. Then you can decide what you want to be.'

She looked up, her face set hard again. 'If we live I'll find another company. Fight the Scots, perhaps.'

'I risked all to try and save you.'

'Why?' she asked. 'Why did you? I never wanted—'

'To give you a chance. A choice—'

I broke off at the sound of a cracking boom. Dark grey smoke billowed out from the front of the galley facing us. There was an odd silence lasting perhaps twenty seconds, then one of the sailors said, 'That was close.'

Then from below came a shout of 'Give fire!' followed by the loudest noise I have ever heard, as all the cannon on the starboard side of the Mary Rose fired on the galleys, one after another after another, a series of tremendous crashing roars. I felt the impact travel up through my legs, making my very bones shake, and a dreadful pressure on the inside of my ears. The decks trembled and creaked. I turned to Emma; she had looked up, her eyes alight with excitement.

As the smoke cleared I saw the galleys were undamaged. The Mary Rose began turning to port, fast and steeply. I heard a cracking of sails. Then, through the doorway, I felt a sudden strong gust of wind.

'That's too fast,' one of the sailors said.

The ship heeled to starboard. I thought it would be like the earlier manoeuvre and she would right herself, but she tilted more and more. The soldiers on the port side, which rose high as the starboard side dipped lower, clung to the side of the portholes; their guns began slipping back through them and crashing down the decks. Looking through the doorway I saw a man fall off the topmast into the web of rigging, swivel guns fall from the topdeck railing, into the sea. I heard crashing and shouting below the netting enclosing the weatherdeck as men and equipment slid and fell. All this took only seconds, but the time seems to stretch out in my memory, detail after terrible detail. All the soldiers on our deck, and their guns, were now tumbling and crashing against the starboard side. The long cannon on the port side, too, began slipping from its mount.

'Get out of here!' the sailor beside us shouted to his fellow. They went down on hands and knees and began crawling rapidly out onto the walkway above the netting, grasping the sides for the ship was tilted at such an angle now it was impossible to walk. Under the netting men were screaming. I saw hands reaching up through the mesh.

'Come on!' I shouted to Emma. I began crawling after the sailors, gritting my teeth against the pain in my shoulders. For a second I thought she might stay behind, but I heard her shuffling after me. We got out onto the walkway. Men were hacking frantically up at the stout netting with their knives. A hand reached up and grasped my arm, a frantic voice shouted, 'Help us!' but then water crashed over us, the cold a sudden shock, and I felt myself carried outwards. In the seconds I rode the top of the onrushing water I saw dozens of soldiers falling from the aftercastle through open or broken blinds. I saw the red of Pygeon's heavy brigandyne as he fell past me like a stone, eyes wide with horror, and Snodin's plump form, arms windmilling frantically, mouth open and screaming. The men threw up great splashes as they hit the sea, then disappeared, the weight of their clothing and helmets taking them at once to the bottom. All those men, all of them. And from the hundreds trapped below the netting, and on the lower decks, I heard a terrible screaming. Then the cold waters came over my head and I thought, this is it, the end I feared, drowning. And suddenly all the pains in my body were gone.

* * *

SEVERAL MOMENTS of utter, absolute terror, and then I felt myself carried up and outward, and my head was in the air again. I took a frantic breath, kicking wildly at the water. I had been swept some yards out from the Mary Rose. The giant ship was on its side now, rapidly sinking. Part of the foresail floated on the surface, and the topmast and foremast, almost horizontal, hung out over the frothing water. Tiny brown shapes were climbing up them; I realized they were rats. Amazingly a couple of the men in the fighting top high on the foremast had survived; they clung on, calling piteously for help, the great mast I had craned my neck to look up at now only a few feet above the waves. The terrible screaming from the soldiers and sailors trapped below the netting had ceased. I looked round wildly; perhaps a couple of dozen men were, like me, kicking and shouting in the water; a few bodies floated face down. More rats scrabbled in the water. A great bubble of air burst a few feet from me. The ship sank lower, below the water's surface.

I felt a force dragging me down again. Perhaps it was the ship settling on the seabed fifty feet below—as my head went under, I saw, amid hundreds more bubbles, the dim shape of the forecastle. It seemed to be moving, breaking away from the hull. I closed my eyes against the terror of it all, and seemed to see the face of the man I had once drowned staring at me sorrowfully.

Then the dragging ceased. I kicked frantically upwards, bringing my head above water again, desperately sucking in air. At a little distance the Great Harry was bearing straight down on the French galleys. After what had happened to the Mary Rose she was not going to turn broadside. One of the galleys fired and there was an answering roar from the guns near the bow of the Great Harry. Smoke drifted out over the water. I grasped frantically at something floating past. It was a longbow, too light to take my weight. I was fearfully cold, and suddenly light-headed. I felt myself sink again; and remembered hearing somewhere that if you are drowning, the third time you go down is the last.

Then a hand grasped my arm and pulled me up. I stared, wide-eyed, at Emma. She was clinging to something, a broad wooden circle with a short spar attached, the circle painted with alternating red and white rose petals. The emblem from the bow of the Mary Rose. I scrabbled at it. It was not heavy enough to support both of us, but by kicking our feet we were able to keep our heads above water. The pain in my shoulder returned from the effort of holding on, and my teeth began chattering with cold; even with the emblem to hold on to we could not survive long. Faint cries still sounded across the water from the few still left alive.

I saw the galleys break formation and retreat, rowing back to the French fleet. We were much closer to the French ships now; I could make out individual warships. Dozens and dozens of them, painted in black and yellow and green, drawn up in a long line three abreast. One at the front carried a massive papal flag, the keys of St Peter. I looked across the spar to Emma. Her face was wild, frantic. 'Where are they all?' she asked. 'The soldiers, the men?'

'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.