Heartstone

think she's got herself away.'

* * *

WE FOUND THE horses and rode out through the town gate: I left Portsmouth for the last time with head bowed, unable to look back. There were new soldiers in the tents where Leacon's company had been encamped. We spurred the horses to a canter, riding north across Portsea Island, and crossed the bridge over the muddy creek to the Hampshire mainland; then left, to Portchester Castle. I kept my gaze away from the seaward side of the road; I could not bear to look out there.

I had no letter now, no authority to get into the castle. I dared not ask for Warner. But faced with the guards by the moat I found my fear and shrinking left me, my lawyer's tricks of speech and manner came back and I told them—truthfully enough—that I was a lawyer who worked for the Queen and had been on the Mary Rose. I managed to get the name out, although it brought a fresh churning to my stomach.

I had expected the officer in charge to be impressed, but he only looked at me dubiously. 'What was a lawyer doing on the Mary Rose? There's dozens round Portsmouth now saying they're survivors of the sinking. Most are hoping for pensions. If you're a lawyer, where's your robe?'

I lost my temper. 'At the bottom of the Solent! I tell you, I was on that ship; it will haunt me all my days! Now get a message to the Queen, it's urgent. She'll see me. If she won't, you can throw me in the moat for all I care.'

He looked at me doubtfully again, but sent a soldier to take my message in. Barak clapped me on the arm. 'That's better,' he said in relieved tones. 'See, you're getting back to your old self.'

I did not reply. Seeing the soldiers had made me think again of Leacon and the company, the water splashing up around them as they fell and drowned. I gripped Oddleg's reins, saw my knuckles turn white.

* * *

HALF AN HOUR later I was shown into a richly furnished chamber. Barak had been ordered to wait in the courtyard. The Queen sat at a desk, writing. As ever, two maids-in-waiting were with her, sewing in a bay window. They rose and bowed. Robert Warner stood beside the desk. He gave me an angry stare as I bowed deeply to the Queen. She got up. I saw she still looked strained and tired.

'The guard told me you were on the Mary Rose, Matthew?' she said gently.

'I was, your majesty.' I found I was blinking back tears. At a nod from the Queen, Warner guided me to a chair. Queen Catherine stood, hands folded over her lap, looking down at me.

'What happened?' she asked softly.

I took a deep breath, but for a moment no words came. 'I am sorry, your majesty. I hastened to get here, but—forgive me, I find it hard to speak.' My voice trembled.

'Take your time.' The Queen waved at her ladies. 'Rosamond, bring some wine.'

After a few moments I collected myself. I said, 'I have the answer to what was done to Hugh Curteys. And to poor Michael Calfhill, who was driven to kill himself. And then—I have something to tell you about Sir Richard Rich and the woman I know in the Bedlam. Something dark and secret.'

Warner spoke for the first time. 'If it involves Rich, your majesty, you should be careful. Master Shardlake, is this something safe for the Queen to know?'

I hesitated, then said, 'Perhaps you are right. My judgement of late has been wanting, God knows.'

The Queen smiled, that sudden touch of irrepressible humour. 'No, Matthew, you cannot lead me this far up the path and then abandon me. Tell me everything, and I shall judge what is to be done.'

So I told her the story of my discovery at Hoyland, and Emma's attack on David, though I minimized the extent of David's injuries and did not say that he had killed Abigail. I told of Emma's flight to Portsmouth, my bargain with Rich and the journey to the Mary Rose, my imprisonment by West. And the ship rolling over beneath me and sinking. At that my voice faltered again.

After I finished the Queen was silent a full minute. Her shoulders slumped, then rose again with resolution. She asked quietly, 'Have you no idea what has become of Emma Curteys?'

'No. Though she has no money, and left Portsmouth in nothing but a shirt.'

'Rogues!' she burst out, in a fury such as I had never seen before, her colour rising. 'Rogues and villains, to do that to a young girl for money. And as for what Richard Rich did, that is even worse. Well, the girl Emma may be gone but Rich shall not imperil the safety of that poor woman in the Bedlam!'

'What will you do, your majesty?' Warner asked anxiously. 'The King—'

The Queen shook her head. 'I will deal with this.' She stood. 'Sir Richard Rich, I think, is here at Portchester. Have him fetched.'

'But your majesty—'

'Have him fetched,' she repeated, steel in her voice. She turned to the ladies. 'Leave us, this is a privy matter.'

Warner hesitated, then bowed and left, the maids-in-waiting following. The Queen and I were alone. The anger in her brown eyes had changed to concern. I felt tears come to my eyes again.

'The Mary Rose—it must have been terrible. The King saw her go down—he was stricken by it. Lady Carew was with him, he comforted her.'

'The soldiers on the aftercastle, it was because of me they were brought there. Barak says if it had not been them it would have been another company, and he is right, but—I keep seeing them, thinking I caused their deaths.'

'That is natural, if wrong.' She smiled again, sadly. 'But words do not help, do they? Only time and prayer can do that.'

'Prayer, your majesty?' I repeated hollowly.

'Yes, prayer.'

'I have lost the art.'

She reached out her hand and laid it on mine. A soft, shapely hand, scented. Then she lifted it abruptly as a knock sounded on the door. She called, 'Enter,' and Warner ushered in Richard Rich, his sharp little head buried in the thick fur collar of his grey robe, gold chain of office round his neck. His hard little eyes swept the room. Then he saw me, his eyes widened and he stepped back. I thought, so Barak was right, you thought me dead. Rich staggered and might have fallen had Warner not grasped his thin little shoulders. Rich looked at the Queen, remembered where he was, and bowed deeply. The Queen stared at him with eyes as hard as his own.

'Sir Richard,' she said grimly, 'I see you believed Master Shard-lake dead.'

Rich brought himself under control. 'I heard he was on the Mary Rose, your majesty. They said only a few sailors and soldiers survived.'

The Queen spoke quietly, her eyes never leaving Rich's face. 'I know you sent him on board the Mary Rose, to be killed by the man West, who is dead now, and who for all his grievous faults at least tried to protect the life of the woman whose life you helped him ravage.'

Rich gave me a wolfish look. 'I do not know what this man has told you, your majesty, but he is my enemy. He will say aught—'

'I believe what he has said, Sir Richard. It makes sense, given the things I know you are capable of. The killing of the clerk Mylling—'

'He shut himself in that chamber—'

She continued as though he had not spoken. 'Your conspiracy with West to murder Master Shardlake, your allowing Emma Curteys to go on the Mary Rose, knowing who she was, I know everything, all the way back to the time you stole the King's letter to Anne Boleyn and took it to Catherine of Aragon—'

Rich licked his thin lips. He pointed at me. 'Nothing of this can be proved. West is dead—'

'His mother lives. She could testify that letter was stolen; there are not many left who were at court nineteen years ago, but there may be some who will remember you going with West. I could soon start an enquiry. And the King will certainly remember that letter—'

Rich's eye began twitching. 'Bring me a bible, your majesty. I will swear on it before you—'

'When did you sell your soul to the devil?' the Queen asked quietly.

Rich reddened, opened his mouth, then closed it hard, his pointed little chin jutting but the tic under his eye twitching again. The Queen said, 'Listen to me, Richard Rich. The woman Ellen Fettiplace, and Master West's mother, are now under my personal protection. As West is dead, I shall pay Ellen's fees at the Bedlam myself so