Heartstone by C. J. Sansom

Author:C. J. Sansom
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, azw3
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2010-11-29T16:00:00+00:00

AT THE FOOT OF the hill the road was raised on earthen banks, passing over an area of marsh and mud with a narrow stretch of water in the middle spanned by a stone bridge. On the far side, where the land rose again, was a soldiers’ camp. Men sat outside the tents, sewing or carving, a few playing cards or dice. On the bridge soldiers stood inspecting the contents of the cart in front of us.

‘This is the only link between Portsea Island and the mainland,’ Hobbey said. ‘If the French were to take it the island would be cut off.’

‘Our guns will sink their fleet before they land,’ David said confidently. Absorbed in the view, he seemed to have forgotten about Lamkin, and his mother’s attack on him. Yet there was something haunted in his face.

A soldier came up and asked our business. ‘Legal matters, in Portsmouth,’ Hobbey answered briefly. The soldier glanced at Dyrick’s and my robes and waved us on. We clattered over the bridge.

We rode across the island, along a dusty lane between an avenue of trees. Hugh turned to Hobbey, unaccustomed deference in his voice. ‘Sir, may we ride across and get a closer look at the ships in the Haven?’

‘Yes, please, Father,’ David added eagerly.

Hobbey looked at him indulgently. ‘Very well.’

We turned along a side lane and rode towards the water. We passed close to a large dockyard where dozens of men were labouring. There were several wooden derricks and a number of low structures including a long, narrow one which I recognized as a rope-walk, where lengths of rope would be coiled together to form thicker ones, dozens of feet long if necessary. Piles of large tree trunks lay around, and carpenters were busy sawing wood into different shapes and sizes. A small ship stood on a bed of mud carved into the shore, supported by thick poles. Men were working hard repairing it. There was a constant sound of hammering.

A little to the south of the dock we turned aside from the lane and halted the horses by a mudflat next to the sea, from which a welcome breeze came. There was a smell of salt and rot, the mud spattered with green seaweed. Here we had a clear view of the ships across the water. Eight of the galleasses, sixty feet long and each with an iron-tipped battering ram in front and several cannon protruding from gun ports at the side, moved across the calm, blue-green water, smooth and fast despite their boxy shape. They were using both sails and long lines of oars. I heard the regular beat of drums marking time for the oarsmen. They made impressive speed. We jumped as one fired its guns, puffs of black smoke rising from their mouths followed by loud reverberating cracks. Then it turned round, astonishingly fast.

Dyrick gave it an anxious look. Hugh gave a little mocking laugh. ‘Do not worry, sir, they are only practising. There are no gunballs in the cannon.

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