by C. J. Sansom
‘No, the judges are still in Cambridgeshire. I’m one of those sent ahead, to sniff out the air in Norwich, see which of the Protector’s proclamations are being properly observed – which is pretty well bugger all – how folk are reacting to the Prayer Book, what sort of people might be suitable for jury service.’ He inclined his head back to the group he had been talking to. ‘That’s what I’m doing now.’ Then his eyes narrowed. ‘What sort of case is this one of yours, then? A criminal one? You won’t be allowed to represent the accused.’
‘Later,’ I said quietly. ‘Where are your lodgings?’
‘An inn down by the river. The Blue Boar. At the far end of Holme Street. It’s a bit of a hike from here, but the likes of me don’t get the best quarters. Where are you staying?’
‘The Maid’s Head, in Tombland.’
‘Very nice. I pass it on my way into the city.’ He paused, and looked at me. ‘You look pale, are you feeling all right?’
‘Yes, yes,’ I answered irritably. ‘Just a little trouble with my back. Can I meet you for a drink at the Blue Boar later? Say at seven.’
‘All right. You can tell me what trouble you’ve got yourself into now.’ Barak winked at Nicholas, gave Toby a salute with his artificial hand, then turned and walked back to his fellows.
*
WE RODE OUT of the marketplace, into the busy, tangled alleyways of the centre of the city, and through the clanging noise of the metalworkers’ district. I remarked that many of the buildings looked new. Toby said, ‘There were two great summer fires in central Norwich forty years ago. It could happen again, the new houses are mostly lath and plaster. It was mostly flint buildings, like the churches, which survived.’
‘The city seems full of churches,’ Nicholas observed.
Toby replied with a rare smile, ‘They say there are more churches and alehouses in Norwich than anywhere in England.’ He turned to me. ‘So that was the man who used to work for you.’
‘Yes. Jack Barak.’
We passed a large, ancient stone building where workmen were carrying in bales of cloth. Toby told me it had been a great Dominican friary before the Dissolution, and had been sold to the city by old King Henry. Then we rode down a street of new houses, built since the fires, mostly dwellings of richer citizens, which Toby said was called Elm Hill. At the far end, just below where a flint church stood, the street crossed a broader highway. Nearby I saw a bridge over the brown, muddy river. Toby turned in the opposite direction, downhill. The huge cathedral with its high, narrow spire now dominated the view. Beyond, in the distance, I saw a large heath, surprisingly high in the flat Norfolk landscape, the grass dotted with sheep.
We rode down towards the cathedral. Toby stopped just before the highway ended in a broad space fronting the walled cathedral precinct. ‘That is Tombland,’ he said.
‘Why is it called that? Was it once a burial ground for the cathedral?’
‘No. It’s always been called Tombland, perhaps the name comes from the old Saxons. Only the richest have houses there.’ He nodded to his left, where a wide gateway set in the wall of a large building stood open. ‘And this is the main entrance to your inn, the Maid’s Head.’
*
THE GATEWAY LED into a stableyard. A plump middle-aged man in a fine black doublet appeared and gave us a pleasant smile. He reached up and took my hand. ‘Welcome to the Maid’s Head, sir. I am Augustus Theobald, in charge of the finest inn in Norfolk.’ A mounting block was brought for us. I found it hard to dismount, and then to stand – Nicholas had to hand me my stick, which was tied to the back of the packhorse. I leaned against the pump of a well which stood in the yard, a disabling knot of pain between my shoulder blades. Master Theobald looked concerned. ‘Are you all right, sir?’
‘Yes. It is just that we have ridden from London. If I lie down for a little I will be all right.’
‘Are you sure?’ Nicholas asked. He had never seen me in such difficulty.
‘Yes, don’t fuss!’ I turned to the innkeeper. ‘We have rooms booked by Master Thomas Parry, for three.’
The innkeeper looked embarrassed. ‘I fear he only booked rooms for two.’
‘It’s all right,’ Toby said. ‘I wrote and cancelled my room. My parents’ farm is only three miles off, I can stay with them, and still ride here to assist you every day.’
‘There is no problem,’ I told Master Theobald. ‘Could you have our packs taken to our rooms? And the horses taken to the stables and given a good rub down?’
‘Certainly,’ the innkeeper replied, bowing.
‘Stay with them, Nicholas, and see to things. I would like a word with Toby. Master Theobald, could you show me somewhere I can talk with Goodman Lockswood.’ I grasped my stick. ‘Somewhere I can sit.’
Theobald led us into the building, pointing out the large comfortable dining room and other amenities, and mentioned that in their time both Catherine of Aragon and Cardinal Wolsey had been guests. Then, bowing, he left us in a well-appointed parlour. A servant fetched two cups of beer, and some welcome bread and cheese. I sat in a chair with great relief, my back supported at last. I gave Toby a stern look.
‘You should have told us you planned to stay with your parents. We have much to do, and little time, and need your knowledge of this city.’
‘I apologize.’ He stroked his curly black beard with a large hand, then fixed me with a direct gaze from those keen blue eyes. ‘But my mother is ill, and wishes to see me. I promise I will rise early enough to be here at any hour you wish.’
‘Is she seriously ill?’
‘She is not strong, and lately finds the work on the farm makes her breathless. Not that there will be much profit from the harvest this year, given the size of the crops.’
‘No,’ I agreed.
‘I hope you are not angry with me, sir,’ he added.
I sighed. ‘No, I understand. But I will need you here early tomorrow. I am going to visit John Boleyn in the castle gaol, then try and talk to Edith Boleyn’s parents. The day after, I want to go and visit the Brikewell estates. This evening I have arranged to see Barak, as you heard, so you may go to your parents’ farm now. How far from here is the Blue Boar Inn?’
‘I will draw you a diagram.’ He looked at me dubiously. ‘But will you be able to walk?’
‘With my stick, yes.’ I heard that testy note in my voice again. ‘And I shall lie down for a little first.’
‘You should take Master Nicholas.’
‘I thought I might go alone. There is a – personal – matter I wish to discuss with Barak.’
Lockswood looked at me seriously. ‘A well-dressed stranger with a walking stick would be advised not to wander Norwich alone in the evening. There are robbers about, more than in London.’
‘Very well.’ I looked at him. ‘For all its great buildings, there seems to be much poverty here.’
‘There is. For years the great wool merchants have been moving cloth weaving out to the countryside, to avoid the guilds’ regulations about manufacture. And centralizing the other processes of cloth production in their own hands. Often they ship the cloth illegally to Europe, to the Dutch. The great families we saw earlier today, by the Guildhall, they grow in riches. But for the poor it is different and now, with the number of farm labourers thrown off the land coming to the city, and the great rise in prices, the mood is fierce.’ Toby spoke quietly, evenly, but again with that angry undertone.
‘Perhaps the new enclosure commissions Protector Somerset is sending out soon will mend things.’
‘Do you think so, sir?’
I remembered my conversation with Edward Kenzy last Saturday, and answered cautiously. ‘I think in the little time the commissioners will have, and with the landlords against them, it will be difficult.’
Toby leaned back. ‘So others say. My father relied heavily on his rights to graze his cows and oxen on the common land of the manor, but three years ago the landowner enclosed a large part of the common, which he said
he was entitled to do, as the largest landowner. There’s not a lot left for the village beasts. My father has got by with his crops these last three years, when the harvests have been good. But this year –’ He shook his head.
‘I am sorry.’
‘I tell you so you may understand my concern for my family. Please, do not tell Master Copuldyke this, he would use it to make a mockery of me.’
‘I shall say nothing.’
‘Thank you.’
‘In return, perhaps you may do something for me.’
‘If I can.’
‘Try to get on better with Nicholas. He is over-proud of his gentleman status, but there are reasons for that. Otherwise he is a decent young fellow, conscientious, intelligent and, as I have reason to know, brave.’
Lockswood gave a wry smile. ‘You are observant, sir.’
‘So should all lawyers be. And, finally, I want you to help me with some local information.’
‘Certainly.’
‘First, I should like to speak to the coroner who investigated Edith Boleyn’s murder. Where is he based?’
‘At the Guildhall. The coroners, like the justices, are expected to be in attendance when the Assizes begin.’
‘Good. Now, two years ago, I had a serving girl who worked for me in London. Her name is Josephine. She married a young man named Edward Brown, servant to an aged barrister named Peter Henning. Henning and his wife were retiring to Norwich, where they came from, and they took Edward and Josephine with them as servants. I was very fond of Josephine, I was able to help her once with some trouble, and gave her away at her wedding. She had no family, and nor did Edward.’ I told him of the letter I had received, the money I had sent, and my anxiety at hearing no more. Finally, I told Lockswood her address.
‘Cosny, eh? That’s how common folk pronounce Coslany here,’ he added. He looked serious. ‘Those are rough parts. I doubt a barrister would live there. Perhaps the old man died?’
‘Possibly. If Edward and Josephine are in trouble, I should like to help them.’
Lockswood nodded. ‘I can make some enquiries.’ His eyes narrowed as he spoke. I could tell what he was thinking, and said sharply, ‘Josephine was just a servant to me, nothing else.’
‘Of course,’ he answered, smiling. ‘When would you like me to return tomorrow?’
‘At six in the morning? You can breakfast with us.’
‘Then God give you good evening, sir.’ He stood, bowed, and walked out to the stables with his solid, confident tread. I sighed, took my stick, and went to find someone to guide me to my room, thinking uneasily of what he had said about Norwich being an unsafe place for gentlemen to travel alone, even on a light June evening.
*
ON THE RIDE I had been in more pain than I had admitted, and it was a great relief to stretch out on the feather quilt on the fine four-poster bed in my room. I lay there and looked through the window. I had a view of the church on the corner of Elm Hill, and of an elm tree with pale green leaves. I was much more comfortable lying down, but the journey had told on me. The space between my shoulder blades hurt badly.
I remembered an exercise Guy had given me when I had twisted my back some years ago. It involved lying on a rolled-up cloth placed under the affected area, and stretching my arms over my head. The bed was a little soft, so with some difficulty I lay on my back on the floor, a tightly rolled-up cloth under my shoulder blades, and gingerly raised my arms with an uncomfortable grunt.
For a moment nothing happened, then I felt a tremendous crack. I gasped with shock, then carefully rolled over and stood up. I feared I might have crippled myself, but in fact my back felt easier. ‘Kill or cure,’ I muttered, then, lying carefully on the bed, sent a mental ‘thankyou’ to my old friend. I lay dozing for some time, until the lengthening shadows cast by the elm made me realize it was time for me to go and meet Barak. I heaved myself to my feet, grasped my stick firmly, and went to find Nicholas.
Chapter Eleven
We stepped out into the warm June dusk. With my stick I could walk normally, with a little care. We went down the street and found ourselves in Tombland. On three sides stood well-appointed houses, most three-storeyed, painted in a variety of bright colours, with gated courtyards in front. On the fourth side stood the high walls fronting the cathedral, where two massive doors, each set in magnificently painted and decorated arched gateways, were closed for the evening. Over the wall we could see the high, ancient cathedral church, built like Norwich castle of white limestone, and the huge, pointed stone spire. Men in servants’ and traders’ clothes went in and out of the houses and through little clicket gates in the cathedral doors. A couple of watchmen bearing clubs stood at a corner, their coats showing the city arms of a red shield with a castle and lion underneath. A butcher’s cart rumbled by, stopping at one of the big houses. Two aproned men opened the courtyard door and helped the carter unload a bloody side of beef and several plucked geese.
‘Someone’s holding a grand dinner,’ Nicholas observed. ‘Tombland must be a fine place to live.’
‘If you have the money,’ I answered.
Lockswood had given me a roughly drawn map and we crossed Tombland and walked along a thoroughfare the plan called Holme Street, which followed the high outer wall of the cathedral precinct. There were a good number of pedestrians still about, mostly traders bringing baskets of produce into town, and the occasional cart, one loaded with new-shorn curly fleeces from the local sheep. As elsewhere in the city, there were many poor men in rags, one with an iron collar around his neck to mark him as an illegal beggar; one or two glanced at the good quality clothes we wore, then noticed the sword and buckler hanging from Nicholas’s waist and looked away.
‘How is your back, sir?’ Nicholas asked hesitantly.
‘Better now I have rested.’ Thanks also to Guy’s exercise, I thought. ‘I’ll be glad if I never see another horse again.’
We came to another open area, dominated by a large church. The houses here were smaller than in Tombland, but still substantial, with glimpses of gardens behind. Then the road took a turn, and became walled on both sides. Beyond the walls on the side opposite the cathedral we glimpsed a high, square church tower which Lockswood had marked as the ‘Great Hospital’. A pair of wooden gates gave entrance to what looked like an old monastic precinct; on each side half a dozen beggars, men and women, sat with begging bowls in their laps. They cried for alms as we passed. An old fellow with the marks of smallpox on his face stood up and waved his bowl in my face. ‘I fare sick, sir,’ he cried, ‘dorn’t pass by, be good-doing!’ Nicholas put out an arm to thrust him aside but I reached into my purse and gave him a sixpence. All the others immediately struggled to their feet with outstretched bowls, and Nicholas grasped my arm and hurried me away.
‘Don’t pull at me like that,’ I complained, but only when we were out of reach.
‘They’d have mobbed you!’
‘It was only Christian charity!’
We walked on to where an inn stood, next to a high, battlemented gatehouse guarding a stone bridge across the river, weeping willows on both banks. The high, bare heath loomed beyond, a large mansion visible on the top. I turned to Nicholas. ‘At some point I’ll give you a nod. Say you need the jakes. There is a – personal – matter I must discuss with Jack.’
He nodded. ‘There he is,’ he said, pointing to where a number of tables had been set out in the inn garden. Groups of men were sitting there, mostly in the smocks and leather jackets of the artisan class. Alone at one table, a mug of ale in his left hand, sat Barak. He rested the other arm with its metal prosthesis on the table, where it caught the glint of the setting sun.
He rose, pleasure at seeing us evident in his face. I noticed he was continuing to put on weight. ‘How fare you both?’ he asked. ‘God’s bones, young Nicholas, I’ll swear you’ve got even taller.’
‘How are you, Jack?’ Nicholas asked.
‘Glad to be out of London for a bit.’ Yet, l
ooking in my old friend’s eyes, I saw sadness and something more: weariness.
‘I’ll fetch some beer,’ Nicholas said.
‘Ay, I’m always ready for another,’ Barak replied cheerfully. Nicholas went into the inn and I sat down. ‘How goes your work in Norwich?’ I asked.
‘All right. I spend evenings in the taverns, listening to conversations, sounding out the local mood. The judges’ clerks have people doing that on most Assizes.’ He smiled wryly. ‘The judges know I have a history of such work, back to when I worked for Lord Cromwell. Then I have to liaise with the sheriff, and make sure, very politely, that he is doing his work efficiently in selecting jurors for the Assizes. Though I’ve had to deal with his deputy this time; Sir Nicholas L’Estrange has been in Somerset.’
‘And how do you find the mood in Norwich?’
‘Bad.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Masterless men coming in from the countryside, jobs going from the city, much misery and anger. It’s been decided that instead of the usual grand feast to welcome the judges, there’s only going to be an ale for them. The city authorities fear too ostentatious a celebration might spark something.’
‘Are things that tense?’
He nodded. ‘They have been all along the circuit, though not so bad as here.’
Nicholas returned with three mugs of ale, and we drank each other’s health.
I spoke quickly. ‘Jack, there is something we need to know, if you can tell us. When will the criminal cases be heard? Will it be at the start of the Assizes, as usual?’
He shook his head. ‘No, they’re doing them on the third day, there are a couple of big land cases they want heard first. The criminal hearings will be on the twentieth.’
‘Then we have a week to investigate,’ Nicholas said. ‘More time than we hoped for.’
Barak looked at us. ‘So you are here on a criminal matter?’
‘Yes. The case against John Boleyn, for the murder of his wife. Have you heard anything about it?’