by C. J. Sansom
And then, suddenly, Gerald fell down like a felled tree, his sword ringing as it hit the ground. By the light of the lamp I stared dazedly at his still form. Nicholas stood facing me, breathing heavily, his shirt gone, his slim athletic frame white in the moonlight. He was holding his sword, but by the blade, wrapped in his shirt. I stared at him foolishly, then over at Barnabas, who was nursing a wound on his shoulder, Toby standing over him.
‘What – what did you do?’ I asked.
Nicholas took a shuddering breath. ‘I managed to wound Barnabas, then saw Gerald about to stick you. If I ran him through, he might still have had time to make a final thrust. So I put my shirt round the blade and hit him over the head with the handle.’ He gave a cracked laugh. ‘Besides, I thought I’d better not kill him, or we’d be in trouble. Look up.’
At all the windows giving onto the courtyard, I could see faces, and one or two lamps. As Toby had predicted, the tenants were not going to involve themselves in a swordfight, but the clash of weapons had woken everyone.
I grasped Nicholas’s hand. ‘Thank you, thank you, you saved my life.’
He said, ‘I heard what Gerald said. He sounded – mad.’ He looked down at the boy’s prone form. Gerald groaned and began to stir. Blood oozed from a wound on his head. He hauled himself slowly to his knees. Nicholas reversed his sword and held it ready as Gerald staggered to his feet. The passion of a minute ago was gone, and he gave us a narrow-eyed look of pure hatred as he steadied himself against the water barrel.
Toby was leaning against the wall, blood still dripping from his arm. Barak called across, ‘You need to make a tourniquet, matey. Nicholas, help him.’ He pointed his sword at Barnabas. ‘Get up, you, and help your brother out of here. No swords, they’re going in the Wensum. You can swim for them tomorrow.’
Barnabas, blood still pouring from his shoulder, came over and put his arm round his brother in a surprisingly gentle gesture. He looked at us. ‘By Christ, we need more practice. An old hunchback, a fat cripple, a common churl without even the right to bear a sword, and that long freak. Yet they beat us. But we’ll get you back, you don’t do this to us!’
‘You don’t!’ Gerald’s savage eyes, glaring through the blood now trickling down his face, made me shiver. Then he groaned again and clutched his head. Barnabas looked at us, spat on the ground, and the pair limped through the arch, trailing spots of blood.
Nicholas crossed to Toby, whose black hair and beard framed a face that had gone white. He tore the sleeve of Toby’s shirt from his wounded arm and began to wind a tourniquet. Toby said, ‘It’s a flesh wound, it’ll need sewing, but it’ll be all right.’ He turned to me. ‘Christ, they were fast. Well, young gentlemen get proper training,’ he added bitterly.
Barak came over. He looked sad, crestfallen. ‘I should never have come,’ he said. ‘I haven’t the strength in my left arm. And like that little bastard Gerald said, I’ve too much weight on me for a fight against someone young and fit.’ He sighed deeply. ‘I’m sorry. I should have known my fighting days are over. It could have cost your life.’
I put my hand on his shoulder. ‘You did your best in good part.’
A door creaked, and a man appeared in the doorway, holding up a lamp. ‘Come on,’ Barak said, suddenly brisk. ‘Best get out of here.’ He picked up the twins’ swords. ‘Nick, for God’s sake put your shirt on.’
‘I know the best ways to go to avoid the constables,’ Toby said.
I looked at him. ‘When we get back to the Maid’s Head, we’ll get a doctor to you. We’ll tell them we were set upon.’ I laughed bitterly. ‘By God, we must be the subject of plenty of gossip there already. So much for keeping our mission quiet.’
Chapter Twenty-five
As I expected, the staff at the Maid’s Head were startled by our appearance. I told Master Theobald that we had been attacked by robbers. From his sharp look I was not sure he entirely believed me, but he organized a physician immediately, a quietly competent elderly man named Belys, who applied lavender oil to Toby’s wound and stitched it as well as my old friend Guy could have done.
Afterwards, the four of us sat in my room, recovering from the shock of the fight and considering where it left us. I said, ‘If the twins spoke true, there was a whole host of people they told about stealing the key that night. Any of them could have used a candle to take a wax impression when Gerald left his purse on the bench.’
‘Assuming we believe the little bastards,’ Toby said grimly.
‘They gave us several names we could check. Including Boleyn’s steward Chawry.’
‘So you think the twins weren’t involved?’ Nicholas asked.
‘I doubt it more now. Though it would be foolish to discount them. And it’s interesting they are friends with Southwell’s men, when he has a potential interest in the Brikewell estate.’
‘They’re a ruthless crew,’ Toby observed. ‘John Atkinson abducted that young heiress on Mousehold Heath last year and tried to force her into a marriage. Southwell helped him, and several of his servants.’
‘And we can’t discount their grandparents or anyone in their household,’ I added, leaning wearily back in my chair. ‘Any of them could have taken an impression of the key in the night, had a copy made by Snockstobe the next morning, and returned the original to Brikewell.’
‘But what motive would anyone, other than possibly Southwell and Witherington, have for murdering Edith and incriminating Boleyn?’ Nicholas asked.
‘None that I can see. Before we left London I was warned by both Copuldyke and Cecil that Southwell is untouchable, because of his local political power and his links to the Lady Mary. And there is no evidence against him. We have many suspects and no evidence.’ I turned to Barak. ‘Have you any idea who the jurymen might be the day after tomorrow?’
‘Tomorrow, you mean,’ he answered, nodding at the window. The early summer dawn was breaking, the birds starting to sing in the tree in the churchyard opposite. ‘It’s Wednesday already. The jurors are drawn from the yeoman farmers and gentry landlords of the countryside, and the better sort of citizens from the towns. As you know, the local gentry don’t like Boleyn.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘This time it was mostly countrymen on the grand jury, and the trial jurymen will likely be from the same pot.’
‘Let’s get some sleep,’ I said wearily. ‘Toby, you can bunk up with Nicholas. Do you want to share with me, Jack? It’s some way back to the Blue Boar.’
He shook his head. ‘A walk may clear my head. I’ve got to go to work in a few hours.’
‘All right. We have one more lead to follow; we’ll visit Grace Bone’s brother later, though it’s a frail reed.’ I sighed. ‘And then I must visit John Boleyn in prison, and brief him for the trial. And Jack, I want you to get subpoenas for Daniel Chawry and Simon Scambler.’
‘You said you didn’t think Scambler would be any good as a witness,’ Toby reminded me. ‘And what can Daniel Chawry add?’
‘We’re at the stage where we need to try everything. It’s worth taking the risk to get in the evidence from Scambler that the key was stolen, and Chawry can at least attest that Boleyn was a good master.’
‘I wonder why he was spending so much time drinking on his own in an inn away from Brikewell?’ Nicholas said thoughtfully.
‘Perhaps mooning over Isabella,’ Barak suggested.
‘Will you be able to get those subpoenas so close to trial?’ I asked him.
‘I should think so, though eyebrows will be raised in the court offices.’
I rose painfully. ‘Come on, I’ll see you down.’ There were a couple of things I wanted to say to Barak alone.
We descended the broad wooden staircase in the dawn light. Everyone was abed apart from the watchman seated on his chair by the door, who looked at us curiously.
‘You’ll be the talk of this place,’ Barak observed.
We reached the stone-flagged hall. Barak looked at me sadly. ‘I realized last night, I’m past being a
fighting man. Maybe not much use to anyone any more.’
I laid a hand on his arm. ‘That’s just not true. You may have overestimated your fighting powers last night, but the help you have given us in this quest has been invaluable. The information about the judges, getting the warrants, and your ideas – they are more helpful than you can imagine, they always have been, and I still miss them at work.’ My voice almost broke.
He was silent a moment. ‘When we worked at the Court of Requests, I used to feel we were doing something useful, helping the powerless against crooked landlords and the like. And before then – when I worked for Lord Cromwell, I had faith in him. Maybe partly misplaced, but I did. But now –’ he shook his head wearily –‘my work in London, helping the solicitors gather evidence, it’s all like rats fighting in a sack. As for the Assize work, I see every day how the legal system only helps those with power. Three days devoted to civil cases, rich litigants spitting against each other, and one day to hear all the criminal cases before hanging day. I’m sick of it.’
‘I understand. But it is work, and you have Tamasin and the children.’
‘The children, yes. But Tammy – somehow it’s turned out she rules the roost, and she seems to have no respect for me these days.’ He met my gaze. ‘I don’t look forward to going back.’
‘Marriages go through stormy passages, Tamasin loves you, and I think you still love her. I’m sure you could mend things.’ He inclined his head and made a grimace. ‘Jack,’ I said quietly, ‘there was something I wished to ask your advice on, alone.’
‘Oh, yes?’
I told him what I had overheard Edward Brown, Vowell and the man called Miles discussing at the Blue Boar. ‘It sounded seditious. By law, I should report them.’
Barak looked at me keenly. ‘Probably just rebellious gossip. There’s plenty of that about.’
‘I think it was more. Those men were talking seriously.’
Barak frowned. ‘And if they were? Would you have Josephine’s husband, and Vowell, who helped you find the twins, called in for hard questioning?’ He shook his head vigorously. ‘No, you didn’t hear anything, and you didn’t tell me anything. Besides, if there is a rising among the peasantry in these parts, don’t they have every reason?’
‘I fear violence, and bloodshed.’
‘You don’t know what they had in mind.’
‘No, that’s true.’
‘Then say nothing. Not one word.’
I was silent for a moment, then answered, ‘All right.’
He clapped me on the shoulder. ‘Whatever will be, will be.’
*
I WAS SO EXHAUSTED I slept deeply until I was called at six. I had promised to write again to Parry and Elizabeth, and I wrote saying that I had uncovered some new evidence – the key – and had another possible lead which I would also follow up before the trial started tomorrow.
At breakfast I told Toby that once he had taken us to where Grace Bone’s brother lived, he could go back to his parents’ farm, though I would need him at trial tomorrow.
‘Thank you,’ he said. He still looked pale, and his bandaged arm, concealed under his doublet, no doubt pained him.
I said, ‘I am deeply grateful for all the help you have given us, especially last night, and I am sorry you were injured.’
‘It was good to get at the little bastards,’ he said quietly.
Soon afterwards, the three of us retraced our steps of the previous night, across the river then on up Oak Street, a broad avenue leading to St Martin’s Gate, one of the northern entries to the city. In the distance we could see the city wall. It was another hot day; the fine weather seemed to have set in for a long spell. It was Wednesday, market day, and the dusty road was busy with carts. We passed an open area surrounding a large church, then entered a complex of houses near the gate. To my surprise the house where Peter Bone lived was a moderately large two-storey dwelling, though the paint was flaking from the exterior and the wooden beams were exposed, not painted over, and looked afflicted by rot. The door was opened by a tall, lean, beardless man in his thirties, well-favoured, with dark brown hair. He had intelligent brown eyes which looked at us very keenly. Unexpectedly he carried a spindle with wool wound around it.
‘Master Peter Bone?’ I asked.
He took a deep breath. In a resigned tone he said, ‘Ay. I heard a Lunnon lawyer was looking for me, ’bout when my sister worked for John Boleyn that’s on trial. I suppose you’d best come in.’
We followed him into a chamber which was large and well-lit, though the furniture was sparse, just a table with a hank of wool on it, four chairs, and a bed and trunk in a corner. He asked us to sit. ‘Can I get you some beer?’
‘No, thank you. We were sorry to hear that Grace and your other sister have passed away.’
‘The bad winter weather went on so long into the spring, many were taken.’ His eyes seemed to go blank for a moment. ‘Poor Mercy caught a fever of the lungs, then Grace right after. I didn’t even have the money for a funeral, they were buried in the common pit like most others who died around here.’ He looked at me, and now there was anger and, I thought, defiance in his expression. ‘Though it be a sin to say so, I wish I’d gone with them. There’s nothing left.’
‘The house must seem empty,’ Toby said quietly.
Peter sighed. ‘I’ve let out Grace’s and Mercy’s rooms, and my old bedroom, to bring in a little money.’ He looked at me sharply. ‘The owner doesn’t know, it’s against the lease.’
‘We shall tell nobody. We have not come to add to your troubles, I promise, we thank you for talking to us.’
He studied us keenly again, then looked down at the table. ‘This used to be my weaving shed. Only two years ago my loom was here, my sisters helping me. But the masters of the city have concentrated everything in their own hands, squeezed people like me out. I had to sell my loom. Grace and Mercy helped us get by with some spinning; but now it’s just me, doing this woman’s work.’ He threw the spindle down on the table with sudden anger.
Toby said, ‘I gather one of the big wool men is Gawen Reynolds, father of Grace’s former mistress, Edith Boleyn.’
‘Ay, he’s one a’ them. His family have been wool merchants for years, and he’s one who’s made a pile by taking all the processes, from buying raw wool through to tanning and dyeing, into his hands. Many’s the poor man been squeezed out by greedy snudges like Reynolds.’ He looked up at me. ‘But you didn’t come to hear me howen’ and mowen’, sir. Probably you think me an insolent fellow.’
‘No. I am sorry for your troubles.’
He looked at me with eyes which had suddenly narrowed. ‘Well, what have you to ask about Grace? God rest her soul.’
‘I know she left the employ of Edith Boleyn shortly before Edith disappeared nine years ago. Did she come straight home?’
‘Yes. She lived with me and Mercy till she died.’
‘Do you know why she left so suddenly? Was she discontented with Mistress Edith, or Master Boleyn?’
‘She always said that whole household was full of trouble. She served them five years. She said Edith had a strong dislike of her husband. They slept in separate rooms and she told Grace she could not bear the sight of him, nor of their sons.’
‘Did Edith say why?’
He shrugged, though his look was still intent, as though weighing up the effect of his words on me. ‘Edith said it was just something inside her, she didn’t understand herself. She told Grace once she wondered if she was under a curse. I never met Master Boleyn, but Grace said he was a decent enough man except when he was in a temper. I think maybe Edith was mad, Grace said sometimes she wouldn’t eat and would go down from a buxom woman to skin and bone.’
‘And she confided in Grace?’
‘Ay, Grace allus had a good soft heart.’ He looked at us, hard. ‘But in the end it got too much for her. Mistress Edith discovered John Boleyn was rutting with a local barmaid, and even though she couldn’t bear hi
m, it upset her mightily. And those twins were getting worse, throwing tutors down the stairs and suchlike, and Master Boleyn losing his temper with everyone more and more. She could see a storm coming, and one day she decided she’d had enough, and left and came back here.’
I looked at him closely. ‘Edith Boleyn herself disappeared shortly afterwards.’
‘Ay, I know.’
‘Grace was sought out, as a witness.’
Peter looked at me steadily. ‘They never found us, they never knew where I lived, for Mercy and I had moved house a little time before. We talked about it, the three of us, and decided we didn’t want any more to do with that family.’ He smiled narrowly. ‘People of our class stick together; we made sure nobody told the justice our new address, and after a while they got tired of looking and gave up.’
‘Grace could have thrown some light on the mystery, at least about her mistress’s character,’ Nicholas said sternly.
Bone answered, with a sudden sharp anger, ‘Don’t you read me a morality tale, you boy in your fine lawyer’s robe. We didn’t want any more to do with that crazed family, especially after Edith disappeared.’ He turned on me. ‘Are you going to report us now, nine years later, for avoiding the searchers? Well, you’ve got me, but to get Grace and Mercy they’ll have to dig them up.’
Toby raised his hands placatingly. ‘Nobody’s going to report anyone. It’s just my master needs to find anything that might throw light on the case, as Nicholas here said, and time is desperately short. Forgive Master Nicholas there, he’s prone to antrums.’
Nicholas blushed. I said quietly, ‘I thank you for seeing us. We shall trouble you no longer.’
He nodded. ‘I would help if I could, but I know nothing of how Edith Boleyn died.’
I stood, putting five shillings from my purse on the table. ‘For your time.’
He looked at the coins, then clutched them in his hand, though he did not look up at us. He picked up the spindle. ‘I’d better keep a’doing,’ he said.
We left the house. Looking back I saw, through the wide window, that Peter was standing, looking out at us, the spindle moving rapidly up and down in his hand. There was that same narrow, intent look in his eyes.