by C. J. Sansom
At breakfast bread and cheese were handed around by Goodwife Everneke. As I ate with my fingers, I thought that even a fortnight ago the idea of living in such conditions would have horrified me. The strange thing was that, despite the heat, with the bracken bed and regular movement, I was feeling better than for some time; my body more like a functioning organism than a disjointed collection of aching parts, though after my recent injury I still had to be careful.
There was much laughter among the villagers about Alderman Aldrich’s visit to the camp. Apparently, he lived at Swardeston, three miles away, and had been brought into Norwich by a party of rebels. ‘E’s ours now, bors,’ one villager said with pleasure.
Most men had been assigned work for the day, but some, and a number of the women, were going down to Norwich market. The previous evening the leaders of the Hundreds, accompanied by soldiers, had gone around the camp, distributing coins – a shilling for each man, representing wages for their work. New debased shillings, but money nonetheless.
Young Natty, wearing an armless leather jerkin and threadbare upper hose, looked at the coin in his big brown hand. ‘First I’ve had in weeks,’ he said.
‘Are you going back to tree-felling today?’ I asked him.
‘Better than that, one of the carpenters is teaching me to saw planks. Perhaps I may become an apprentice, after this is done.’
‘Will you go back to the Sandlings?’
‘I may stay in Norwich. I never really liked the sea.’ He looked at me, and I remembered Walter, washed up on the beach with his head stoved in, like Edith Boleyn’s. Evidently he remembered it too, for he leaned forward and said, ‘An old pal of mine has come to camp, with some people from the Sandlings. He comes from poor Wal Padbury’s village; I thought I might ask him if he remembered anything.’
‘If you could, I would be very grateful.’
Old Goodman Johnson rose to his feet. ‘I have to go to a meeting of them as fought in the wars. Thanks for the food, Goody Everneke. I’ll miss Conyers’s sermon, so pray for my soul.’
‘’Tis early for a gathering, bor.’
‘There’s much to organize.’
I looked at him. ‘So my friends and I may visit Norwich unaccompanied?’
‘Ay, those are the orders.’ He looked doubtfully at Nicholas, who returned the old man’s gaze, a flash of anger in his green eyes.
*
AFTER BREAKFAST hundreds gathered to hear the sermon by Thomas Conyers. Its tone was evangelical, calling on the assembly to remember they were in God’s view and to behave in a sober and peaceable manner, though he also referred to the need for reformation of the greed in the land, as well as giving a long disquisition on the extirpation of sinfulness. It was, I thought, carefully judged. I wondered how many of the camp people were radical Protestants. Some, no doubt, but many, I suspected, were bending with the wind in hope of support from the Protector. Traditionalists – and there must be some – were keeping their heads down.
Afterwards, people, mostly carrying baskets, headed for the road down to Norwich. We walked to the escarpment, past a group of men digging another large pit to bury the remains of some of the slaughtered sheep. The stink was terrible.
We watched people descend, cross Bishopsgate Bridge, which had been opened, and enter the city. The mood of those setting off was cheerful in the main, though the peddlers who had come to the camp looked disconsolate, for they could not compete with the city market. I said to Barak and Nicholas, ‘Well, let us go down.’
‘I wish they’d returned my sword,’ Nicholas grumbled. ‘Having to go to the city in a ragged shirt like a peasant – it’s humiliating.’
‘Be glad they released you,’ Barak said impatiently, strapping on his artificial hand. He turned to me. ‘It’s going to be a long day, if we’re going to make all the visits you want. Are you feeling up to it?’
‘I want to do as much as I can. Go to the Maid’s Head to see if there’s any new correspondence for me and send my own, give Isabella the money Flowerdew took if she is still at the inn, then go to the castle and see Boleyn. And I would like to visit Josephine and Edward. And perhaps Scambler’s aunt – we’ll look out for the lad in the city. You have your letter to Tamasin?’
‘Yes. It just says I’ve been delayed by the troubles, but am safe.’
‘I have written a like letter to Guy.’ I took a deep breath. ‘And one to Parry, again saying the same, but also that I will continue to investigate the Boleyn case where I can.’
Barak looked around at the crowds, the vista of huts. ‘That seems pretty small beer now.’
‘I still have responsibilities,’ I answered stubbornly.
We made our way to the road, just as a party of horsemen in fine but sober clothing appeared – Robert Kett and his brother William, with a group of other men. They included Toby Lockswood, who looked at us with narrowed eyes. Kett waved me to approach.
‘Master Shardlake, God give you good morrow.’
‘And you, Captain Kett.’ He was again in happily enthusiastic mood, his energy returned. William Kett, however, looked at us with sharp eyes. I wondered whether he thought his brother too trusting of me.
‘Work on the Oak of Reformation is almost done,’ William said brusquely. ‘Be ready for tomorrow.’
‘I shall.’
‘What are you doing in Norwich today?’
‘Visiting friends, and Master Boleyn in the castle.’
‘I am having further talks with Codd. I hear that a new camp has been set up at Castle Rising, near King’s Lynn, which will soon be ours. And we have sent men to occupy Yarmouth. There will be cockles and herrings for everyone!’ He smiled, looking around his entourage. Then he nodded to us and set off towards the steep hill, people cheering as he passed. Toby, however, turned aside and approached us. ‘You are visiting Boleyn?’
‘He remains my client.’
‘I heard that last night those twins of his got together with other prisoners in their room at Surrey Place and tried to break out. They are held in chains now. They may be sons of a landowner, but they are vagabonds, savages.’
‘You know my views about that pair, Toby,’ I answered.
Nicholas looked at him angrily. I feared for a moment he might lash out, but he only said, bitterly, ‘Toby, you broke bread with us, even fought with us against the twins. Yet now you look at us as though we are enemies. Did you always think so little of us?’
Barak glanced at Toby curiously. ‘Well?’
Toby flushed, looking between the three of us. ‘I told Master Shardlake, if I am given work, I make it a point of honour to do it well. But you, young Nicholas, would join those ranged against us if you could. As for John Boleyn, whether his sentence was right or wrong, he is one of the lords. A shame this affair also took the lives of two working people, but no doubt that is just a detail to you.’
‘Does not John Boleyn still deserve justice?’ I said.
‘As do we all. But few of us have the Lady Elizabeth behind us to purchase a pardon.’ He leaned down from his horse. ‘There are people from Brikewell here, some of those who mistook you for the enclosure commissioners when they were scaring off Witherington’s doves. One saw you and asked me what you were doing here without your finery. I told him Captain Kett seemed to favour you. But do not underestimate him, Master Shardlake.’
*
WE WALKED DOWN the hill. As we passed under Bishopsgate Bridge gatehouse, I noticed yet another proclamation from Protector Somerset. I hoped it might tell us when the commissioners would arrive, but it only said starkly that a reward was being offered for the naming of renegades and deserters who were stirring up sedition. I frowned. That did not sound like sympathy for the camps.
As we walked along Holme Street, between the high walls of the cathedral precinct and the great hospital, where beggars still sat waving their bowls, I saw a familiar face; a strongly built man with a brown beard, laughing and joking with a group of younger men.
Barak said to me, ‘There’s Vowell.’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Let us have a word.’
We pushed our way through the crowd. ‘Master Vowell,’ I said, ‘good morrow.’ I thought he might not recognize me in my changed state but he answered at once, ‘Lawyer Shardlake, I see you are free.’
‘We are at the camp,’ I said.
‘Prisoners on parole,’ Nicholas added. ‘Me, at least.’
‘Are you at the camp, too?’ I asked him.
‘I am.’ Vowell raised his chin proudly. ‘For a long time the ways of our rulers have sickened me, not least my old master.’
I remembered the night we had seen him at the Blue Boar Inn, and thought, sickened so much you helped plot this rebellion. One of the men with him spoke up, a thin young man with fierce angry eyes. ‘Him and all his filthy kind. The rich merchants of Norwich hurt the common people as much as the greedy landowners in the countryside.’
Vowell said, ‘Have you ever seen the Sotherton house?’
‘No.’
‘They are another of the great families of Norwich. It is in St Andrew’s Street. The walls are built of flint, knapped and chiselled so they are as even as bricks. It makes a great show. Think of the time and effort so many masons and poor labourers put into making it for a pittance.’ I thought for a moment of Edward Brown and his calloused hands. Vowell leaned closer, and spoke quietly. ‘Are you planning to visit your client John Boleyn?’
‘Yes. And his wife, if she is still in Norwich.’
He shrugged. ‘Well, remember what a nest of adders that family is. Old Reynolds, and those twins.’
‘Come on, Mikey,’ one of his friends said. ‘We’ll be late for market.’ Vowell gave me a serious look, nodded briefly, and turned away.
We arrived at Tombland. The houses of the rich had closed gates, as did the cathedral. No servants bustled about the square now. There were plenty of poor folk around, though, many seeming to walk with a new confidence. I heard a man call at the shuttered windows of one of the great houses, ‘We’re coming for you, merchants of Norwich!’
Barak fingered his beard. ‘You can see why the city fathers are cooperating with Kett. They fear that if they don’t, they’ll be next.’ He looked at me. ‘Where do you think the money that was passed about the camp came from?’
‘I think plenty came from the villages. But some has been taken from the manor houses.’
‘Stolen,’ Nicholas said.
I thought of Southwell leaving St Michael’s Chapel. I wondered, but said nothing.
*
WE WENT FIRST TO the Maid’s Head. Here too doors were closed, windows shuttered. We knocked, and a servant opened the front door a crack and eyed us suspiciously. I asked for Master Theobald. He came, his eyes widening at our dishevelled state. I told him we had been taken to the camp, but allowed to come into town.
He invited us inside the empty inn. He wrung his hands. ‘That you should be reduced to such a state, Serjeant Shardlake, I am so sorry. You should escape the city while you can, by one of the western gates. The constables will not stop you.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Many of the richest citizens are leaving.’
‘I have given my oath not to leave.’ I said nothing of my wider agreement with Kett; the fewer the people who knew about that the better.
Master Theobald clenched his hands. ‘Oaths to rogues like that mean nothing. These creatures wandering over Mousehold, bathing naked without shame in the river, the whole country is full of these mutinies and commotions, they must be put down.’ He leaned close. ‘Master Leonard Sotherton rode out to London at first light, to tell the Protector of the size of this camp and to ask for help.’
‘Perhaps when the commissioners arrive they may settle things,’ I replied neutrally.
He looked at me seriously. ‘Things have gone beyond that. I doubt they will ever come now.’ He sighed. ‘But, Master Shardlake, I have kept your robes for you, will you take them?’
‘Keep them for now, if you would. And if you could arrange to post some letters for me?’
‘I hear the rebels control most of Norfolk, and are stopping post-riders on the road and examining correspondence.’
‘We have been careful.’
‘Then I will see they are sent. And I have one for you, it arrived two days back but I did not know where you were.’ He passed it over. It was from Parry. I sat down and read it immediately.
Master Shardlake,
I have heard nothing from you since I last wrote. I know much of the country is in chaos with these accursed rebellions, but I understand East Anglia is peaceful, and the Lady Elizabeth and I are anxious about the business we sent you on, and ask you to return as soon as possible. The Lady Elizabeth, as you know, has insisted on making enquiries locally, and it appears that a woman answering our visitor’s description lodged with a poor family near Hatfield for a while before visiting us, although she used a different name. Attempts are being made to trace her movements back from there.
The letter had evidently been written before the East Anglian outbreaks were known at Hatfield. ‘No news,’ I said, ‘save that Parry wants us back.’
‘We could go,’ Nicholas said. ‘This is our chance.’
I shook my head. ‘I do not give my oath lightly.’ This was true, and if I had a chance to help bring law and order to these proposed trials, I had a duty to take it.
‘Well said.’ Barak smiled. Nicholas bit his lip, but said nothing further.
I put the letter away. ‘Master Theobald, have you any idea where Mistress Boleyn and her steward went when they left here?’
‘They were going to see if they could find a place at one of the inns at the market square.’
‘Thank you. Then let us see if we can find her there.’ We took our farewell of Master Theobald, who looked at us with pity. His well-ordered world had vanished.
*
WE WALKED THROUGH NORWICH, looking out for Simon Scambler, though there was no sign of him. At the top of the marketplace, on the Guildhall steps, Mayor Codd stood with Alderman Aldrich, armed constables behind them. Codd looked frightened, Aldrich sternly watchful. Then, to my surprise, another elderly man stepped out of the Guildhall, leaning heavily on a stick, a sword at his waist, his thin face full of angry contempt. Gawen Reynolds. He exchanged some muttered words with the others, but though Codd put a restraining hand on his arm, Reynolds brushed it off and stepped down to the fringes of the crowd coming to market, glowering at them. Then, from somewhere, a man shouted out, ‘They’ll hang your Boleyn son-in-law yet, Gawen Reynolds! And Captain Kett will hang your grandsons!’
There was laughter, and Reynolds’s face went brick-red. Despite appeals from Codd and Aldrich, he stepped forward and drew his sword. ‘Ruffatory makebates! I will see you all hanging on the gallows there!’
He was immediately approached by a number of men, from the camp by the looks of them. One large fellow stepped in front of him, drawing a knife. ‘Come on, then, you old rogue, and we’ll slay you like a sheep!’
Reynolds hesitated, intimidated by their numbers. Then a cabbage was thrown from somewhere, striking him on his sword arm. He dropped the weapon, and the man facing him kicked it away. There was more laughter from the crowd.
From the Guildhall steps Mayor Codd shouted down, ‘Alderman Reynolds, I command you, get back up here! We wish no trouble, for Jesu’s sake!’
But Reynolds had lost control, and let out a stream of oaths. The men moved closer, and one smacked him on the face, causing him to stagger back. The soldiers on top of the Guildhall steps made to retaliate but Codd shouted, ‘No, we’ll have a riot!’ He shouted desperately, ‘All of you, I command you in the name of sense, step away!’
But it was too late. Another man shoved Reynolds, causing him to stagger again and almost fall. Then, beside me, Nicholas suddenly woke to life. ‘Rogue he may be,’ he said, ‘but he’s a helpless old man!’ Barak put a hand on his arm, but he shook it off and ran towards those surrounding R
eynolds, his face red, shouting, ‘Stop it! Have you no shame? Is this the traitor Kett’s law?’ He pushed the ringleader away from Reynolds. For a second the man was intimidated by Nicholas’s size and fury, but then pushed him back. Nicholas grappled with him, the crowd egging the other man on. Mayor Codd looked on in horror, and Alderman Aldrich signalled to the soldiers to descend the steps. At the sight of ten armed men the crowd pulled back. Barak stepped forward, put his arm round Nicholas’s throat and dragged him back, while men from the crowd restrained his opponent. Reynolds turned and limped back up the steps to safety, angrily shoving aside a soldier’s offer of aid. Aldrich said something to him, and with a final curse he went inside the Guildhall.
Mayor Codd stepped forward, raising his hands, and called out, ‘Disperse, please! I deplore Alderman Reynolds’s behaviour, and will see him disciplined for it!’
The man who had fought with Nicholas glared back at Codd, but one of his friends said, ‘Come, bor, this in’t what Captain Kett wants!’ The man shrugged angrily and allowed himself to be led away, but he shouted at Nicholas, ‘Captain Kett will hear you called him traitor!’
I turned angrily on Nicholas. He was red-faced, breathing heavily. ‘God’s blood, boy!’ I shouted. ‘What in Jesu’s name did you think you were doing! Reynolds started this ruffle, you should have left the aldermen and soldiers to quiet it!’
‘The crowd could have beaten him to death. I would not see that!’
‘Why not?’ Barak asked starkly. ‘Norwich would be better off without him.’
‘Have you lost all sense of honour?’ Nicholas replied furiously. All his pent-up anger of the past week was spilling out at last.
‘And have you lost all sense?’ Barak shouted back. ‘And Kett is not a traitor. He has done what he has in the name of the King and Protector!’