by C. J. Sansom
Nicholas shook his head. ‘Being in the camp, I thought that was strange, but this – this is truly another world.’ He looked at me with sudden sharpness, lowering his voice. ‘I hear Norwich has been taken, the men being brought in now are city constables and officials.’
‘Yes, it was taken this morning.’
He laughed bitterly. ‘When the Herald ordered the city closed the gentlemen were ordered to be released, but many were afraid of what the city poor would do to them and chose to stay here. Last night the authorities asked if I would fight with them but I pretended I was ill. I knew the numbers in the camp, and that they would win.’
‘You were right,’ Barak said. ‘The Herald ordered the camp to disperse, but we took Norwich easily, though not without some bloodshed.’
Nicholas swallowed, then said, ‘And I didn’t want to be fighting the Swardeston people. Are they safe?’
‘Yes, all of them.’ I saw tears prick Nicholas’s eyes, and he turned away. I looked at Witherington. The fat little martinet of South Brikewell who had invaded Boleyn’s land was a pitiful figure now. Nicholas said, ‘Don’t wake him. He doesn’t know where he is half the time. Keeps asking for his wife, though she died last year. Remember I feared he might have some sort of seizure? Well, he did, in the middle of shouting at the guards, just after he was brought in.’ He sighed. ‘I can’t help feeling sorry for the old devil. Remember that day at Brikewell when he was so full of himself?’
‘Yes.’
‘I think he’ll die soon. The prisoners aren’t used to this. They’re gentlemen, after all.’ Nicholas gave a cracked, humourless laugh. I realized that everything he believed, everything he had based his life on, had turned to the darkest irony. Next to him, Witherington stirred and saliva drooled from the corner of his mouth.
‘Have you been here all the time?’ I asked Nicholas.
‘Yes, I just sit on the floor, trying to sleep, but sleeping is hard, rats climb over you constantly. But awake I just – thoughts whirl around in my head, in no order.’ He gave me a sudden sharp look. ‘You know Toby Lockswood lied about me.’
‘Of course. I have been trying to get Captain Kett’s ear. But with the Herald coming, and then the attack – I am sorry, Nicholas.’
He gave that cracked laugh again. ‘The world turned upsy-down.’
‘I have thought of you all the time.’ I pressed his hand. ‘I have an idea. It may get you more comfortable quarters, and help John Boleyn. Did you know that someone tried to poison him?’
For the first time his face showed interest. ‘No. Will that man never be left alone?’
‘It was in the food brought to him by Isabella –’
‘She would never –’
‘Either it was poisoned before it got here, or at the gaol.’
‘Do other prisoners get their own food brought in?’ Barak asked.
‘Some. We others get a horrible pottage, last year’s beans mixed up with sheep entrails. Witherington hardly eats at all, I’ve tried spooning food into his mouth but half of it goes down his chin.’ Nicholas saw Edward looking at Witherington and suddenly burst out, ‘Is he not still a human being? Are we not all of one common flesh, as the Commonwealth men say?’ He gave that cracked laugh again.
The mention of Commonwealth men caught the ear of the little group of newcomers in the corner. One turned and started railing at Edward. ‘You dogs, you apes, you think you can lock us up here and humiliate us? The Protector and the Council will send an army now.’
One of his fellows grabbed his arm and said ‘Be quiet!’ but the man ranted on. ‘We are the true leaders of Norwich. When we get out, we’ll have you hanged from your fucking Oak, every one of you! We know your names, we know your faces!’ He looked at Edward. ‘And we remember your voice, London foreigner!’
Edward laughed. ‘Yes, you look like you’re in charge, don’t you?’
The man lost all control, shouting ‘Churls! Peasants! Serfs! Dogs! Thieves!’ The guard came over and gave him a clout on the head with the blunt end of his pike. He cried out. ‘Keep your mouth shut,’ the guard said.
One of the other Norwich gentlemen said, his voice pleading, ‘How long are you going to keep us here? Where are our wives and families? What are you going to do to us?’
Edward said, ‘You’ll all get a fair trial at the Oak of Reformation, once Captain Kett has made provision for organizing the city you closed against us with your treachery. Now shut your fucking mouth.’
The man sat back wearily.
Edward said to Nicholas, ‘I am sorry, but I believe you, too, will be tried at the Oak, for what Toby Lockswood and his so-called witnesses reported you said. If you are found guilty, you’ll be sent back here indefinitely.’
Nicholas looked at him. ‘The rumour here is that you’re going to execute people.’
‘No. That we do not do.’
Nicholas said, suddenly animated, ‘Then yes, take me to the Oak, let me question Lockswood and his witnesses in open session. I never said a word of what he reported, and I will show him up for the liar he is!’
‘Well said,’ Barak agreed. ‘Edward, you remember Nicholas from before. You know he is a good man.’
I took my chance. ‘Edward, I want to ask a favour. I want to get your permission, and Fordhill’s, to move Nicholas in with John Boleyn. I am going to see Boleyn’s wife, and ensure the parcels are properly sealed and secured before they leave her. If Nicholas can share his cell, it will give Boleyn some security against attack.’ I grasped Nicholas’s shoulder. ‘His quarters are much better, you’ll eat Isabella’s food; you’ll have the chance to build yourself up again.’
Edward shook his head, irritated. ‘This Boleyn matter is not Captain Kett’s business.’
‘I am concerned for my client – you know Gerald and Barnabas Boleyn were seen among the city defenders this morning.’
‘Yes, and we will find them. Our men have already closed the city gates.’
‘Will you help me?’
Edward sighed. ‘I will, on one condition. That, in turn, you help persuade Josephine to come to the camp with Mousy.’
I answered readily. ‘Agreed.’
Chapter Fifty-eight
We returned to Constable Fordhill, who quickly agreed to my suggestion – he did not want a prisoner for whom the Lady Elizabeth had put in a request for a pardon dead on his hands. Edward left us outside the castle, saying he had business connected with the reorganization of Norwich. I thanked him for all he had done, and promised I would visit Josephine and try to persuade her to return to the camp with us. I watched his rangy figure walk quickly away. The long summer afternoon was waning, bringing a welcoming breeze from the river, and I thought of Nicholas, trapped in that filthy place. I said to Barak, ‘Poor Witherington can be dismissed as a suspect where Boleyn’s poisoning is concerned.’ I frowned. ‘There are others.’
‘Are you thinking of Daniel Chawry?’
‘I think he loves Isabella, and that gives him a motive to kill John Boleyn. I wonder if I might somehow separate them, perhaps suggest Chawry goes back to Brikewell.’
‘Let’s see if we can find out a bit more first.’
We made our way down to the marketplace. After a day of constant activity my back was hurting and I was tired, jowered out as the Norfolk people said. A large crowd had gathered round the city cross. We walked over to see what was happening.
It was the Herald. Accompanied by a number of city councillors who, evidently, had not been arrested, he was again calling out his proclamation to a crowd of weavers, traders, masons and some camp-men. This time, however, he got only insults and mocking catcalls as he read, concluding that if the rebels did not lay down their arms and go home, they might expect ‘grievous torments, bitter death, and all extremity!’ Someone shouted, ‘Be off! Plague take you with these idle promises of pardon!’ Another called, ‘Long live Robin Hood!’ The audience were as angry as the Mousehold men had been, and no doubt feared the offer of
pardon was a trap. Many would remember how pardons had been promised after the Northern rebellion against old King Henry’s religious changes in 1536, but the end of that had been mass executions.
Despite the rowdy atmosphere, nobody actually dared touch the Herald. He turned and walked down the steps of the Town Cross, the councillors following.
I crossed the marketplace to Isabella and Chawry’s inn. I was shown into the reception room. They soon appeared, both looking tired and anxious. I saw that Chawry had a long, deep cut, newly stitched, running across his forehead and into the roots of his red hair.
‘Master Shardlake,’ he said coldly, ‘you look more like one of the rebels every day.’ There was contempt in his expression; like Miles, the faithful steward had turned into someone much more assertive, though on the other side of the political divide.
‘You have been injured, Goodman Chawry,’ I answered civilly.
‘I fought this morning against the rebels when they took the city.’
‘Would you have not been better employed looking after your mistress?’ I said sharply.
He met my eye. ‘I did not know what the rebels might do to women of gentle class if they took Norwich.’
‘So far as I know, no women have been hurt.’
‘But what will happen now your friends have taken control? I hear men are being dragged off to gaol, the houses of the rich are spoiled.’
‘I know only that Captain Kett intends to restore proper order to Norwich.’
Isabella turned to him. ‘Daniel, cannot you see how tired Master Shardlake and poor Goodman Barak are?’ She smiled, waving us to sit. ‘I have been worried about you, and young Nicholas.’
I took a deep breath. ‘Nicholas, I fear, is a prisoner in Norwich Castle.’
Isabella’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘Oh, no, the poor boy.’
Chawry said, ‘Of course, he is a gentleman.’
I ignored the remark, and turning back to Isabella, told her as gently as I could about the attempt to poison her husband, adding that I had arranged for Nicholas to be lodged with him. I watched Chawry as I spoke; he seemed as shocked by the news as Isabella.
When she recovered a little, I asked Isabella to explain, step by step, how she got food to her husband. She told me Chawry bought supplies in the market or from shops and she prepared the meal at the inn, parcelling it in linen cloth, then tying it securely before Chawry addressed it for her. A guard cut the thin rope securing it in front of him. The day before had been as usual, except that with Norwich closed against the rebels and an imminent attack expected, Chawry had been accosted while shopping by a city constable on the way back to the prison and asked to join the defence of the city, to which he had agreed. I realized, then, that he had been absent for much longer than usual.
I said, ‘I think from now on you should shop together and make sure you keep the parcel close until the time comes to deliver it. Do you go to the prison together?’
‘Of course,’ Isabella answered. ‘Do you think I would go there alone? Daniel is my rock and staff in all this terrible trouble.’ She touched his arm.
He frowned at me; clearly guessing that I suspected him. He said softly to Isabella, ‘I am sorry I left you to fight this morning, but I felt it my duty.’
‘I know. You were only trying to protect me, as usual.’ She smiled at him.
I looked between them. These two were certainly becoming close, perhaps inevitably, given the situation in which they had found themselves. But all Isabella’s concern after hearing about the poisoning had been for her husband. She turned back to me. ‘What will happen now? Some say the King will send an army to take back Norwich.’
‘The sooner the better,’ Chawry said. ‘Hang them from their own front doors.’
‘I do not know,’ I replied, ‘but I strongly recommend you both stay quiet and unnoticed, and make sure your money is well hidden. And Daniel, I warn you not to go around insulting Kett and his men; that is what started Nicholas on his path to prison.’
Chawry said to Isabella gently, ‘If there is another battle, I won’t fight. I promise.’ She smiled and nodded. I thought, Is it possible he is the one who has been out to kill Boleyn from the start, to gain Isabella? But he would have needed accomplices, and money, to kill the locksmith and his apprentice. And why leave Edith’s body grotesquely displayed like that? Furthermore he knew nothing of the missing key. Or perhaps he had nothing to do with the earlier killings, but had decided to poison Boleyn? I remained convinced he was better away from Norwich. I asked, ‘Have you heard any news from Brikewell?’
Isabella sighed. ‘None.’
Chawry said, ‘I imagine the house is still the wreck the twins left it in, and with everything valuable stolen by the rebels.’
Isabella had been holding back tears since she had heard of her husband’s attempted poisoning, but now a couple trickled down her face. ‘Everything John built up.’
Chawry laid a hand on hers. ‘The land is still there; when this is over, we will return and rebuild.’
I said, ‘Goodman Chawry, might it be an idea for you to go there now, so that at least someone is in charge? Begin to sort out the house?’
He looked at me, eyes narrowing. ‘The estate is in the midst of rebel territory. They don’t like the stewards of rich landlords. I might be taken prisoner myself.’
‘With respect, it is men of the gentleman class they are targeting.’
‘I should stay here. Isabella needs my protection more than ever now.’
Looking at me with her clear blue eyes, she said, ‘Yes, I do. Master Shardlake, you forget that otherwise I am a woman alone. I will not consider it.’
I comforted myself with the thought that she was no fool either; if Chawry had been acting suspiciously, she would surely have noticed. Unless they were lovers, which I doubted. ‘Very well,’ I said. ‘I will come and visit you again, and your husband, I hope soon. I will do all I can to ensure the safety of you both.’
Isabella said, ‘I suppose there is no word of the pardon, in the middle of this – what are they calling it now? – this commotion time.’
‘No, and I do not think we can expect any news yet.’
Chawry rose and said, ‘We thank you for your help, Master Shardlake. Let me show you out.’
Barak and I bowed farewell to Isabella and followed Chawry to the street door. I guessed he had something to say. There he looked at us and said, ‘You know the idea of me going to Brikewell is nonsense, sir. Are you trying to separate me from Isabella? Do you think I tried to poison the employer I have served loyally for years?’ His voice rose angrily.
‘Careful, matey,’ Barak said warningly.
I said, ‘I have to consider all the options.’
‘Then consider this,’ Chawry said savagely. ‘Isabella is a beautiful woman. She attracts men. I see your own interest in her. But she is devoted to John Boleyn and always has been. I desire only to protect and help her.’
I looked at him. His lips were set hard, eyes narrowed. They were hard to read, always had been. I said, ‘Then she is in good hands. I will see you again soon.’
I saw contempt in his eyes. ‘How much gold are the rebels paying you for your legal advice?’ he asked unpleasantly.
‘None.’ I bowed to him and walked away, sensing his hostile eyes on my back.
*
EVENING WAS FALLING, though candles were not yet lit in the windows. As well as visiting Josephine again, there was something else I wanted to accomplish before returning to Mousehold Heath – to speak with Jane Reynolds. Her coldness had broken in court, and again when she had given Scambler the money which probably saved his life. As we walked along Barak observed, ‘Everything Chawry said sounded plausible.’
‘He was away from the inn longer than usual on the day Boleyn was poisoned.’
‘Isabella herself could have been involved.’
‘I cannot believe she wants her husband dead.’
Barak shrugged. ‘Are
n’t you a little moonstruck with her? Don’t forget, she worked at an inn for years, and will have gained the flirting habit there. She has Chawry wrapped around her little finger.’
‘I’m not moonstruck,’ I answered sharply. ‘Certainly not enough to suspend rational judgement, and I do believe she loves her husband.’
Barak hesitated. ‘Isn’t Edward right? Aren’t you spending too much time and energy on the Boleyn case, given what is happening all around us?’
‘I can’t forget that an innocent man was poisoned to death yesterday; with Edith Boleyn, the locksmith and his apprentice, that makes four people killed.’
Our attention was drawn by shouting and cheering from the Guildhall at the top of the Market Square. I saw a crowd of men come out, carrying weapons – swords, spears, pikes and halberds – and placing them in carts. Michael Vowell was there, and he came over as I approached. He seemed a little drunk, but in good spirits.
‘Master Shardlake! See what we have! A little bird told me that above the Common Council’s meeting room is a false roof, hiding a store of weapons should the men of Norwich cause trouble! A fine addition to our stock, is it not?’
I looked at the weapons. ‘It certainly is.’
‘And another little bird told me about a stock of weapons at the City Chamberlain’s house. Not just arms but gunpowder, lots of it! It is ours now!’
I smiled. ‘You know a lot of little birds, Goodman Vowell.’
‘Good Norwich fellows.’ His chest expanded with pride. ‘I have been getting to know them.’
Two well-dressed women hurried by, and one of the men loading weapons called after them, ‘Come, feel some rebel’s meat inside you! Show us those soft ladies’ titties that have never seen the sun!’
Vowell laughed, but a soldier in charge of the work called out, in a sharp voice, ‘Shut you up! No women to be molested!’ The man turned back to his work, and the women hurried away. It was interesting to see that a chain of military command was clearly established now, and obeyed.
‘There were some barrels of wine in the Guildhall,’ Vowell said, half-apologetically. ‘Some of the men have been bezzling. Have you heard? The Herald has gone.’