Tombland (The Shardlake series Book 7)

by C. J. Sansom

  ‘There may be a big storm later, the sky is growing dark.’

  He smiled. ‘Country people are used to working in foul weather.’ His face fell serious again. ‘And remember, say nothing of Southwell’s visit here.’

  ‘I will not—’

  I was interrupted. A young man in a breastplate came into the chapel, hastily doffing his cap. ‘I am sorry, Captain Kett, but there is news you must hear. Two prisoners escaped from Surrey Place last night. They were locked firmly in a cell, with a guard on the door, as they had been much trouble, but someone got in, clouted the guard unconscious, and released them.’

  ‘Which prisoners?’ Kett snapped.

  ‘Those devilish twins, Gerald and Barnabas Boleyn, who were to be indicted for attempted murder.’ He looked at me. I thought, That was why they were so casual at the trial; their escape had already been planned.

  ‘God’s bones,’ Kett said. ‘If prisoners can escape, people will ask what good the trials are.’

  ‘They’ve probably slipped down through Thorpe Wood, then across the river,’ the young man said. ‘It was well planned; nobody knew anything until the guard came to and raised the alarm.’

  Kett said, ‘Whoever did this knew the layout of Surrey Place. Tell the lookouts in the county to keep watch for them.’ He turned to me. ‘As I said, Master Shardlake, there are spies and enemies here. That is why important matters must be kept secret.’

  *

  BACK IN THE HUT with Barak and Nicholas, we were in sombre mood.

  ‘Those rats,’ Barak said. ‘They are probably fled to London.’

  ‘They might seek refuge with friends in Norwich,’ I said. ‘They could find it difficult to cross Norfolk. Their looks are distinctive, to say the least.’

  Barak looked out at the camp. ‘The main work of building is done; fewer are coming in now. There’s still much to do, of course, and I’ve heard more military training is planned, but the men are going to have more time to think, unless these enclosure commissioners turn up. And some may identify the twins with us, as you act for their father, for all we hate them as much as anyone.’

  ‘I fear you could be right,’ I said. ‘Nicholas, you must be more careful than ever, especially with Lockswood in his spiteful mood. You should not provoke him.’

  ‘I am sorry. I will be.’

  Barak fingered the hook on the underside of his artificial hand. ‘I wonder who let them out.’

  ‘Someone in their pay, or Southwell’s.’

  He shook his head. ‘Those boys – I know we have a wide field of suspects but we’ve seen them hunt down a child for sport, and we know they smashed in the head of that boy we saw at the Oak. Why not kill their own mother too?’

  I said, ‘I still don’t think they did that. But I will speak to Michael Vowell about any connections between Gawen Reynolds’s household and Southwell’s; he will know the relationship between them, if anyone does.’ My hand went my pocket. ‘Jesu, I forgot, we have letters.’

  The leaden sky outside made it hard for us to read in the hut. Guy’s letter to me was again written in an old man’s scrawl. It was dated a week before and had obviously crossed with the one I had just sent.

  Matthew,

  I have not heard further from you, and presume you are still in Norfolk. Every night I pray you are recovered from your injuries, and safe from those rebels. Forgive an old man’s worry, but it has been near a month since I was in touch with Dr Belys, and if you are able, a line would reassure me. Tamasin, too, is worried about Jack, and I fear how Nicholas might fare amongst those rebels. There is much worry about the commotions in London, and talk of taking down the bridge at Richmond lest the Kent and Surrey rebels get across.

  As for me, I fear I slowly grow weaker. If my pilgrimage on earth is coming to its close, I am ready, though I mourn what has become of England, and its terrible troubles. I am grateful to have such good friends here as Tamasin and Francis, but yearn to know that you and Jack and Nicholas are safe.

  Your loving friend,

  Guy

  I hoped my last letter would get through soon. I began to fear that by the time I got home, if ever I did, Guy might have passed away. I turned to Barak. ‘How’s Tamasin?’

  He frowned. ‘This one has crossed with the one I sent a few days ago. She says I am cruel and thoughtless not to have written, and wonders where I am. She says the children are pining for me.’ His voice shook. ‘God’s death, is it my fault letters aren’t getting through? Hasn’t she the wit to realize the whole country is disrupted?’

  ‘Tamasin has plenty of wit, as well you know. It is because of the state of things that she is so worried for you.’

  ‘Well, she’ll either get the letter I sent, or she won’t,’ he answered stubbornly. ‘She says she’s short of money, as though I could do anything about that, up here. She goes on about the atmosphere in London, with talk of the London Corporation petitioning the Protector for weapons, and a great searching for seditious speakers. But London has always been strong on security; I think any rising there would be crushed.’

  I looked at him, wishing he would not interpret everything his wife said in the worst light.

  Nicholas said, ‘Beatrice has by some miracle received my letter. She says she pines to hear exactly where I am, whether I have seen the rebels, and what they are like. She goes on to say her mother believes they are in league with the devil himself, for they are all heretics, and should I encounter them, I should look for a black figure with horns and hooves stirring them up. Beatrice does not believe that herself, but urges me to take good care, and defy the rebels with my honest sword should I encounter them.’ Suddenly he laughed, and put his head in his hands. ‘Horns and hooves! Defy them with my honest sword! Once I thought her innocence and pretty ways beguiling, but now – how would she fare here, do you think? No fine clothes or scent for her. And the letters’ seals were broken; that letter must have been read, and it will do me no good, as though I were not in bad enough odour already.’ He dropped the letter to the earthen floor. ‘Oh God, for a woman like Isabella, who sees the world straight.’ He reached for the comb he had bought from a peddler the day before, and drew it fiercely through his matted auburn locks. ‘God damn these nits!’

  Chapter Fifty

  Later that morning, I found a barber a little distance off. He had set up shop outside his hut, while his neighbour had arranged cobblers’ equipment outside his, and called out that he had ‘good clouted shoon’ for sale. As I traversed the tracks between the huts I had a few hostile looks; news of the twins’ escape would be spreading fast and after my appearance yesterday at the Oak I was now a recognized figure, known to represent John Boleyn. A boy turned and bared his arse at me. Once more, in the body of the camp I felt an alien.

  The sky was darker than ever, and a cool breeze had sprung up from the west, making the yellow, bone-dry grass rustle. Far off, towards the fens, a silent bolt of lightning split the clouds. A group of men were guiding two large mounted cannon down the lane, the horses straining. ‘From Old Paston Hall,’ one shouted, and onlookers cheered.

  The barber was an amiable fellow, and told me how he had come from Great Massingham with his friend Thomas, a rat-catcher whose services were much in demand. He was just finishing his work when I heard my name called. ‘Master Shardlake! I know him! A lawyer, but a good man!’ I turned to see, at the centre of half a dozen men, Simon Scambler, thin and dirty but alive. ‘Thank the Lord,’ I said quietly. I hastily paid the barber and went over to the group. An argument was proceeding and Scambler, on the edge of tears, was at the centre of it. An older man in shirt and doublet watched Scambler curiously as he waved his arms in that frantic manner of his, while the others, mostly younger, laughed. Scambler called out frantically, ‘Master Shardlake, you’ll vouch fer me, won’t you, say I’m fit to join the camp! Don’t, they’ll send me away!’

  ‘Hush, Simon,’ I said quietly. ‘How did you get up here? I looked for you in Norwich.’
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  ‘I was begging, but got so little I was near clammed to death with hunger.’ Indeed, I could see his ribs through his torn shirt. ‘Then I heard about the camp, heard that here they were good men, who want to help the poor.’

  One of the younger men said, ‘I’ve seen this buffle-head in Norwich. Runs about like a madwag.’ He turned to the older man. ‘We don’t want him here, Master Tuddenham, he’ll just be a nuisance. He’s probably sozzled.’

  I appealed to the older man, who had been pointed out to me as one of the elected representatives of the Hundreds, and who was stroking his beard thoughtfully. ‘This boy is not drunk. Smell his breath, if you wish. His behaviour can be – odd – but he is neither mad nor stupid. He has a good heart and would serve the camp loyally.’ I had a sudden inspiration. ‘There are horses here, are there not? I have seen them penned behind stout fences. Some were taken from the gentry; perhaps they are hard to control?’

  The man called Tuddenham nodded. ‘’Tis true. A man got a nasty bite yesterday.’

  ‘Young Simon has a way with horses. Give him a trial helping to look after them, and you will see.’

  Scambler shouted out, ‘’Tis right, sir. I love horses, I’m good with them.’

  Tuddenham nodded. ‘Our Lord said each should follow his talents. Very well. I authorize it as a Hundred representative. I’ll take him to the horses.’ He looked at me. ‘But you, sir, must take responsibility for him. You are Master Shardlake, aren’t you?’

  ‘The hunchback lawyer that works for the murdering Boleyns,’ someone said.

  I turned on the accuser fiercely, ‘Never those twins, who, when this is settled, I myself will ensure are tried for attempted murder.’

  ‘All right,’ Tuddenham said. ‘I’ll take this Scambler up to the horses now, and then he can join your group; from Swardeston, isn’t it?’

  ‘I thank you, sir.’

  He turned to Sooty. ‘You understand what we’ve said, boy?’

  ‘Yes, master. I’m to help work with the horses, and stay with Master Shardlake. I’ll do my best, I swear on my oath.’

  ‘You others, haven’t you work to do? Get on, keep a-doin’!’

  As Tuddenham led Simon away I called out, ‘I will see you tonight. Remember, ask for the Swardeston huts!’ I watched as the two threaded their way through the paths between the huts. Simon might surprise them with his skills with horses, though finding his way to our huts that evening might be a different matter. Another bolt of lightning split the sky far off, followed shortly by a distant roll of thunder. ‘We’re in for a drouching soon,’ someone observed.

  *

  I RETURNED TO the huts, where Nicholas cheered up when I told him of Simon’s arrival. I told Goodwife Everneke a new resident would be joining our huts, a poor boy who might seem strange but who would respond well to kindness. ‘I’ll look after him as best I can,’ she said. From a little way off I heard shouting, and she said, ‘Some of the younger men are fighting, others betting on them. Now the main work’s done, the men’ll need entertainment. I hear Captain Kett’s asked his men in Norwich to bring up tumblers and jugglers, and storytellers.’

  ‘He thinks of everything.’

  ‘He is a great man. We would have starved come harvest time but for him. I’m an old widow, I hardly have the energy now to keep up my small plot.’

  ‘I am sorry to hear it.’

  ‘My husband, God save his soul, died of fever in the winter.’ She closed her eyes for a second, then changed the subject. ‘They’re having other entertainments too; fighting cocks have been brought up and they’re holding a bear-baiting. There’s a sort of natural amphitheatre nearby.’

  ‘I think I will avoid that.’

  I spent the rest of the morning talking with her. We kept looking up at the dark sky, but the storm was not ready to break just yet. Nicholas was set to go and find some new flints to put round our cooking fire, to which he agreed meekly. After lunch Barak appeared. ‘The demands to the Protector are ready,’ he said. ‘Captain Kett wants you at St Michael’s now.’

  We walked to the chapel. ‘How did it go?’ I asked.

  ‘All the representatives of the Hundreds were there, forty-six men. Can you imagine getting so many Norfolk men to agree? All had their own priorities. There have been a few drafts and tearings-up. William Kett threatened to bang their heads together at one point. Robert Kett insisted the demands must be approved at the Oak this afternoon and sent to London, and all was agreed in the end, though it’s a bit of a mish-mash.’

  We entered the chapel, where a large crowd stood around, while the clerks sat at the tables, which were covered with scribbled papers. All looked a little frayed. Kett beckoned me up to his table on the dais. ‘Master Shardlake. Good. Cast your legal eye over our demands.’

  I looked at a long roll of neatly inscribed paper on Kett’s desk. Although everyone had talked of ‘demands’, each clause began with ‘We pray your Grace’. That would help greatly, for legally this was merely a petition. I read the document through carefully. Many of its twenty-nine articles limited the landowners’ powers – in passing feudal duties on to tenants and claiming excessive rights over commons, while the right to keep dove houses was to be limited, and tenant rights over reed ground, marshes and fishing were to be restored. Several articles were concerned with the priests – their amassing of material wealth, the inability of some to preach the Word of God – here it was demanded that such priests or vicars be put out, and the parishioners were to have a say in choosing their successors. This was radical, with a hint of Calvinism.

  The King’s officials came in for hard censure; one article called for the feodary to be chosen by the commons of the shire, and limited the powers of feodary and escheator both to grant offices and over wardship. While many demands looked to the restoration of rights as they had been in the time of old King Henry VII, much was new. I heartily agreed with all of it. But the most radical demand was a prayer to the King to allow the commons a say in choosing local commissioners to implement laws and proclamations – this read, to me, of an intent to make the enclosure commissions permanent and to give a say in their control to the commons. I thought, The Council will never allow this; but it was not my place to argue the content. And article sixteen prayed for the final ending of serfdom – ‘that all bond men may be made free, as God made all men free with his precious blood shedding’. I thought of the boy Ralph who had been clubbed by the twins – a serf, legally the property of his master, no doubt simply commanded with his father to occupy Boleyn’s land by Witherington, whom he could not refuse.

  ‘Well?’ Kett said, a little impatiently.

  ‘I see nothing contrary to law here. All I would say is that the demands could be better ordered. Why not put all those concerned with rights over land and such things as fisheries together, and follow with those concerning the clergy, then royal officials and, finally, the commissioners?’

  Kett shook his head impatiently. ‘We haven’t time. If we change anything, people will just start arguing again. We are due at the Oak, people will already be gathered there and this should be agreed before the storm breaks.’

  *

  THERE WERE THOUSANDS at the Oak of Reformation. Among them I saw a black-faced African, who had perhaps returned with the failed expedition to Yarmouth, which traded with the Spanish Netherlands. The reading of the demands was to be the main event, followed by the trials of some thieves from the camp, and more gentlemen. All the accused stood in a miserable huddle, soldiers guarding them as before, Captain Miles standing quietly by. Codd, Aldrich and the preacher Watson sat at the table alongside the Ketts; Barak and I were motioned to remain at the foot of the stage for now.

  Kett read out the demands slowly, so that his words could be passed to those further back. There were occasional rumbles of thunder, closer now, and people looked up apprehensively at the sky; a heavy storm would flatten what growing crops they still had.

  Each article was greeted with c
heers, especially those calling for popular participation. At the end, Kett asked if they were accepted. There was a deafening chorus of agreement, though when it died down some younger men called out that landlordship itself should be abolished, and tenants own their own land.

  Kett called back, ‘These are only preliminary demands; there will be opportunity to discuss further ones later. And now, a rider for London is waiting – are these demands agreed?’ There was another chorus of agreement, though some younger men looked a little sour. Kett, surefooted as ever, had side-lined them.

  The demands were ceremonially signed by Kett, Codd and Aldrich, then passed to one of the soldiers, who hurried off with them. A good proportion of the assembly departed for the shelter of their huts as the storm approached. Then the trials began, the thieves first. They reminded me of the rumbustiousness of ordinary criminal trials, with angry denials by those accused of appropriating gold, goods or animals taken from the gentry while witnesses shouted that they had seen the items taken. Occasionally, I murmured to Kett that some accusation was hearsay or speculation, and it was disallowed. Most, however, were clearly guilty and found so by the crowd. The penalty was expulsion from the camp. Kett looked at the men as they were led away. ‘Many are among the poorest here,’ he said. ‘It grieves me to have to expel them.’ I looked at him; he could be commanding, politically devious, but fundamentally he was a man of compassion, for which I was grateful. Few of the leaders of men I had met could be so called.

  Trials of more gentry followed. The lord of Swardeston Manor was brought forward and accused by Master Dickon of encroaching on the commons. Dickon, solid and middle-aged, tenant of thirty acres and a churchwarden, contrasted well with his landlord, a thin anxious-looking man, who adopted a wheedling tone and admitted he had perhaps made too great demand upon the common land, but would put things right. His tone made no more impression on the crowd than the blustering of others; they judged him guilty and returned him to custody.

  Just as the soldier was leading him away, there was a mighty crack of thunder overhead, and the skies opened. A deluge of hailstones crashed down on us, pounding the crowd and clattering on the wooden canopy above us. Suddenly, it was cold. Mighty claps of thunder sounded, followed by flashes of lightning that momentarily turned everything white. The flat ground was already covered with hail, like grey snow. The hail then turned to rain, which fell in a curtain.