by C. J. Sansom
I was in luck. Robert Kett indeed sat in the side chapel, talking to Michael Vowell, at a table thick with papers. Despite our victory his face was thoughtful, worried. ‘Captain Kett?’ I asked quietly.
He looked up. ‘Serjeant Shardlake,’ he said abruptly. ‘Good, I wanted to talk to you. There are to be more trials at the Oak tomorrow, I shall preside and I want you with me. Not trials of gentlemen this time, but thieves and looters.’ He shook his grey head. ‘They’re robbing the houses of the richer citizens. And not just them. Augustine Steward, who I need to help me, has had his house stripped. A further example has to be made.’
‘I saw, on the way here.’
He ran a hand through his grey hair. ‘I didn’t expect this.’
‘It is a consequence of war, sir,’ Vowell said.
‘Master Fulke the butcher has been brawling with others who claim that they, not him, killed Lord Sheffield. The killing itself – well, as you say, this was war. We were forced into it, they attacked us, but our community should still be apostles of peace.’ He sighed. ‘In any event, I want the looters we can catch expelled from the camp. And there are more thieves, too, I fear, to be tried.’
‘I shall attend.’ I hesitated, then added, ‘What of the gentlemen captured in the fighting?’
‘In Norwich Castle and Guildhall prison for now. We shall see.’
I hesitated again, but knew I might not have another chance. ‘Captain Kett, I wondered if I might bring Nicholas Overton back to the camp, for the hearing you promised.’
He gave me a puzzled look. ‘Who?’ I reminded him and Kett thought a moment, then said, ‘I agree to his being tried at the Oak.’ He looked at me sharply. ‘If he’s freed he won’t take the chance to run from the city, will he?’
‘Not if he gives me his oath not to.’
Kett nodded at Michael Vowell. ‘Go with him, I don’t need you for a couple of hours. Make sure Overton returns to the camp. He’ll get his hearing tomorrow.’
I felt a stab of disappointment that Kett seemed not to trust me as before. I wondered whether it was because, like Peter Bone, Edward Brown and Toby Lockswood, I was still under suspicion of the possible betrayal of Captain Miles’s wife and children. But Michael Vowell had been at that meeting, too. As had poor Hector Johnson, who had died in battle for the cause. Nonetheless, I ventured, ‘With the mood in the camp, I hope Nicholas will be fairly heard.’
Kett said sharply, ‘Master Shardlake, there must be no suspicion I am favouring you. My authority has been defied by some. You heard about the Italian hanged from Surrey Place?’
‘I saw it.’
‘By the way, the men who took the money from Gawen Reynolds to leave his house alone paid it into our exchequer. Michael here saw to that. Oh,’ he added, ‘a letter came for you yesterday. It was addressed to the Maid’s Head, but in view of the seal it was intercepted and read, then passed on.’ He pulled a paper from his pile, and handed it to me. He said, ‘If you write back, be careful what you say, in your own interest. Others will read it first.’
The letter was grubby, the seal broken, but I saw it was from Hatfield Palace.
A man appeared in the doorway. He looked like a messenger, still sweating from a long ride. ‘News from Suffolk, Captain!’
‘Dear God, not another camp gone down,’ Kett said quietly. He motioned me to leave, and I returned to the nave, Vowell now accompanying me. Barak and Natty were putting a selection of bottles into the bags they had brought. ‘Well,’ Barak said, ‘that’s most of our money gone.’ Natty smiled weakly.
We walked back into Tombland. There was more trouble round Augustine Steward’s house, where men were carrying out fardels of wool. This time, however, they were approached by an older man with an air of authority, who told them, ‘Enough of this robbing and spoiling, you dausey-heads!’
A man carrying a heavy bundle said, ‘Don’t get frampled, Goodman Doo! We need wool, ain’t you noticed it’s got colder?’
Michael Vowell shouted, ‘You want me to fetch Captain Kett and the soldiers from the cathedral? If you want wool, go to the market!’
Sulkily, the men threw their booty back into the house and walked off towards the market. I said, ‘Jack, take Natty back to camp and help him treat that arm. I’m going to see how Isabella is, then I’m going to the castle gaol.’ I told him what Kett and I had agreed about Nicholas. He whistled. ‘Nick had better use his tongue wisely.’
‘He had,’ Vowell agreed.
‘Have you done what we discussed?’ I asked. Barak winked. I said to Natty, ‘I’m sorry Dr Belys would not help you more.’
‘I’ll be all right with these potions.’
‘Stop scratching that arm,’ Barak told him crossly. ‘You’ll make it worse. Now come on.’ They walked away. I looked at Michael Vowell. ‘Were you in the battle?’
‘Yes; guiding men through the Norwich streets. Fortunately, I was unhurt.’
‘You will come to the castle with me?’
‘Yes.’ He looked at me, and said with that superior air he had adopted lately, ‘We’ll be all right in Norwich. People know me.’
Chapter Sixty-six
Outside the cathedral, I asked Michael Vowell if he would wait while I read my letter. It was strange how relationships had changed; once he had been just a servant, Gawen Reynolds’s steward, now he was here to ensure I brought Nicholas safely back. He nodded agreement, and stood looking at the people heading for market as I read the letter. It was from Thomas Parry, dated 22 July, fourteen days ago. Its tone was milder than his last.
Serjeant Shardlake,
I have received your letter of 15 July, which, it seems, crossed with mine. In these whirling days one should not be surprised. But I was concerned you gave so little detail about what has happened to you. I pray you have not fallen into the hands of those rebels whose pranks threaten to tear all asunder.
I thought, How often, when the gentlemen spoke of the rebels, it was as either unruly children or animals. He continued:
The Lady Elizabeth and I are most concerned for you, and all at Hatfield pray you are safe. I know a royal Herald is to be sent to order the Norwich rebels to disband, and that force will be used if they should dare defy him.
Well, I thought, both those ships had sailed.
Master Secretary Cecil reports that until this dreadful stirring time is over, he dare not trouble the Protector about John Boleyn’s pardon – the Protector is constantly engaged in dealing with the camps, and in no good state of mind, from what I hear.
As for attempts to follow the movements of the woman we discussed, on which the Lady Elizabeth still insists, we know now she lodged at a poor tavern in Knebworth briefly, under another name, before moving to the house nearby of which I wrote previously. Where she came from before that we cannot trace. Her story was that she was from Leicester, travelling to her family in London following recent widowhood, slowly, due to poor health. The Knebworth innkeeper said she was indeed thin, pale, and sick-looking. But there for now the trail ends. May you have had better luck tracing her in Norwich.
I hope I may hear from you more fully soon.
Your loving friend,
Thomas Parry
He had been careful not to name Edith Boleyn, trying as ever to keep a distance between Elizabeth and the murdered woman; but apart from the tone in which he discussed the rebels there was nothing in the letter to worry Kett or whoever had intercepted it. I put it in my purse; I must write back, though I could hardly say I was in the camp working for Kett. Well, I thought, at least the Lady Elizabeth seems concerned for me.
Michael Vowell looked at me curiously. I said, ‘Nothing urgent. Thank you for waiting. Let us go on.’
We walked through Tombland, turning up Pottergate Street to the castle mound. There were more signs of looting in the central, richer parts of Norwich, with the courtyard doors of some houses smashed down. Bands of men still roamed about, but so did groups of Kett’s soldiers, keeping an eye on them
. I was glad to have Vowell beside me. I took the opportunity to tell him of my recent encounter with Gawen Reynolds’s family, and asked him if he thought Reynolds ever beat his wife.
‘I don’t think so, he yagged at her all the time but she is such a frail creature, even a little culp might kill her. The bandages on her hands are because of a swelling and twisting of the knuckles. It runs in her family. Apparently, her mother had it from late middle age, and so did Edith. The twins will probably get it, too,’ he added with satisfaction.
‘I hear they were in the Norwich battle.’
‘I heard so too. They probably fought better than the Italian mercenaries, they didn’t put up quite the fight I think Northampton expected of them. If it had been the German and Swiss landsknechts –’ he shook his head. ‘Those people are the terror of Europe.’
‘You were lucky to escape uninjured.’
‘Ay, I was. I was leading men from the countryside through the streets of Norwich, I escaped the main battle and after that it was just a matter of chasing Northampton’s people out.’
We took the turning into the marketplace. I was relieved to see the buildings around it were undamaged, though blackened with soot from where Northampton’s army had camped. Otherwise it was like a normal market day, stalls crowded, people bickering over prices. The camp-men had been given enough from Kett’s treasury to buy new heavy shoes, horn-lamps for the slowly lengthening evenings, and woollen clothes and caps for the colder weather. I was a familiar figure at the inn now and we were readily admitted to the parlour, told Mistress Boleyn would be informed of my presence, and invited to sit.
We rose and bowed when Isabella and Chawry entered. Isabella had an unusual expression on her face; cold and set. Daniel Chawry, meanwhile, looked angry yet somehow hangdog at the same time. Three long, parallel scratches ran down the right side of his face.
I introduced Vowell, saying only that he was an official from the camp. Chawry gave him a glare.
‘How fares your husband?’ I asked Isabella.
‘Well enough. It appears the castle gaol, and the one beneath the Guildhall, are fuller still of gentleman prisoners since the battle five days ago. One of Kett’s men has been placed to work with Constable Fordhill; Robert Isod, a tanner, who seems a decent enough man. John is safe in the room he was given, and pleased to have Nicholas for company. They spend much time talking, and playing chess.’ She smiled, then looked downcast. ‘Nicholas learned that one of those held prisoner in the castle, my husband’s neighbour Leonard Witherington, died yesterday. He and my husband were enemies, but it is still sad. Gentlemen are not used to such treatment.’ She gave Vowell a challenging look, which he returned.
‘I wish my old master Gawen Reynolds would be taken into custody,’ he said boldly. ‘Your husband’s father-in-law. He is a great villain, as you will know.’
Isabella said, ‘My concern is with my husband, who was imprisoned before the rebellion, and played no part in it.’
‘True,’ Vowell said more peaceably.
I said to Isabella, ‘Were you safe when Northampton’s forces took up their position in the market square?’ I took another look at the scratches on Chawry’s face.
She took a deep breath. ‘Everyone was ordered to close their shutters. Though the great noise the soldiers made, and the glow from that mighty bonfire, was frightening.’
‘There have been no more attempts at poisoning, or violence, against your husband?’
‘None. We buy the food and tie it tight. Constable Fordhill says he has placed a guard permanently outside the door of the cell.’
‘You have been to see him?’
‘Yes, today, I saw both Fordhill and Isod. I suggested a new arrangement, which they agreed. I will join my husband in his cell. Fordhill will arrange for a trusted man to buy our food in the marketplace. I’ve given Fordhill some money for that already. And, of course, they will want no trouble with the Lady Elizabeth.’
I said, ‘I am glad to hear that, Mistress Boleyn, for it bears on something I must tell you. Captain Kett has ordered a trial of Nicholas’s case, and he is to be released into my company today.’
She smiled. ‘That is good. I was worried about him, lest he was moved to rougher quarters again. Daniel’ – she gave Chawry a forbidding look – ‘will return to Brikewell today. It is time the house was set in order, and things made ready for the harvest, such as it will be.’
Chawry, reddening, said, ‘I don’t know what conditions will be like there. And for a woman to join her husband in prison, it is unsafe and – immodest.’
‘You would know all about modesty,’ she answered sharply. She turned to me. ‘Does it not sometimes happen, in cases where the final outcome is not yet known, for wives to stay with their husbands in prison?’
‘Yes. With the authorities’ agreement.’
She took a deep breath. ‘So, it seems all has worked out for the best.’
‘For the best?’ Suddenly Chawry lost his temper. ‘A woman alone in a prison groaning with men? Leaving responsibility for gathering food and preparing it to the castle constable and his rebel deputy! What if someone came up to whoever they appoint, in the market, and offered ten marks to poison the food? You know the rebels are rich with the money they have stolen!’ He took a step towards Isabella, and, to my surprise, she flinched. Michael Vowell stepped between them. ‘Hold hard, bor,’ he said quietly. ‘Keep your tongue behind your teeth when talking of my people, and don’t threaten the lady.’
Chawry shouted, ‘Why? I suppose because, despite her antrums, she’s just a servant like you, rebel dog.’
Vowell replied, ‘A rebel who’ll give you such a ding o’ the head it’ll be singing for a week.’ He was bigger and stronger than Chawry, and the steward paused, then stepped away. Isabella stood, breathing hard. I said to Vowell, ‘Michael, may I speak with Isabella alone for a few minutes?’
He sighed, looking suddenly tired of the whole business. ‘Very well. Do you want me to see this – steward out of the room?’
‘Yes please.’
He stepped towards Chawry, who, after a second, turned and made for the door. Vowell followed him through, and there was a moment’s silence.
‘What happened, Isabella?’ I asked gently.
She took a deep breath. ‘I have known for some time that Daniel has – feelings for me. He told me so, back at Brikewell, some time before Edith died. I said all my love was for my husband, and as his servant he should not say such things. I know I have a habit of jesting with men, it comes from my years as a serving woman at an inn, but I made things plain as I could with Daniel.’ She looked at me fiercely. ‘And I can be very plain when I need to be; again, I’m used to it from my time at the inn.’
I smiled. ‘I do not doubt that,’ I said gently, encouraging her with her story.
‘I thought that was the end of it, and even felt sorry for him, and was grateful for the way he helped me after we were thrown out of the house.’ Isabella fell silent a moment, angrily brushing a wisp of blonde hair from her face, then took a deep breath. ‘The night Northampton’s army occupied the market and lit that great bonfire I was terrified, I feared the fire might spread to the buildings, while all around I heard rebel shouts of “To arms!” from the streets. I confess I broke down and cried like a weak woman, for all I have tried to be strong.’ She lowered her eyes, then looked up again fiercely. ‘Then, suddenly, Daniel grabbed at me. He took me in his arms, though I resisted, and said he would protect me, make me forget what was happening, in the way a man should; a strong, young man, unlike my husband.’ Her voice shook. ‘He began pulling at my clothing, fiddling with the ties on his upper hose. I scratched his face – you saw the marks – and told him if he tried to force me I would scream till the whole of Northampton’s army came in.’ Her voice steadied. ‘I told him I had relied on him for so long, and now he had betrayed me. But he just went on saying he loved me, we were meant to be together.’
‘Will you tell yo
ur husband?’
She hesitated. ‘Not yet, at least. He has enough to trouble him.’ Tears showed at the corners of her eyes, and suddenly Isabella reached for my hand. ‘I thank God I still have you, Master Shardlake.’
‘You can rely on me.’
‘I know.’ She sighed. ‘I thought for so long that I could trust Daniel.’ She blinked back her tears, and said stonily, ‘If I had not scratched him and threatened to yell the place down, I believe he would have raped me.’
I said, ‘Is it safe to allow him back to Brikewell? If I told Michael Vowell he tried to rape you, he may take him back to the camp as a prisoner. Perhaps that is the best place for him.’
She hesitated, then said, ‘I do not want this known publicly.’
‘But Isabella, is it safe to let him back to Brikewell?’ I asked again.
‘I shall not return there without John. And I do not think Daniel will go back, he will run away. Once he is gone I shall tell the innkeeper he is not to be allowed back in here.’
I hesitated, then said, ‘If he would rape you, perhaps he would have killed Edith.’
She set her lips hard, then said, ‘I do not believe he did that. And I would rather he simply left.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes,’ she said, suddenly angry. ‘I just want him gone. And tomorrow I shall be with John.’
There was one more question I had to ask. ‘Isabella, after this – is it not possible that Daniel Chawry might have been the one who tried to poison your husband?’
Isabella shook her head wearily. ‘I think not. Daniel has a good regard for his safety, he would not risk a charge of murder.’ She fell silent, then gathered herself and looked at the table. ‘There is a parcel of food there for John and Nicholas. Would you take it to them?’ She smiled. ‘I hope I see Nicholas again, to thank him for what he has done, and keeping my husband safe.’
*
VOWELL AND I LEFT the inn. Vowell told me Chawry had walked off immediately after our encounter, disappearing into the crowds in the marketplace. As we walked uphill to the prison I could not help thinking, if Chawry had had these fantasies for years, it would have suited him to kill Edith and make it public, to seem as though John Boleyn had done it, and then to try and kill Boleyn, too. I was surprised by Isabella’s readiness to let him go.