by C. J. Sansom
Kett nodded, and Nicholas waved to two men. As they stepped forward, Wallace looked uneasy. Nicholas said, ‘I am told you come from the same parish as Goodman Wallace.’
‘I do.’
‘You remember the eighteenth of July?’
‘Yes,’ Goodman Bishop replied. ‘We was working over towards Thorpe Wood, building a new pen for some of the pigs. I remember the day because that evening there was much talk about what had happened to Wharton in the afternoon.’
Smith nodded agreement, then turned and pointed a finger at Wallace. ‘He was with us all day, the job took that long. Not least since Biller Wallace is the laziest man in our parish, and did not half the work we did. We was jowered out by the end of the day, but not him.’
There was laughter from the crowd. The fact that two others had been present with Wallace at the pig-pen a mile away clearly showed him to be a liar. Wallace clenched his fists and shifted angrily. ‘Those fools have the day wrong, it was the day before that we worked with the pigs.’
Nicholas said, an edge to his voice now, ‘If it was the day before, why would Goodmen Bishop and Smith remember the talk about Robert Wharton that day?’
‘I don’t know,’ Wallace answered belligerently. ‘Ted Bishop’s always had no more sense than a May gosling, and Tom Smith’s not much better!’
Bishop snapped at him, ‘At least I tell God’s truth under oath, as a good Christian should, and do a fair job of work without making a tutter of it!’
At this there was more laughter; the mood of the crowd had clearly swung in Nicholas’s favour. The fact that he had spoken to the commoner witnesses civilly probably also helped. Toby Lockswood looked round, furious. I guessed he was a man who would hate being laughed at above all else.
Nicholas turned and bowed to Kett. ‘That is all my evidence, Captain. I submit myself to the judgement of the camp.’
Then Toby Lockswood lost his temper. He pointed a finger at Nicholas and shouted, ‘Overton spoke against the Commonwealth and the rebellion many times in the early days. He is only allowed in the camp because of his connection to Serjeant Shardlake. I say that being a gentleman is itself enough to send him back to prison!’ There were a few cheers and claps, but most remained silent.
Nicholas’s face first paled, then turned as red as his hair. He stepped forward and spoke to the crowd, raising an arm. ‘Yes! I was born a gentleman, but I was disinherited. I have no lands, no tenants, I am but a junior lawyer. It is true I came to Norfolk believing gentlemen were born to rule and be obeyed, but now – having seen how this camp has been organized, and witnessed a royal army, which I was brought up to believe would be skilled and honourable, run like so many sheep, I no longer know what I think. But I swore to Master Shardlake I would cause no trouble in the camp, and nor have I. Imprison me for having the birth and education of a gentleman, if you like. I cannot help that.’ He paused for breath, then, in his turn, pointed a long finger at Toby Lockswood. ‘One thing I am not is a liar, nor a man who garners his hatreds as a squirrel hoards nuts! Is that to be Toby Lockswood’s Commonwealth, where men abuse their power to hurt others? Is that not what you are all trying to change?’
For a moment the crowd was silent. Then Toby shouted back, ‘We will have an end of all such men as you!’
Robert Kett banged on his desk, making everyone jump. He stood up and shouted at Toby, in a voice far louder than either Lockswood or Nicholas could have managed, ‘I trusted you, Lockswood, as a man who would help our fight for justice. But the boy is right, we will not win a better world with lies, and lies you have told! You are no fit man to help build a just Commonwealth! I revoke your authority as a liaison officer.’ Toby took a step back, shocked. Kett turned to the crowd. ‘Well, is Nicholas Overton guilty or innocent of the charges brought against him?’
A few called ‘Guilty’ but far more shouted ‘Innocent!’ And then, ‘Set him free!’ My biggest worry had been that Nicholas might have been unable to win over the crowd, but he had done it, and beautifully. Kett turned to him. ‘Master Overton, you are found innocent. I give you the choice of staying in the camp, or leaving it in peace if you prefer.’
Nicholas looked at Barak and me. Then he said, ‘If you permit, Captain Kett, I will stay with my friends.’
Toby pointed at Nicholas again, and yelled, ‘This is not over. None of it is over.’ I was reminded of Michael Vowell saying he wondered whether Toby was entirely in his right mind. Then Toby turned and pushed his way through the crowd. Most edged away from him. Nicholas walked, a little shakily, to where Barak and I stood. Kett took a deep breath, then waved to me. ‘Come up here, Master Shardlake, and be my guide on the law as we try the next cases. The looters and the thief,’ he added distastefully.
*
AFTER THE DRAMA of Nicholas’s trial, those that followed were an anti-climax, at least for me. Half a dozen alleged looters, denounced by their fellow-men, were brought forward. There was anger against them, not for stealing from the Norwich gentlemen, but for defrauding the common treasury in Surrey Place. Goods found in their huts were brought forward in evidence, gold and silver plates and vases, expensive jewellery, gold coins. All but two were found guilty by their fellows.
There remained only the thief who had stolen from his fellow camp-men. He was a pathetic figure, a thin, ragged middle-aged fellow with the red, broken-veined face of a drinker. His accuser, one of the Hundred representatives, said he was one of those who had come up from Norwich and attached himself to the camp, and that since his arrival ten days ago, several items had gone missing from neighbouring huts. A search of his hut had revealed stolen goods buried under the earthen floor. The evidence was brought up to the table, in a large leather bag which the accuser emptied. I looked at a little pile of goods of small value – a battered New Testament, a few silver coins, a necklace of cheap stones, rings and little brooches of poor gold. Those objects, though, would have great sentimental value for those who had brought them to Mousehold.
The man, whose name was Dorton, spoke in a voice which cracked slightly. ‘I’m guilty, Captain Kett, there’s no use pretending. I’m a bezzler and a sinner. But I’m a poor man with nobody in the world, and Christ our Lord forgave even the worst of men, did he not?’
Kett said to me quietly, ‘I think this confession settles matters, Master Shardlake?’ I nodded. He turned to Dorton. ‘I hope Christ may forgive you, but a poor man should not rob other poor men. The law of the country would have you hanged, but we are more merciful. You will leave the camp at once, and never return.’
I hardly heard Kett administer the sentence for, poking through the little collection of stolen goods, my eye was suddenly caught by the bright glint of pure gold. It was a woman’s wedding band, and an expensive one. I picked it up and looked at the inner side, screwing up my eyes to make out the inscription running round the ring. Then I froze. The tiny letters read: John Boleyn, 1530, Edith Reynolds. I was holding Edith’s wedding ring, that had been missing from her arthritic finger when she had visited the Lady Elizabeth. And now here it was, amidst a collection of cheap goods stolen in the Mousehold camp.
Chapter Sixty-nine
Holding Edith’s wedding band, for a moment I felt faint, as I had in the hut, and shook my head. I heard Kett order Dorton to tell us from where he had stolen each item, so that the owners could claim them. I clutched the wedding ring in my hand. Some men came to the bench to claim their property, while the thief stood by, guarded by a soldier, head cast down. When the last item had been claimed, I opened my hand, showing Kett what lay within.
He gave me a curious look. ‘Whose is that?’
‘It belonged to the woman whose murder I am investigating. Her name and that of her husband are engraved inside the ring.’
He shook his head, briskly gathering up his papers. ‘Not that again. Well, keep it, if you wish. I must ride down to the cathedral now. Thank you for your help, I hope today taught people that thievery will not be tolerated. By the way, put
that Overton boy to some useful work.’
‘I will, but first may I question the thief about where he found this ring?’
‘Very well, but he is to be put out straight afterwards.’ Kett shouted to the soldiers, who were leading away those found guilty, ‘Keep Dorton back. Serjeant Shardlake has something to ask him.’
I waved to Barak and Nicholas to join me, and we walked across to Dorton. He cringed as we approached. I opened my hand. ‘Where did you find this ring?’
He looked at it. ‘Everything else I stole from the huts, sir, but that ring – that was a gift from God.’
A soldier cuffed his greasy head. ‘Talk sense, you bezzled puttock, or you’ll get the shit beaten out of you at the camp boundary.’
‘What do you mean, Dorton?’ I asked quietly.
‘Only that I didn’t take it from the huts, I swear. I was walking along the path to my own hut and I saw it lying on the earth, glimsing in the sun – it was about ten days ago, before the weather changed. Someone must have dropped it.’
The soldier snorted. ‘A wedding ring of good gold?’
‘It’s true, I swear it!’ Dorton said, frantically. ‘Why would I lie about this when I’ve admitted everything else?’
I nodded. ‘True. The ring, by the way, belonged to a woman with whom I have a connection. Did you find anything else with it?’
Dorton reached into his tattered clothes and produced a double-sided nit-comb, tiny black bodies between the tines. ‘This was next to it, I kept it for myself.’
‘Nothing else?’
‘No, I swear. I was going to sell the ring in Norwich market, but then the battle came, and afterwards –’ the beery smell of his breath was enough to finish the sentence.
I looked at him. He had indeed nothing to gain by lying. I said, ‘Take my friends and me to where you found the ring and comb. By your leave,’ I added to the soldier. He shrugged, and followed as Dorton led us into the body of the camp. He came to a place where two paths intersected, and pointed to the ground. ‘Just there, sir. My little hut is –’ he swallowed – ‘was a quarter-mile up that path.’
I bent down. The path was muddy now, but a fortnight ago it would have been dry and rutted. If anyone had dropped a gold ring, it would soon have been spotted. I looked around the crossroads. Toby Lockswood’s hut was nearby. I nodded. ‘Thank you, Dorton.’
He gave me a smile, showing a few discoloured teeth. ‘Won’t you help me, Master? Give me a little money to help me on my way?’
‘Help you to the nearest inn, more like,’ Barak said. I shook my head, though I pitied the man, and the soldier led him roughly away.
*
BARAK, NICHOLAS AND I returned to our hut. I was pleased when Goody Everneke, Simon, Natty and Goodman Dickon, who had brought the accusations against the Swardeston landlord, came and congratulated us on Nicholas’s victory. ‘Are you going to help us now, boy, earn your keep?’ Dickon asked.
Simon spoke up. ‘You can help with the horses, Master Nicholas, can’t you?’ He jigged up and down. ‘You’ve had training as a horseman.’
Nicholas smiled. ‘A good idea. Yes, I can do that.’
Simon waved his hands with pleasure. I asked Natty, ‘How are you?’
Goodwife Everneke said, ‘The swelling on his arm has gone, thanks be to God. I made him use the stuff you bought from the cathedral.’
‘It stings like hell,’ Natty said, though with a smile for Mistress Everneke, who had done so much to help those in need in the camp.
‘Thank you,’ I said to her. ‘Now, we three have something to discuss, and must go to our hut.’
Sitting in the gloomy interior, leaning against the walls, I passed the gold ring to Barak and Nicholas. Barak whistled. ‘This is it, all right.’
‘How in God’s name did it get to the camp?’ Nicholas asked.
I pulled out the scurfy nit-comb. ‘It was with this. Sounds to me like both fell from a hole in someone’s purse or bag.’
‘And near two weeks ago. Dorton must have found it just after it was dropped, before someone else did.’
‘But who in God’s name dropped it?’ Barak asked.
‘Whoever it was must have had it for years,’ Nicholas said slowly. ‘Remember what Master Parry told us, Edith’s knuckles were too swollen to get a wedding ring off. And this was pulled off, not cut.’
I said, ‘We need to question people in the huts leading off that crossroads. It may be a long job. We can say we found a gold ring nearby and ask people if it’s theirs.’
Barak laughed. ‘Everyone will claim it.’
‘We’ll ask them first to say what’s engraved inside. Come, we’ll start with Toby Lockswood. Nick, you’d better stay down on the road. Whoever had the ring could have been harbouring Edith Boleyn, or holding her prisoner, for years. It could even be her killer. We should take our knives.’
*
WE ARRIVED AT TOBY’S hut half an hour later. For once, the sun had come out. Toby was outside, this time sharpening a large sword with a whetstone. Barak quietly slipped off the cover on the knife on his artificial hand. Lockswood looked up at us, eyes full of hatred – and something more. Madness? The thought came to me, if his reason was going, could he have been the one who betrayed the whereabouts of Miles’s wife? But no, surely, his devotion to the cause of the camp was wholehearted. He rubbed a hand through his curly black hair.
‘What do you two want?’ he snapped. ‘Where’s your boy gentleman? On a horse to London, I expect.’
‘He’s at the end of this road,’ Barak said. ‘Got a sword now, have you?’
‘Yes. Commoners are allowed them in the camp. To gut any gentlemen and courtiers who dare come here.’
I made an effort to be civil. ‘We have not come to fight, Toby.’ I pulled the nit-comb from my pocket. ‘Is this yours? I found it.’
He shook his head, pulling another comb from his pocket. ‘No, I have one.’ He frowned. ‘You haven’t come to see if I’ve lost my comb.’
‘No. Perhaps you remember the days when you helped us try to discover who killed Edith Boleyn and those others. You might be interested to see this.’ I held the wedding ring out to him.
Toby looked at it, and could not hide his curiosity. ‘Good gold, engraved with their names. Where did you get it?’
‘There was a petty thief tried at the Oak this morning for stealing things from people’s huts. This was among them. He confessed to his mitchery, but said he found the ring on the ground near the crossroads. He showed us the spot. He had no reason to lie.’
Toby said incredulously, ‘Just lying in the road?’
‘Yes. Someone must have dropped it.’
Lockswood tossed it back to me. ‘Better find them, then.’ He frowned. ‘That comb was with it, wasn’t it?’
I hesitated. ‘Yes.’
‘And if I had claimed it as mine, you’d have taken that as evidence I had the ring, too.’
‘Any lawyer would try such a tactic.’
He lifted the sword and said, with deadly quiet, ‘Fuck off, the pair of you. And don’t come back.’
*
THE THREE OF US each took a lane and spent the next hour and a half calling at huts. I had in mind what I had said about the possibility of danger, but we were armed, and the likelihood of someone attacking us in this thickly populated area was, I hoped, small. Most people said they had not lost a ring, and those who did claim it could not tell us what was engraved inside. Although the possibility of finding more about Edith and where she had been these last nine years had galvanized me, I was tired by the time the three of us met again back at the crossroads. Barak said gloomily, ‘Whoever dropped it could have taken any of the four lanes, then walked miles, for all we know.’
‘Let’s take the last lane together,’ I said. ‘And then – perhaps tomorrow – we can persuade others to join the search; pay some of the men –’
‘There are eight or nine thousand on Mousehold by my reckoning,’ Barak said.
‘This could be a long job.’
But the answer came sooner than we had expected. At the third circle of huts, its parish banner hanging limp in the still afternoon, several men were re-laying bracken on the roof of a hut, which had been torn down in the storm. One of them, a slim man in his thirties standing on a short ladder, I recognized at once; Peter Bone. And I remembered with a jolt that I had met him coming from Norwich to the camp with a bag of his possessions, near two weeks ago, just when Dorton said he had found the ring. I called out, ‘Peter, may we have a private word?’
Once more he looked as though he would rather avoid a conversation, but stepped down. ‘Excuse me, bors,’ he said to his fellows, who looked at us curiously. He led us into one of the small huts occupied by single people. Everything inside was neat and tidy. The pack I had seen him carrying lay in a corner. We all sat down, Barak and Nicholas on either side of the door.
Nicholas nodded at the pack. ‘I see the seam is coming away there. You should sew it up, or you will lose things.’
‘Like this perhaps.’ I opened my hand, showing him the comb and ring. He looked at us for a moment, eyes wide, then bowed his head and stared down at the mud floor. I said, ‘You know what is engraved on the inside of this ring?’
He spoke in a monotone. ‘Yes. It is Edith Boleyn’s wedding ring.’ He looked up, his narrow face suddenly etched with sorrow. ‘I spent hours searching for it; it must have slipped through that tear in the seam the day I brought my things to the camp.’ He made a sound between a sigh and a groan. ‘Where was it?’
‘A thief found it on the path by the crossroads, probably the day you dropped it. He was tried at the Oak today. I examined the ring and saw the engraving.’
Bone looked at it. He was silent a long moment, then said, ‘Edith was wearing it when she came to us. She took it off soon after – her hands did not get bad till much later – but kept it in a drawer.’ He paused, then gave a bitter laugh. ‘I see I must tell the whole story. Before, I was frightened of being dragged before the court, accused of kidnapping by her father. But the gentlemen of Norwich can hardly do that now.’