Tombland (The Shardlake series Book 7)

by C. J. Sansom

  ‘No, lad, it’s forgotten. You know, when this is over, I’m going to get you a job working with horses somewhere.’ He gave me a watery smile of thanks.

  *

  THE FINAL EVENT OF the afternoon was the ‘camping game’. Where the ‘joust’ had been comic, this was seriously, brutally competitive. Natty left us, for he had been selected to play. Goody Everneke shook her head. ‘This’ll be rough,’ she said.

  ‘I’ll warrant no more than in London,’ Barak said.

  She looked at him. ‘I saw Norfolk play Suffolk last year; the Norfolk lads asked the Suffolk ones if they’d brought their coffins.’

  A large area was cleared, ropes secured, and about thirty competitors from each side, all strong lads or young men, stripped to the waist and, wearing coloured sashes to identify their side, began fighting – it was the only word – over a ball made from a pig’s bladder. There was wrestling and kicking to get hold of it. There was a referee, but few if any rules. It was surprising to see Natty, the quiet, thoughtful lad I had come to know, charge as fiercely as any of them. I saw Toby Lockswood was on the other side. He looked at Natty, and I guessed he knew the boy was associated with me.

  Late in the game, with the ball a good way off and Natty running towards it, Toby suddenly charged straight at him, shouldering him in the face and bringing him down. He followed this up with a mighty kick to the balls which made Natty scream and double up. Toby glanced at me, grinned, then turned to run at the ball. The referee, who was watching the wild scrum of bodies fighting over it, had seen nothing, and the crowd’s attention too was focused on the scrum. Groaning, Natty limped painfully towards us. Nicholas and Barak helped him sit down; he put his head between his knees and vomited. Barak raised his head and examined his face. ‘You’ll have a mighty bruise, lad,’ he said. ‘It’s lucky he didn’t smash your cheekbone.’

  ‘That mad dog,’ Nicholas said.

  ‘Why did he do it?’ Natty gasped.

  ‘Because he knows you’re friendly with us,’ I answered tightly. ‘How are you – down there?’

  Natty, one side of his face pale with pain and the other red and swelling, ran a hand across his broad bare chest and ventured a rueful laugh. ‘I’ll be all right. A horse did something like that to me once. I hear some Norwich girls are coming up this evening, I was planning to see them, but I shan’t now.’

  *

  ONE MEMBER OF THE audience, however, had seen what Toby Lockswood had done to Natty. The game over, with a narrow victory for North Norfolk, the crowd dispersed in the late afternoon sunshine. I felt a touch on my arm and turned to see Michael Vowell looking at me seriously. He said quietly, ‘That was a vicious thing done to your young friend.’

  ‘You saw it?’

  He nodded seriously. ‘I have an eye out for Lockswood. I always thought him a loyal camp-man, but now I wonder. Remember, he is one of those who could have betrayed Captain Miles’s wife and family.’

  ‘Yes; along with you and me and Edward Brown.’

  ‘It’s not me, and I don’t believe it was you or Brown.’

  I shook my head. ‘Lockswood always had a nasty streak, and it’s got far worse since he lost his case against Nicholas. But the one thing he has always been is loyal to the cause.’

  Vowell raised his eyebrows. ‘Are you sure? He worked for that London lawyer Copuldyke for years, and he’s represented many Norfolk gentry as well as your patron the Lady Elizabeth.’

  I frowned. ‘How do you know?’

  ‘It’s common knowledge. And Lockswood came to visit my old master, Gawen Reynolds, more than once. He tried to make a deal between him and Sir Richard Southwell, after the two quarrelled. My master wasn’t having it, of course. Toby Lockswood has many connections, and his master Copuldyke many clients.’

  I smiled at him wryly. ‘More gossip heard at keyholes?’

  He shrugged. ‘I’ve said before, it’s what servants do, so they know what’s going on. And I begin to wonder whether Toby Lockswood is quite what he seems. He’s certainly mixed with gentry, and got hard cash out of it. I hear he acted for his master Copuldyke when he represented John Flowerdew in one of his many cases; Captain Kett’s sworn enemy.’

  I shook my head. ‘But when we were together he was constantly arguing with Nicholas over Commonwealth issues.’

  ‘Have you ever heard the phrase, “A man may wear two faces under one hood”?’ Perhaps he protested the cause a little too loudly. Perhaps he’s the one who betrayed Miles, and perhaps it’s that rather than losing his parents that’s driving him mazed. It’s just a thought, Master Shardlake.’ Vowell looked over the now empty camping ground and continued quietly. ‘Strange, isn’t it, how easy it can be to change people’s loyalties. Take young men who’ve lived and fought together for weeks, then set up a game with no prize other than a pig’s bladder, and there they are kicking and beating the shit out of each other.’

  He had given me much to think on as I returned to our huts with the others. I had never considered that Toby Lockswood must have had acquaintance with those who governed Norfolk; it seemed they included Richard Southwell and John Flowerdew. He had never spoken of any other cases when he worked for me. And I thought, If he had business connections to Richard Southwell and John Flowerdew, could that even be a link to the death of Edith?

  *

  I HAD HOPED TO discuss this with Barak and Nicholas in the evening, but after a merry dinner around the campfire, with people still laughing over the mock joust, and Natty red with embarrassment as people asked if his balls were still in working order, a messenger arrived from St Michael’s Chapel with a letter for Barak. He took a horn-lamp and disappeared into our hut. After a while I went to join him. In the dim light of the lamp his face was serious. He held a letter in his hand.

  ‘Are you all right?’ I asked.

  For answer he passed me the letter. It was from Tamasin, written for her in Guy’s shaky hand. At least, I thought, my old friend still lived. The letter was short, and desperate; it was addressed to the only place Tamasin knew, the Blue Boar in Norwich, now blown to pieces:

  Husband,

  Still I hear nothing from you, and begin to fear you are dead. I hear many of the camps have gone down now, and there has been much violence in the Western counties. Everywhere in London the atmosphere is fearful, men have been arrested for speaking in favour of the rebellion, and a constable came to ask me if I knew your whereabouts, since it is known around the law courts that you went to the Norfolk Assizes and never returned. All our money is gone now, and I have had to ask Guy, who remains ill, for a loan, or the children and I would starve. Little George constantly asks when you will be returning, and his voice becomes more anxious every day. I hear a great army is being gathered to put down the Norfolk rebels.

  I do not know if you will get this letter, but if so I beg you, on my knees, knowing my pride and forwardness in the past have offended you, return to me, return to me.

  Barak said quietly, ‘Kett’s set up a proper organization in Norwich now to deal with incoming letters. One of his men brought it. He said getting a letter back would be another matter, there are indeed watchers everywhere in London, and if the letter were found and it became known I was here, Tamasin could be arrested.’ He looked at me, his eyes desperate. ‘I have to get back to her.’

  Chapter Seventy-two

  I called Nicholas inside. Barak handed him Tamasin’s letter, then unstrapped his artificial hand and threw it across the hut, lifting his sleeve and rubbing the ugly stump. ‘This is killing me,’ he said. ‘Tammy would rub oil into it every night, never a word of complaint though she had the children to see to.’ He shook his head. ‘I can’t abandon her. Yet I gave my oath. I’m bound to Kett, even if I’m not much use as a fighting man with one fucking hand. Can I leave just as this army is coming? Word is that Warwick’s already on his way to Cambridge, to meet what’s left of Northampton’s army.’

  I asked, ‘What would happen if you were caught trying
to flee?’

  ‘A beating; but they’d let me go. They don’t want unwilling troops. And the patrols on the eastern and northern edges of the camp can’t cover the whole area – it’s too big. But –’ he looked at us – ‘there’s the question of what might happen to you two. Nicholas has never been exactly popular, for all he won his case at the Oak.’ He looked at me. ‘And there are rumours about your loyalty going around as well.’

  I pursed my lips. ‘Toby Lockswood.’

  ‘Yes. But I’m seen as loyal. If I vanished, it could come back on you.’ Barak took a deep breath, then looked at Nicholas. He said quietly, ‘They’d be less surprised if you left. In fact, Captain Kett gave you the choice.’

  Nicholas returned Barak’s gaze, his green eyes glinting. ‘And I said I would stay.’

  ‘But you’ve no true loyalty to the cause.’

  ‘You want me to leave, just so I can return to London and tell Tamasin you are safe?’

  ‘I can’t think of any other way, unless I go.’ Barak slammed his fist on the earthen floor. ‘How is it none of my letters got through?’ He looked at me. ‘You and Parry have been able to exchange letters, why not us?’

  I sighed. ‘Kett doesn’t want to make trouble with the Lady Elizabeth. He made those letters a priority.’

  Barak looked at Nicholas again. ‘Would you do it?’ he asked, pleading now. ‘You’d have to be careful going through Norfolk, but it sounds like the other camps are down. You don’t belong here. And in London you could see Beatrice again.’

  Nicholas ran a hand through his untidy red hair, then turned to Barak angrily. ‘I belong nowhere. Did you not hear what I said at the Oak? That I may have been brought up a gentleman, but have nothing? That I have seen such things done by the rulers of Norfolk that I have come to question what a gentleman truly is? You’re right, I don’t belong here, I can’t fit in with people I was trained from childhood to think of as stupid, dangerous creatures. I feel like a straw in the wind. And Beatrice Kenzy and her world interest me no more. I told Kett I would stay, and I will not break my word. It’s the last thing I have left!’

  I said to Barak, ‘What if I were to ask Captain Kett if one of his couriers to London could take a letter to Tamasin?’

  Barak waved his good hand in the air. ‘There must be hundreds here would like to get a message to their families.’

  ‘Few with a desperate wife in London.’

  He looked at me hard. ‘You think you could do it?’

  ‘I don’t know. I can only try. Tomorrow. Though it may be difficult to reach him now, with Warwick’s army on its way.’

  ‘Then thank you.’

  Nicholas left the hut and walked off into the night. Barak made to follow, but I restrained him. I said, ‘I felt something like Nicholas does when I was young, and lost my faith in the old Church. Uprooted, like a straw in the wind, as he said, the beliefs that sustained me gone.’ I sighed. ‘It is hard, but he must find his own way.’

  *

  NEXT MORNING, WEDNESDAY the twenty-first of August, news reached the camp that Warwick’s army had reached Cambridge and joined the remnants of Northampton’s forces. They were now marching fast on Norwich, and expected in two or three days. A large number of men had been sent to the northern edge of the camp to prepare a site for a possible battle. I walked in that direction in search of Kett, but was stopped by a soldier standing guard. ‘Only those selected for work here are allowed through.’

  ‘I wished merely to ask whether Captain Kett is here.’

  ‘He’s at Surrey Place.’

  I thanked him and walked back towards the palace. I stopped to listen to two men discussing the advancing army. ‘Our spies say there’s over a thousand Switzer mercenaries coming.’

  ‘We set those Italians a-runnen last time, bor.’

  ‘These are Switzer landsknechts, apparently they’re fierce dymoxes.’ The man broke off and gave me a suspicious look. ‘Lawyer Shardlake, isn’it?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Why you listenin’ to our talk?’

  ‘Is not everyone interested in the coming army?’

  ‘Ay, though not all on the same side.’

  I said angrily. ‘I know rumours about me are being put round by Toby Lockswood. They are false!’

  ‘So you say.’ The two men stood, arms folded, the picture of Norfolk obduracy. I turned away.

  *

  I WALKED THROUGH the ornate gate of Surrey Place, remembering the Italian mercenary hanged there three weeks before, past the tents in the grounds and up to the men standing guard on the wide doors. I gave my name, asked whether Captain Kett was within and whether I might see him. One guard went in and shortly after returned and escorted me inside. He led me up the main staircase to a large room guarded by two more men. All the other rooms were closed. I could hear sounds from within, though, and remembered that some of the captured gentlemen were imprisoned here. The soldier knocked, and Kett’s voice called us to enter.

  The room was full of wooden chests, mostly strong and with locks. Several were open, the contents spread out on tables where a dozen men were carefully examining them, before making entries in makeshift ledgers. There were coins, jewellery, gold and silver plate. Michael Vowell was there; he smiled. I also recognized a man working on the contents of another chest in a corner of the room; Toby Lockswood. He glared at me.

  Captain Kett was studying a sheaf of papers. His face had changed in the few days since his great speech. It was more lined, the mouth tighter, the eyes which could blaze so fiercely somehow withdrawn. He said, rather wearily, ‘What can I do for you, Master Shardlake? I imagined you would be at leisure these days.’

  ‘If you have a moment, I wish to make a request.’

  He sighed. ‘If it is quick.’

  I told him of the letter Barak had received, his desperation to let his wife know he was alive, and asked whether one of his couriers might take a letter to her.

  ‘My couriers see only their contacts,’ he said, impatience in his voice. ‘It would be dangerous for both the courier and Barak’s wife were he to be caught. I am sorry, Master Shardlake, but the answer must be no.’ He turned on me in sudden anger. ‘You demand too much! Forever asking for letters to be sent. Have you no idea of the danger my couriers face?’

  I sighed. ‘I am sorry.’

  He grunted, a sort of half-apology for his loss of temper. I was tempted to tell him Lockswood was passing rumours around the camp, but this was not the time. I bowed to him, and went over to where Michael Vowell was recording items carefully on a sheet of paper. ‘What is happening here?’ I asked.

  ‘We men who can write and have at least some knowledge of valuables are making an inventory of goods taken from the gentry. Tomorrow we take them to an extra Norwich market, and sell them to buy up all the supplies we can.’ I looked down at his table. There was a beautiful gold necklace, with a locket from which three fine quality pearls hung. I smiled sadly. ‘That reminds me of a necklace I saw Queen Catherine Parr wear sometimes, though this is far less magnificent.’

  ‘They won’t fetch a fraction of their worth. The Norwich traders know we’re running short of food from the countryside with harvest approaching – the leanest time of the year. And there’s not much money left.’ He looked at me. ‘Perhaps you could come to Norwich tomorrow, help us beat down the traders.’

  ‘Certainly.’

  I left him. I was conscious that I was qualified, better than Vowell, to do work like this. Why had I not been asked? Had Lockswood’s tales made Kett suspicious of me? But he knew Lockswood for what he was now, surely Kett would not listen to base rumour.

  The soldier, still waiting outside the room, accompanied me down the stairs. As I reached the door it opened and several more soldiers led in a sorry-looking procession of about twenty men, wearing the remnants of fine clothes. I stared at them as they were led up the stairs. The soldier said, ‘We’re bringing prisoners up from Norwich Castle.’

&
nbsp; ‘Why?’ I asked.

  ‘Orders.’ From his smile, I guessed he knew more than he was saying.

  I walked back to the Swardeston huts to tell Barak my mission had failed. He took the news quietly, shrugged and said, ‘I wasn’t hopeful.’ He was strapping on his artificial hand. ‘I’ve been asked to help record deliveries up to the north-west of the camp. Natty’s coming too.’

  ‘Where’s Nicholas?’

  He shrugged again. ‘Wandering about somewhere feeling sorry for himself.’

  *

  NICHOLAS RETURNED in the early evening; he had been down to Norwich, which he reported was being fortified, the gates reinforced with earth and wood. ‘Apparently the rebels’ – for so he still spoke of them – ‘are now going to try to bar the army’s entry this time. To begin with, wearying them by beseiging us.’

  Barak, who had returned from his work, snorted. ‘It’ll be a short siege. I doubt those gates will hold an army of nine or ten thousand, however they’re shored up; perhaps they’re going to put up what defence they can to weaken them, then fight on the streets. It’ll be a bloody business.’

  At the meal round the campfire that evening, the mood was thoughtful, though the food was, as ever, good; mutton in a vegetable pottage, well cooked under Goodwife Everneke’s supervision. Nicholas had returned with a load of stones from the heath, to replace those surrounding the campfire, which had grown blackened and cracked. Dusk was beginning to fall; the evenings were drawing in. Some way off a rowan tree, one of the few to survive the general felling, was red with berries.

  ‘I’ve never eaten better than here,’ Natty said.

  ‘My aunt didn’t give me much,’ Simon said, slurping his food down noisily as usual.

  ‘I wonder if we’ll ever eat so well again.’

  ‘Or be alive to eat at all, after what’s coming,’ said Ralph Williams, a blacksmith in his thirties.

  ‘Come on, bor,’ the Swardeston leader Dickon said reprovingly. ‘Don’t talk so downy. A fierce battle there will be, but we beat them once and can do it again. God and justice are on our side, and our men are well trained as any could be. I’ve seen the bowmen – gor, how those arrows fly.’