Tombland (The Shardlake series Book 7)

by C. J. Sansom

  Vowell turned to his men. ‘I myself saw Shardlake and Overton inspecting the defences yesterday. Toby Lockswood, God save his soul, who died yesterday fighting for the Commonwealth, knew they were traitors but Kett was too soft, he trusted them.’

  I said, ‘That letter is a crude forgery, and I did not steal the pendant.’ I remembered the disturbed bracken. ‘You planted both in our hut yesterday. I say again, take us to Captain Kett.’

  Vowell laughed. ‘Do you think he has time to waste on you? Now? But he will be shown the letter and diagram.’

  I looked at the soldiers. ‘None of what Michael Vowell says is true. He is doing this because he knows I have discovered he is a murderer.’

  ‘Kiss my arse,’ one of them replied flatly. ‘Master Vowell is a trusted aide to Captain Kett. As for you pair, you’re going to Surrey Place, to be chained in front of our forces with the other gemmun.’

  I looked at Nicholas. Stupidly, given the information I had about him, I had not thought Vowell an immediate danger. But he had prepared everything carefully.

  He looked at me coldly. ‘Take Overton to Surrey Place now. Tie Shardlake’s hands, but leave him with me. I think I will give him a lesson about telling lies to a captain of the Commonwealth; I shall fetch him to Surrey Place shortly.’

  My hands were bound behind me, then Nicholas, resisting fiercely, was taken away. Vowell, smiling openly now, gestured me to enter the hut.

  He pushed me roughly to the floor, and sat down comfortably in the opposite corner, giving me a concentrated stare as he pulled a knife from his belt, and began gently picking at his fingernails.

  ‘I need to know,’ he said quietly, ‘how you guessed I was one of those who murdered Edith Boleyn. I realized you knew from the way you looked at me yesterday – a spy like me learns to read faces quickly – and yes, I have been a spy for the government myself since the beginning, that letter and diagram are copies of the ones I took to Warwick’s camp myself. You can either tell me, or I can torture it out of you with this knife. I told the lads I was going to teach you a lesson.’

  Realizing there was nothing I could do, I took a deep breath. ‘When you came with me to Norwich three weeks ago, you said Jane Reynolds’s swollen hands were a family trait, and Edith had it in later life. But how could you have known that unless you had seen her recently? It was being with Peter Bone, and his talking of his sister, that reminded me. One of his sisters was actually Edith Boleyn in disguise. She ran from Brikewell with Grace Bone nine years ago, taking the identity of their other sister, who had died.’

  Vowell laughed out loud. ‘So that was what happened to her. I have wondered over the years. The lady of Brikewell Manor, husband of Anne Boleyn’s relative, working as a spinner. Oh, that is funny.’

  ‘It was a family tragedy.’

  In a change of mood, he frowned slightly. ‘That was a stupid mistake I made, effectively letting out that I had seen Edith. It just goes to show, one little error can bring all your secrets tumbling out’ – suddenly he grinned again – ‘unless you take quick preventive measures.’ He looked at me sharply. ‘Did you tell Overton? Anyone else?’ He pointed the knife at me. ‘I can easily shove this under your fingernails and rip them out. It is very painful.’

  ‘Only Nicholas,’ I said. ‘Barak is – somewhere in Norwich.’

  Vowell nodded, his expression thoughtful. I asked, ‘Why did you not just have us killed last night?’

  ‘Because I needed to be sure how much you knew. And because there might have been some enquiry – Kett seems to see you as some sort of pet. The old fool, does he really think he can take on the rulers of England?’

  ‘He has done well so far. Won two battles. And who knows, may yet win a third.’

  He looked at me askance. ‘You, a gentleman and lawyer, hope Kett and his kitlings will win?’

  ‘England has long needed reform, and he is the man to bring it.’

  ‘He will bring chaos. Have you heard the prophets preaching the end of the world?’

  ‘They do not rule this camp. Captain Kett does.’

  ‘Control is starting to slip to the radicals, as you may have noticed. I have been helping shift it along, to divide the camp.’ Vowell shook his head and laughed again. ‘Christ’s bones, you are indeed a traitor. To King and Protector.’

  ‘Better traitor than spy.’

  He looked offended. ‘Spying can be an honourable profession, as well as a pleasurable one, if one believes in what one is doing.’

  ‘Like helping Gawen Reynolds murder his daughter?’

  He looked me in the eyes. ‘You worked out Reynolds’s involvement, too?’

  ‘Yes. If you were lying about having seen Edith recently, that could only connect you to Reynolds. She came to see him, didn’t she, to ask for money as a last, desperate resort after the Lady Elizabeth’s Comptroller turned her down?’

  Vowell smiled again. ‘Yes. Gawen Reynolds and I have worked closely together for many years. I have been more than a steward, I have acted for him on many matters, including joint affairs with Sir Richard Southwell.’

  ‘You said they hated each other.’

  ‘On the contrary, they are the best of friends. Like attracts like.’ He spread his hands. ‘It was part of my job.’ Then he shook his head. ‘But things went wrong the night Edith was killed. Reynolds, like his grandsons, can let his temper get out of control. He made a mess of Edith’s murder.’

  ‘Were Gerald and Barnabas involved?’

  ‘Good God, no. Mad as they are, they always loved their mother. But you guessed right about Edith contacting her father as a last hope. She did not dare turn up at the house, but sent a note, saying she was alive and in desperate need of money, and asking him to help. When Gawen Reynolds read it –’ Vowell laughed – ‘he nearly had a seizure. He showed it to me. He said Edith may have hidden away safely somewhere all these years, but now she was alone and he was going to exact his revenge on her.’

  ‘Why did he hate her so?’

  Vowell shrugged. ‘Reynolds can’t keep his hands off women. I was around the house when Edith was young, and I believe he tried it on with his own daughter. My guess is she fought him, at least to begin with. Gawen Reynolds does not tolerate any woman who resists him. I remember once or twice hearing the sound of screams from her chamber.’

  Now I realized exactly why Jane Reynolds had so wished Edith had been a boy. I imagined her standing, helpless, in the shadows all those years.

  Vowell spoke of this horror with no more emotion than if he had been discussing the weather; his tone had become conversational; he was enjoying telling the tale. I had encountered spies before, and knew the pleasure they could get from removing their masks – when they were safe. I wondered, would he kill me before leaving the hut?

  But for the moment, he continued his boasting. ‘Gawen Reynolds planned it all out. He would kill Edith and make it look as though John Boleyn had done it. He always hated his son-in-law, and his setting up home with that Isabella. So he would kill two birds with one stone. In fact, three.’ He laughed. ‘Sir Richard Southwell wanted Boleyn’s land, so he could join his two neighbouring plots together. It would make running the sheep cheaper, if it was all one site. Given his wealth, it was a relatively small matter, but you know how Norfolk gentlemen can become – obsessive – if their wishes are not met.’

  ‘Like his man John Atkinson. Still pursuing that helpless girl he abducted, I hear.’

  Vowell frowned, looking annoyed at my interruption. He continued: ‘The plan was that Boleyn would be executed for the murder and the land put in the hands of the escheator, and Southwell would work with Flowerdew to make sure he got it. The twins would get some compensation.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said grimly. ‘The corruption of the King’s local officials. Part of what Kett wants to end.’

  ‘Better corruption than disorder. I may be only a lowly steward by origin, but I believe the social order of the realm must be maintained by any means. I
always have. I am a spy, Master Shardlake, by conviction. I have not only helped Master Reynolds and Sir Richard Southwell, I have spied for the city authorities on makebates who would stir up discontent here – Norwich is full of wily troublemakers. I left Gawen Reynolds’s employ because it was obvious that trouble was coming among the commoners and I could join the rebels – even present myself as a radical, work with the naive younger element, encourage them and perhaps split the camp against Kett.’ He smiled again. ‘That request came from Southwell himself; the Protector and his counsel were looking for spies.’

  ‘I imagine it pays well.’

  He shrugged. ‘I have never had much interest in money.’ His cold eyes lit up for the first time. ‘When I was a child I wanted more than anything to be an actor. I took part in all the guild mystery plays, in the old days. But actors lead a precarious life, and I wanted security, too.’

  ‘You are certainly a good actor.’

  Vowell nodded to acknowledge the compliment, then fell silent. I decided to lead him on. ‘So it was you who stole the key to the stable, and planted the muddy boots and hammer to incriminate John Boleyn.’

  ‘That’s right,’ he boasted. ‘I have always cultivated friendly relations with the twins. One day they were at their grandfather’s and waxing fierce about that Sooty Scambler who was killed before the Herald. It was me who suggested they give him a beating, steal the key to the stable and let that dangerous horse run wild. I knew they were going to the cockfighting that evening, and arranged to have the key taken briefly, so an impression could be made. The locksmith Snockstobe, who would do anything for money to spend on drink, would make a copy. So far as the twins knew, it was never stolen, so they believed the evidence against their own father of the muddy boots and the bloody hammer in the stable. A good plan, was it not?’

  ‘You thought it up while talking to the twins about – about Simon?’

  ‘Yes, though it was the pure luck of Gerald leaving his purse on the bench that night which gave me the chance. But I would have found another opportunity.’ His voice turned sharp. ‘It is not only lawyers that have quick minds, hunchback.’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘It was clever indeed.’ I spoke quietly, preening his actor’s vanity. ‘But something went wrong with Snockstobe?’

  ‘He knew when he was asked to make a key from a wax impression that it was likely stolen. When you threatened him with a subpoena, he came running to me and Master Reynolds. If he’d had the balls to lie in court there wouldn’t have been a problem. But he’d likely have turned up drunk and spilled out everything. So we arranged for him to be disposed of. The apprentice, too, who I was sure had been listening to our conversation earlier at the shop. Master Reynolds brought in some of Sir Richard Southwell’s men for that, with John Atkinson in charge. So all was well again. But earlier, the night of Edith Boleyn’s killing – well, men can be such fools. Even a Norwich alderman like Gawen Reynolds.’

  ‘So it was his fault she was left in the condition she was?’ I tried not to let my disgust show.

  Vowell frowned, fingered his knife again. ‘I had planned the whole thing out.’ He tossed his head angrily; the man’s vanity was indeed limitless. ‘Master Reynolds and I agreed he would reply to her note, which came from a cheap lodging house in Norwich, and arrange to meet her at the bridge separating Boleyn’s land from Witherington’s – I hear he’s dead, too, now; when this is over Sir Richard Southwell will no doubt have his land too.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘It was all settled, she replied agreeing to meet her father at the bridge. Master Reynolds and I rode down there, with a heavy hammer and a spade in my horse’s knapsack. I was going to clout her on the head, and then we would bury her in a shallow grave on the South Brikewell side, without bothering to replace the grass properly so the old shepherd would notice the next day. But when we arrived at the bridge, and Reynolds saw her standing there in the dusk, white bandages on her hands like her mother’s, he lost control. He shouted and shrieked at her, demanding to know where she had been these nine years, and when she refused to answer it made him worse. He called her a slut and a whore who had abandoned her poor sons. She was afraid, she backed away from him, and that gave me the chance to step behind her and hit her a fine culp on the head with the hammer.’ He smiled. ‘She went down on the bridge like a sack of wood.’ He slapped his free hand on the floor, startling me. ‘Just like that.’

  ‘I thought seeing her dead might cool old Reynolds’s anger, but it seemed only to fire it up more. He had somehow convinced himself Edith had spent the last nine years as a whore. He said if her hands were bad, it was probably through pulling off customers. He said he wasn’t going to bury her, he wanted her put head first in the river with her worn-out old cunt displayed to the world. I warned him that could take suspicion off Boleyn, if people were to believe the husband murdered Edith so his new marriage would not be declared invalid, he would not display her body to the world. But old Reynolds was beyond reason. Silly old fool, he’s never learned that to truly succeed in this world you must control yourself.’

  I thought, Like you, and others like you whom I have met, cold as ice, thinking of killing people as if they were flies.

  Vowell was frowning; angry, I guessed, not with me but with Reynolds. ‘I told him I was going to bury her, and went back to the horses to fetch the spade. On my way back I heard a splash and then saw Reynolds standing in the mud, with Edith’s body sticking up out of the water, pulling her drawers off to expose everything she had. He shouted at me to help him out, he had wrenched his leg badly – I was surprised someone his age managed to do that alone, but it is amazing what a man may do when overcome with fury. I got him back to the bridge, and told him I was going to take Edith out and bury her as planned, but he said if I did, he would tell all Norwich that I was no secret radical as I pretended, but an agent of Norwich council and of Southwell.’ Vowell shrugged. ‘Well, Reynolds was too powerful a man for me to kill, it did not matter that much to me whether Boleyn was hanged or not, and if he wanted to let his anger get the better of his judgement, that was up to him. So I helped him back to the horses – he really had hurt his leg, I don’t think it’s ever got better – and we rode home. It was after that I decided to offer my services to Sir Richard Southwell as a full-time spy. I had had enough of Reynolds, and trouble was already stirring among the people. Though I agreed to do him a last favour in freeing the twins from Surrey Place when they were taken prisoner. Southwell wanted it done too; he wants Gerald and Barnabas working for him full time. He had a final go at killing Boleyn through poison at the Castle, but it didn’t work.’ Vowell smiled nastily. ‘And that, Master Lawyer, is the end of my story.’

  ‘What of Boleyn’s lack of an alibi for the hours between nine and eleven that night?’

  He shrugged. ‘I heard Gawen Reynolds talked about that to Sir Richard Southwell; I think he arranged something.’ He smiled again. ‘There, you have learned more from me than I from you. But it doesn’t matter. I shall take you to Surrey Place as I promised, and you will doubtless die in the battle tomorrow.’

  I stared at him, my head spinning with astonishment. I said, ‘I thought you would kill me here.’

  He shook his head. ‘Your murder might raise enquiries, and I do not want my cover blown all over the camp. You and Overton can repeat our conversation to anyone you like in the hours you have left, sing like birds, for all I care. Nobody will believe you, and I do not care whether Reynolds or Boleyn hangs. Most important, I shall be gone. It has been decided my usefulness in Norwich is at an end now. Everything now will be decided in battle. I have orders from Captain Kett to take a message to some people who were in the Suffolk camp, asking if any could support him tomorrow. But I shall not deliver it, or go anywhere near Suffolk. I shall slip away. I have other orders, a new commission, abroad.’

  ‘From whom?’

  He smiled. ‘The King’s Council. I have received my orders from Southwell. I am glad I shall not be in London. I have
a feeling Protector Somerset’s days are numbered. He has made a great mess in Scotland, and the Council say he was too soft with the rebels at the beginning.’ Vowell stood up, patted himself complacently on the chest, and smiled at me. ‘I know so much; it is great entertainment. Now, come on.’ He put his knife away, then stepped over and reached behind me, hauling me roughly to my feet and pushing me outside. The sun was lower in the sky now. From the direction of Norwich I heard the sound of loud, repeated gunfire. Vowell smiled again. ‘Ah, the landsknechts have arrived. Firing their guns in the air, no doubt. I hear they love to make a show before the killing starts.’

  Chapter Seventy-seven

  Vowell hauled me roughly along to Surrey Place. As I stumbled uncomfortably across the rough ground, he said not another word, and when I ventured to speak told me to shut my mouth. His face had resumed its customary hard, slightly blank expression. What an actor he indeed was. My back hurt as he shoved me along. He delivered me to one of the soldiers standing guard at the courtyard gates, whispering an explanation to him, then turned away and walked towards the road down the hill, without even a backward glance. I endured more rough handling as two guards bundled me into the building and up the stairs. A door was opened and I was dragged inside.

  I found myself in a room with a large window looking out over the camp, from which perhaps, in his brief glory days, the Earl of Surrey had shown his visitors the heath. It held some twenty prisoners, tied together with a long chain stretching from wall to wall, both ends padlocked firmly to heavy brackets nailed to the wall. All had the chain pulled round their wrists and secured with a padlock. They looked up at me with hollow eyes, these gentlemen who, two months ago, had ruled the county. Nicholas was at the very end of the line, John Boleyn next to him. I was forced between them, the rope binding my hands was cut and my wrists were pulled in front of me and padlocked to the chain like the others. Then the guards went out and closed the door. I looked at Nicholas and Boleyn. Nicholas’s face was set, but Boleyn was white-faced and haggard as the others.