Tombland (The Shardlake series Book 7)

by C. J. Sansom

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I thought you were at the camp.’

  Again, I displayed my wrists. ‘We were among those chained facing the earl’s army this morning.’

  ‘Dear God, I heard about that, but doubted it was true. Those filthy animals, to do such a thing to gentlemen, thank God it is over. There will be much hanging done now, and a good thing.’

  I said, ‘I have some belongings here; I also wondered if we might clean ourselves up, even take a bed, if one is available. We need to stay in Norwich a day or two before returning to London.’

  ‘I have kept your belongings, sir, and you may have your old room tonight, though the two of you must share it – most have been taken by the earl’s officers, though they are out now, attending to matters at Dussindale and in the town. You will have seen the horrible state the city is in, it is even worse down by the Market Square. Rubbish and filth and terrible sights everywhere.’ He leaned in close. ‘Tomorrow, though, you must leave, for the earl is making the Maid’s Head his permanent headquarters while he deals with matters in the city. Be careful in town after dark – some of the soldiers have been set to search out the leaders of the Norwich men who supported the rebels, and they have not been gentle with the populace.’ Again I thought of Edward and Josephine – those searching would have the names and descriptions of those they sought, perhaps supplied to Warwick by Michael Vowell.

  I asked Master Theobald if there had been any letters, but he told me there had been no post for a fortnight. We went up to our old room – it was strange to see it again – and bowls of hot water were brought, enabling us to wash away the worst of the filth that caked us, and to don our old clothes. Food was also brought, and we ate ravenously. Afterwards, I lay back on the bed, sighing at the relief it brought my poor back. ‘What did you think of the Earl of Warwick?’ I asked Nicholas.

  ‘A strong man. A born commander, mightily clever. Probably more skilled politically than the Protector, though that’s not difficult.’

  ‘A classic hard man from the old king’s days,’ I mused. ‘I wondered what he meant by saying these whirling times may not yet be over. With the rebellions, the disasters in Scotland, the French declaring war – perhaps the King’s Council will be looking for a new Protector soon.’ I sighed. ‘Give me half an hour and then we will go out and try to find Barak and the others. And before we leave Norwich,’ I added grimly, ‘we are going to visit Master Gawen Reynolds again.’

  Nicholas looked from the window at the churchyard on the corner of Elm Street opposite. It was already getting dark. He said, ‘I don’t think you should go anywhere, sir, you need rest. I will beg a hornlamp and go to see what I can discover.’

  I wanted him to go, I was desperate to find out what had happened to Josephine and Edward, to Isabella, above all to Barak, but warned him, ‘The innkeeper said it could be dangerous after dark.’

  ‘Not for a gentleman, I think, not now. I will wear my robe. If I encounter soldiers, to show my wrists should be enough – it seems to be becoming a badge of honour.’

  *

  IT WAS QUITE DARK when Nicholas shook me awake; he had lit a candle by my bed. I sat up painfully. ‘What time is it?’ I turned towards the window; I could hear drunken yells and shouts. A woman’s desperate cry of fear sounded from outside, very near.

  ‘Past midnight. Master Theobald was right, things are rough in the city. Soldiers coming back from Dussindale think all the poor of Norwich are rebel sympathizers. I saw many prisoners from Dussindale, too, being led to the Guildhall prison and the castle. Barak was not among them.’

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘My clothes and accent saved me trouble, I got as far as the Market Square.’ He smiled, and beckoned someone forward. To my amazement, Isabella Boleyn stepped into the candlelight. She looked tired and drawn, her clothes were dirty, but she was unhurt. She reached out a hand and took mine.

  ‘You are safe,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, when they took my husband to Mousehold, they put me out of the prison, but thanks be to God the innkeeper at the place I stayed before let me return. Nicholas says my husband is safe, and to be returned to the castle.’

  ‘Yes. On Warwick’s orders, and they will be obeyed. And we have discovered much.’ I told Isabella what Peter Bone and Michael Vowell had revealed, though not about her husband’s false alibi. I would leave Boleyn himself to tell her about that.

  ‘So Chawry was innocent. I had begun to think him responsible for everything.’ She smiled sadly.

  ‘So had I.’ I did not mention that she, too, had been among my suspects. ‘Your husband saw him briefly, at Dussindale. I do not know whether he survived. I should tell you, the twins were there. They tried to kill us where we were hiding, but it was your stepson Gerald who died, shot by an arrow from the city walls. It seemed to unman Barnabas, he ran back to the battle. I do not know what happened to him.’

  She lowered her head. After a moment she said, ‘I can feel no grief for Gerald, only relief. Is that a sin?’

  Nicholas took her hand. He was hollow-eyed and exhausted. ‘No, Isabella, not after what he put you through.’

  She looked at his wrist, then touched it with her other hand. ‘Poor boy, what they did to you. And your wounds are the same, Master Shardlake. I owe you both so much.’ She sat down on a chair and began to weep. I got up painfully. ‘It is over now, Isabella, or nearly so.’

  She sighed, then stood. ‘Nicholas has arranged a room for me next door for tonight. I should go there, try to tidy myself up, then return to my husband in the castle tomorrow.’ She curtsied, and left the room.

  I asked Nicholas, ‘Is there news of Barak or the Browns?’

  ‘None yet, I fear. Before I looked for Isabella I went down to Conisford. Josephine’s yard, like so many places there, was burned down yesterday. No sign of Edward or Josephine, nor the child.’

  ‘They will be looking for Edward, as a rebel.’

  ‘Perhaps they escaped the city. Many must have fled after the fighting.’

  ‘I hope so.’

  ‘And nothing of Jack?’

  ‘I asked several people of the poorer sort if they knew anything of a one-armed man who took part in the fighting in Norwich, offering a little money, but nobody did. I learned that the injured from both sides are being treated at the cathedral; we can go there tomorrow morning and see if he, or Edward and Josephine, are there.’ He added quietly, ‘It’s dreadful in the town. Soldiers celebrating in the streets, telling tales of things they did this afternoon, often given drinks by the wealthier citizens. The mess in the Market Square is terrible – dead horses, piles of shit everywhere, the bodies of the fifty rebels Warwick hung when he took the square still there on the gallows.’ He sighed. ‘Apparently, there will be mass executions tomorrow, but there’s also to be a great service of thanksgiving at St Peter Mancroft, and the city are planning a masque in Warwick’s honour.’

  ‘He’s probably just allowing his men to let off steam tonight. It’s tradition, after a battle. Like rifling the bodies of the losing side.’

  Nicholas sat on the bed. His hands were shaking. ‘One thing I do know. Natty is dead, I saw his body being carried away naked on a cart.’

  I put my head in my hands. ‘Oh, no. God save his soul.’

  ‘They’re going to sell everything taken from the bodies of the rebels in the market.’ Then Nicholas put his head in his hands and burst into tears. ‘This terrible day, and out there – it’s like the city has become a part of hell itself.’

  I said quietly. ‘I long feared it might end like this.’

  ‘By God, though, the rebels put up a good fight, didn’t they?’

  ‘For commoners?’ I asked, half-jestingly.

  ‘No.’ He looked up. ‘For men.’

  *

  THE NEXT MORNING, we breakfasted at the Maid’s Head for the first time in near two months. Isabella had gone, leaving us a note thanking us again for all we had done, saying she was going str
aight to the castle. Her courage and constancy were truly remarkable. My back still hurt, and before we went down, I performed my exercises, long neglected. As we ate I thought of the breakfasts Barak had shared with us back in June, and Toby Lockswood, too, whom Nicholas confirmed had also perished in the fighting round Tombland. He had cruelly persecuted Nicholas, but had been loyal to his cause to the last. I thought of Natty, too, one of so many lost lads come to Mousehold, brave and loyal and kind.

  From talk at the tables around us – it was mostly senior army officers staying at the inn now – I learned the Earl of Warwick was already at the castle, passing speedy judgement on the senior rebels. Many officers, apparently, had been detailed to attend executions later in the day in the Market Square, Magdalen Gate, and the Oak of Reformation. Mass graves were still being dug for the dead of Dussindale. I heard, too, though, one officer say that the rebels of Norwich had fought valiantly, and a volley of arrows had nearly killed Ambrose Dudley, Warwick’s elder son. And at one point, I learned, with the rebels still in control of much of Norwich, that because of the destruction the city elite had asked Warwick to give up the city to the rebels; he had refused. Had he agreed, the outcome yesterday could easily have been very different.

  A captain entered the room, waved his helmet, and shouted out, ‘Robert Kett and his brother are captured! Robert fled to Swannington, and was taken at a farm!’

  There were loud hurrahs. One captain asked when they would be executed, and the man who brought the news said they were to be taken for trial in London.

  ‘Pity,’ a man at the next table said, ‘I’d like to have seen them die.’

  *

  CLAD IN OUR lawyers’ robes, Nicholas and I crossed to the cathedral, explaining to the soldiers at the gates that we were looking for friends who might be among the injured. They were reluctant to admit us, until we explained we had been among the chained men at Dussindale, and showed them our wrists. This seemed indeed to have become a badge of honour, for they promptly let us through.

  As we walked towards the cathedral doors, Nicholas said, ‘If we do find them among the injured rebels, how do we explain they are our friends?’

  ‘Quick talking. We’re lawyers, after all.’

  Inside the cathedral, as after the battle with the Marquess of Northampton a month before, the whole great building had been turned into an infirmary, only this time with far more injured lying on the floor, or on rough straw mattresses behind the great pillars supporting the nave. Coughs and cries of pain again echoed around the vast space. On the left-hand side the beds were guarded by soldiers patrolling up and down; presumably the injured were rebels. On the right the injured were unguarded, and seemed to be receiving more attention from the barber-surgeons going to and fro. I also saw the robed form of Dr Belys tending to them, and steered Nicholas away from him.

  A captain sat at a desk near the altar, and I walked towards him, pushing up the sleeves of my shirt so my wrists showed, having gestured to Nicholas to do the same. The captain looked up, then stood. ‘Gentlemen, how can I help?’ he asked in a Midlands accent. ‘Were you among the chained gentlemen yesterday? We saw you run, and thanked God for your escape.’

  ‘We were. We are looking for three friends, two men and a woman, who were in Norwich. We have had no luck, and wondered whether they may have been brought here, perhaps even put among the rebels by mistake. I believe there was much confusion here during the fighting.’

  ‘There was.’

  ‘Are you a Midlands man?’ I asked. ‘I am from Lichfield myself.’

  It is wonderful what a local connection may do, I thought. The soldier said, ‘I’m from Aldridge, quite near you. A yeoman farmer, head of the local muster; we were conscripted by the Earl of Warwick.’ He added more quietly, ‘The troubles were spreading up there last month; he put them down before organizing this army.’

  ‘I met the earl yesterday. A strong leader, I think.’

  The captain looked at me with new respect. ‘Ay, hard as stone but with good judgement.’

  ‘I came here in June for the Assizes, then suffered an injury and had to stay. Then my assistant and I were caught up in the rebellion.’

  ‘Well, look for your friends, if you wish. There’s a separate section for women over there.’ He pointed to an area sealed off by curtains. ‘If you find them, you must bring them to me for identification, and authority to be released.’ He lowered his voice again. ‘It’s rebel leaders we’re looking for, I’ve a list.’

  ‘Thank you.’ I thought, Barak and Josephine would not be on that list, but Edward Brown surely was.

  I led Nicholas along the rows of beds. We had scarce begun our task when a familiar figure, sitting up on a straw mattress on the rebel side of the nave, waved a hand made of metal, a hook and sheathed knife on the end, and called out, ‘You two! About fucking time, I thought you were dead!’

  ‘Jack!’ I ran over and embraced him, as he had embraced me when he found me after the Mary Rose sank. He grasped Nicholas’s hand, and said, ‘You look like shit, lad. Jesus, your wrists. Were you with the chained gentlemen? That story’s all over the infirmary. How did that happen?’

  ‘We were betrayed, by Michael Vowell. Listen, there is much to tell you, but we must get you out of here first. Are you hurt?’ I looked at him anxiously. He was very pale.

  ‘When we went back down into Norwich I took a blow on the leg from one of Warwick’s soldiers. It’s not bad, only a flesh wound, but I bled like a pig. Would you believe, I bloody fainted, collapsed into the doorway of a shop. I was found afterwards; I’ve lost a lot of blood, but they stitched me up.’

  I spoke quietly. ‘So there’s no actual evidence you were fighting with the rebels.’

  ‘I had no uniform but my sword was beside me. That was enough to make the soldiers bring me this side of the aisle.’ He pushed aside the rough blanket covering him and showed me his right calf, covered with a bandage. ‘I’ll need a stick to walk for a bit.’

  I considered. ‘Perhaps you could say you are a citizen who picked up a sword to protect himself.’

  ‘With my London accent?’

  ‘Then you are my assistant, accidentally left behind in the town.’ I smiled. ‘I think I can persuade the captain here it was all a mistake.’ I looked at him closely. ‘But if asked, you must say you’re no supporter of the rebels. Understood?’

  Barak set his lips, but nodded quietly in agreement.

  ‘We’re back at the Maid’s Head, at least for this morning. You can get some food there.’ I took a deep breath. ‘Have you heard anything of Edward or Josephine? Could either of them be here, too?’

  ‘I don’t think Edward’s here. Nor Natty. But you could look. I don’t know who’s in the women’s section.’

  I nodded, and gave Nicholas a look to stop him telling Barak that Natty was dead. I continued walking along the ranks of the injured men, some with horrible wounds, but Edward Brown was not there. When I went to the women’s section the pretty, plump young woman in charge, kindly in tone, said nobody named Josephine Brown, nor answering her description, was there, with or without a child. She said herself she was a midwife drafted in to help the women, some of whom had been injured in the fighting or had had – she gave me a steely look as she said this – bad things done to them by Warwick’s soldiers. I thanked her and returned to Barak. We got him up and took him, supported by Nicholas, to the captain, where my explanation was accepted. I felt a little guilty lying to the man, but it had to be done.

  *

  WE RETURNED TO the Maid’s Head. As we approached the entrance I saw the door of the church opposite was half-open.

  ‘There’s something squealing in there,’ Nicholas said. ‘Can you hear it? Too loud for rats.’

  ‘It sounds like a child,’ Barak said.

  I remembered the woman’s scream I had heard the night before. I said to Nicholas, ‘Take Jack inside. I’m going to look at the church.’ When he looked set to argue I snapped, ‘Just
do it!’

  I walked slowly in through the half-open door. The sound we had heard was louder now, and it was indeed a child crying, over in the far corner where a dark and bloody heap lay.

  Edward Brown was sprawled on his back. His face had been battered to a pulp, and he had been finished off with a knife to the chest. Half on top of him, as though she had died trying to protect him, lay Josephine. She, too, had been beaten and stabbed, but almost worse was to see where her dress had been torn away and her underdrawers pulled off. The bloody mess between her legs showed she had been raped, not once but several times, before she too had been killed, her throat cut. In one dead arm she clutched Mousy, filthy with blood and her own excrement, bawling in terror.

  I heard Nicholas’s voice behind me. ‘Oh, dear Jesus.’

  I bent, gently pulling away Josephine’s cold arm, and picked up Mousy, holding her to me. I said quietly, ‘This happened last night. Josephine must have taken Mousy to escape the fire, and found Edward. Then some soldiers searching for the leaders must have chased them in here.’ I turned on him, my voice sharp again. ‘Where’s Jack?’

  ‘Lying down in our room. I came back to see what was happening. Oh, dear God, poor Josephine, poor Edward.’ Tears came to his eyes, as they already had to mine.

  Mousy was still bawling mightily. Nicholas stroked her fair hair, so like her mother’s. I turned my eyes from the bodies. ‘We have to get her cleaned and fed somehow, poor creature.’

  ‘Jack will know what to do. He has two children.’

  ‘Yes. And we must find a wet-nurse, immediately. Even I know that. Nicholas, tell Barak what has happened then go across to the infirmary and ask the woman in charge of the female patients if she knows a wet-nurse, tell her it’s an emergency. Later we can find one willing to travel with us to London; I’ll pay her well.’