Tombland

WE SAT UNCOMFORTABLY for nearly an hour. I would have liked to discuss the case with Nicholas and Toby, but not with Isabella there. Chawry tried to distract her with news of the farm, how badly rain was needed. Then an inner doorway opened and Barak appeared. He looked around quickly, then approached. ‘I’ll have to be quick, but I wanted to tell you the jury’s gone out. How did it go?’

‘We did as well as we could,’ I answered neutrally.

Taking my meaning, Chawry gave Isabella a sympathetic glance. She was looking at Barak, puzzled. ‘A friend,’ I said.

‘I thought the jury would take longer,’ Isabella said, ‘with all the other cases to hear as well as John’s.’

‘Your husband was given extra time, because it was such a –’ I hesitated – ‘controversial case.’ I meant scandalous, likely to attract publicity. ‘The jury won’t be out long,’ Barak added. ‘The judges like to get on with things. No food or water until they come to a verdict.’

She smiled. ‘Thank you for coming to tell us.’

Barak nodded and disappeared through the door again.

It was another half-hour before the tipstaff called us into court. When we stood up Isabella faltered. Chawry took her arm.

In the courtroom the jurymen were assembled in their box. Boleyn sat with the other prisoners, looking pale. Many on the public benches were staring at him; the two men I had seen writing earlier sat with poised quills. I saw Southwell and Flowerdew sitting together.

Gatchet banged his gavel and turned to the jury. ‘First case, Boleyn. Master foreman, do you find the prisoner innocent or guilty of murder?’

There was a loud, clear answer. ‘Guilty.’

I had feared Isabella might faint, but it was her husband who suddenly fell down, hitting the floor with a thud, his chains clanking. The gaoler bent to haul him back to his feet.

Gatchet looked at him implacably. ‘John Boleyn, you have been found guilty of one of the most heinous murders I have ever encountered. I sentence you to be hanged by the neck till you are dead, at nine o’clock tomorrow.’

* * *

BOLEYN WAS PUT BACK on the bench, the colour beginning to return to his face. He looked at Isabella and managed a little smile. Already Gatchet had proceeded to ask the verdict on another case, a ragged, red-faced man in his forties, known as a drunken beggar, who had stolen a dozen bottles of wine. He, too, was sentenced to death. Nicholas touched me urgently on the arm. ‘The pardon. Take it to Barak.’

I came to myself. ‘Yes. I must hand it to the judge. Reynberd will be better. I will see if Barak can help me.’

Isabella grasped my arm with both hands, a pleading look in her eyes. I whispered, ‘With the Lady Elizabeth’s signature, he must postpone the sentence, I’m almost certain.’ A third person, a servant girl of fourteen who had run away with some of her employer’s clothes, was found not guilty of felony theft, the jury valuing the goods at less than a shilling. Gatchet glared at them, but this was the type of case where juries could be merciful.

We went outside. I told Chawry to take Isabella back to her inn, asking Toby to accompany them lest they were bothered by pamphleteers seeking statements – the two writers had hurried outside once Boleyn’s sentence was pronounced. ‘Nicholas, come with me.’

Just then the door to the court opened and Southwell and Flowerdew came out. Flowerdew nodded to me. ‘My commiserations, Serjeant Shardlake,’ he said with a half-disguised smirk.

‘Thank you,’ I answered coldly.

‘Boleyn’s lands are forfeit to the King now, under my management as agent of the escheator, Sir Henry Mynne. That serving woman will have to leave his house.’ He looked at me coldly. ‘I hope as Boleyn’s representative you can facilitate that.’

Southwell added, looking down at me with his steady, unblinking gaze under those half-closed eyelids, ‘And I, as agent of the feodary, am responsible for those boys’ wardship.’ He smiled threateningly. ‘I hope we can arrange things smoothly. I understand their grandfather may want to buy the wardship. I’m sure I can negotiate a price on behalf of the King.’

I took a deep breath. ‘Gentlemen,’ I said, ‘you are, I fear, being a little previous. I shall be applying for a pardon. On behalf of the Lady Elizabeth. Now.’

Flowerdew looked taken aback. Southwell’s face darkened and his eyes opened wide. ‘She can’t do that –’

‘She can, and has, Sir Richard.’ Remembering that Southwell himself had been pardoned for a murder by the old king, I was happy to add, ‘There are precedents. Excuse us, gentlemen.’ Southwell looked at me in outrage. I bowed quickly, knocked on the adjacent door which Barak had used, and passed through.

* * *

WE FOUND OURSELVES in a large office where half a dozen clerks were working on papers, Barak among them. The others gave me hostile glances, but Barak came across.

‘Guilty?’ he asked quietly.

‘I fear so.’

‘I thought that jury didn’t look sympathetic. Where’s that poor woman?’

‘I sent her back to her inn.’