Tombland

We met Barak at the Blue Boar Inn, for we planned to cross Bishopsgate Bridge and ride south along the riverbank, along the foot of Mousehold Heath. Edward rode his horse easily, though Josephine was a little nervous at first. We clattered over Bishopsgate Bridge and began following the path along the riverside. Barak had his artificial hand in place, and, from the look of him, had not had a drink that day – Nicholas and I had been keeping a careful eye out.

Edward looked up the road leading to the escarpment, which close to was steeper and higher than I had realized, to the palace of the Earl of Surrey at the top, deserted behind its walls. Away to the north two large windmills turned slowly – there must be a breeze up there. ‘They say the palace is magnificent inside,’ I observed.

‘Nobody there now but the escheator’s caretakers, same as at the Duke of Norfolk’s palace in town.’ Edward smiled wryly. ‘The late Earl of Surrey built it to be a marvel for the whole city, that’s why he put it atop Mousehold Heights.’

‘Was not Richard Southwell involved in the fall of the Earl of Surrey and his father?’

‘Yes. Gave evidence at the Earl of Surrey’s trial, that Surrey quartered his arms with the old king’s – though Southwell served his father the Duke for years. He is a man without morals.’

‘Sounds like Norfolk’s answer to Richard Rich,’ Barak observed.

I thanked Edward for agreeing to let his wife minister to my back. ‘We were glad to help you,’ he answered. ‘After your kindness in seeking us out to aid us.’

‘Do you still have work carting stone at the cathedral?’

Edward sighed. ‘It is almost done.’ He looked at me. ‘Josephine and I will move back to London, if you can help us.’ He looked at me, his thin, handsome face embarrassed at having to ask for charity once more.

‘I’m sure I can find you both work.’

Josephine smiled. ‘And Mousy can grow up a Londoner, like her father.’

‘But not quite yet,’ Edward answered, with a quick glance at his wife. ‘Perhaps in the autumn.’

‘You only have to write,’ I said.

As we rode southwards, to our left the ascent to Mousehold gradually became less steep, and we saw thick woods stretching down to flat cultivated land between the river and the heath. We rode into the little hamlet of Thorpe, where we took some beer at an inn overlooking the river.

‘It is a beautiful country,’ I observed.

‘London will be better for Mousy,’ Josephine replied.

Edward was looking up at the heath, less wooded here, wide, a gently rising expanse of yellow grass dotted with sheep that he told me belonged to the cathedral. ‘Wat Tyler’s rebels had a camp up there two hundred years ago,’ he said. ‘And there’s a chapel to St William up in the woods, the boy they said the Jews murdered to drink his blood back in King Stephen’s time.’

Barak said, ‘My father had Jewish ancestry. We never drank any blood.’

Edward reddened. ‘I am sorry, I did not know. Anyway, his shrine in the cathedral was taken down by the old king.’

‘Was not Our Saviour himself a Jew?’ Josephine asked.

‘Yes,’ Edward replied. ‘And a poor man, a carpenter.’

Barak looked across the river at the spires and towers of the Norwich churches. ‘I wonder what He’d make of all those. Not much, probably.’

We rode back the way we had come. By the time Bishopsgate Bridge came into view again, I calculated we had ridden four miles, and I had only a slight ache in my back. I thought that I could make it to London now if we took it in easy stages.

As we approached Bishopsgate Bridge, we saw three men descending the road from the escarpment. They were working men, in grey smocks, one with the rolling walk of a ploughman, the others with the faster pace of city people. One, I noticed, held himself in a soldierly way, firmly upright, pace even, arms swinging. They were almost at the foot of the hill. They halted at the sight of our little party, looking surprised. Edward raised a hand to them. ‘I know one of those fellows,’ he said. ‘Excuse me.’ He dismounted, walked over to the men and shook their hands. They were too far away for me to hear more than a murmur. I saw Josephine watching me carefully. I tried to listen, remembering that other meeting between Edward and the soldier at the Blue Boar, but caught only one man saying, ‘Apart from lack of water, it’s ideal.’

They parted, and Edward rode back to us. There was a sparkle of excitement in his eyes. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘we must get back. Juliet Wingate said she could only keep Mousy till five.’

We left Barak at the Blue Boar, and as we parted from Josephine and Edward outside the Maid’s Head, I said we would be leaving in a day or two now. ‘You should, sir,’ Josephine said. ‘You must have business waiting in London.’ She sounded surprisingly eager to see me gone, and I felt a little hurt. ‘We will write soon,’ Edward said.

Nicholas and I rode into the stableyard. To my surprise, Master Theobald himself bustled in, waving a letter with a large red seal. He handed it up to me. ‘This came just after you left.’