Tombland

‘No, in London.’ Barak did not elaborate.

Bread and cheese, and more ale, were passed around and devoured hungrily. Again I marvelled at the level of organization these men had achieved so quickly. Food was unloaded from our carts and more brought from Norwich; these poor men had given what they had. Vowell lay down, to snatch some rest. I said to Barak, ‘You still at the back?’

‘Ay. Nick is quiet now. They’ve put the twins and Witherington in another cart, which is just as well for Nick. They kept shouting insults at him until someone smacked them across the mouth.’

‘What did the rebels do to Witherington?’

He laughed. ‘Just roughed him up a little. They’re keeping to Kett’s orders.’

I looked at the distant, looming heath.

I said urgently, ‘If we make a permanent camp, how do you feed so many? What do they drink? What if the weather breaks? There is no shelter. We saw numbers as great as this on the old king’s Progress to the North, and the army at Portsmouth, but that took months of organizing.’

‘Much depends on Kett.’

I looked across the crowds, mostly seated now, village banners waving in the slight, welcome breeze that had arisen. I said quietly, ‘If there are spies for the rebels in the city, I wonder if the city rulers have spies out here, too.’

Barak inclined his head. ‘There’s a question.’

* * *

THERE FOLLOWED ANOTHER short march across open country to Bowthorpe. The place between my shoulder blades felt as though it was on fire, and my legs were numb, like pieces of wood. But I had no alternative other than to put one foot in front of the other. The dust stung my eyes.

Just outside the village was a wood. Here the march halted, and I headed for the nearest tree, another of the broad Norfolk oaks. Vowell called to me to wait, but I ignored him. The moment I passed under its branches, though, and felt the blessed coolness of the shade, a shiver passed through my body, and my legs buckled under me. In the second before I fainted I seemed to hear again the yells of the crowd at the execution.

* * *

I WOKE WITH A START . I was lying on something hard but comfortable, and above me a wide canvas sheet was stretched. I groaned and looked around. Beside me, kneeling on his haunches, was a boy in his late teens, wearing a torn and dirty smock. Young as he was, he was tall and powerfully built, and held a club across his knees. In contrast with his big frame he had small, neat features, curly fair hair white with dust and a scraggy little beard. He looked at me with small, intelligent brown eyes.

‘Where am I?’ I whispered.

‘Bowthorpe Wood, outside the village,’ he answered quietly. ‘Yew be all right, they rigged this little tent between the trees. Yew fainted.’

My mouth hurt; I tasted blood, and realized my lip was split. ‘Yew fell on yer face,’ the boy said, holding out a flagon. ‘Reckon you’ll need some o’ this.’

I struggled to raise myself on my elbows. My head swam a little. I heard a crackling sound beneath me, and realized I was lying on a bed of bracken. I took a long swig of ale. ‘How long have I been out?’ I asked.

‘’Bout quarter an hour. I’ve been set to watch you.’

‘What’s your name?’

‘Nathanial. Natty.’

I handed back the flagon. ‘Thank you.’ I put a hand to the purse containing Isabella’s money; it was still at my belt. Natty’s eyes had never left mine; as though he were studying me, weighing me up. I felt a spurt of irritation – did he think I was in a state to run away? I lay back on the bracken, and immediately fell asleep.

I was wakened by a hand shaking my shoulder. Barak was leaning over me. The boy still sat on his haunches, looking with interest at Barak’s artificial hand. Perhaps an hour had passed, for the sun was lower. I heard the ring of axes against trees, smelt smoke from cooking fires. ‘How are you?’ Barak asked. ‘I heard you’d fainted.’

‘Better now,’ I said. ‘I was – exhausted.’

‘You’re not the only one. A few of the older men passed out. You’re lucky to get this place, Bowthorpe Wood isn’t near big enough to shelter everyone. And trees are being chopped down for cooking fires.’

‘What happens tomorrow?’ I asked.

‘There’s going to be another go at persuading the city council to allow us to pass through Norwich. So we’re going to have to go back to the city. If they won’t let us through, we’re going to have to march round it to Mousehold Heath. It’ll be a long way round.’ I suppressed a groan.

A man appeared, bending to get under the canvas, his large eyes red from the dust of the road. Toby Lockswood. ‘Master Shardlake,’ he said. ‘Jack.’

Barak nodded expressionlessly, doubtless remembering, like me, what had happened to Nicholas and how this man, who had worked with us for weeks, now spoke to us as though we were virtual strangers.

‘I come from Robert Kett,’ he told me. ‘He’s on his way to see you. You’re lucky he could spare five minutes, there’s much to organize.’

‘There must be,’ I agreed quietly. ‘How many are there now?’