Tombland

She looked at Nicholas and shook her head affectionately. ‘I always thought you a good lad, despite your—’

‘Antrums,’ Barak finished the sentence for her.

‘I will. Edward was not sure if he would be back tonight, but I will speak to him.’

Nicholas took a deep breath. ‘Thank you, Josephine. They are right, I must bridle my tongue.’

Beside me, Mousy reached up again for my hand, making little squeaking noises. Josephine smiled and picked her up. ‘She likes you. Those noises she makes, Mousy is the right name for her.’ She kissed the child. ‘When Master Shardlake has clean hands, he may let you play with him.’ Her face became serious. ‘It is her I fear for, if things become violent. I remember what it is like to be a child caught up in war.’

* * *

OUR FINAL VISIT that day was to Scambler’s aunt, down in Ber Street. I was tired now, my back hurting again. It was early afternoon, the hottest time of day. It would be another long walk back to Tombland, across Bishopsgate Bridge and up to the camp.

As we made our way Barak said, ‘So Edward is right in the thick of it.’

‘Yes. I suspected so.’

Nicholas shook his head, then laughed. ‘So it has come to this, a gentleman needs the word of a stonemason’s labourer to keep him from trouble. But I always liked him, and Josephine, and for now at least I must accept my situation.’

‘Good,’ Barak and I answered in unison.

* * *

WE REACHED THE poor little house where Scambler had lived. I knocked on the door, and heard the familiar shuffling and grumbling from within.

‘You!’ His aunt hesitated then laughed, a scratching sound. ‘By heaven, you are come down in the world.’

‘We are held at the camp,’ I said. ‘We have been allowed to visit Norwich, and came to ask after Simon. Have you had any news?’

Her mouth puckered angrily. ‘No, Master Lawyer, I haven’t. And I don’t care where he is, the godless creature. Those who deny the chance of salvation are the most cursed, and Sooty can find his own way to hell. I have enough to worry about, with those rebels up at Mousehold Heath. Some say they are good Protestants, but the Bible tells us to render unto Caesar that which is Caesar’s, not destroy the order which God has created. You can tell Robert Kett that from me.’

And she slammed the door in our faces once more.

Chapter Forty-seven

It was a long, tiring walk back to the camp. As we crossed Bishopsgate Bridge there were still swimmers in the river, trying to keep cool in the heat.

‘I think I’ll have a swim,’ Barak said, raising his sleeve and unbuckling his artificial hand. ‘Haven’t washed for a week. Come on, Nick, boy!’ He looked at me. ‘What about you?’

‘I’ll watch our packs,’ I said. I was not going to display my hunched back before the men of Mousehold camp. Nicholas and Barak disrobed and stepped carefully through the weeds into the muddy water, Nicholas white-skinned, slim but muscular; Barak dark and solid, untroubled by stares at the stump on the end of his right arm. I looked up at the sky, blue and cloudless. Since the thunderstorm several weeks ago there had been no rain; the coming harvest would indeed be bad. I rubbed a painful spot on my hand where I had been stung by one of the burrowing wasps that lived in the sandy Mousehold soil. I had seen adders there, too.

I sat up as a shadow fell over me. The boy Natty had emerged from the river and stood above me, drying himself with his shirt, his strong, heavy body stark naked. Quite unembarrassed, he said, ‘You not goin’ in, marster?’

‘Not today.’

He said, ‘You remember the man I told you of, from the Sandlings?’

‘I do.’

‘I spoke to him. He can tell you something important. I’ve asked him to come to our huts tonight. He’s a bit afraid, but he will. He says it was a wicked thing.’

‘Thank you, Natty. I am very grateful.’

He studied me, rubbing his broad shoulders dry. ‘You care then, for the death of a poor ’prentice?’

‘Yes. And that of his master, and a woman, who I think were murdered by the same people.’

He said quietly, ‘Ay, I see you do.’ He found the rest of his clothes, dressed, and walked away up the steep hill. The young lad’s belief in me moved me strangely.

* * *

THAT NIGHT I FELT clammy, and found it hard to sleep. When we rose at dawn, I saw the sky was milky white, not blue, and the air, hotter than ever, was sticky. We breakfasted with the Swardeston villagers as usual – about fifteen of us. Then the men went off to hear Conyers’s sermon before starting their day’s labour in the woods, digging cesspits, or building huts. A messenger had come round the previous night with the packs from my horse, and I pulled out my robe and put it on. Immediately, there were catcalls from those gathered round the cooking fire: ‘He’s a-gettin’ his lawyer’s robe on, hands to yer purses.’ The humour was good-natured, though, and no one mocked me for a hunchback; after several days my camp-mates had realized I was harmless.

‘I go to help Captain Kett at the Oak of Reformation,’ I said with a smile.