Tombland

BY THE TIME we arrived back at the huts the men had returned from work. Dinner – a haunch of lamb tonight – had been set to cook on a roasting spit, recently taken from a manor house. The constant tang of wood smoke, sometimes drifting into my eyes, was another thing I had got used to this last week. Everyone was sweating, it was hotter and more close than ever, the evening sky milky grey. The villagers nodded to us, and I was pleased to see that Nicholas nodded back, as though to equals. Old Hector Johnson was there, and greeted us, too. So did young Natty, sitting with a fair-haired young man, his face already weather-beaten, who gave me a nervous look. I signed to Barak and Nicholas to stay where they were, and went over to him, extending a hand. ‘I am Matthew Shardlake. Are you Natty’s friend from the Sandlings?’

‘Ay, sir. Stephen Walker. Come to join the camp with others from my village.’

I sat beside him, carefully, for my back was sore after our long walk. ‘I believe Natty has told you I am a lawyer. Before I came to the camp I was investigating three murders.’

The young man frowned. ‘Natty said they were poor Wal Padbury, his ’prentice master in Norwich, and some woman, too.’

I thought, Poor Edith, always ‘some woman’, anonymous, unknown. ‘Yes,’ I said quietly.

Walker looked at me, anxiety in his sharp blue eyes. ‘If I tell what I saw, I won’t get into trouble?’

‘I promise. At most you may be asked to attend court as a witness.’

He looked at Natty. ‘That’s what I was feared of.’ He turned back to me, took a deep breath, then said, ‘I saw Wal Padbury’s body put in the sea.’

My eyes widened. ‘You saw that?’

Walker seemed to shy away a little. Natty put a hand on his arm. ‘Go on, Steve.’

Walker said, ‘One of the men I saw do it has a powerful friend, one of the most powerful in Norfolk. I half wish I hadn’t told Natty now, but I knew Wal, and he never hurt a fly.’

Natty smiled, showing white teeth in his brown face. ‘Powerful friends don’t matter like they did, bor. Look around this old camp.’

‘I understand your fear, Stephen, but if it helps, I can tell you I, too, have powerful friends. I am lawyer to the Lady Elizabeth.’

Walker looked impressed. He looked at Natty, who nodded. ‘Master Shardlake can be trusted. He is advising Captain Kett now.’

‘With the Lady Elizabeth’s knowledge?’

I coughed. ‘No. I – found myself caught up in the rebellion.’

‘But this is the King’s camp, Steve,’ Natty said encouragingly, ‘and we serve the Protector’s wish for reform; the Protector rules in the King’s name and the Lady Elizabeth’s his sister. Tell him, Steve, so that Wal and those others may be revenged.’

The young man took a deep breath. ‘It was last week. I’d been out’ – he looked at Natty – ‘collecting oysters.’

Natty nudged him. ‘Poaching, bor. Master Shardlake won’t report you. Everyone does it round our way – only the land belongs to one of the great men, he don’t allow oysters to be taken.’

Walker spoke with sudden passion. ‘He’s a man who deserves trial at the Oak, if anyone does.’

‘Just tell me what you saw.’

‘I was coming off the beach at the end of the day when I heard voices. I lay down in the long grass with my catch. Three men walked by, not ten yards from me, and they were carrying a body. I recognized poor Wal, his face all white, blood and brains caked on top of his head. I lay still, I knew if I moved, I’d be dead, too. They took Wal’s body across the sand, then right into the water, and dropped it in.’ He shuddered. ‘I remember the splash it made. They laughed as they did it. They probably thought the tide would carry it out to sea, but they don’t know the waters properly. Then they walked back to shore and away across the grass. They probably had horses somewhere nearby.’ He looked at me. ‘That’s it, master, that’s all I saw.’

I said quietly, ‘You said one of the men has a powerful friend.’

‘Yes. He’s a terror. The other two I’d never seen before.’

I said, ‘Were they by chance a pair of twins, about eighteen, fair-haired?’

Walker shook his head, puzzled. ‘No, they were in their twenties, and they weren’t twins.’

‘And the one you knew?’

‘I’ve seen him before, he visits his master’s land sometimes with his friends, makes trouble in the local tavern. You can’t miss him, he has a great brown mole on one cheek. There was a scandal last year about him abducting some poor young girl: he’s been even wilder since. His name is John Atkinson, and he serves that great lord, Sir Richard Southwell.’

Chapter Forty-nine

I thanked Walker and Natty for their help, then motioned Barak and Nicholas to follow me, away from our group of huts. I led them to where an elm tree stood some distance off, within view of St Michael’s Chapel. I told them what Walker had said.

Barak whistled. ‘Then Southwell could be involved after all? He had a motive for seeing Boleyn hanged – he could buy up Brikewell and connect his two pieces of neighbouring land, run it all to sheep.’