Tombland

Nicholas looked doubtful. ‘But we agreed before that given the scale of Southwell’s landownership, committing murder would not be worth it.’

I said, ‘Perhaps we were wrong. Southwell is a ruthless man. He has his own gang of thugs, and gained a pardon from murder years ago, from the old king. And now we know one of his men, John Atkinson, who we saw at the trial, was involved in the apprentice’s murder – and, it surely follows, that of the locksmith and Edith Boleyn, too.’

‘Atkinson and his thugs are friends of the Boleyn twins,’ Nicholas persisted. ‘They could have been acting for them, not Southwell. They seem to hire themselves out for all sorts of mischief.’

Barak said, ‘You’re right. It’s a possibility. It all comes back to the question of who stole that key – the twins, someone from Southwell’s gang who was with them at the tavern that night and was working for Southwell, or someone else. Even someone in Gawen Reynolds’s household, where the key was held overnight by the twins.’

‘I wonder whether there is any connection between the Reynolds household and Southwell,’ I said thoughtfully.

‘Where is Southwell?’ Barak asked. ‘As one of the biggest landowners in Norfolk I’d have thought he’d have been brought in. Trying him at the Oak would be a prize for Kett.’

‘Fled to London, I should guess,’ Nicholas said.

I took a deep breath, then looked towards the chapel, where another dusty, exhausted messenger was dismounting from a horse. I had promised Kett to say nothing of my encountering Southwell there. But he should know of this.

A familiar sturdy, black-bearded figure exited the main doors of St Michael’s Chapel; Toby Lockswood, a leather folder of papers under his arm, an expression of grim authority on his face. Barak nudged me. ‘The fount of all Norwich knowledge. He may know whether there are relations between the Southwell and Reynolds households, rather than just an association between his twins and Southwell’s thugs.’

‘We must keep this matter close. Nonetheless, it’s worth asking him that. And Reynolds’s old steward Vowell later, perhaps.’ I hailed him. ‘Toby!’

He frowned, but changed direction towards us. ‘Still here?’ he asked me brusquely. ‘I saw you perform at the Oak. Dancing to Captain Kett’s tune now, eh? A lawyer will always dance to whichever tune serves his interests.’

Barak said hotly, ‘You danced to Master Shardlake’s long enough when we were investigating the Boleyn case.’

Toby fixed him with angry dark eyes. ‘As I said, that was before I found a better cause.’ And before your parents died, I thought, reading the grief in his face. I said, ‘I only wished to ask you a question, which your local knowledge may answer. Do you know whether there is any connection between Gawen Reynolds’s household and that of Sir Richard Southwell? Did the two men know each other?’

‘Not that I’m aware of.’ He laughed. ‘Why are you still ferreting around that case? Isn’t the Lady Elizabeth arranging a pardon for Boleyn?’

‘I do not want the real murderer to remain free. A locksmith and his young apprentice died as well as Edith Boleyn, remember. Common people.’

‘Can’t help you,’ Toby said, and he began to move away. Then Nicholas stepped into his path. ‘Lockswood, you are a cold, secretive, vengeful man,’ he said with quiet intensity. ‘For weeks you worked with us, now you treat us like pieces of shit. And you had me imprisoned unjustly.’

Toby squared his shoulders. ‘You are shit,’ he said. ‘You care for nothing but posing as a gentleman. You should be tried at the Oak.’

‘For what?’

‘For what you are.’

Nicholas raised a fist. Toby laughed. ‘Go on, young gentleman, strike a senior officer of the camp. See what happens to you then.’

Barak laid his hand on Nicholas’s arm. ‘He’s not worth it.’

Toby pointed at Nicholas. ‘I’ll have you yet, boy.’ He turned and walked away into the camp.

We looked after him. ‘He’s a senior official now?’ Nicholas asked.

‘He’s literate, and has great knowledge of the Norfolk elite. Kett administers the camp through the representatives of the Hundreds, and it’s an efficient system. Miles and the soldiers are in charge of military matters, and I think both handle relations with supporters in Norwich. But I think Kett, like all leaders, is developing a circle of expert advisers. And Lockswood, I think, is one of them. We must be wary of him.’

* * *

WHEN WE ROSE AT first light the next morning the sky was grey, and growing darker. The heat was oppressive. I felt lice in my hair; I must find a barber. I shared a quick breakfast with the others, then made my way to St Michael’s Chapel. At this hour I hoped to catch Kett alone. The guards, who knew me now, let me pass.