Tombland

‘Southwell, of course. He had the most power and money, even then. But Gawen Reynolds never forgot or forgave; he never does. He was furious when the twins took up with Southwell’s band of gentlemen rogues, but’ – he shrugged – ‘not even their grandfather can prevent Gerald and Barnabas doing what they want. He had to swallow it.’

‘I see. I have been thinking too about the twins’ grandmother. How did you find her to deal with, when you were steward?’

‘Jane Reynolds was afraid of her own shadow. I sometimes wondered if she was in her right mind.’ He looked at me sharply. ‘Maybe her daughter inherited that.’

‘She said in court, “Edith, Edith, God save you, I wanted a boy.”’

He spoke dismissively. ‘Mistress Jane often said things that made no sense.’ Then with sudden intensity, he said, ‘Master Shardlake, I want to forget that family. I have different concerns now. I want to build a new and fairer England.’

I nodded. ‘I notice you seem to mix with the younger men, the more radical element.’

‘Yes. Those who have nothing, and should have their fair share.’

‘Yes, they should. But young men are excitable, and we do not want bloodshed.’

He smiled bitterly. ‘So Matthew Parker said. I think you are a good man, Master Shardlake, but you remind me that you are, like him, a man of the gentleman class.’

* * *

EARLY THAT EVENING , after work, there were entertainments in the camp, in the wide natural amphitheatre Goodwife Everneke had spoken of, beyond St Michael’s Chapel. Barak and I went to watch. We arrived to see a stage occupied by jugglers, tossing coloured balls to and fro with astonishing skill. Afterwards a tightrope walker crossed a rope between two trees, balancing himself with a long pole held in his arms. The crowd stood silent, fearful of seeing him fall, but he made it and descended the opposite tree to loud cheers and claps. Pennies were thrown to him.

A cockfight followed, which I did not wish to see, and I persuaded Barak to walk a little. I asked, ‘Did you notice a change in the attitude of the villagers towards us at dinner? They did not invite us to come here with their party.’

‘The news about Nicholas is out. People asked me about it, but I said there was a mistake. Perhaps we could sound out Kett again tomorrow.’

‘Yes. Ask the guards at St Michael’s Chapel first if he’s in a better mood.’

Barak answered, a little sharply, ‘Kett is anxious that nothing has been heard from the commissioners. And he has huge responsibilities. You can’t expect him to make Nicholas a priority.’

‘I know.’

‘Look, there’s young Natty, with Sooty Scambler.’

‘Don’t call him that! His name is Simon. Perhaps now he is among people from the villages that nickname can be forgotten.’

We approached the two boys. They were an oddly assorted pair; the quiet, powerfully built Natty and the thin, forever gesturing Simon.

‘God give you both good evening,’ I said.

‘And you,’ Natty answered cheerfully.

‘How is your friend young Stephen Walker?’

‘Diddlin’ along well enough. He’s with some other villagers from the Sandlings.’

‘Did you not feel like joining them?’

Natty shook his head. ‘He has family there. I like the Swardeston camp. They’re happy to take in waifs and strays, eh, Simon?’ He clapped Scambler lightly on the arm.

Scambler nodded. ‘Ay, waifs and strays though we be, we are not treated like grubs any more.’ He smiled at me, tremulously, as though unsure of his new happiness. It struck me that these two boys, abandoned by their country, were perhaps not such unlikely friends after all.

‘There’s a puppet show about to begin,’ Simon said to Natty. ‘Shall we watch?’

‘Ay, I’ve never seen such a thing.’

‘The puppeteers are Norwich men,’ Simon said excitedly. ‘I saw them once before. They’re wonderful.’ He clapped his hands and turned to us. ‘Will you come?’

‘Yes. So long as the cockfighting is over.’

Barak said, ‘He doesn’t like the sight of blood.’

‘No,’ I agreed emphatically. ‘I do not.’

* * *

WE MADE OUR WAY back to the Oak, where a large, brightly coloured stage had been erected, a curtain before it. The large crowd was noisily good-humoured, passing flagons of beer around. It was small beer, weak, and I heard someone complain that Captain Kett should allow more strong beer.

The curtains parted, to reveal a scene representing the interior of a wealthy house, with beautifully constructed miniature tables and chairs and even a buffet displaying tiny plates and flagons. Two puppets, held by puppeteers kneeling below behind a cloth, shuffled onto the stage. Their clothes were those of a rich lady and gentleman, and their painted faces were both severe. There were cheerful boos from the crowd.

The lady said in a haughty, scratching voice, ‘The rents from our land no longer keep me in fine dresses. What is to be done, Husband? I can afford no fine hood to cover my tresses.’

Her husband answered in a deep, ogre-like voice, ‘Fear not, good wife, I have a plan. I’ll turn my land to sheep, evict each and every man!’