Tombland

The woman clapped. The play continued with the introduction of a villainous steward, who suggested they conspire with a lawyer to say the tenants’ leases were ended. The lawyer then appeared, a dark-haired man in black robe and cap.

Simon began hopping with excitement as the play continued. It introduced a yeoman farmer with his own land, obviously intended to represent Robert Kett, accompanied by a group of tenants, who said they would take over the land. A fight followed in the house, with much knockabout humour as the puppet figures beat each other with sticks. People shouted, even the phlegmatic Natty calling on the tenants to ‘Culp the landlords proper!’

In the end the tenants won the fight and took the furniture from the house. The landowners and their lawyer, much buffeted about, were left alone on stage.

Clever as the performance was, I became a little tired with the stock characters and turned to ask Natty what people were saying about Nicholas. He looked at me seriously. ‘Most villagers have been suspicious of him, he’s known to have said things against the camp, but Goody Everneke says there’s no harm in him, it’s just that being here he’s like a fish out of water.’ He smiled. ‘And what she says counts.’

‘He has said stupid things in the past, but not this time. He was betrayed by Toby Lockswood, who worked with us before the rebellion, and who hates him.’

‘Are you sure?’ Natty’s honest face registered surprise.

‘I would swear it.’

‘So would I,’ added Barak.

Natty raised his eyebrows. ‘Toby Lockswood is become a powerful figure here. He is one of those who can read and write, and has thought much on the Commonwealth. But Captain Kett will find the truth of it.’

‘I hope so.’ I turned back to the puppet play, which was almost at an end. Left alone in their empty house, the landowner and his wife argued about what they would do. The man said, ‘Wife, the days of your fine clothes are over. You must sell them all, dress like the wife of a poor drover.’ The wife shrieked, and then the puppeteer did an amazing thing. He upended the puppet, pulling her clothes over her head to reveal that underneath was another set, woven to represent poor, torn rags. But the biggest surprise was that under her dress was a second head, exactly the same, so that in an instant the fine lady was transformed into a ragged woman. The crowd roared and cheered. Something stirred at the back of my mind, some thought I could not quite formulate connected to the Boleyn case. But then I was distracted by Simon nudging me hard in the ribs again with a bony elbow. ‘Master Shardlake, how did they do that? It was wonderful, wonderful!’

‘Yes, Simon, it was,’ I answered. The thought was gone.

The play was ended, all the puppets bowed. The puppeteers rose up and bowed too. Roars of applause greeted them.

The cheers were dying down when I noticed a disturbance to one side of the crowd. People were gathering round a young man who was talking animatedly. I recognized Edward Brown. Barak and I hastened over. Fearing something might have happened to Josephine, I stepped forward and grasped his arm. ‘Edward, what goes on?’

He paused to take a breath. ‘Our scouts in the countryside have reported a royal Herald from London riding fast for Norwich with his attendants. They are almost at Wymondham. His coming is known to the city council, who are making preparations to receive him. We have informants among the servants.’

‘Does Captain Kett know?’

‘I just told him.’

Someone asked, ‘A Herald, not the commissioners?’

‘Yes. And he’s headed for Norwich, not the camp. But,’ he added excitedly, ‘this may be an answer to our demands. I had heard that Heralds have been sent to other camps.’

Barak’s eyes narrowed. He fingered his artificial hand nervously. ‘But what sort of answer?’

Chapter Fifty-three

Having delivered his message, Edward was due to return to Norwich immediately. I detained him a moment to ask how things were in the city. ‘There’s a bit of trouble sometimes, but nothing serious.’ He grinned. ‘Gentlemen getting pushed and shoved in the streets, their caps knocked off, lads baring their arses at them.’

‘And how is Josephine? And little Mousy?’

‘Mousy is thriving, thanks to the money you gave us.’ His face fell. ‘But Josephine – the troubles in the city, mild as they are, and seeing the camp here, on what the gentlemen call the frowning brow of Mousehold – they worry her. She fears any threat of violence; it brings back her childhood. I have to be away from home a lot, and she gets frightened. I do my best to take care of her.’

‘I know,’ I said gently.

‘You look surprisingly well, sir, after what happened at the hanging.’

I laughed. ‘It’s strange, sleeping on bracken and moving around all day instead of sitting at a desk has improved my back. I just wish it were not so hot.’

‘So do we all.’ He bowed, our conversation at an end, and began running back down to Norwich.

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