Tombland

Our attention was drawn by shouting and cheering from the Guildhall at the top of the Market Square. I saw a crowd of men come out, carrying weapons – swords, spears, pikes and halberds – and placing them in carts. Michael Vowell was there, and he came over as I approached. He seemed a little drunk, but in good spirits.

‘Master Shardlake! See what we have! A little bird told me that above the Common Council’s meeting room is a false roof, hiding a store of weapons should the men of Norwich cause trouble! A fine addition to our stock, is it not?’

I looked at the weapons. ‘It certainly is.’

‘And another little bird told me about a stock of weapons at the City Chamberlain’s house. Not just arms but gunpowder, lots of it! It is ours now!’

I smiled. ‘You know a lot of little birds, Goodman Vowell.’

‘Good Norwich fellows.’ His chest expanded with pride. ‘I have been getting to know them.’

Two well-dressed women hurried by, and one of the men loading weapons called after them, ‘Come, feel some rebel’s meat inside you! Show us those soft ladies’ titties that have never seen the sun!’

Vowell laughed, but a soldier in charge of the work called out, in a sharp voice, ‘Shut you up! No women to be molested!’ The man turned back to his work, and the women hurried away. It was interesting to see that a chain of military command was clearly established now, and obeyed.

‘There were some barrels of wine in the Guildhall,’ Vowell said, half-apologetically. ‘Some of the men have been bezzling. Have you heard? The Herald has gone.’

‘I saw earlier that he got a rough reception at the Market Cross.’

His eyes narrowed as he looked east, towards the slowly setting sun. ‘And now he will ride back to London, to report to the Protector. And then we shall see. Fare ye well,’ he said abruptly, and walked back to the carts. A man with a bell was walking round the marketplace now, calling out loudly, ‘The market reopens tomorrow for an extra day’s trade, and will be open on each regular market day from now, and some extra days besides. Bring your goods, from town and country! Remember, you will have customers from the camp again!’

Chapter Fifty-nine

We walked up to Tombland. Barak complained that we had already had one of the most testing days of our lives, and suggested we just visit Josephine and go home. But I was in obstinate mood, perhaps because he had said I was moonstruck with Isabella. Plenty of people from Mousehold and the poorer parts of Norwich were abroad, in celebratory mood, but we attracted no attention, apart from a call from someone to ‘Join us fer a drink, old granfer!’

The Reynolds house was shuttered and bolted. A terrified-looking maid answered my knock, opening the door just a crack. I asked, ‘Is your mistress at home? My name is Overton.’ I gave Nicholas’s name rather than mine, which might be known to her, and spoke in my most cultivated tones to impress her.

I knew I was taking a chance, that Gawen Reynolds might appear and make us go. But the girl said, ‘She in’t here. She and the master have gone to visit the Sotherton house. It’s been raided, sir, those black-hearted rebels were looking for Master Leonard Sotherton, he that rode to London and came back with the Herald.’ The maidservant added, ‘It’s not far, in St Benedict’s Street off Pottergate.’ Then she closed the door.

I knew the Sothertons were another of the wealthy, long-established merchant families in Norwich. I was not surprised the rebels were after Leonard. Gawen Reynolds and his wife did not strike me as the sort to visit neighbours in distress, but doubtless the rich men of the city were sticking together now.

The Sotherton house was magnificent even by the standards of the Norwich merchants; I remembered Edward Brown telling me about the vast amount of work that had gone into building the flint walls. The outer courtyard wall, flush to the street, was indeed built of flint bricks, that hardest of materials knapped with such care and detail that the whole wall was smooth as actual brick.

The courtyard door was open, the lock smashed. We crossed the courtyard and climbed the steps to the main door. This time a steward answered. He had a black eye and looked as though he had been in a fight. He seemed relieved it was only a white-haired hunchback and a one-handed man who had come. ‘Yes?’ he asked warily.

‘I was told Mistress Gawen Reynolds is here. Might I speak with her privily? I am a lawyer, Master Overton.’ Again I gave Nicholas’s name.

The man looked at the suspicious contrast between my dress and accent, then sighed and opened the door. ‘The rebels have been here,’ he said. ‘They were after master’s brother. They buffeted me about.’