Tombland

He looked up. His eyes narrowed for a moment. ‘God give you good afternoon, Serjeant Shardlake. As you see, I am on digging duty again.’ His tone was friendly enough but with, I sensed again, a certain reserve: he was, like me, now a suspect of Miles’s betrayal, so perhaps that was unsurprising.

‘I would have thought you would be training, either here or in Norwich.’

‘I have bad feet,’ he said. ‘So I stay here and dig.’ He wiped his brow.

‘You will be safer, at least,’ I said. ‘And the digging is useful; we have had none of the flux in the camp.’

He looked at me. ‘Perhaps, but I would rather fight. I would not mind dying. With my sisters gone, and my trade, I have little to live for.’ He looked at me with sudden anger. ‘Perhaps if we win, the Protector will agree to the changes we all want. Then there will be hope.’

‘Yes, perhaps.’

He turned away and resumed his digging.

Chapter Sixty-three

Next morning, the last day of July, the weather had still not broken, though the sky remained grey, and the damp heat even greater. I stayed in camp with Barak, who said part of him wished he had been allowed to fight, throughout that day and the next, and hence – with one gruesome exception – my knowledge of the battle that followed came at second hand. That first morning, at the Oak of Reformation and elsewhere in the camp, Holy Communion was administered under the new English rite to those due to fight that day, by Reverend Conyers and the scattering of other clergymen in the camp. I had been drawn to Conyers before; I little doubted the trouble he would face when his superiors knew he was giving Communion before battle to the Mousehold men. And as he now gave Communion to a long line of men who knew they might not survive the day, it was his gentleness, his quiet sincerity, which struck me. Among those waiting in line I saw Natty and Hector Johnson. Barak had stayed away, for he had always wanted as little as possible to do with religion.

It was a long time since I had taken Communion myself, and never under the new rite. When I had done so in the last years of the old king’s reign, it had been through political expediency, to show good conformity. Yet now my mind went back, past the days when I had been a Lutheran radical, to when I was a child, a firm believer like everyone then in the old Catholic religion. I remembered the time, which then had felt so special and pure, when I received the wafer, the body of Christ, and, for a moment, felt a mystical union with God. I surprised myself at these memories; I thought such feelings long gone after the terrible things I had seen done since in the name of God, both by Protestants and Catholics. And then I crossed the ground, beaten flat by many feet, and joined the line. Having done so, I felt for a moment ashamed, that I did not belong here among these men facing death, but I stayed.

My turn came, and Reverend Conyers gave me the bread and wine, saying as I took it, ‘The body of our Lord Jesus Christ which was given for thee, preserve thy body and soul to everlasting life. The blood of our Lord Jesus Christ which was shed for thee, preserve thy body and soul to everlasting life.’ Once again, I felt something strange, mystical, a unity with something beyond. I looked into Conyers’s face; he nodded and gave me an unexpectedly sweet smile. Then I moved away. What I had felt momentarily was gone, though something, like an aftertaste, remained.

* * *

I WALKED TO THE crest of the hill, where a number of older men and women, together with the wounded from the taking of Norwich, had also gathered. Barak was there, but not Josephine; he told me she was in her hut with Mousy, trying to distract herself from thoughts of what might happen to Edward. Hundreds of men armed with spears, halberds and bows appeared and began descending the steep hill. I saw one group led by Hector Johnson. Then came the mounted cannon, the horses steadying the gun carriages from behind while in front men eased the guns across the iron-hard ruts. Simon was among those guiding the horses. A group of horsemen with pikes followed. Then, with set, serious faces, rode Robert and William Kett, to loud cheers, and John Miles. More and more men followed, near a thousand. At the bottom of the hill everyone gathered in formation on our side of the river, waiting.

We stayed there all day. Still nothing happened, and for a while I even dozed off. Josephine came, carrying Mousy, and woke me up, but when I told her I had seen nothing she went away again. A little later Barak nudged me awake and we saw a strange thing – Mayor Codd on horseback, accompanied by some of our men, riding downhill as fast as they could, then crossing Bishopsgate Bridge and entering the city.

* * *

I LEARNED WHAT had happened in Norwich from Edward Brown, that evening – he came back quickly to see Josephine before returning to the city. He told us the story outside his hut, his arm around his wife, Mousy asleep in Josephine’s arms.