Tombland

As for attempts to follow the movements of the woman we discussed, on which the Lady Elizabeth still insists, we know now she lodged at a poor tavern in Knebworth briefly, under another name, before moving to the house nearby of which I wrote previously. Where she came from before that we cannot trace. Her story was that she was from Leicester, travelling to her family in London following recent widowhood, slowly, due to poor health. The Knebworth innkeeper said she was indeed thin, pale, and sick-looking. But there for now the trail ends. May you have had better luck tracing her in Norwich.

I hope I may hear from you more fully soon.

Your loving friend,

Thomas Parry

He had been careful not to name Edith Boleyn, trying as ever to keep a distance between Elizabeth and the murdered woman; but apart from the tone in which he discussed the rebels there was nothing in the letter to worry Kett or whoever had intercepted it. I put it in my purse; I must write back, though I could hardly say I was in the camp working for Kett. Well, I thought, at least the Lady Elizabeth seems concerned for me.

Michael Vowell looked at me curiously. I said, ‘Nothing urgent. Thank you for waiting. Let us go on.’

We walked through Tombland, turning up Pottergate Street to the castle mound. There were more signs of looting in the central, richer parts of Norwich, with the courtyard doors of some houses smashed down. Bands of men still roamed about, but so did groups of Kett’s soldiers, keeping an eye on them. I was glad to have Vowell beside me. I took the opportunity to tell him of my recent encounter with Gawen Reynolds’s family, and asked him if he thought Reynolds ever beat his wife.

‘I don’t think so, he yagged at her all the time but she is such a frail creature, even a little culp might kill her. The bandages on her hands are because of a swelling and twisting of the knuckles. It runs in her family. Apparently, her mother had it from late middle age, and so did Edith. The twins will probably get it, too,’ he added with satisfaction.

‘I hear they were in the Norwich battle.’

‘I heard so too. They probably fought better than the Italian mercenaries, they didn’t put up quite the fight I think Northampton expected of them. If it had been the German and Swiss landsknechts –’ he shook his head. ‘Those people are the terror of Europe.’

‘You were lucky to escape uninjured.’

‘Ay, I was. I was leading men from the countryside through the streets of Norwich, I escaped the main battle and after that it was just a matter of chasing Northampton’s people out.’

We took the turning into the marketplace. I was relieved to see the buildings around it were undamaged, though blackened with soot from where Northampton’s army had camped. Otherwise it was like a normal market day, stalls crowded, people bickering over prices. The camp-men had been given enough from Kett’s treasury to buy new heavy shoes, horn-lamps for the slowly lengthening evenings, and woollen clothes and caps for the colder weather. I was a familiar figure at the inn now and we were readily admitted to the parlour, told Mistress Boleyn would be informed of my presence, and invited to sit.

We rose and bowed when Isabella and Chawry entered. Isabella had an unusual expression on her face; cold and set. Daniel Chawry, meanwhile, looked angry yet somehow hangdog at the same time. Three long, parallel scratches ran down the right side of his face.

I introduced Vowell, saying only that he was an official from the camp. Chawry gave him a glare.

‘How fares your husband?’ I asked Isabella.

‘Well enough. It appears the castle gaol, and the one beneath the Guildhall, are fuller still of gentleman prisoners since the battle five days ago. One of Kett’s men has been placed to work with Constable Fordhill; Robert Isod, a tanner, who seems a decent enough man. John is safe in the room he was given, and pleased to have Nicholas for company. They spend much time talking, and playing chess.’ She smiled, then looked downcast. ‘Nicholas learned that one of those held prisoner in the castle, my husband’s neighbour Leonard Witherington, died yesterday. He and my husband were enemies, but it is still sad. Gentlemen are not used to such treatment.’ She gave Vowell a challenging look, which he returned.