Tombland

‘What of me?’ Nicholas asked ruefully. ‘Will I go back to the other cells, or the ones under the Guildhall? I hear they are bad.’

I felt a pang of conscience. I had left him here, his future uncertain, for two weeks. ‘No, Nicholas, I have managed to take care of that at last. You are returning with us to the camp. You are to have a public trial at the Oak tomorrow. But truth is on your side, you are a lawyer, and I have every hope you will be freed.’

Nicholas looked at Vowell. ‘If there is justice at these trials, I shall be.’

To my surprise, Vowell said, ‘I’ve sometimes thought Toby Lockswood’s gone a bit funny in the head. He’s always so ferocious against the gentlemen, never stops – people get tired of it.’

‘He lost both his parents just before the rebellion,’ I said. ‘And the family farm.’

Vowell inclined his head. ‘Well, that would unsettle anyone.’ He looked at Nicholas, ‘Boy, you must give an oath to Master Shardlake to stay with him, and not try to escape before your trial.’

Nicholas looked me in the eye. ‘I swear it.’

Boleyn asked, ‘What will happen to the Norwich gentlemen taken prisoner? Are they to have trials before that Oak of yours, too?’

‘That remains to be decided,’ Vowell said, his voice suddenly authoritative. ‘You and your wife should sit safely here, and ask no questions.’

‘It’s a long time since I dared ask anything,’ Boleyn said, with an edge to his voice and a savage glance at Vowell that reminded me again he had a temper.

Quickly changing the subject, Nicholas said, ‘We saw Northampton’s defeat from the window. We couldn’t see the fighting in Palace Plain, but late in the afternoon we saw Northampton’s forces running away, past the castle and through the gates.’ His brow clouded. ‘I never thought I’d see anything like it, a royal army, men trained to fight honourably to the last, pushing to get through the gates, shoving aside some of the richer citizens who were trying to get out – old people, women, children, many dressed only in their under-clothes, their fine dress thrown aside to try to hide their status.’ He shook his head. ‘It is not what I was brought up to believe warfare should be.’

Boleyn said, ‘I thought I saw the twins among those fleeing, but I couldn’t be certain. My devilish sons,’ he added with a sigh. He rose and embraced Nicholas. ‘Thank you, lad, for your company and friendship.’

‘And may you get your pardon.’

‘So I pray,’ Boleyn said. He looked at me. ‘Matthew, have you discovered any more about who killed Edith?’

‘It is hard to make enquiries in the present circumstances. But I will not give up.’

Boleyn embraced me too, though pointedly he ignored Vowell. We left him sitting on his bed, his face thoughtful.

* * *

AS WE WALKED DOWN the hill, I told Nicholas the news from the camp: first, that old Hector Johnson was dead.

‘I am sorry, he was a good man.’

‘And a brave soldier. He died honourably.’ I went on to tell him that Barak, Scambler and Natty were all safe, though Natty’s arm wound was giving him some trouble. ‘I spoke to Dr Belys, but he was little help. He is no friend to the rebellion. But if Natty fails to improve, I may contact him again, try to appeal to his better nature.’

Vowell raised his eyebrows. ‘Special treatment for one you have befriended?’

I sighed, too tired to argue. Nicholas shook his head again. ‘I cannot believe a royal army could flee so dishonourably.’

‘Against a pack of commoners?’ Vowell asked. ‘Is that it?’

‘No,’ Nicholas answered seriously. ‘The camp-men had greater numbers, but were not fully trained. Northampton’s army were the trained soldiers.’ He added quietly, ‘I wonder if our armies’ defeats in Scotland were like that.’

I asked Vowell, ‘What will happen to these new captives? Is Boleyn right, will they go for trial at the Oak?’

‘Captain Kett and his advisers have yet to decide. The mood in the camp after the battle – there may be demands for executions, they’re probably safer locked up.’ He looked at me. ‘I know you think me a dangerous radical, Master Shardlake, but I do not want them killed. Captain Kett was much angered by what was done to that Italian.’ It had started to rain. Vowell looked up at the sky. ‘We’d best get back quick as we can, or we’ll get drouched again.’

I thought, If that was the mood in the camp, then how would Nicholas fare on Tuesday?

Chapter Sixty-seven

The atmosphere in camp that evening remained euphoric after the victory over Northampton’s army, and, after the afternoon drizzle petered out, there was much drinking around the campfires, with music and singing. I remember one song I heard over and again; a jesting letter which a rebel had left at a manor house set to music:

Mr Pratt, your sheep are very fat,

And we thank you for that;

We have left you the skins

To pay for your wife’s pins,

And you must thank us for that.