Tombland

Robert Kett banged on his desk, making everyone jump. He stood up and shouted at Toby, in a voice far louder than either Lockswood or Nicholas could have managed, ‘I trusted you, Lockswood, as a man who would help our fight for justice. But the boy is right, we will not win a better world with lies, and lies you have told! You are no fit man to help build a just Commonwealth! I revoke your authority as a liaison officer.’ Toby took a step back, shocked. Kett turned to the crowd. ‘Well, is Nicholas Overton guilty or innocent of the charges brought against him?’

A few called ‘Guilty’ but far more shouted ‘Innocent!’ And then, ‘Set him free!’ My biggest worry had been that Nicholas might have been unable to win over the crowd, but he had done it, and beautifully. Kett turned to him. ‘Master Overton, you are found innocent. I give you the choice of staying in the camp, or leaving it in peace if you prefer.’

Nicholas looked at Barak and me. Then he said, ‘If you permit, Captain Kett, I will stay with my friends.’

Toby pointed at Nicholas again, and yelled, ‘This is not over. None of it is over.’ I was reminded of Michael Vowell saying he wondered whether Toby was entirely in his right mind. Then Toby turned and pushed his way through the crowd. Most edged away from him. Nicholas walked, a little shakily, to where Barak and I stood. Kett took a deep breath, then waved to me. ‘Come up here, Master Shardlake, and be my guide on the law as we try the next cases. The looters and the thief,’ he added distastefully.

* * *

AFTER THE DRAMA of Nicholas’s trial, those that followed were an anti-climax, at least for me. Half a dozen alleged looters, denounced by their fellow-men, were brought forward. There was anger against them, not for stealing from the Norwich gentlemen, but for defrauding the common treasury in Surrey Place. Goods found in their huts were brought forward in evidence, gold and silver plates and vases, expensive jewellery, gold coins. All but two were found guilty by their fellows.

There remained only the thief who had stolen from his fellow camp-men. He was a pathetic figure, a thin, ragged middle-aged fellow with the red, broken-veined face of a drinker. His accuser, one of the Hundred representatives, said he was one of those who had come up from Norwich and attached himself to the camp, and that since his arrival ten days ago, several items had gone missing from neighbouring huts. A search of his hut had revealed stolen goods buried under the earthen floor. The evidence was brought up to the table, in a large leather bag which the accuser emptied. I looked at a little pile of goods of small value – a battered New Testament, a few silver coins, a necklace of cheap stones, rings and little brooches of poor gold. Those objects, though, would have great sentimental value for those who had brought them to Mousehold.

The man, whose name was Dorton, spoke in a voice which cracked slightly. ‘I’m guilty, Captain Kett, there’s no use pretending. I’m a bezzler and a sinner. But I’m a poor man with nobody in the world, and Christ our Lord forgave even the worst of men, did he not?’

Kett said to me quietly, ‘I think this confession settles matters, Master Shardlake?’ I nodded. He turned to Dorton. ‘I hope Christ may forgive you, but a poor man should not rob other poor men. The law of the country would have you hanged, but we are more merciful. You will leave the camp at once, and never return.’

I hardly heard Kett administer the sentence for, poking through the little collection of stolen goods, my eye was suddenly caught by the bright glint of pure gold. It was a woman’s wedding band, and an expensive one. I picked it up and looked at the inner side, screwing up my eyes to make out the inscription running round the ring. Then I froze. The tiny letters read: John Boleyn, 1530, Edith Reynolds

. I was holding Edith’s wedding ring, that had been missing from her arthritic finger when she had visited the Lady Elizabeth. And now here it was, amidst a collection of cheap goods stolen in the Mousehold camp.

Chapter Sixty-nine

Holding Edith’s wedding band, for a moment I felt faint, as I had in the hut, and shook my head. I heard Kett order Dorton to tell us from where he had stolen each item, so that the owners could claim them. I clutched the wedding ring in my hand. Some men came to the bench to claim their property, while the thief stood by, guarded by a soldier, head cast down. When the last item had been claimed, I opened my hand, showing Kett what lay within.

He gave me a curious look. ‘Whose is that?’

‘It belonged to the woman whose murder I am investigating. Her name and that of her husband are engraved inside the ring.’