Tombland

‘I hope so,’ I said. Like everyone, I was moved by Kett’s speech, but the image of streets red with blood came into my head.

* * *

WE SPENT THE NEXT few hours at the various entertainments. There were tumblers, juggling boys and a bear-baiting which Barak, Natty and Nicholas went to see, but which I avoided. I walked away a little with Josephine. ‘What did you think of Captain Kett’s speech?’ I asked.

‘A great speech by a great man. Edward believes we can win. And I feel stronger now, the path is set and we must go down it.’ She gave me a direct look with her clear blue eyes; how far she had come from the timid Josephine I had once known.

‘Yes, it seems we must,’ I agreed.

She smiled. ‘You said, “we”. Does that mean you count yourself fully amongst us now?’

‘Yes, I think it does.’ I answered seriously. ‘Though I do not know what will happen.’

‘Who does?’ She smiled. ‘Sir, you ever foresaw the worst.’

‘Perhaps.’

‘Will you hold Mousy a little? I would like to look at the stalls.’

As always, I was happy to hold the child, who smiled at me, said something that sounded like ‘Ellow’, though it was probably just a gurgling, then nestled into my chest and fell asleep. I walked with Josephine among the trestle tables, where pies and beer were for sale, together with objects taken from the manor houses but not valuable enough for Kett’s treasury – a porcelain bowl set with holes, smelling of the lavender within, a tin stork painted gold, once a doorstop, a toy wooden dog which I bought for Mousy.

We walked on. We passed Michael Vowell and his friends again. ‘That was the greatest speech Captain Kett has ever made,’ he said enthusiastically. ‘That will end talk of seeking some sort of pardon.’ His young friends agreed loudly.

Josephine and I began walking back to rejoin the others, making our way through the good-natured crowds. But we had only gone a few yards when a man stepped into our path. Toby Lockswood, looking unkempt and smelling of drink. ‘Master Shardlake,’ he said sneeringly. ‘Taking another man’s wife and child for a walk?’

I made to push past him, but he grabbed my arm. ‘Have a care for the child!’ I shouted. Mousy began to cry, and Josephine stared at Lockswood with horrified anger.

He leaned in to me. ‘I hear you had a letter from the Lady Elizabeth’s Comptroller a while back, insulting our camp.’

‘How could you know that?’

He smiled, a flash of white teeth amid his thick, tangled beard. ‘I heard a lot before that boy of yours lost me my post. I’ve been spreading the news. Telling my fellows you serve one of the richest people in the land. And that you nurse our enemy, that viper Overton, to your bosom as closely as that baby. Watch out, Master Shardlake, word about you is spreading.’ He turned and walked away.

Josephine looked at me. ‘Was that the man who used to work for you?’

‘Yes. I think he is a little mad now.’ I heard a trembling in my voice, for the idea of someone with Toby Lockswood’s connections spreading poison about me around the camp was troubling indeed.

* * *

THE HIGHLIGHT OF THE afternoon, just before the camping game, was a mock joust. Two lines of hurdles had been set up, small tents at each end. Two competitors on horseback emerged from the tents carrying lances. One was dressed in armour of painted linen, with the arms of the Marquess of Northampton on the front. He looked over the crowd with a haughty expression. His lance was of cloth painted black. In contrast to the great horses of a real joust, his horse, too, was made of cloth, its painted wooden head sporting a ridiculous grin. Inside would be two men, one the front legs, the other the back. No doubt these things had been brought from village plays. From the opposite tent a young man from the camp dressed in an ordinary shirt and sleeveless leather jacket held up his own painted lance. He sat on a real horse, though, a small placid-looking animal. The crowd laughed loudly, especially at the ‘knight’s’ horse.

‘Mock me not, country blockheads!’ the knight shouted in a put-on aristocratic accent: ‘I am a warrior knight, and shall have this seditious stirrer’s head from his shoulders!’ There were boos and shouts from the crowd, and the painted horse shook its head in disapproval.

We were standing with the Swardeston people just by the pretend ‘knight’. Everyone was laughing, even Nicholas, while Simon laughed so uncontrollably that Barak warned him not to piss himself.

Then Simon did a stupid thing. He leaned over the hurdle and gave the knight’s ‘horse’ a resounding smack on the rear. There was a cry of ‘Hey!’ from inside and it staggered, so that the knight and his mount nearly fell over. The knight turned his head and said, in broad Norfolk, ‘What the fuck are you doing, girtle-head?’ I heard someone nearby say, ‘Sooty Scambler, might’ve known.’ Nicholas took his arm. ‘Oh, Simon,’ he said. ‘You’re so good with horses, why do you always make these mistakes with people?’