Tombland

NORWICH WAS FULL OF Kett’s soldiers. As we walked to Tombland, I saw over a hundred men at archery practice on St Martin’s Plain. Spearmen were being guided through the narrow lanes leading down to the Market Square by Norwich men, who pointed out coloured posts set in the ground to mark the way, while everywhere the city walls were being reinforced, men patrolling the top. Among those piling up stones I saw Toby Lockswood; at least he had never been afraid of hard work. At Tombland we said farewell to Josephine and Edward, who disappeared with Mousy. I wondered when I would see them again.

The market was again full of traders. Our carts were unloaded and bargaining began, though the traders haggled less intensely today – perhaps, with Warwick’s army almost at their door, they felt a sense of duty. Nonetheless, several times I had to point out the true value of a Venetian crystal vase or piece of gold jewellery. Again I looked for the pendant which reminded me of Catherine Parr’s, but did not see it.

Robert Kett was not present today; his brother William had taken his place. By early afternoon the carts were empty of valuables but, together with others we had brought down, full of food. William Kett approached me. He looked contemptuously at the gold plate and jewellery the traders were stuffing into their bags. ‘Stuff,’ he barked. ‘What use are such things to us now?’

‘None, sir, I agree. It was a good idea to sell everything.’

He looked at me. ‘I imagine you have some valuables at your home in London.’

‘Nothing I could not do without. I wondered, sir, whether before returning to camp I might visit Master Boleyn in Norwich Castle, with Master Overton. I doubt I will get the chance to see him again before –’

‘Before things get rough.’ He nodded. ‘Ay, go, but be back at camp tonight.’

‘I will.’ I signalled to Nicholas, who was assisting Simon in quieting a restless horse. ‘Would you like to see Isabella Boleyn again?’ I asked him.

* * *

AS USUAL I FOUND the long walk up the Castle Mound tiring; although the bracken bedding in the hut had been strangely good for my back, recently it had become painful again, and my joints ached. The wetter, cooler weather of August had probably played its part.

Once more we were admitted to the castle. In the Central Hall something was happening; a large table had been set up and several gentlemen, their feet chained, were being questioned by one of Kett’s men. It reminded me of the odd scene at Surrey Place a few days before. I asked the guard accompanying us what was happening.

‘Nothing,’ he replied evasively. ‘Just some stuff to be recorded.’

He led us to Boleyn’s cell. When he knocked at the door, Boleyn’s voice called hastily, ‘A moment,’ and I heard a loud creaking from the bed. The guard smiled. ‘Nice way to pass the time, eh?’

He waited a minute, then opened the door. John Boleyn was hastily buttoning his doublet. Behind him, Isabella was smoothing down her dress. Boleyn said, ‘Master Shardlake, Master Overton, I had not expected to see you. Word is the Earl of Warwick’s army may be here tomorrow. I hope we will be safe enough here, but you should return to London while you can.’ He looked at me seriously, and Isabella nodded agreement.

I answered evasively. ‘Certainly this may be the last chance we have to meet for some time. How are you?’

‘We are both well enough.’ He looked at Isabella and smiled. She smiled back, reddening slightly. He continued, ‘Something is going on in the castle, we don’t know what, but some gentlemen are being moved. They have been put in chains again.’

‘We saw something down in the Castle Hall, but nobody would tell us what is happening,’ I replied.

Boleyn put a hand in Isabella’s. ‘We will be safe, my dear, we were put here by the authorities, not Kett’s men.’ He turned to me. ‘Have you any more news about Edith?’ He shook his head. ‘That was an extraordinary story you told us.’

‘None, I fear. We know she visited a – distant relation – seeking money early in May, but then nothing, till she was found murdered.’

Isabella said, ‘I have been thinking about that poor creature. It seems her parents treated her harshly.’

John Boleyn said nothing, still resolutely unforgiving of his late wife. I asked, ‘Have you heard aught from Daniel Chawry?’

‘Nothing,’ Boleyn replied angrily. ‘I think he has fled.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Isabella told me what he tried to do to her. Thank God for her strong spirit which prevented it.’ He held his wife’s hand tightly, then his face darkened. ‘God’s death, could he be the killer? If I ever get my hands on him –’ He clenched his fists.

‘He is probably far away,’ Nicholas said.

Boleyn asked, ‘Will Sir Richard Southwell be coming with Warwick’s army?’

I said, ‘It is possible Southwell will be at Norwich with the army. We think he will have stayed with the Marquess of Northampton in Cambridge, looking after the Lady Mary’s interests.’

He looked at me sharply. ‘And his young confederates? Like that rogue Atkinson, and my wretched sons?’