Tombland

AS NICHOLAS AND I served food to the men, Barak and Natty told us what had happened. They had reached the city to find the Earl of Warwick already in occupation of the centre of Norwich. He had immediately hanged no less than forty-nine captured rebels. It was believed Augustine Steward had told Warwick that he could enter through one of the weaker city gates; two other gates had been brought down by artillery. Our men had fought mightily, gathering in Tombland and dividing into attack parties, and at first a great rain of arrows looked as though it might drive Warwick’s forces back; but Captain Drury had brought up a company of arquebusiers and a mighty volley of bullets had dispersed our forces. Faced by these new and terrifying weapons and Warwick’s numbers, the order to retreat had been given, though not before a large part of Warwick’s supply train and artillery, which had got lost in the narrow streets, had been captured.

‘Hundreds are killed,’ Barak said grimly. ‘We’ve lost the city, except the northern part. We would have joined up with the men there, but Warwick’s forces have control of the bridges over the river, so most of us have come back up.’ He looked at me. ‘I saw Toby Lockswood in the midst of it, leading a company of Norwich spearmen straight at an armoured company of Warwick’s men. Whatever else, he doesn’t lack courage.’

Natty said, ‘Captain Miles says there’s a new plan of attack, we’re going to take Norwich back tomorrow.’

‘You’re going down again?’

‘Yes.’ Barak began to remove his artificial hand, which I could see was paining him. He said quietly, ‘Warwick’s is some army. I half wish we’d taken the fucking pardon.’

‘I don’t,’ Natty said, his bruised face firmly set. ‘We must defeat them, or they will destroy us all. They think of us as hardly more than animals. Look what they did to Simon.’

* * *

THE FOLLOWING MORNING was clear and sunny again, though cool. It was Sunday, but no church bells sounded in Norwich, and there were no calls to sermons on the heath; everyone was preparing to march downhill to battle. I heard Barak get up and leave the hut. I must have been exhausted, for I fell asleep again at once, and was woken only by the sound of tremendous gunfire from Norwich. I thought with a sudden, terrible guilt, ‘I may never see him again.’ I hastily rose and walked to the crest, shrugging my shoulders to ease my back. Nicholas was already there.

Looking down, I saw the fresh assault on Norwich had begun. The smoke and noise of cannon fire came from Bishopsgate, and from the area to the north of the city. Our men were attacking on multiple fronts; to the south, I saw a pall of smoke over the southern part of Norwich, and from the staithes by the river where grain was stored.

‘Good God,’ I said. ‘That’s Conisford, Josephine’s down there. Why is it afire?’

‘Perhaps the rebels have set the fire as a diversionary tactic.’

We continued watching in horrified silence, as the roar of cannon continued. Then a familiar figure approached us, limping along the crest; Peter Bone, the problems with his feet more apparent now. He bowed to us.

‘Master Shardlake. Master Overton.’

‘Goodman Bone.’ I took his hand. ‘It seems we are near the climax.’

‘I wanted to fight, but again they wouldn’t let me, said I’d be more trouble than I was worth with my dwainy feet. What have you seen?’

‘It looks like our forces have fired the south of the city, and they seem to be firing at the north walls as well, from the position of the smoke. But can they retake the centre?’

Bone said fiercely, ‘If it comes to a last battle on the heath, I’ll join in, even if it is only handing gunpowder to the cannoneers.’ He shifted from one foot to the other, and I realized how much walking hurt him. He sighed. ‘They are all gone now; Grace, Mercy, my wife, Edith – so if I die in battle, I care little.’

I looked at him. ‘At least poor Edith had those years of happiness with you and your sister.’ I fumbled in my purse. ‘Here, I still have her wedding ring. Her husband refused it. Would you like to take it back?’

‘I thank you,’ he said quietly. He took the ring back and placed it gently in his own little purse. Then he asked quietly, ‘Have you any more notion of who killed her?’

I shook my head. ‘No more than before. Possibly the Brikewell steward, Chawry, who has fled; perhaps Boleyn himself; even his wife Isabella is a suspect. And the twins.’ I sighed. ‘I think I have failed.’

‘At least you tried,’ Peter said. ‘At least you cared.’

We turned to look back at the city, but could see little save that the fires in Conisford still burned. Again I thought about Josephine and Mousy.

Peter said, ‘But it seems our men are inside and fighting. Come,’ he added, ‘let me show you the preparations made to fight on the heath. Even if Warwick keeps Norwich, we have a good chance up here. Captain Miles and the other soldiers have made great plans.’