Tombland

A little further on, the fields ended, divided by a fence from an area of common pasture on both sides of the path. A few sheep grazed there, but many more bullocks and cows. Away to the right, beyond a pond, was some woodland, while to the left lay a marshy, reedy area dotted with trees. The sun blazed down; it was hotter today.

Toby halted, leaning over the fence, and looked at me. ‘The commons, Master Shardlake. Which the landowners seek to enclose in many places. Each of those cows belongs to one villager, and provides a family with milk. The bullocks and horses pull their ploughs. The woodland provides timber, and foraging for the pigs in season. The marsh provides reeds, and waterfowl for the pot. Without the common land, no village can survive.’

Chawry said, ‘True, though some villages have more commons than they need. Here it is Master Witherington who seeks to enclose his lands for sheep, and to make up the difference by taking some of my master’s land.’

‘Isn’t common land protected by the customs of the manor?’ Barak asked.

‘Ay,’ Toby retorted. ‘But who runs the court, and keeps the books of record? The lord of the manor.’

Chawry turned on him. ‘You sound like one of these radical Commonwealth men, Goodman. If you want to find a bad landlord, look to Master Witherington.’

I said, ‘Goodman Chawry, do you see over there, a narrow strip through the commons where the grass is darker – is that the course of the old stream, which Witherington claims for the boundary?’

‘Ay, it is,’ Chawry said. ‘No water flows there now, though the old watercourse fills in when it rains.’

‘And down there, a third of a mile off, I see a stream, and a bridge.’

‘That marks the boundary. Where poor Edith Boleyn’s body was found.’

‘Then let us go there, and see.’

We walked on, to where a bridge of wooden planks crossed a stream, the boundary with Witherington’s land. On his side there was farmland to the left, sheep pasture enclosed by hurdles to the right. Further down we could see a village, and the church. Chawry said, ‘In some places, the local priest might have been asked to intervene in a quarrel, but the man here is weak, uneducated, and keeps out of things.’ He grunted. ‘Favours the old ways, and keeps quiet.’

We stood on the bridge, looking down at the little stream flowing slowly between its muddy banks, overhung by the occasional willow. Chawry took a deep breath. ‘You wish to see the place the body was found?’

‘Please.’

We returned to Boleyn’s side of the stream, and went through a gate into the pastureland. Chawry followed the stream for about fifty yards, then stopped, looking down the muddy bank. ‘It was just there, by that young willow. I was called out when the old shepherd discovered her. It was an awful sight, that naked body sticking up for all to see: when they pulled it out the head was all pashed in. The top fell to pieces, dropping her brains in the water.’

I stepped down into the mud, glad of the boots. Each step released stinking bubbles. Nicholas followed, extending a hand to aid Barak, who found it hard to balance because of his arm. Chawry and Toby stayed on the bank. Chawry called down, ‘Be careful, it sucks at your feet; you have to slod through carefully.’

‘Easy enough to get a body in the water, if you’re strong enough,’ Barak said. ‘Just need to hold it by the middle and drop it in.’

I looked back at the bridge, measuring the distance. ‘But carrying it here, and then through this mud, would be hard. Even if we assume Edith was bludgeoned and killed at the bridge – and it’s an obvious place for people to arrange to meet – the killer then had to carry the body here, and in total darkness. It would take a very strong man, and one who knew the ground, to do that.’

Nicholas nodded agreement. ‘I doubt I could do it.’ He looked at me. ‘Perhaps there were two of them.’

‘That’s a possibility,’ Barak agreed.

For a moment, we stood in silence in the mud, looking at the gently flowing water, a peaceful place now.

‘We agree it would be difficult for one man to carry Edith here,’ I said. ‘Yet surely a madman acting out some hideous fantasy would act alone.’

‘Or two brutal madmen who always act together,’ Nicholas said quietly.

I looked at him. ‘Gerald and Barnabas?’

‘Their mother could have contacted them, arranged to meet them here.’

‘Yet everyone has said they loved her, however they behave towards everyone else.’ I bit my lip and stared over the fields and meadows. ‘So many possibilities.’

We heaved ourselves out of the mud and returned to the path. Chawry was stroking his red beard. I said, ‘I am grateful to you, Master Steward, for showing us this place. One more question, if I may. Have there been any other murders, or disappearances, in this area in the last few years?’

He shook his head, looking puzzled. ‘None. This is a quiet place – apart from the ruffle with Witherington’s tenants a few months ago.’