Tombland

‘I just wondered,’ I said lightly. I was thinking of the maid Grace Bone, who had disappeared as completely as Edith, just before her.

He shook his head. ‘I don’t know.’

I said, ‘That ruffle, I understand the twins were there, and there was some violence on both sides. Did Master Boleyn ask you to organize matters on your side?’

Chawry’s brown eyes glinted and he frowned slightly. ‘It was Witherington who tried to occupy our land forcibly. I had a paid informer among his tenants, so we were ready for them when they came. Master Boleyn asked me to organize matters and, yes, it was my idea to bring in the twins. Despite their bad relationship with their father, they are always keen on any sort of trouble. They are part of a little band of young gentlemen who hire themselves out when there are quarrels between landlords, or between landlords and tenants. If things got rough, blame Witherington.’

‘Did Master Boleyn know the twins were coming?’

His eyes glinted again. ‘I thought it better not to tell him. I contacted them through their grandfather.’

‘Probably best,’ I said. I thought, There was a streak of ruthlessness in this man. ‘Thank you for your help. I think you should return to your mistress now. We shall go on to South Brikewell and see if we can talk to Master Witherington.’

Chawry inclined his head. ‘Be careful, sir. Witherington can be a brute.’

As we crossed the bridge I looked back. Chawry was standing on the path, staring at us. Then, ahead of us, we heard cries and shouts, voices raised in anger. On Witherington’s lands, something was happening.

Chapter Seventeen

We walked on, towards South Brikewell village. The shouting continued, and on the rising ground beyond the village we could discern figures running about in the fields, and white birds flying up. We walked past the gateway of another manor house, newer than Boleyn’s, built of flint. In the courtyard men were running to and fro, and a couple of horses were being brought from the stables. One man stood holding a pair of enormous hunting mastiffs on leashes. They saw us and began barking angrily, baring their teeth.

‘Doesn’t look like a good time to visit,’ Barak said. ‘There’s trouble of some sort going on.’

‘We could see what’s happening in the fields,’ Toby suggested.

‘Maybe that’s best left alone,’ Nicholas answered.

‘No,’ Barak said. He was holding his prosthetic hand up with his left; the dragging weight of it told while he was walking. Nonetheless, he was keen to discover what was happening. ‘It may be useful to take a look. We’ve all got knives,’ he added, ‘and Nick has his sword.’

‘All right,’ I agreed. ‘But be careful.’

We passed through the village, again mainly poor houses built round a pond, and somewhat smaller than North Brikewell. Behind it enclosed pasture was dotted with newly shorn sheep. In the middle of the pasture stood a shepherd’s hut, and I wondered if it belonged to the man who had found the body, Adrian Kempsley.

The village was deserted apart from a few chickens and goats scrabbling around. Most windows were shuttered, but where they were open we saw faces, mostly old people and children, looking out with anxious expressions. We could now see, in the fields beyond, some thirty people, mostly men but also women and some older children, walking along the narrow ridges that divided the strips where oats grew, green and short for the season. They carried nets and pitchforks, and three young men had bows and arrows. As the people moved slowly along, more white birds rose from the ground, flying in a disoriented way. People slashed at them, and one of the archers loosed an arrow, bringing a bird to the ground.

‘Good shot,’ Nicholas said admiringly.

‘What are they doing?’ I asked.

Toby smiled. ‘Killing the landlord’s doves that are eating their crops. Look over there.’ He pointed to where, at the edge of the pastureland, a tall hexagonal building stood. ‘A great dove house. Dove eggs and meat are a great delicacy for the rich, but they steal grain from babies’ mouths.’

Nicholas said, ‘My father has a dove house, but it is tiny compared to that.’

‘Fashionable ones like this one can house hundreds of the wretched birds.’ Toby laughed. ‘See how they stagger. The people will have left out some seed well laced with beer.’

‘It’s not legal to kill them like that,’ I said. ‘They could get into trouble.’

‘People have had enough ,’ Toby spat, with sudden violent emphasis. I stared at him hard. ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ he said.

Another dove rose dozily into the air, to be impaled by a pitchfork. People were looking at us now, no doubt puzzled by the sudden appearance of four strangers. I remembered the scene when the boys had bared their arses at the group of lawyers on the road. ‘Maybe we should leave,’ I said quietly.