Tombland

The archer who had shot the dove retrieved his arrow and held it up, the bird impaled, its white feathers now a mass of blood. The villagers cheered, and Witherington went puce. Nonetheless, he allowed the crowd to walk past his men. But he shouted after them, ‘Harris! You’re a marked man! And Melville, I’ll have your lands, you insolent churl!’

For answer, Melville turned and raised two fingers at him.

I took a deep breath. ‘Thank God you were here,’ I said to Barak. ‘Otherwise there might have been blood spilt.’

‘A mighty ruffle, at least.’

‘By God, the way those peasants spoke to the manor lord,’ Nicholas said. He shook his head and laughed, outrage tinged with reluctant admiration.

‘Here he comes,’ Barak said. Witherington had left his men and was stumping down towards us, sword in hand, his round, red face still furious. He halted before me.

‘Who are you, sir? I heard you mention Boleyn.’

‘Yes, we are reviewing the evidence in the case against him. Merely to make sure nothing has been overlooked.’

‘On whose behalf?’

‘I am appointed agent for Master Copuldyke.’

Witherington eyed me narrowly. ‘You’re here for the Lady Elizabeth, then.’

I took a deep breath. ‘She only wishes us to examine the facts, and ensure justice is done. I do not say Master Boleyn is innocent.’

‘As well you don’t.’ Witherington gave a sudden, scoffing laugh. ‘The Lady Mary won’t be pleased if she gets to hear her sister’s sniffing around Norfolk business. Well, what do you want of me?’

‘Only to hear events from your – perspective. And perhaps, if you permit, to talk to the shepherd who found the body.’

Witherington looked at Barak. ‘What did you say to those churls, that made them go?’

Barak met his gaze. ‘Only that you were better armed, and that they should have a care for the women among them.’

Witherington looked at me again. ‘I shall be reporting this matter to the Justice of the Peace, I’ll have Harris and Melville prosecuted for destroying my birds.’ His anger rose again. ‘You can be witnesses, you saw them killing those doves, you saw their insolence, and saw Melville raise two fingers at me!’ For a moment he almost choked with anger.

‘You are free to contact me,’ I said. Toby opened his mouth to protest, but Barak gave him a wink. Allowing Witherington to contact me did not mean I would reply, nor give a reply to his liking.

Witherington, however, nodded with satisfaction. He was, I realized, a man of no great intelligence. He turned to his men. ‘Shuckborough! Go and fetch old Adrian Kempsley to the manor house. He’ll be dozing in his shed.’ He paused, then added, ‘And bring Lobley too. This man should see him. You two, bring the dogs back to the manor; the rest of you, about your business.’ With that, the little martinet marched back to the road. We followed, passing his men, who looked at us dubiously.

* * *

WE ARRIVED AT Witherington’s house, and he led us into an echoing, stone-flagged hall. Servants peeped nervously at us from open doorways, and one approached his master. ‘Is all well, sir?’ he asked meekly.

‘Not unless you count the killing of dozens of my birds as being well,’ Witherington answered fiercely. ‘Bring some beer to my study. You two lawyers, come with me.’ Leaving Toby and Barak in the hall, Nicholas and I followed him into a study which smelled strongly of dog, and where account books and documents were piled untidily. He pushed them aside. ‘This house is getting messy since my wife died.’

‘I am sorry,’ I said.

Witherington nodded acknowledgement. He put his sword on the desk, then sat behind it, waving Nicholas and me to stools. He looked at us, then gave a bark of laughter. ‘That’s some hand your man outside has got.’

‘He lost the real one in an honourable fight,’ Nicholas said.

‘Against the Scotch barbarians?’

‘No,’ I answered. ‘Some London ones.’

‘Oh yes,’ Witherington said, ‘there’s plenty of barbarians in England, as you’ve just seen. Christ’s bowels, the times we live in. It’s these damned Commonwealth men, and the Protector. By Jesu, I wish we had the old king back. I hear things are getting worse in the south-west, and there’s trouble elsewhere. And that was not the first such scene in these parts. People here are too stupid to see what is in their own interest. They say I want to enclose more land here for sheep, which I do, but I told them that when I get part of Boleyn’s land through the court, they can have it for pasture.’

I said, ‘I heard there was an – incident – in the spring. Between some of your men and Boleyn’s.’

Witherington looked at me narrowly. ‘Yes. In March. I sought to assert my legitimate claim to the land up to the old stream bed by occupying it, but my men were driven off violently by Boleyn’s people.’

In fact, his forcible entry onto disputed land was quite illegal, but I did not make the point. ‘I understand you are now taking the matter to law.’

Witherington shrugged. ‘It may not be necessary. If Boleyn hangs, his lands will go to the King, and I may be able to negotiate with the escheator.’