Tombland

There was a murmur in the crowd, and heads turned towards the approaching sound of hoof beats and jingling of harnesses. A group of armed men came first, followed by the two judges in their bright red robes trimmed with white fur. I studied them, remembering Barak’s description. The lean man with a hard, frowning face and a long grey beard must be Judge Gatchet, who, Barak had told me, was a Calvinist. He certainly looked as though he would be stern in his judgements. Plump old Judge Reynberd, in total contrast, sat heavily in his saddle, his red, heavy-featured face impassive. Nonetheless, his sharp grey eyes moved from side to side, weighing up the crowd, whose expressions were mostly hostile. I had appeared before Reynberd in the past, and knew he was fair in most cases, though if there were political implications, he would side with the powers that be. Neither, I guessed, would be easy on Boleyn. Behind the judges rode a retinue of black-robed assistants and clerks. I saw Barak; though, like his fellows, he stared straight ahead, at the judges’ backs. Behind followed a group of richly robed gentry, many of whom would be justices of the peace and royal officials, each with an armed and mounted retinue of perhaps half a dozen men. Among them I recognized the hatchet face of John Flowerdew, and, in a particularly resplendent robe, the burly, haughty figure of Sir Richard Southwell. The group, perhaps fifty in all, rode up to the centre of the marketplace, halting outside the Guildhall where the Norwich aldermen descended the steps, bowing deeply. The crowd had watched the display of power in complete silence, and now began drifting away. I turned to thank Toby for all his work, and asked how his mother fared.

‘A little better, but it is hard to hear how difficult it is for her to breathe, the rasping sound she makes.’ He stroked his beard, his face sad. ‘I fear she will not be with us long. And then I think I must return to help with the farm; I doubt my father will be up to supervising our two labourers.’

‘Have you no other family who might help?’

‘I have a brother who went to Suffolk and has his own small place now. It will be up to me. I should not be sorry to leave Master Copuldyke. And if I can get things settled on the farm, I’m sure I could find a new master in Norwich. Provided I keep my mouth shut.’ He smiled ironically.

‘Perhaps your mother will recover,’ Nicholas said.

Toby shook his head. There was an uncomfortable silence. Then a voice at my shoulder said quietly, ‘Master Shardlake?’

I turned to see the burly figure of Michael Vowell, Master Reynolds’s steward. He bowed. ‘Excuse me for troubling you, sir,’ he said. ‘But I left Master Reynolds’s house yesterday. After Gerald and Barnabas wrecked my room because I argued with them about their treatment of the female servants. I wonder, sir, do you know anyone who may be looking for a steward, or even an upper servant?’

‘I am a stranger in Norwich. Might you know anyone, Toby?’

‘I fear not.’

I looked at Vowell. ‘I should tell you that I visited Master Boleyn earlier today. You should know that he denies trying to force himself on Edith.’

Vowell took a firm stance, his face set. ‘That is what I heard said. I will swear it on the Testament.’

‘Master Boleyn said Edith was capable of making up the story she told her father, and Reynolds of telling her to get back to her wifely duties.’

Vowell looked relieved. He glanced up at the assembly in front of the Guildhall. Servants were taking mugs of beer to the newcomers. ‘Were it not for the murder, Master Reynolds would be up there, getting himself seen, hoping to be the next mayor.’ He spoke bitterly; his detestation of his former employer clearly ran deep. It occurred to me that Vowell, if anyone, might know the twins’ routine. I said, ‘We are keen to ask the twins some questions.’

He looked serious. ‘Be careful, sir.’

‘We plan to be. There are three of us, and we have another man who will help us. What we need is to get the twins on their own.’

He nodded slowly. ‘I understand.’ He thought a moment. ‘Today is Monday. Every Tuesday and Saturday evening the twins go to the cockfighting over in Cosny, with their young gentlemen friends. That was where they were the Saturday of their mother’s murder. Afterwards, they usually get drunk then come back to their grandfather’s. I used to hear them come in, sometime between two and three in the morning. If you were to wait in a neighbouring street, around that time, you would likely catch them alone.’

I smiled. ‘Thank you. That is very helpful.’

‘Watch out. They carry swords, and are good with them, even when drunk.’

‘So am I,’ said Nicholas. ‘And I shall be sober.’

‘I can give a decent account of myself with a sword too, if you permit,’ Toby said.

‘Then tomorrow night it shall be,’ I said. ‘Thank you, Goodman Vowell, and good luck with your search for another employer.’