Tombland

‘The Lollards’ Pit,’ Toby answered. ‘Where heretics were burned. Thomas Bilney was burned there by More.’

We scrambled down the steps, across the pit and down to the bank. The body lay there, the coroner and a couple of constables looking at it.

‘Fell off and drowned hisself when he was drunk, I reckon,’ a constable said.

‘Looks like it,’ the coroner agreed. ‘Can’t see any marks on the body.’

I knelt with some difficulty and examined the head. Edith Boleyn had been killed by a blow to the head, and I remembered what the twins had done to Witherington’s man with a club. I brushed Snockstobe’s long hair aside, but could see no sign of any injury.

‘Hey, Master Lawyer,’ the coroner asked indignantly, ‘what are you doing?’

I stood and bowed. ‘Forgive me, but I knew this man slightly. I spoke to him only yesterday, about a key. What happened?’

For answer the coroner called over a frightened-looking man in a wool jerkin and white hat. ‘This is Sedgley, the first finder. Tell this lawyer what happened.’

The man swallowed. ‘I was punting my boat downstream early this morning, with a load of spun wool. As I came to the bridge I spotted something in the water, then saw it was this poor fellow’s head and hands. He must’ve fallen in, and got his feet caught in the waterweed, it’s foul thick this year.’

The coroner considered, then turned to me. ‘Looks like an accident, gentlemen, the man was a well-known toper.’

I looked back at the gatehouse, then across to the heights of Mousehold, dotted with sheep, the high splendid edifice of Surrey Place at the top. ‘Why should he be on the heath at night? I understand that apart from Surrey’s mansion there is nothing up there.’

The coroner shrugged. ‘Who can tell what notions drunks get into their minds?’

‘Will there be an examination of the body?’

He sighed. ‘I suppose there will have to be. They’ll find his lungs full of water.’ He turned to the constable. ‘Did you bring a cart?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Then take Snockstobe to the cold-house. You, boatman, come with me, I shall need a deposition.’

The constables lifted up the locksmith, releasing a stink of river-bottom decay. The coroner shouted up at the people on the bridge, ‘Get home now, you nosy lubbers! Show’s over!’

Chapter Twenty-three

We returned to Tombland. The locksmith’s death was a bad blow, the subpoena in my pocket now worthless. More than that, I feared I might be indirectly responsible for his death; his plunge from Bishopsgate Bridge coming the day after I told him I would have him in court was too much of a coincidence.

‘It could have been an accident,’ Nicholas said. ‘He wasn’t hit on the head, there was no blood on the body.’

‘He could have been stabbed, and the blood washed away by the river. They’ll find out when they examine the body.’

Toby said, ‘There’s still the apprentice. He may not yet know of Snockstobe’s death. We have to press him now, see what he knows.’

* * *

WHEN WE RETURNED to the shop, Walter was still behind the counter. He peered at us, his face falling.

‘Master’s not back,’ he said wearily.

‘I’m afraid I have some bad news,’ I said, gently. ‘Your master was found dead in the Wensum early this morning. It appears he fell from Bishopsgate Bridge last night.’

The boy’s mouth fell open. His expression was not one of grief – perhaps unsurprisingly from what I had seen of his master – but fear. I recalled he had looked anxious when we questioned Snockstobe yesterday, gripping the edge of the counter tightly. I said, ‘Walter, what did your master do after we visited the shop yesterday?’

He swallowed. ‘He said nothing, though he seemed worried. He left the shop, telling me to mind things for an hour. When he came back, he acted afraid, spent the day snapping at me or staring into space. We shut the shop at five as usual. He went back to his house, and I to my room above the shop. I think master was afraid. God save his poor soul.’

‘You remember yesterday, we asked about his work for John Boleyn, and whether he’d had a visit from his sons, Gerald and Barnabas, since the spring. You said they had not been here, and he said the same.’

‘I did, sir. I told no lie.’

I nodded. ‘But there was more to it than that, wasn’t there?’

Walter lowered his head and gave a long, shuddering sigh. He was silent a moment – perhaps he was praying – then he looked up again. ‘A man came,’ he said nervously. ‘In May. He brought a key and asked for a copy to be made. He said he came from Master Boleyn. Snockstobe recognized the key, of course. It had his mark on it, if the man had taken it to another locksmith, he would have sent him back here under the guild rules.’

‘Who was this man? Did you recognize him?’

Walter shook his head. ‘I had never seen him before.’

‘What did he look like?’ Toby asked.

‘He was quite a big man, not old. He had a beard.’

‘That would fit half the men of Norwich,’ I said impatiently. ‘Come, was his beard fair, or red, or dark?’