Tombland

‘And the Bone family,’ Nicholas added.

‘It’s interesting work,’ Toby said. I glanced at him; he had spoken with a strange lack of emotion. Was this all the case was to him? Something interesting?

Josephine said, ‘Peter Bone and his sisters? We knew them slightly when we lived in Pit Street.’

‘You did?’ I asked, surprised.

‘The world of Norwich weavers is not so large. Peter Bone is a weaver, I did some spinning for him now and again. His sisters were well-known around the area. Grace and Mercy.’

‘Ay,’ Edward agreed. ‘A pair of merry fat wenches, hair black as coal, always ready with a joke, lewd tongues on both of them though neither married. We didn’t see them again after we moved to the yard.’

‘I fear both sisters died from congestion of the lungs this spring.’

‘That’s sad,’ Josephine said. ‘God save their souls.’

‘I was just saying,’ Toby observed, ‘many poor folks died last winter and spring. While the merchants and landlords were snug in their houses with good fires. Let’s hope Hales’s commissioners and the Protector’s Commonwealth friends may bring some justice to the realm.’

Edward Brown snorted. ‘The Commonwealth men. They’re full of radical talk but they’ll do nothing for the likes of us. Too reliant on the gentlemen. All the Protector really cares about is conquering Scotland.’

Barak broke the uneasy silence that followed. ‘I hear from talk around the Assizes that the Lady Mary refuses to use the new Prayer Book. Still hears the old Latin service. Her chapel over at Kenninghall is full of images and incense. She’ll get herself into trouble.’

‘I doubt they’ll make too much trouble for her,’ I said. ‘She’s the heir to the throne; the Protector has made efforts to win her friendship. And her cousin is the Holy Roman Emperor, whom the Protector needs to keep friendly, with France helping the Scots.’

‘This damned pointless war,’ Barak said. ‘It all comes back to that.’

‘If we could secure Scotland for good,’ Nicholas answered, ‘it would stop France using the Scotch against us in any future war. And bring our two countries together in religious amity. I hear the Scotchman John Knox has been sent by the Protector to preach in Berwick, close to his countrymen.’

‘When did you care for religion?’ Barak answered irritably. ‘Anyway, the war is lost.’ I noticed he had emptied his glass already. ‘We’ve been kicked out of every fort the Protector built.’

‘Not Haddington. And the Protector is preparing a new army.’

‘More sheep for the slaughter,’ Edward muttered.

I stood up. ‘I need to go to the jakes,’ I said. ‘I’ll get some more beer for everyone as well.’ I looked meaningfully at Barak. ‘Make this your last.’

‘Want me to come with you?’ Nicholas asked. ‘After what happened to me last time?’

‘No. I’ve no reason to fear trouble; I’m dressed like a common fellow.’

I made my way between the candlelit tables, the tray in my hands. Dressed as I was, people took no notice, though one or two glanced at my bent back. It took me a minute to find the shed with the lantern outside – more tables had been set out this fine night – but my visit passed without incident. When I came out, I walked back towards the inn to get the drinks, but it was quite dark now and I missed my way – an oak tree which I thought was the one beside our table turned out to be another. I stood still a moment, trying to get my bearings, then heard a familiar voice from a nearby table; Edward Brown’s, in a tone of quiet intensity.

‘With one army gone to the West Country and another leaving for Scotland they’ll be short of forces.’ I stood back, sheltering behind the tree. Edward sat at a nearby table, together with the man he had greeted when he and Josephine had arrived, and a third, whom, to my surprise, I recognized as Michael Vowell, Gawen Reynolds’s former steward who had told us where we could waylay the twins. The three sat with their heads together, talking animatedly.

Vowell said, ‘I’ve just come back from Attleborough, Miles. They want to rise and destroy all John Greene’s fences on the twentieth.’

‘That’s too soon,’ the third man replied angrily. He was tall and well built, in his early forties, with short fair hair and beard and a hard, intelligent face.

Vowell said, ‘We can’t control people, only guide and try to agree timing, and the Attleborough folk are angry.’

At that moment a girl from the inn came to clear the table and they fell silent. I slipped away and made my way to the inn. As I waited for the drinks, I pondered on what I had heard. Was the man called Miles one of the stirrers roaming the country encouraging rebellion? But such talk was everywhere. I decided, for now at least, to say nothing. I would talk to Barak when I had the chance.

When I returned to our table, the others were quietly discussing the new Prayer Book, agreeing it was good to have it in English, though none were greatly exercised by the religious arguments. Edward Brown’s chair was vacant. I smiled at Josephine. ‘No Edward?’