Tombland

A steward appeared in the doorway, and Philip clapped his hands. ‘Come everyone, let us eat.’ We passed through to the dining room, where the table was set with plates, fine glassware and napkins. We seated ourselves and placed our napkins over our shoulders. I was next to Laura Kenzy, while on my other side Philip sat at the head of the table. Opposite me old Mistress Coleswyn settled herself down with the aid of a servant. Grace was said, and Philip offered a toast to the health of ‘The King, our little shepherd’. Servants brought in a first course of salads, eggs and cheese, with plates of good manchet bread and butter.

Philip said, ‘This is the first supper this year where we shall not need candles.’ And indeed the light from the windows giving on to the pretty garden outside was quite sufficient to dine by. ‘The weather has been dreadful this spring,’ he continued, ‘I fear a bad harvest, and much suffering for the poor later in the year.’

‘The poor are always with us,’ Edward Kenzy said. ‘It was always so, and always will be.’

‘They have seldom suffered so much as now,’ Philip replied. ‘A penny loaf is but half the size it was two years ago.’ Philip was a strong Commonwealth man, as ardent for reform in society as in religion, believing like me that the State owed a duty to rectify the abuses that had caused such a rise in poverty. He turned to me for support.

‘’Tis true,’ I agreed. ‘Prices go up faster than ever, but the wages of the poor remain the same.’

‘Prices have gone up for everyone,’ Laura Kenzy said, righteously. ‘It is no easy thing for those like me who have to run a household. Or my brother, who owns houses at Bishopsgate. His costs go up, but the tenants’ rents were set years ago. Is that fair?’ She turned to me, flushing slightly. ‘Begging your pardon, Serjeant Shardlake.’

‘No need, madam. You have the right to an opinion like everyone else.’

Ethelreda said, to change the subject, ‘Is anyone going to St Paul’s Cathedral tomorrow, to hear Archbishop Cranmer preach from the new Prayer Book?’

‘My wife and daughter will be going to the Lincoln’s Inn Chapel, but I shall go to St Paul’s,’ Edward Kenzy answered neutrally. ‘I suppose it will be, at least, a historic occasion.’ I looked at him, remembering his reputation as a religious traditionalist. He met my eye. ‘What of you, Brother Shardlake?’

‘I shall go. As you say, a historic occasion.’

‘I believe you have worked for the archbishop, too, in the past,’ Laura Kenzy said, any traditionalist reservations of her own overcome by snobbery.

‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘In the old king’s time. Whatever else, Archbishop Cranmer is a man of sincerity.’

Ethelreda, her face alight with enthusiasm, joined in. ‘Last week our family went to hear Master Latimer preach at the Cathedral Cross. He spoke of the sickness in the body of the State, and the need to ensure the bodily welfare of all within the Commonwealth.’

‘You speak wrongly, Ethelreda, sometimes I think you have not the brains of a flea.’ Old Margaret Coleswyn’s voice rasped with contempt. ‘Yes, Master Latimer spoke of reform that is needed in the Commonwealth, but that was for ten minutes in a speech of two hours. He spoke far more of what is truly wrong in England, its devotion to the sins of the flesh, gaming and whoring, its failure truly to root out the remnants of papistry. And he condemned those who rose up against their landlords last month.’ The old woman glared around the table, inviting challenge.

Ethelreda went red. ‘Mother –’ Philip said, warningly.

Edward Kenzy chuckled. ‘The Commonwealth men and pamphleteers will have noted down only what he said about land reform, I’m sure, and distributed it far and wide. I hope Master Latimer did not condemn fine dining, or we are all condemned to hellfire. Though I think he believes most of us are doomed to it anyway, and is quite cheerful about it. This egg sauce is delicious, Coleswyn.’ An uneasy titter went round the table, though old Mistress Coleswyn sat stony-faced.

‘Latimer was right at least in condemning those peasants who rose up against enclosures last month,’ Kenzy continued, more seriously. ‘There was a bad business in Wiltshire, too, where they tried to take down the fences round Sir William Herbert’s new park, and he had to gather two hundred men to rout them, not without bloodshed, I hear.’ He looked at me. ‘Herbert’s wife is sister to the late Queen Catherine. Did you hear any news of the affair?’

‘No, I met the Herberts only once,’ I said carefully. ‘One can surely understand the anger of Herbert’s tenantry against huge amounts of good agricultural land being fenced off so the great lords may go a-hunting. This passion for parkland has its consequences for the poor of the Commonwealth.’

Kenzy looked at me levelly. ‘What is your definition of the Commonwealth?’

‘The whole nation, held in economic balance, the rules ensuring that none are too poor to live.’