Tombland

THE GATEWAY LED into a stableyard. A plump middle-aged man in a fine black doublet appeared and gave us a pleasant smile. He reached up and took my hand. ‘Welcome to the Maid’s Head, sir. I am Augustus Theobald, in charge of the finest inn in Norfolk.’ A mounting block was brought for us. I found it hard to dismount, and then to stand – Nicholas had to hand me my stick, which was tied to the back of the packhorse. I leaned against the pump of a well which stood in the yard, a disabling knot of pain between my shoulder blades. Master Theobald looked concerned. ‘Are you all right, sir?’

‘Yes. It is just that we have ridden from London. If I lie down for a little I will be all right.’

‘Are you sure?’ Nicholas asked. He had never seen me in such difficulty.

‘Yes, don’t fuss!’ I turned to the innkeeper. ‘We have rooms booked by Master Thomas Parry, for three.’

The innkeeper looked embarrassed. ‘I fear he only booked rooms for two.’

‘It’s all right,’ Toby said. ‘I wrote and cancelled my room. My parents’ farm is only three miles off, I can stay with them, and still ride here to assist you every day.’

‘There is no problem,’ I told Master Theobald. ‘Could you have our packs taken to our rooms? And the horses taken to the stables and given a good rub down?’

‘Certainly,’ the innkeeper replied, bowing.

‘Stay with them, Nicholas, and see to things. I would like a word with Toby. Master Theobald, could you show me somewhere I can talk with Goodman Lockswood.’ I grasped my stick. ‘Somewhere I can sit.’

Theobald led us into the building, pointing out the large comfortable dining room and other amenities, and mentioned that in their time both Catherine of Aragon and Cardinal Wolsey had been guests. Then, bowing, he left us in a well-appointed parlour. A servant fetched two cups of beer, and some welcome bread and cheese. I sat in a chair with great relief, my back supported at last. I gave Toby a stern look.

‘You should have told us you planned to stay with your parents. We have much to do, and little time, and need your knowledge of this city.’

‘I apologize.’ He stroked his curly black beard with a large hand, then fixed me with a direct gaze from those keen blue eyes. ‘But my mother is ill, and wishes to see me. I promise I will rise early enough to be here at any hour you wish.’

‘Is she seriously ill?’

‘She is not strong, and lately finds the work on the farm makes her breathless. Not that there will be much profit from the harvest this year, given the size of the crops.’

‘No,’ I agreed.

‘I hope you are not angry with me, sir,’ he added.

I sighed. ‘No, I understand. But I will need you here early tomorrow. I am going to visit John Boleyn in the castle gaol, then try and talk to Edith Boleyn’s parents. The day after, I want to go and visit the Brikewell estates. This evening I have arranged to see Barak, as you heard, so you may go to your parents’ farm now. How far from here is the Blue Boar Inn?’

‘I will draw you a diagram.’ He looked at me dubiously. ‘But will you be able to walk?’

‘With my stick, yes.’ I heard that testy note in my voice again. ‘And I shall lie down for a little first.’

‘You should take Master Nicholas.’

‘I thought I might go alone. There is a – personal – matter I wish to discuss with Barak.’

Lockswood looked at me seriously. ‘A well-dressed stranger with a walking stick would be advised not to wander Norwich alone in the evening. There are robbers about, more than in London.’

‘Very well.’ I looked at him. ‘For all its great buildings, there seems to be much poverty here.’

‘There is. For years the great wool merchants have been moving cloth weaving out to the countryside, to avoid the guilds’ regulations about manufacture. And centralizing the other processes of cloth production in their own hands. Often they ship the cloth illegally to Europe, to the Dutch. The great families we saw earlier today, by the Guildhall, they grow in riches. But for the poor it is different and now, with the number of farm labourers thrown off the land coming to the city, and the great rise in prices, the mood is fierce.’ Toby spoke quietly, evenly, but again with that angry undertone.

‘Perhaps the new enclosure commissions Protector Somerset is sending out soon will mend things.’

‘Do you think so, sir?’

I remembered my conversation with Edward Kenzy last Saturday, and answered cautiously. ‘I think in the little time the commissioners will have, and with the landlords against them, it will be difficult.’

Toby leaned back. ‘So others say. My father relied heavily on his rights to graze his cows and oxen on the common land of the manor, but three years ago the landowner enclosed a large part of the common, which he said he was entitled to do, as the largest landowner. There’s not a lot left for the village beasts. My father has got by with his crops these last three years, when the harvests have been good. But this year –’ He shook his head.

‘I am sorry.’