Tombland

Lockswood had given me a roughly drawn map and we crossed Tombland and walked along a thoroughfare the plan called Holme Street, which followed the high outer wall of the cathedral precinct. There were a good number of pedestrians still about, mostly traders bringing baskets of produce into town, and the occasional cart, one loaded with new-shorn curly fleeces from the local sheep. As elsewhere in the city, there were many poor men in rags, one with an iron collar around his neck to mark him as an illegal beggar; one or two glanced at the good quality clothes we wore, then noticed the sword and buckler hanging from Nicholas’s waist and looked away.

‘How is your back, sir?’ Nicholas asked hesitantly.

‘Better now I have rested.’ Thanks also to Guy’s exercise, I thought. ‘I’ll be glad if I never see another horse again.’

We came to another open area, dominated by a large church. The houses here were smaller than in Tombland, but still substantial, with glimpses of gardens behind. Then the road took a turn, and became walled on both sides. Beyond the walls on the side opposite the cathedral we glimpsed a high, square church tower which Lockswood had marked as the ‘Great Hospital’. A pair of wooden gates gave entrance to what looked like an old monastic precinct; on each side half a dozen beggars, men and women, sat with begging bowls in their laps. They cried for alms as we passed. An old fellow with the marks of smallpox on his face stood up and waved his bowl in my face. ‘I fare sick, sir,’ he cried, ‘dorn’t pass by, be good-doing!’ Nicholas put out an arm to thrust him aside but I reached into my purse and gave him a sixpence. All the others immediately struggled to their feet with outstretched bowls, and Nicholas grasped my arm and hurried me away.

‘Don’t pull at me like that,’ I complained, but only when we were out of reach.

‘They’d have mobbed you!’

‘It was only Christian charity!’

We walked on to where an inn stood, next to a high, battlemented gatehouse guarding a stone bridge across the river, weeping willows on both banks. The high, bare heath loomed beyond, a large mansion visible on the top. I turned to Nicholas. ‘At some point I’ll give you a nod. Say you need the jakes. There is a – personal – matter I must discuss with Jack.’

He nodded. ‘There he is,’ he said, pointing to where a number of tables had been set out in the inn garden. Groups of men were sitting there, mostly in the smocks and leather jackets of the artisan class. Alone at one table, a mug of ale in his left hand, sat Barak. He rested the other arm with its metal prosthesis on the table, where it caught the glint of the setting sun.

He rose, pleasure at seeing us evident in his face. I noticed he was continuing to put on weight. ‘How fare you both?’ he asked. ‘God’s bones, young Nicholas, I’ll swear you’ve got even taller.’

‘How are you, Jack?’ Nicholas asked.

‘Glad to be out of London for a bit.’ Yet, looking in my old friend’s eyes, I saw sadness and something more: weariness.

‘I’ll fetch some beer,’ Nicholas said.

‘Ay, I’m always ready for another,’ Barak replied cheerfully. Nicholas went into the inn and I sat down. ‘How goes your work in Norwich?’ I asked.

‘All right. I spend evenings in the taverns, listening to conversations, sounding out the local mood. The judges’ clerks have people doing that on most Assizes.’ He smiled wryly. ‘The judges know I have a history of such work, back to when I worked for Lord Cromwell. Then I have to liaise with the sheriff, and make sure, very politely, that he is doing his work efficiently in selecting jurors for the Assizes. Though I’ve had to deal with his deputy this time; Sir Nicholas L’Estrange has been in Somerset.’

‘And how do you find the mood in Norwich?’

‘Bad.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Masterless men coming in from the countryside, jobs going from the city, much misery and anger. It’s been decided that instead of the usual grand feast to welcome the judges, there’s only going to be an ale for them. The city authorities fear too ostentatious a celebration might spark something.’

‘Are things that tense?’

He nodded. ‘They have been all along the circuit, though not so bad as here.’

Nicholas returned with three mugs of ale, and we drank each other’s health.

I spoke quickly. ‘Jack, there is something we need to know, if you can tell us. When will the criminal cases be heard? Will it be at the start of the Assizes, as usual?’

He shook his head. ‘No, they’re doing them on the third day, there are a couple of big land cases they want heard first. The criminal hearings will be on the twentieth.’

‘Then we have a week to investigate,’ Nicholas said. ‘More time than we hoped for.’

Barak looked at us. ‘So you are here on a criminal matter?’

‘Yes. The case against John Boleyn, for the murder of his wife. Have you heard anything about it?’

‘Indeed. It’s roused some interest among the assize staff, on account of the name, and the nasty circumstances. It all sounds pretty horrible.’