Tombland

Nicholas groaned and stirred. I helped him to a sitting position, calling loudly to Barak. He hurried over, followed by several other patrons of the inn. By that time, to my relief, Nicholas was groaning and shaking his head.

‘What happened?’ I asked him.

‘I don’t know. I came in here, then someone hit me on the back of the head.’ His hand went to his purse. ‘It’s still here,’ he said in surprise.

Barak stepped forward and examined his head. ‘Just a scalp wound. Lot of blood but no damage. They meant to humiliate you, I think, not to kill or rob. Did you see who it was?’

‘No, but I think there were several of them.’

‘Those boatman,’ Barak said.

I held up the note. ‘I think you’re right,’ I said quietly. ‘Revenge.’

‘Revenge for what?’ Nicholas asked angrily. ‘It was they who began insulting us.’

‘Perhaps for calling them churls,’ Barak said. ‘People of low class, in other words. It’s not an insult to use lightly around here.’

I said, ‘They called us worse, and for no reason. Come, let’s get out of this stink-hole.’

Watched by a dozen curious faces, we helped Nicholas outside and over to a bench. He blinked and shook his head again. Someone laughed. ‘He’s fair dozzled.’

‘A’s fine clothes is all shitty.’

Indeed Nicholas’s clothes were mired with the filth of the cesspit floor, and he stank mightily. The inn landlord hurried up. ‘What’s going on?’ he asked anxiously, addressing Barak, his guest.

‘Our friend here was attacked when he went to the jakes.’

‘Was he robbed?’

‘No, but he was hit on the head.’

I handed the innkeeper the note. ‘This was left. There were some boatmen insulting us earlier, I think it might have been them.’

‘He said he didn’t see nothing,’ someone said angrily. ‘Gemmun all right, accusing folk without evidence.’

‘Furrinners, too. Why don’t they go back to London?’

There was a murmur of agreement from the little crowd, and the innkeeper led us away. He lowered his voice.

‘A lot of my customers are river folk,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry for what happened, but please, sir, don’t throw accusations around, or there’ll be trouble. Report it to the constable, if you like, but I doubt he will be able to do anything without evidence.’

I looked hard at the man, guessing the boatmen who had attacked Nicholas were probably regular customers, but Barak, after surveying the crowd, said quietly, ‘I think you and Nicholas should go.’

‘What about you?’

He smiled wryly. ‘I’m only a gentleman by association with you two. I’ll be all right.’

The innkeeper looked relieved. ‘I’ll call a couple of link-boys to light your way back. Where are you staying?’

‘The Maid’s Head.’

The innkeeper walked back to his customers. ‘It’s all right. Nobody is being accused. Come on now, no trouble, lads.’ The men returned to their benches.

‘How are you feeling?’ I asked Nicholas.

‘Just a sore head. But by Christ, I need a wash.’

I looked around the candlelit benches, receiving a couple of sour looks in return. I was glad when the innkeeper reappeared, accompanied by a couple of stout link-boys with flaming torches.

* * *

BACK AT THE Maid’s Head, we explained Nicholas’s state by saying he had slipped on a turd in the street. After a thorough wash and change of clothes he looked much better, though still pale. He insisted he would be able to accompany me and Toby around Norwich the following day, and I left him to sleep. I had kept the piece of paper. One of those boatmen – I was sure the attack had come from them – had been literate. This hatred of gentlemen – and boldness in attacking them – was something I had never encountered before, and I was careful to lock my door before going to bed.

* * *

THE NEXT MORNING , I was up at five, and eating breakfast with Nicholas in the inn parlour before six. Fortunately, his colour had returned, and the nasty bruise on his head was concealed by a wide cap. I had repeated Guy’s exercise last night, and my back felt much better. I would not have liked to ride again so soon, but I felt I could manage to walk without my stick. Punctually, as the cathedral bells sounded six, Toby Lockswood walked in from the stables. He bowed to us. ‘God give you good morrow, sirs.’

‘And you, Toby. How fare your parents?’

‘My mother is better than she was. But my father is worried about the crops.’

I looked out of the window at the sunlit street. ‘At least the wet weather is over.’

‘Ay. It’s hot already, it’s going to be a swelking day.’

‘And a busy one. I want to see John Boleyn at the castle, the coroner, and, if possible, Edith Boleyn’s family.’

‘I managed last night to arrange a meeting with the coroner. He will see you in the Guildhall at twelve o’clock.’

I considered. ‘I would rather see him before Boleyn.’

‘That was the earliest he could do, sir.’

‘Then we’ll see Boleyn first. And did you manage to find out anything about my old servant, Josephine Brown?’