I stumbled over a projecting oak root, and cursed. Watching my way carefully, I went through the lychgate and headed up the street, the flickering candlelight from the inn windows guiding me back.
Chapter Five
Though we left Whetstone village early the following morning, we did not enter London till after midday, for a couple of miles out of the City we found ourselves stuck behind a row of gigantic carts, each drawn by eight heavy horses and laden with new-cast bricks. The drivers wore the Protector’s red and yellow coat of arms and we followed at a snail’s pace as the carts lumbered on, making deep ruts in the road.
‘More bricks for Somerset House,’ Nicholas observed sourly.
‘Ay, Edward Seymour’s palace will eat up half of London before he’s done.’ Since becoming Protector, the Duke of Somerset had begun work on a vast new palace on the Strand, clearing away rows of old tenements and even digging up part of the ancient St Paul’s Cathedral charnel house, sending cartloads of bones of ancient distinguished Londoners to be buried with the rubbish out in Finsbury Fields.
Nicholas said, ‘I hear he’s ordered two million bricks for rebuilding that crumbling old family place of his in Wiltshire – what’s it called, Wolf’s Hole?’
‘Wolf Hall. All paid for by the public purse, empty though it is.’
We had to halt outside the Moorgate, for there was scarce enough space for the carts to enter. I saw a new proclamation in the King’s name posted outside: from now on the gates were to be closed during the hours of darkness, and a good night watch to be appointed in each ward.
‘Are they expecting trouble after the new service on Sunday?’ Nicholas asked. ‘Even though most of London is Protestant.’
‘Not everyone,’ I replied. The atmosphere in the city that spring had been tense, pamphlets against the Pope and the Mass everywhere. The performance of plays and interludes was already prohibited, and servants and youths required to keep off the streets after dark. The May disturbances in the countryside, and the unruly behaviour of soldiers from the encampments outside the city waiting to go up to the Scottish war, had added to the authorities’ concerns.
The last cart passed through the city gates, almost flattening one of the city guards as it lurched sideways over a deep rut. The man stared after it, white-faced.
‘Come on,’ I said. ‘We’re through.’
WE RODE DOWN TO Cheapside, making for my house at Chancery Lane. The city was busy and noisy as ever, blue-coated apprentices and workmen in leather or wadmol jackets jostling with goodwives in their coifs and aprons, while gentlemen with swords and bucklers at their waists, retainers beside them, pushed their way through. The view from the saddle showed plenty of hollow cheeks and anxious faces. This was a hard time of the year, with last year’s store of winter food running low, two months until the new harvest, and prices raging ahead. Beggars in ragged blankets crouched in doorways, a host of them around the great Cheapside Cross, crying for alms, trying to catch the eyes of those who passed.
I said to Nicholas, ‘Come with me to my house and change, then we can go to see Copuldyke. He is a Lincoln’s Inn man, so thank God is nearby. You can go back to your lodgings after our meeting.’
WE PASSED ST PAUL’S Cathedral, then went under Newgate to my house in Chancery Lane. There, I ordered my steward John Goodcole to take our packs, see to the horses and prepare some water for us to wash. I went to my bedroom to lie down and ease my back; from below I heard the familiar sounds of bustle in the house. Since the death of my housekeeper Joan four years before, I had had to sack two stewards in succession for serious misdemeanours. Two years ago, however, John Goodcole, his wife and their twelve-year-old daughter had come to work for me after their old master, another Lincoln’s Inn lawyer, died. He had been a man with a large family, and in working for me, a bachelor, the Goodcole family had found an easy berth. But they did their work diligently, and as a family were a contented trio, at ease with each other and genuinely keen to do good service. I gathered from gossips at Lincoln’s Inn that they favoured the old religion, but was happy to turn a blind eye to that.
There was a knock on the door. I heaved myself up and bade John Goodcole enter with my washing-bowl. It was time to make myself presentable again. And I needed to ask him to hire a horse to take me to Norfolk on Monday.
AYMERIC COPULDYKE practised from an office in a corner of Lincoln’s Inn Square. I knew most of my fellow barristers to some extent, but as I told Parry, had only met Copuldyke once. His main practice was in Norfolk, and he was often away. He did not look very pleased to see Nicholas and me when we arrived, but bade us enter. He was a short, fat man in his fifties with a beaky nose, a wobbling double chin and a fussy, discontented air. As he asked us to sit he waved casually at a well-built young man in a neat grey doublet sitting at a small desk under the window. ‘My solicitor for business in Norfolk, Toby Lockswood.’ Lockswood rose and gave us a quick bow before sitting again. He had thick, curly black hair, an equally thick beard, and a round, snub-nosed face. His bright blue eyes were keen. This was the man Parry had said was sharper than his master.
Copuldyke leaned back in his chair and said, in tones of peevish irritation, ‘This is a nasty business Master Parry has got us involved in.’ He shook his head. ‘I was reluctant to have my name associated with it, but Master Parry – well, his mistress has deep pockets, as you know.’ He shot me a calculating glance. ‘But I will be only too glad to have you act as my agent in this, Serjeant Shardlake, and myself stay here in London. I have no civil matters on at the summer Assizes,’ he added. ‘As a Norfolk man, Serjeant Shardlake, I know how unpleasant disputes can get up there.’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘Also the Protector’s commissions to investigate illegal enclosures will be setting out soon, I’m told, and the Norfolk peasants will all be claiming land rights, saying Jack is as good as his master. I want to stay away from all that. Though I understand you used to practise at the Court of Requests, so you will have first-hand experience of representing these churls,’ he ended pointedly.
Copuldyke was not worth the trouble of getting into an argument with. I ignored his remark and said, ‘I have agreed to act for Master Boleyn, so I must get myself up to East Anglia. I will need authorization in writing from you, sir, to act as your agent, your name being on the record as acting for him.’
‘I have it prepared. Toby –’ Copuldyke waved haughtily at his assistant, and the bearded young man passed me a document.
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘That appears in order, Brother Copuldyke. If you could just sign.’
‘Happy to.’ Copuldyke took the paper and signed with a flourish. He let out a sigh of relief as he passed the authorization across the desk. I turned back to Lockswood. ‘I gather you are to come with us.’
‘I am, sir,’ the young man said quietly. Though Copuldyke had no trace of an accent, Lockswood spoke with a deep burr.
‘Master Parry said you had good knowledge of Norfolk.’
Copuldyke interrupted before Lockswood could reply. ‘Oh, Toby knows Norfolk inside out. Spends more than half his time there on work for me. His father’s a yeoman farmer, though he hasn’t enough land for his sons, so I took Toby on when he decided to try the law.’ Copuldyke spoke condescendingly, then turned to Nicholas. ‘And you, young man, you are going, too?’