Nicholas answered, ‘Tomorrow we’ll see Boleyn in gaol, and the coroner, then visit the victim’s parents, if they’ll see us.’
‘Any idea yet who might have done it, if not John Boleyn?’
I shook my head. Nicholas said, ‘There’s plenty of choice. Boleyn’s sons, his second wife, the neighbour he had quarrelled with.’
I thought, but did not say, And Richard Southwell, who might be interested in Boleyn’s lands, and from whom I was warned off by Cecil.
Nicholas said, ‘If only Boleyn had an alibi for the two hours when his second wife said he was studying legal papers, but did not actually see him.’
‘Especially as those papers were down in London,’ I added. ‘The crucial papers about Brikewell. I have them.’ I looked at Nicholas. ‘I think we should take Lockswood and visit the Brikewell manors on Saturday.’
‘Mind if I come along?’ Barak asked diffidently. ‘I’m busy tomorrow, but free Saturdays.’ I raised my eyebrows, and he said, ‘Tamasin’s down in London, isn’t she? She won’t know.’
I hesitated, then said, ‘All right.’ I gave Nicholas a quick nod. He said, ‘I need the jakes. I’ll be back in a minute.’
When he had gone, I said quietly to Barak, ‘I had an encounter with Tamasin a week ago.’ I told him what had passed at Guy’s. He shook his head. ‘She won’t forgive or forget, will she? Three years now. I’ve tried to move her, but she won’t budge.’
‘She said she thinks of me when she rubs oils on your – your stump in the evening. She says it hurts then.’
He sighed deeply. ‘It does, it hurts now. But pain is part of life, isn’t it? I noticed you were walking very carefully when you came in.’ Then he said, with sudden anger, ‘She’s always on at me not to do this, be careful with that. I think she would like to have me in swaddling clothes like a baby. The arguments we have when I say I’m going on Assizes duty – I get sick of it.’
I looked at him anxiously, remembering the time they had parted for a while. He read my look and said, ‘I’d never be without Tammy and the children, the care she gives me is more than most men get, but – she’s got to realize I can do most things I used to.’ He shook his head. ‘Women, eh? How’s young Nick doing in that department?’
I smiled. ‘He is interested in someone, and it may go somewhere, but I can’t say I like the girl.’
Next to us the four boatmen stood up, taking their staffs. One tipped his hat to me, and bowed, but then made a loud fart. Laughing, he and his companions walked off towards the inn. Barak smiled. We sat in silence for a moment. I looked over at the high gatehouse, its battlemented towers a darker shadow in the growing dusk. A light glimmered in the diamond-paned windows twenty feet up.
‘That’s an impressive building,’ I said.
‘It was built to guard Bishopsgate Bridge. It’s the only bridge over the river on this side.’
‘What’s that great mansion on top of the hill beyond?’
‘Surrey Place. Built only a few years ago by the Earl of Surrey, the Duke of Norfolk’s son. Since he was executed it’s been empty, managed by the King’s escheator. It’s too grand a place for anyone else in these parts to buy. Beyond is Mousehold Heath, a big expanse of land owned by the cathedral, too sandy for anything but light grazing. It has its history,’ he said, melancholy entering his voice.
‘What’s that?’
‘Centuries ago they found a young boy murdered there. They blamed the Norwich Jews, and they suffered for it. They made the boy a saint, William of Norwich; there was a shrine to him in the cathedral until all the shrines were taken down by King Henry. At least that’s one good thing the old villain did.’ Barak’s hand had gone to his shirt, and I guessed he was fingering the old, worn mezuzah handed down to him by his father, for he was of Jewish ancestry. He gazed up at the darkening escarpment. ‘And Mousehold was the site of a great camp during the Peasants’ Revolt.’ He looked at me meaningfully. ‘The other day in a tavern I heard some working men talking about that. They mentioned Wat Tyler, and Piers Plowman. That’s the mood here.’ He looked round. ‘Where’s Nicholas, he’s taking a long time over that piss.’
‘I could do with a visit to the jakes myself. And I’m hungry, do they serve food here?’
‘Ay, a reasonable pottage.’
‘I’ll get some.’
I stood, wincing a little as my back protested, and made my way across the garden to the far end, where a horn lantern swung above a wooden shed. ‘Nicholas,’ I called. ‘Are you in there?’ There was no answer. I pulled the door open, then stepped back with a gasp. Nicholas lay face down on the filthy floor, next to the pit with two planks on bricks over it. I grasped at the lantern and held it over him. There was blood on the back of his head. I touched the pulse on his neck. To my relief it was throbbing. I saw a paper had been placed on his back, and raised the lantern to it. In scrawled capitals I read: DEATH TO ALL GENTLEMEN.
Chapter Twelve
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.’