Tombland by C. J. Sansom

Author:C. J. Sansom
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pan Macmillan UK

Chapter Forty-four

As we walked the short distance to St Michael’s Chapel, I asked Toby, ‘How long have you known this was going to happen? All the time you were working with us?’

‘No,’ he answered in a cold, brusque tone. ‘I’d heard rumours, but it was only after my parents died and I lost the farm that I decided to seek out those who would rise against the gentlemen, and join them. Captain Kett is glad of literate men.’

‘You did much to help us on the Boleyn case. I thought we worked well together.’

He looked at me, his blue eyes suddenly fierce. ‘I have always kept a doin’ with the work I’ve been given. Though I didn’t much care what happened to Boleyn. But now I labour for the right order of the country.’

The main door of the chapel was closed, guarded by men in half-armour carrying halberds. Toby led me round to a side entrance. As we approached, a door opened and two men came out. My eyes widened in astonishment at the sight of Sir Richard Southwell, whom I had seen last with the Lady Mary, together with his man John Atkinson, the twins’ friend. They were dressed only in plain shirts and hose, no doubt to fit in at the camp. When he saw me Southwell’s face betrayed a flash of anger before resuming its usual haughty expression. He looked down at me from those heavy-lidded eyes.

‘Master Shardlake,’ he said. ‘So you are become a rebel.’

‘I was brought here,’ I said. ‘You seem to be here of your own will, though, Sir Richard.’

‘Things have reached the stage where certain negotiations are needed.’ He leaned over me. ‘You did not see us here, you understand? Just as I did not see you. Better for both of us once this matter reaches its end.’ He nodded at Atkinson, who gave me a surly look, and the two walked down the steep road to the river, Southwell showing some sort of pass to the guard on duty.

I looked incredulously at Toby. ‘That man, here? One of the biggest sheep farmers in Norfolk? I would have thought you’d have had him in Surrey Place.’

He gave me a steely look. ‘As he said, you didn’t see him. And now, Captain Kett awaits you.’

We entered a small anteroom. Toby opened the door to the main chapel and I stepped in. The walls were still brightly decorated and the old stained glass remained. Nothing else, though, of its religious function survived. The steps rising to what had once been the altar now led to an area where a large table had been placed, stacked with papers, a couple of truckle beds beside it. A pair of thick curtains had been erected over the front, which could be drawn to provide a degree of privacy. In the body of the chapel tables had been set around the walls, where men sat writing. By the main door the tall figure of Robert Kett, his grey hair and

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