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‘Wife no longer. Legally, since Edith was alive all the time, the prior declaration of her death is invalidated, and so is Boleyn’s new marriage. Again, if his new wife were involved, she would have wanted the body well hidden.’

Nicholas thought a moment. ‘There are no depositions from Boleyn’s sons by Edith. Twin boys of eighteen, are they not?’

‘Yes. Perhaps they were not at home. What must they have made of it all? Their mother abandoning them – for that is what she did – when they were small, and then her being found like that after all this time. I wonder what the second wife’s relations with them were like.’ I leaned back. ‘Well, we shall find out more from Lawyer Copuldyke tomorrow.’

‘When do we leave for Norfolk?’

‘I should think Monday.’ I smiled. ‘Do not worry, we shall keep our dinner engagement on Saturday, and you will get to see Mistress Kenzy. But after that we may be away a couple of weeks. I must check with Skelly that all the work is kept in hand.’ I sighed. ‘I am not looking forward to the ride. And I must hire another horse. Genesis is getting old, like his master, and I should have a younger animal for this journey. Your horse should do, though.’

He smiled. ‘Yes. Lancelot is a fine beast.’ It was two months since Nicholas had bought a sturdy young gelding which, I suspected, had denuded his savings. He looked at me, hesitated, then asked, ‘Sir, is it only the long journey that worries you?’

‘Yes. I want to go. I need something for my mind to –’ involuntarily, I clenched a fist – ‘to bite on. Even if the details are nasty.’

‘We may meet a murderer.’

I nodded. ‘We shall certainly meet John Boleyn.’

‘And if it is someone else?’

I smiled. ‘Then I will have you there to ensure I am not knocked on the head.’ I looked at him, then added more seriously, ‘Unless you would rather not.’

‘No. So long as there is no politics. No mixing with the rulers of the realm who would kill men as easily as a fly.’

‘Ay, and I regret that it was through me that you learned how they can behave. But we are not going to Norfolk to play a political game, rather we play down Elizabeth’s interest. Not that she is of great moment in the political scheme of things just now.’

He considered. ‘We should bear in mind that quarrels over land can also be vicious.’

‘Yes. They make fat purses for us lawyers. And they’re not always resolved through the law. Parry said Boleyn and his neighbour had been involved in some sort of violent affray.’

Nicholas picked up a piece of bread from his plate and crumbled it between his long fingers, suddenly looking thoughtful, and sad. ‘My father –’ he broke off.

‘Yes?’

‘Five years ago, he had a quarrel with a neighbouring landowner, who, like my father, had the right to pasture beasts on the local common land. My father – for he began the trouble – started overstocking. There is only grass for so many beasts. His neighbour went to the manor court, but my father had greased the palm of the lord of the manor, and so his right to graze was upheld.’

‘If his neighbour had gone to the higher courts, pleaded manorial custom—’

‘You know how long that can take. Seasons pass, and beasts need to eat. The neighbour got together with the poor tenants of the village, whose grazing rights were also affected, and drove out my father’s beasts, threatening to set about him with cudgels if he came back. My father barked about hiring men of his own, but the local Justice of the Peace stepped in, settled the matter against my father and said he would have no battles between bands of ruffians in his jurisdiction.’ Nicholas’s face set in hard lines. ‘My father can be fierce, but he is not brave enough to get himself in trouble with the Justice.’ He wiped the remaining crumbs from his fingers.

I looked at him, wondering not for the first time what it must have been like for him, only child to a hard, unjust man. Nicholas smiled wryly. ‘My father was furious, said that allowing himself to be intimidated by a gang of peasants impugned his honour.’

‘His status, at least,’ I said.

‘It was no matter of honour. Honour is a right behaviour, honest dealing between gentlemen, and recognition of the right order of society. He was right at least that his neighbour should not have descended to hiring common folk to brawl with each other.’

‘From what you say, the poor tenants’ interests were under threat as well.’

‘They have their rights, but also their place.’ He looked down at the table. ‘Well, I am out of that now.’

‘It sounds like a similar affair in Norfolk.’

‘But at least here I can take a lawyer’s impartial view.’ He laughed, a bitter laugh for one so young. He washed his fingers in the bowl of water provided for us and wiped them on his napkin. ‘I think I shall go to bed. It has been a long day.’

‘It has. But, strangely, I am not tired. My mind has been working too hard. I think I shall go for a walk, clear my head.’

OUTSIDE IT WAS still light, the air fresh and clear. Whetstone village consisted only of a few houses straggling down the road to an old church. The church doors were open, and I walked towards them, entering the lychgate and following the path between the gravestones.

Within, a man was whitewashing one wall, broad brushstrokes covering a painting of angels in bright flowing robes. The other walls were already whitened over. The stained-glass windows had gone as well, replaced with plain glass in accordance with Archbishop Cranmer’s injunctions. The rood screen was down, the altar open to the body of the church. On one wall the Ten Commandments had been painted in black Gothic script; the idolatry and imagery of the past replaced with the Word of God, though most of the parishioners would be illiterate.

I sat on one of the chairs set out for elderly members of the congregation, and watched the painter work on. I thought, Here is the faith denuded of papist ceremony and ritual that I had argued for so fiercely as a young man. And yet I remembered too, as a country child, how in the grey bleak months of winter it was wonderful to experience the colour and brightness of the church on Sunday, smell the incense and see the paintings; a feast for the senses, attuning the mind to things of the spirit. Even the mumming of the Latin Mass had once sent a thrill through me. Well, I had rejected all that. I had got what I wanted and now it seemed cold, and hard, and stark.

The workman ceased his labours and began washing his brushes in a pail of water. He jumped when he saw me sitting there in my black robe, then took off his cap and approached, bowing.

‘Forgive me, sir, I did not see you.’ He looked to be in his fifties, his lined face flecked with paint.

I smiled. ‘You are working late, fellow.’

‘Ay. And must start again at first light tomorrow. Our new vicar wants all done for the new Prayer Book service on Sunday.’

‘You are doing a thorough job.’

‘I’m being paid well enough, though—’ The man broke off and stared at me with bright blue eyes, a bold look from a working fellow to a gentleman. ‘In a way I’m being paid with my own money, and that of my ancestors.’

‘How so?’

‘Because this work is being paid for from church funds, we couldn’t afford it if it weren’t for the money from the sale of all the old silver plate we were ordered to remove. There was one candle holder, beautifully carved, it was bought by my great-grandfather’s family for a candle dedicated to him, perpetually lit in the church.’ He looked at one of the many empty niches, then lowered his eyes and said hastily, ‘I know, we must obey King Edward’s orders as we did King Henry’s. I am sorry if I offended at all.’