It is difficult for the man to be heard above the whoops, shouts and ugly calls of the ever-increasing crowd. He stands on a large box in front of an assortment of rough-looking fellows, mainly farm labourers and market workers. Fires have been lit in the road, right here in the centre of Reading town and there is noise everywhere. The man is dressed in fine-quality doublet and hose, far different from the people ranged in front of him. He speaks treasonous words about Queen Mary and refers openly to her great cruelty.
“Do my ears deceive?” I ask, dumbfounded.
“They do not, Francis,” Sir Thomas informs me, smiling.
The crowd is increasing by the dozen every few minutes, it seems to me as a casual observer, positioned to one side of the road with Thomas. The noise rises and falls, mainly
