by C. J. Sansom
‘That would be easy enough.’ He made no move, though, to take it. He leaned back, resting his hands on the arms of his chair, trying to gauge what manner of creature I was. At length he said, ‘So, you worked at Requests, and call commoners like the Browns friends. Unusual. Have you represented many Norfolk clients?’
‘Over the years, a good number. They have always been tenacious, with a sound knowledge of the law.’
Kett leaned forward. ‘Are you a Commonwealth man, then, Master Shardlake?’
I spoke carefully. ‘Yes. In that I believe the common people of England are subject to great wrongs, which have grown worse these last years.’
‘You support the Protector, then, and the enclosure commissions?’
His gaze was one of the most intent I had ever encountered. I sensed he was a man who wanted the truth above all. I answered calmly. ‘Yes, entirely. But I fear they may not work. Enclosure commissions have been tried before, under Wolsey and Cromwell, but always their findings were overturned in the courts or ignored by the old king. And the task they have been set this year is – impossible. It seems a few commissioners will be asked in each part of the country to overturn illegal enclosures since 1485. I do not think the Protector has begun to think through the practicalities, for him everything comes second to his war against the Scots, which, with the debasement, has caused half the present trouble.’
Kett shook his head. ‘No, he is with the godly men, those who wish to build a new and Christian Commonwealth. You make a lawyer’s answer.’
‘Whatever you might want, the gentleman class will never allow such a reform of landholding to be implemented.’
Kett slapped a hand smartly on his desk, and smiled. ‘Exactly! That is why we have risen now. To provide muscle for the commissioners’ decisions, and to ensure our needs are met. That is why camps are being set up across the country, why they are armed, why they are bringing down the gentlemen and sending petitions about our grievances to the Protector. We are helping him. God’s death, man, he has already agreed to the demands of the Essex men.’
So they would dictate to the commissioners, not support them, I thought, but did not say. Kett raised his eyebrows, waiting for me to speak. I took a deep breath. ‘I do not believe the Protector, still less the Council to which he is answerable, will allow the common people a say in government.’
‘Do you think they should?’
I sighed. ‘Yes. In theory.’
‘Yet you do not believe it will happen?’
‘No. I fear this will end in violence.’
‘We shall kill nobody, unless attacked first. If the men rough up some of the landowners, it’s nothing to what they’ve done to us in the past. We have former soldiers with us, and officials of town and village government. They will ensure everything is orderly. Thus we shall show the Protector we can govern ourselves.’
‘Soldiers. You mean deserters from the Scottish wars?’
His voice grew harsh. ‘Men who went to serve and went unpaid, starving in rat-holes. They were betrayed, and are angry, but they are soldiers of courage and experience in organizing men.’
‘I am no supporter of the Scottish war,’ I said. ‘It has been a brutal disaster.’
Kett nodded. His look was determined, fierce. ‘We shall win. This is God’s will.’
I paused. ‘What do you intend to do?’ I asked eventually.
‘As others are doing all over England. Establish a headquarters. Put down the rich gentlemen, capture them to prevent them raising forces against us. Petition the Protector, wait for the commissioners to come. Then we shall have a new rule.’
‘And what do you want with me?’
He studied me again. ‘You could be of use to us. If you choose to be.’
Before I could ask him what he meant, there came a knock at the door, and Kett’s son, Loye, put his head round. ‘Excuse me, Father, Miles and William and the others are here.’
Kett stood. ‘Stay here, Master Shardlake, I shall return shortly.’ As they left the room, I looked at the diamond-paned window behind the desk, and the tidy knot-garden outside, peaceful in the dusk. Yet scarce a mile away a massive rebellion was brewing. I felt suddenly chill, a cold sweat forming on my brow.
*
I SAT AWHILE, listening to the faint murmur of voices from the hallway outside. Then I got up and put my ear to the door, which sometimes can be the only way to get information. I heard the voices of the Kett brothers, and several others which were unfamiliar, although one I thought sounded like the soldier, Miles. I heard him say, ‘This is Captain Wills, sore brushed in the old king’s French wars, as you see, with much experience in victualling.’
‘I see people ha’ brought in supplies,’ another voice replied, ‘and killed many sheep, but more vittles must be organized. Ale, too; men must drink in this heat. Don’t, they’ll collapse. Supplies should be sent from their villages.’
‘It’s good to organize people by their parish banners,’ Miles said. ‘But we must move tomorrow – more are coming in from the villages in the north of the county. Those in the south-west are congregating at Downham. But make no mistake, Master Kett, up here hundreds upon hundreds are coming in. We may end up with the biggest camp in the country.’
‘Things must be organized fast.’ This was Robert speaking.
The voice I thought was Miles’s came in again: ‘Ay, and we officers are used to organizing things.’
‘So are we Norfolk men,’ William said brusquely. ‘Don’t take us as stupid. The villagers are keeping lines open to their homes; they know they’ll need more supplies.’
‘I don’t underestimate you, sir. But in a case of moving possibly thousands of men, we soldiers can help.’
‘And now, together, in a great cause,’ Robert said, placatingly.
‘Can we take Norwich?’ another man asked. ‘Those walls are low, half broken down in places.’
‘The poor there are on our side,’ Miles answered, ‘but the constables seem to be staying loyal to the city council. They’ve got arms. It depends what line the council takes.’
‘If need be, we can set up camp on Mousehold Heath, outside the city,’ Robert said.
Captain Wills replied, ‘Then we must indeed organize supplies from the countryside, by force or favour. What are we to do with the gemmun we capture? There are those outside would have their heads off.’
‘My brother has an idea,’ William said.
‘Try them ourselves for their misdeeds, and imprison those we find guilty. Put our findings to the commissioners.’ This was Robert.
‘We have scriveners among us,’ William added.
Miles said, ‘I hear we’ve captured young Thomas Godsalve. He’s a lawyer, but he’s spitting blood, I doubt he’d help us.’
‘We have two lawyers as well,’ Robert replied. ‘Another young one, who won’t help. The other –’ he paused – ‘might.’ I drew a deep breath. Was this what Kett wanted, for me to help with some illegal ad hoc trials?
‘There’s a bigger problem,’ Captain Wills interjected. ‘Understand again, we could be talking thousands of men. Who is to lead them? It has to be someone known and trusted locally.’
They must have looked at William Kett, for I heard him say, ‘I’m too old. And I get crotchety. Robert’s mind is quicker, and he has a rare knack of attracting loyalty.’ He must have turned to his brother, for he added, ‘And you have great gifts of speech. Can be crafty when it’s needed, too.’
They moved away, and I heard no more. I went and sat in the chair, thinking furiously, trying to muster my thoughts on this extraordinary situation. It was near an hour before I heard the sound of men saying farewell, and Robert Kett returned. He sat down and looked at me hard, then spoke, quietly and seriously. ‘Tomorrow morning we leave for Norwich. There are hundreds coming in, maybe thousands, and hard tasks ahead. There are those who would have our oppressors, the corrupt officials and rich landowners, done to death. I understand that, but it wi
ll not serve our purpose, which is to show loyalty to the Protector and the law. I have in mind to take these men prisoner and subject them to trials. The penalty for unjust oppression of the commons will be imprisonment. Nothing more. An experienced lawyer to advise me would be a good thing. It could help me curb the wilder spirits. Will you aid me?’
I said, ‘Just before I left London, I saw a company of soldiers out of control half kill a man who had done no wrong, simply because he had a Scotch accent.’
‘Our soldiers are for the Commonwealth,’ Kett said stoutly. ‘They are men of ideals.’ He leaned back and crossed his arms. ‘But you are a gentleman, perhaps you fear common people?’
His words struck home. For all my own ideals, my status meant that my whole life I had seen the poor, especially in numbers, as a potential threat, an enemy. As individuals I could advise them, but in the mass, yes, I feared them. I said, ‘I am a man of my background, as are we all. Will you let me consider this?’ I knew if I refused I would end up their prisoner, like Nicholas. But I needed to think, and think hard.
Kett frowned, then nodded slowly. ‘A little time, yes. I see you are an honest man, Serjeant Shardlake; others might agree too quickly, to curry favour, then take the chance to flee later.’ He stood. ‘And now, I offer you a bed in my house tonight.’
That was an offer, I knew, I would not be allowed to refuse. I said, ‘When you get to Norwich, what of the town poor? Their grievances are different. Perhaps some wish not to reform the kingdom, but make all men level?’
He laughed. ‘Like the Anabaptists in Germany, fifteen years ago. How often the gentlemen use them as a bogey to frighten their fellows.’
‘My point is, Master Kett, the Anabaptists were destroyed by the rulers.’
He studied me with those large, piercing eyes. ‘We shall not be destroyed, we shall prove to the Protector that we are loyal.’ He stood. ‘And now, I must return to town. I will arrange something to eat for you.’ He looked at my belt. ‘And for now, at least, you may keep that money. But do not advertise you have it.’
Chapter Thirty-nine
The following morning, I was woken at dawn by the sound of voices and trundling cartwheels outside. The smell of cooking fires wafted through the open window. Heavy footsteps sounded within the house. I had shared a bed with Michael Vowell, and Hector Johnson, an elderly ex-soldier. He was around sixty, thin and stringy with several scars on his sunburned face. Nonetheless, he moved as swiftly as a younger man, jumping from the bed.
I sat up and rubbed a hand over my stubbly chin. Vowell, already lacing up his hose, said I should rise. ‘We shall be on the road soon and must try to snatch some breakfast.’
Downstairs bread and cheese had been set out on the dining-room table, with jugs of ale. A dozen men, including Robert Kett’s son, sat eating as quickly as they could, tearing the bread with their hands. I hesitated, then reached out to grab some bread and cheese. I was used to being served my food, eating slowly. Vowell smiled cynically. ‘Catch as catch can now, Master Shardlake.’
Afterwards, Vowell and Johnson led me outside – no doubt they had been set to keep a watch on me – and we walked to the centre of town, where perhaps a thousand men, and a few women, had gathered, most in workaday clothes and caps or wide-brimmed hats, bags over their shoulders, many carrying weapons. The crowd was quiet; no doubt most were newly awake; many looked tired and some as though they had thick heads after a celebratory night. I looked around for Barak and Nicholas, but saw neither. Hector Johnson walked to the rear of the crowd, where carts were being packed with vittles. Vowell stayed with me. I glanced at him. The well-dressed steward had become a man with tangled beard and hair, dressed in a loose shirt. But his eyes sparkled with enthusiasm.
The crowd’s attention was focused on Beckett’s Chapel, where the Kett brothers stood on the steps with Miles and several other men. Robert waved his arms for silence, then called out in a loud, deep voice. ‘We leave now for Norwich, to erect a great camp at Mousehold Heath! Others will join us by the great oak at Hethersett! Be of good heart and discipline! We are making as great a stir as any in Norfolk’s history!’ There was a chorus of cheers. Then William and Robert Kett, Robert’s wife Alice, and a little group including Toby, the soldier Miles, and some others I did not know, mounted horses, and called for the people to follow. The great concourse – men of all ages, mostly poor but some wearing the richer, deeply dyed fabrics of yeomen, and a few women with their husbands, began marching out of Wymondham. Vowell asked, ‘Will you be all right walking?’
‘I hope so.’ I inclined my head. ‘Easier with my hands untied.’ I looked behind me, where oxen and donkeys drew a long trail of carts, most filled with food, though others contained weapons, helmets and breastplates. At the very back was a cart where five bound men sat; the Flowerdew boys, a pair of gentlemen I did not recognize, fine clothes askew, and Nicholas. His face looked bruised. I drew a deep breath. Somehow I had to get him out of there.
It was yet another hot, dry day, great clouds of dust thrown up from the road. People seemed to be grouped together by locality, for banners taken from local churches were held up by men who often wore the yeoman dress of village leaders; one or two were clerics. As we left Wymondham, people working in the fields stopped and cheered. The crowd called back, ‘The commons claim our rights!’ and ‘God save King Edward!’ A few labourers peeled off and joined us.
We marched on. As we passed sheep-runs, men broke off from the crowd and, using hammers and picks, dug up the hedges and hurdles and threw them into the ditches. The shepherds in the pastures fled. One shepherd’s dog ran snarling at the men lifting the hurdles, biting one on the leg before he killed it with a hammer blow. I noticed that a few men wore breastplates and walked like soldiers, with an air of command. Some carried trumpets. I stared at the scene; I could hardly take in the import of it all. A rebellion of the common people, which, we were all told, would lead to anarchy. Yet everyone marched in order; if people strayed too far into the fields a trumpet blast brought them back. Yet was it even right to call them rebels? Had they not called out ‘God save the King?’ Had they not risen in defence of the commissions? Some of the younger men, though, looked ready for a fight.
Beside me Vowell said, ‘We pass the road to Brikewell ere long. You said that Flowerdew and that old rogue Reynolds threw Boleyn’s wife out of the manor house?’
‘Yes. She and her steward are still in Norwich, so far as I know.’
‘Anyone at North Brikewell manor now? We’re visiting all the manor houses to get food and arms. Many of the weapons stored in the churches for the village musters are all but useless; some go back to Bosworth.’
‘The twins are at Brikewell,’ I said. ‘And some of their friends.’
He nodded with satisfaction. ‘They’ll make fine hostages.’
‘They’ll give you a fight.’
Vowell laughed. ‘Against these numbers? We shall prevail, Master Shardlake, there and everywhere else. Those young devils, they’re symbols of the oppression that’s been brought to Norfolk—’
We were interrupted by blaring trumpets. Ahead, under a large oak spreading wide branches over the road, I saw another huge crowd, almost as large as our own, spilling into the fields behind. They raised a loud cheer as we approached. Word was passed down the line to stop, that Robert Kett was to address us all. Some took the chance to sit on the ground, for we had been walking some time. I eased myself carefully onto a hummock of grass. Robert Kett rode to the oak, his brother William by his side, then he watched as the crowd settled down.
‘Where have all these others come from?’ I asked Vowell, half-incredulous.
‘All around Norfolk. You see, Master Shardlake, how we unite!’ He laughed, with sheer pleasure.
I looked at him. ‘How long have you been involved in planning this?’
‘Since the day I left Master Reynolds’s house. I decided then to join those who, it was murmured, would bring the doings of men like hi
m to an end.’
I felt a hand on my arm. Barak, now wearing a broad-brimmed hat, sat down beside me on the hummock. Vowell looked at him questioningly. He smiled back. ‘Just wanted a word with my friend. They said at the back I could come up here.’
‘Did you see Nick?’ I asked.
‘Ay, he’s taken a bit of a beating. When will he learn to shut his mouth?’
‘He would be well advised to,’ Vowell said coldly.
‘I’ve tried telling him.’ Barak reached into the pack he carried, pulled out another hat, and gave it to me. ‘Here, I thought you might need this.’
‘Thank you,’ I replied gratefully. I looked at him. He seemed quite cheerful. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Right as rain. They need someone at the carts who can write, to record all the supplies they’ve got. Even though they do stare at me, writing with my left hand and supporting the papers on this thing.’ He waved his artificial hand.
Trumpets sounded again. There was silence, and then, under the oak, Robert Kett began to speak. His brother William stood beside him. We were close enough to hear, but, loud and deep as Kett’s voice was, it could not reach all that vast throng, and men passed his words back as he spoke.
‘Men of Norfolk! We rise because the oppression of the great men is unbearable, and our condition grows worse each month!
‘While they enjoy their pleasures, the commons do nothing but sweat, hunger and thirst. Our misery is a laughing stock to those proud insolent men! We are like slaves, and farm our land only at the pleasure and will of the lords. For as soon as any man offends any of these gentlemen, he is put out! The common pastures which have been our predecessors’ time out of mind are taken away; they are ditched and hedged in, the pastures enclosed . . .’
The crowd listened in silence save for the occasional cheer. Barak whispered, ‘He’s some orator.’
Kett continued, pausing after each sentence to let his words be carried back: ‘ . . . We can no longer bear such great and cruel injury! We will rather take arms than endure it! Nature has provided for us, as well as them; has given us, too, a body and soul. We have the same form, are born of women like them! Why should they have a life so unlike ours!’