by C. J. Sansom
‘Leave it, Gerry, we’ll just get beaten again!’ His twin was slouched beside him, the scar pale in his bruised face. His look, though, was no less full of hate, and he shouted, ‘When forces are sent to destroy these peasants, we’ll cut your fucking liver out ourselves.’
‘Be quiet, for Jesu’s sake.’ Leonard Witherington was with them in the cart, the imperious lord of South Brikewell now desperate with fear. His voice was imploring.
Barnabas said, ‘Shut your mouth, you cowardly old fart.’
The guards were grinning, but one jabbed Barnabas lightly with a spear through the bars. ‘That’s enough from yew, young muck-spout!’ Barnabas glared at us, but the amusement his antics was causing seemed to subdue him more than the spear, and he sank back wearily against his brother. I walked hastily on to the next cart. Again, men who had once ruled sat or lay, looking shocked, angry, and not a little frightened. Finally, I saw Nicholas, his long body curled into a ball, face livid with sunburn, sleeping. His feet were bound. I touched him gently through the bars and he jumped up, green eyes alert.
‘’Tis only me,’ I said gently.
He looked at me. ‘What happened? You look like a peasant.’
‘Fine clothes are no good on this march.’
‘Are you and Jack safe? I thought something had happened to you when you weren’t put in the carts.’
‘I’ve been asked to help Robert Kett give the gentlemen a fair trial when we reach our destination.’
‘You can’t help these rogues!’ he said incredulously.
‘I haven’t decided yet. But I’ve asked Kett to release you into my care, and he said he’d think about it.’
Nicholas stumbled to his knees. His shirt and hose were in tatters, his doublet gone. His face was puffy with bruises as well as sunburn. He leaned forward.
‘You can’t work for these brutes,’ he repeated.
‘Nick, if I get you out of here, you have to control your mouth.’
He looked around the cart, where several men in a similar condition stared at us dully. I recognized Flowerdew’s sons, both looking very young and scared. ‘Look what has been done to these boys,’ Nicholas remonstrated.
‘Their captors are angry. But they’re not brutes.’
He glanced at the cart, where the twins sat still glaring at us. ‘I wish those two would shut up.’
I felt desperately sorry for him. Like the others he had experienced nothing remotely like this before; though I had known worse, sent to the Tower twice in the old king’s reign. I said, ‘Keep calm, and rest. And in Jesu’s name, be quiet.’
He nodded despairingly. ‘They say we’re headed for Mousehold Heath.’
‘Yes. We should get there tomorrow.’ I grasped his hand. ‘Keep strong.’
He nodded. ‘I will.’
Another gentleman in the cart, the embroidered collar of his shirt torn half away, cried despairingly, ‘And what then? These mad animals will execute us.’
‘Robert Kett will not allow that.’ I took a deep breath, and said quietly, ‘Nor will I.’ In that moment, my decision to help him at the trials was made.
*
NATTY AND I RETURNED through the camp to where Barak now sat with a group of around twenty villagers round the cauldron. He had made friends with them – he had a silver tongue when he chose. A fire of freshly chopped wood under the cauldron was burning strongly, and there was a rich cooking smell. An older woman was stirring it. I sat beside Barak, nodding and smiling at the others, remembering that I must try to disguise my accent. I accepted a drink from a flagon, which was being passed around, containing strong beer rather than the ale we had had so far. ‘Good stuff, bor,’ the man who passed it to me said. ‘Fresh from our landlord’s stores.’
‘These folk are from an estate a few miles from a place called Swardeston,’ Barak explained.
I nodded. ‘What brought you here?’
A middle-aged man answered. ‘Our village is dyin’. The lord’s been overstocking the commons with his sheep, so there’s no room left for our animals. By gor, I’m a churchwarden an’ a man of peace, but we’ve had enough.’
The woman stirring the pot turned to us, smiling. ‘So we raided the steward’s house, took his money an’ weapons, sent his fine wife runnin’ to the woods, and turned his sheep off the commons!’
There was laughter round the group. ‘Well told, mar!’
Natty was standing at a little distance, looking awkward. The woman called to him. ‘On yer lonesome, bor?’
He stepped forward, and was invited to sit with the rest of us. ‘No lack o’ vittles here, boy.’
‘Thank you.’ He took a seat next to me. I smiled at him wryly. ‘Still keeping an eye on me?’
He nodded. I realized he had been reluctant to impose himself on the villagers. There must be many like him in the camp, single men and boys without a local group. The flagon was passed to Natty, who drank gratefully.
‘How was Nick?’ Barak asked quietly.
‘Tied up in a cart. But he’s holding on. Gerald and Barnabas were in the next cart. Gerald spat at me.’
‘Nice.’
Food was being passed out now; rich dark venison in a thick pottage of vegetables. Grace was said, for the first time in days, I realized. Everyone set to eagerly. The flagon was passed round again, and Natty took a long swig, then another. There was little talking while we ate, but when we put our bowls down, Natty stood, a little unsteadily. ‘Good lady, I thank you,’ he said to the cook, who gave a little curtsey. ‘I have not eaten such a fine meal in months!’
‘Nor have any of us, lad!’
Natty said, ‘No, for the rich lords care not if we starve! But now we have them, and their sheep and deer.’ His voice broke with emotion. ‘At last we are free! Free to eat, and free to speak out!’
‘Well said, lad!’
‘We shall set all aright! A new world is dawning, the rich will be put down and the common man will have his own land, his own trade, his own life! We shall bring Christ’s Commonwealth!’ Tears began running down his face, and, I saw, also from the eyes of some who cheered him on.
Chapter Forty-two
Next morning, we again set off early, heading south-east, slowly, for many were tired now. The weather was cooler, but sticky, the sky covered with a thin milky cloud. At the slower pace I walked more easily.
We tramped on, up the outer slopes of Mousehold Heath, which rose gently here. We stayed with the village group from last night, Natty with me still. We stopped for lunch, and bread and cheese with rabbit stew were passed around. I had only just started eating, though, when a messenger appeared. ‘Master Shardlake, Captain Kett would speak with you.’ I rose, the villagers looking at me in surprise. They had no idea I was so elevated.
I followed him to the head of the marchers. In one place sheep were being expertly butchered, and I recoiled at the site of a great heap of guts and other offal lying on the ground, flies buzzing over it. The messenger smiled. ‘Only the best cuts are suitable for Kett’s camp,’ he explained proudly.
He led me to where a stool and a small desk had been set out, perhaps taken from one of the manor houses. Robert Kett sat there, surrounded by papers and plans. His brother William was with him, along with Captain Miles in his half-armour, a couple of other men in semi-military attire and a surpliced clergyman. Kett looked tired, but his eyes were keen as ever as he looked up at me. He did not smile.
‘How fare you today, Serjeant Shardlake, after all this marching?’ Suddenly he laughed. ‘Forgive me, but you look like an old peasant. Fear not, though, we have your pack and robe safe.’
‘I am better now the march is slower. But my shoes are starting to wear out.’
‘We must get you a pair of solid country shoes clouted with nails, such as many of our people have brought. Those that can afford them, at least.’
‘I should be grateful, Master Kett.’
William said sharply, ‘Captain Kett henceforth, not Master.’
Robert said, ‘Soon we shall be at the top of Mousehold Heath, the long journey ends and we make final camp. The bells will ring out across the countryside once more, and beacons will be lit. Word has gone out for men to come, and bring supplies. The lords we have not captured are fled. Tomorrow we shall organize our people by their Hundred districts, the old historic regions of Norfolk, then elect representatives of the Hundreds.’ He looked at me hard. ‘Our men need to get settled. When the representatives are elected, we shall draw up a list of grievances – demands – for the King and his commissioners. And send out orders for the requisitioning of goods around the county, in the name of the King and the Protector.’
‘And soon we must begin the trials of the gentlemen,’ the clergyman added. ‘More will be brought in when we send men out to requisition goods, and there are those among us who would kill them. The promise of holding trials, according to law, as well as recording their iniquities, will restrain violence.’
Kett nodded. ‘We’ve some scriveners among us, and the young lawyer Master Godsalve, though he would run if he could, but legal skills such as you have, Master Shardlake – they would be invaluable at the trials. To advise me on points of law and evidence.’
‘I see.’
‘When we reach Mousehold, the carpenters among us will have great business cutting down trees from Thorpe Wood, making shelters – this dry weather must have been sent us by God, but it surely cannot last forever. And they will build a place of justice, too.’ His voice became stern. ‘I know you are a man of conscience, Serjeant Shardlake, but it is time for you to decide whether to help us or to become a prisoner yourself.’
I took a deep breath. ‘I have decided, and I shall help you at these trials with legal advice. So long as the penalty for wrongdoing is only imprisonment.’
Miles spoke impatiently. ‘We can’t stop some getting a bit of a buffeting, not after all our people have suffered.’
‘Perhaps you think even imprisonment too harsh,’ Kett probed.
I hesitated. ‘I understand why you cannot simply let your prisoners go. They might raise men against you.’
‘That is true,’ William Kett snapped. ‘But it is also a matter of justice.’
Robert Kett said, ‘When we get to Mousehold, we shall put our prisoners in the Earl of Surrey’s old palace. Conditions will not be harsh, not unduly.’
‘Will you then take the oath all the men in the camp have taken,’ William asked me, ‘to stand together come what may?’
I clenched my fists, realizing that my hands were shaking. I looked at Robert and said, ‘I cannot do that, at least not yet. But I will take an oath to you to assist honestly in the trials with any questions of law. I understand it will help you to have a serjeant-at-law advising you,’ I added boldly, ‘so our aims coincide.’
William looked angry. ‘Why should we allow this hunchback to dictate terms?’
Robert, however, raised a hand. There was an English New Testament on his desk; he held it up. ‘Then take the oath to assist us. An oath to the camp, not to me.’ I put my hand on the bible and swore as he asked. I could see from his eyes, though, that he was still not satisfied. William grunted.
There was a silence. I broke it by asking, ‘Do you know when the Protector’s commissioners for Norfolk will arrive?’
Kett shook his head. ‘We have no word. Soon, I hope. We shall welcome them.’
I thought, But will they welcome you?
I did not wish to try Kett’s patience further, but there was one more thing I had to say. ‘You told me you would think about releasing my assistant Nicholas Overton, Captain Kett. I beg you again to consider it. He has only spoken foolish words, for which surely a man should not be imprisoned.’
Kett turned enquiringly to Miles, who said, ‘I think you could let him go, Captain. He’s had some of the nonsense knocked out of him. And he’s no friend of those crazy twins from Brikewell. They shout insults at him more than anyone else.’
Kett nodded. ‘Very well. Overton will be released when we reach Mousehold Heath.’ He looked at me sharply. ‘Provided he takes an oath to you that he will not escape.’ He raised a finger. ‘And I hold you responsible for him, mark that.’
‘I understand.’
The cleric coughed. ‘We should move on to consider the appointment of a chaplain. There are too many wild prophets preaching the apocalypse –’
‘Ay, Master Chaundler. Thank you, Serjeant Shardlake.’ Kett nodded his head in dismissal, and I walked slowly back to Barak and the villagers.
*
WE MARCHED ON, the ground rising more steeply now, Kett at our head, a great train of wagons pulled by oxen and donkeys and horses behind; and in the rear, with a guard of armed men, the carts bearing the prisoners. I realized with surprise that it was Friday, the twelfth of July, less than a week since Isabella’s appeal had sent me to Wymondham. We passed through the village of Sprowston, where fences enclosing sheep were pulled down and a substantial manor house forcibly entered. A man in a rich doublet and hose was brought out, shouting in fury and calling his captors dogs and pigs until a smack on the head and a shout to ‘stop that dullerin’’ quieted him. Old Hector Johnson, who had replaced Natty at my side, said, ‘That’s Master John Corbett.’ He looked at me. ‘A lawyer on the make like Flowerdew, who bought up old monastic lands.’
‘I have never been on the make,’ I answered.
‘Live in a ditch, do you?’
‘I have never been on the make,’ I repeated angrily, though I could not but think of my fine London house.
Johnson smiled. ‘Just yagging you, sir. ’Tis our Norfolk sense of humour.’
Corbett was being dragged to the carts, while anything useful was carried out of his house. Horses were led round from the stables. Valuables, including silver plate and coins, were taken to Kett and his senior men at the head of the march, where a treasurer seemed to have been appointed to receive gold and silver, though I could not but wonder cynically how many coins stayed in the purses of the men who brought the valuables out. At least nothing more had been said about Isabella’s money that I still kept safe.
A little further on we came to an ancient building with an ecclesiastical aspect, which had been converted into a huge dove house. A party of men with bows and arrows peeled off and took places around the buildings, while others armed with large hammers went inside. In a couple of minutes hundreds of doves flew out, many immediately shot down as they had been at Witherington’s field. The men inside set to demolishing the building, pieces of the roof soon crashing down. As the march passed on men stopped to wave and cheer.
‘What is that place?’ I asked a man walking beside me, who was watching with particular satisfaction.
‘Before the dissolution it was a leper hospital. Last year it was sold to Corbett, so his doves could rob our crops for his table.’
‘I have seen the destruction they can do,’ I said.
‘They will do no more,’ he replied emphatically.
Some people from Sprowston joined us, and the march resumed. The Earl of Surrey’s great mansion came into view, but Kett made for a large chapel, a little nearer. Beside it the escarpment fell steeply to the Wensum, with Norwich beyond. The sky had cleared and the view was the most extraordinary I had seen in my life, the whole city spread out below us, the river, the walls, the many spires, the great square block of the castle, and, dominating everything, the huge spire of the cathedral which on this clear day looked so close I felt I could almost reach out and touch it.
Barak came and whistled. ‘That view’s something,’ he said. ‘Really something. And the best vantage point we could have.’
Word was going around for people to form into village or parish groups, and wait until men came to show them where they should pitch up. I asked Barak, ‘Where do we go?’
‘We could join the Swardeston people. They seem a decent crew.’
‘Yes.’ As we waited, I look
ed across at Surrey Place. It was a huge Italianate palace with decorated columns, large windows and gardens, behind high walls, looking entirely out of place on the heathland. A group of men were hauling out a well-dressed official who, I presumed, was the caretaker, anxious servants standing around. The caretaker was led away, expostulating.
‘I’m surprised Kett hasn’t taken Surrey Place as his headquarters,’ I said quietly.
Barak shook his head. ‘Wouldn’t look good, setting himself up in an earl’s palace.’
‘No.’
‘And a place that size, it’s a big target if the city council got cannon down to the riverside.’
I smiled. ‘You’re thinking like one of the rebels, Jack.’
‘I am, yes. This cause is just, if ever one was.’
‘I’ve noticed you’ve hardly been drinking since we got here. Though I’ve heard some rowdiness in the camp round the fires.’
‘Need to keep a clear head.’
‘And you have something to take your mind off Tamasin. Will they let you write to her?’
‘I haven’t asked yet. I want to let things settle down for a day or two.’ He looked at me intently. ‘You recognize the justice in what these men are doing now?’
‘I’m not quite sure, not yet.’ I sighed. ‘I have taken an oath to help with the trials, but no more. I still fear that, one way or another, this could end in terrible violence.’
He smiled. ‘Always somewhere in the middle, as usual.’ Then his look became serious. ‘You’ll have to come down off that fence before too long.’
I looked down at the city. ‘What do you think of Captain Kett?’
‘I think he’s the most remarkable man I’ve met since Lord Cromwell. He has Cromwell’s force, his negotiating skills – he’s been a local politician and guildsman for years – and his confidence. But none of Cromwell’s cruelty, or bullying. Charisma too, practical organizing skills, and from the way he’s shaping this camp, a genuine belief in equality.’