by C. J. Sansom
‘Yes, Simon, it was,’ I answered. The thought was gone.
The play was ended, all the puppets bowed. The puppeteers rose up and bowed too. Roars of applause greeted them.
The cheers were dying down when I noticed a disturbance to one side of the crowd. People were gathering round a young man who was talking animatedly. I recognized Edward Brown. Barak and I hastened over. Fearing something might have happened to Josephine, I stepped forward and grasped his arm. ‘Edward, what goes on?’
He paused to take a breath. ‘Our scouts in the countryside have reported a royal Herald from London riding fast for Norwich with his attendants. They are almost at Wymondham. His coming is known to the city council, who are making preparations to receive him. We have informants among the servants.’
‘Does Captain Kett know?’
‘I just told him.’
Someone asked, ‘A Herald, not the commissioners?’
‘Yes. And he’s headed for Norwich, not the camp. But,’ he added excitedly, ‘this may be an answer to our demands. I had heard that Heralds have been sent to other camps.’
Barak’s eyes narrowed. He fingered his artificial hand nervously. ‘But what sort of answer?’
Chapter Fifty-three
Having delivered his message, Edward was due to return to Norwich immediately. I detained him a moment to ask how things were in the city. ‘There’s a bit of trouble sometimes, but nothing serious.’ He grinned. ‘Gentlemen getting pushed and shoved in the streets, their caps knocked off, lads baring their arses at them.’
‘And how is Josephine? And little Mousy?’
‘Mousy is thriving, thanks to the money you gave us.’ His face fell. ‘But Josephine – the troubles in the city, mild as they are, and seeing the camp here, on what the gentlemen call the frowning brow of Mousehold – they worry her. She fears any threat of violence; it brings back her childhood. I have to be away from home a lot, and she gets frightened. I do my best to take care of her.’
‘I know,’ I said gently.
‘You look surprisingly well, sir, after what happened at the hanging.’
I laughed. ‘It’s strange, sleeping on bracken and moving around all day instead of sitting at a desk has improved my back. I just wish it were not so hot.’
‘So do we all.’ He bowed, our conversation at an end, and began running back down to Norwich.
*
LATER THAT EVENING, men gravitated to the escarpment above Norwich, looking down at the city. But Norwich retained its usual aspect, the setting sun turning the white spire of the cathedral pink. At the guard posts reinforcements arrived, spearmen and archers. Captain Miles hastened to and fro, checking the cannon, gunpowder and gunballs taken from the manor houses. Few slept that night, knowing that the following morning the Protector’s response would be known. The general mood was optimistic, but nobody knew for certain. From our hut, Barak and I frequently heard hoof beats as messengers arrived at St Michael’s Chapel.
Next day, nothing happened, though the mood in the camp was tense and messengers from the city reported the Herald was expected by the council to arrive soon. The following morning, the twenty-first of July, there was still no word of his arrival. Although we did not usually attend, Barak and I went to the Oak of Reformation with the Swardeston villagers to hear the morning sermon. Birds sang in the yellow, rustling grass and the few remaining trees.
There was a large congregation present. Conyers began the service by saying that the King’s Herald was expected imminently in Norwich. Then he began his sermon. I looked at him; he was a tall, thin, serious man known for commitment both to the Commonwealth and to peace, and he had a gentleness about him, a quiet sincerity. He chose as his text the passage from St Matthew: Behold, I am sending you out as sheep in the midst of wolves; therefore be as wise as serpents and as innocent as doves. He said that whatever news the Herald brought, it was probable he would criticize the camp, even call us rebels, as Heralds had done in other camps and in letters; but concessions had also been made and we should consider them carefully, with calm thought. The congregation listened quietly, and at the start of this crucial day I felt a moment of calm I had not felt for years, almost as though it came from outside me. I sighed deeply, drawing a couple of curious glances.
Conyers concluded by saying that peace and reconciliation must be accompanied by justice, then led us in singing the Te Deum in English, followed by psalms. Simon showed again what a beautiful singing voice he had, and several in the congregation looked at him. Barak murmured, ‘Shows me up.’ He had the singing voice of a cat.
Then came an interruption. A young man, sweating and breathless, mounted the stage, bowed to Conyers, and whispered to him. Conyers nodded and addressed the crowd. ‘The King’s Herald has arrived; he is in Norwich and we have a message that after refreshment he is coming here.’
A large number of people, including Barak and me and the two boys, Natty and Simon, went to the top of the escarpment, some men walking part of the way down the hill to get a better view. But for an hour, then another, nothing happened except the church bells in Norwich ringing for morning service. Across at St Michael’s Chapel, people kept coming in and out. Then one of the guards came over and told me Captain Kett wished to see me.
When I entered the chapel I found several men seated round the table on the old altar. William and Robert Kett and Captain Miles faced me. The others were familiar, too, though I was surprised to see them together – Michael Vowell, Toby Lockswood, old Hector Johnson, Edward Brown, who must have come up again from Norwich, and, to my surprise, Peter Bone. Kett extended an arm and waved me to the table. His expression was more troubled and anxious than I had ever seen it.
‘Serjeant Shardlake,’ he said, ‘I want your counsel.’ He took a deep breath. ‘As you know, the King’s Herald is coming today. I have been convening meetings of people to advise me since before dawn, mostly people who know each other and can speak freely between themselves and with me; ordinary camp-men like good Peter Bone here, soldiers, administrators and men from Norwich. I realize you and Goodman Lockswood have your differences, but please forget them during this meeting and advise me honestly. The question I ask is this, how do we respond to the imminence of the Herald’s visit?’ He took a deep breath. I thought with a flash of anger, this was asking me to go far beyond my agreement to advise at the trials, but I could scarcely turn and walk out.
‘First, though, I must tell you that yesterday evening a messenger from the Herald brought a letter from the Protector.’ Kett held up a paper. ‘Several East Anglian camps have also received letters. They all start as this one does, berating us for setting ourselves up in rebellion, but they have concluded with concessions – the one to Thetford seems to promise future commissioners will be appointed by local men.’ There was a murmur of approval, but Kett raised a hand. ‘The letter to us contains the usual strictures; the King takes it for a great indignity that we offer to deal with him as enemies holding the field – as though I had not done enough to show our loyalty to his Majesty and the Protestant cause.’ For a moment his voice almost broke. ‘But the concessions are vague, saying the commissioners will deal with enclosures, but we will have to wait until a new Parliament in October before landlords who refuse to cooperate will be forced to do so. Yet those of you with knowledge of politics’– he looked at me – ‘know that Parliament consists of lords and gentlemen, who would never approve such measures. Meanwhile, he tells us to return home, and not drive him’ – he looked at the letter and quoted – ‘ “to sharper means”.’
Toby Lockswood stroked his black beard. ‘I’ve been helping coordinate information from the countryside, and there’s no sign of any commissioners beyond Kent and Essex. Promises are being made there, but only on condition the camp-men disperse. And in Canterbury there are rumours that a leader called Latimer is in government pay, handing out money to make the camp disperse.’ Then, with fire in those blue eyes, he added, ‘And we know a thousand sold
iers were sent to put down the men of Oxfordshire. There are reports of a great battle, with many killed, at a place called Chipping Norton. There are to be trials, and executions.’
Miles nodded. ‘The Oxfordshire rebels seem to have run amok amongst the villages. We have not; we have proclaimed our loyalty, kept the peace, and killed nobody.’
‘But we have put down the landlords,’ Hector Johnson interjected, ‘taken their sheep and other property. How will the Protector look on that?’
‘We needed to feed ourselves. And we are doing the commissioners’ work for them in removing the enclosures.’
‘Will the twenty-nine articles have reached London yet?’ I asked. ‘They were only sent on Wednesday.’
William Kett scratched his grey, leonine head. ‘Yes, the letter refers to them. We have also sent emissaries, though have had no word from them.’
Vowell said, ‘Maybe the harsh tone of the letter is meant to scare us, and the Herald will offer more.’
I took a deep breath. ‘Captain Kett, as I have said before, my fear all along has been that demands for any sort of representation in organs of central government by people not of the gentleman class will be unacceptable to the Protector, and certainly the Council.’
Toby Lockswood snorted. ‘There speaks a gentleman lawyer.’
Robert Kett banged a fist on the desk. ‘Let Serjeant Shardlake speak his mind, without insults.’
‘Thank you, Captain. That was all I had to say, save that this is the largest camp in England, and will be seen as a threat.’
Kett replied, ‘Whatever the Herald says we must maintain the camp. We, too, can make a show of power.’ I looked at him. Like all good leaders, he had an alternative strategy in reserve.
William Kett added, ‘And if no serious concessions are made, what have people to look forward to? We’ve known for months it would be a poor harvest, the storm will have blown down what growing crops there are. And of one thing I am certain, the great majority of people in the camp will not disperse.’
There were murmurs of agreement. Hector Johnson asked, ‘If we stay, how much money have we in our treasury to buy goods in Norwich market?’
Kett smiled. ‘Enough to keep us going for a good time.’
Johnson added, ‘What if the Herald orders Codd and Aldrich to close Norwich against us? They would doubtless be happy to obey him. And we cannot rely on the countryside to feed – what is it now? – nine thousand of us for ever.’
Captain Miles sat up straight in his chair. ‘The answer to that is clear, and I speak as a soldier. The Norwich walls are but parchment defences, with sections falling down. And we can easily get across the river to Bishopsgate. We could take the city in a day.’
Edward Brown added, ‘Many of the watch and constables are coming over to us. As for cannon, they have only a few old pieces at the castle. And the poor of the city are with us.’
Robert Kett said, ‘Nonetheless, if the city fathers are ordered to resist us, there will be bloodshed.’ He hesitated. ‘It may not be needed, the Herald may grant our demands – but otherwise, I agree, we must be ready to take the city. I think it is what our men will want.’
‘Our bowmen will be our principal weapon,’ Miles declared.
‘We have some good ones already,’ Johnson added.
I said, ‘Remember, a Herald is a very senior man. Though the commissioners would have been better –’
‘Let’s face it,’ Edward Brown interrupted, ‘they’ve all vanished like smoke.’
I continued, ‘His stopping first in Norwich makes sense; he would need to rest and eat. Gain intelligence on the size and mood of the camp.’
William Kett replied, ‘They know that already, I am sure, from the spies they will have among us.’
I said, ‘I was going to say, all hope is not yet gone.’
Miles said, ‘I pray to God this can be done without blood, and that I can return to my wife and children in London. I have had word that they are being searched for, questions are being asked everywhere, including the London Bishopsgate.’ Then suddenly he closed his eyes, and said bitterly, ‘I am a fool, I have just told you where they are. I beg you all, say not a single word of this to anyone.’ For the first time, he looked distressed.
Robert Kett looked around us, ‘No word of anything in today’s consultations is to be repeated outside this building. Anyone who does so will be imprisoned. I thank you all for speaking freely. Do not fear, Captain Miles. All here are loyal.’
‘Thank you.’ He clenched his fists on the desk. ‘God’s death, I swore to them I would never reveal their whereabouts. Forgive me, I must be losing my senses.’
‘No one will speak, sir,’ Peter Bone said gently. Then, at Kett’s request, everyone took an oath on the Bible to say nothing.
‘Thank you,’ Miles said. I could see the strain he was under. Within a day he might have to lead an invasion of Norwich.
There was a loud knock at the door. A soldier entered, his face excited. ‘He’s coming,’ he said. ‘Riding up the hill in gorgeous robes, accompanied by Codd and Aldrich and other city leaders.’
Kett rose, his face set. ‘Then it is time.’ He turned to the soldier. ‘Tell the camp to gather at the Oak.’ He looked at us. ‘Captain Miles, fetch some well-armed men and take them to the crest of the hill. The rest, come with me.’
*
WE WALKED THE SHORT distance to the crest of the escarpment. A crowd had already gathered, and I saw Barak standing with Simon, Natty and others from Swardeston. Goodwife Everneke was there, her lips moving quietly in prayer. I joined the party. Barak said quietly, ‘Now we’ll know.’
A party of perhaps two dozen men on horseback were nearing the top of the steep hill. A man walked before them, in a robe embossed with the castle and lion emblem of the city, carrying a sword. Somebody laughed. ‘Old Pettibone, the city sword-bearer. He’ll be pissing his hose.’
Behind him rode a man in what I recognized as the uniform of a royal Herald, a brightly coloured robe of gold, red and blue, and a black cap with a peacock feather. Behind him, as they approached, I recognized Codd, Aldrich and the preacher Watson, together with others in aldermanic robes. Simon was entranced by the Herald’s robe. ‘It’s beautiful! The colours, the gold!’
‘It’s the man that matters,’ Natty said, ever practical.
A group of soldiers in helmets and half-armour, carrying bows and spears, came up, led by Miles. The crowd cheered. They stood a little back from the crest, but near enough for the Herald to see. Robert and William Kett moved to the front.
The party reached the top of the hill and halted before the Ketts. The Herald, a strongly built middle-aged man with a sharp, shrewd face, stood for a moment looking over the immense crowd. For almost a minute there was silence. His eyes lingered on Miles’s men. Then Robert Kett stepped forward and bowed. ‘Master Herald, I pray you to accompany us to the Oak of Reformation, our gathering-place, so your tidings may be read to the camp.’
The Herald hesitated a moment, then nodded imperiously. Preceded by the sword-bearer, the Ketts leading the way, we all headed for the Oak. The crowd parted to let them through, then followed behind.
At the Oak almost the whole camp seemed to have gathered, with more men in armour carrying weapons strategically placed near the front, the Hundred representatives drawn up on either side of them. ‘I would dismount,’ the Herald announced in a haughty tone, and one of his party brought a mounting block. He stepped onto the stage. The Norwich councillors stood below him, the sword-bearer Pettibone standing with his sword raised. The Herald’s eyes roved over the crowd, then he pulled a rolled parchment from a bag on his shoulder. He declared in a mighty voice, his tone severe, ‘This is the proclamation from his Majesty King Edward.’ He began reading:
‘Hearken all of you that be here, and you, Kett, captain of mischief’ – there was a murmur of anger at that, and Robert Kett’s face went first white, then an angry red – ‘and as many of you as are presen
t, give ear. Although the manner of our ancestors, and the dignity of this empire, and the majesty of the name of the King, seem to require that you, which have wickedly taken upon you arms against your country, and cast yourself into open conspiracy and rebellion, should be put to flight by sword and fire, should receive due punishment for the wickedness which you have committed – yet notwithstanding, so great is the kindness and clemency of the King’s Majesty, that those whose heinous offence craves punishment, of his singular and incredible favour, he will have you preserved with safety. And therefore he commands the camp and this den of thieves, and every one of you to depart to his own house. And if you have done this wicked thing, being deceived, you have your pardon, and warrant of impunity, of all the evils you have done: but if you shall remain in your former mind, and purpose of wickedness, He will surely revenge all the hurts and the villainies that you have done, as is meet, with all severity of punishment.’
He rolled up the parchment; evidently there was nothing more; no word at all of commissioners or reforms. Some of the men fell on their knees, calling out, ‘Thank God and the King’s Majesty for his Grace’s clemency and pity!’ But the main body of the camp looked shocked and angry. There came shouts: ‘What of our demands!’ ‘Is he a real Herald, to insult us so, or an agent of the gentlemen?’
Hundreds of eyes turned to Robert Kett. Slowly he stepped forward, until he was directly in front of the Herald, looked up at him, then turned to face the camp. He shouted, in a voice as mighty as the Herald’s own: ‘Kings are wont to pardon wicked persons, not innocent and just men; we for our part deserve nothing in the way of punishment, and are guilty of no crime, and therefore despise such speeches as idle and unprofitable to our business!’ He turned to the crowd. ‘Do not forsake me, or be fainthearted, but remember my promise that I would, if needs require, lay down my life for your sake.’