by C. J. Sansom
There was a chorus of cheers, all but those on their knees joining in. The Herald, evidently not expecting this response, shouted out, ‘I charge you, Robert Kett, with high treason. You are a traitor, and all who take your part.’ There was an angry rustling and murmuring, the men of the camp moving a step or two closer. The Herald called out, ‘Master Pettibone, arrest the traitor Kett for treason.’
Pettibone looked at the Herald, aghast. He took a step towards Kett, who turned and glared at him, and immediately hundreds of men moved closer. Bows were raised. Mayor Codd spoke urgently to the Herald, ‘We should leave. Now.’
‘God’s blood,’ the Herald replied, his face purple with rage. However, he descended from the stage and joined the group from Norwich. Some of the camp-men picked up clods of earth, but Kett waved his hands to indicate they should drop them. The humiliated party remounted their horses, accompanied by cries of, ‘Fuck off back to Lunnon!’ ‘Where are the commissioners we were promised?’ Some would have pursued them, but Kett nodded at Miles, and his soldiers drew up in a line, protecting the way down to Norwich.
Then a number of camp-men stepped forward, mostly those who had bowed at the King’s name, and, with guilty or defiant looks, began to follow the Herald. More followed, I think over two hundred in all. The great majority, though, remained where they were, save some who stepped forward and looked likely to attack the deserters, but Miles and his men blocked their way. William Kett shouted, ‘Let them go! If they will break their oath to serve our cause, we are better without them!’
I turned to Barak. ‘What will you do now?’
He looked back at me, furious. ‘After that arsehole insulting Kett and this camp, refusing even to mention our requests’ – his voice rose – ‘after this I stay, even if it means death!’ He looked at me, and added, in a sorrowful tone, ‘Now’s your chance, if you want to get away. I’ve never truly known where you stand.’
I looked at him, at Simon and Natty standing nearby, at the Ketts conferring with Captain Miles. I said, ‘In truth, neither have I. But after this monstrous injustice, now I do. Kett must be devastated, but he has chosen to remain. And I stay here, in the camp, to help him.’
Barak gripped my arm and nodded. ‘I knew it,’ he said, and turned away, though not before I saw tears in his eyes.
Part Five
BOND MEN MADE FREE
Chapter Fifty-four
The vast concourse at the Oak was ordered to disperse and return two hours later, when full plans to take Norwich on the morrow would be discussed. The mood after the Herald’s proclamation was shocked, angry, simmering with violence and, at the call to action, there were loud cries of approval. ‘Go back to your huts,’ Kett concluded, ‘and make your weapons ready.’
Barak and I walked slowly back to the Swardeston huts. Barak said, ‘How could Protector Somerset be so stupid? If he had set out on purpose to enrage the camp, the arsehole couldn’t have done better.’
‘I know. I don’t think he realized the strength of feeling in the camp, or the confidence our numbers gives.’
‘If we occupy Norwich tomorrow, he may think again, and come to terms. All his forces are dispersed in putting down the western rebellion, and in Scotland.’
‘By Jesu, Jack, I hope you’re right.’
*
WHEN THE CAMP MET again at the Oak, thousands were present, many now bearing bows and other weapons. The Kett brothers and Captain Miles stood on the stage, Miles in half-armour, sword at his waist. Next to him stood a serious-looking older man in a cheap doublet. Kett began to address the crowd, pausing as usual for his words to be passed back.
‘This man is Master Colson, tailor of Norwich, who has been coordinating our supporters there. The poor sections of the population – perhaps a quarter, especially in the north – are with us, and will help us. The city authorities – Codd, Aldrich and the rest – are obeying the Herald’s orders; they have come out in their true colours!’ There was a chorus of boos and calls for their execution, which Kett allowed to proceed for a minute before raising his hands for silence and waving Colson forward. The tailor looked nervous facing the huge crowd, but Kett nodded encouragingly, and he found his voice.
‘The city authorities have closed the gates, and are ramparting Bishopsgate Bridge with earth to reinforce it. They have perhaps a couple of hundred men under their orders – city constables, soldiers from the castle, servants of the great men – and are placing them to defend the walls, mainly with longbows. They have released the gentlemen prisoners from Norwich Castle, and some of their number are helping them, though many have chosen to stay where they are for fear of the common people.’ This brought a chorus of boos and jeers, and I wondered what had happened to Nicholas. Colson continued, ‘If you make a determined charge downhill to Bishopsgate Bridge tomorrow, we can call out that you have entered another part of the city to create a diversion. Help us end our poverty and subjection as well as your own!’
There were cheers, then Captain Miles stepped forward, looking more serious than I had ever seen him. ‘Men of Mousehold!’ he called. ‘I wish we had had more time for training, especially with the cannon, but events have fallen out as they have, and we must act now like men and take the city lest the government send forces against us! Many of you have training in the longbow, we have spears and halberds and a few cannon, and outnumber the city forces by thousands.’ He paused and looked over the crowd. ‘But there will be casualties, I cannot hide that. We shall now move all the cannon to the edge of the escarpment. Tomorrow at dawn we meet there, under my command, and that of the officers appointed by the Hundreds, and’ – his voice rose – ‘we – take – Norwich!’
There was more cheering, louder than ever – the prospect that some would die seemed to have discouraged very few. The assembly dispersed quickly, those whom Captain Miles had been training in the use of cannon following him.
Natty and Simon approached us. Natty, his face serious, said, ‘I shall fight tomorrow, I am good with the longbow. Now is the time to bring the rule of the gentlemen to an end.’
‘Remember what Captain Miles told you,’ I said. ‘Lives will be lost.’
The boy looked at me, frowning. ‘Are you saying I should not fight when I can?’
‘No. Only that – a good soldier must be aware of what he might face.’
‘I am. And if we lose – what have I left anyway?’ He turned away.
Simon looked downcast. ‘I am not to fight. I have been ordered to help bring the draught horses forward.’
‘Just as well,’ Natty said with amiable roughness. ‘You’d only trip over your own feet.’
‘That I would,’ Simon agreed sadly.
I looked at Barak. He had removed the leather cover from the knife on his artificial hand and was testing its sharpness. I said, ‘You’re not thinking of fighting, are you?’
‘No, I don’t think I’d be of much use.’
I sighed. ‘Did you see the sadness in Captain Kett’s face earlier? He hoped this could be resolved peacefully.’
‘He offered to serve as the camp’s leader at Wymondham, and stay with them to the end. I think he knew it might come to this.’
‘Well,’ I said. ‘An old hunchback like me would be of no use.’ Feeling sad and ashamed, I walked away.
*
AS SO OFTEN, I found myself drawn to the escarpment, looking down on Norwich. It was as though a part of me longed to be down there. Perhaps it was even an inner wish to be with others of my own class. I fancied I saw movement around Bishopsgate Bridge gatehouse, but it was hard to see clearly from this distance. Many others had gathered at the escarpment, looking down on the city. The remaining cannon arrived, drawn by big draught horses, and were put in place at the watching-posts. Captain Miles ran between them, ensuring that the right shot and powder was available for each gun, and the men there competent to use the great weapons.
Suddenly, I saw a flash and heard a loud boom. A moment later a waterspout erup
ted in the river below. I remembered the cannon I had seen at the castle. There was another boom, and a small tree fell over at the bottom of the hill. Captain Miles, nearby, laughed. ‘They haven’t sighted properly. Come on, let’s show we can answer them! Give them a fright.’
A moment later there came a mighty roar, and smoke billowed over me as the nearest cannon fired down towards the city. The earth shook under my feet and for a second I was back four years, on the warship Mary Rose as it fired its mighty barrage at the French fleet just before it sank. I thought I had got over the terrible memory of that day, but at the firing of the cannon I let out an involuntary cry and crouched down, holding my hands over my head. I heard some of the men crewing the cannon laugh, and someone call, ‘The hunchback lawyer hasn’t even stomach for our own weapons!’ After a few moments I got up, though I was shaking still.
For a while there was quiet, no firing from the crest or from the city, only a murmuring from the men around our cannon as soldiers guided them in their better use, while Miles darted to and fro. I did not move. From their talk, their shots had gone right over the defenders into the city. I felt a hand on my shoulder, and, looking up, saw Miles regarding me curiously. ‘Are you ill, Master Shardlake?’
‘No, Captain,’ I replied humbly. ‘I am sorry, you will think me a great coward.’
‘No, sir, I am a fair judge of men and while I have seen you were in two minds about our cause, I thought you a man of good courage.’
I let out a long sigh. ‘The firing of that cannon so close brought back something from my past.’ I took a deep breath. ‘I was on the Mary Rose when it sank four years ago. I survived, but many good men I knew died that day.’
Miles looked at me, astonished. ‘I was at Portsmouth myself then, half the trained soldiers in England were.’ His seamed face was full of curiosity. ‘What on earth were you doing on the Mary Rose?’
‘It is a long story, too long for now. Suffice to say it involved Lord Richard Rich, and that he was up to no good.’
‘Rich?’ He frowned. ‘Word came today from Essex that the camp there has been put down, and executions have begun. Promises to the camp-men there were betrayed. The man sent to take charge there is Rich.’
‘He will cut a mighty swathe,’ I said bitterly.
‘But not here,’ Miles said determinedly. ‘Here we shall turn the tide against the Council.’
‘And the Protector? I fear he is behind all this.’
Miles gave me a concentrated stare. ‘If he is, we shall bring him to terms. Tomorrow we take the second largest city in England.’
‘How many deserted after the Herald’s visit?’
‘Near four hundred, I believe, mostly of the yeoman class.’ He spat on the ground. ‘We are better off without them.’
We looked up as another roar sounded from the city. The gun ball crashed harmlessly into the hillside. Miles laughed. ‘They’ve little chance of reaching us from Norwich castle. And we’ve little chance of reaching them. But we’ll show them what we’re made of. I should return to your hut for now, Master Shardlake. Be of good cheer; tomorrow we shall win easily. We shall send men down at dawn to ask them to open the city to us peacefully. I doubt they will agree, but we can only try.’
*
DURING THE NIGHT there was intermittent firing from both sides, but none from the city came anywhere near the camp. In our hut, Barak fell asleep despite the noise. I lay awake, tossing restlessly, relieved when the first birdsong signalled the approaching dawn. We rose and breakfasted quietly. Goodwife Everneke constantly fiddled with something under her dress. I realized it was a forbidden rosary. She was a Catholic.
The time came for Natty to join the forces to which he had been assigned, and for Simon to go to the horses. Barak and I shook their hands. ‘Go well, all of you.’ I turned away abruptly, and walked back to the escarpment, where great rows of armed men now waited. A light breeze came up from the river. Two riders passed me, carrying a large white flag, and rode downhill to Bishopsgate Bridge. The men were seeking a peaceful entry to the city.
Behind me, one of the self-appointed preachers of the camp was addressing a group of soldiers. ‘Remember, men,’ he called, ‘that what you do is the work of the Lord, and death matters little, for He will receive you in Heaven. The evil rulers must be destroyed before His Second Coming, which is soon now, as the Book of Revelation tells us!’ He held up a Testament. ‘First the end of the great men, then the end of the world, when men who did His will shall sit at His right hand, as all others roast in agony in hell for ever!’
‘What about our wives and children?’ someone shouted out.
‘If you are of the Elect, they are of the Elect!’
I knew my Bible; he was making that up. I looked at him, wondering why – although for a time I had come to have some sympathy with the Anabaptist belief in a society no longer divided between rich and poor – something about the camp prophets repelled me. They were so-called prophets who had picked up smatterings of Anabaptist ideas, but their belief in holding goods in common was a secondary thing – what mattered was that it brought closer the Second Coming, and the Last Judgement.
I turned away, looking down towards Norwich. Our cannon were being taken down the hill by the large horses – no easy task – and I saw Simon among those cajoling the animals. On the opposite side of the river I just made out what looked like men setting up cannon on the city side of the river. Not long after, I saw the two men bearing the white flag ride up the hill again. Word was passed along that they had failed.
*
THE HORSEMEN CONFERRED with Miles and Kett. Then Miles addressed the assembled forces. ‘The city cannon have been moved to the Great Hospital fields, and trained on the approach to Bishopsgate Bridge. But we have our own cannon placed to face them. Now, let us take Norwich!’
There were cheers, and men descended the Hill in hundreds. Most were longbowmen, many in half-armour, quivers of arrows over their shoulders. Some of these were half empty, and I realized our supplies of arrows were limited. They were followed by others with halberds and spears. Old Hector Johnson, once set to watch me, gave me a wave as he passed. I felt helpless; there was nothing for me to do now but observe. Barak joined me. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s walk down nearer the city, we can get a better view.’
‘That might be dangerous.’
He shrugged, and I followed him down, stopping not far from the river to sit down on a tussock. I turned to see someone sit beside me; Goodwife Everneke, still fingering the rosary under her dress. Seeing me looking, she laid her hand over it guiltily.
‘Your faith does not matter to me, goodwife,’ I said gently. ‘I have almost none left myself.’
‘Sometimes I feel the same,’ she said unexpectedly. ‘You know one of our Swardeston men left in the night.’
‘No.’
‘Goodman Jackson, the carpenter. He did so much good work in the early days, helped build the platform at the Oak of Reformation, but to fight was too much for him.’ She looked at the ranks of men still proceeding downhill. ‘I thought better of him. But he has a family.’
We watched in silence. I saw our cannon set up on the riverside, firing crews forming under Miles’s direction. Our bowmen faced the gatehouse, the key to the city, on the top of which I could make out the figures of the city’s own bowmen. There were more standing on mounds of earth which had been built during the night on either side of Bishopsgate Bridge. Before our guns could be fully set up there was a roar from within the city, a cloud of smoke rose up, and I saw some of our men run, leaving bodies on the ground. I heard shouts from the officers, no doubt ordering the remaining men to keep their places – these were inexperienced fighters, and if they scattered, all would be lost. But the ranks held, even though a second and then a third cannon shot was fired from within the city, both mercifully landing in the river. Then our cannon fired back, aiming at the gatehouse, but the guns must have been set to aim too high, for the gunballs went ov
er it, bringing a chorus of mocking cheers from the men stationed there.
The cannon fire went on for perhaps half an hour, but with untrained men on both sides little damage was done. Then, at orders from the officers, our bowmen surged onto the bridge, shooting arrows at the gatehouse defenders. Fire was also exchanged between the bowmen standing on either side of the river. I could not help but think, is Nicholas among those on the other side? Men fell from the bridge into the Wensum. Goodwife Everneke clutched my hand.
After a few minutes it was obvious we were losing. The gatehouse was too strong and well defended to be stormed. Our men fell back. A runner came panting up the hill and passed us, his face glistening with sweat. We waited and watched.
Suddenly, there was a great shout from the top of the hill. Perhaps a thousand men rushed past us down the hill, sending up clouds of dust. I realized Miles and Kett had kept back a large reserve, and were now bringing it into play. As they passed I saw there were relatively few bowmen, and many were armed only with bills and halberds; others had only pitchforks with sharpened tines and other weapons adapted from farm implements. And many, especially those at the head of the crowd, carrying banners and cheering, were achingly young, some still in their teens.
Beside me Goodwife Everneke said, ‘What have we done? Will God forgive us?’
‘It’s what the camp wanted,’ Barak answered.
The great crowd joined the men at the foot of the hill and again Bishopsgate Bridge was stormed. Then, many of the young newcomers cast off their clothes and, clutching their weapons, swam across the river, protected by a volley of arrows from our side.