by C. J. Sansom
Talk turned to the Herald. One of the men said firmly that he had not been a real Herald, but an agent of the landlords, and it was they who had created this army. The Protector, in his opinion, knew nothing about it.
Dickon raised his head. ‘That must be true. Captain Kett has sought to support the Protector from the beginning.’
The blacksmith, a strongly built, square-faced man in his thirties named Milford, shook his head. ‘Master Shardlake, did you not say the man wore a real Herald’s uniform?’
‘Yes. And from his description the leader of the army is undoubtedly the Marquess of Northampton.’
Milford, the blacksmith, looked at me suspiciously. ‘You know the enemy leader?’
‘I met him once, as I told Captain Kett. It is no secret I used to work for his sister, the late Queen Catherine. I thought you trusted me by now,’ I concluded sadly.
Milford was in an aggressive mood. ‘I see you don’t keep up with us drink for drink.’
‘They say lawyers can’t hold their drink,’ another said.
Barak pointed to the knife on his artificial hand. ‘Watch your mouth,’ he said.
Michael Vowell stepped in. ‘Leave Master Shardlake alone! Surely he’s done enough to show himself our friend. And you’ve all had too much beer. You’ve lost the point. Which is that the Protector has betrayed us, and we must force the great ones of the realm into submission, not rely on him to do it for us. Defeat this army, then secure all Norfolk and spread out across England, bring those defeated camps back into existence.’
‘That’s right,’ Natty agreed emphatically.
‘And start killing some of the gentlemen we have in custody, as a warning!’ Milford said.
‘I didn’t say that,’ Vowell answered quickly.
Hector Johnson spoke firmly. ‘Captain Kett is against killing them.’
Milford stood up. ‘Kett – Kett – Kett – it’s all we ever hear! Don’t you see, his notion of working with the Protector has failed! The commissions have gone, the other camps are being bribed or threatened or pulled down by force!’
Master Dickon, who was not as drunk as he seemed, stood up. ‘Don’t you criticize Captain Kett, bor! Look at what he’s done – led us here, brought justice to all, taken Norwich itself. He didn’t have to, he could have stayed at home with his family!’
Josephine said, ‘Please stop this, it does no good.’ Nobody paid any attention and she went to her hut where Mousy, disturbed by the noise, had begun crying.
One of the other men stood, swaying slightly on his feet. ‘We will win the battle to come! We have the men, we have the resolution, and behind us, if not the Protector, we have the King, as I heard a prophet say today! Captain Kett is too soft, Milford is right – we should have some executions as a warning!’
Hector Johnson approached him, his hand on the knife at his belt. ‘Shut your clack-box! You forget you’re part of an army, and under orders. Perhaps you need reminding!’
‘I’ll give you fucking orders,’ Milford said, his hand going swiftly to his own belt.
Simon Scambler stood up, wringing his hands. ‘Please! We should all be friends! We should all work together!’
Milford turned on him. ‘Shut up, freak! I heard a story about your antics from one of the Norwich lads.’ Like many men, too much drink had put him in a vicious mood. He went on, ‘Sooty they call you, you wander about singing. Well, go on then, give us a song!’
Simon looked at him a moment, and I thought he would burst into tears. But then he stood up, walked a little away from the fire, and slowly began to sing. It was a song I had heard before, an old German one, ‘Jerusalem’. It should have been accompanied by a lute, but Simon’s clear, beautiful voice was enough to stop the argument in its tracks. I see him singing now, his head outlined against the stars and the half-moon, sparks from the campfires twirling up to the dark sky:
My life will change utterly
since my sinful eyes saw
this noble land so much admired
so that I live in a noble way.
What I most wanted has come to pass,
I have come to that land
where God walked in the form of man.
Beautiful, rich and noble land
such as I have never yet seen,
Are you, above all the lands I have known.
What wonders have occurred here!
A maid bore a child,
Lord over all the host of angels,
Was that not a wonder indeed?
As the song ended there was silence, then Hector Johnson began to clap, and others followed. Simon stood blinking, surprised and delighted.
‘I’m going to bed,’ Milford said grumpily. One after another, everyone went to their huts.
Natty came and clapped Simon’s shoulder. ‘You saved the day, bor.’
‘So you did,’ I agreed.
Simon smiled, a smile of wonder, as though he had indeed seen Jerusalem. Barak shook his head. ‘The sooner this army comes, the better, there’s nothing worse than waiting.’
‘I don’t think we’ll have to wait long,’ I answered quietly.
Chapter Sixty-two
It was Tuesday, 30 July. Scouts reported that Northampton’s forces would arrive at Norwich the next morning. The weather had turned close again, thick and humid, as Barak and I joined the crowd assembled under the Oak to hear the Kett brothers and Captain Miles address the camp. Those who would fight tomorrow were drawn up in ranks under their officers, bowmen and spearmen and cannoneers – the cannon were to be dragged down the hill today and set to face Bishopsgate Bridge.
William Kett spoke first, of the mighty blow they would strike. ‘Think how far we have come since Wymondham only three weeks ago! Those sent against us include our old enemies, the gentry, men like Paston and Southwell –’ At this name, there was a chorus of boos, and someone shouted out that his papist mistress the Lady Mary should be dragged from her lair at Kenninghall. William ignored this and called out, ‘Where is that other great crooked official, John Flowerdew? Hiding in London! He is wiser than his fellows, and realizes this force can never, never beat us!’
He was followed by Robert, at his most persuasive and charismatic, gesturing with his arms, his face and short grey beard soon bathed with sweat he did not trouble to wipe away. ‘They called us traitors! But they are the traitors, for we have always been loyal to King Edward!’ He paused for cheers. ‘Once our enemies are defeated, our wrongs will be righted. Never forget those wrongs! We shall have, by his Majesty’s grace, permanent commissions to remedy abuses, in which we will have a say!’
There were more cheers and clapping, although I noticed that some men, again mostly the poorer and younger ones, responded half-heartedly. Kett wiped his brow and gestured to John Miles. ‘Now our good Captain Miles will speak of our strategy.’
Miles stepped to the front of the platform. His face under a crested morion helmet was set and determined, his words clear and sharp. ‘Men of Mousehold, our spies in Northampton’s camp tell us he plans to occupy Norwich first before assaulting us. That is good, we can trap him there, harry him and then attack across the river at Bishopsgate Bridge! He has made a blunder, he would have been more sensible to attack the heath first, even though we have the advantage of high ground. I will not hide from you that he has some skilled commanders with him as well as the dross of the Norfolk gentry, and Italian mercenaries who dress like popinjays but are good fighters. But we have the men, over five thousand of you ready, and the weapons and cannon in which some of you are now trained. We outnumber them over three to one. Above all we have our cause! So go you, train again today, for tomorrow we fight!’
Loud cheers rose from the ranks, Natty and Hector Johnson among them. The speeches over, Barak and I turned to leave but Kett called to me in a sharp voice. ‘Serjeant Shardlake! Please, follow me to my headquarters.’ I exchanged a puzzled look with Barak, then headed to the chapel. Others were making their way there, too – M
ichael Vowell, Hector Johnson, Edward Brown, Peter Bone – and Toby Lockswood, who studiously avoided my gaze, as well as the Kett brothers themselves and John Miles. Everyone, I remembered, who had been in that consultation with Kett before Norwich was taken.
When Kett arrived at the old chapel, he bade us all follow him to his table. He drew the thick curtain separating it from the clerks at work in the body of the hall, and told everyone to sit.
Kett studied our faces, then said, ‘Captain Miles’s wife and children have been captured, at their refuge with friends in the London Bishopsgate district, and taken to prison. A rider from the Council brought the news yesterday, giving details of where they had been found. He offered Captain Miles amnesty on condition he surrender himself immediately.’
Miles raised his head. His expression was drawn now, pale under his tan. He said, ‘I refused. When first I left London, my dear wife said that that is what I must do if they were found.’
Kett banged his fist on the table. ‘And the only mention of their whereabouts was accidentally made by Captain Miles at one of the meetings I held before the Herald came, when you’ – he raked us with his gaze, one by one – ‘were the only ones present!’
There was a moment’s silence, then Toby Lockswood said, ‘It could have been spies in London who found them. Did the rider say otherwise?’
‘No. But some suspicion must naturally fall on all of you. Did anyone tell any other person about John Miles’s wife?’ He looked at me. ‘Your friend Barak?’
‘I have spoken no word to him, nor anyone else.’
‘Nor I,’ Michael Vowell said. ‘What would I gain by it?’
Hector Johnson said, his voice shaking slightly, ‘I, too, have said nothing. I have been loyal from the start. I risked my life in the taking of Norwich. You know that, Captain Kett.’
Toby Lockswood looked at me. ‘Master Shardlake is the only one present from the gentleman classes, who might have a stake in our defeat.’
Kett banged the table again. ‘As my brother and I are the only one of the yeoman class sitting here, you might as well say! But you’re right, Lockswood, the betrayal could have come from London.’ He looked at us all again. ‘But be aware that until that question is resolved you are all under suspicion.’ Nobody stirred. Kett said, ‘Get about your duties. Master Shardlake, there are some trials of thieves to be held. Please join Master Doughty at the Oak of Reformation. I want these out of the way before the battle.’
We left St Michael’s Chapel in silence, tears flowing down Hector Johnson’s face at the thought he was under suspicion.
*
I WALKED TO THE OAK, eyes cast down, deeply troubled that I should be suspected. It was typical of Toby Lockswood to take the chance to dig at me, and I was glad Kett had put him in his place. If it was one of us, then who? Not the Kett brothers, and surely not old Hector Johnson. And all the others – Edward Brown, Michael Vowell, and, to do him credit, Toby Lockswood, had been devoted to our cause from the beginning. I knew less of Peter Bone, but from the first time I met him he had been a strong Commonwealth sympathizer. It occurred to me, as it had before, that after his double bereavement Toby Lockswood might not be fully in his right mind. But his devotion to the cause had only intensified since then – I could not see him selling out for money. I thought, I will probably be watched again, but I still had naught to hide.
I found that morning’s work under the Oak depressing, not helped by having to wear my robe in the heat and humidity. The sky was a uniform grey; another storm coming. More thieves were found guilty, others had their cases dismissed for lack of evidence. There were some brawlers, too, nearly all younger men, who were sentenced to expulsion from the camp. Afterwards, as we walked away from the Oak, Doughty told me he had been made captain of a company for tomorrow’s battle; like many of the Hundred representatives he had had a share in organizing the regular official musters in his area, which were organized by Hundreds. ‘I shall send a few fine gentleman to their reward in hell,’ he said. I was surprised by his fierceness, but he continued, ‘They decided to attack us, when all we want is peace and justice. Let them pay the price.’
*
I WALKED BACK TO the huts for lunch. All the Swardeston men had gone for training, and only Mistress Everneke, Barak, Josephine and Mousy sat outside their huts, fanning themselves with pieces of bark. Josephine told me Edward had gone into Norwich; to prepare their allies in the city, no doubt. She said she needed to go to the jakes, and asked me to hold Mousy. The little girl was fractious in the sweaty heat, and struggled against me. She began to grizzle, but stopped as I held her close. Josephine returned and took her back. She looked weary. ‘Are you all right?’ I asked.
‘Yes.’ She smiled sadly. ‘It looks as though I was right to leave Norwich, doesn’t it?’
‘We thought so.’
‘Yes.’ She looked me in the eye. ‘But what if we lose, and they come here from the city afterwards?’
*
TO TRY AND SETTLE my troubled spirits, after lunch I went for a walk, despite the heat. I went to where Simon and several others were training the horses, trying to settle the more fractious of them. So awkward otherwise, he rode a horse, as he sang, as though born to it. I stood leaning on the heavy wooden fence surrounding the paddock. He rode up and brought his mount to a halt. ‘You are doing well, Simon,’ I said. ‘Will you be taking the horses down to Norwich?’
‘Yes, we will be using them to take more cannon downhill this afternoon, and I will be helping with them later as required.’ He swallowed, and I saw deep anxiety in his eyes.
‘You will be all right, I am sure.’
‘I fear –’ he began, then stopped.
‘More bloodshed?’
‘If I am killed – I cannot help thinking, what if all my aunt’s church said is true, and I am sent to hell for my denial of true religion?’
I said quietly, ‘When I was growing up, we still had the old Catholic faith, and believe it or not, for a little while I believed I had a vocation. Then all the changes came, and under King Henry we were ordered to believe one thing one year, another the next. And now we have the Protestant radicals. Why should your aunt’s church have the truth of it any more than any of the others?’ I smiled. ‘And you have led a charitable life. That still counts for something, I believe.’ I reached up and laid a hand on his arm. ‘No one is less deserving of hell than you, if hell there is.’
‘Thank you, Master Shardlake,’ he said quietly. ‘I will try to remember that.’
*
I WALKED SLOWLY back to the huts. On my way I passed men digging a fresh cesspit, and to my surprise I saw that, once again, Peter Bone was among them.
He looked up. His eyes narrowed for a moment. ‘God give you good afternoon, Serjeant Shardlake. As you see, I am on digging duty again.’ His tone was friendly enough but with, I sensed again, a certain reserve: he was, like me, now a suspect of Miles’s betrayal, so perhaps that was unsurprising.
‘I would have thought you would be training, either here or in Norwich.’
‘I have bad feet,’ he said. ‘So I stay here and dig.’ He wiped his brow.
‘You will be safer, at least,’ I said. ‘And the digging is useful; we have had none of the flux in the camp.’
He looked at me. ‘Perhaps, but I would rather fight. I would not mind dying. With my sisters gone, and my trade, I have little to live for.’ He looked at me with sudden anger. ‘Perhaps if we win, the Protector will agree to the changes we all want. Then there will be hope.’
‘Yes, perhaps.’
He turned away and resumed his digging.
Chapter Sixty-three
Next morning, the last day of July, the weather had still not broken, though the sky remained grey, and the damp heat even greater. I stayed in camp with Barak, who said part of him wished he had been allowed to fight, throughout that day and the next, and hence – with one gruesome exception – my knowledge of the battle that followed came at s
econd hand. That first morning, at the Oak of Reformation and elsewhere in the camp, Holy Communion was administered under the new English rite to those due to fight that day, by Reverend Conyers and the scattering of other clergymen in the camp. I had been drawn to Conyers before; I little doubted the trouble he would face when his superiors knew he was giving Communion before battle to the Mousehold men. And as he now gave Communion to a long line of men who knew they might not survive the day, it was his gentleness, his quiet sincerity, which struck me. Among those waiting in line I saw Natty and Hector Johnson. Barak had stayed away, for he had always wanted as little as possible to do with religion.
It was a long time since I had taken Communion myself, and never under the new rite. When I had done so in the last years of the old king’s reign, it had been through political expediency, to show good conformity. Yet now my mind went back, past the days when I had been a Lutheran radical, to when I was a child, a firm believer like everyone then in the old Catholic religion. I remembered the time, which then had felt so special and pure, when I received the wafer, the body of Christ, and, for a moment, felt a mystical union with God. I surprised myself at these memories; I thought such feelings long gone after the terrible things I had seen done since in the name of God, both by Protestants and Catholics. And then I crossed the ground, beaten flat by many feet, and joined the line. Having done so, I felt for a moment ashamed, that I did not belong here among these men facing death, but I stayed.
My turn came, and Reverend Conyers gave me the bread and wine, saying as I took it, ‘The body of our Lord Jesus Christ which was given for thee, preserve thy body and soul to everlasting life. The blood of our Lord Jesus Christ which was shed for thee, preserve thy body and soul to everlasting life.’ Once again, I felt something strange, mystical, a unity with something beyond. I looked into Conyers’s face; he nodded and gave me an unexpectedly sweet smile. Then I moved away. What I had felt momentarily was gone, though something, like an aftertaste, remained.