by Tim Holden
‘Are you going to get our house back for us, then?’ insisted Lynn.
‘I have employed your husband, so I have already done more than most to help your family.’
She grunted, while beside her Alfred looked embarrassed.
John Robertson, who Robert recognised from the previous day, offered his hand. ‘I spoke for the Smiths at the farmers’ meeting. I’m glad to be doing something to restore some hope.’
Robert turned to Anders, ‘You had a farmer’s meeting for the Smiths?’
Anders nodded.
‘And what was the outcome?’ asked Robert.
Anders looked away.
‘To do nothing,’ said Lynn, making no attempt to hide her bitterness.
‘It was put to the vote and they lost,’ said Anders.
How typical of Anders, thought Robert. Happy to be brave when somebody else takes the lead.
‘Look,’ said Richard Smith, pointing to the south.
More people were approaching. Robert’s mouth went dry. At first he could only make out the dust they were kicking up, but as they came closer, he estimated that there must be a hundred or more. The situation was spiralling out of control. He had never imagined that this many people would support what he’d offered to do, and for the first time the word ‘rebellion’ came into his mind. The mayor would never want to hear from a group this large. Worse still, some people were carrying items that could be interpreted as weapons: staffs, hoes, scythes, axes, hammers and bows. What in God’s name were they planning?
Robert felt physically sick.
As they neared the tree, there was a welcoming cheer from the people of Hethersett. Caught between the two mobs, Robert felt like a rat in a barrel. He wanted to run away, but how could he? If he deserted, he’d be a laughing stock, the man who offered to speak on behalf of the poor, only to run when the time came. He would never be taken seriously again. Least of all by Flowerdew, who he’d still have to face.
The air crackled with expectation as the two groups merged and fell silent, waiting for Robert to speak. He saw Fulke, sporting a grin. Robert walked across to him.
‘A word in private, please, Fulke.’ The two men stepped away from the crowd and into the field beyond. ‘What in God’s name have you done?’
‘Nothing,’ said Fulke. ‘These people are here because of you, and what you’ve done.’
‘Yesterday, there were fourteen of you,’ Robert said, trying to keep his voice low and under control. ‘Today there are hundreds.’
‘Good news travels fast,’ said Fulke.
Robert ground his teeth in resentment, Fulke’s lips were twitching – he was enjoying this. ‘Tell me, why are they carrying tools and weapons? This is a march to lodge a petition.’ Then Robert noticed a handle tucked into Fulke’s belt. ‘Why . . . why in God’s name have you brought a meat cleaver with you?’
‘I’m a butcher. We might need to feed on an animal.’
‘Don't insult my intelligence, Fulke. If the mayor sees a meat cleaver, he’ll think it’s meant for him.’
The two men stared at each other, and Robert noticed that some of the crowd gathered on the road were edging closer to overhear the two men argue. ‘I don’t know what you’ve been up to, but I’ll have no further part in it,’ declared Robert.
‘Coward.’
‘Coward maybe, but not a fool.’
‘Good morning, Mr Kett.’
Robert looked over Fulke’s shoulder and saw Master Peter, the tannery foreman, followed by Anders Marshwell and Alfred.
‘We’ve brought nearly all of Hethersett, Fulke!’ said Alfred looking pleased with himself. Fulke nodded but said nothing.
Master Peter put a finger to his lips, warning Alfred to be quiet.
‘Problem, Robert?’ asked Anders.
‘This man,’ said Robert, pointing at Fulke. ‘I don’t trust him. Yesterday he was vandalising property. Today he turns up with hundreds of people, and they’re armed.’
Anders looked at Fulke. ‘Do you intend trouble?’
‘Trouble is never far from Fulke,’ said Master Peter.
Fulke raised his hands and shook his head. ‘No. I merely told people of Mr Kett’s great deeds yesterday. They needed no further encouragement.’
There was a pause while they all contemplated Fulke.
‘I swear it on my honour,’ he continued.
Master Peter snorted.
‘It’s true,’ said Alfred. ‘I was in Wymondham last night. There was talk of nothing else. But Fulke said nothing to encourage people. They came on their own.’
‘I don’t trust this man,’ repeated Robert. ‘Why do you bring a meat cleaver to see the mayor?’
‘You’re right not to trust him,’ said Master Peter. Fulke glared at him and shook his head.
‘I always take it when I journey,’ said Fulke, in a tone that suggested disbelief that this was in anyway improper.
‘I have attended council meetings, town meetings, guild meetings,’ snapped Robert, ‘and never once have I seen fit to take a fucking meat cleaver along.’
‘Very well. I’ll leave it here.’ Fulke dropped the heavy blade, turned away and walked slowly and purposefully back to the crowd. As he turned, he looked at Alfred and with his eyes indicated the fallen cleaver.
‘I’ll keep an eye out for him, sir,’ said Master Peter. ‘He won’t cause no harm while I’m here.’
‘Robert, will you address your followers?’ asked Anders.
Robert wiped his hand over his eyes and mouth. ‘Followers?’ he said quietly. ‘I can’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because this is an army.’ Robert gestured to the hundreds of people on the road. Together they produced a hum of greetings, gossip and excitement that allowed Robert to air his concerns without fear of being overheard. ‘I never offered to lead an army.’
While the three men looked at the crowd, Alfred picked up Fulke’s blade and held it behind his leg. He slid back into the crowd.
From within the crowd, Luke Miller appeared at Robert’s side.
‘You as well?’
‘Well, I said in the alehouse, I’d support you. So here I am. You look worried?’
Robert grunted. Worried didn’t cover the half of it.
‘Something does need to be done, Robert,’ Luke continued, ‘I’ll keep people in line.’
That was some small crumb of comfort Robert supposed. Many in the crowd were looking – and smiling – at Robert. There were no signs of any anger. He returned their smiles and did his best to look calm. He noticed some women and children among the throng, presumably to support their husbands, or to keep them out of trouble.
The moment was broken by the arrival of a man on horseback: William Kett, Robert’s elder brother, wearing a dark green jerkin over a linen shirt. ‘Robert, what is this? My stable lad told me all of Wymondham was following you to Norwich? I said nonsense, but he was adamant. Now I see for myself that he was right!’
‘I’m not going anywhere,’ replied Robert.
‘What will you say to these people?’ asked Anders.
‘To go home.’
William took a breath through his teeth.
‘They have come here for you, Robert,’ said Anders. ‘If you tell them to go home, the mood will change. And not for the better.’
‘I agree,’ added Luke.
‘Sir, it’s not my place to advise you, but . . .’ Master Peter stopped himself. It was not fitting to offer his opinion.
‘Go on, Peter,’ said Robert.
‘Very well,’ Peter took a deep breath. ‘People are angry and fearful, as you know, and their hopes have been aroused. If you stand down now, well, I would fear for your safety, sir. I would hate to see you become the object of their anger.’
Robert sighed and closed his eyes. He struggled to collect rent from his tenants as it was, and if he backed down now, he would be given the run around for the rest of his life. His family would be mocked.
; ‘The people are right in their grievances, Robert,’ said Luke. ‘Corruption and abuse are rife. To my knowledge there is no law against seeing the mayor.’
‘Seeing the mayor?’ said William. ‘This looks like a rebellion to me.’
‘I, and the people of Hethersett, did not come here to rebel,’ insisted Anders. ‘I would have no part in a rebellion. If we can maintain order, we should not fear the law.’
Robert looked around, trying to find some sense to cling on to. There was a cheer from the crowd on the road. On horseback, William was the first to see the cause. ‘More people. Maybe fifty. From the south. This is going ahead with or without you, brother.’
‘I was going to see the mayor,’ said Robert. ‘I offered to take some people with me to air their grievances. Then I was going straight home.’
‘That is still what you’re doing, Robert. Just with some extra people,’ said Anders.
‘Half the county? No. Gentlemen, I thank you for your counsel. I would like a word in private with William.’
Luke, Anders and Master Peter crossed back to the roadside verge, leaving the two Kett brothers in the field, deep in conversation.
A brief gap in the clouds allowed the summer sun to bathe the crowd in its light and warmth. As if prompted by this, the chatter of the hundreds of waiting people started to swell. Someone clapped, then another person, and another. Then, to the rhythm of the clap, the crowd added a chant: ‘Robert Kett, Robert Kett, Robert Kett.’
The brothers stopped their conference, and Robert looked across at the crowd. There was a loud cheer. The chant repeated. The clapping continued.
Robert blew out his cheeks and looked into his brother’s eyes before walking to the oak tree. He called Master Peter over and told him to stay close. He tried to push through the crowd, but with so many surrounding him, it was impossible. He gave up and returned to his brother. ‘William, I need your horse.’
William gave him a quizzical look but climbed down. Robert hoisted himself into the saddle and looked out at the sea of faces — far too many to count. He ground his teeth. This wasn’t going to be easy.
‘Good people of Norfolk,’ he shouted, his voice cracking and high-pitched. Pull yourself together, he told himself. ‘We are going to Norwich!’
A deafening cheer rang out, as hundreds of arms were raised to the sky. Robert winced as he saw tools held aloft by many in the crowd. Now is the time to set the tone, he thought. Home by sunset, he’d promised Alice.
‘For those who don’t know me, my name is Robert Kett, Alderman of Wymondham, loyal subject of King Edward, servant of God.’ Robert’s mouth was dry. ‘If I had any lingering doubts as to the strength of feeling attached to this cause, you have dispelled them. To see so many of you here is a clear demonstration that change is due.’
The crowd cheered.
Robert waited for them to quieten. ‘Until yesterday, I had enclosed land myself.’ He looked around at the attentive faces, as their silence grew louder. ‘But I have seen first-hand the suffering my actions have caused, and to make amends for my misdeeds I vow to do what little I can to end this practice.’
Another cheer, just as loud.
‘But my leadership is not without condition, so let me be clear: this is a march, not a rebellion. There will be no fighting, no stealing. God is watching us, and we depend on his blessings if we are to be successful. We depend too on the king’s good grace.’ He paused, then added with emphasis: ‘Any mischief will harm our cause.’
The crowd was largely silent, but Robert took comfort from the heads that nodded in agreement.
‘Let me say one more thing. Much of England is protesting the religious changes imposed on us. Whether you are a reformer or a papist, you must respect one another. I shall give no quarter to anyone who seeks to use this march to further their religious convictions. It’s for more educated men to determine the right way to worship God, but I do know that it is a subject that brings out the worst in men. We have no use for such divisions and must be united on the matter of enclosure and nothing else. Is that clear?’
After a more muted acknowledgement, he announced that it was time to leave. The crowd cheered again.
It had started.
Robert dismounted and embraced his brother. He felt relief and sickness in equal measure. ‘Thank you, William.’
He handed William the reins of his horse.
‘What made you change your mind?’
‘You did. Just now, in private, once I knew you’d back me. This is fraught with challenges, but with you by my side, it could be possible. Provided we keep the peace, we should be fine.’
William smiled. ‘Well, I can’t leave you to make a mess of things on your own.’
‘Bit late for that!’
‘Well, this had better secure us both a place in heaven, brother.’
‘Not any time soon, I hope.’
Robert walked towards the front of the crowd. He stomach swirled and his head felt light, as though he’d had a strong drink on an empty stomach. The Lord certainly works in mysterious ways, he thought, as his followers broke into song.
Behind him, the march moved slowly away, a giant snake slithering over the parched countryside. As Robert walked, those near him patted his shoulders and praised his decisiveness. In his mind, meanwhile, he replayed his address. He was pleased it was well-received but cursed himself for not restating more strongly his opposition to violence, and for not asking the marchers to leave their weapons behind.
William rode up to draw level with Robert. ‘All the talk back there is of Robert Kett, the hero.’
Robert looked up silently. He felt more like a fool than a hero.
‘The eight miles will take some time, Robert. Those at the back haven’t started walking yet.’
William was right. Robert needed to plan for his new circumstances. It was already approaching noon, and it was clear that his plan to home again by sunset was unrealistic. It would be after dark; there was no question. His thoughts were interrupted as a young boy, and a small dog ran ahead of him.
A thought flashed into his mind: he could see how he would get everyone home, albeit after dark. They had no supplies, and there were many mouths to feed. Hunger would send them home. Robert could fulfil his obligations: petition Mayor Codd, demonstrate the strength of feeling, then return the marchers to their homes and farms. People would soon tire of the discomfort and hunger, the women and children especially.
‘Look!’ It was the voice of a child, the boy who had just run in front of him.
The boy pointed farther down the road, where four horsemen had pulled up in the middle of the road. They wore tunics of red and green, the livery of John Flowerdew. As Robert watched, they turned north and quickly broke into a gallop.
He felt his gut tighten and his mind race: If Flowerdew got word to Norwich, there was no telling what he might say, or what the city authorities might do when they hear of an army approaching. Robert shouted at his brother to come over. ‘Ride for Norwich as fast as you can and find Mayor Codd. Assure him we come in peace.’ He paused to gather his fleeting thoughts. ‘Tell him… to meet us outside the city gates and hear our case. Assure him that if he meets us, we will return home at once. We come in peace. William, as fast as you can.’
‘Could a younger man not ride faster?’
‘It must be someone credible, someone of substance. If I am to lead this march, then who better than my brother to understand my true intentions? Go!’ Robert slapped the horse’s hindquarter, and William set off in pursuit of Flowerdew’s men.
The people behind sang, talked and joked, blissfully oblivious to the turn of events at the head of the column. The stakes had just been raised.
12
With each passing mile Robert felt more uncomfortable, his anxiety heightened by their snail’s-pace progress. He cursed the country people’s slow, flat-footed plod, developed over centuries of trudging through mud behind ox and plough. Robert, who travelled regularl
y to surrounding towns and cities to trade, was accustomed to moving at a faster pace. They were running later than he’d anticipated.
Word of the march was spreading. More people had joined the crowd along the way, some simply curious, some motivated by the cause. In the village of Cringleford, another twenty-five men, women and children joined the ranks. But whether they were four hundred or five hundred strong, it made little difference to Robert. They paused in Cringleford to let the tail end catch up, and Robert learned that a small group had sneaked away to destroy enclosures in the village. Reprisals carried out under his name were not what he wanted, but how could he object, given his own actions the day before? See the mayor, home by midnight, he told himself and set a fast pace.
A mile and a half later they crested the brow of the hill. In front of them lay the city of Norwich, nestled under a grey haze of wood smoke in the afternoon sun. Robert wasn't especially fond of Norwich, but he did normally enjoy this view. Today, though, he was too preoccupied with events to savour the sight.
A flint-curtain wall and towers encircled the city. Behind the gates, the spire of the Norman cathedral and the round tower of the former Blackfriars monastery reached toward the heavens. The limestone castle keep set high on a man-made mound. It had been built to intimidate the conquered subjects of the Norman kings. Today, it certainly intimidated Robert. It was a stark symbol of royal power, planted on the landscape like a stubborn rock in a ploughed field, reminding Robert that many people, seeing the number of followers he had, would argue that he marched in defiance of the king. That was not the case. To ease his nerves he repeated to himself he was here not to fight or defy, but simply to petition.
He waited for his followers and studied the scene in front of him. The city took on a defiant look and felt somehow more imposing than it had during Robert’s regular visits to conduct trade. For some, the pull of the city – its smells and sounds, its hustle, bustle and barter, its characters and pageantry – was too much to ignore, but never so for Robert, who had grown up in Wymondham and much preferred to be a big fish in a smaller pool. Norwich’s immediate surrounds were bare, the trees harvested for firewood. He caught a whiff of the city in the breeze, a heady mix of dung, livestock and smoke. He crossed his fingers for luck. William should have seen the mayor by now, he thought, and the two men would, with luck, be waiting to receive them outside the gates.