by Tim Holden
She stood back and let Mr Steward examine it.
He pulled the sample from the parcel. Rubbing between his fingers and thumbs, he studied the weave. It was excellent. Soft and pliable like a normal woollen and yet with a fine smooth finish like a worsted weave.
Mr Steward nodded: ‘It is a satisfactory cloth.’
Her father was no stranger to the tricks of mercers.
‘Begging your pardon, your grace, but I am sure if you look closer you will see it is an exquisite a piece of material. The only one of its kind available in Norfolk, if not all of England.’
Steward held up the cloth in front of him, to see its sheen through the light.
‘If it is of no interest to your grace, I can take it with me now and leave you to your duties?’ He stretched out a hand.
Steward looked at him from the corner of his eyes and studied it again.
‘Tell me,’ dropping his pretence, ‘how do you achieve this finish?’
Jan smiled. ‘I cannot say, sir.’
‘Well if you want me to buy it from you…’ Jan hesitated. ‘Unless you would rather I do business with somebody else?’ Steward threatened him.
‘No, your grace, not at all.’ Jan pulled out a small piece of raw fleece from his jerkin. ‘We take the outer layer of the fleece, like with a conventional worsted,’ he showed Mr Steward the sample, ‘but instead of soaking it in urine as is the normal practice, we soap it twice, which when carded, gives it a softer neater appearance, but importantly, it still keeps its shape when cut and pressed.’
‘I see.’ Steward nodded.
‘That makes the weft. The warp is silk, which gives it the sheen and the good drape. By combining the cheaper local wool with silk, we achieve the ideal cloth for formal wear. Smart, yet affordable.’
‘When it is tightly woven,’ added Tiniker. She picked up the other end of the sample and folded it in her hands.
‘Then we rub it in butter,’ said Jan, his enthusiasm getting the better of him, ‘but not the pig fat you English use for butter. Only cow’s milk will do.’
‘It’s very nice, I grant you. This cloth is available in your home country?’
Jan nodded. ‘Ja, yes, but the tax is so high on silk that it’s unaffordable for all but the very rich.’
‘Is that why you are here?’
Jan nodded. ‘Taxes, yes, but wherever you go there are taxes! Worshipping the new religion in Flanders can mean you meet God sooner than you hoped, as my wife found out. Not so here. My country is going to hell, mark my words there will be war again, and we have nowhere to retreat. It’s bad there.’
Steward grunted. ‘There are more people who can weave like this in Flanders?’
Jan nodded. ‘Ja.’
‘We’d better talk money,’ said Steward, his expression hardening.
For several minutes, the two men went back and forth as they tried to agree a price that was acceptable to both. The mechanical clock on the sideboard struck one and chimed. Tiniker had never seen a clock indoors before. She marvelled at its complexity. Moments later, the church bells outside sounded one also.
Why would anybody living in the city need such a device when there were church bells to sound the time?
With growing impatience as the two older men haggled, Tiniker couldn’t resist interrupting. ‘Any man rich enough to afford a clock in his room can afford to pay a fair price such as the one my father is asking for our excellent cloth.’
‘Tiniker,’ Jan upbraided her.
‘He’ll pay, father,’ she said in their native tongue. ‘Let us leave to prove my point.’
She picked up the cloth and headed for the door. She had not made three steps before Steward called out. ‘Not so fast, young lady. Come back here.’
She stood where she was.
‘There are other merchants who would be dearly grateful to be offered this cloth, Mr Steward. We’ve granted you the privilege of being first, but it seems we should speak to them instead? We shall take it to the Worsted Seld on Saturday…’
‘Tiniker, how dare you speak to a man, an alderman, like this?’ Jan hissed.
Steward smiled. ‘She drives a hard bargain, Mr Vinck.’
Tiniker smiled and curtsied.
‘I’ll take it.’ Steward stretched out his hand.
Tiniker returned to the table with the cloth. Steward shook the weaver’s hand then stopped, mid-air.
‘There is one further question I have, Mr Vinck.’
Jan’s smile fell from his lips.
‘Yes?’
‘You may have noticed that a number of our fellow countrymen have assembled on the heath above the city.’
Jan nodded.
‘You may have also noticed,’ continued Steward, ‘they have been rounding up the county’s sheep to sustain themselves.’
Jan nodded again.
‘Let me speak plainly, should they stay resident on the heath eating our sheep, how will you source your wool?’
Jan stuttered. He hadn’t considered this. ‘Rumour has it, your grace, they intend to attack the city any day?’
‘Oh, I dare say rumour will have them doing a thousand things by the end of the week, but the fact is their protest is about enclosure, and therefore wool, no?’
Jan nodded.
‘Well it seems our interests are more aligned than we may have first thought, Mr Vinck. Whilst our mayor parleys with them and generally appeases them, it falls to me to protect the inhabitants of this fine city.’
Jan looked at Tiniker, unsure where the deputy mayor was headed.
‘The trouble is, I cannot be certain of the rebel’s intentions, nor, being frank, do I trust our current mayor to handle this crisis with any skill. The sooner I understand their intentions and capabilities, the sooner I can get them off that heath.’
Jan felt still uneasy. ‘I would help in any way I can, sir, but as a weaver they would never expect me to be sympathetic to their plight. My own survival depends on a ready supply of sheep’s wool.’
‘You’re quite right, that was not what I meant.’
Jan waited for whatever was coming next.
‘Men make for clumsy spies in my experience.’ Steward looked at Tiniker. ‘Women, on the other hand, are most adept.’ He smiled with malevolence. ‘Especially unmarried ones with beauty and vigour.’
Tiniker’s stomach started to fill with butterflies.
‘Mr Vinck, you need those rebels off that hill. You need my money. I will pay your price, even though it is too high, but I need a spy. Your daughter will infiltrate the rebel camp and use her,’ he winked, ‘charm, to learn their intentions. She will then report to me daily with her findings.’
Jan looked as frightened as Tiniker felt.
‘This city has taken you in, welcomed you, let you practise your religion in safety. You are indebted to us, and in such times, Mr and Miss Vinck, we must all perform our civic duties. I don’t profess to understand the customs of your homeland, but here, a man of office like myself is required to make contributions towards the upkeep and improvement of his city. I have invested too much into this fine city to see it placed in peril. My duty now is to keep this city safe, for which I request your help.’
Tiniker ran through all the hardships of the past years — the countless risks they had taken. Norwich had given them nothing without its share in return. Everything their family had achieved had been on their own merits, but there was no sense pointing this out now.
Tiniker could see her father was at a loss for words, so she spoke.
‘Mr Steward, if the rebels attack the city, our house is one of the first in their path. If I agree to help you, with your power and influence, would you agree to keep us safe and offer us your protection? You have resources available to you.’
‘Of course, my child.’ Steward nodded.
‘Should our house succumb to fire, would you rehouse us?’
‘Yes, Miss Vinck. You have my word.’
‘In which case, ho
w do I fulfil your demand?’ Tiniker had never spied before.
Steward cleared his throat. ‘Befriend one of their number. Not Kett, he’ll be suspicious. Somebody close to him who knows his intentions; somebody vulnerable to persuasion.’
‘I won’t doxy,’ retorted Tiniker, protective of her virginity, ‘not for you, or for anyone. I don’t care how rich or important you are.’
‘I’m sure that won’t be necessary,’ said Steward, shaking his head, ‘but just because you make a promise doesn’t mean they have to be kept. God will understand the difference.’
Tiniker look at Jan. A mix of pride and the worries of a father etched all over his face. ‘I can do it, father,’ she reassured him. She had to, not only to secure the cloth sale, but Deputy Mayor Steward could make life very hard for them if he chose.
‘Mr Vinck, every day their numbers swell. Our arrangements are for nothing if we are not safe in our beds at night.’
Steward turned to Tiniker, a look of sombre sincerity on his face. ‘I know many of the people in the city. Let me reassure you that very few possess the courage and resource of your daughter. She will do her duty. That’s settled then. I look forward to receiving my first delivery of one hundred els of bombazine by the New Year.’
Jan looked Steward shook hands.
Tiniker took in a sharp breath. That was a bigger order than they could have dreamed of. It would be enough to feed their family for two years.
‘I’ll organise a down payment for your troubles of a tenth of the price, but on the condition that I want the exclusive rights to your fabric, and you must keep your methods secret. If you supply any other merchant at all, our arrangement is null and void.’
Jan nodded. ‘Yes. Thank you, Mr Steward.’
‘I will keep this sample as a yardstick for your quality. Match this, and you shall be paid in full on delivery.’ There was a brief silence. ‘Very well, I think our business is concluded for the day. Mr Vinck it has been a pleasure. Please show yourself out.
Jan and Tiniker retained their composure and turned to leave.
Mr Steward called out, ‘One more thing. The city council is meeting this afternoon to discuss the rebels. I intend to call upon the guilds to raise the militia. Your guild will require you to be at arms, Mr Vinck.’
Jan nodded.
‘We don’t know the rebel plans yet,’ Steward fired another look at Tiniker, ‘but I anticipate their approach to be directed at Bishopsgate Bridge. I will have you placed in charge of defending the bridge. Since our contract and its proximity to your home, I can think of nobody with greater incentive than yourself to keep those rebels out of our city. Good day, Mr Vinck.’
Steward smiled and returned to his bureau.
23
21st July, Surrey House
‘Ouch’.
Robert slapped his neck, taking his tally of bites to thirteen. Fleas, mosquitos and horseflies had all dined on his flesh, and he itched like a leper’s armpit. They’d been camped at Mousehold for nine days now and as each day passed the wait became more agonising, the stakes higher and his mood more volatile. He climbed the stairs, his tired mind revisiting the events of the meeting he’d just finished. Every morning the elected representatives assembled in the dining room and agreed, or more recently disagreed, on the administration of the camp, which continued to grow at an alarming rate. From all over the region people were drawn to the promise of change. There were now twenty-four districts present, each with two people elected to represent their share of the nine thousand people that had joined Robert’s cause. And now the representatives were split; half wanted to attack Norwich and secure much-needed supplies. Robert had refused. Attacking the city would condemn them all as traitors.
For now he had enough support around the table to overrule the suggestion, but as people grew hungry it would be harder to prevent mutiny and insurrection.
Mayor Codd and his fellow aldermen had abdicated their responsibility to those in higher authority in London, which meant that nine thousand angry commoners were left waiting on word from Lord Protector Seymour. They had received the twenty-nine demands a week ago. Since then, only a long and agonising silence had been returned to Norfolk.
That greasy fool Bossell had accused Mayor Codd of trickery.
Robert disagreed; the mayor had nothing to gain by refusing their demands, other than increasing the likelihood of Norwich being attacked. A point Bossell had been too impatient to grasp.
Robert had an hour to rest before presiding over a trial of captured gentleman. He now held eleven against their will, landlords and lawyers. The latest captives would face charges of corruption and abuse of power. Accusations levelled at them from their tenants. This quick and public dispensing of justice had done much to appease the angry commoners. Robert had worried it was proving to be a distraction that consumed his time and would one day ensure he had more enemies than anybody in the county.
William had persuaded him that it enhanced his legitimacy, helped keep the camp orderly and at least in captivity the gentry were safe.
So every day Robert’s followers searched the county for people to charge. There was no shortage of lawyers or embittered commoners who’d been on the wrong side of their judgements, all eager for justice or revenge.
But one lawyer still evaded Robert’s clutches: Flowerdew. He’d sent Fulke and a party of men to Hethersett to find him. According to his household servants, Flowerdew hadn’t been seen since the day the march started. He was rumoured to be hiding in Norwich. Robert had more than enough to do without devoting effort to capturing his nemesis, yet it seemed remiss not to exploit his authority and settle a few personal vendettas.
Standing at his bedroom window, he observed the camp that stretched east as far as his ageing eyes could see. People scurried about in all directions like lice on a fleece. The grass that had covered the heath when they arrived was now worn away. Word had reached him of other local protests, but they were small and contained, and so easily dispersed by the gentry. Yet instead of heading home, these protestors had headed for Norwich, seeking safety in numbers and lending their weight to his cause. Above the camp, the sky was cloudy and grey, like his mood.
‘God, give me a sign that I have done the right thing.’
He didn’t usually ask The Almighty for help. Guidance, yes, but he felt pleading for help meant you had taken the wrong path, which was a precursor to pleading for forgiveness. He lay on his bed, breathed deeply, and offered a prayer to let the lord protector see sense. Exhausted, he fell into a deep sleep.
‘Robert, you smell like you have rotten fish in your undergarments.’
Robert opened his eyes, disorientated.
Sitting on the edge of the bed was Alice. ‘Am I dreaming?’
‘No, my love.’ She leant forward and kissed him on the lips. Her eyes sparkled, and her grey hair was tied back into a bun.
‘You’re a sight for sore eyes.’
‘Well, husband, if you want any more kisses you’re going to need to wash. It’s a wonder you’re not all sick.’
In thirty years of marriage Robert had never spent twelve days away from his wife. For days he’d been dealing with the worries of men, none of whom had shown any concern for him. Seeing his wife now, her plain and earthy beauty, he realised how much he’d missed her. He sat up and threw his arms around her and buried his head in her shoulder. Her scent was the finest thing he’d smelt in days.
‘I’ve missed you, love.’ Robert sat up.
‘I too.’ Alice stroked his back, and together they shared a moment’s peace. ‘It looks like you’ve been busy whilst you’ve been away.’
Robert brushed hair from his face. ‘You could say that.’
‘My husband is the talk of Norfolk, it seems.’
Robert eased his legs over the side of the bed and sat beside his wife. They held hands. ‘My love, I fear I have been reckless. I am out of my depth. I came to petition the mayor. Now I find myself in command of an army.
’
‘Robert, I won’t deny that I am fearful, but for all these people to join you and choose you as their leader shows you the justice of what you are doing.’
‘Since I’ve been here, all I’ve wanted is to wake up in our bed with you.’
‘God has chosen a different path for you, Robert,’ she squeezed his hand, ‘even Moses had to endure the plagues before he could lead the Hebrews to safety.’
Moses parted the sea and was issued Ten Commandments from God. Robert was camped on a heath and making twenty-nine demands of his monarch.
‘You can wake up in this bed with me if you like?’ offered Alice. ‘But first let’s get you clean. I am not sleeping with you smelling like a sheep’s carcass.’
Robert began to undress. Alice shouted out the door, ‘Thomas, would you please bring up my bag?’
Moments later, Thomas Elmham appeared at the door clutching a leather bag. ‘Last time I saw you, Mr Kett, we were playing dice at the Green Dragon. I suspect your days since have been more interesting than my own.’
‘Thomas, good man, they have indeed. I’ll save you the embarrassment of embracing a man in a state of undress.’
‘Thomas kindly rode with me this morning. He’s helped at home too,’ said Alice. She took a linen cloth from her bag and began to scrub her husband’s skin. ‘Robert, the state of you, look…’ She offered him sight of the muck collected on her cloth.
‘Well, Robert,’ interrupted Thomas Elmham, ‘time would appear to be on your side.’
‘How so? What do your friends in the church tell you?’ asked Robert.
‘The rebellion in Cornwall rumbles onward. Unlike here, the rebels are in the city while the government troops lay siege.’
‘How does that help?’
‘Exeter’s lost, for over a month the army have failed to recapture it. Norwich, thanks to your good grace, hangs by a thread. That’s two of the country’s three main provincial cities that are now effectively under rebel control.’
Robert winced, and Thomas continued. ‘By a simple fate of geography and some fortuitous timing, the government can’t protect Norwich. No general wants war on two fronts. They are at your mercy, Robert.’