Tombland (The Shardlake series Book 7)

by C. J. Sansom

  ‘Nonetheless, I must hold you to the agreement we made.’

  Flowerdew forced another smile. ‘I have become a rich man, Serjeant Shardlake, all through my own efforts. If you agree to let the eviction stand, and return that paper, I am prepared to give you thirty sovereigns.’

  My eyes widened. It was an enormous sum, though no doubt Flowerdew could afford it. ‘In good gold coin, no debased silver,’ he added.

  ‘Serjeant Flowerdew,’ I began quietly, ‘when I entered the law I made two promises to myself. I would never be blackmailed, and I would never be bribed.’

  Flowerdew closed his eyes and shook his head, as one confronted by a fool with whom it is impossible to deal. Then he said, ‘Twenty sovereigns, then, for the document alone. You know what trouble it could get me into with my Inn.’

  ‘No. It is my guarantee you will do as we agreed.’

  He looked at me. No doubt he would have liked to rail and shout, but realized it would do no good. He shook his head wearily. ‘I hope neither of us has cause to regret this.’

  I made a peremptory bow, turned and walked out. Through the open front door I was glad to see Barak and Nicholas, and a couple of stable boys with the horses. I noticed the sound of church bells ringing wildly from the village and further afield. I frowned, puzzled, as did Flowerdew; it was Monday, not Sunday.

  I went down the steps. Flowerdew and his wife remained in the doorway. We had just mounted when there was a clatter of hoof beats and the steward Glapthorne came riding fast up the lane, his face red. He dismounted, breathing hard. ‘Master Flowerdew,’ he gasped.

  His master’s face set hard. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Men from the Wymondham fair! They’re spreading all over the countryside, calling for rebellion. I’ve been down to the village, half the men are gathered on the green; they’ve got pitchforks and bows and arrows. They threw insults at me! Listen, they’re using the church bells to ring the country awake! Beacons are being lit on the higher ground. There’s people on the road, coming to Wymondham from all over. Hundreds! The gruffs from the village said there’s some gone to Morley, to throw down all the fences! And, sir, they’re coming here next, to destroy yours!’

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  For a moment we all stood looking at Flowerdew. He held himself erect, his thin face hardening. Beside him, his wife clutched her hands together. The two boys appeared from within; she gathered them to her.

  Flowerdew snapped at Glapthorne. ‘Morley, you say. John Hobart’s enclosed part of the village commons there, hasn’t he?’

  The steward twisted his cap in his hands. ‘Yes sir, and they’re after your enclosures on Wymondham Commons too.’ He hesitated, then added, ‘You know what ill feeling there is towards you around the town.’

  ‘John, John,’ Mistress Flowerdew called, in sudden desperation, ‘how often have I warned your ceaseless quarrelling would end in trouble?’

  Her husband rounded on her. ‘Quiet, woman! I can deal with these scum!’ He thought a moment, looking out over his lands where the sheep grazed behind their hurdles, peaceful in the sunshine. Then he smiled, nastily, and looked at Glapthorne. ‘Hasn’t Robert Kett recently enclosed a small part of Wymondham Common?’

  ‘Yes sir, but, forgive me, he’s popular in the town, while you –’

  Flowerdew laughed. ‘Are not. Nor ever cared to be. But one thing brings popularity quickly, and that is money. There are few, even doltish plough-joggers, too foolish to decry that. Morley’s the other side of Wymondham, they’ll take time to get here. How many are there?’

  ‘The villagers didn’t say.’

  ‘I’ll meet them on the way, and pay them to turn their wrath on Master Robert Kett.’ He laughed, and suddenly I realized that he was enjoying this crisis. Behind his back, Barak made a circling motion beside his head, indicating he thought Flowerdew mad.

  Possibly he was, but he was clever, too. At once he was barking orders. ‘Alice, take the boys inside. Glapthorne, get John and Charles and Peter from the estate, tell them to get long knives and fetch horses. And bring my sword.’ He turned to me, frowned, then spoke quietly. ‘Master Shardlake, I would ask you and your people to stay here, to protect my wife and sons should anyone come from the village seeking trouble. Will you do that?’

  I hesitated, but Mistress Flowerdew was pale and trembling and it was not a request I could honourably refuse. Reluctantly, I nodded agreement. The elder of the boys shrugged off his mother’s arm. ‘Father, let me come! I am man enough now to face these churls.’

  ‘No, William, you stay here.’ Flowerdew looked at me and took a deep breath. ‘Thank you, Master Shardlake.’ He then ran into the house. He returned shortly, a grim smile on his face. He patted the waist of his doublet, and I heard the chink of coins.

  Servants and horses were brought round quickly. Flowerdew buckled on his sword, and mounted a fine grey mare. Then he and his men rode down the lane in a cloud of dust, leaving Barak, Nicholas and me alone with his family.

  *

  WE WAITED INSIDE the well-appointed parlour. The older boy said again that he wanted to join his father, though his brother, who was perhaps thirteen, sat quiet, close to his mother. Outside, church bells continued to ring wildly. Mistress Flowerdew suddenly put her hands over her ears and shouted out, ‘Can they not stop that noise! It is driving me mad!’

  ‘Go to your room, Mother,’ the younger boy said gently. ‘You won’t hear them so loud from there.’

  ‘Yes,’ I agreed. It was bizarre to find myself suddenly in charge of Flowerdew’s household. ‘You boys go with her.’

  They went, leaving me with Barak and Nicholas. Barak said quietly, ‘If there’s real trouble, and the family have to run, they’d be better off on the ground floor.’

  ‘It can’t come to that, surely,’ Nicholas said. Barak shrugged. We sat in silence for what seemed an age, then Nicholas stood. ‘I’m tired of doing nothing. Come, Jack, let’s walk to the end of the drive and see what’s happening.’

  ‘Good idea.’

  They were gone half an hour or so. When they returned Barak said, ‘The road to Wymondham seems quieter, but bells are still ringing everywhere, and groups of men are crossing the paths over the fields. We went to the village, but it looked deserted. An old woman leading a donkey told us half the men have gone to Wymondham.’

  ‘I didn’t like the smirking look on her face,’ Nicholas added.

  A servant appeared and asked if we would like lunch; it was long past time. I said we would, and asked him to take some upstairs to the family. Hardly had he gone, though, than hoof beats sounded once more on the drive, and Flowerdew and Glapthorne rode up. Flowerdew wore a satisfied smile, though his steward seemed more dubious. The two boys ran downstairs, followed by their mother. ‘What happened?’ she asked. ‘Are you safe?’

  Flowerdew laughed, slapping his thigh. ‘Safe as houses. There were no more than a dozen of them. Country clods. I told them Robert Kett was the man they should be after, and gave them money to speed them on their way. I said Kett’s enclosures were larger than mine.’

  ‘Are they?’ I asked.

  ‘No,’ Flowerdew answered happily. ‘But they didn’t know that. It’s always good to win, isn’t it, Serjeant Shardlake? One in the eye for Master Kett the tanner and his butcher brother. Now, some lunch.’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘Then you can get back to Norwich, the road is quiet now. Whatever’s going on at Wymondham, the sheriff’s deputy will soon put it in order.’

  Nicholas said, ‘There seem to be hundreds gathering. We walked to the village, and were told the men had gone to Wymondham.’

  ‘They’ll soon be back, tails between their legs.’

  ‘Will there be hangings?’ young William asked eagerly.

  Flowerdew clapped him on the shoulder. ‘I hope so; legally this is a riot.’ He smiled with real pleasure. ‘Now, food.’

  ‘I have already ordered some,’ I said.

  ‘Good man!’ he answered, s
o pleased at the outcome of his plan that he seemed to have forgotten I was his enemy.

  *

  OVER LUNCH FLOWERDEW, now in expansively cheerful mood, told us more of his encounter. ‘They were a mile outside Hethersett, trudging up the roads, carrying pitchforks and spades. They’d walked all the way from Morley, mostly labourers, half-naked in tatty leather jerkins, covered in dust. That leader of theirs, I’ve seen him before, he’s a Wymondham copyholder called Duffield, too big for his boots like all these yeomen who’ve scratched together a parcel of land.’ His mouth twisted with amusement. ‘From my horse I could have taken Duffield’s head off.’

  ‘Why didn’t you, Father?’ Edward asked excitedly.

  ‘Leave that to the hangman, lad. Like I said, it’s a riot, and I’ll be a witness that Duffield led them. He was bold, telling me the commons were gathering all over England to support the commissioners, and to take down illegal enclosures. As though he would know what was or wasn’t legal.’

  ‘Was your land enclosed legally?’ I asked.

  Flowerdew ignored the question. ‘Duffield looked me in the eye like he was my equal, and said the hurdles keeping in my sheep would be taken down. He said I had best move them. Then I told them Kett was the man to get after, and I’d pay them if they went there instead. Duffield told the others it was a trick, but the money was real enough and the peasants took it gladly. All men are greedy.’

  ‘Or desperate,’ I said.

  Flowerdew stared at me. ‘And how will destroying the sheepfolds which are all that brings money to this county help? How will common rogues rising up against the King’s authority help our country in its war with the Scotch? Though this stir won’t last.’

  Mistress Flowerdew put her knife on her plate with a clatter. ‘Enough, John, enough,’ she said. ‘Why cannot we all live in peace as God intended?’ She stood up and left the room with a swish of skirts. Flowerdew looked at his sons and made a face. They smiled.

  ‘We should return to Norwich now,’ I said brusquely. ‘Thank you for lunch.’

  Suddenly he seemed to remember how I had bested him on the matter of the fake document, and frowned, his good humour suddenly gone. ‘Very well, Brother Shardlake. Glapthorne and I will ride down to the village with you, see for ourselves what is going on. Edward, William, you may come too.’

  In a short time we made ready, and rode down the drive – Flowerdew and his sons, Glapthorne, Barak, Nicholas and I. The church bells had stopped, and it was a peaceful ride between the sheep fields, under trees planted along the side of the lane to give shade. Then we turned a corner and stopped abruptly. A group of men, twenty or more, were busy with spades and hammers, digging up the hedges enclosing Flowerdew’s sheep and throwing them into the ditch on the other side. Another dozen or so stood guard, and I saw they carried not only pitchforks and hammers but also weapons of war, half-pikes and halberds. The sheep, bleating wildly, had fled in a bunch to the centre of their pasture. A couple, though, had been caught by the men, and lay on the ground with their throats cut. Like those Flowerdew had encountered, the men were mostly young, wearing wide-brimmed hats and sleeveless leather jerkins, some shirtless in the heat; but there were older men too, in their thirties and forties, working with the same grim determination.

  Flowerdew’s face turned instantly to thunder. Someone who seemed to be directing the work of destruction approached us boldly, half a dozen others accompanying him. He was in his fifties, tall and strongly built, with grey hair and a short beard. He had a lined, weather-beaten face, with a straight nose, firm narrow mouth and large brown eyes that fixed on Flowerdew’s. He wore a dark green woollen doublet, a black cap set square on his head, and carried a long, sharp-looking cleaver. Flowerdew gazed back at him, his eyes blazing with hatred.

  ‘Well, Master Flowerdew,’ the man said, ‘your plan did not work.’ His voice was unusually deep, the Norfolk accent strong. ‘When these men came, I helped them pull down my own enclosures, which, God forgive me, I should never have put up, and I have put myself, my goods and life, at the disposal of them and their fellows. See, I have brought Master Duffield back with me.’ He indicated one of the men beside him, a short fellow in his thirties in a cheap wadmol smock, who gave Flowerdew a mock bow. The new leader continued, ‘Now we have brought more men from Wymondham to deal with your enclosures, which, God knows, are far larger.’

  ‘Who is this?’ Nicholas asked.

  The grey-bearded man looked at him. ‘I, young gentleman, am Robert Kett of Wymondham.’

  *

  I LOOKED BETWEEN Kett and Flowerdew. Our group was heavily outnumbered, and Kett had a solid, commanding air about him. Flowerdew, overcome with rage, reached for his sword, only to find that he had not brought it out with him. ‘Fuck,’ he hissed. Kett stepped forward and pointed his cleaver at Flowerdew’s stomach. ‘Steady, master,’ he said. ‘We want no violence, unless you provoke us to it.’

  He turned to his men, inclining his head sharply. At the signal they moved to surround us. The horses shifted nervously. His men, who must have walked miles that day, gave off a powerful stink.

  I was beginning to feel real fear, but ventured, ‘You say, sir, that you wish no violence. Yet you have killed some of Master Flowerdew’s sheep.’

  Kett turned that penetrating gaze on me. ‘The great gathering at Wymondham will need feeding tonight. We do not wish to shed the blood of men. We took weapons from the manor house at Morley too, and other places, but only lest we need to defend ourselves.’ He looked closely at me and Nicholas, and I cursed our well-cut clothes.

  There was a sudden burst of laughter from behind Kett. We looked round to the fence, where two lads had dropped their hose and were displaying their backsides at Flowerdew. Once called, ‘Come kiss our arses, master, an’ maybe we’ll let you keep some o’ yer sheep! Lucky for you they’re shorn, or yew’d ha’ lost yer wool too!’ Flowerdew exploded in a tirade of abuse. ‘Dogs! Leave my sheep, you filth.’ He turned to Kett. ‘And you, you lead these churls in destroying my property! You are a rioter, a pest to the country, leader of a parcel of vagabonds!’

  Some of the men surrounding us looked threatening, and one raised his halberd. I wished we were anywhere but with Flowerdew. ‘We are no traitors, Serjeant Flowerdew,’ Kett said, his voice deadly serious now. ‘It is we who are loyal to the King and you who milk his lands and ours for your profit.’ He shook his head. ‘You have no idea what is happening, have you? Honest workin’ men are setting up camps all over the country, in Suffolk and Essex, Kent and Oxfordshire. We are sending petitions to the Protector, whose commissioners will soon arrive. He has already granted the demands of Essex, where a thousand men sit encamped by Colchester. The Christian Commonwealth is coming!’

  Flowerdew laughed scoffingly. ‘How can you know all this?’

  Kett nodded. ‘We have our own riders and messengers. My brother William is in touch with all the butchers’ men.’

  I thought, So this was indeed planned. Flowerdew laughed again, but with a note of unease in his voice now. ‘You think the Protector will take the side of common ruffians like these?’

  ‘I do.’ Kett’s voice rose. ‘You were always a man who used the King’s authority to steal every penny from his neighbours. Rich as you are, you are never happy unless you are a-lawyering and a-quarrelling! Like hundreds of so-called gentlemen and lawyers, you will do all you can to hinder the Protector and Commissioner Hales in righting the wrongs of the countryside and fostering the Commonwealth. And so it falls to us to aid their work.’ It was a loud, fluent speech, angry but controlled.

  Flowerdew said, bitterly, ‘You own land yourself, Kett, all around Wymondham. And were once a good supporter of traditional religion, a friend of Abbot Loye. How can you associate yourselves with these stinking radicals?’

  A man with a half-pike pointed it threateningly at Flowerdew. ‘You shut your clack-box, or you’ll get stuck like a pig.’

  Kett replied, his voice rising so all around c
ould hear. ‘I work with my hands, on my farm, and like all Norfolk men I suffer from the enclosures of the rich gentlemen and the thefts of officials like you. Christ’s blood, sir, we’ll open the Protector’s eyes to the true state of things, God save him, we will!’

  Flowerdew looked distinctly worried now. In his meadow some of the men who had taken down the hurdles were chasing the sheep, long knives upraised. Three men brought one down. A knife was raised, the animal jerked, bleating frantically, and blood gushed over its white body. A second sheep was caught and its throat quickly cut too. Flowerdew looked at his steward, who could only shake his head. Then he said, a tremble of fury in his voice now, ‘Stop them killing my sheep.’

  Kett shook his head.

  ‘My sons are not yet sixteen,’ Flowerdew said, his voice suddenly pleading. ‘My wife is helpless in my house.’

  ‘We will hurt no women or children. But we don’t want you raising people to attack us. You and your sons will come with us to Wymondham.’

  Young Edward and William looked at each other. ‘You can’t command me where to go,’ Flowerdew said incredulously.

  ‘We can, and we do.’

  Duffield said eagerly, ‘We can rough him up a bit, carn’t we, Master Robert?’

  Kett considered, gave Flowerdew a long, hard look, then said, ‘Maybe, but not much, just buffle him about a bit. We’ll take the steward as well.’

  One of the men surrounding us looked at Barak, Nicholas and I. ‘Who be these three beauties?’

  I answered, ‘We have been visiting Serjeant Flowerdew. On a legal errand.’

  Duffield said, ‘Show us your hands, all of you.’

  ‘I can only give you one, boys,’ Barak said, and a couple of the men laughed. We all opened our palms. Duffield said, ‘Just as I thort. Inky fingers, hands soft as women’s, all of them.’ He held up his own hands, rough and calloused with a lifetime’s work. ‘Lawyers, friends of Flowerdew.’ My heart began to pound; this was looking bad for us. Nicholas looked angry, and I prayed he would keep his mouth shut. I was conscious, too, of the weight of Isabella’s gold at my belt.