by C. J. Sansom
Then I saw a man approaching from the field. A stocky fellow, with a black beard and large blue eyes. Toby Lockswood, whose family troubles I feared had prevented him getting in touch. But he was here, he was one of the conspirators. I felt a sudden spurt of anger.
‘That pignut,’ Nicholas breathed.
Toby marched boldly up to us, giving me a cold nod. Nicholas burst out, ‘Have you forgotten how to bow, Lockswood?’
‘Shut up, you stupid arsehole,’ Barak hissed. He could see, as I could, that Toby had some authority here.
‘I know these birds,’ Toby said to Kett.
‘They the people you worked for at Norwich?’
‘They are. Master Shardlake, what are you doing as a guest of John Flowerdew?’
‘I came to see him about a legal matter.’ I looked at Flowerdew, hesitating, but my first loyalty was to Nicholas and Barak, and I continued, ‘His illegal eviction of Isabella Boleyn.’
Flowerdew looked at me in fury, as a fresh muttering arose among the men around us and our horses stirred uneasily again. Young William Flowerdew gave me a look of disgust which, I confess, shamed me. Then someone said, ‘He’s the one that saved that gemmun from the rope in Naarich, while the common folk hanged.’
Kett raised an interrogative eyebrow at Toby. Lockswood studied us, considering. I said quietly, ‘I was going to come to your farm today, Toby, to see how you fared. I was worried when you did not get in touch as you promised, especially after all the help you gave us in Norwich.’
His face darkened. ‘My life on the farm is over. My mother died a few days ago, and my father fell down and died, too, the next day.’ His voice broke for a moment, then he continued, ‘The farm was held on a tenancy of three lives, and my father’s was the last. I’m out. I knew what was brewing and came to Wymondham to join what was coming.’
‘I am sorry about your parents,’ I said, quietly. I realized there were new lines on Toby’s face, a wildness in those large eyes now. ‘I did not know.’
‘No,’ he replied, his voice distant, ‘how could you?’ He turned to look at where the last of Flowerdew’s hurdles were coming down. Men were dragging the bodies of the slain sheep towards the road, leaving a bloody trail, while the rest of the flock still ran helplessly round the field, other men in pursuit.
‘Well, Toby Lockswood,’ Kett asked quietly, ‘what do we do with these three?’
Toby took a deep breath. ‘The long streely lad, he’s of gemmun stock, thinks all common folk should keep in their place. He’s handy with that sword he’s wearing; you should have it off him. If we let him go, he’ll stir up trouble. I’d hold him and take him to Wymondham, like Flowerdew. The hunchback – I’m not sure about him. He’s a serjeant like Flowerdew, but used to work for the Court of Requests and I think he’s got Commonwealth sympathies. But he works for the Lady Elizabeth now, trying to save her gentleman relatives.’
‘As have you!’ Nicholas shouted. Toby ignored him.
Kett looked at me. ‘Why did you leave honourable work helping the poor?’
‘Because I made an enemy of Richard Rich. When he became Lord Chancellor I was dismissed.’
Kett nodded reflectively. He said to Toby, ‘I think he needs more questioning. What about the one-handed man?’
‘He’s their servant, and I think his sympathies are with us. Let him go.’
‘You’re right, Toby, I’m with you,’ Barak said in a steady voice. ‘Something like this should have happened long ago. But, I won’t leave Master Shardlake, nor Nicholas. He’s a decent boy for all his antrums.’
Kett nodded firmly. ‘Then you all come back to Wymondham with us. We need one more night there, that’s where everyone is gathering. Get them off their horses, we can use those. Tie their hands, but don’t buffle them about. Master Steward, we’ll need some of your carts to take those sheep to Wymondham.’
‘There’re two behind the house,’ Glapthorne said. He took a deep breath. ‘I’ll come with you willing, I’ll help you.’
Kett smiled at him cynically, recognizing this was opportunism. He said, ‘David, Theo, go with them, watch out for tricks.’
Flowerdew looked at his steward, aghast. I think it was only then he truly realized the extent of what had just happened. I could almost feel a pinch of sympathy for the wretched man, whose world had so suddenly and completely collapsed around him. But so had ours. We, too, were captives. I breathed hard to still my beating heart. Nicholas reluctantly handed over his sword and we all dismounted, till only Flowerdew was left, sitting on his horse, looking dazed. Then suddenly his whole body tightened and he put his spurs to his horse’s flank and bolted, his horse throwing three men aside like ninepins.
‘Get after him!’ Kett snapped. Two men grabbed my horse, and Nicholas’s, and mounted them. The animals, though, were already frightened, and Nicholas’s horse reared high and almost threw his new rider. By the time the men had gained control of the horses and set off after Flowerdew, he was already a small dot on the road, riding frantically for Norwich.
Chapter Thirty-eight
And so we found ourselves on the road back to Wymondham. This time, though, Barak, Nicholas and I walked with arms bound behind us, a position I found painful. To my left, Nicholas’s face wore an expression of fury, though on my other side, Barak was making every effort to gain the confidence of the men walking beside us, asking where they had come from and laughing when they told him how they had sent Master Hobart of Morley and his family fleeing from his fine house. I said nothing; on the one hand, I sympathized with their anger; on the other, I feared the escalation of violence, and remembered that I too was deemed a ‘gentleman’.
A tall fellow of about thirty, carrying a cleaver, had been positioned beside us. Occasionally, he gave Nicholas and me evil looks. Behind us Flowerdew’s sons were similarly pinioned; the elder lad wore a defiant expression but the younger looked cowed and fearful.
It was late afternoon now, but still hot, and we walked through clouds of dust that turned our hose and shoes grey. More men, and a few women, joined us as we walked along, and soon our numbers had risen to fifty. At the head of the procession rode Robert Kett – he had taken Nicholas’s horse, and beside him, on mine and Barak’s, rode Toby and Duffield, the Wymondham man. The rear was brought up by two large carts from Flowerdew’s house, pulled by donkeys, led by the steward Glapthorne, who looked uneasy. They held the bodies of the slaughtered sheep, which left a thin trail of blood on the dusty road.
Halfway to Wymondham another group of about twenty joined us, labourers or craftsmen, by the look of them, in shirts or leather jerkins. Several carried bows, with quivers over their shoulders, some wore sallets, round military helmets, while a couple carried swords or halberds or half-pikes, no doubt taken from a manor house or church where weapons were stored for the military musters that had been a regular feature of life since the wars against Scotland and France began. I thought, Wherever the weapons might have been stored, it was these men who would have been expected to wield them if they were sent to war. Behind them a large cart pulled by donkeys contained the bodies of several slain deer.
The leader of the group exchanged greetings with Kett. ‘We’ve been a-raidin’ one of the Paston parks! Threw down the fences and went in. Gor, my lads know how to shoot. We took this cart and the dickeys to pull it, too. There’ll be venison tonight in Wymondham!’
There was a cheer from our group, and someone called, ‘We’re heading there too, bor! Jine us!’
The man looked up at Kett. ‘It’s all right to raid parks, in’t it? They count as enclosures.’
‘Yes,’ Kett agreed firmly. ‘Take the cart to the rear!’ I began to realize that Kett was already accepted as a leader. As the cart passed, I looked at the rolling heads of the slaughtered deer, which included a couple of young fauns, and suddenly felt sick. The man beside me grinned. ‘Too much for yew, Marster Lawyer?’ I did not reply, and he leaned close. ‘I’m a master carpenter, live in a villag
e near Besthorpe. I grazed a cow and a couple of pigs on the common till last year, for my family, but the manor lord enclosed it. With a bad harvest coming we’ll be clammed wi’ hunger this winter unless we take our due.’ He came closer. ‘Some of us would like to deal with you like those lads dealt with the deer.’ He nodded emphatically, gripping his cleaver. I made no reply.
*
WYMONDHAM WAS HEAVING with people, more even than during the fair, well over a thousand, I guessed. The tents still stood on the common, and as we were marched past the marketplace, I saw through the open doors that the chapel was being filled with straw bedding. So was the church, while beyond, people and carts had taken places among the remains of the monastery. The great crowd was orderly, and the town constables seemed to have joined some older men, many with a military bearing, in directing people where to go. A cart filled with barrels of ale passed us. Many of those in the streets greeted Kett’s party with cheers, and raised caps and hats. Seeing us bound in the midst of the party, some people booed, and a rotten cabbage came flying at us, almost knocking the elder Flowerdew boy off his feet. Kett raised a hand. ‘No!’ he shouted sternly. ‘We shall give the gentlemen the justice they deserve, but by due process in the King’s name!’ He looked back over the men who accompanied him, and called out, ‘Wait here, all of you!’ Such was his authority that everyone stayed in their place.
His brother William appeared, and the two spoke earnestly, Robert leaning down from the horse. Then a figure detached itself from the crowd and approached me. It was Michael Vowell, his mouth open with surprise.
‘Master Shardlake? What has happened?’
‘My friends and I are prisoners, as you see. We were on a visit to Serjeant Flowerdew when Master Kett and his men called. These boys are Flowerdew’s sons. He himself has fled.’
Vowell frowned. ‘Why were you visiting him?’
‘He evicted Isabella Boleyn illegally from her house. Reynolds was involved.’ I smiled wryly. ‘I am not surprised to see you here.’
A suspicious expression crossed his face. ‘What do you mean?’
‘One night at the Blue Boar in Norwich, a few weeks ago, I saw you talking to a man I know, Edward Brown, and a soldier you called Miles. You spoke of Attleborough.’
His eyes widened. ‘And you said nothing?’
‘It was not my business. And Edward Brown and his wife are my friends. Are they here?’
He gave me a long, searching look. ‘No. In Norwich still.’ He considered, then said, ‘I will speak with the Ketts.’ He jogged to the head of the line, and I saw him talk to the brothers. Robert Kett and Toby dismounted, and walked back to us with William Kett. Close to, I saw William was older than his brother, perhaps in his mid-sixties. His square, strong face looked severe. Barak murmured, ‘Talk for your lives.’
William faced me. ‘Vowell here tells me you overheard a certain conversation in Norwich, yet told nobody.’
‘That is true. As I told him, one of the other men involved, and his wife, are my friends.’
‘The woman is his old servant, not a friend,’ Toby said severely. ‘But ’tis true he sought her out to help her,’ he added reluctantly.
William looked at me thoughtfully. ‘And said nothing about Miles, or Attleborough. He can’t have done, or it would have been nipped in the bud.’ He looked at his brother. ‘We’ll need lawyers and scriveners if we’re to do what we’ve talked about.’
Robert nodded. ‘I’ll take him to Gunville Manor. Let the one-armed man go, he’s their servant, he can help get things ready for tonight. But see someone keeps an eye on him. Take the long lad and Flowerdew’s boys to the lock-up. Those boys are valuable hostages.’
‘Master Kett,’ I said, pleadingly, ‘let Nicholas stay with me. I will answer for him.’ Kett looked at Toby, who said, ‘No, he’s against us, lock him up.’
‘You three, take them,’ William said. Strong arms seized Nicholas and the boys. For a second I thought Nicholas might struggle, but he allowed himself to be led away. William turned to Barak. ‘Go down to the abbey, ask for Captain Atley, he’ll see you make yourself useful.’
There were loud cheers as a fresh column of men appeared; bearing arms ranging from scythes to crossbows and hauling a battered cannon on a wheeled carriage, they entered the already crowded streets. At their head an elderly man in clerical garb carried an ancient banner showing the head of Christ. ‘Another village in,’ said William. ‘I’ll send them down to the monastery grounds. They can set the banner up to mark the place and duddle up there tonight.’
‘Aye, each village should put up a banner or flag to mark where they’re from, or people will get themselves lost in this crowd.’
‘I’ll see you later, I promise,’ Barak said to me, then turned towards the abbey ruins. I felt suddenly alone, and thought of John Boleyn, in his cell at the castle. What would happen to him now? And Isabella, Scambler, Edward and Josephine? Robert Kett turned to me. ‘Come with us,’ he said abruptly.
*
MY WRISTS UNTIED, I walked with the brothers and a small escort past the abbey ruins, across the river. Everywhere people hailed and cheered the Ketts, some raising weapons. There was no chance of escape. An old man in a makeshift white robe, with white hair and a straggly little beard, stood on top of the half-demolished wall of the precinct, brandishing a bible as he addressed a small crowd. I heard him say, ‘I prophesy that the rule of the saints predicted in Revelation has come, that we are the chosen and shall inaugurate the rule of Christ!’
‘Old Gribbin at it again,’ William said wryly.
Robert frowned. ‘We need people to settle down quietly.’
William nodded agreement. ‘There are groups camped outside the town. There’ll be more coming in tomorrow. I think we’ll have to start moving, Wymondham can’t take any more. Miles has had every house with room to spare requisitioned. Thank God the weather’s holding.’
‘Is there enough to eat?’
‘Just about.’ William smiled. ‘Most have brought food or beer with them. Good Norfik commonsense.’
We walked perhaps a mile, until we reached a two-storeyed house of red brick with a pleasant knot-garden and tall chimneys. We were led up into the house. The hallway was crowded with people, talking animatedly. A young man came over to Robert Kett and threw his arms round him. ‘Yer back safe, Father! Thank the Lord! What happened with Flowerdew?’
‘He ran, the canker blossom. But his fences are down, and we have his sons! Christ’s wounds, Loye, we have a great crowd in Wymondham!’
‘Aye. And news has come in from Cambridge and Downham, the commons are risen there too!’
Kett stepped back. For the first time his face showed real emotion. ‘This is a mighty work!’ he said. ‘It has to be God’s doing!’
An attractive woman with grey hair, a little girl of six or so at her side, came up, and Robert embraced her. ‘Alice, Alice! And little Margaret!’
‘Granfer!’ The child danced up and down with excitement. ‘Did you catch the bad man?’
‘No, but we taught him a lesson!’
‘Robert,’ the woman said, ‘if you go tomorrow, I am coming with you. I am decided. Let Loye and the other boys look after things in Wymondham, my place is with you.’
William looked doubtful. ‘I think the women should stay at home.’
Kett put his hand on her shoulder and said tenderly, ‘We shall see, my dear. Now, I must have a word with this man.’ I thought, Where are they planning to go? His family looked at me curiously. Robert said, ‘There is a little time before Miles and the others arrive. William, take a turn back up the road again, see how things fare.’
William nodded and left the house. Robert opened a door and motioned me to enter. It was the office of a man of business; tidy, a desk with documents and books of accounts, reminding me Kett was a man of some substance, though in status far below Flowerdew. Or me, for that matter. He drew up a comfortable chair and motioned me to sit, poured us some beer
from a flagon, then lit a candle – the light was starting to fade – and sat behind the desk. He laced his fingers together and looked at me. His expression was neutral, but his large eyes narrowed.
‘You looked uncomfortable when you were walking here,’ he said after a moment.
‘I am better now. I have been having trouble with my back. Please, where am I?’
‘My home, Gunville Manor. You will remain here tonight.’ He considered a moment, then said, ‘You fell off the scaffold at Norwich, didn’t you? I heard about the hanging.’
‘John Boleyn is my client,’ I answered quietly. ‘A pardon request had been entered, executing him would have been illegal.’
Kett grunted. ‘His Boleyn kin in Norfolk came nowhere near him, I believe. Such are the Norfolk gentlemen. But what of you, Master Shardlake? How came you to be involved in that case?’
‘I was instructed by the Lady Elizabeth. Then, as I told you, Flowerdew evicted his wife illegally, I came to Hethersett to stop him.’
‘He is no friend of yours, then.’
‘No. He is a rogue.’
‘I believe that, like him, you are a serjeant-at-law. Strong words about one lawyer from another.’ He smiled, then said softly, ‘You wouldn’t be givin’ me sweet lawyer’s talk, would you, with poison breath beneath?’
‘No, Master Kett. I speak the truth.’
He cast an eye to the purse hanging from my belt. ‘I heard that a-chinking on the way here. If that’s gold, it must be a mighty sum. Did Flowerdew give it you?’
I took a deep breath. ‘As well as evicting Isabella Boleyn, he took some money her husband had given her to support herself while he remains in Norwich Castle. I got it back from him, and shall return it when I can.’
‘How much?’ Kett asked bluntly.
‘Twenty gold sovereigns.’
He whistled. ‘A very goodly sum. We are going to need money.’