Tombland (The Shardlake series Book 7)

by C. J. Sansom

  Kett continued, pausing after each sentence to let his words be carried back: ‘ . . . We can no longer bear such great and cruel injury! We will rather take arms than endure it! Nature has provided for us, as well as them; has given us, too, a body and soul. We have the same form, are born of women like them! Why should they have a life so unlike ours!’

  There were loud cheers, and weapons were raised. ‘Radical stuff,’ I murmured.

  ‘All across the land men rise against the enclosures for sheep, and the other iniquities heaped upon us by the landlords, like the encroachments on common land and the illegal raising of our rents. Soon the Protector’s commissioners will arrive, and we shall ensure justice is done. We will ourselves rend down the fences, fill up the ditches, and make a way for men into the common pasture! We will suffer no more to be pressed with such burdens! We shall petition the Protector with our ills, and get good answer, like the people of Essex!’

  There were more cheers, ringing to the wide blue sky till Kett raised his hands for silence.

  ‘I promise that the harms done to the public weal by the lords shall be righted.’ He paused, surveyed the crowd, then continued, ‘Soon, we shall camp and rest. We shall feed ourselves from the countryside, arm ourselves against the gentlemen. As for those we have made captive, we shall try them according to law; there will be no undue violence or murder. That is their way! Let us show the Protector we can govern ourselves, without the gentlemen!’ He took a deep breath, then continued, louder than ever. ‘I myself sinned in raising enclosures on my land, but I have with my own hands made them common again.’ He paused, then said, ‘You shall have me, if you will, not only as a companion, but also as captain; and in doing the great work before us, not only as a fellow, but also for a general, standard-bearer and chief. Not only will I be present at all your councils, but, if you will have it so, henceforth I will preside at them! Before all things else do I put your deliverance, and for this I will spend not only my goods, but my very life, so dear to me is the cause on which we are embarked! Now, do you swear on your oath, before God, to remain and work together until our work is done?’

  There was a deafening chorus: ‘We do!’ I drew a deep breath; nothing was more binding, more powerful, than a man’s oath before God. Kett raised a fist. ‘And so, my friends, to Norwich!’

  Another cheering roar, and Kett took off his cap and waved it.

  Beside me Barak said quietly, ‘Looks like they’ve found a leader.’

  I nodded. ‘Everything was about enclosures, though. What of the hurts of the towns?’

  ‘He’s following the Protector’s agenda. Hoping to get his support.’

  ‘It may not end there,’ I said.

  ‘The start is good enough for me.’

  I leaned in closer, speaking intently. ‘What are you doing, Jack? You have a wife and children in London!’

  ‘Don’t be a fool! I’m being watched, same as you are. I couldn’t get away and run to Tamasin, even if I wanted to. Like you, I’m surviving as best I can now we’re caught up in this.’

  ‘But you believe in it.’

  He looked at me with sudden fierceness. ‘It’s time something like this happened. Don’t you agree?’

  ‘I don’t know what to think.’

  ‘Then let it play out.’

  The men were settling into line again, amidst a buzz of excited conversation. Barak stood and made his way back down towards the baggage train. Vowell looked at me suspiciously. ‘What were you two whispering about?’

  ‘Jack has a wife and children in London.’

  ‘In times like these, ties of the heart are best forgotten.’

  ‘Are they?’

  *

  WHEN WE REACHED the turning for Brikewell, two dozen armed men peeled off from the main crowd and disappeared down the lane. Barak was with them, no doubt as a guide. I watched anxiously; if the twins and their friends fought back, blood would be spilt.

  Just afterwards the head of the procession reached the bridge across the River Yare. We were more than halfway to Norwich. The crowd, which I estimated now at perhaps two thousand, slowed almost to a halt as men crossed the narrow bridge, though some boys swam across, the cool of the water no doubt a relief, for it was near midday. I was glad to sit again for a while, watching the path to Brikewell. Vowell was called away to some duty, and the old soldier Hector Johnson came and sat beside me, no doubt sent in Vowell’s place to watch me. He wore a sallet helmet and a sword at his waist now. ‘A hot day,’ I said neutrally.

  He grunted. ‘You get used to marching in the heat when you’re a soldier. I was at the battle for Boulogne, then at Portsmouth when the fleets battled in the Solent.’

  ‘I was there too,’ I said quietly.

  He laughed scoffingly. ‘You were never a soldier.’

  ‘I had friends who were. A captain of archers particularly. He went down on the Mary Rose.’

  ‘I am sorry,’ Johnson said more gently. ‘I was a captain of archers too. They dragged me out of retirement for the Scottish war, but God’s bones, that campaign is a waste of gold and lives.’ He laughed bitterly. ‘At Berwick John Knox told us his fellow redshanks would welcome us as good Protestants, but they and their French troops harried us out of those earthen forts the Protector built, one by one. As for the people, they were starved and harried by both sides. When I hadn’t been paid for six months I left and came home. Now I’ll fight for justice under Master Kett.’

  We were silent for a while, watching the slow progress of men crossing the river. Then I saw a party returning from Brikewell. A couple of men wore makeshift bandages, and one walked with a limp, supported by two of his fellows, though, to my relief, Barak was uninjured. The knife at the end of his artificial hand was unsheathed, glinting in the sun. There seemed to be some new recruits from the estates. I asked Johnson if I could go to Barak and he nodded. As I approached, I saw donkeys dragging two carts of provisions and weapons, and at the rear three men with their wrists tied behind them being pushed and shoved along by men with pitchforks. I recognized Leonard Witherington, Lord of South Brikewell. The peppery little man had been stripped of his hose and rolled in the dust. He was shoved along barefoot, the fat white legs beneath his shirt contrasting with his red, terrified face. He stumbled, and a man jabbed him lightly with his fork, making him yell. His captors grinned. ‘Git on, you, ter the cart!’

  The other two captives were Gerald and Barnabas Boleyn. Like Witherington, they had been stripped to their shirts, and there was blood on Gerald’s face, but their captors treated them more warily. When one prodded Barnabas, he turned and shouted, ‘Fuck off, you scum of the earth!’

  Barak came up to me, looking excited. ‘Their friends have flown the coop, but these two were waiting for us with knives and an axe. Jesu, they put up a fight, despite our numbers. Anyone with sense would have surrendered. God’s blood, they’ve made a mess of that house while they’ve been there.’

  The twins saw me. Gerald shouted out, ‘Joined the rebels have you, you hunchbacked ratsbane! It’s hanging, drawing and quartering for rebellion. We’ll come to Tyburn to watch!’

  One of their captors pushed him. ‘Git on,’ he said. ‘Don’t, you’ll get stuck with this fork.’

  The twins, with Witherington, were led down a jeering line of rebels to the carts at the rear. They shouted back; even this gigantic crowd seemed not to intimidate them. I wondered, not for the first time, whether they were quite sane.

  Chapter Forty

  After crossing the bridge we marched steadily on towards the city. Barak returned to work at the provisioning carts. Pitchers of ale were passed down the line. I had discarded my doublet and walked in my shirt, stinking of sweat. My back was starting to hurt and I struggled a little to keep pace. Even more people joined us along the way. Hector Johnson had left me, to help keep people in line, but Vowell reappeared by my side. I was still being watched.

  Soon the great spire of Norwich Cathedral became visible, th
en we reached the Town Close, where the citizens’ cattle grazed. There another astonishing scene greeted me. Numerous men had come out from Norwich, some watching while others tore down the walls of the Close. As our great concourse approached, the Norwich men cheered and waved, calling out that this was common land, which no man should have to pay to use, and a little group ran over to where Robert Kett and his brother sat on their horses. They were carrying little oak boughs, evidently an agreed signal. One young man I recognized immediately: Edward Brown, Josephine’s husband. He stood with several others in intent converse with the Ketts. I sat down wearily on the ground again.

  A wooden platform was quickly erected from the fences, and Robert Kett dismounted and climbed on top. He called for silence, and again the noisy crowd fell quiet. This time I was too far away to hear his words directly, but, as before, they were passed back. He said the city council had set armed men on the walls, and refused permission for us to travel through the city to Mousehold Heath. We would camp at the village of Bowthorpe nearby for the night. The Norwich men, he added, had brought food, to add to what we had already. He asked the Norwich men to return to the city and gather support. They ran back to their fellows before I had the chance to ask Edward Brown how Josephine fared. ‘We have a loyal following in the city,’ Vowell said proudly.

  ‘I saw Edward Brown there.’

  Vowell nodded. ‘He’s a good man, for all he’s a Lunnoner.’

  ‘Where is this Bowthorpe?’

  ‘A couple of miles to the north.’

  Barak had reappeared alongside us. ‘I’m tired.’ He clutched his artificial hand. ‘I could do with taking this off for a bit.’

  ‘You lose the hand in the war?’ Vowell asked.

  ‘No, in London.’ Barak did not elaborate.

  Bread and cheese, and more ale, were passed around and devoured hungrily. Again I marvelled at the level of organization these men had achieved so quickly. Food was unloaded from our carts and more brought from Norwich; these poor men had given what they had. Vowell lay down, to snatch some rest. I said to Barak, ‘You still at the back?’

  ‘Ay. Nick is quiet now. They’ve put the twins and Witherington in another cart, which is just as well for Nick. They kept shouting insults at him until someone smacked them across the mouth.’

  ‘What did the rebels do to Witherington?’

  He laughed. ‘Just roughed him up a little. They’re keeping to Kett’s orders.’

  I looked at the distant, looming heath.

  I said urgently, ‘If we make a permanent camp, how do you feed so many? What do they drink? What if the weather breaks? There is no shelter. We saw numbers as great as this on the old king’s Progress to the North, and the army at Portsmouth, but that took months of organizing.’

  ‘Much depends on Kett.’

  I looked across the crowds, mostly seated now, village banners waving in the slight, welcome breeze that had arisen. I said quietly, ‘If there are spies for the rebels in the city, I wonder if the city rulers have spies out here, too.’

  Barak inclined his head. ‘There’s a question.’

  *

  THERE FOLLOWED ANOTHER short march across open country to Bowthorpe. The place between my shoulder blades felt as though it was on fire, and my legs were numb, like pieces of wood. But I had no alternative other than to put one foot in front of the other. The dust stung my eyes.

  Just outside the village was a wood. Here the march halted, and I headed for the nearest tree, another of the broad Norfolk oaks. Vowell called to me to wait, but I ignored him. The moment I passed under its branches, though, and felt the blessed coolness of the shade, a shiver passed through my body, and my legs buckled under me. In the second before I fainted I seemed to hear again the yells of the crowd at the execution.

  *

  I WOKE WITH A START. I was lying on something hard but comfortable, and above me a wide canvas sheet was stretched. I groaned and looked around. Beside me, kneeling on his haunches, was a boy in his late teens, wearing a torn and dirty smock. Young as he was, he was tall and powerfully built, and held a club across his knees. In contrast with his big frame he had small, neat features, curly fair hair white with dust and a scraggy little beard. He looked at me with small, intelligent brown eyes.

  ‘Where am I?’ I whispered.

  ‘Bowthorpe Wood, outside the village,’ he answered quietly. ‘Yew be all right, they rigged this little tent between the trees. Yew fainted.’

  My mouth hurt; I tasted blood, and realized my lip was split. ‘Yew fell on yer face,’ the boy said, holding out a flagon. ‘Reckon you’ll need some o’ this.’

  I struggled to raise myself on my elbows. My head swam a little. I heard a crackling sound beneath me, and realized I was lying on a bed of bracken. I took a long swig of ale. ‘How long have I been out?’ I asked.

  ‘’Bout quarter an hour. I’ve been set to watch you.’

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Nathanial. Natty.’

  I handed back the flagon. ‘Thank you.’ I put a hand to the purse containing Isabella’s money; it was still at my belt. Natty’s eyes had never left mine; as though he were studying me, weighing me up. I felt a spurt of irritation – did he think I was in a state to run away? I lay back on the bracken, and immediately fell asleep.

  I was wakened by a hand shaking my shoulder. Barak was leaning over me. The boy still sat on his haunches, looking with interest at Barak’s artificial hand. Perhaps an hour had passed, for the sun was lower. I heard the ring of axes against trees, smelt smoke from cooking fires. ‘How are you?’ Barak asked. ‘I heard you’d fainted.’

  ‘Better now,’ I said. ‘I was – exhausted.’

  ‘You’re not the only one. A few of the older men passed out. You’re lucky to get this place, Bowthorpe Wood isn’t near big enough to shelter everyone. And trees are being chopped down for cooking fires.’

  ‘What happens tomorrow?’ I asked.

  ‘There’s going to be another go at persuading the city council to allow us to pass through Norwich. So we’re going to have to go back to the city. If they won’t let us through, we’re going to have to march round it to Mousehold Heath. It’ll be a long way round.’ I suppressed a groan.

  A man appeared, bending to get under the canvas, his large eyes red from the dust of the road. Toby Lockswood. ‘Master Shardlake,’ he said. ‘Jack.’

  Barak nodded expressionlessly, doubtless remembering, like me, what had happened to Nicholas and how this man, who had worked with us for weeks, now spoke to us as though we were virtual strangers.

  ‘I come from Robert Kett,’ he told me. ‘He’s on his way to see you. You’re lucky he could spare five minutes, there’s much to organize.’

  ‘There must be,’ I agreed quietly. ‘How many are there now?’

  ‘Two and a half thousand. They’ve all to be fed, and latrines dug. But we’re set on this. You fit to speak with Captain Kett?’

  I sat up carefully. ‘Yes.’

  ‘So he’s Captain Kett now?’ Barak asked.

  ‘Did you not hear him at the oak? He offered to be our leader and captain. And a fine one he is.’

  I asked Natty to pass me more ale. As I drank, there was a movement at the entrance. Two men took positions outside, then Robert Kett came under the awning. He looked as tired and dusty as everyone else, but the eyes in his keen face were alive with energy. He nodded to Natty. ‘Leave us a moment, lad.’

  ‘Yes, Captain,’ Natty said, and went out.

  Kett looked at Barak. ‘I hear you did well today, noting down the supplies that came in. Despite your – disability.’

  ‘I did my best,’ Barak said gruffly.

  ‘Please leave us a little while.’

  Barak went out, and Kett looked at me keenly. ‘Master Shardlake, I was sorry to hear you fainted. It was a long march. I had hoped it would end in Norwich, but the city council have refused us entry and manned the walls. Tomorrow, if the city refuses us entry again, w
e will camp at Eaton Wood, then next day march to Drayton Wood, and on Friday to Mousehold Heath, which commands the city. There is enough space there for the many still coming in to us. People in south Norfolk are gathering at their own camp too, at Downham.’ I wondered what that would mean for the Lady Mary.

  Kett went on. ‘Food and drink will be brought to Mousehold from the villages. The women will stay behind and take charge on the farms. And with the money we are requisitioning, we should be able to buy supplies in Norwich. From Mousehold we overlook the city.’

  ‘We could try an assault, Captain,’ Toby said. ‘We have hundreds in arms, and support in Norwich.’

  ‘No,’ Kett answered firmly. ‘We need a secure base first, and our men are tired and untrained. And we need to show the Protector we are men of peace. We shall do well enough on Mousehold.’ He looked at me. ‘We are a hardy people, and determined. We have become used to living on little these last years.’

  ‘I do not doubt it,’ I replied.

  ‘With more men it will be a slower journey tomorrow, and not so long. Do you think you can make it, and perhaps a further journey?’

  ‘If the pace is slower and there are rests, I should be well enough.’

  ‘Good.’ He looked at me intently. ‘When we get to Mousehold, Master Shardlake, we must have order. To do that, as I told you, we will try our prisoners according to law, so their injustices can be reported to the commissioners and the Protector. We aim to expose their wrongdoings, but not to kill them. If they are not put on trial, some of our people may take matters into their own hands. They are justly angry.’ He looked at me narrowly. ‘I ask again, will you help us?’

  In truth I had been unable to make up my mind. I thought, If I helped them and they lost, what would become of me then? I said, ‘I am not quite well, Captain Kett. Please give me a little more time to consider.’

  He inclined his head. ‘You wouldn’t be stringing me along, would you?’

  ‘Just a little more time, please.’

  ‘Only a little, Master Lawyer, or you will join that loudmouthed boy of yours in the cart.’