by C. J. Sansom
This assault by overwhelming numbers was too much for the defenders. As our men reached the other side of the river they grappled with them on either side of the gatehouse, and, faced with their numbers, many defenders turned and fled. I saw others leave the gatehouse, apparently at orders which I heard shouted from behind them. It puzzled me at the time. Our men were now in a position to move behind the gatehouse, and in a few minutes I saw the gates opened. There was a mighty cheer, and our men surged through. In a moment the whole mighty force was inside Norwich. They left behind perhaps fifty bodies on the ground, or floating in the river. Cheers sounded from those on the hillside, many of whom began running down to the city. I sat on the tussock a good while, then said, ‘Jack, we should go down, see what has happened to Nicholas and the others.’
‘I will go back to the camp,’ Goodwife Everneke said wearily. ‘That is my place. God knows, I have seen enough.’
Chapter Fifty-five
I walked slowly down the hill, towards Bishopsgate Bridge. The bodies in the river were floating downstream now. I looked at those on the riverbank, and on the bridge, some dozens of them; the pools of blood on the cobbles took me back to the day before I left London, when vicious Captain Drury’s men had assaulted the Scotchman. My heart was in my mouth, for I dreaded seeing Natty’s among those dead white faces, or even Edward Brown’s, but I did not. Most of the dead had fallen to arrow shots, though some had been literally blown apart by the cannon. I averted my eyes.
Already the upper floor of the gatehouse and the earthworks thrown up round the sides the night before had been occupied by camp-men who stood on guard, bows at the ready. The gatehouse itself was guarded by three men with halberds. We were asked our names and when I gave them, one said, ‘Let them through, they were with Captain Kett at the trials.’ We passed under the gatehouse and into Holme Street. More victims of the fighting, from both sides, lay dead on the street. Again all were strangers. The inn where Barak had stayed during the Assizes was open, and beer was being served to the victorious camp-men. ‘I could do with a good drink,’ Barak said feelingly.
‘Not now, Jack, there are things to do.’ He shrugged, but followed me.
Some wounded men were being helped in the direction of Tombland, and many from the camp seemed to be headed there, too, so we followed them. I wanted to discover what had happened to Nicholas most of all, but I wanted to check on Isabella Boleyn and Edward Brown and then, if I could gain permission, to visit John Boleyn and, if he was still there, Nicholas in Norwich Castle.
There was a shout of, ‘Make way! Make way!’ We moved quickly aside as half a dozen cannon, drawn by heavy horses, trundled along the street; the city cannon, no doubt, being taken to the heath to bolster our defences. The rear was brought up by a cart loaded with barrels, moving slowly, the driver and the men accompanying it shouting, ‘Out the way, it’s the city’s gunpowder supply.’
‘Our friends in the city must have been waiting with information about where all this was stored,’ Barak said.
As we passed St Martin’s Plain with its houses and gardens I saw that some men from the gentleman classes had come out to the street to find out what was happening. The camp-men moving towards Tombland subjected them to abuse such as none of them would have ever heard from commoners before, calling them traitors to Reformation, gilded peacocks and other, coarser names, while some of the younger camp-men bared their arses. A teenage boy ran over to a severe-looking old man in a feathered cap and snatched it, placing it on his own head, to laughter and cheers. The gentlefolk hurried back to their houses. ‘We’ll be coming for you later!’ the boy called after them. ‘We’ll have you all hackled in chains!’ I pulled my cheap felt hat over my head and walked on.
*
THE GREAT SQUARE of Tombland was crowded with men, though all the houses, including the Maid’s Head and Reynolds’s house, had their courtyard doors firmly closed and windows shuttered, while the gates to the cathedral were also shut. Beside the cathedral gates a couple of dozen men were being treated for wounds by barber-surgeons from the city. I recognized the dark-robed figure of Dr Belys, who had looked after me so well when I had fallen from the gallows. The focus of attention, though, was on the opposite side of Tombland, where Robert Kett stood at the bottom of the steps of the house two doors up from Reynolds. I recognized, too, Alderman Augustine Steward, with his tall figure and curly white hair, standing at his door. At the foot of the steps were several well-dressed gentlemen, probably city councillors, guarded by some men from the camp carrying halberds. As I watched, another gentleman was dragged along the cobbles and shoved into the group. There were cries from the crowd: ‘Traitors!’ ‘Kill them as they killed our men!’
‘No!’ Kett shouted back. ‘The gentlemen of Norwich shall stand trial at the Oak as did those from the countryside, and if found guilty they will be imprisoned!’
One of the amateur preachers shouted from the crowd, ‘The Bible says, an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth!’
‘No!’ Kett roared back again. ‘Christ himself said that passage from the Old Testament should not be followed! To the camp with them, we can hold them at Surrey Place till we bring them to the Oak! Not Master Steward, he is to stay behind.’ Kett nodded to the armed men, who began leading the prisoners away. There was angry murmuring from some in the crowd. Kett’s powers of leadership – and his knowledge of the Bible – had prevailed, but not without difficulty.
I heard my name called and turned to where the wounded men were being treated. Natty sat leaning up against the Erpingham Gate, Hector Johnson beside him; Hector was unhurt, but Natty had a nasty wound on his forearm, a piece of cloth forming a makeshift tourniquet. Both were trying to control a shuddering, weeping Simon Scambler. We crossed to them. ‘Thank God,’ I said. ‘You are all alive. Simon, what happened? Are you injured?’
‘He’s gone sappy,’ Hector Johnson said. ‘He was only asked to help lead our horses into the city, to fetch the enemy cannon. But at the sight of the bodies he hulluped up his stomach and now he’s all quavery.’ He shook his head.
‘I was near sick at the sight myself,’ Natty said. ‘But everything – everything comes to the surface with Simon.’
I bent and looked the boy in the eye. My presence seemed to calm him a little. I asked, ‘What was it, Simon?’
He said, ‘I never realized – people could just – come apart, like the sheep being cut up at the camp!’
I said, ‘You must know it is so, that in our bodies, if not in our souls, we are built as the animals.’
He whispered, ‘Always I have feared I might suddenly fall apart.’
‘Good men died out there today, brave fighters,’ Hector Johnson admonished him, though his tone was pitying rather than angry.
Meanwhile a group of Norwich men had come to join the crowd around Kett. He gestured to them and called on the camp-men to go with them and find all the stores of weapons in the city. As they dispersed with cheers, one young man nudged another and said, ‘Look! It’s Sooty Scambler. They said he’d gone to Mousehold. He’s the same nonny as ever he was!’
Hector Johnson turned on them with unexpected fierceness. ‘Why don’t you go fuck your mothers, brats!’
I jumped slightly at a hand on my shoulder; looking up, I saw Dr Belys, staring at me with astonishment. ‘Serjeant Shardlake,’ he said. ‘I would not have recognized you. I thought you long gone.’
I hesitated. ‘I have been at the Mousehold camp.’
He looked at me, then at Barak and Hector Johnson and Natty, and fell silent.
‘You are treating the wounded?’ I asked.
‘I have been brought here to do so,’ he said, his tone indicating that he had not come willingly. He looked at Simon. ‘What ails this lad?’
‘The sight of the dead unmanned him,’ Hector replied.
‘Shock,’ Dr Belys said in his matter-of-fact way. ‘I can give him something to drink which will quiet him, if you wait a little.’ He looked at
me. ‘Your bodily movements seem much changed, Serjeant Shardlake. More fluid.’
I smiled. ‘Rough living seems to suit me.’
He leaned in close. ‘You should be careful, sir, there is talk in Norwich of a hunchback lawyer helping Kett at the trials at the Oak of Reformation.’
‘Mayor Codd and Alderman Aldrich themselves helped at the Oak.’
‘No more, now the Protector has made his intentions plain through the Herald. You should leave, sir. There is your future to consider.’ He turned to Natty, looking at the ugly wound in his forearm. ‘You need that stitched, boy. I’ll do it.’ He had a little bag with him, from which he produced needle, thread and some oil. Natty clenched his jaw. I looked away, towards Kett. Most of the crowd had dispersed at Kett’s behest, to look for arms. Weapons were something the camp needed, and it would be a way of focusing some of that potentially dangerous energy among the men. One group walking away from the steps was, I saw, led by Michael Vowell. He paused to speak to me. He was in high spirits. I stood up, my knees creaking.
‘Master Shardlake. You have come to the city!’
‘Yes. To find my friends. I saw the bodies on my way in.’
‘The camp has the city poor to thank that more were not killed. At the height of the fighting they got some men to shout out, “To your weapons, the enemies are entered the city!” and half the defenders of Bishopsgate ran towards the other side of the city. That’ll teach them to treat us as doddipolls, eh, lads?’
‘I see some gentlemen have been taken prisoner. Do you know aught of your old master?’
Vowell lowered his voice. ‘The first thing I did after entering the city was lead some men to his house. He answered the door himself – he hasn’t got a new steward, and his other servants are all women, you understand. But the old bastard paid them off with gold. Not all our men are incorruptible.’
I looked over at the Maid’s Head. ‘I wonder whether any correspondence might have arrived for me there.’
He shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘The royal Herald is shut up in there, they won’t open the door, and Captain Kett’s orders are he’s not to be touched. But I don’t think there’s been any correspondence in or out of Norwich this last week. And now, we must go.’ He waved an arm, and led his group away.
I looked at Simon, quieter now. Natty was enduring the stitching of his arm in silence; beads of sweat standing out on his forehead. I said, ‘Goodman Johnson, when Dr Belys is finished, will you and Natty take Simon back to the camp; I think that the best place for him. Barak and I have some friends to find.’
Barak said, ‘We don’t know the state of affairs at the castle; maybe we should go to Edward and Josephine’s first. Hopefully now he will be back at home.’
‘It is further, but you’re right.’
‘I did well with the horses,’ Simon said with a sudden, unexpected smile.
‘You did, lad,’ Hector Johnson said roughly. ‘Never seen someone with such a gift for calming them.’
‘One thing you should know,’ Natty said. ‘The people who hit me with an arrow were a couple of yellow-haired twins. It was those Boleyn lads, fighting with the defenders. Fortunately, the arrow that struck me, like most of the defenders’, was a practice arrow for the butts, with no backward-pointing spikes to tear the flesh. I was able to pull it out. Some other of our wounded lads pulled arrows out, too, and passed them back to our archers. No one will ever say the men of Mousehold weren’t brave.’ His voice shook.
‘No,’ I agreed. ‘They won’t.’ I took a long breath. ‘I thought the twins would have made for London. So,’ I said grimly, ‘they are still here. They must be found.’
Chapter Fifty-six
We walked down past the castle. Groups of men had already broken in the doors of some gentlemen’s houses, and were carrying out weapons, money and plate. Down in the poorer southern areas of Conisford Street things were quieter, the streets much as normal. I made my way into the dusty courtyard where Edward and Josephine lived; all was quiet apart from some chickens pecking at a dog-turd. I knocked on Edward and Josephine’s door. Josephine opened it a crack, looking nervously out. When she saw it was us her eyes widened. ‘Master Shardlake!’ she said with relief.
‘How are you, Josephine?’ She looked tired and strained. She had been changing Mousy’s cloth; the child, lying on the table, smiled at us and Josephine held her and wiped her bottom, making sure she was clean. As she did so she said, ‘I have had a message Edward is coming soon. And that Captain Kett has taken Norwich.’
‘He has. I saw the battle from the road down to Bishopsgate.’
‘Was there much fighting?’
‘Some, round the river. But all is over now. The city is taken.’
Josephine looked relieved. She sat on a chair and held Mousy on her knee. The child reached out a hand to me, and I smiled and waved at her. Josephine said, ‘At least there has been no firing of the city. I remember my village in France being set on fire when I was little –’ Tears rolled down her face, which she brushed away angrily. ‘I know this cause is just, but I so fear blood and fire.’ We were silent for a moment; I did not want to talk of the things we had seen, and after a few moments she held the baby out to me. ‘Take Mousy, she wants to see you.’ I took her, and she settled happily on my knee. Josephine said quietly, ‘I tell Edward, I fear what may happen to her.’
I was silent, for I had no answer.
There were footsteps outside, and Edward entered. In contrast to the downtrodden figure I had first visited in June he now had a firm footstep and his stringy frame an air of strength and authority. While recent events had tested Josephine, bringing back bitter memories, they had strengthened Edward. He smiled when he saw us. ‘Master Shardlake, Jack, you are down from the camp?’
I answered, ‘We came to visit the castle. Nicholas was put there and is maybe there still, and I want to see John Boleyn.’
Josephine cried out, ‘Master Nicholas? Why?’
‘Lies were told about him,’ I replied grimly. I explained what had happened. ‘I tried to speak to Captain Kett but – he had other things on his mind. Edward, might you be able to speak to him?’ Mousy was tugging at the buttons on my shirt. I made a mock frown, and she giggled at me. ‘Also, and I am sorry to ask this when you have just come home, but I wondered whether you could help me get into Norwich Castle.’
Edward nodded. ‘I can get you in. Captain Kett has given me a pass that will get me anywhere in the city. Our men are guarding the castle now, but Constable Fordhill has been cooperating with us, allowing us to use his cells and some of his men as guards. We shall keep him on for now. I think he fears the gentlemen prisoners may be murdered if one of us replaces him. But Nicholas’ – he looked me hard in the eye – ‘if he has done wrong, he should face trial at the Oak.’
‘He has not,’ I said firmly.
Edward sighed. ‘Well, I will see what I can do. And I will take you to the castle. Things are – unsettled – in the centre of the city. Gentlemen are fleeing with their families, and we’re letting them go provided we’ve nothing against them and they don’t take much with them.’ He laughed. ‘Some have fled in their undergarments so they are not recognizable as gentlemen by their rich clothes. Others – well, they need locking up, and we need supplies.’ He laughed. ‘I don’t think they realized how the poor of Norwich hate them. We townsmen played our part today, and will do so in future. Norwich is now an extension of the camp. The Norwich gentlemen will be tried at the Oak.’ He frowned. ‘After this betrayal by the Protector, feelings are running high.’
Josephine said, ‘Are you staying tonight, Husband?’
Edward went over to her, his face filled with genuine concern. ‘Yes. But I must return to Mousehold for a meeting tomorrow morning. My love, come up to the camp with me, they are good people, I would rather you were there.’
She looked at him. ‘Why? Do you feel the Protector will send an army against the city?’
He took a deep
breath. ‘He may, though I think it as likely, now we have taken Norwich, that the Council will change tack and meet our demands, perhaps even send the commissioners at last.’
‘The commissioners!’ Josephine said in sudden anger. ‘They’ll never come.’
Edward replied, ‘Our strength – taking the second city in England so easily – means the Protector may now realize he must consider our demands. Perhaps the King will even intervene with the Protector now.’
‘Do not be a fool!’ Josephine said, angry again. ‘King Edward is eleven, how can he make decisions on anything?’
Edward shook his head despairingly, and Mousy, who was now playing with the white hairs of my beard, looked up at her parents and began to cry. Josephine took her and soothed her, Mousy’s cries turning to unhappy sobs. Josephine said quietly, reaching out an arm to her husband, ‘I am sorry, I know you are working for a great cause, but I cannot face going to an armed camp when I spent my early years in one.’
I said, ‘I think Edward is right, Josephine. At least until things settle down in Norwich. We have already made friends in the camp.’
‘We have,’ Barak agreed. ‘Good people.’
Josephine put her face in her hands. ‘I am sorry, Edward, but I cannot.’
He sighed, and turned to me. ‘Then let us go to the castle now.’ He added quietly, ‘Things may get rough in the city later, with the taverns full of our men celebrating. Perhaps you should go back to the camp when we return.’
‘I need to visit Boleyn’s wife first. Then we will go back.’
*
WE SET OUT FOR the castle, walking up Conisford Street to the richer houses at the top. The afternoon was well on now, the heat of the day starting to fade. The mansion of the wealthy Paston family had been broken into and a store of swords and pikes was being carried out, watched by a crowd – some cheered, others looked disapproving. A red-faced man with a bandaged arm who, like many we had passed, had already been drinking, called out, ‘Come to the camp tomorrow and buy a cod’s head for a penny! A cod’s head for a penny!’ Edward laughed.