Tombland (The Shardlake series Book 7)

by C. J. Sansom

  There is only one recorded incidence of drunken behaviour, when as noted above Matthew Parker came to preach, but decided against it because the men were drunk.6 However he returned the next morning and gave an angry sermon against the camp. Although much has been made of this story, nothing serious happened to him – men went under the stage at the Oak and pricked his feet with spears; not seriously, or he would have been unable to walk away. The purpose was probably to make him dance. For all the indignation with which Neville related the story, it was a minor comic episode, fiesta not violence.

  THE ‘PROPHETS’

  There were other, unofficial preachers at the camp – what Sotherton refers to as the ‘prophets’. We know almost nothing about them. The term could refer to several different ideological types, all of which could have been present at the camp.

  First there is the ‘fantastical’ prophecy, often claiming to be inspired by Merlin and other ancient writers real or imagined, frequently prophesying the overthrow of the State. They had featured prominently in the 1536 Pilgrimage of Grace, notably an adaptation of the ancient ‘Mouldwarp’ prophecy, which had also featured in the Peasants’ Revolt and Cade’s Rebellion, and was reworked in 1536 to foretell the fall of Henry VIII.1 Sotherton spoke of ‘faynid prophecies which were phantastically devised which prophecys they . . . often cawsid before to bee openly proclaimed in the (Norwich) market and other placis’.2 Who knows what ancient prophecies were remoulded in 1549?

  Second, very popular among radical Protestants in the 1540s was the ‘biblical’ prophecy – people selecting texts from the Bible and claiming God had revealed their true meaning to them. This was not limited to the unlearned. John Knox regarded himself as one selected by God to be a prophet.3 In the atmosphere of the camp, any number of amateur Bible-readers might have believed themselves chosen to be prophets.

  Third was the great bogey of the 1540s ruling classes: the Anabaptists, a radical German Protestant group who believed all good should be held in common.4 Although the Anabaptists later renounced violence and by the mid-1540s their numbers in England were few, if any, their egalitarianism had made them greatly feared. However, as the leading historian of the Anabaptists in England notes, there is no indication of Anabaptists at Mousehold.5 Two Anabaptists were burned for heresy under Edward VI, but for arcane theological, not social beliefs. It seems likely that by 1549 they had petered out as a socially radical movement, despite elite fears.

  Finally there were the socially radical Commonwealth men. It has been noted above that they envisaged complaints being remedied by the King, not the people themselves. However their opposition to the ‘greedy rich men’ must have influenced the ‘camps of Commonwealth’ which at first expected the Protector to remedy their grievances, and when it became clear this was not going to happen some may have developed their complaints to justify rebellion.

  These four strands of opinion probably mixed and melded in the camp. Sotherton has only identified the first; this emphasis may reflect his desire to portray the rebels as simpletons, but the ‘fantastical’ prophets were obviously very important. There were precedents from 1536 of them forecasting the fall of the realm. Two were among the nine leading rebels executed for treason at the Oak of Reformation immediately after the final battle.6

  12–21 JULY: DAYS OF HOPE

  While Leonard Sotherton was in London, messengers from Kett were also at the Protector’s court. On 17 July Somerset said the delegation had arrived and he was hopeful that ‘some of the light sort remaining tickle’ about Norwich would soon be appeased.1

  At the same time, the Mousehold rebels were preparing a petition to the King known as the ‘29 Demands’; although it is worded as a petition, each section was headed ‘We pray . . .’2 Petitions, to some of which Somerset replied, were also sent by the Thetford and Suffolk camps, though the original petitions have been lost.3 The Mousehold petition seems to have been composed in a hurry, the items not being set out in any organized fashion.

  The document has been interpreted in two ways. First, as representing a ‘conservative rebellion’ seeking a return to an idealized past of mutual obligation between landlord and tenant, without acquisitive enclosers.4 Alternatively, it has been seen as demanding a permanent voice for the commons in running their communities.5 Arguably the document is both, but with the innovative extremely radical and novel, some Articles calling for a say in local government for commoners.6

  The document does not mention urban grievances, despite the rebels’ links to the Norwich poor, with whom they had worked to remove the enclosures round the Town Close. This is not as surprising as it might seem. The alliance of convenience with the Norwich rulers would discourage including urban complaints, while, most important, the petition was framed to appeal to the Protector, to whom loyalty was still claimed, and the grievances that he had promised to redress were rural. A second petition may have been planned, although it is unclear whether even the first reached Somerset.

  The grievances are best discussed by subject area. Regarding enclosure, Article 29 wished to simply prohibit gentleman from farming livestock for profit. This is very radical indeed.

  Articles 3 and 11 sought to end abuse by the manorial lord of his rights over common land, Article 3 stating flatly that ‘no lord of no man shall, common upon the commons’, although the rights of tenants and freeholders are protected. This was more than a return to the past. Other articles restricted the keeping of rabbits and doves.

  The petition objected to manorial laws imposing feudal dues including wardship on their tenants, which connects with articles upbraiding local royal officers, particularly the feodary and escheator, for abusing their duties. The solution here was radical and innovative indeed, asking for commissioners – chosen by the Commons and approved by the King – to ‘redress and reform’ laws and statutes concealed from the commons by royal officials (and, no doubt, lawyers employed to work with the landlords). This implies commissions, possibly permanent and certainly including commoners. Such commoners were to be paid fourpence a day (a labourer’s wage) while sitting.

  Articles 6 and 14 deal with the abuse of manorial rents and rights. Famously, Article 16 prayed that ‘all bond men may be made free for God made all free with his precious blood shedding’. This may have been thought likely to appeal to Somerset, who had freed serfs on his own estates.

  Parish priests were heavily criticized for their ignorance, absenteeism, involvement in land purchase, and failure to preach. Such priests should be ‘put from their benefices and the parishioners there to choose another or else the patron or lord of the town’. Here was another request for involvement of the commons in rural institutions.

  The petition, then, wished to keep the manorial system intact, and end the ‘seigneurial offensive’ against common land. However in the provisions dealing with the abuses of royal officials and members of the clergy, it looked to a substantial step forwards in popular representation and participation in rural institutions.

  An interesting trio of articles has examined Somerset’s dealings with the rebels through surviving letters to them.7 Ethan Shagan has argued that letters between Somerset and the rebels showed a dialogue in which Somerset made some substantial concessions. M. W. Bush and G. W. Bernard, however, more plausibly argue that Somerset was being disingenuous, and while he probably had some sympathy with some rebel demands – as we have seen, he had accepted the ‘agrarian’ explanation for inflation and believed in reform – he was as ferociously opposed to commoner assertiveness as Henry VIII would have been. He made it plain in his letters, at length and in fierce language, that commoners had no right to set up camps and make demands – that it was a defiance of the true order of society – but that if they dispersed they would receive pardons, while their grievances would be dealt with by the commissioners or Parliament. In some ways this recalled Henry VIII’s initial conciliatory response to the Pilgrimage of Grace, but as with Henry the threat of force always lay behind the promis
es, and sometime around mid-July the policy of appeasement changed to one of destroying the camps by military force unless they agreed to disperse.

  I do not think Somerset ever intended that commoners should have a say in running things. Though he made occasional concessions to the camp-men – such as agreeing to reform of the fee-farm of tolls on his own land at Thetford – these were very minor. There has been argument over whether another letter to the Thetford rebels actually acceded to the commons’ desire for a role in appointing commissioners, but the letter is so garbled that it is impossible to gather its meaning.8 Somerset, by then, must have been under tremendous strain. Shagan’s argument – that the camps and Somerset were engaged in a dialogue, a mutual feedback system – flies in the face of the facts. What was happening was the reverse of a dialogue; it was a deception, an attempt by Somerset to buy time, and around 17 July (interestingly, the date the commissioners arrived in Kent but failed to get the Canterbury camp to disperse) he turned from appeasement to confrontation. False hopes had been created – in these circumstances it was not unreasonable for Robert Kett to hope for a sympathetic response, so that when the royal Herald arrived at Mousehold Heath on 21 July, the confrontational nature of his message can only have caused shock and anger, as I have portrayed in Tombland.

  The coming of a royal Herald had been preceded by the delivery of a letter to Kett the day before. If, as is possible, this was Letter No. 2 appended to Shagan’s 1999 article quoted above,9 it consisted of a particularly fierce diatribe, stating that it would allow the rebels to petition the coming Parliament with their grievances provided they dispersed. Otherwise it offered nothing new.

  The Herald’s visit to the camp was a moment of high drama. He rode up to Mousehold from Norwich, accompanied by Codd and Aldrich and the city sword-bearer, Pettibone; he allowed himself to be led to the Oak of Reformation, and there delivered to the massed camp-men a proclamation that roundly abused them as traitors and, particularly, ‘Kett, man of mischief’. It offered a pardon to those who dispersed – and nothing else. Kett responded angrily that ‘hee had not offendid or deserved the Kings pardon and soe requird as many as would . . . to take his part and remain’.10 Neville reports Kett asking the company ‘not to leave him, nor to be fainthearted, but remember with what conditions they bound themselves, either to other, and that he for his part was ready to bestow his life (if need were) for their safetie’.11 The Herald then accused Kett of high treason, and ordered Pettibone to arrest him, but the threatening demeanour of the camp-man forced the Herald’s party to flee. A minority (we do not know how many) did accept the pardon and left the camp, but the great majority remained.12

  Back in Norwich, the Herald ordered Codd and Aldrich to shut the gates against the rebels ‘and keepe them from victual’.13 This emphasizes the importance, mentioned above, of Norwich market in feeding the rebels.

  ARMED CONFLICTS: 21 JULY TO 1 AUGUST

  The Herald’s order to close off Norwich, almost certainly a fallback position ordered by Somerset, was extremely foolish, for it left the camp-men with no alternative but to invade and breach the weak city walls. The Herald remained in the city, proclaiming his message there, perhaps hoping for the townspeople’s support, but once again he was gravely mistaken; Sotherton reports that ‘soon after they perceived that through ye falsehood of many of their citizens the said rebels were entried [entered].’1

  Next morning, 22 July, the camp-men launched a full-scale invasion, having first attempted and failed to negotiate a peaceful entry.2 Half a dozen cannon from the castle had been brought within range of the rebels, but neither the city’s gunners nor the rebels with their own guns showed (at this stage) any skill in aiming, although the city bowmen on the walls (probably servants of leading citizens, constables, and soldiers from Norwich Castle) caused many casualties. There were two huge charges down the hill towards Bishopsgate Bridge, the crucial strategic point: the first failed but the second succeeded by force of numbers. According to Sotherton, ‘vagabond boys . . . came emong the thickett of the arrows and gathered them up when some of the seid arrows stuck fast in their leggs’.3 ‘Boys’ in Tudor usage meant young unmarried men; the story of pulling out the arrows is plausible if, as is likely, practice arrows without barbed heads were used. The charges displayed the fierce courage that the rebels were to display from now on. They were helped by supporters in the city calling out that the enemy were within the walls, to distract city forces from Bishopsgate Bridge.4

  The whole of Norwich was now annexed to the rebel camp; its six cannon were taken up to Mousehold. Codd, Aldrich and other leading citizens were taken prisoner, except for one leading Alderman, Augustine Steward, whom Kett appointed his deputy in the city to keep order (though no doubt aware of the limits of his loyalty.) After an initial few days of looting, the city, like the camp, was kept in remarkably good order; the defenders on the walls were now from the camp. The Herald fled back to London. Trials at the Oak continued, now including senior citizens of Norwich, where according to Neville ‘if they [the camp-men] found nothing of the man in question, cryed out, A good man, hee is a good man; and therefore ought to be set at liberty. But . . . if . . . hee had offended any one of them . . . The common sort followed, as it were stirred up of the furies, “let him be hanged.”’5 Given that no gentleman was ever named as hanged at the camp, either Neville was romancing or, more likely, the camp leaders refused to allow it to happen.

  The number of Mousehold men who perished in the fierce assault is not known, but is unlikely to be less than a hundred. Now a new reality must have entered camp life – sudden death, grief for fallen comrades, family or friends. But they remained determined not to budge.

  It is not known how much territory Kett controlled from Mousehold; Land suggests fifteen to twenty miles.6 Attempts were made to expand into north and central Norfolk in July. Late in the month a camp was formed near King’s Lynn, probably aimed at its capture. However the local gentry – who, having recovered from their initial shock, were now becoming organized – managed to dislodge the insurgents, who withdrew twenty-five miles south to Watton, on the road from London, possibly to try and impede the army that was now expected to come from there. Early in August they abandoned the site and joined the Mousehold camp.

  A separate camp was formed at Hingham, fifteen miles from Norwich, again perhaps to protect the road to London; however they were attacked and dispersed by a local force under Sir Edmund Knyvett.

  Meanwhile a small group from Suffolk marched against Great Yarmouth, but the townspeople refused to admit the rebels. Thus all attempts to spread the camp’s area of control, including what would have been the significant prizes of Norfolk’s two major ports, failed. And news soon reached the camp of the preparation of an army in London.

  What were the rebels to do now? Kett’s original strategy (not unreasonable given Somerset’s promises of reform) had failed. The camp had two choices: fight or surrender. If they fought and won, they might win concessions from Somerset and even spread rebellion further. London was quiet, but martial law had been declared and rebellion there was feared.7 If they surrendered, many must have feared, given what they had done to the gentry, that they would be massacred. And as we shall see, there were many who believed the forces coming against them had not been sent by Somerset at all, but by local gentry and their sympathizers on the Council. Among many, the failure to realize what sort of man Somerset actually was persisted to the end.

  Command of the army sent from London was given to William Parr, Marquess of Northampton, who had risen solely because he was Queen Catherine Parr’s brother. He was a courtier, not a soldier. The same is true of his deputy, Edmund, Baron Sheffield. Sheffield seems to have been a young gentleman thug – he and three relatives once attacked his brother-in-law’s mistress, disfiguring her to break up their relationship.8

  The army probably consisted of a mixture of professional soldiers and men conscripted from other areas.9 Local gentry who had fled retu
rned, together with some high government officials, and formed the junior leadership. Interestingly Sir Richard Southwell, who can only have returned to London recently from Norwich, was also there. The army not only lacked serious professional commanders, but was far smaller than the camp – around 1,500, and including a number of Italian mercenaries.10 Most government forces were engaged in Scotland and against the Western and Oxfordshire rebellions, and Somerset perhaps thought that as 1,500 men had put down the Oxfordshire rebels, the same number might suffice for Norwich.

  On 31 July, having possibly put down the camp at Thetford along the way, Northampton arrived outside Norwich. Another Herald was sent to call for the city’s surrender: Augustine Steward smartly passed the buck to Mayor Codd, under guard at Surrey Place, who agreed to allow Northampton’s forces in. As he was a prisoner this must have been with Kett’s authority. Northampton’s forces entered without resistance, Southwell bearing the city sword before him, and settled down for the night.11 They had walked into a trap.

  Before nightfall, a small group of Italian mercenaries scouting outside the Norwich walls encountered a group of rebels. One was captured (the episode is reimagined in Tombland), and he was hanged from the walls of Surrey Place.12 The mood on Mousehold was becoming fierce, hardly surprising given the prospect of a savage battle the next day. Northampton’s armies settled down for the night, the majority of them in the Market Square which was lit by a huge bonfire, while others patrolled the city and attempted to strengthen the walls. The patrols, in the narrow, hilly streets in pitch darkness, faced a formidable task. Now the trap was sprung; rebels opened fire with their cannon against the city’s eastern defences, following this up with a mass night assault through the streets. However, despite fierce street fighting, the rebels failed to dislodge the soldiers and were forced to retreat.