Tombland

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?’