Tombland

It was yet another hot, dry day, great clouds of dust thrown up from the road. People seemed to be grouped together by locality, for banners taken from local churches were held up by men who often wore the yeoman dress of village leaders; one or two were clerics. As we left Wymondham, people working in the fields stopped and cheered. The crowd called back, ‘The commons claim our rights!’ and ‘God save King Edward!’ A few labourers peeled off and joined us.

We marched on. As we passed sheep-runs, men broke off from the crowd and, using hammers and picks, dug up the hedges and hurdles and threw them into the ditches. The shepherds in the pastures fled. One shepherd’s dog ran snarling at the men lifting the hurdles, biting one on the leg before he killed it with a hammer blow. I noticed that a few men wore breastplates and walked like soldiers, with an air of command. Some carried trumpets. I stared at the scene; I could hardly take in the import of it all. A rebellion of the common people, which, we were all told, would lead to anarchy. Yet everyone marched in order; if people strayed too far into the fields a trumpet blast brought them back. Yet was it even right to call them rebels? Had they not called out ‘God save the King?’ Had they not risen in defence of the commissions? Some of the younger men, though, looked ready for a fight.

Beside me Vowell said, ‘We pass the road to Brikewell ere long. You said that Flowerdew and that old rogue Reynolds threw Boleyn’s wife out of the manor house?’

‘Yes. She and her steward are still in Norwich, so far as I know.’

‘Anyone at North Brikewell manor now? We’re visiting all the manor houses to get food and arms. Many of the weapons stored in the churches for the village musters are all but useless; some go back to Bosworth.’

‘The twins are at Brikewell,’ I said. ‘And some of their friends.’

He nodded with satisfaction. ‘They’ll make fine hostages.’

‘They’ll give you a fight.’

Vowell laughed. ‘Against these numbers? We shall prevail, Master Shardlake, there and everywhere else. Those young devils, they’re symbols of the oppression that’s been brought to Norfolk—’

We were interrupted by blaring trumpets. Ahead, under a large oak spreading wide branches over the road, I saw another huge crowd, almost as large as our own, spilling into the fields behind. They raised a loud cheer as we approached. Word was passed down the line to stop, that Robert Kett was to address us all. Some took the chance to sit on the ground, for we had been walking some time. I eased myself carefully onto a hummock of grass. Robert Kett rode to the oak, his brother William by his side, then he watched as the crowd settled down.

‘Where have all these others come from?’ I asked Vowell, half-incredulous.

‘All around Norfolk. You see, Master Shardlake, how we unite!’ He laughed, with sheer pleasure.

I looked at him. ‘How long have you been involved in planning this?’

‘Since the day I left Master Reynolds’s house. I decided then to join those who, it was murmured, would bring the doings of men like him to an end.’

I felt a hand on my arm. Barak, now wearing a broad-brimmed hat, sat down beside me on the hummock. Vowell looked at him questioningly. He smiled back. ‘Just wanted a word with my friend. They said at the back I could come up here.’

‘Did you see Nick?’ I asked.

‘Ay, he’s taken a bit of a beating. When will he learn to shut his mouth?’

‘He would be well advised to,’ Vowell said coldly.

‘I’ve tried telling him.’ Barak reached into the pack he carried, pulled out another hat, and gave it to me. ‘Here, I thought you might need this.’

‘Thank you,’ I replied gratefully. I looked at him. He seemed quite cheerful. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Right as rain. They need someone at the carts who can write, to record all the supplies they’ve got. Even though they do stare at me, writing with my left hand and supporting the papers on this thing.’ He waved his artificial hand.

Trumpets sounded again. There was silence, and then, under the oak, Robert Kett began to speak. His brother William stood beside him. We were close enough to hear, but, loud and deep as Kett’s voice was, it could not reach all that vast throng, and men passed his words back as he spoke.

‘Men of Norfolk! We rise because the oppression of the great men is unbearable, and our condition grows worse each month!

‘While they enjoy their pleasures, the commons do nothing but sweat, hunger and thirst. Our misery is a laughing stock to those proud insolent men! We are like slaves, and farm our land only at the pleasure and will of the lords. For as soon as any man offends any of these gentlemen, he is put out! The common pastures which have been our predecessors’ time out of mind are taken away; they are ditched and hedged in, the pastures enclosed ...’

The crowd listened in silence save for the occasional cheer. Barak whispered, ‘He’s some orator.’