Tombland

‘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, then 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.