Tombland

THE WEATHER THAT morning was hot as ever. The great procession moved at a slower pace. I had picked up a large branch to use as a stick, and perhaps my muscles were getting accustomed to the exercise, for I felt less pain, though I would have welcomed some shade in the open countryside. I wondered how Nicholas, with his pale skin, was coping with the sun in an open cart; at least I had my hat. I wore only my shirt again; my doublet was in the pack Barak carried on his back, my robe still in the panniers of my horse, for all I knew. My growing stubble, like everyone else’s, was spotted with dust: I must look now much like any other peasant. Yet sometimes I felt a stab of fear at being surrounded by this mass of poor and angry people bent on overthrowing those of my class. I made myself concentrate on the endless slow marching; tramp, tramp, tramp.

A couple of times the great march stopped, and men stepped aside to pull down hurdles enclosing sheep, killing some of the animals for food. Once, in their panic, a flock of the silly creatures ran straight at us, and men stepped swiftly from the ranks to despatch them.

Someone began singing. A bawdy song was taken up, and then a different one, which sparked loud cheers:

Cast hedge and ditch in the lake

Fixed with many a stake

Though it were never so fast

Yet asunder ’tis wraste ...

We stopped at the Norwich walls outside St Stephens Gate. Archers on top of the walls had their weapons trained upon us. The Kett brothers and the soldier Miles rapped on the gate; it was opened and Mayor Codd, who looked to be trembling, and a number of other senior aldermen came out. There was a short muttered conversation, which ended with Codd and the others returning to the city, and the gates being closed again.

Afterwards Robert Kett, astride his horse, addressed the crowd. The words were carried back. The city authorities had refused access again, worried about our size and growing numbers. He said that we would have to take the long march round to Mousehold; we would stop the rest of the day and overnight at Eaton Wood, then on the following day march some three miles north to Drayton Wood before turning south-east to reach Mousehold Heath at its most accessible point.

We then marched the half-mile or so to Eaton Wood, and took a rest. Natty was still with me. I stood on a knoll on the fringes of the wood and looked over the sea of heads. How many were there now? Three thousand surely. In the distance a fresh procession of men were approaching, carts rumbling behind, a man with a coloured banner in front; a new village party. Elsewhere, parties of men were setting off to the countryside, no doubt to pull down more fences and find food and weapons. For a second the sheer scale of it all made my head reel.

For the rest of that day I rested under the shade of a tree, sleeping most of the afternoon away. When I woke Natty told me that Barak had been to visit, but had said not to wake me as I was deeply asleep. He left a message that he was fine, helping to organize things, and although Nicholas was still a prisoner, no harm had come to him.

That evening, as before, cooking fires were lit with wood from trees which had been cut down, and good mutton and vegetable pottage distributed. Everyone sounded in good heart, despite the fruitless march back to Norwich. I hoped that Barak would come again, but his duties must have kept him away. I thought of asking Natty if I could go and look for him, but I was simply too tired. I slept the night under a tree with the others.

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NEXT MORNING , before we set off, Robert Kett addressed us once more. He reported that while we had a long march ahead, at Mousehold we could build a great camp, collecting others in from all over Norfolk. His speech ended defiantly with the ringing words, ‘For you who have already stirred there is no hope but in adventuring boldly.’ Nonetheless, someone shouted out, ‘We have heard from the city that the Norwich councillors have sent riders to London, to seek authority to put us down! Take them on now!’

Some shouted agreement, but Kett argued back forcefully that time was needed to make camp, take stock and increase our numbers. Messengers from the camp were being sent to the King to proclaim the assembly’s loyalty and support for the commissioners. Most cheered him.

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