Tombland

‘They will be handed over to the commissioners, or the Protector’s representatives, when our demands are met. Now let us go. They will be gathering at the Oak.’

* * *

WE WALKED A QUARTER of a mile eastwards, well into the body of the camp. Caps were doffed and cheers sounded as Kett passed, and he raised his cap in return. We passed a flat area of heath where mounds of turf were being set up as archery butts; a hundred yards off some dozens of young men, mostly strongly built, waited with bows, quivers filled with arrows over their shoulders. Natty was among them.

We halted where a crowd of several hundred was already gathered round a huge oak, alone among the stumps of trees cut down around it. The few women stood close to their menfolk.

The tree was a magnificent specimen, at over sixty feet high one of the largest I had seen, hundreds of years old. The lower branches had been lopped off and a wooden stage thirty feet across erected in front of it, seven feet above ground so all could see. A wooden canopy above the stage provided shelter from the sun. It was a fine piece of carpentry. On the front of the canopy the arms of England had been painted, and the letters E VI R , to stress the camp’s loyalty to the King. At the front of the crowd I saw Toby Lockswood, standing with his arms folded, a grim expression on his face.

To one side stood a sorry-looking group of men, dressed either in dirty shirts or the tattered rags of former finery, their legs chained. They were guarded by a dozen men in half-armour, among whom I recognized John Miles, wearing a helmet with feathers attached as a sign of command. Above his fair beard, his sharp, keen eyes watched the crowd, and I guessed part of his job was to deal with any trouble that might arise. I was surprised to see Michael Vowell standing next to him, making notes on a piece of paper. Evidently, his literacy had led him to rise in the camp hierarchy.

I studied the gentlemen; some had bruised faces; many stared about them wild-eyed. Among them was Leonard Witherington of Brikewell. He still wore the same dirty shirt in which I had seen him dragged from Brikewell, and an old pair of upper hose. His jowls hung pendulously, and there was a look of fear on his mottled face. Then I saw the twins, Gerald and Barnabas. They stared back at me with their cold blue eyes. Their shirts and hose were torn and tattered, and both had bruised faces, Barnabas’s white scar even more prominent. Each now had a scraggy boy’s moustache and beard. Yet they looked totally unintimidated. One of the camp-men carried a rope in his hand, a noose at one end, and he waved it jocularly at the prisoners on the end of a home-made spear, until Miles gestured angrily to him to desist. I noticed many near the front of the crowd carried home-made weapons.

On top of the stage was a wide desk; to my surprise I saw stout little Mayor Codd sitting behind it, and the elderly Alderman Aldrich, both looking anxious. William Kett, whose face was set in a grim smile, sat next to them. He rose to greet his brother. Well, I thought, it is come.

* * *

ROBERT KETT MOUNTED the stage. He indicated that Barak and I should take seats behind the desk, then stepped up to address the crowd. Once again I was to be amazed by the power and fluency of his speech.

‘We are here to do justice against those landlords who have oppressed their tenants, and to set free those innocent of wrongdoing. These trials will be conducted on the principles of English law, based on evidence, which Serjeant Shardlake here, a lawyer but a good man, will advise me on while his assistant Jack Barak ensures notes are taken for presentation to the King’s authorities at a later date. Those found innocent will be set free, those found guilty returned to imprisonment. The city authorities have been invited to join us in seeing justice done.’ Kett paused, then added grimly, ‘There have also been some of our men who have taken goods and money from the manor houses and kept hold of them, instead of giving them to the representatives of their Hundreds to be held for the common purse. Tomorrow, we shall deal with those, for every man here is subject to justice under law.’ A few in the crowd ceased smiling, and I thought it was a clever move to say that now, to show that all were subject to justice. Kett sat down beside me, and banged a gavel on the desk. ‘Now, the first accused, Sir William Jermstone.’

A middle-aged man, stout from good feeding, was led, his chains clanking, by a soldier to stand before the stage; like his fellows he wore hose and a dirty shirt, but his look was defiant. ‘Who accuses this man?’ Kett asked.