Tombland

‘I do!’ A man in his thirties stepped forward. ‘Richard Sherman, husbandman of Pullan! I accuse Sir William of passing on feudal charges to his tenants, charges which are due from him personally to the King, and of taking common land!’ Others of Sir William’s tenants stepped forward, shouting ‘Ay’. Everything that he had allegedly done was in breach of the law. Jermstone was asked what he had to say in his defence, but he only blustered loudly that he did not accept trial by an assembly of rude and common people.

By now the crowd was becoming worked up, and there were cries of ‘Kill the old swag-belly! Hang him from the Oak!’

William Kett rose and stepped to the front of the stage. ‘Shut your clack-boxes!’ he roared. ‘My brother told you, there will be no hangings! Let the Lord Protector hang those who deserve it! This is a fine display before Mayor Codd!’

‘Hang him, too!’ someone called out.

Robert Kett pointed at the man. ‘Do you want to be locked up too, yag-mouth?’ he shouted. He raised his voice to his loudest pitch. ‘You appointed me your leader, and I promised justice, not violence!’ The man he had identified looked abashed. Kett added, ‘Sir William Jermstone is to be committed to prison, his ill-doings recorded.’ The soldier led him away. ‘Second accused,’ Kett said. ‘Robert le Grand of West Flegg.’

I was impressed with Kett’s restraint in dealing with Jermstone, who had so insulted the assembly. The second trial proceeded much as the first, with similar accusations, and only once did I lean aside to murmur in Kett’s ear when le Grand was accused of defaming someone’s dead father. Kett spoke up: ‘Matters of defamation cannot be raised if the person is dead!’

Again, when the evidence was done, there were cries to hang the wretched prisoner, although he had taken a different tack and admitted to what he had done in a humble voice; he was shaking. Kett let the crowd shout a little before ordering le Grand to be returned to prison. I noticed that those who shouted tended to be the younger men and the most poorly dressed. It was the tenants and craftsmen, with at least a little property to protect, who were quieter. I understood why those who had nothing to lose had cause to be fiercest, but if this descended into a bloodbath, it would be the end of the camp. With Kett in charge, though, I was sure it would not.

Fortunately, the third accused turned out to be something of a model landlord whom several of his tenants asked to be freed. Kett ordered this done; the man looked around him a moment, astonished, then turned and ran off in the direction of the road to Norwich.

The trials proceeded, Kett needing only a few words of advice from me when an accuser went off the point or brought unprovable allegations. A few landowners were released but most were returned to imprisonment, always to cheers from the crowd; sometimes boys would turn round and bare their buttocks.

Eventually, Leonard Witherington was led stumbling to the Oak. He trembled as he stood facing us. ‘Who accuses this man?’ Kett asked.

Two men stepped forward, both of whom I recognized from my visit to Brikewell – the yeoman Harris, a grey doublet over his shirt, and Melville, the young man who had been fiercest against Witherington. Harris spoke first, reciting the familiar litany of commons encroached upon, rents raised illegally and the passing on of feudal dues. Harris said the feodary’s agent himself had come to Witherington to tell the tenants they must pay – John Flowerdew. At mention of his name there was a rumble among the crowd, and someone called out to Witherington, ‘How much did you pay him?’

Kett said, ‘Well, did you bribe him?’

Witherington shifted uneasily. ‘I gave him a sovereign.’

‘Note that down, Jack Barak,’ Kett said. There were more curses against Flowerdew; he had done well to escape from Hethersett last week.

Young Goodman Melville stepped forward. ‘I also accuse Leonard Witherington of spoiling our crops by allowing birds from his great duffus to eat them, so we had no choice but to kill them.’ He pointed a finger at me. ‘The lawyer who sits there saw it with his own eyes!’

I turned to Kett, and whispered, ‘He’s right. I was visiting Witherington over the Boleyn case. But, Captain Kett, keeping doves is not illegal.’

‘What’s he saying?’ Melville called out. ‘He was there, he saw it!’ There was more angry murmuring. Neither Codd nor Aldrich had done more than take notes, but now Aldrich leaned in to Kett and said, ‘You must answer him, they are getting stirred up.’