Tombland

The King’s officials came in for hard censure; one article called for the feodary to be chosen by the commons of the shire, and limited the powers of feodary and escheator both to grant offices and over wardship. While many demands looked to the restoration of rights as they had been in the time of old King Henry VII, much was new. I heartily agreed with all of it. But the most radical demand was a prayer to the King to allow the commons a say in choosing local commissioners to implement laws and proclamations – this read, to me, of an intent to make the enclosure commissions permanent and to give a say in their control to the commons. I thought, The Council will never allow this; but it was not my place to argue the content. And article sixteen prayed for the final ending of serfdom – ‘that all bond men may be made free, as God made all men free with his precious blood shedding’. I thought of the boy Ralph who had been clubbed by the twins – a serf, legally the property of his master, no doubt simply commanded with his father to occupy Boleyn’s land by Witherington, whom he could not refuse.

‘Well?’ Kett said, a little impatiently.

‘I see nothing contrary to law here. All I would say is that the demands could be better ordered. Why not put all those concerned with rights over land and such things as fisheries together, and follow with those concerning the clergy, then royal officials and, finally, the commissioners?’

Kett shook his head impatiently. ‘We haven’t time. If we change anything, people will just start arguing again. We are due at the Oak, people will already be gathered there and this should be agreed before the storm breaks.’

* * *

THERE WERE THOUSANDS at the Oak of Reformation. Among them I saw a black-faced African, who had perhaps returned with the failed expedition to Yarmouth, which traded with the Spanish Netherlands. The reading of the demands was to be the main event, followed by the trials of some thieves from the camp, and more gentlemen. All the accused stood in a miserable huddle, soldiers guarding them as before, Captain Miles standing quietly by. Codd, Aldrich and the preacher Watson sat at the table alongside the Ketts; Barak and I were motioned to remain at the foot of the stage for now.

Kett read out the demands slowly, so that his words could be passed to those further back. There were occasional rumbles of thunder, closer now, and people looked up apprehensively at the sky; a heavy storm would flatten what growing crops they still had.

Each article was greeted with cheers, especially those calling for popular participation. At the end, Kett asked if they were accepted. There was a deafening chorus of agreement, though when it died down some younger men called out that landlordship itself should be abolished, and tenants own their own land.

Kett called back, ‘These are only preliminary demands; there will be opportunity to discuss further ones later. And now, a rider for London is waiting – are these demands agreed?’ There was another chorus of agreement, though some younger men looked a little sour. Kett, surefooted as ever, had side-lined them.

The demands were ceremonially signed by Kett, Codd and Aldrich, then passed to one of the soldiers, who hurried off with them. A good proportion of the assembly departed for the shelter of their huts as the storm approached. Then the trials began, the thieves first. They reminded me of the rumbustiousness of ordinary criminal trials, with angry denials by those accused of appropriating gold, goods or animals taken from the gentry while witnesses shouted that they had seen the items taken. Occasionally, I murmured to Kett that some accusation was hearsay or speculation, and it was disallowed. Most, however, were clearly guilty and found so by the crowd. The penalty was expulsion from the camp. Kett looked at the men as they were led away. ‘Many are among the poorest here,’ he said. ‘It grieves me to have to expel them.’ I looked at him; he could be commanding, politically devious, but fundamentally he was a man of compassion, for which I was grateful. Few of the leaders of men I had met could be so called.

Trials of more gentry followed. The lord of Swardeston Manor was brought forward and accused by Master Dickon of encroaching on the commons. Dickon, solid and middle-aged, tenant of thirty acres and a churchwarden, contrasted well with his landlord, a thin anxious-looking man, who adopted a wheedling tone and admitted he had perhaps made too great demand upon the common land, but would put things right. His tone made no more impression on the crowd than the blustering of others; they judged him guilty and returned him to custody.