Tombland

Just as the soldier was leading him away, there was a mighty crack of thunder overhead, and the skies opened. A deluge of hailstones crashed down on us, pounding the crowd and clattering on the wooden canopy above us. Suddenly, it was cold. Mighty claps of thunder sounded, followed by flashes of lightning that momentarily turned everything white. The flat ground was already covered with hail, like grey snow. The hail then turned to rain, which fell in a curtain.

Kett called out, ‘We must adjourn the hearings. Back to your huts, men.’ Battered, buffeted and soaked, everyone began to disperse. Then everyone turned at the sound of a loud cry. A group of men, and a middle-aged woman, stepped towards the stage. The woman called out, ‘We have captured Richard Day, lawyer and sorcerer of Bungay! Let the claims against him be heard!’

Peering through the rain, I was astonished to see a man I knew, his arms tied in front of him, held firmly in the midst of the group. In my days representing poor clients at the Court of Requests I had encountered Richard Day several times, acting for East Anglian landlords. A substantial landowner himself, he was skilled in dragging cases out for months or years. In court, he would angrily denounce poor witnesses, already intimidated by appearing in a London court, as liars and cheats. At that time he had been an impressive man, tall, sturdy and grey-haired, a fiercely aggressive advocate who hated losing, and who more than once had berated me after a trial for representing country clowns. I had heard rumours that he threatened tenants who opposed him with the ills of sorcery, and practised black magic at his manor house.

He was a very different figure now; wearing a torn and stained doublet, soaking wet, his face bruised and, like his hands, covered with scratches. He looked at the people on the stage above him, and when he saw me sitting between Kett and Barak his eyes widened in astonished fury.

The group who had brought him forced Day to his knees before the stage. A young man, blinking water out of his eyes, shouted, ‘We’ve been looking for him all week! He ran from his manor house but Mistress Howell here found him hiding in a briar patch the day before yesterday. We’ve come all the way from the Suffolk border to get him tried!’

The woman stepped forward and spoke, loudly but with dignity. ‘He had my husband and me turned off our land because our copyhold could not be found! He had destroyed the manor record book!’

Another mighty clap of thunder sounded. Day, trembling, shouted out, ‘I curse you, Shardlake! All those you care for will die! How can you assist these dogs, these apes and pigs!’ As so often among the gentlemen, he referred to the camp-men as animals.

‘See, he spoke like a sorcerer! Kill him now!’

The whole scene was like a wild dream – the rain pounding on the canopy, the thunder crashing, the sodden crowd, many with weapons raised threateningly. Codd and Aldrich looked on wide-eyed. Kett called out, ‘The villainy of this man is known far and wide! But he will have a trial like everyone else! Not now, this storm will be causing damage in the camp and we must see to that! Take Day to Surrey Place and secure him in chains! We will take him to Norwich Castle tomorrow!’ Someone stepped forward and jabbed Day with a spear. He squealed like a pig. A soldier stepped forward and seized the weapon before it could do any real damage. Day collapsed to the ground and began weeping. The crowd laughed. ‘Enough!’ Kett roared against the hissing rain. ‘Captain Miles, take him! He will be tried at the next hearing! Now go, all of you, before we drown on our feet.’

Miles and a couple of soldiers stepped forward and hauled Day off through the curtain of rain. The crowd began to disperse. As the thunder continued rolling, the deluge became even heavier.

William Kett said, ‘God’s death, Robert, the whole camp will be washed out if we’re not careful! I fear for those camped by Long Valley.’

‘You’re right,’ his brother agreed. ‘We must get back to St Michael’s and organize.’

I looked at them. For a moment I had been shaken by Day’s curse, but the common sense of the Ketts brought me back to reality. I, too, should return to my hut. I rose. Mayor Codd looked out at the rain. ‘Do we have to return to Norwich in this?’ he asked plaintively.

‘Stay if you like,’ William Kett answered. ‘Perhaps you’d like to help clear up,’ he said as he descended the steps from the stage with his brother. They walked away, their solid figures instantly drenched.

Chapter Fifty-one

As Barak and I squelched our way back to our hut, the rain mercifully lessened, and the sun appeared from behind the clouds. The camp was a sea of mud, with potholes full of water. People were baling out their huts, shaking water from sodden possessions. I saw a man, one of the governors probably, calling people to the Long Valley, where a sudden flood had carried away huts, animals and supplies.