Tombland

I said, ‘Remember, a Herald is a very senior man. Though the commissioners would have been better –’

‘Let’s face it,’ Edward Brown interrupted, ‘they’ve all vanished like smoke.’

I continued, ‘His stopping first in Norwich makes sense; he would need to rest and eat. Gain intelligence on the size and mood of the camp.’

William Kett replied, ‘They know that already, I am sure, from the spies they will have among us.’

I said, ‘I was going to say, all hope is not yet gone.’

Miles said, ‘I pray to God this can be done without blood, and that I can return to my wife and children in London. I have had word that they are being searched for, questions are being asked everywhere, including the London Bishopsgate.’ Then suddenly he closed his eyes, and said bitterly, ‘I am a fool, I have just told you where they are. I beg you all, say not a single word of this to anyone.’ For the first time, he looked distressed.

Robert Kett looked around us, ‘No word of anything in today’s consultations is to be repeated outside this building. Anyone who does so will be imprisoned. I thank you all for speaking freely. Do not fear, Captain Miles. All here are loyal.’

‘Thank you.’ He clenched his fists on the desk. ‘God’s death, I swore to them I would never reveal their whereabouts. Forgive me, I must be losing my senses.’

‘No one will speak, sir,’ Peter Bone said gently. Then, at Kett’s request, everyone took an oath on the Bible to say nothing.

‘Thank you,’ Miles said. I could see the strain he was under. Within a day he might have to lead an invasion of Norwich.

There was a loud knock at the door. A soldier entered, his face excited. ‘He’s coming,’ he said. ‘Riding up the hill in gorgeous robes, accompanied by Codd and Aldrich and other city leaders.’

Kett rose, his face set. ‘Then it is time.’ He turned to the soldier. ‘Tell the camp to gather at the Oak.’ He looked at us. ‘Captain Miles, fetch some well-armed men and take them to the crest of the hill. The rest, come with me.’

* * *

WE WALKED THE SHORT distance to the crest of the escarpment. A crowd had already gathered, and I saw Barak standing with Simon, Natty and others from Swardeston. Goodwife Everneke was there, her lips moving quietly in prayer. I joined the party. Barak said quietly, ‘Now we’ll know.’

A party of perhaps two dozen men on horseback were nearing the top of the steep hill. A man walked before them, in a robe embossed with the castle and lion emblem of the city, carrying a sword. Somebody laughed. ‘Old Pettibone, the city sword-bearer. He’ll be pissing his hose.’

Behind him rode a man in what I recognized as the uniform of a royal Herald, a brightly coloured robe of gold, red and blue, and a black cap with a peacock feather. Behind him, as they approached, I recognized Codd, Aldrich and the preacher Watson, together with others in aldermanic robes. Simon was entranced by the Herald’s robe. ‘It’s beautiful! The colours, the gold!’

‘It’s the man that matters,’ Natty said, ever practical.

A group of soldiers in helmets and half-armour, carrying bows and spears, came up, led by Miles. The crowd cheered. They stood a little back from the crest, but near enough for the Herald to see. Robert and William Kett moved to the front.

The party reached the top of the hill and halted before the Ketts. The Herald, a strongly built middle-aged man with a sharp, shrewd face, stood for a moment looking over the immense crowd. For almost a minute there was silence. His eyes lingered on Miles’s men. Then Robert Kett stepped forward and bowed. ‘Master Herald, I pray you to accompany us to the Oak of Reformation, our gathering-place, so your tidings may be read to the camp.’

The Herald hesitated a moment, then nodded imperiously. Preceded by the sword-bearer, the Ketts leading the way, we all headed for the Oak. The crowd parted to let them through, then followed behind.

At the Oak almost the whole camp seemed to have gathered, with more men in armour carrying weapons strategically placed near the front, the Hundred representatives drawn up on either side of them. ‘I would dismount,’ the Herald announced in a haughty tone, and one of his party brought a mounting block. He stepped onto the stage. The Norwich councillors stood below him, the sword-bearer Pettibone standing with his sword raised. The Herald’s eyes roved over the crowd, then he pulled a rolled parchment from a bag on his shoulder. He declared in a mighty voice, his tone severe, ‘This is the proclamation from his Majesty King Edward.’ He began reading: