Tombland

Kett steepled his fingers. ‘Northampton’s army is approaching Norfolk, we expect it in perhaps three days. Fortune may have smiled on us. There are indeed Italian mercenaries among them, but no more than three hundred in an army of one thousand five hundred, and they are not as feared as their Swiss and German counterparts. We have over five thousand men ready for battle, as well as the poor citizens of Norwich, who are well organized now, and ready for street fighting. Your friends Edward Brown, as well as Michael Vowell and Toby Lockswood, have done fine work preparing them.’

Miles continued soberly. ‘There will be bloodshed, no doubt of that, but I believe we can win. There are many Norfolk gentlemen returning with the army – Sir Richard Southwell, Sir Thomas Paston and others, as well as men of the court, all with their own retainers. Few experienced soldiers.’ He gave a bark of laughter. ‘I’ve seen it before, in France and Scotland; they assume that just because you’re an aristocrat you can fight.’

I thought, So Southwell is returning. That probably meant his associates as well, like John Atkinson. And I had little doubt the twins would return too, for the fight. Flowerdew, on the other hand, I suspected would remain safe in London or whatever other bolthole he had found.

Miles asked Kett, ‘Any news of the Lady Mary?’

‘She remains closeted at Kenninghall. Food is allowed to reach her, in accordance with our agreement with Southwell.’ He smiled wryly. ‘I very much doubt the Protector knows of that arrangement.’

Miles said, ‘Southwell maybe dead in a few days, along with many others.’

Kett turned to me. ‘You and Barak are to remain in the camp.’

‘I fear I would be of little use, but Barak would fight if he could.’

Kett looked round at his officers. ‘Do what you can to encourage morale. A good fighting spirit must be fostered. If we defeat this army, the news will resound through the country like a tocsin!’

* * *

THAT AFTERNOON I RETURNED to Norwich. Men from the city and the camp were shoring up the walls and reinforcing the gates. At the castle I found Nicholas and Boleyn playing chess. Like everyone else, they knew of the coming army. Nicholas looked better now he had decent food – the two always checked Isabella’s food packages carefully to make sure that they had not been interfered with. Then I visited Chawry and Isabella – I told her that in view of the coming battle it might be safer to leave the city, but Isabella refused steadfastly to leave her husband, and Chawry said that in that case he, too, would stay.

In the early evening, Barak and I went for a walk through the camp. We needed something to take our minds off the fact that, according to Kett’s scouts, Northampton’s army was expected to reach Norwich on the morrow or the following day. At breakfast that morning the Swardeston villagers had greeted us warmly; we were accepted now, and Nicholas diplomatically forgotten. Josephine was there with Edward. She looked cast down again, no doubt worried about the approaching battle. Edward would probably be in the fighting. Mousy let me pick her up. Josephine smiled, and Simon clapped his hands.

‘Off with the horses again today?’ I asked him.

Hector Johnson replied. ‘Ay, they’ll be putting him in charge of them before we know where we are,’ The old man was clad in half-armour and sallet helmet; appointed an officer, he was involved in the training. I looked at Natty, who had arrows slung over his shoulder and his longbow at his feet. ‘I can shoot five arrows a minute now,’ he said proudly. Goody Everneke looked at him, and I wondered whether, like me, she was wondering how many would survive the coming battle.

* * *

BARAK AND I WALKED east, to the further reaches of the camp. Horses and cattle were penned in now by wooden fencing – how much work the carpenters had done! – while sheep were contained by the landowners’ old hurdles, although now they were kept for meat, not wool, as were the chickens and ducks, geese and doves we also passed. In the horses’ paddock men were improving their riding skills, Simon Scambler among them. Among the groups of huts, each with its parish banner, pigs rooted. Yet the smell of the camp was not as bad as it might have been, for cleanliness was still rigorously enforced, especially where cesspits were concerned. There had been no signs of disease. We passed a bakery – and the foundry, turning out spears and halberds. Carts were still coming in from the villages with supplies, but fewer now – we were in the weeks before harvest, the leanest time of the year. Kett had done well to ensure the reopening of the Norwich market so goods could be bought.