Tombland

‘We’ll have a great feast of those ere long,’ the young man replied. I noticed spots of blood on his torn, damp shirt; he had been in yesterday’s battle.

The man who had spoken first stirred the campfire with a stick. ‘Whatever happens now, we’ll fight to the end. We’ve come this far, and even if we go down, which I don’t believe we will, this will be remembered forever! What say you, Master hunchback?’

I answered, ‘I don’t know. If they do send another army, it’ll take weeks to organize, and they’ll need to withdraw men from Scotland.’

‘You’re right, bor,’ the young fellow agreed, nodding vigorously.

The older man said, ‘I’m sorry I called you a hunchback.’

I smiled wryly. ‘It’s what I am.’

* * *

A SMALL NUMBER of desertions began about this time – men who feared what might come, others, perhaps, who wanted to help their womenfolk at home with the harvest, such as it would be. Among the vast majority who stayed, though, reinforced by men from the camps which had been put down, many doubted the Protector would abandon his plans for a new Scottish campaign, which he surely must do if he decided to send a large army to Norwich under a strong leader. They hoped for some sort of settlement. Others believed they could defeat a larger army as they had Northampton’s by again luring their opponents into Norwich and using their knowledge of the city’s narrow streets and difficult topography to win another victory. Then, indeed, they could once more spread rebellion.

The prophets were out in increasing force, preaching that Northampton’s defeat was part of God’s plan for the victory of the common people, that the Lord’s hand would ensure our victory against the largest army, even as David had destroyed Goliath. From then on, too, I noticed a new type of prophecy. For some time doggerel lines had been circulating, including some that went so far as to predict the overthrow of King Edward, saying such things had been predicted long ago, quoting Merlin and the ancient kings Gog and Magog. Copies of these prophecies were brought by the peddlers who frequented the camp; they were passed around, read out to the illiterate by the prophets, and seized upon by many who feared what might come. I remembered similar stuff from the Pilgrimage of Grace in 1536, predicting the overthrow of King Henry. Possession of such documents had been dealt with particularly harshly.

One in particular I showed to Edward Brown when he came up again that evening:

The country gruffs

Hob, Dick and Hick,

with clubs and clouted shoon,

Shall fill the Vale

of Dussindale

With slaughtered bodies soon

The heedless men within the Dale

Shall there be slain both great and small ...

He laughed. ‘I suppose it keeps men’s spirits up.’

‘I would prefer good hard strategy to such stuff.’

‘You are an educated man.’

‘Where is this Vale of Dussindale?’

Edward shrugged. ‘Dussin’s not an uncommon name in Norfolk. Could be a number of places. Don’t worry, few take real notice of these things.’

‘If a government army does come, it might influence where we choose to fight.’

Now he frowned. ‘Do you think Miles and his officers such fools? No, if it comes to it, Kett and Miles will indeed look to good hard strategy.’ He went to Josephine’s hut.

* * *

ON SUNDAY , I walked about the camp, watching the military training, and the representatives from the Hundreds who walked around the camp discussing matters with village groups. I stopped now and then to engage in conversation with people. Despite the general anxiety as to what the Protector’s next step might be, the mood of the people was, as ever, in the main open and friendly. There was a cheerfulness, a sense of something released, about the Mousehold people. Their contentedness in the lean-to huts brought home to me how hard their life must have been before. I heard, as I had before, many stories of lands enclosed and rents increased, often to the detriment of the very poorest, like the small craftsmen who supplemented a meagre income with a cow, a horse, or a few sheep on common land which the landowners had crowded out or appropriated. A constant, and happy, topic on Mousehold was food; how with sheep, pigs, every sort of fowl and even deer held in pens in the camp, few had eaten so well in years.

I remember passing a group of huts where men from Witherington’s estate at South Brikewell had set up a group of huts under their village banner. I remembered the boy whose head had been staved in, whom the twins had referred to as ‘just a serf’. Well, there were no distinctions now between serfs tied to the land and others here. I thought of Kett’s request to the Protector, that bond men be made free. Here on Mousehold, they had been.

* * *