Tombland

THE FOLLOWING DAY , 5 August, I finally went down to Norwich with Barak and Simon. I insisted that Natty come, too, for the wound in his arm which he had received during the battle to take Norwich had become itchy and sore, and when, reluctantly, he let me examine it, I saw it was red and swollen. ‘You must get that looked at again,’ I said firmly.

‘It’ll be all right,’ he said. ‘No need to make a tutter of it,’ but I saw anxiety in his large brown eyes and when I insisted, he agreed. We walked down the road, part of a large crowd making their way down into the city. Wages had been distributed around the camp the previous evening, so the men would have money to spend on warmer clothes in the special Monday market. Simon was concerned about Natty – the first time I had seen him worried about someone else, which was a good sign, but he was still nervous. ‘There won’t be more fighting?’ he asked loudly. Nearby, I saw Toby Lockswood in the crowd; he turned and gave Simon a contemptuous look.

‘Of course not. People are just going to market.’ Though I, too, was squeamish by nature, I began myself to feel a little irritated with him. I reminded myself of the life he had led before coming to the camp, isolated and afraid.

Bishopsgate Bridge still stood, though the once-magnificent gatehouse was a wreck; great lumps of stone had been shot out of the central portion by cannon, widening the entrance to Norwich. It was blackened with smoke, where the wooden beams of the interior had caught light, and the lead on the gatehouse roof had partly melted, little gobbets of it lying on the ground. Someone picked up a piece, looked at it curiously, then threw it in the river. What was left of the gatehouse was closely guarded by our soldiers. We followed the stream of people through; I was glad the whole thing did not collapse on our heads.

Beyond, Holme Street was a scene of devastation. The cathedral wall still stood, but the houses along both sides of the street were blackened and burned, the Blue Boar Inn where Barak had stayed was little more than a pile of rubble, while on the other side the Great Hospital wall, and the buildings bordering it, had indeed been knocked to pieces by our cannon. I could not but admire the accuracy of our cannoneers. A crowd had gathered; some looked on the scene appalled; others gloated at the destruction of the houses of the rich on Holme Street. There were red stains on the road, which caused Simon to look away, and more as we passed Palace Plain, as well as the bloated bodies of horses. When we arrived at Tombland, we found the Maid’s Head shuttered and padlocked. The gates giving onto the yard of Augustine Steward’s house had been burned down; beside it several men stood round a cartload of property, likely stolen, examining the contents. For the first time I began to wonder whether Kett was in full control. Near to it Gawen Reynolds’s house was untouched; bribery still spoke loudly.

Barak, Simon, Natty and I crossed Tombland and went through the Erpingham Gate, which was open, into the cathedral grounds. The cathedral door was open, too, with more of Kett’s guards on the door. I showed them my pass and we were allowed through, stepping into the splendid, vaulted space of the cathedral. The floor space was full; to the right of the door four dozen or so horses had been stabled, wooden partitions erected to separate them, most happily munching hay. To the left, dozens of wounded men lay on straw mattresses; some coughing or groaning in pain, others playing cards cheerfully as though they were at home. One mattress had been surrounded by a makeshift screen of sheets and poles and from behind it muffled screams, together with the sound of sawing, could be heard. In this vast echoing place every sound was magnified. Heavily coifed women took jugs of small beer round to the patients, and some men whom I took to be barbersurgeons tended to them. I saw the thin figure of Dr Belys, and two other men in the dark robes of doctors. Any lingering smell of incense was gone, displaced by those of horse-manure and blood. A side chapel halfway up the cathedral guarded by two soldiers seemed to be a focus of attention, men waiting to go in, or coming out and walking purposefully to the doors, footsteps echoing loudly. I guessed Kett was working in there.

‘Simon,’ I said, ‘why not present yourself to the man in charge of the horses? They’re keeping some here, it seems, perhaps to help keep order in Norwich. See if you can assist him.’ Keeping his eyes averted from the wounded men, Simon loped off while Barak, Natty and I stepped carefully between the mattresses, heading for where Dr Belys was rewinding a bandage round the head of a wounded man. The doctor stood up and turned to look at me. The expression on his face was utterly different from when he had taken care of me; worn, tired, frightened, his lips set and eyes angry.

‘So,’ he said bitterly. ‘You are still with Kett and his kitlings.’