Tombland

I looked round me, dazed. The camp-men had closed in around the Herald and his troops, and would probably have pulled him from his horse had Kett not said to him urgently, ‘You must go, I will return with you to the earl.’ He added grimly, ‘Perhaps after what you have seen of our anger, you will advise him to proclaim a remedy for our grievances.’ The Herald and his troop rode away down the hill, the crowd parting reluctantly before them; but they had gone only a little way when a group of Kett’s horsemen rode up, surrounding them again. I heard one of them cry, ‘Whither away, whither away, Captain Kett? If you go, we will go with you, and with you will live and die.’ The man’s tone was angry, suspicious; it was the first time I had heard Kett addressed in tones other than respect. ‘Go back and stay the tumult,’ the Herald told Kett urgently, and at his signal the men began moving back uphill, towards the camp, allowing the Herald and his party, including Simon’s killer, to flee downhill, across Bishopsgate Bridge and into Norwich.

Barak, Nicholas and I were left standing by Simon’s body. A group of men, Natty among them, approached us. Natty said, through tears, ‘Let’s take him, at least give him a decent burial.’

‘Come, bor,’ one of the men with him said to me gently. ‘Leave him to us.’

‘No,’ I said. ‘I will come with you.’

‘We must give him a proper farewell,’ Nicholas said, blinking back tears.

Barak said bitterly, ‘Simon never wanted to be the centre of attention, did he, just to live his life, not harming a soul, but he was never allowed that. He always got the attention, and it was always bad. Shit!’ He kicked a large flint through the air.

I looked at the camp-men walking back up the hill, talking animatedly. I asked angrily, ‘Where are those boys who were with him? They put him up to it, they were too afraid to do it themselves. By God, they’re near as guilty of his murder as that soldier. For murder it was.’

‘There’s nothing to be done there,’ Barak said. ‘Though I’d like to root them out and beat them to a pulp myself.’

I looked down at the city. ‘And what now?’

‘War,’ he answered. ‘Without question, war.’

Chapter Seventy-five

We carried Simon’s body down to what was left of Thorpe Wood, and buried him in a little clearing where the leaves were already starting to yellow. We had only two fallen branches tied together to make a cross. None of us could think of any words, until Natty said quietly, ‘May you find peace at last.’ Then we walked silently back to the camp.

There was much activity there, and approaching the crest I could see why: even from this distance the coiling black snake of Warwick’s army was visible, approaching the western side of the city, and everywhere on the heath men were being ordered to their weapons. A sergeant in half-armour approached us and ordered Natty and Barak to fall in with his company of spearmen. Nicholas waited uncertainly; the serjeant said brusquely, ‘Not you, lad, I know who you are.’

We looked on as men ran to and fro with orders from St Michael’s Chapel, and companies of bowmen, spearmen and crossbowmen, some in half-armour and round sallet helmets, descended the hill under their captains’ leadership. Barak gave me a salute as his company passed. Cannon, too, were being dragged down by horses. A roll of artillery fire reached me from the city, I saw clouds of smoke and then Warwick’s army, marching like some huge and monstrous insect, passed through the gates. Somehow, the enemy was already in.

* * *

ALL NICHOLAS AND I could do that afternoon was stand watching Norwich, though we could see very little. Others unable to fight for whatever reason where also strung along the road, waiting.

‘Warwick’s army got in easily,’ Nicholas said. ‘Looks like they had assistance.’ He leaned forward, screwing up his eyes. ‘Seems like a lot of smoke around Tombland. At least I think it’s there.’

Then, late in the afternoon, our men came wearily back up the hill. That was a bad sign. They brought, however, a whole new train of cannon, which they must have taken from the enemy. Rather than torment ourselves by watching to see whether Barak and Natty had returned, we went back to the Swardeston huts and began preparing dinner. The soldiers straggled in, dirty, clothes torn, some nursing wounds. To our great relief Barak and Natty were among them. Natty was unharmed, but Barak had a long graze on his calf, which had been crudely stitched.

‘An arrow grazed me,’ he said. ‘It’s nothing.’

Master Dickon, the leader of the Swardeston group, was absent. I asked where he was. ‘Slain,’ the man Milford, a blacksmith, answered dully. It was he, I remembered, who had started the argument which Simon ended by singing a beautiful song. ‘Along with Fletcher and Harmon.’ Exhausted, the men collapsed on the ground.

* * *