by Tim Holden
Fulke stopped at a marl pit at the side of the road and turned to face his followers. They were jubilant, apparently oblivious to the risk posed by the horseman, and, for the most part, still drunk. They were still drinking, too. Luke Miller had surprised Fulke by buying them a whole firkin of ale for their journey, not that Luke had been willing to join them in person. John Robertson took a swig from the last ale jar and passed it on to Adam Catchpole whose bloody ears had started to scab. Geoffrey Lincoln wiped sweat from his brow. David Fisher peed over the edge of the pit, and Alfred burped.
Fulke reminded them of the injustice Alfred had suffered, being evicted to make way for Flowerdew’s sheep. It didn’t take him long to persuade them, drunk and elated, to go on to Hethersett to reclaim the common there too. Alfred had looked the most concerned, and big John Robertson, also from Hethersett, was anxious about, as he put it, shitting outside his own door. Fulke knew, though, that neither of them could be seen to put their self-preservation above the fight for the greater good.
The ale was passed around once more before they set off for Hethersett. Fulke set a quick pace as they skirted Wymondham, and with each step his conviction grew. Morris had been long overdue a beating. Fulke had spent time in the stocks because of Morris, and he would never forget the humiliation he’d imposed. But he’d taken his revenge, and now he had to deal with the consequences.
They reached the village well in Hethersett late in the afternoon. Fulke addressed the men as they drank, repeating his instructions to ‘do it just like we did in Morley’. He had never had occasion to direct men like this, but it came easily. Show neither fear nor mercy, he’d discovered, and they would follow orders.
As he spoke, Geoffrey Lincoln interrupted by raising an arm to point past Fulke. Fulke looked round to see John Flowerdew approaching on his black stallion, followed by four mounted men-at-arms, stern-faced, hands resting on sword hilts.
‘Well,’ said Flowerdew. No one spoke for several long seconds. ‘What a gathering we have.’
Fulke took a deep breath: they were caught. His instincts told him not to back down, but before he could decide what to do, Flowerdew spoke again: ‘Bad news travels fast. I hear a gang of men attacked John Hobart’s property a few hours ago. What do you gentlemen know about that?’
No one spoke.
‘I’ve seen no other drunken mobs today, so I can only conclude it must have been your doing. Who is your leader?’
Fulke hesitated. Leaders always faced the harshest retribution, and if he rolled the dice now, there would be no way back. He stared at Flowerdew’s pointy, fox-like face, then took a single, deliberate step forward. ‘I am. Hobart’s fences were illegal.’
‘Who are you to decide what’s legal?’ snapped Flowerdew. ‘You are no lawyer.’
Fulke could feel his anger rising. People like Flowerdew believed they could do as they liked simply because of who they were. He shrugged.
‘What’s your name?’
Fulke smiled defiantly.
Flowerdew laughed and turned to his men-at-arms. ‘We have a hero in our midst. A dangerous role indeed.’ He turned back to Fulke. ‘Heroes die.’
‘We all die,’ said Fulke, holding Flowerdew’s stare. ‘Rich and poor, honest and dishonest.’
‘Arrest him,’ Flowerdew ordered. The men-at-arms drew their swords.
So it would be a fight after all. Fulke had never run from violence, and he wasn’t going to flee now. He spread his arms and crouched, ready to defend himself. ‘Ready, lads?’ he said to his fellow fence-breakers. His willingness to fight was enough to cause the men-at-arms to hesitate. They were outnumbered three to one. The commoners’ only weapons were eating knives, but their numbers might give them sufficient advantage to overpower their attackers.
‘Your men don’t look ready to fight,’ said Flowerdew.
Fulke could see that the lord was attempting to defuse the situation and recover an advantage. ‘You only need worry about me,’ he said, watching Flowerdew’s face as he contemplated his next move. Flowerdew’s eyes scanned over the men who followed Fulke. He recognised Alfred.
‘Are you sure you want to be part of this?’ he asked, pointing at Alfred.
Alfred looked down. He had never challenged a person of Flowerdew’s rank before, but all he could think of was the morning when the lord had evicted him, his wife and his parents-in-law from their home. He looked up at Flowerdew again.
‘What can you do to me that’s worse than what you’ve already done?’
Flowerdew pursed his lips and addressed the gang as a whole. ‘You men have committed a crime today, and I would hazard that you were also involved in the assault on Jacob Morris in Wymondham earlier.’
Fulke shrugged.
‘You have no just cause to be here,’ Flowerdew continued. ‘Be gone and take your mayhem elsewhere. Leave now, and I will take no further action.’
Fulke sensed his followers’ relief, but he knew that men like Flowerdew had long memories and the means to exact revenge. There was no going back. ‘We’re here to take back what don’t belong to you: our common.’
‘Your common? You don’t live here.’
‘Let’s just say it matters to me.’
‘And to me,’ added John Robertson.
‘What’s the common worth to you?’ Fulke asked Flowerdew. ‘What are you prepared to do to keep it?’ He spread his arms, inviting a challenge.
Fulke felt strong. His ingrained fear of the hierarchy was forgotten. Under his fancy clothes and ornaments, Flowerdew was just a man, a man whose shit smelled as bad as anyone else’s. And for all Flowerdew’s money and land, Fulke doubted that he would be willing to risk a violent confrontation. Fulke’s advantage, he knew, was that he would risk everything. He already had. Flowerdew had a family and a future, which would make him a coward.
‘If you want it back, come and take it.’
Flowerdew snorted, but he stayed where he was. For several moments there was silence.
‘Very well,’ said Flowerdew. He put his hand to his belt and pulled out his purse, which bulged with coins. He held it for everyone to see. ‘Instead of violence, I offer you this, and a promise that I will not relay what I have seen today.’
‘Take the money, Fulke,’ said David Fisher.
Fulke glared at Fisher. He would decide what happened and would not be undermined.
Flowerdew sensed that he now had the upper hand. ‘There is forty pence here. You may leave, and nothing more will be said. Spend the money on what you will: ale, food, gifts for your wives. Or I can have you cut to pieces.’
‘Take the money, Fulke,’ repeated David Fisher.
‘He’s right, Fulke,’ said Geoffrey. ‘You won’t get a better offer.’
Fulke could hear a murmur of agreement.
‘Our hero is on his own,’ said Flowerdew.
Fulke stepped forward and reached up for the purse. As he stretched, Flowerdew moved his arm.
‘There is one further condition,’ he said. ‘This is a large sum of money and entitles me to something further.’ His stallion shifted underneath him. ‘And I sense that you are still in the mood for violence. If it’s common land you want, take this money, and on your way home, destroy Robert Kett’s enclosures.’
Fulke didn’t like the new condition, but on his own his only option was to fight and die. At least if he took the purse on condition he attacked Robert Kett’s property, Flowerdew would also be guilty, and Fulke need not fear any reprisal. Robert Kett was his employer’s brother, that was true, but he was also a wealthy man who had enclosed common land for his own gain. And he was an easy target.
‘Agreed?’
‘Agreed.’
As Fulke reached for the purse, Flowerdew dropped it on to the dry earth. He smirked as he tugged his reins and walked his horse backwards.
Fulke was not going to pick up money in the dirt like a beggar. ‘Alfred, pick up our money,’ he said. ‘We’re going to Kett’s.’
8
Alfred walked at the back of the gang beside David Fisher. So far it had been a day like no other. Fulke had battered a constable. They’d wrecked a lord’s enclosures. He’d been offered a bribe by Flowerdew – a lawyer who’d allowed them to profit from breaking the law. It was dawning on Alfred that things were not as simple as they seemed.
A breeze blew away the dust they kicked up, and the sun poked through the clouds. On either side of the road were large fields, divided into strips. In a corner of the field on their left stood a windmill, its sails still until it was time to grind the harvest into flour. Alfred’s father-in-law had complained that it was the only windmill he was allowed to use, and for the privilege he had to pay Flowerdew a fee.
On the right, beyond the other field was a large wood. Flowerdew owned this, too, and the pigs that rooted around in the undergrowth. Alfred had helped Richard Smith collect firewood there on the one day a month when commoners were allowed to gather fallen branches.
Was it right, Alfred wondered, that one man could own so much? His mother had told him that they were working people and they should be happy with their lot. God would reward them in heaven. But it might be years before he got to heaven, or he might endure a lifetime of struggling only to spend eternity wasting in purgatory, if there was such a place, or roasting in hell. For now, he thought it was better to make the most of life, the rest he would worry about later. What good had acceptance and struggle done his parents?
Fulke had promised to distribute Flowerdew’s bribe money after they’d destroyed Kett’s enclosures – no one would be allowed to take the money and slope off – and Alfred was already imagining the pleasure of spending his share in Wymondham before Richard could demand it for housekeeping.
‘What will your family do after the eviction, Alfred?’ asked David.
Alfred shook his head. ‘No idea. At least I have work.’
‘Yes, you do,’ David hesitated before continuing, ‘you should think carefully about what we’re about to do.’
It was a moment before Alfred’s thoughts arranged themselves, but then – through the fog of ale and excitement – he saw properly and for the first time exactly what he was about to do. He was about to take part in the destruction of his employer’s property. If he were caught, the consequences would be serious.
‘There’s Kett’s house.’ David pointed to some ornate brick chimneys that stretched above the treetops. ‘If he sees you . . .’
Alfred nodded. But what would Fulke say? He’d seen a new side to his friend today. Would Fulke understand his predicament?
‘Enclosing the commons is wrong,’ said David. ‘There’s no question about that, and we’re right to break down the fences, but there’s no need for you to be caught up in it.’
‘No. Yes, I know,’ said Alfred. He didn’t know what to say next. He didn’t want to be caught by Mr Kett, but he didn’t want to be seen to desert his companions. He slowed down and went to the side of the road, partly to relieve himself, but also to give himself time to think. David looked back once, then walked on.
When his bladder was empty, Alfred jumped into the dry ditch beside the road and sat down. If they were spotted ripping down fences, he knew there would be severe reprisals. As the ringleader, Fulke would receive the harshest punishment, but the rest of them would probably suffer at least a flogging, maybe more. Alfred shuddered. How could he distance himself from the gang’s actions when Flowerdew had already recognised him?
Suddenly, Alfred knew what he had to do to save himself. Robert Kett was the one person strong enough to oppose Flowerdew, as he had when saving Wymondham church, so Alfred had to get Mr Kett on his side. He’d be betraying his friends, but he was the only one of the group who had been evicted and was facing homelessness. The favour of one rich man was better than that of thirteen paupers.
Alfred jumped to his feet.
As he neared Kett’s flint farmhouse, breathless from running, he was confronted by a large sheepdog guarding the door. Its hackles were up, its teeth bared. Alfred slowed down and weighed his choices. People bitten by dogs could die of their wounds. He edged closer, and the dog issued a low, menacing growl. Alfred yelled out for Mr Kett. Finally, the door opened and the dog relaxed as Mrs Kett appeared.
‘Mrs Kett, I work for your husband,’ said Alfred, still panting.
‘You’re the boy from the abbey. What brings you here?’
‘I need to speak to Mr Kett.’
‘He’s resting at the moment, but you could wait. He shouldn’t be long.’
‘Mrs Kett, please, it concerns his property. It’s important he knows as soon as possible.’
Mrs Kett considered Alfred for a moment. ‘Very well. Wait here.’ She ushered the dog inside and closed the door.
While he waited, Alfred studied the house. It was a big, two-storey house, newly thatched and free from moss. A neat stack of firewood stood by the door. There were no weeds around the house, and on its south-facing side was a large kitchen garden with raised beds and a scarecrow to deter rabbits from eating the vegetables and herbs. Alfred admired the scarecrow’s clothes. They were better than his own.
Robert Kett appeared at the door, his feet bare, his hair ruffled from napping.
‘What’s the meaning of this, Alfred?’
‘There’s trouble on the common. A mob from the festival is about to destroy your fences.’
‘What?’ said Kett. ‘How do you know?’
‘They were in Hethersett, sir, about to tear down Mr Flowerdew’s fences, but he paid them to attack yours instead.’
‘Flowerdew. The bastard.’
‘I came as quick as I could,’ said Alfred. ‘If you leave now you might still be able to stop them.’
Kett looked steadily at Alfred. ‘Are you sure, lad?’
‘Yes, Mr Kett.’
‘If your tale turns out not to be the truth, you’ll be sorry.’
‘No, sir, I followed them from Hethersett.’
Mr Kett dismissed him and went back indoors to fetch his shoes.
*
Robert leapt on to his horse with the sprightliness of a younger man. There was no time to put the saddle on, and the common was only a short ride away.
He cantered through a small copse, legs already aching from gripping the horse’s ribs, then emerged from the trees at the edge of the marshy common he’d divided up in the spring. Young Alfred had been right. In the middle of the common he could see a party of at least twenty people, pulling the fence posts from the ground. Luckily, the sheep were grazing elsewhere and so were safe for now. Robert slowed to a trot to give himself a moment to regain his composure.
‘Who’s in charge here?’ he barked as he approached the fence.
A short, heavily-built man with a scarred face let go of the fence post he’d been wrestling with. Robert thought he looked familiar.
‘I am.’
‘What is your name, and what’s going on?’
‘My name’s Fulke, and we are pulling down your fences. What are you going to do about it?’
Robert hesitated. He was unarmed and outnumbered. The short man looked dangerous and was spoiling for trouble. From both directions along the fence, expectant faces stared at him, a mix of mischievous grins and indignation. He had no money to pay them off, so he would have to talk them out of their destructive action. ‘When you’re finished here,’ Robert asked, loud enough for them all to hear, ‘what will you do then?’
‘Get drunk!’ someone shouted.
‘Then what?’ said Robert. ‘I can rebuild my fences. What will you have achieved?’
‘We’ll pull them down again and again,’ said Fulke, ‘until you return this land to the commoners.’
‘Your righteousness sounds fine, but that’s not why you’re here. You’re here because you’ve been bribed.’
Fulke frowned, clearly wondering how Robert knew.
‘You are nothing but paid criminals doing Flowerdew’s dirty work.’
&n
bsp; ‘That may be, but we’re taking back this land all the same.’
Robert had no answer. In the uneasy silence a large man with weathered skin and curly black hair approached. Robert recognised him as John Robertson, a man who had bought leather from him in the past.
‘Mr Kett, sir, I know you to be a fair man,’ said John in his slow and deliberate manner. ‘I have a proposal.’
Robert didn’t like negotiating when he was ill-prepared, but he had no choice. He nodded at Robertson.
‘I know people who have lived on your land all their lives. This year’s harvest will be a poor one, so they need the common to graze their animals. Without their animals they will surely starve.’
Robert nodded.
‘I have always found your intentions noble,’ Robertson continued, ‘so if you can give us a good reason why you need this land more than those who live here, then I will leave your fences where they stand.’
‘You can’t just go round pulling fences down–’
‘Nor should you go round putting them up,’ Fulke countered.
‘These fences are my property. You are breaking the law.’
‘This common is not yours,’ said Robertson.
Robert ground his teeth. Their mischievous grins were gone. He thought the vandals would do well to remember his standing in the town, but he kept it to himself. ‘Well, two wrongs don’t make a right.’
‘So you admit you are wrong,’ interrupted Fulke.
‘No!’ protested Robert, cursing his own stupidity.
‘Your sort are all the same,’ snarled Fulke. ‘You think you can do as you please. You go to church, and you think your charity and good deeds overturn your sins. Well, they don’t. You don’t have the right to take what isn’t yours. Flowerdew, Hobart, Kett – you’re all the same.’
As he had done earlier in Hethersett, Fulke spread his arms wide in a gesture of challenge. ‘You want this common, come and take it.’
‘Flowerdew, Hobart . . . How can you compare me to them?’
‘Can you prove you’re any different, Mr Kett?’ grinned Fulke.
