by Tim Holden
‘Sorry I asked,’ said Alfred. He blinked, worried that he would well up again.
‘Best thing you can do, boy, is speak to every man here and see that he turns up to join Mr Kett’s rebellion. When the bells sound ten tomorrow, by the oak tree on the Norwich road.’
‘Rebellion?’
‘Rebellion.’ Fulke stared hard at Alfred. ‘Don’t question it. Just make sure they know.’
Alfred nodded, sensing how dangerous it might be to defy Fulke. As Fulke moved away, Alfred walked wearily and with heavy limbs to the first table by the door. A group of five men he didn’t recognise were leaning in, sharing a hushed conversation. A large man at the end of the table stopped talking when he saw Alfred.
‘Tomorrow there is to be a rebellion under the leadership of Robert Kett,’ announced Alfred without much conviction. ‘We are gathering at the oak tree on the Norwich road.’ The man beckoned Alfred to come closer. ‘Will you men join us?’ asked Alfred, forcing a weak smile.
‘I don’t know who you are, boy,’ said the man, his voice full of hostility, ‘and I don’t care for you or your poxy rebellion.’ Alfred swallowed. The man’s companions were all staring at him. ‘Now piss off.’
Alfred stepped back, keeping the men in his sight, willing himself not to shed any tears. His hand trembled as he opened the door. He stepped out, sank to his knees and took a deep breath. He hadn’t asked for any of this, but now he was unable to step back, and no matter what he did, it would anger someone and land him in a worse situation. He punched the ground with frustration: once, twice, three times. His fist stung. Finally he stood up and dusted himself down. This stupid rebellion was nothing to do with him. He wasn’t going to spend the night being abused for his part in something he neither understood nor cared about. If Fulke and the rest wanted to be hung for the benefit of the country, then good luck to them, but Alfred wasn’t about to follow them into the devil’s care.
The moon hung low in the sky. Alfred was tired, hungry and thirsty, and he had no money. There was only one place to go: home.
He walked the four miles home as fast as he could. There were stories of attacks by outlaws at night, but Alfred was too tired to be frightened. As he walked, he enjoyed the calmness of night-time, broken only by the occasional screech of a fox and the rustle of leaves in the breeze. Problems seemed to fade at night, at least until the sun rose again. He thought about his future. He was going to be a father, and they would soon be homeless. He and his wife were better at fighting than loving one another. He and his father-in-law bore each other little regard. Fulke’s anger seemed like the least of his problems. He hoped it would all be easier to understand in the morning.
The cottage was filled with the comforting smell of wood smoke, as the small fire in the centre of the room gave off a soft orange glow. Sitting on his stool beside it was Lynn’s father, Richard, who was silently staring at the flickering flames. He didn’t look up to acknowledge Alfred, who lay down on the floor next to the hearth, glad to take the weight off his feet.
‘Have we any ale?’
Richard shook his head.
‘Any food?’
Richard glared at him.
‘What?’
‘Is that all you care about, Alfred, your belly?’
‘No. Just haven’t eaten since this morning.’
‘Poor you.’
The silence resumed. Eventually, Alfred broke it again. ‘How come you lit the fire?’
‘What’s the point in saving wood for winter?’
‘Where’s Lynn and her mother?’
‘So you care, do you?’
‘Only asked.’
Richard grunted.
‘What will you do?’
‘Me? What will I do?’ snapped Richard. ‘You forget that you’re part of this family now, Alfred, however much you might regret it.’
‘Yes, of course.’ Alfred did his best to look offended.
Richard stood up. ‘And where’ve you been? What’s so important that you don’t come home at night when your family is in peril? Tell me.’
Alfred looked down at the flames. What could he say? He’d been out drinking. He stared into the heart of the fire and hoped that the right words would come to him. But before any words could be uttered, the door to the cottage swung open.
‘Father, have you heard?’ said Lynn as she flew in. She stopped when she saw Alfred. ‘Look at this. Run out of money have you?’
Alfred ignored her. If he argued with Lynn, he never won: she just got angrier until he capitulated.
‘What, Lynn?’ asked Richard.
‘Flowerdew’s fences have been destroyed. His precious sheep are roaming free.’
‘Good God. Who did it?’ asked Richard.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Where did you hear?’
‘I was at the Marshwell’s with mother when George Newell came in and said he’d seen the flock roaming about, then he’d seen the enclosure torn down.’
‘And they don’t know who it was?’
‘No.’ said Lynn. ‘Who cares? That evil bastard got what he deserved.’
‘And who do you think he’ll suspect?’
‘How should I know?’ said Lynn.
‘If there’s one family with good reason, it’s us,’ said Alfred.
‘He’ll have us killed,’ said Richard.
‘No! Why? It wasn’t us,’ protested Lynn.
‘He’ll need to blame someone, to make an example of them, even if he can’t find who really did it,’ said Richard. ‘It would suit him nicely to blame us.’
‘He can’t!’
‘He’s the lord. He can do whatever he chooses. This is his opportunity to get rid of us and show the rest of the village what happens if you cross him.’
‘No!’ said Lynn.
‘I doubt it,’ said Alfred.
‘What do you know?’ Lynn barked back.
‘I tell you what I know . . . I know who tore down those fences.’
‘Who?’ said Richard. ‘Not you, Alfred?’
‘No.’ Alfred stood up and looked down at Richard on his stool. ‘Robert Kett.’
‘Ha! You’ve have been drinking again,’ snarled Lynn. ‘Why would he of all people do such a thing? He enclosed common land himself. Everyone knows that. You talk such nonsense, Alfred.’ Lynn turned her back on him.
Alfred looked Richard in the eye. ‘It’s true.’
‘Were you there?’ asked Richard, holding his gaze.
‘No. But I came from Wymondham. It was all people were talking about.’ Alfred went on to explain the events he knew about, leaving out his own involvement. He could see the relief in Richard’s face.
‘Nonsense,’ repeated Lynn. ‘I don’t believe a word of it.’
Alfred’s jaw clenched.
‘It could be true,’ said Richard. ‘Kett and Flowerdew have been enemies for years.’
‘It is true,’ said Alfred. ‘Mr Kett’s leading a march to Norwich tomorrow, to protest against enclosure and other abuses.’
‘Robert Kett is leading a march? Why would Mr Kett do that?’ said Richard, shaking his head.
‘We should go,’ said Alfred.
‘It’s none of our concern,’ declared Richard.
‘We’ve been evicted to make room for sheep. It’s entirely our concern.’
‘Why’s he marching?’ asked Lynn, more conciliatory now.
‘To rebel against the likes of Flowerdew, and to stand up for the likes of us. Everywhere rich men abuse their power, and he wants to put an end to it.’
‘The only thing he’ll put an end to is his own life,’ said Richard.
Alfred cursed his father-in-law. Why did he assume everything would end in failure?
‘And that of anyone fool enough to join him,’ continued Richard.
The fire quietly crackled in the silence. Alfred thought there was little point continuing this conversation. ‘I’m going to bed,’ he announced.
‘You’ll be
out of work,’ said Richard.
‘What do you mean?’ replied Alfred.
‘When Mr Kett is hung for causing trouble.’
Alfred hadn’t thought of that possibility. ‘But Mr Kett is one of the gentry. They don’t hang their own.’
‘He might be well off, but he’s far from aristocracy.’ Richard shook his head. ‘Whatever happens, this family will not be involved.’
‘Father, what have we to lose?’
‘My head. It’s about the only thing I have left.’
Alfred scented a chance to get back into Fulke’s favour. ‘Richard, you told me after the farmers’ meeting that nearly half the people there supported you. Well, what if they joined us and marched with Mr Kett?’ Alfred let the question hang in the air.
‘It won’t get us our cottage back,’ said Richard eventually.
‘What’s your plan then?’ Silence. ‘To do nothing?’
‘What makes you so clever? You’re a boy. What do you know?’
Alfred had had enough. ‘I’m sixteen, your daughter carries my child, and I have work! I’m more of a fucking man than you are right now.’
Richard glanced up. ‘For now, you have work.’
‘Well, I’m going. You can’t harvest a crop without first planting a seed.’
‘If Flowerdew finds out we marched and dirtied his name, he won’t take it kindly,’ said Richard.
‘He can’t evict us twice, father,’ said Lynn.
‘As long as we don’t break the law, we have nothing to fear. Flowerdew can’t harm us more than he already has,’ added Alfred from the corner of the room.
‘So you’re with us now, Alfred,’ said Richard. ‘Must be something in this for you.’
‘I can’t win with you,’ snapped Alfred, standing over at Richard. ‘I’ll be going, and if you’re too afraid, you can roll over and die in a ditch.’
‘You’re calling me a coward?’ Richard stood up from the stool and glared at Alfred.
Alfred stood his ground. He folded his arms. ‘Yes.’ He had wanted to say that for weeks, and it felt good to have finally done it. What could Richard do to him now? He couldn’t throw him out, with or without his trollop of a daughter. Richard had no hold over Alfred anymore, and Alfred was going to make the most of it.
Richard spat into the flames. His spittle hissed in the heat.
‘You’re a spineless turd, Richard.’ Alfred stuck out his chin.
Lynn looked open-mouthed at Alfred, unable to believe what she was hearing. ‘How dare you speak to him like that!’
‘Why shouldn’t I?’ Alfred turned to face his wife. In the light of the fire her wart cast a faint shadow across her chin.
Richard’s feet fidgeted, and he squeezed the purse on his belt. What I wouldn’t do for a gold sovereign, thought Alfred.
Richard stood up and pointed at Alfred. ‘Tomorrow morning, you and I will see Anders Marshwell, and you’ll tell him everything you’ve told me.’
‘Very good,’ confirmed Alfred. Finally his father-in-law had grown a spine, and if Alfred could get some Hethersett farmers to join the march, he could save some face with Fulke.
‘Don’t you be getting my father into trouble, Alfred. You hear me?’
‘Shut up, Lynn.’
10
Robert walked in and slumped into his fireside chair, exhausted. It had been the worst of weeks. He still hadn’t sold his wool. His tenants had pleaded poverty, claiming they were unable to pay his rents and blaming his enclosures for their hardship. Then, when one of his enclosures was attacked, he had tried to do the right thing but ended up landing himself in a precarious position with his nemesis, Flowerdew. He sighed.
Alice sat opposite, darning a tear in her cloak. Jipp, the sheepdog slept peacefully at her feet. ‘No kiss?’
Robert grunted. He wasn’t getting up on his feet again. Not for Alice, not for anyone. He stared into the flames for several seconds, then let his eyes close. His face was bathed in the gentle warmth of the fire.
‘Go on,’ said Alice.
‘What?’ Robert’s eyes remained closed.
‘You rush away on horseback and don’t return till it’s near dark. What happened?’
Robert managed no more than a gentle, ‘Mmm,’ and slipped into sleep.
The next he knew was a tug on his sleeve. He came to and saw Alice kneeling in front of him with a tankard of wine. ‘How long was I–’
‘Not long,’ smiled Alice.
Robert groaned and took the tankard. She wouldn’t leave him in peace until she knew. He took a sip and recounted the evening’s events. Even the taste of the wine seemed tainted by the day’s misfortunes.
‘Do you think it wise, getting involved in all this?’ Alice asked when he had finished.
‘Something must be done. You said so yourself.’
‘Yes, but leading a march to Norwich? That could be seen as a very aggressive action.’
‘Hardly. We’ll go and speak to the mayor and come directly home. I doubt it will do much good.’
‘Then why do it?’
Robert grimaced. He was too tired for Alice’s questions, and he did not want to explain the possible consequences of staying put and facing Flowerdew’s retribution. ‘You told me to do something, and now I’m doing it, you don’t like it?’ barked Robert.
Jipp opened his eyes and looked at his master.
‘I just don’t want any harm to come to you, my love.’
‘It won’t.’
Alice resumed her seat, and the two sat in silence for half an hour. Robert’s eyes were closed, but his jaw was clenched, and he didn’t sleep. Alice put a log on the fire.
‘I don’t like it, Robert, you getting mixed up in this sort of thing, with these sorts of people.’
He ignored her.
‘There must be another way.’
Robert thought about the evening again. That Fulke character was as slippery as an eel. What was in it for him? And there was Alfred – if the boy hadn’t come to warn him, he would have been angry to discover his fences were destroyed, but that would have been the extent of it. It was strange that somebody could appear from nowhere and have a significant bearing on your actions. He wondered if it was God’s doing. Whether it was or not, it had happened, and Robert knew he must have the courage to see it through. This will all be over by tomorrow night, he told himself.
‘I don’t want you to go,’ said Alice, firmly.
Robert banged his fist on the arm of the chair. ‘Mrs Kett, I will thank you to cease sharing your opinions on matters you don’t understand. What is done is done, and that’s all I have to say on the matter.’
He stood up, ready to go to bed. On his way to the door he glanced at Alice, who looked frightened. ‘I know what I’m doing,’ he said.
Alice looked up. ‘I’m not sure I believe that any more than you do, Robert.’
Robert stepped out of the room and closed the door behind him.
11
9th July, the oak tree on the Norwich Road
The land on either side of the Norwich road was flat and unremarkable. A patchwork of feeble crops swayed in the breeze. Big white clouds cast fast-moving shadows on the ground, but still there was no rain. Robert yawned. After a fitful night’s sleep, he felt nervous about what lay ahead, but perhaps Fulke and his band of followers would be hung-over or forgetful or simply too idle to turn up. It was a working day: they should all have jobs to do.
While he waited, Robert mulled over what he would say to Mayor Codd, who would be expecting him, but not a dozen others with grievances to voice. His plan was to tell the mayor that rather than simply reporting on matters in Wymondham, he had brought people who would give their own account. Robert knew that the mayor would prefer a quiet conversation with a single trusted voice, but maybe a surprise like this might deter Mayor Codd from issuing future invitations.
Robert felt a twitch in the pit of his stomach as he saw a group of people approaching from the north. So he w
ould have company after all. As they neared, Robert recognised Anders Marshwell, the reeve of the Hethersett, followed by forty or so villagers: the majority of the village. Robert watched in disbelief. Maybe after years of mistreatment, the people of Hethersett wanted their opinion of Flowerdew to be heard. That was understandable, but it was not what he was here for. His stomach churned. Certainly Anders had made no mention of taking action at their dice game after evensong.
As the group arrived at the tree, Anders came straight up to Robert. ‘Your actions yesterday have inspired the village.’
‘So I see.’
‘It leaves no doubt about the strength of our feelings.’
‘No room for doubt at all.’
A scruffy man approached. Robert didn’t recognise him, but behind him were a young woman and Alfred, his new apprentice. He should be at work, thought Robert.
‘Mr Kett, sir, my name is Richard Smith,’ said the man. ‘This is my daughter, Lynn, and her husband you know. We’re being evicted by Mr Flowerdew.’
‘I heard. I’m sorry.’
‘I want to thank you for taking up our cause.’
Robert said nothing.
‘What is it you have planned?’ asked Anders, folding his arms.
The arrivals from Hethersett that were now gathered around Robert, Anders and Richard Smith, fell silent to hear Robert’s reply. He was suddenly conscious of having an audience but addressed his answer to Anders. ‘I’m simply going to Norwich to speak to the mayor. He should be made aware of the abuses of power taking place.’
Anders nodded. ‘What do you expect him to do?’
‘That’s a matter for him,’ said Robert dismissively. Informing the mayor was as far as he would be going.
Lynn called out angrily from among the villagers, ‘We want our house back.’
Robert saw the anger on her face. If Flowerdew had made them homeless, then anger was forgivable. ‘I’m sure you do,’ he said, ‘but I can’t make any promises about that or anything else.’
‘Then why are we going to Norwich?’ she snarled. ‘I thought it was to see that Flowerdew’s injustices are overturned.’
Robert frowned. Events were overtaking him. How had all of Hethersett caught wind of his petition? Their numbers would further undermine Flowerdew’s authority, but Robert had envisaged thirteen aggrieved commoners with him, not the whole of Hethersett.
