by Tim Holden
Cooper took hold of the horse’s reins and led the group back towards the marchers. The wooden carts creaked and squeaked as they rolled over the track’s hard, rutted surface. Alfred walked alongside the first cart, unsure why they were returning to the rest of the marchers before securing their own share. The cart was old, with a dry, brittle wooden frame topped by new planks. Every few yards Alfred had to take an extra step to keep up with the horses. Even pulling fully laden carts, on hard ground they still travelled faster than a man’s normal walking pace. Behind Alfred, Adam and Geoffrey walked on either side of the second cart.
They soon caught up with the slow-moving column. As they approached, the rearmost marchers turned to look. When they were twenty yards away, Alfred saw some of the marchers point at the ale barrels, their faces alive with the prospect of food and drink. Once the carts were in among the crowd the food would soon disappear, so if he wanted some food to himself, he had to act now. He stepped in close, reached over and grabbed a loaf of bread.
‘Hey! Put that back!’
Alfred glanced behind. The shout came from the driver of the following cart, who now yelled to his companion on the lead cart, but Alfred was too hungry to care and sank his teeth into the bread’s soft crust. The smell filled his nostrils. He ripped a chunk free with his teeth and started to chew.
The giant driver turned to look back. ‘That ain’t for you! Put it back right now, or I’ll tear your arms out.’
Alfred continued to chew, savouring the taste of the thick wheat dough.
Now Adam and Geoffrey leapt up and grabbed a loaf and a cheese each. All three cart drivers shouted to their master, who turned his horse. Without hesitation, he ordered the drivers to put the stolen food back.
The giant halted his horse and jumped from his seat, grabbing Alfred with one huge hand. They fell to the ground, with Alfred crushed under the man’s weight. The bread in Alfred’s mouth made it hard for him to breath. He tried to spit it out, but he had taken too big a bite. The giant pushed himself up, using one hand to grip and twist Alfred’s shirt just below his neck. His other hand was clenched into a fist, which he drove hard into Alfred’s face, his oversized knuckles landing square in Alfred’s left eye. Alfred’s shriek was muffled by the doughy ball of bread still in his mouth. He tensed his body ready for the next blow, turning his head away and squeezing closed his eyes shut, waiting for the pain. But the driver’s weight shifted as Adam Catchpole hurled himself into him. Alfred was smothered as the two men collapsed on top of him. The force of them landing on him, winded him. His chest crushed, his mouth blocked, he tried to breathe through his nose, but his breath wouldn’t come. As he tried to wriggle free of their weight, he saw Geoffrey run up and kick the driver viciously in the ribs. The blow forced the huge man to roll over, but just as air was flooding into Alfred’s lungs he felt Geoffrey’s misdirected next kick smash into his ribs.
Alfred rolled onto his knees, gasping for air, clear of the melee. He spat the dough into the dirt and looked up, searching for the loaf he had dropped. Then, while still on hands and knees, he took another sharp kick to the ribs, this time from the second cart driver. The pain shot through his torso. Before another blow could land, he instinctively rolled away under the cart, fighting to regain control of his breathing.
To his side, Adam and Geoffrey were wrestling the two drivers, while their pastry-faced master barked at them to stop and stand aside. Cooper held the reins of his horse, laughing at the spectacle. Alfred watched as Pastry Face swung a leg at Cooper and missed. Cooper stepped around the side of the horse, jumped up, and with one hand, grabbed the gentleman’s tunic and yanked him clean from his saddle. He hit the ground, face first.
‘I am Sir Roger Wodehouse,’ he protested. ‘Stop this–’
Cooper straddled the fallen knight and delivered a sharp blow to the chest. ‘See, my lord, I reckon that under these fancy clothes, you’re just the same as me.’
As Wodehouse writhed and gasped for air on the ground, Cooper ripped at his expensive-looking breeches, pulling them down as far as his boots, where they stuck fast. Then, paying no heed to Wodehouse’s protests and flailing limbs, Cooper turned him over, tore off his cloak, and pulled him out of his tunic.
Sir Roger Wodehouse was now naked from the ankles up. Alfred, holding his swollen eye, managed a laugh from under the cart. To his left, one cart driver was down, but the giant had bested both Adam and Geoffrey, who lay collapsed on the verge. The giant heaved himself up and lumbered over to save his lord. He shoulder-barged Cooper, and the two men crashed to the ground. Sir Roger scrambled to his feet and hoisted his breeches. Cooper rolled over back on to his feet, and the giant stood and swung a punch in the same movement. Cooper swayed out of the way.
By now the marchers were cheering the fight, and Cooper, the giant and Sir Roger Wodehouse were surrounded. The giant stepped closer to his master to protect him.
Alfred got to his feet, clambered onto the cart and helped himself to a second loaf of bread.
Wodehouse glared at Cooper. ‘Stop this. Take me to Kett.’
‘I’ll take you to meet Mr Kett,’ said Cooper. ‘But you are coming as my prisoner.’ The onlookers cheered.
The giant took a step forward, but his master raised his hand to stop him. ‘I will dress again first.’
Meanwhile, the jubilant marchers were stripping the carts of their loads. As word spread, more and more of them ran back towards them, eager to claim their share. Among them, moments later, were the breathless Kett brothers. Robert Kett’s face dropped as he recognised Wodehouse. Immediately behind the Ketts – to Alfred’s surprise – came Fulke, looking pleased with himself, and Master Peter.
‘What the devil is going on?’ demanded Kett, regaining his breath.
Cooper stood tall and defiant next to Wodehouse. ‘Mr Kett, I have taken this man prisoner for our cause.’
Robert Kett’s mouth fell open as he struggled to find the words he needed. ‘Sir Roger? What? How–’
‘Robert, I came to talk you out of this madness,’ said Wodehouse, still dishevelled after his encounter with Cooper. ‘Then this man attacked me.’
Kett looked at Cooper, then at Fulke, who nodded knowingly. It dawned on Alfred that after Adam ran back, Fulke must have betrayed Cooper and alerted Mr Kett. Before he could understand why, Kett was speaking again. ‘You? By what right do you take this man prisoner? Who do you think you are?’
A long silence followed. ‘You need a prisoner, Mr Kett,’ said Cooper. ‘If you want the authorities’ attention, that is.’
Kett’s forehead furrowed. ‘I decide what I need, and how I do things, not you.’
‘Then please be kind enough to tell us what it is we’re doing. You have us walking back and forth with neither food nor drink.’
‘We are waiting to see the mayor, as you damn well know.’
‘I don't think he’s coming, Mr Kett,’ said Fulke.
‘Oh, I’m not so sure,’ said Cooper with a knowing look at Fulke, then Kett. ‘You never know when the mayor might drop by.’
Kett looked away.
‘Robert, I pray, return to Wymondham and send these men home,’ said Sir Roger. ‘I have brought you food and ale if you will only stop this foolish rebellion.’
‘A bribe?’ said Fulke.
‘Sir Roger, this is not a rebellion,’ said Kett. ‘I’m sorry for what has happened to you. You will be released at once, together with your goods.’
There was a groan from the watching crowd, and a woman of thirty-five or so, accompanied by two sickly-looking young children, spoke up. ‘Mr Kett, we are hungry. If we go home, there is little to eat, and we can’t afford what precious little there is. I cannot feed my children. You have to change that, Mr Kett.’
‘I cannot make the authorities meet us,’ snapped Kett. ‘Do you not understand that?’
‘You can now you have a prisoner – we’ve captured one of their own,’ Fulke pointed out with a sly grin. ‘Now they’ll to listen to us.’
‘I said no violence! Was I not clear?’ shouted Kett.
Fulke’s cheeks reddened.
‘Yes. Indeed, I was the one who brought these misdeeds to your attention. But you do now have a prisoner, Mr Kett, and you promised us justice.’ Fulke spoke forcefully but stopped short of shouting. Alfred realised what Fulke’s plan had been: to get Cooper to do the dirty work so Mr Kett couldn’t accuse him of interfering, and for Fulke to prove his loyalty by informing Mr Kett.
‘So far you’ve taken us for a long walk,’ said Fulke. ‘You claim nobody will speak to you, but we have waited three days. Then this man arrives, bribing us to go home . . .’
‘And so you should,’ said Wodehouse.
The crowd booed. Somebody at the front of the mob spat at Wodehouse. The spittle landed in the dirt at his feet.
‘Stop that,’ shouted Kett, looking for the perpetrator.
‘No more from you,’ barked Cooper, slapping Wodehouse across the chest. The knight’s face went red as his fists clenched, but he suppressed his fury at being taunted.
‘Have some blasted respect for a gentleman,’ demanded Kett.
‘You have got the stomach for this cause, haven’t you, Mr Kett?’ asked Cooper.
‘Of course I have. How dare you accuse me of . . .’
Kett’s words petered out. David Fisher, one of the original group who attacked Mr Kett’s fences, stepped forward from the crowd to fill the silence. ‘Pray, Mr Kett, tell us what is our plan? If we go home we will lose our chance. We will perish this winter.’
The crowd shouted their agreement.
Kett exchanged a look with his brother. ‘We are not going home,’ he conceded, ‘but we are not taking prisoners. I have said all along, no violence. Now release this man.’
Cooper looked steadily at Kett. ‘No,’ he said.
There was an awkward silence.
‘Please, Mr Kett,’ said another marcher. ‘I just want my land back for my animals.’ The crowd cheered. ‘I want my lord to treat me fair, that’s all. It’s not much to ask.’
‘Yes,’ said Kett, ‘but we did not come here to take prisoners.’
The crowd began to shout and jeer.
William Kett raised his arms ‘Enough!’ he shouted. ‘We will keep Sir Roger in our custody, but there is no gain to be had by treating him like a thief.’
While the crowd cheered, Robert Kett frowned at his brother. William’s expression in reply was a clear appeal for his brother to trust him.
‘Robert, I beg you, return to your senses,’ said Wodehouse, at which Cooper cuffed him on the back of the head.
Kett looked around the crowd. Alfred followed his gaze and couldn’t see a soul who agreed that Sir Roger Wodehouse should be released. Sensing his defeat, Kett spoke up: ‘Master Peter, you are responsible for this man’s welfare. Put him on the cart and see that the food is kept secure. We will distribute it fairly tonight.’ Master Peter nodded. Fulke smiled.
Now Kett pointed at Cooper. ‘You are a troublemaker, and you are not welcome on this march. You will return to whatever stone you crawled out from under.’
Cooper opened his mouth to protest, but Kett was too fast: ‘No!’ he bellowed. ‘Fulke, see to it this man is removed from our number.’
Fulke flashed a malevolent smile at Cooper. ‘My pleasure, Mr Kett.’
‘We camp tonight at Drayton Woods. Tomorrow, we’ll force the city’s hand,’ said Kett, to loud cheers. ‘You have my word.’
*
As the march resumed, the two brothers held back until all their followers had passed them. ‘What the hell did you do that for?’ said Robert Kett, his voice flat and quiet. ‘Now we have a blasted prisoner to add to our problems.’
‘Robert, you were moments away from being mauled.’
Robert shook his head and started to walk. His legs felt heavy, and his feet weak as if they might give way without warning. Ahead, he could see the marchers swarming all over the moving carts, passing and throwing the cargo down to marchers on the track. His plan had been to rely on their hunger to send them home, but now some of them at least would be well fed and watered. His own stomach gurgled.
‘We’ve been stalling for days, Robert,’ said William. ‘If you want to change your mind, time has run out.’
‘I know, I know. What in God’s name are we going to do?’ Robert Kett went to bite his thumbnail, but there was no nail left to bite. He looked at his brother. ‘We could slip away later, into the night?’
‘The thought had crossed my mind.’
‘I wouldn’t put it past them to put a guard on us, to see we don’t.’
‘Did you get the impression that that blasted creature Cooper knew about the mayor’s visit?’
Kett shrugged. ‘He’s a real snake in the grass, that one. I’m glad he’s gone.’
At least, Robert consoled himself, he’d finally found a use for Fulke.
The brothers walked side by side behind the six hundred people who marched in their name. Six hundred people, who demanded their leadership, but would not reciprocate with their obedience. William lifted his hands and tapped them against his chin as if offering a prayer. ‘We have two choices, Robert. We stand down, or we see it through. You’re a gambling man, stick or twist?’
Kett looked around. It was hard to think clearly when he was so hungry and tired. On either side of the path were more parched crops, a reminder of the commoners’ predicament.
‘Stick, and we definitely lose, all of us,’ said Robert. ‘Although we will bear that cost more than most.’
‘We will lose this hand,’ said William, ‘but we live to play another day.’
‘At our age, we don’t have time to play many more hands. Not if we lose this one.’
They walked in silence for a while, and Robert looked away from the track, across the fields. On his left, an imposing oak tree caught his eye. It stood alone in the middle of a field, dominating its surrounds. It reminded him of the oak tree under which this journey had started. If I only knew then what I know now, he thought. He wondered what he might do and why he had chosen to lead these people in a bid to end enclosure. Above him the sky was a clear, bright blue. Finally he spoke. ‘I don’t want my last years to be years of failure, William.’
William nodded. ‘I agree. I think back to times in my life, and yours, when everything seemed forlorn. When I had staked a fortune and lost it. When I was owed money I knew would never get back. When I didn’t have enough to see me through winter. When I was sick. When my crops failed, or my livestock perished. Whatever it was, it seemed at the time that all was lost. Yet in hindsight, every time, whatever the problem was, it led me to a better place eventually. I learned a lesson which served me well and helped me become stronger. Or maybe things just unexpectedly turned out for the best. You can never see it at the time, and I can’t see a way out of this right now, but there will be a way, somehow.’
‘I hope you’re right.’
‘There’s something else, though. I’m widowed, but you must consider Alice.’
Robert sighed. He went to bite his nail and failed a second time. ‘We both have children,’ he said. ‘And grandchildren. My loss would be no greater than your own.’
He looked again at the oak tree, alone under the blue sky. ‘If we could strike a blow against enclosure, or even end it, what better legacy could we leave? People have risen elsewhere, and we know they’ve been pardoned by the lord protector. We are not the only ones, and he is sympathetic to our cause. If there was ever a time to make a stand, it is now.’
‘So this is a rebellion after all, then?’
Robert nodded slowly. ‘It’s starting to feel like one.’
‘Well,’ said William, ‘nothing of value is accomplished without some risk of failure. With Protector Seymour’s support we should be safe.’ He looked around and smiled wryly. ‘Besides, it’s a lovely day to make a stand.’
‘And we might just win. We’re six hundred strong now and no doubt,
more will come. That is a fearful prospect for the city.’ Robert stopped and waited for his brother, his hand outstretched. ‘Twist?’ he asked.
William shook his brother’s hand. ‘Twist.’
Their minds made up, they embraced. At that moment, Robert was sure their decision was the right one and that together it would be possible to see it through. At the same time, he felt a knot tighten in the pit of his stomach.
PART 2
Hebrews 11:6
6 And without faith it is impossible to please God, because anyone who comes to him must believe that he exists and that he rewards those who earnestly seek him.
15
11th July, Palace of Whitehall, London.
Edward Seymour was slumped in his chair at the head of the table. His eyes glazed over. He resembled a tailor’s mannequin in his brightly coloured finery, thought Dudley, looking on from his usual place at the far end of the table, next to Archbishop Cranmer.
For God’s sake man, stand up and lead, thought Dudley of Seymour.
Between them sat the Regency Council, willing Seymour to speak with their pursed brows. Outside, beyond the diamond-shaped panes of glass, the bells of London tolled noon. The council had been sitting in chamber for an hour with nothing to show for their attendance. It was stiflingly hot with the windows closed to keep out the noise and stench of the city. The painted roses of the Tudors that adorned the wooden ceiling did nothing to lift the mood.
Dudley twisted his gold wedding ring round his finger, as was his habit. He glanced in the direction of the slumped figure at the head of the table. Careful what you wish for Seymour, thought Dudley.
When old King Henry became ill, Edward Seymour coveted the role he now occupied: Lord Protector. Forced to execute his own brother in March, Seymour had since become half the man he once was. Unfortunately, England needed him to be twice the man, for the kingdom was out of sorts. As the king’s uncle, Seymour had coerced enough of the council to support his appointment as Lord Protector before Henry VIII was even stiff. Now, he was in charge of the kingdom until such time as the boy, King Edward VI, was old enough to take over.
