Spirals of Fate

by Tim Holden

  ‘You barge in here, and that is all you have to tell me, Alfred? Have you nothing but earwax for brains?’

  ‘Accompanied by another man.’

  Robert felt his frustration bubbling like a pot coming to the boil. All week he’d been subject to such ramblings. Now, enjoying a rare moment of peace, he was interrupted by this cloth-eared boy making a song and dance about a couple of strangers leaving the city.

  ‘Robert, listen,’ said Alice

  ‘I think he was wearing the king’s coat of arms. It may be word from London. They’re coming here now.’

  There was a pause.

  Robert sat up and swung his legs over the bed with the speed of a man half his age.

  ‘Alfred, throw everybody out of the house except my brother. Alice, you wait here. Alfred, ready some drinks for our visitors.’

  Alfred nodded and closed the door behind him.

  Robert felt oddly calm. Their fate had been determined, somewhere far away by people he didn’t know. Was it their intention that he should succeed or fail? Never before had his life rested in the hands of a stranger. Alice squeezed his arm.

  He turned to look at her lying beside him, then knelt and offered a prayer. As long as he was granted concession on enclosure, he would have enough to send people home victorious and with his honour intact. The other demands could be sacrificed; anything else was a bonus. With the army nowhere near, he knew he held the whip hand.

  Another knock. It was William who now entered. ‘They’re here: a royal herald and Mayor Codd.

  William looked preoccupied. He wore the same worried expression that Robert recognised from childhood. They had played together as children, worked together as men and prayed together as subjects of God. This, they were well aware, would be a defining conversation of their lives.

  ‘Young Alfred is asking everyone to leave,’ reported William.

  Robert could hear voices. as Alfred welcomed their visitors. They had made him wait all week, so he was of a mind to make them wait a while. Alice kissed him, wished him luck, he took a deep breath and left the room.

  At the bottom of the stairs, Robert squeezed his brother’s shoulder and they exchanged a nod of acknowledgment, before walking into the dining room together. The herald, an imposing man, was standing with his back to the wall. His gold-embroidered tunic radiated its brightness against the wood panelling.

  Highwaymen would gladly relieve you of that splendid outfit, thought Robert.

  Mayor Codd managed a brief and unconvincing smile. This isn’t going to be easy, Robert realised.

  ‘I’m Robert Kett.’ Robert offered his hand.

  The herald’s grip was on the painful side of firm. His hazel-coloured eyes were blank, beneath a square cut a fringe of dark hair. He’s not giving anything away, wouldn’t fancy playing cards with him, thought Robert

  By contrast, the mayor looked pale.

  ‘Please, take a seat, herald,’ said Robert.

  ‘I’ll stand.’

  ‘If it pleases you. I am too old to stand, so you’ll forgive me if we are seated.’

  ‘As you wish.’

  ‘Mayor, won’t you take a seat?’

  ‘I’ll stand also.’

  ‘Very well.’ This didn’t bode well, feared Robert.

  Alfred appeared at the door with four ales.

  ‘Gentlemen, a drink at least?’ offered Robert.

  ‘No, thank you.’ said the herald.

  Mayor Codd declined. Robert shook his head at Alfred to dismiss the drinks.

  ‘Well, if you won’t sit and you won’t drink, you’d better have something worth listening to,’ said Robert.

  ‘I bring word from His Majesty’s Lord Protector, Edward Seymour, First Duke of Somerset.’ The herald relayed the message in an emotionless delivery. ‘The lord protector is in receipt of your demands.’

  Robert thought the herald’s manner of speaking almost effeminate. He relayed his master’s words with no intonation, yet his accent was soft and at odds with the blank expression on his emotionless face. Robert feared this was a man who was not able to negotiate. A simple messenger. I have a feeling I am not going to like this, Robert thought.

  ‘The lord protector will fully consider them in due course,’ continued the herald.

  Robert looked to Codd for reassurance. Codd averted his gaze.

  Not good.

  ‘First, however, you must disband your forces and return home. Once you have done this, you will be pardoned, and your demands will be considered.’

  What? Robert waited for an explanation. In the silence that followed, the herald stared ahead, as still as a sentry guard.

  ‘Go on,’ said William.

  The herald bowed. He had nothing more to say.

  ‘That’s it?’ asked Robert with growing incredulity and anger.

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘We have waited a week only to be told to go home?’ Robert looked at the mayor. Mayor Codd shifted his feet.

  ‘There are ten thousand of the king’s subjects on the other side of that door. You expect me to tell them to go home and wait for consideration?’

  ‘Quite so,’ replied the herald.

  Robert was disbelieving. ‘What assurances can I give that their grievances will be upheld?’

  ‘The lord protector is known to be sympathetic to the people’s concerns of enclosure,’ stated the herald.

  ‘Well a damn lot of good that has done people. They are starving. They don’t have enough for winter.’

  The herald said nothing. Robert looked again for reassurance from Codd, who finally spoke.

  ‘I have been ordered not to supply material or provisions from Norwich. The city is to be closed to you and ready its defences.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Robert.’

  Robert sprung from his seat. ‘You will be sorry. You expect me to go out there and say the king is sorry. Just go home and die quietly?’

  Codd examined his feet. Robert could see the mayor disagreed but that he was powerless to interfere.

  ‘Don’t you see what you have done?’

  The herald stood motionless — his expression blank.

  ‘Then you leave me no choice.’ Robert knew he ought to contain his anger, but his frustration was too much to bear. ‘We are not going home without our demands met and if you close the city to us,’ he paused, ‘then we’ll take it for ourselves.’

  The herald spoke, ‘Raising an army against the king is treason.’

  ‘Seymour has left me no choice. How can I back down?’ Robert demanded, ‘You’ve given me nothing. Nothing.’ Robert’s face was red with anger. If he bit any harder, his teeth would shatter. He pointed his finger at the herald. ‘If Seymour wants a war, I’ll give him a fucking war.’

  The herald turned his lips downwards.

  ‘Next time I see you here you’ll be on your hands and knees begging for your city back. Get out.’

  The herald turned to leave. Robert couldn’t bring himself to look at Codd.

  ‘Robert,’ said William. ‘Leave the door ajar for them. Give him something to take back to London.’

  Robert shouted at the herald’s back, ‘Tell Seymour I have ten thousand men, and I’ll raise merry hell until he ends enclosure. Tell him he’ll be forever haunted by the name Robert Kett.’

  Mayor Codd stopped when he got to the door.

  ‘Robert, Seymour couldn’t give you what you wanted. He is powerless to end enclosure.’

  ‘What do you mean? He’s practically a king. He can do what he wants?’

  Codd shook his head. ‘Power is rarely that simple, Robert.’ The mayor closed the door.

  An eerie silence followed.

  Robert couldn't bring himself to look at William. Both men started to pace, furious with Seymour. Robert’s mind ran through the possibilities, the eventualities. Why could he not see what would happen? He gave me no choice, that damned fool. We’re short of food.

  ‘He’s bro
ught this on himself’ said Robert. ‘Fuck,’ he shouted, his profanity resounding around the room.

  In the silence that followed, the stinking reality of their situation hung in the air like an open plague pit.

  ‘Robert, if we do this, there’s no turning back.’

  ‘I am well aware of that, brother.’

  ‘There must be another way.’ William looked at him.

  ‘Can you please be so kind as to share it?’

  Robert waited for his brother to reply. When he didn’t, Robert sat down. ‘We attack.’ Robert swallowed hard. ‘You are free to leave, William.’

  ‘I said I’d support you. And I will, even though I don’t like what is required of me.’

  ‘Thank you, William,’ he said. ‘I can’t pretend to like it any more than you do, but we have started this for a lot of good and honest reasons. For those same reasons we must now see it through. If God is with us, he will see to it that we prevail.’

  Robert made a fist of his hands. ‘Enough of this chatter. We must call in the representatives.’

  ‘Robert, unleashing ten thousand men on the city, well, there might not be a city left at the end of the day.’

  ‘I know. We must plan our movements. Everybody must be clear in their duty. We must retain order and control.’

  ‘Easier said than done.’

  ‘Well, do it we must. Let’s start.’

  ‘If you are to plan an attack, brother, let them see you with a clear head. They will be less willing to risk their lives for a man in a rash temper.’

  Robert sighed, trying to calm himself. Every time his thoughts turned to Seymour, his temper began to race. Again, why could they not see what was so plain.

  ‘Alfred,’ called William.

  Moments later the lad appeared at the door. ‘Yes, Mr Kett?’

  ‘Fetch us some food. Give us half of one hour in private, then summon in the representatives. At which point, keep us watered.’

  ‘We’ve run out of food, Mr Kett.’

  ‘Find some, lad.’ said William, unable to conceal his own frustration.

  An hour later, the dining room was full and drinks were served. Three of the men present had military experience, and with their help, the Kett’s set about planning their attack.

  25

  Jan stood by the open gate as the mayor and herald rode through, their horses panting after the short canter down the hill.

  ‘Who’s in charge here?’ asked the mayor.

  ‘I am,’ replied Jan.

  ‘Close this gate. Nobody is to pass through, in either direction.’

  Jan nodded. Was Tiniker in the camp? He’d watched her walk up there with a young man, an hour ago. Now she’d be trapped outside the city.

  ‘Is that understood?’ asked the herald.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ confirmed Jan.

  ‘Good,’ the herald continued, ‘you will be attacked. It is your duty to defend the city and repel the rebels. King Edward orders that you show them no mercy. They are traitors one and all.’

  This was it then.

  Jan had hoped to escape violence and bloodshed, but it had followed him here. As Augustine Steward had warned, the militia had been called up this morning. With bitter resignation, Jan closed the gate, fastening the metal bolts and slotting the oak beams in place. They won’t get in here without a fight; he cursed the rebels and their troublemaking.

  He should be busy making bombazine.

  The mayor beckoned him over.

  ‘This is our weakest point,’ he came straight to the point. ‘You should prepare to face the brunt of their forces.’

  ‘When?’ asked Jan.

  ‘You are on guard until further notice. Have your men fill the bridge with earth to protect the gate. See to it that they construct earth ramparts on either side of the tower should the enemy attempt to swim across the river.’

  ‘Reinforcements, will they be coming?’

  ‘Have your men at their quarters, no rest watch. Prepare water to douse fires.’

  ‘Arrows?’

  ‘I’ll send you every arrow in Norwich.’

  Jan swallowed the lump in his throat.

  ‘Create a fallback point farther up the street. Build a barricade in front of the hospital.’

  ‘With what?’

  ‘Anything you can find.’

  ‘What about the cannon?’

  ‘The rebels are mostly unarmed. We can’t risk the cannon falling into rebel hands.’

  ‘If you’re overrun,’ the herald interrupted, ‘you may retreat, but the king commands we must fight to the end. Spare no one.’

  ‘Jesus,’ said Jan to himself. ‘How many of them are there?’

  ‘All told, maybe ten thousand,’ replied the mayor, looking pale.

  The herald kicked his horse and trotted up Bishopsgate, closely followed by the mayor. Jan stood in stunned silence as they rode off to find safety away from the front line.

  By the end of this year he would have earned a tidy sum. But now all his plans, after everything he’d overcome, just at the very point of making good, were threatened.

  I’ll kill every damned rebel I can see, he promised himself.

  ‘Men,’ he shouted, summoning his garrison. ‘Assemble on me.’

  The nine men making up his garrison gathered around him under the gatehouse.

  Ten thousand rebels?

  Jan knew there must be a lot, but the thought of ten thousand made his blood run cold. He did a quick calculation: there was said to be about twelve thousand souls living in Norwich. Half were women. Of the six thousand remaining, a third must be too young or too old to fight. Another proportion too rich or too sympathetic to the rebels. At best, he reckoned the city could hope to field three thousand fighting men. Outnumbered by more than three to one, he didn’t like the odds. He would have to make best use of the defences and weapons, without them they’d be swamped.

  His small garrison, like him, were civilians, a collection of tradespeople: two other weavers, two farriers, two wheelwrights, a cooper, a saddler and a fletcher. Obviously, they were proficient with a longbow, but none had experience of hand to hand combat besides an occasional drunken brawl outside an alehouse.

  Using a stick, he drew a map of the river and the bridge in the dust. He briefed them on the need to start work on the earthen ramparts. He reassured them and said the sooner they built the ramparts, the safer they’d feel.

  ‘All of Norwich will come to the defence of this bridge.’

  They didn’t look convinced.

  With his men set to work, Jan now ran to warn Margreet. Looking up at the gargoyle above the door as he arrived at his door, he entreated, ‘You better earn your keep today, there’s a lot of evil to keep at bay.’

  His youngest daughter was beating a rug in the hall.

  ‘Hello, father.’ She smiled.

  ‘Not inside, Margreet. You don’t beat a rug indoors.’

  His reprimand punctured her mood.

  He put his hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes. She looked frightened. Good. He needed her to understand this was serious.

  ‘Margreet, the rebels are coming. There is a good chance they will attack the bridge.’

  Tears welled in his daughter’s eyes.

  ‘I need you to be a big girl today. They may try to burn our house. You need to be alert. Put the cooking fire out. Don’t save any embers. Drench it. Have some water ready. Fill every bucket you can. As soon as you see flames, put them out. If you run out of water, beat the flames with a wet sack.’

  She started to cry. Unlike her older sister, the trials of the past years had done nothing to embolden Margreet. Where Tiniker had grown up fast in the face of adversity, Margreet had remained a child. At fourteen years of age, she still confided in imaginary friends and preferred to inhabit her make-believe worlds.

  Today the real world was coming whether she liked it or not.

  ‘Where’s Tinky?’ she sobbed.

  ‘She’l
l be back soon.’ Jan hoped he was right.

  ‘I want Tinky,’ Margreet sniffed.

  ‘She’ll be here soon.’ He hugged his daughter, ‘Margreet, you have to pay attention. You’re a big girl today. If you listen to papa, everything will be all right. Stay out of sight. Don’t look out of the windows. Hide upstairs and under no circumstances unlock the door to anybody. Nobody. Understand?’

  ‘What about you, father?’ asked Margreet

  ‘Yes, you can unlock the door to me, just not to strangers.’

  ‘Where will you be? Stay with me, Papa.’

  ‘I’ll be safe. Half of Norwich will be outside that door. I’ll be up in the tower at the end of the street surrounded by men and weapons.’

  Margreet broke into more sobs. He hugged her tightly again.

  ‘You remember what to do?’

  ‘Yes, keep the door locked.’

  ‘And?’

  Margreet looked puzzled.

  ‘Fetch as much water as you can. Soak some sacks.’

  She sniffed and nodded. ‘Please stay with me,’ she pleaded.

  ‘I can’t. Be brave. Make sure you brace the door behind me.’

  Jan wiped a tear from his eye as he left his home. For the sake of his two beautiful daughters, he vowed he would fight these blasted rebels to the death.

  26

  With four pewter tankards full of ale in each hand, Alfred leant, pushing the dining room door open with his shoulder, careful not to spill the drinks. The pungent waft of men assaulted his nostrils. They had been planning their attack for an hour already. Alfred pushed between the two closest representatives and placed the tankards on the table.

  He was just in time to catch Mr Kett speaking.

  ‘I disagree. The most important thing is that we minimise the loss of life to our own side, a carefully planned attack will be much safer.’

  Alfred handed the last tankard to William Kett, who whispered, ‘Please empty the piss pot,’ motioning to the corner of the room.

  Alfred nodded.

  ‘We have to go now. You have to act fast and capitalise on the element of surprise,’ argued a fellow at the back. ‘If you give them time to prepare, take it from me as a man who has fought in campaigns, it will be easier for them to defend their position than for us to attack. The longer you wait, the more you hand them the advantage.’