by Tim Holden
Alfred appraised the metal chamber pot full to the brim with urine. Easily a gallon’s worth. Down the wooden panels of the wall behind the pot were the streaks from the spray of men relieving themselves. Alfred picked up the metal handle resting against the side of the pot. It was wet. He lifted the pot, slopping its contents from side to side.
Very carefully he made for the door, cursing himself for not checking the pot earlier.
‘If we go in a hurry, it will be chaos,’ countered Robert. ‘Men are full of ale by night-time and are at their most vengeful. If we go at dawn, they will be more alert and less disposed to set fire to everything. I remind you that all we need to achieve is to capture the alderman. Then we can assume power peacefully. Believe me I wanted to thrash them too when that herald left, but on reflection, sending all our forces will risk destroying the city and the risk to life is too great.’
Alfred rested the pot on the floor beyond the dining room door and heard the man by the fireplace speak.
‘We must storm the bridge with overwhelming force, this evening. In war, you must take the initiative.’
Fulke will be pleased, Alfred thought.
He emptied the pot in the garden hole and returned it to the dining room. In the kitchen he found Tiniker alone, filling a row of tankards with ale from the barrel.
‘Has Mrs Kett gone?’ he asked.
‘Yes. She went to walk around the camp.’
Pleased to be alone with Tiniker, Alfred thanked her.
‘It has been a hundred times easier with you here this afternoon.’
She smiled. ‘I’m not sure I was much help.’
‘I’m doing my best for Mr Kett, but it’s not easy on your own,’ he said, hoping she may volunteer to help him again.
‘You are fond of him, Mr Kett?’
‘Yes. If it weren’t for him I’d have no job. He offered me work at his tannery.’
‘Don’t you hate the smell?’ said Tiniker
Alfred’s mind flashed back to being thrown into pit thirteen and the foul water’s taste that made him want to gag.
‘It’s better than going hungry,’ he said, at last.
‘I’m thirsty, shall we share one of these?’ she said picking up on of the tankards, a mischievous smile on her face.
Before Alfred could stop her, she took a big gulp, wiped her mouth with the back of her arm and let out a satisfied burp. She passed him the tankard, and Alfred laughed and took a swig. It tasted good. He took another mouthful. It was strong, must be the first draft. Tiniker snatched the tankard from his hand and giggled as she took another mouthful. She passed back the tankard and lifted herself on to the table. Alfred had to take another sip to stop himself from becoming lost in the beauty of her cornflower blue eyes. She patted the table next to her. He followed her invitation and sat beside her.
‘They’ve been in there for an age,’ said Tiniker nodding her head in the direction of the dining room, ‘What are they planning?’
Alfred swallowed his mouthful and passed her the dregs of the ale. She finished it and put the tankard down.
‘From what I overheard, we’re going to attack the bridge.’
Tiniker shuddered. What would happen to her father? God let him be safe.
‘When?’
Alfred tried to recall the conversation he’d overheard.
‘One man wanted to attack now. But Mr Kett was talking about doing it the morning when men were sober.’
‘I hope my house will be safe.’
‘You can stay here.’
‘Alfred, it’s getting late, my father will be worried about me. I better go home.’
‘Will you come back tomorrow?’
Tiniker looked directly into his eyes. ‘Alfred, tomorrow, the world for us is going to change. Your kind are going to attack the city. My family and I might lose our home.’
Alfred frowned. ‘But Mr Kett has done everything he can to avoid violence.’
‘Alfred.’ Tiniker turned back to the window as the memories came flooding back. ‘I’ve seen what happens when mobs of men roam the streets in the name of justice. Such things happened in Flanders. Nobody is spared from their anger.’
Alfred shook his head. ‘I know Mr Kett as well as anybody. All he wants is to settle matters peacefully.’
‘Then he’s naive.’
‘Whose side are you on?’
A silence followed. Why wasn’t she supportive of their aims? Alfred couldn’t understand. People like him were being evicted from their homes so rich men could make room for more sheep. How could anybody ignore that?
‘I’m not on anybody’s side, Alfred.’ She pushed herself forward and slid off the table. ‘I just want my family to be safe.’
Alfred succumbed to an unexpected wave of panic. Who was Tiniker? He’d now confided everything in her, and with everything she now knew, she could alert the city. They would know Mr Kett’s plans. He rubbed his head in panic. The rebellion would fail, and Alfred would be to blame.
‘You can’t go.’
‘I must.’ Her face was red.
Alfred grabbed her arm.
‘You have to stay. It’s too dangerous.’.
She snatched it away. Anger flashed across her face. ‘Don’t touch me.’
‘Wait,’ said Alfred as she ran towards the door.
‘Alfred, get off me!’ She pulled her arm away for the second time.
‘Tiniker, let me explain, please,’ pleaded Alfred.
She stood still, her arms folded across her chest. Tiniker was headstrong, she stood up for herself, which Alfred found it impressive, attractive even.
‘This afternoon, with you, has been,’ he paused and looked at his feet, ‘the best afternoon I have spent in as long as I can remember since my wife died,’ he added, remembering his earlier lie. His heart fluttered as she smiled briefly. She was exquisite, even when riled. He had to make this right. ‘It’s just… I have told you too much. If you were to go home and tell of our plans, Mr Kett might be defeated, and well that would be my fault. I’d in so much trouble, I…’
‘I’m not going to tell anybody,’ said Tiniker, her cheeks flushing.
‘You have to promise. If you don’t…’
Tiniker stood on tiptoes and planted a kiss on his lips. For a brief second Alfred felt like singing to the heavens. ‘I promise.’
Alfred breathed a sigh of relief. He managed a brief smile too. He believed her. ‘Thank you.’
‘Can I go now?’
He nodded.
‘Can I see you again?’ asked Alfred.
Tiniker grinned at the clumsy but handsome man stood before her; there was something endearing about him about his innocence, yet also something slightly dangerous about him. When he’d grabbed her arm, she’d felt vulnerable. It had surprised her because there was a vulnerability to Alfred also; maybe it was because he’d lost his wife so young? His misfortune compelled her to care for him. Tiniker had lost her mother and knew the pain of bereavement. Tiniker stopped herself from dwelling on such sentiments; emotions were dangerous. She dismissed them. They were the influence of the ale.
She flashed her eyes. ‘Walk me back?’
Alfred agreed willingly.
They slipped out of the kitchen door into the small orchard behind Surrey House. He went first, over the low wall that enclosed the orchard, and then held Tiniker’s hand as she clambered over. Together they made their way through the camp at the rear of the house. Everyone looked anxious and expectant, as they awaited Mr Kett’s instructions. She was struck by a sense of impending danger. The air crackled with nervous energy like the calm before a storm. Everywhere she looked she saw weapons: bows and arrows, axes, clubs, knives, hammers, scythes, sticks, rocks. She was filled with dread.
Steward had sent her here for this very reason. She was a spy. Providence had brought her to Alfred so she could leverage some advantage for the defenders.
*
Sensing her fear, Alfred tried to reassure Tiniker
with a smile. Was this love? He didn’t know, but he liked it. Picking their way through the camp, he thought of Tiniker discovering that his wife was both alive and living here. Then, too, she would learn that working for Mr Kett was punishment for beating his wife with a stick. These revelations would be sure to put an end to his burgeoning friendship.
A man approached with a roe deer draped over his shoulders. The arrow that had killed it was still poking out from the beast’s heart. Tiniker pressed into Alfred as they lent back to avoid him.
It was Adam Catchpole. Alfred dropped his chin to his chest, and marched quickly, head down.
‘Alfred, long time no see.’
In vain.
‘Adam,’ said Alfred, feigning surprise.
‘Who’s this pretty girl with you then?’ he grinned.
‘Just a friend,’ said Alfred nervously.
‘Hello,’ said Tiniker, doing a small curtsey, mockingly.
‘That stag looks heavy, Adam, you best be getting on. Eat well.’
Alfred hurried on, walking Tiniker to the bottom of the gully, before squeezing her hand and saying goodbye. He was disappointed not to get another kiss. He offered to call on her and her family tomorrow and reassured them there would be no harm come to them if he had his way. He watched her walk back towards the bridge.
She didn’t look back.
*
On the far side of the bridge, Tiniker knocked on the closed gate.
‘Be off with you,’ a voice called out.
She knocked again, before realising that she was locked out. On either side of the gatehouse, teams of men were hastily piling up banks of earth in the hope it would keep the rebels out. She pitied them, knowing as she did what was to come at them.
She considered her options, to the left the river was shallow enough to cross — she would have to brave the waters.
‘Tiniker!’
From the top of the gatehouse, between the crenulations, her father was waving. He ran down and after laboriously unlocking the gate and removing the oak beams, let her back in.
Tiniker hugged her father, relieved to see him.
‘You have been in their camp?’ he quizzed her, in his native tongue.
‘Ja.’
‘Thank God you are safe.’
She might be back within the walls of the city, yet she felt more in danger now than she did in the camp with Alfred, amongst their enemies. Had she knowingly walked back into a trap? She could see the anguish on her father’s face.
He hugged her again.
‘They attack tomorrow, father,’ she whispered.
Jan had been convinced they could come now, at any minute. Now they had time to finish their defences.
‘I must go and tell Mr Steward, father.’
Jan agreed.
‘Then go home. Margreet needs you.’ He kissed her goodbye, his stubble scratching her soft cheek.
As she rounded the bend by the chancel of the cathedral, a troop of soldiers approached. She counted fifty, in uniform and carrying halberds. She pressed herself against the wall to let them pass. A few whistled at her, the rest ignored her, preoccupied with their task ahead. Behind them followed archers, hundreds of them with unstrung longbows. With every archer who passed, her confidence mounted. They will look after father, she reassured herself. Then came a horse and cart laden with barrels full of arrows. She wondered how many would die here tomorrow? Why did men have to be so stubborn and resolve all their differences with violence? The land would be a better place if it were run by women.
Looking up at Mr Steward’s door, she knocked. No answer. Frustrated, she turned to face the street.
‘Well, well. Look who it is. My little spy.’
It was Augustine Steward, approaching from the street, closely followed by a clerk carrying armfuls of vellum parchments. Towering over her, closer than was necessary, he wore a self-satisfied expression that made her want to retch. His breath smelled of wine and garlic. Although she resented being referred to as ‘his’, she bowed and acknowledged his greeting. He brushed past her as he pushed to open his front door. Together they made their way upstairs to his parlour were she dutifully recounted all that she had learned.
*
As the evening sun fell behind the city, the rebel camp assembled at the Oak of Reformation. There was a crackle of expectation in the evening air. Alfred found himself at the back of the crowd and had to stand on tiptoes to see. There was a tap on his shoulder. It was Fulke. Beside him, Geoffrey Lincoln and Adam Catchpole.
‘Alfred, you old fox. Twice in one day!’
‘Fulke,’ said Alfred, surprised. ‘What are the chances of seeing you here?’
‘I’m like a bad penny, Alfred,’ grinned Fulke, ‘you’ve been in Surrey House, what’s the news? Between friends.’
Alfred leant over, and in a whisper, said, ‘We’re attacking Norwich. Of that I am certain.’
‘Excellent.’ Fulke rubbed his hands together. ‘Alfred, you little legend. Tonight?’
Alfred felt privileged. He knew what everyone wanted to know. It was nice to have the answers, for once.
‘Tomorrow.’
‘Damn you, Kett. Making me wait. There’s a city full of gentlemen to beat up, women to rape and plunder to steal. How does he expect me to sleep tonight?’
‘Alfred won’t be raping anyone, now he’s got his new fancy girl,’ said Adam.
Fulke turned his head to look at Adam, making sure he’d heard him right, ‘What’s this?’ he said, ‘You keeping secrets from me, Alfred?’
‘No!’ Alfred’s cheeks reddened.
‘You’ve been rutting some girl in that fancy house?’
‘No,’ Alfred shook his head.
‘They were walking hand in hand when I spied them,’ added Adam.
‘You sneaky bastard,’ said Fulke, ‘where is she?’
Alfred gritted his teeth. ‘She’s just a girl from the city, that’s all.’
‘If she’s with the enemy then she’s fair game tomorrow then,’ said Fulke.
‘She’s not the enemy, Fulke.’ Alfred’s patience for this nonsense was breaking.
Fulke moved behind Alfred and grabbed his arm, twisting it behind his back. Alfred wriggled, but he was trapped in Fulke’s vice-like grip.
‘Her name?’
‘Stop it, Fulke,’
Fulke twisted harder.
‘All right. Tiniker.’
‘That wasn’t so hard was it? What sort of name is that?’
Fulke’s grip loosened, and Alfred snatched his arm free. ‘Piss off, Fulke.’
‘Oi, you young scroat, don’t forget who you’re talking to,’ said Fulke, pointing his finger at Alfred.
He was spared further interrogation by the arrival of Robert Kett climbing up on to his dais under the oak tree. There was an almighty cheer from the crowd. Mr Kett started to speak, and they fell silent. Alfred had to strain to hear him at this distance.
‘My fellow men,’ Kett began, ‘we have come a long way. We wanted to make our voices heard. I am sorry to say that we have not been heard. The time for talking is over. The time for action is upon us.’
Jittery excitement and shock ran through the crowd.
‘We have been peaceful. However, our goodwill and offer of peace is to be punished. The lord protector has ordered the city to close its gates to us and no longer supply us with food.’
The crowd booed and jeered.
‘He may well close his gates, but we shall take his city,’ declared Kett.
Fulke cheered. So did a great many others. Watching the crowd around him, Alfred thought for every man who cheered, there was another in stunned silence.
‘Tomorrow we capture Norwich. This will not be easy. The city will be heavily defended. You must know that some of you may lose your lives. I remind you, therefore, that every man here is here of his own free will. I won’t think less of any man who wishes to retire.’
Mr Kett let his words drift across the heads of the
crowd. Nobody moved.
‘I am confident with God’s help and our superior numbers that we will capture the city. I remind you also that we take up arms against our fellow Englishmen. They have orders to repel us. Unlike us, they don’t choose the orders they are given but are required to obey them all the same. So, I beseech you defend yourselves with all your strength, but so long as this protest bears my name, there shall be no wanton slaying of Englishmen, no plundering and no torching of property. Many of us sell our wares in Norwich, and we stand nothing to gain by destroying it. We must act with mercy if we are to be successful in achieving our reforms.’
‘Bollocks to that,’ whispered Fulke under his breath. ‘You’ll never get another chance for a dust up like this again.’
Alfred’s stomach lurched.
Mr Kett continued, ‘Your representatives will meet with you this evening and communicate your battle orders. I bid you goodnight. Say your prayers and fill your stomachs for tomorrow. You shall need all the strength you can muster.’
Alfred heard a faint noise carried on the evening breeze from the city. Then the noise, a faint boom, came again. Screams rose up in the distance.
He tried to see what had just happened.
Two further booms.
People were running. Panic spread across the crowd. People were thrown forward, flattening those in front of them trying to flee. Hysterical screams pierced the air. Crowds ran in all directions, tripping over one another as they dashed for shelter. As Alfred turned to look at Fulke, something flew through the air and knocked over a woman behind him. Blood sprayed from her mouth as she flew forward, only to be crushed underfoot.
It was then that Alfred understood what was happening. It was the city’s cannon. They were being bombarded.
27
22nd July, Mousehold Heath
Fulke lowered the smouldering taper to the powder hole, his ears still ringing like church bells from the night before, a broad grin stretched across his face.
‘Good morning, Norwich,’ he said to himself.
There was a brief fizz as the taper touched the powder hole, followed by an almighty bang that shook the ground. Flame and white smoke spat forth from the barrel. The cannon lurched backwards against its chocks, and the trees rustled as birds fled for cover. A lead ball the size of a baby’s head flew from the heights of the escarpment towards Norwich. It had no particular target, but it was sure to hit something.
