by Tim Holden
‘Search me,’ said Steward, ‘but it will be you they blame for it.’
‘Have you come here to antagonise me?’ Robert stood up, his chair legs scraping across the floor. ‘Because I remind you, Mr Steward, I am in charge, and you are only free to sit here at my pleasure. I have cells full of men like yourself, and unless you wish to join them in their squalor, you’d better start by helping.’
‘I will do anything to keep Norwich, and it’s people safe from tyranny.’
‘You accuse me of tyranny?’ barked Robert.
‘No more than I do those fools from London.’
‘Mayor Codd, what do you propose I do with your deputy?’ asked Robert, his fists pressed into the table taking his weight.
Mayor Codd shrugged, turning his gaze towards the window. ‘See what he offers.’
Steward cleared his throat and looked more at ease. ‘Mr Kett, if you’ll pardon me for speaking plainly, I believe circumstances demand it. We must look forward. Have you ever prodded a wasps’ nest with a stick?’
‘I thought you were speaking plain?’ retorted Robert.
‘When you disturb a wasps’ nest, the wasps don’t negotiate, they don’t seek to understand your intentions, even if they are honourable. No, the wasps sting you. All of them. I have served in parliament. I know London, and I’ve seen the people on the other side of your actions. You need to understand that they can’t give you what you seek because they don’t know how. Now you have killed Lord Sheffield, you have crossed a line. There won’t be any more negotiating or posturing, just the wrath of angry wasps.’
Robert clenched his jaw. ‘And?’
‘My city bears the scars of this dispute. By the time you are both done, I doubt there will be anything left.’
‘Your city?’ piped up Mayor Codd.
‘I treat it as if it were my own,’ replied Steward.
‘Taking its fruits as you please.’
‘Enough.’ Robert clapped his hands.
‘Mr Kett,’ said Steward, ‘if you are serious about your demands, you can’t wait for them to be handed to you, like alms to the poor. If I have learnt one thing during my career, it is if you want something you have to either take it or build it.’
Robert gripped the table with his hands. ‘What do you propose?’
‘You have two choices. You up sticks and take your army to London while his majesty’s forces are predisposed in Cornwall. Batter down the door and refuse to leave until your demands are met.’
‘What happens if the king, or Seymour, refuse?’
‘You must be prepared to kill them.’ Steward’s cold eyes bored into Robert’s skull, watching for his expression, testing his resolve.
‘You’d be a marked man for the rest of your life, Robert,’ added the mayor.
Robert nodded.
‘Or, you stay here and ready yourself for whatever is coming this way.’
Steward rubbed his chin while he waited for him to respond. Mayor Codd took another swig, larger than his previous one.
‘Is that the extent of your advice, Mr Steward?’
‘Only, you can’t wait,’ Steward cleared his throat. ‘You have no food.’
‘You seem to be enjoying this too much for my liking, Steward.’
Steward sat forward. ‘You need supplies. You need to make them think you can last longer than they can. You need a port. You need money. You need weapons. You need order and discipline.’
‘Nobody is more aware of my current needs than I.’
‘At present you are a target, sitting here in the dark like a flaming beacon. A direct attack will test you and most likely defeat you.’
Robert frowned.
‘If, however,’ continued Steward, ‘you were three targets? What then? You are blessed with the sea on three sides. You can’t be encircled, and with a seaport or two, you can be resupplied. Mr Kett, you must secure King’s Lynn to the west and Yarmouth to the east. You must commandeer their treasuries.’
‘And find them as empty as yours?’
Mayor Codd shuffled in his seat.
‘If you want to defeat a king,’ continued Steward, ‘you must start thinking like one, and what is more, acting like one.’
‘And what about you, Steward?’ asked Mayor Codd. ‘What will your part be?’
‘I am here, making a contribution, am I not, Mayor?’
‘Hedging your bets perhaps,’ replied the mayor.
Robert leaned back in his chair. Steward’s suggestions raised more questions than answers in Robert’s mind. He decided to keep his counsel quiet for the time being.
‘Thereafter,’ said Steward, ‘wherever they choose to attack, must be where you, Robert Kett, are not. You must attack them under the cloak of darkness or when they move, whittling away their numbers and their supply lines avoiding a direct confrontation. You must fight dirty.’
‘There is no honour in it, Robert,’ declared the mayor.
‘True, but there is no victory to be had in the alternatives.’
The door opened. ‘William, you’re just in time, come and hear the deputy mayor’s plan for defeating the king.’
‘You are on our side, are you?’ said William, standing at the head of the table.
‘I doubt it,’ said the mayor.
William mouthed to Robert, ‘Peter is in the ground.’
‘Then you negotiate. Whatever demands you want to make. Whatever spoils you want for yourself,’ Steward went on.
Robert shook his head. ‘This is not about my personal gain. I am not a politician.’
‘It will be. It always comes to that once you realise the extent of the sacrifice you have made for others. But that’s for another day. Once you have won, you can do as you please. Form a new kingdom, break away from England if it pleases you?’
Robert laughed. ‘One thing at a time, Steward.’
‘Robert,’ Mayor Codd leaned forward, ‘remind me, what is the deputy is offering you?’
‘Do you know. I’m still not sure.’
‘What say you we have him placed in the cells, out of harm’s way, with the rest of his kind?’ suggested William.
‘Good idea, brother. Better to be safe than sorry.’ Staring directly at Steward, he added, ‘We can’t be too careful nowadays.’
William strode over to Steward and gripped his cloak, ‘Come on, you, up you get.’
‘Wait,’ said Steward.
William winked at Robert.
‘Go on.’
‘I have no desire to be imprisoned. I believe I can be of more profit to you out than in.’
‘So you keep saying. How exactly?’
William twisted his grip on Steward’s gown. ‘I have a property at Welborne, not far from your own land holdings. You may hide there, keep it for as long as it pleases you. I have no need of it.’
‘Deputy mayor, it pities me that you should judge me by your own standards. I have no desire to hide and even less to profit from this situation. William, take him away.’
William marched him towards the door.
Steward turned to face Robert. ‘What if I could get you money?’
Mayor Codd jerked round in his chair.
‘Yours?’ asked Robert.
‘No, I have little wealth left, thanks to you. The king’s money.’
‘Go on.’
William released him.
‘There are plenty in London who’d take delight in seeing Seymour fail, and,’ Steward spoke in a hushed voice, as if the treason was somehow a lesser offence when spoken in a whisper, ‘the child king. One friend in particular at the exchequer could extend you a line of credit from the treasury.’
Robert laughed. ‘Now we are talking, Mr Steward.’
Mayor Codd let out a sigh.
‘No less than a thousand gold coins,’ said Robert.
‘That is an enormous sum!’ gasped Steward.
‘It is, you’re right, but that is the price of your freedom, and with it I shall restore order in
the city you claim to love so much.’
Steward cleared his throat. ‘Well, if you’ll excuse me, I better be going. I have work to do.’
‘Remember, Steward, we have nothing, and therefore at this stage, nothing to lose. A thousand gold coins, no less. The king can pay for his own rebellion,’ grinned Robert, unable to conceal his delight. There was nothing like a minor victory to restore one’s belief in one’s own actions.
Steward straightened his cloak and exited the room.
Once the door had closed, Mayor Codd leant across the table. ‘What if he double-crosses you?’
Robert shrugged. ‘Then he knows what we have in store for him.’
William picked up Steward’s full tankard. ‘Well, I propose a toast,’ he lifted his drink, ‘to Augustine Steward.’
Robert laughed and followed suit. Even Mayor Codd raised his drink.
42
6th August, Norwich Cathedral
The overgrown lawn had been trodden flat by the crowd now gathered in front of the cathedral doors. Here, leading to the nave, sat Robert. Before him stood John Cooper; his pox-scarred face defiant, his hands tied with twine behind his back. He waited for Robert to give his verdict. Robert wondered if his scars accounted for his behaviour. He’d seen it before with survivors of the pox, either grateful for a second chance at life or resentful about the disfiguring effects of the disease.
Behind Cooper’s shoulder, Fulke kept a watchful eye on the man he’d brought to trial.
Whispers and murmurs rippled quietly through the crowd while they waited to see the measure of Kett’s justice. Robert took his time, oblivious to the skein of geese that flew overhead. Behind him the cathedral doors were propped open to let the bad airs out.
After pleading with his representatives to withdraw their communities to the heath, Robert had finally resigned himself to the inevitable reality that his followers were determined to benefit from the comfort of the city. The cathedral had been commandeered as a dormitory. He rather hoped the Godliness of the surroundings might rub off on some of the more unruly members, but so far, his wishes had gone unrewarded. With so many men at large, unburdened by their normal tasks, the threat of lawlessness was never far away. He estimated a thousand or so men still braved the heath. The rest had made their own arrangements, sheltering from the morning dew in the empty homes of the city they found at their disposal.
Robert had introduced a curfew to keep his rebels indoors each night. It wasn’t enforced with much discipline, but those Fulke suspected of wrongdoing were followed to ensure they weren’t looting or vandalising the properties of the city’s inhabitants, many of whom had fled to find sanctuary elsewhere.
Steward had reminded Robert of his earlier principles; swift justice was not enough to remedy people’s wanton behaviour. Official justice needed to be seen to be done to set an example for others to follow. Robert was now presiding over the first of his reinstated open trials. The previous defendants had been landowners and corrupt nobility. They were either already in custody or had fled the reach of Robert’s justice, leaving his own rebels as the only offenders guilty of crimes. The mood was proving to be sourer than that of former trials he’d conducted on the heath.
‘Cooper, you have been in front of me before today, having disturbed the peace once already,’ said Robert. ‘Indeed, I sent you away, and yet, like a bad penny, here you are before me again. Have you anything to say for yourself?’
Cooper shrugged.
He had the loyal support of twenty archers for whom Norwich was their home. Men that would be useful in defending the city against a royal army, should one come. However, in the meantime, Cooper had sought fit to enter a merchant’s house, relive the merchant of his silver and impose himself on the merchant’s wife. The merchant had appealed to Steward, who’d presented him to Robert to make his charges. He now waited at Robert’s side with an expectant expression on his face.
Robert cleared his throat. ‘Cooper, I order you to repay the silver you stole.’
‘Can’t,’ interrupted Cooper, ‘your man relieved me of it.’ He nodded his head in the direction of Fulke.
‘Fulke, do you have the merchant’s money?’
‘Yes, have it here ready.’ His hand rummaged in his clothing before he passed the merchant a small handful of coins.
The merchant examined his money. ‘This is mine, but only a fraction of what the man took.’
Fulke shrugged. ‘It was all he had.’
Cooper returned Robert’s stare. ‘Fulke, in the shadow of his building, with God as your witness, do you swear those coins to be all that you found?’
Fulke nodded.
‘Cooper, I sentence you to one week in captivity.’
Cooper spat on the floor at Robert’s feet. Some of the onlookers booed and hissed. The merchant protested that one week was a pitiful sentence. ‘What about the violation of my wife, surely I am due compensation?’
Robert dismissed the protests with a wave of his hand. He would negotiate an earlier release in private so that Cooper and his men would be available in the event of another attack.
‘This trial is over. Fulke, take him to the castle.’ Robert stood up and addressed the crowd. ‘Let that serve as a warning to you all. I seek to build a just and fair society, not a lawless free-for-all. Any of you guilty of the same can expect a similar outcome. Now I beseech you, take your places in the cathedral and listen to the pastor I have organised for you.’
‘What about food?’ called out an anonymous face from the crowd.
Food, food, food, they began to chant.
‘Bread will be served,’ shouted Robert, ‘after the service! Say your prayers daily. Earn your daily bread.’
As the grumbling crowd began to move toward the cathedral, Steward grabbed Robert’s arm and pulled him away from the melee.
‘Robert,’ said Steward, ‘troubling news.’
Mayor Codd approached, eager to be included.
‘I see you are in dressed in new clothes. Where did this doublet appear from?’ asked the mayor, pointing to Steward’s purple jacket. ‘I thought you’d been relieved of your wealth.’
‘My attire is no concern of yours, mayor,’ said Steward. Then, cupping his mouth with his hand as protection from eavesdroppers, he confided, ‘Word from London this morning. Yesterday, royal forces confronted villages loyal to the rebels in Cornwall. The rebels were caught off guard. Many were captured before they could escape.’
‘I see.’
Steward cleared his throat. ‘Then they were executed.’
‘Good God. How many?’
‘Reports suggest eight hundred men had their throats cuts.’
Robert’s eyes widened. He felt the knot in his twist tighter.
‘Surely, such reports are exaggerated?’ suggested Mayor Codd. ‘Fearmongering.’
Steward ignored the mayor. ‘We are dealing with a wounded animal.’
‘Are the rebels in Cornwall defeated?’ asked Robert as his thoughts started to settle on the implications for them.
‘No. Many escaped. We can assume they will keep the army tied down there for a time yet.’
‘I cannot bring myself to believe such rumours,’ said Mayor Codd, determined to call Steward’s information into question.
‘What news have you, mayor?’ retaliated Steward.
Robert shook his head. The two men had been bickering like siblings ever since Steward had made good on his promise to secure money from the government. Having exploited his associate at the treasury, he had extracted three hundred pounds of silver coins from the government coffers. The money had been a godsend. The night watchmen yesterday, upon reinstatement of their pay, had agreed to resume their patrols. Carpenters and blacksmiths had been commissioned to repair the city gates; the bakeries were provided with flour, and the brewers were supplying ale again. Even the prisoners could look forward to some overdue nourishment.
Robert had bought a wherry full of salted fish. He had cr
inged at the price, but the merchants were canny enough to know how desperate he was and that he didn’t have the time to go elsewhere. When the boat had arrived this morning, he’d remarked that it was the most expensive piece of fish he’d ever eaten.
The deal had confirmed what Steward had suggested; they needed to secure a port. Rather than take one by force, Robert had compromised. Yesterday he sent William, with a force of one hundred men upriver to the coastal town of Yarmouth. They took with them a letter and a chest of silver. The letter stated they had come to administer the town in the name of the king. The silver, to grease the palms of any alderman suffering misgivings.
Robert now planned to head back to Surrey House, eager to see Alice. He expected word from William at any moment. If he’d been successful, it was Robert’s intention to leave William in charge of Yarmouth.
‘Mr Kett.’
It was Thomas Garrod, one of the representatives who’d been with Robert since the first days of camp.
‘Walk with me,’ said Robert.
‘Sir, the men of my hundred grow restless.’
Robert frowned. ‘Do you want me to have a play organised for them?’
‘They want to return to their homes.’
Robert sighed.
‘They fear for their harvest. The weather has been dry. They have much work to do.’
‘I understand, Thomas, but what of our cause if we all return home? Would you have me fight the government on my own?’
‘My words fall on deaf ears. Some of them claim to have seen a magpie possessed of evil spirits in the tree over their shelters. They say it is an omen and that we’ll perish like the men in Cornwall.’
‘Nonsense, Thomas,’ Robert reassured him. ‘It’s a magpie in a tree, nothing more. It’s not the devil.’
‘Their minds are set.’
Robert stopped walking. ‘Well, bloody unset them, Thomas.’
Thomas shook his head. ‘There is one other solution which I can volunteer.’
Robert looked at him.
‘They return to their fields, but instead of returning to their homes, they camp on their common as a show of solidarity to Robert Kett?’
‘I have a much better idea, Thomas,’ said Robert as he started to walk away. ‘They stay here and ready themselves for the fight of their lives.’
