Spirals of Fate

by Tim Holden

  An hour must have passed while Robert stared at the ceiling, ignoring his call of nature. His sanctuary was disturbed by a faint knock. The door crept open, squeaking on its hinge. From the corner of his eye, he could see Alfred carrying two tankards.

  Robert ignored him, oblivious to the smile on the young lad’s face.

  ‘I’ve brought you last night’s rainwater from the butts,’ he whispered. He placed a tankard at each side of the bed. ‘Would you like me to empty the chamber pot?’

  Robert shook his head, so Alfred left.

  He heard the clatter of people moving about downstairs. Coughs, yawns, creaking floorboards and chatter, the dawn chorus of Surrey House coming to life. Outside the bedroom door he listened to the footsteps of people walking along the corridor, relieved when they didn’t stop at his door. It would not be long before people wanted to talk to him about the king’s army, the boy who stole the milk, and everything in between. Robert wanted nothing more than to spend the day in bed.

  It was early afternoon when Alice and William finally dragged Robert out of the house, with Mayor Codd close behind. Despite his protests, they refused to tell him for what purpose he was needed in Norwich. Not even the fine weather could assuage Robert’s temper from fraying as they crossed Bishopsgate Bridge on the now very familiar journey.

  ‘If I am required to lead, I should damn well know what’s going on,’ said Robert making no attempt to hide his frustration.

  He didn’t like surprises. Alice squeezed his hand and asked that he trust her.

  Their walk continued in silence. They cut through the cathedral grounds, past the cloisters and over the lawn to the front doors.

  ‘What the blazes is going on?’ asked Robert when he saw they meant to enter.

  ‘You’ll see,’ replied William pushing open the small door cut into a much larger one.

  Robert followed his brother through. The nave was full of people, numbering thousands. Those lucky enough to have seats rose to their feet. Every pair of eyes was trained on Robert. He wondered what in God’s name was going on as a mild panic returned to his body. I better not have to address this lot unprepared, he thought. Alice took his hand in hers, and William stepped to the side. The choir began to sing, and their voices reverberated up and against the stone columns and walls, filling the air with their angelic melody. The hairs on Robert’s neck prickled. He recognised the composition. It was Thomas Tallis: Ave Dei patris filia. His favourite.

  Alice led him down the aisle, between the smiling faces, and Robert felt like the bride at a wedding. The front bench had been reserved for them. They took their seats. The rest of the congregation sat.

  Mayor Codd was no longer with them. Robert looked around and saw the mayor had stayed at the back.

  ‘Was this your idea?’ he whispered to Alice. She smiled. Robert closed his eyes and let the music fill his ears.

  As the moments passed, his body relaxed. The tune was magnificent. Such a composition was as impressive an accomplishment as the cathedral. He reflected on what man was capable of. How could a being capable of creating such beauty, be capable of the violence that he’d witnessed? Violence that he’d had a hand in.

  How will I account to God for this?

  The choir fell quiet. A pastor mounted the pulpit and offered a brief prayer, his ample voice sufficient to reach the extremities of the building.

  ‘We are gathered here under God to celebrate the labours of Robert Kett.’

  Robert tried to swallow the lump in his throat. This service was for him. He looked at Alice, whose lips betrayed a proud smile.

  Robert shook his head. Sneaky mare, he thought to himself.

  The pastor continued, elucidating at length the qualities required to lead men in a cause that one believed in. Qualities Jesus had shown the world.

  ‘Virtues like those of Luther,’ he continued.

  Don’t mention Luther, thought Robert, his name was enough to get the catholic half of the congregation up in arms. Robin Hood might have been a less controversial choice.

  ‘Qualities that one man here has shown, time and time again. Sacrifices he has made in the service of those he leads. One man, above all others, here today in this house of God, has followed the example laid down by the son of God. That man is Robert Kett.’

  Robert grew teary.

  The comparison to Jesus was far-fetched, but he was now overcome by an awareness of what he’d achieved and the impact he’d had on people’s lives, the community. Whatever may lie ahead, after just one brief summer, his would be a name that lived through history, a name that would pass down the generations.

  He was exhausted, bruised and battered and still, somehow, he was here, at the head of his people.

  He fought to compose himself.

  The pastor invited a layperson to address the crowd. She was a woman in her twenties accompanied by a small boy, who stood at her hip. She told her story: how her family had been evicted, and how the courts wouldn’t let them bring a charge against the lord of the manor. She’d been to see him in person. He’d beaten her and raped her. She fought back her own tears as she talked. She said she’d wished to die, and had it not been for her son, she would have gladly taken her own life. She didn’t want to go on living in a land where rich men could do as they pleased with no regard for those they trod on. She said her family had joined the rebellion because Robert Kett was a good man who was prepared to stand up to those in power. She said she was prepared to lay down her life so that her children may grow up in a better world than the one in which she had.

  The pastor asked her son what he wished for.

  The boy mumbled: ‘For my mummy to be happy and for my family to be safe.’

  The pastor repeated the answer loud enough for the congregation to hear. Robert had heard the boy’s own words for himself and gritted his teeth. This was why he had come this far, and that was why he must continue. These people couldn’t go back and face their masters after this. They had no choice but to prevail.

  The pastor invited the congregation to pray. They bowed their heads and said their prayers in English.

  ‘Amen.’

  They stood to sing.

  Robert found his voice. The hairs on his neck prickled as the cathedral resounded with their voices. The knot in his gut began to loosen.

  ‘I doubt this house of God has ever witnessed such impassioned singing,’ said the pastor.

  The congregation remained standing, and the pastor repeated, ‘Let us give thanks to the Lord for Robert Kett.’

  The service ended. Robert and Alice led the congregation out, and Robert was halfway down the aisle when everyone present burst into applause. The clapping was deafening. Robert took a deep breath, glanced at Alice, her arm wrapped around his.

  Outside, he was mobbed by well-wishers, wanting to thank him for his courage. Some asked for help with their grievances, but one man accused him of hypocrisy: jabbing his finger.

  ‘Are you going to rebuild it for me, Robert Kett?’ he hollered.

  Another man came to Robert’s defence, shoving the complainant away.

  Robert pulled Alice away as the first blows were exchanged.

  They quickly made their way back to Surrey House.

  ‘Whose idea was that, then?’ asked Robert as they waked down Bishopsgate.

  Alice squeezed his hand. ‘We thought you’d earned it.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  The gatehouse at the foot of the bridge was unmanned. Its brickwork bore the scars of the rebel cannonballs. Small drifts of earth banked up against the walls that enclosed either side as if the bridge were the only reminder of the mound that had briefly blocked their access to the city. It had taken a mere afternoon to unblock the road before they could send the captured weapons, powder and prisoners back to the camp. It seemed like a long time ago. Robert shivered as he thought back to that day. The day he’d failed and resorted to violence. It had only brought more violence, death, arson and burglary.
r />   Since that day, Norwich had descended into Sodom. He sighed. He brought them to a halt at the apex of the bridge and looked over the side. The river was murky from the rain last night. Alice said nothing as he stared blankly into its depths, watching the dust and debris drift slowly towards the coast. Robert felt like a piece of flotsam himself, drifting east farther and farther from his home. How nice it would be to go home, he thought, even for one night. He could catch a boat home from here. He pictured the route in his mind, east at first, turn right onto the Yare, double back south of Norwich, then turn left where the Tiffey met the Yare at Barford. He’d tried to buy some old monastic land around there and had been outbid by Flowerdew. He’d just been appointed escheator to the king and was flush with cash from his first confiscations.

  Robert jolted as inspiration hit him.

  The answer to his problems had been beneath his feet the whole time. Robert had been so preoccupied that he hadn’t given a second thought to his old nemesis. Amongst the trials and tribulations of the rebellion, he’d failed to see what was suddenly so obvious: Flowerdew was a direct line to the king.

  Dragging Alice behind him, he said, ‘Come on love, I’ve got a prisoner to bargain with.’

  45

  ‘What do you mean he’s missing?’ shouted Robert. ‘You brought him back here, didn’t you?’

  Alfred stood in the doorway, squirming like a child that needed to pee. His injured arm sat across his chest in a sling.

  ‘Look at me when I’m talking to you,’ snarled Robert. ‘Where did you put Flowerdew?’

  Alfred looked away.

  ‘Stop dithering, lad.’

  ‘Go easy, Robert. Alfred. The facts,’ said William, his voice calm.

  ‘Here’s a fact for you, William,’ said Robert turning his temper on his brother. ‘There’s a good chance an army is going to come here and try and kill us. It would be very helpful to speak to the king and Flowerdew is one person who knows the king, and until moments ago, a man we had under lock and key. Now he’s vanished like the fucking princes in the tower!’

  William looked away towards the window.

  ‘Tell me, Alfred, no better still, show me.’ Robert marched round the table and grabbed Alfred by his good arm. ‘Show me where you put him.’

  He dragged Alfred across the hallway to the cellar door.

  Alfred fumbled for the keys. ‘He’s not down there, Mr Kett.’

  ‘It seems you’re not even capable of wiping your own arse, so why should I trust that you have checked the cell properly?’ He waited for Alfred to unlock the door. Alfred pulled the door open, and the human stench wafted upstairs.

  ‘Good God,’ said Robert. ‘Come on, lead the way.’

  He followed Alfred down the stone steps into the darkness of the cellar.

  ‘Mind out,’ said Alfred to the prisoner slumped at the bottom of the stairs.

  ‘Flowerdew?’ called out Robert. ‘Where are you? I’m going to release you.’ In the faint light, prisoners began to stir. ‘Flowerdew, this is Robert Kett. Come out.’

  ‘He’s not here.’

  ‘Who’s that?’

  ‘Sir Roger Wodehouse,’ he croaked and stepped forward out of the gloom.

  Jesus.

  They’d captured Wodehouse at Hellesdon the day before they set up camp on the heath. The poor soul had been here ever since — time enough to grow a beard. He looked thin and frail, squinting against the small trickle of daylight from the top of the stairs. Robert grunted. Sir Roger would know. He lived at Kimberley, making him and Flowerdew neighbours.

  ‘He might have been moved to the castle,’ suggested Alfred. ‘We moved the majority of prisoners when it became too crowded here.’

  ‘No,’ said Sir Roger, recovering from his coughing fit, ‘he was never here.’

  ‘So tell me, Alfred, where did you put him after you marched him back from the guildhall?’

  ‘I stopped at the bottom of the heath. My father in law had been killed in the fighting. I had to pay my last respects,’ said Alfred, falling over his words.

  ‘Did he offer you a bribe?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Alfred. What happened to Flowerdew?’

  ‘I’m not sure, Mr Kett. He and the other prisoners were all with the carts when I left them. Everybody started pushing the carts uphill, and I wasn’t needed and…’

  Alfred was babbling.

  ‘Enough,’ snapped Robert. ‘You’re not leaving my sight, Alfred. You’re going to scrub this cellar clean — so clean it smells like a spring meadow. I wouldn’t keep swine in these conditions.’

  Robert was ashamed at the treatment that had been allowed to occur under his feet.

  ‘Robert, release me, please. I could help you?’

  ‘Sir Roger, after spending weeks down here I think any man would have sufficient justification to raise an army of men hell-bent on slaughtering me. For certain, I would.’

  ‘Please let me go. I beg you.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I can’t take that chance.’

  ‘Save us,’ came a voice from the murky depths of the cellar.

  Robert turned to climb the stairs as voices start to murmur around the cellar. He stopped halfway up the stair.

  ‘Alfred, who else guarded the prisoners with you that day?’

  ‘Fulke, Gunner, Miles and two others I didn’t recognise.’

  Robert ran the rest of the steps and took a lung full of fresh air in the hallway.

  That evening, Surrey House was dark and quiet when Robert made his way up the stairs to bed. A trace of candlelight escaped under his door. Alice was lying, awake, in bed. Robert sat on the bed and untied his shoes. He dropped his clothes in a pile on the floor and got under the cover, too tired to scratch the flea bites on his neck.

  ‘He’s slipped through my fingers. I sent William to the castle. They’d never seen him there either. I’ll send some people to look for him in Hethersett tomorrow. May not have worked anyway,’ conceded Robert. Flowerdew was slippery and would most likely not have been good to his word. ‘Would have been nice to try though. I’ll try anything at the moment. At this rate, I’ll have to send for a sorcerer to make us all disappear.’ Robert closed his eyes.

  ‘You poor thing.’ Alice kissed him goodnight. She leant over to blow out the candle but stopped when she heard a thud downstairs. ‘What was that, Robert?’

  ‘Sounded like the cellar door to me.’ A lock clunked as it turned, disturbing the night’s

  silence. ‘It’s that fool, Alfred. He’s been washing out the cellar all afternoon. He deserves a good thrashing that boy.’

  ‘Go easy on him, Robert. Tiniker has fallen for him.’

  ‘Stupid cow.’

  ‘It’s nice to see two young people in love. It brightens the place.’

  ‘Don’t you be getting all soppy. That boy’s married.’

  ‘No!’ said Alice, raising her hand to her mouth.

  ‘He had a fight with his wife the first day we were here. Whacked her with a stick, and then her dad gave him a shiner of a black eye.’

  ‘Robert, stop it,’ said Alice in disbelief.

  ‘It’s true,’ he protested. ‘That’s why he’s here doing all our chores. I had to keep them apart so they didn’t kill each other.’

  Alice let out a hushed gasp, ‘I thought it was just because he was your apprentice at the tannery. That little swine,’ said Alice. ‘I’ll have his guts for garters in the morning when I see him. Poor Tiniker must have no idea?’

  Robert closed his eyes and smirked. ‘She’s pregnant too.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Alfred’s wife.’

  *

  Alfred staggered into the kitchen to clean up the dirty pot and brush he’d left in the kitchen overnight. He’d been too tired to wash them last night, and now, just his luck, the smell of the cellar had permeated the kitchen. He wasn’t too worried about Mr Kett inspecting the cellar. He’d done a half-reasonable job, and Kett had more important thi
ngs to contend with.

  Cross-legged on the floor, Alfred yawned and set about washing the brush with his one functioning arm using the last of the river water. He thought about what he’d say to Tiniker. She’d dashed off early last night, and he’d been too ashamed to come up and see her off, smelling as foul as he had. The thought of her laugh, her smile, and those blue eyes had been the only thing to keep him going yesterday. Maybe he could pick her some flowers?

  He returned the clean pot and brush to the cupboard. He turned around and nearly leapt out of his skin.

  ‘Mrs Kett I didn’t hear you come in.’

  ‘Alfred, I am very unimpressed.’ She looked angry.

  ‘I’ll open the doors and clear out the smell. It will be gone in no time.’

  ‘Enough of that,’ she snapped. ‘Why is a married man leading young Tiniker astray?’

  Alfred was shocked. ‘Who? She hasn’t said anything to me?’

  ‘I’m talking about you, you village idiot. You’re married, and she has no idea.’

  Alfred’s shoulders sunk. ‘Let me explain,’ he pleaded.

  She folded her arms. He could tell he would only get one chance to explain his circumstances.

  ‘I was tricked. She told me she was pregnant, and I was forced to marry her. She lied.’

  ‘But you’d had sex with her anyway?’ Mrs Kett made no attempt to hide her contempt.

  Alfred squirmed, grinding the ball of his foot into the ground. ‘I was drunk, and I didn't intend to, I wish I’d never laid eyes on her,’ he babbled.

  ‘But lay on her you did, and she thought she was pregnant.’

  ‘She knew she wasn't. She confessed to me.’

  ‘A women cannot know for sure for at least a month. Where is she now?