by Tim Holden
‘Looks like we’re in for a good old barney today, lad.’
‘You and I?’ asked Alfred.
‘No, you fool. The rebels and the army.’
Alfred breathed a sigh of relief.
‘I’ve no quarrel with you, Alfred. You were protecting your woman as any man should. I owe you for the back of my head though.’ Fulke rubbed his head at the memory of being clubbed with a pan. ‘So, you had her yet?’ Alfred’s face must have said what Fulke wanted to know: ‘You have! You old swine. Good for you. I bet she puts out faster than Catherine Howard?’ Fulke paused. ‘Although, you don’t look very happy about it. Where is she?’
‘Gone,’ replied Alfred. He would never see his Flemish beauty again.
‘Well, least you had your way with her. Don’t give her a second thought. What say you and I go for some drinks, and I’ll tell you what Fulke’s been up to these past days?’
‘I don’t have any money.’
‘Don’t worry about that. I’ve plenty. Let’s go and get drunk.’
Fulke put his arm around Alfred’s shoulder, and they began to walk. Alfred wasn’t sure he should be going for a drink at this time in the morning, but it was hard to say no to Fulke.
Fulke roused the innkeeper of the Adam and Eve. He opened up for them, locking the doors behind them. ‘He needs money the same anyone else,’ said Fulke. Fulke ordered two strong ales, and they parked themselves in the corner of the tiny inn.
‘I was working for the deputy mayor, Steward, but as soon as his new friends from London arrived, he closed the door in my face. He’ll rue the day he made an enemy of me.’ Fulke took a large swig.
‘Huh, Steward.’ That man had a lot to answer for, thought Alfred as Fulke continued to recount his grievances. Alfred swigged his ale while he listened to Fulke. ‘Well, he’s no friend of mine.’
‘What’s he done to you then?’ said Fulke.
‘He used Tiniker to spy on the Ketts.’
Alfred watched as Fulke’s mind connected the rest. ‘Ah, so that explains why she visited him at night. I was at his door one night when she stopped in.’
Night-time visits could only mean one thing, thought Alfred. Steward would never have protected her for no reason. She had to be giving him something. His heart felt like it was being squeezed.
‘So she didn’t like you, after all,’ continued Fulke. ‘Should have let me rape her! Women, mark my words, lad, they’re all ugly on the inside.’
Fulke ordered two more drinks.
Alfred was only halfway through his first; he would have to quicken up. He thought about what Fulke said. He feared it was true. Lynn and now Tiniker, who he thought was to be his true love. She had given him the greatest night of his life last night and in an instant, taken it all away. He sunk the rest of his drink; doubtful he would ever understand.
‘That Steward needs a slap,’ continued Fulke. ‘That’s what this whole thing was about. People like him, twisting and manipulating the likes of us.’
‘Seems a long time ago since you beat up Morris in Wymondham.’
Fulke smiled at the memory and polished off his second ale. He nodded to the innkeeper to bring more. ‘I think you and I ought to help Kett whip these London scum and give them a lesson they won’t forget.’
‘I’m not much use with an injured shoulder.’
‘Don’t worry about that. Stick with me, and you’ll be fine.’
Fulke had decided: he was going to fight, and Alfred was going to go with him.
Turns out not much has changed, thought Alfred as he swigged his third ale of the morning.
49
Monday 26th August, Mousehold Heath
Robert’s foot trembled as he stepped up onto the dais under the oak tree. It was six weeks since he’d declared it his ‘Oak of Reformation’ at the centre of his camp on the heath. Gathered in front of him were his followers, over ten thousand, despite the loss of their fallen brethren and those that had abandoned the cause. Looking out at a sea of expectant faces, Robert knew he had to give the speech of his life, and if he did, he would succeed in achieving the outcome he wanted least of all.
He took a deep breath. ‘My brothers and sisters, we have come far. Not one, but two royal armies have not been able to stop us.’ There was a cheer from his audience, and he felt his nerves calm. ‘We have brought to the king’s attention and that of his council, the injustices that infect our land like a plague. Your bravery and your efforts will ensure that never again will the gentry take for granted the loyalty of the common man.’ He paused to let the cheers subside. ‘We seek simple demands: to sleep in our beds free from worry that when we wake in the morning our farmland will be there to feed our families, that our lord will treat us fairly and respect our customs.’ He was struggling to be heard, so he summarised. ‘We seek nothing more than the way of life of our forebears before us and that this way of life is there for our children after us. But,’ he paused, ‘to preserve this way of life, God in his wisdom has decided we must fight for it, and we will!’ He raised his arm above his head and drank in the roars of the crowd.
‘For two days we have fought bravely for control of Norwich. Whilst we have infiltrated the northern part of the city, we have not succeeded in pushing the royal army out. Our stalemate is threatened by the arrival today of fourteen hundred mounted German mercenaries.’
Boos rang out across the heath.
The easy part of his speech was over.
‘With these reinforcements, I can no longer guarantee our safety on the heath. The city’s grain reserves have either been destroyed or are in royal hands.’ There was total silence across the heath. ‘So tonight, under the cover our darkness, we shall say goodbye to our home on the heath and withdraw. Tomorrow, we will offer Dudley battle, and a bloody nose he shall never forget. If God demands we fight, then we shall, and we shall prevail.’ Robert could sense nervousness. ‘We shall prevail!’ he shouted. ‘We are undefeated. We have their cannon and more men, we also have two things on our side with which they cannot compete: What we seek is right and just, and men will fight with more strength in their hearts for something they believe in and know to be right than any man who fights at the whim of another’s orders. We must trust in the Lord’s guidance. He will deliver us.’
Finally, Robert got the cheers he needed.
‘We have come so far, and we will journey on together, in the name of what is right, and in the memory of those that have already forsaken their lives for our noble cause. Gather up your weapons and ready yourselves to leave.’
Robert stepped down and made his way to Surrey House. He hoped he could make it back before he was sick.
*
Alfred saw the first of the royal army’s infantry appear along the hedge line at the bottom of the field. He jumped to his feet and grabbed his sword. The rest of the rebels followed suit and raised themselves from their various slumbers on the ground. Alfred had mistakenly thought the waiting was finally over, but as more of them slowly filed in, he realised it would be at least an hour while they lined up for battle. He felt impatient to get on with it. Since leaving the heath last night they’d positioned themselves in an open grass field at the top of a gentle slope. They’d spent the rest of the night digging a ditch to slow an enemy advance, cutting and burying stakes to protect their cannon.
With their preparations finished shortly after sunrise, they formed into ranks and attempted to get some rest. Alfred hadn’t slept. Nervous men chatted to take their minds off what was to come. Brave men gave rousing talks, and angry men vented their spleens. As every hour passed, they grew hungrier and thirstier. No doubt the army had enjoyed a good breakfast and deliberately taken their time to sap the strength of the rebels.
Alfred lay thinking how he came to find himself here. He’d escaped the Ketts, and yet now he was about to fight for them, again. He’d been angry at Tiniker’s betrayal. He still hadn’t forgiven her, but had memories of her laugh, her voice, the touch of her skin:
he missed her. He loved her. However, that was irrelevant now, he told himself for the umpteenth time. Alfred had opted to fight, and that was that.
Some rebels had vanished during the course of the night, but Fulke had made a case for fighting and persuaded a great many to stay. Perhaps Master Peter was right, and Fulke’s thirst for fighting came from his father.
Wherever it came from, Alfred knew he’d once again fallen under his friend’s influence. He hoped it wasn’t going to be a lesson that cost him his life. He yawned and willed them to start. Gripping his sword to stop his hand from trembling, he took a moment appreciate the sight.
The flags of the army fluttered gently in the breeze. He reckoned there couldn’t be more than seven thousand. Maybe the earl had left the rest to guard Norwich in his absence? They outnumbered the enemy and the less of them they had to fight, the better. The cavalry was at each flank with arquebusiers and pikemen alternating across the centre in front of the earl and his generals on horseback.
Alfred supposed every man wanted the same thing: to fight bravely and lay his head down this evening, certain they would wake in the morning. Luke Miller was an excellent fighter and Alfred had hoped to be next to him in the lines, but he must be elsewhere. He still had Fulke, whom anyone would have him fight for them, rather than against. Alfred watched The Earl of Warwick ride in front of his men, cantering the length of his front line.
Alfred presumed he was addressing his men to prepare them for battle.
Apparently, there were procedures for how such things were done. Would the Earl of Warwick be held captive by nightfall, he wondered, or would Mr Kett be alive? They would soon find out. The thought of it made the hairs on Alfred’s neck bristle.
Between the two forces was a ditch, and a line of the gentlemen prisoners held captive by the rebels. They were chained together and stretched out across the battleground to form a human shield.
‘Look lively, Alfred,’ said Fulke. ‘Miles is about to light his cannon.’ Alfred turned to see what was going on. On either side of him extended a tightly packed line of rebels, armed with pitchforks, axes, clubs, swords, bows and arrows.
Behind him, the Kett brothers were both mounted on horseback. Robert wore his leather jerkin and felt hat.
Alfred thought he looked tired.
Robert’s hand was raised in the air. He brought it down, and moments later the sky was filled with the deafening blast of rebel cannon fire.
Hearing the blast, the prisoners fell to the ground. Some of the shot fell short and thudded harmlessly into the earth. Others found their target and skittled soldiers like bowling pins. The rebels cheered, and a waft of gunpowder smoke carried past them on the breeze. Once the rebel cheers faded, you could make out the screams. Alfred watched Miles commanding his novice team of artillerymen. He rushed to reposition the cannons that had missed, while the others cleaned out their barrels to reload. Then came another bang. This time screams from the rebel lines. The royal cannons hadn’t fired, but there was no smoke. Alfred looked along the rebel line and saw a cloud of smoke about the rebel cannon. Men lay on the floor screaming. Miles was shouting at them furiously.
‘They must have forgotten to swab the barrel with water,’ said Fulke. ‘The burning embers must have ignited the powder. He’s blown off his hand and injured his mates. Idiot.’
It didn’t inspire confidence.
The four royal cannon fired, and each found their target. Two rebel cannons were crippled, felling the crews with shrapnel, and another two men suffered direct hits and were killed outright. Miles shouted at his terrified crew to return and finish reloading. Alfred watched the royal gunners busily reloading. The earl had been wise to spread his cannon. The rebel cannon were grouped together and presented a temptingly large target. Miles shouted the order to fire. The ground shook, and the air cracked. Either side of the earl, men fell. His own horse startled, but he regained control of it, though the royal standard dropped to the ground. The rebels cheered this good omen. All the shot had been pointed at the earl. Presumably, thought Alfred, if they could kill the earl, the army were leaderless and may fall into disarray.
Miles and his crews were reloading when the next volley clattered into their ranks. Another cannon was felled. Kett shouted for his archers to fire. The thwack of bowstrings and the whoosh of arrows brought courage back to the rebel lines. There was more cheering as they watched the infantry felled.
Then the royal trumpeters sounded their horns.
*
Robert glanced at William. He could not understand how his brother could look at ease. Perhaps it was resignation. He had no family and often remarked that at his age, every day was a bonus.
Robert felt exhausted. His neck and shoulders were set so rigidly there had been no point in him carrying a weapon. At his age, he couldn’t make a difference, and if it was so close that he was required to carry arms, then the day was already lost. All the women had left camp to return to their homes. There had been many a tearful goodbye, praying they would see their husbands again. Alice too. Robert was glad she was gone. He couldn’t bear for her to see him like this. With so much resting on his shoulders, she was worried sick, which only made it worse for him. He’d sent some riders with her, and they had reported on their return that she was home safely. He’d prayed he would take her in his arms again.
The cavalry charged and the bowman released another volley of arrows into the sky. The ground shook as the horses got up to a gallop. His cannon took another pounding, leaving only two operational. The air filled with blood-curdling battle cries as the royal troops broke into a steady jog, their pikes lowering to protect the gunners that accompanied them. Should they run to meet them? Robert had no idea. He had never felt so ill-equipped for a task in his life. They stood their ground and waited for the clash of steel.
The cavalry arrived first. A few had fallen prey to his arrows, the rest lowered their lances at the final moment and slammed into his lines, skewering the poor devils and trampling their neighbours. They dropped their lances and began wildly swinging their swords and axes, scything down men around them. Robert watched as one man drove his pitchfork into the belly of a horse, causing it to rear and unseat its rider.
The cavalry finished off the cannon crews and pushed inwards on the rebel flanks. The infantry crossed the ditch, and the arquebusiers fired their first volley. Together they were louder than the cannon. Robert felt a shot whizz past his ear. He crouched in his saddle and held onto his horse’s neck. It never occurred to him they would target him. What if they shot his horse from under him?
As the smoke cleared, the rebel archers fired arrow after arrow into the enemy ranks. Robert knew they didn’t have enough arrows for a sustained effort as they hadn’t had time to rearm overnight, but if they could make every arrow count, then they could blunt the advance. Dudley, however, remained just out of range.
The arquebusiers had reloaded and charged alongside their pikemen to avoid more rebel arrows. The lethal pikes resembled a weathervane: a long, wooden pole, with a twin axe blade for chopping and slicing combined with a spear tip for stabbing. The pikes pierced the rebel frontlines, and Robert felt his gut twist at the sound of the screams of his injured men. He saw the hatred in the eyes of the enemy — men driven delirious with bloodlust. The pike handles were twenty-foot long and held his men at bay. Any that did wriggle past their injured comrades were picked off by the arquebusiers in between. The pikemen leaned forward and began to push, driving the rebels back. Only the rebel arrows were effective at softening the royal lines. A few pockets of rebels made it within arm’s reach of the enemy.
Hand to hand fighting followed. The gap between the lines filled with smoke and the grass turned slippery with blood.
He heard William shout. His brother was clutching his arm. A shot had clipped him.
To his front, Robert saw Fulke bringing his meat cleaver down to knock out a pike blade. He stamped it into the ground, forcing the soldier to drop the weapon. A
lfred fought shoulder-to-shoulder with Fulke. Together they hacked at the defenceless pikeman.
If they could break through, they could start to surround them and attack from the rear.
Robert ducked as more shot narrowly missed him.
He turned his horse to retreat a few yards and get a view of what was happening. Now the battle was underway he had forgotten his aches and pains, but his mouth was dry, and he was short of breath. He looked down his lines. Through the gaps in the smoke he saw the cavalry had rounded each flank and were cutting down his men from behind. His line was being encircled. Unless they could punch through, they would be surrounded. There were shouts to his left.
He saw a party of rebels fleeing the field.
The troops had broken his line. Robert didn’t need experience in warfare to see what was about to happen. The end of his left flank was isolated. They would be worn down, and then the troops would overwhelm his flank.
William pulled back and joined his brother. ‘We’re holding them in the middle.’
Robert pointed to the left flank.
He knew for certain they were done for.
‘Maybe we can regroup?’
More shouts on the right, and Robert saw more of his men running from the field. They had dropped their weapons.
‘We’re routed.’
The line was collapsing. It was only a question of time now.
William gripped his arm. ‘Robert, it’s pointless both of us dying. Flee now. Save yourself.’
‘How can I? These men followed me. If I desert them…’
‘Then you’ll die too, and this whole thing will be futile. Save yourself. I’ll see this through.’
‘I can’t,’ pleaded Robert.
‘Brother, kings do it all the time. Get to the coast. Board a boat. Just go.’
Robert hesitated. Could he live with his conscience if he left? He heard the screams of dying men all around him.
‘Think of Alice,’ barked William.
