Their pursuers were no more than a few hundred yards off the stern by then. William could see men in chain mail and tabards standing on the open deck. There were perhaps two dozen of them, no more, though they carried swords and axes enough to board against a merchant crew. He swallowed as he saw archers come to the high wooden castle built up behind the prow. With both ships rising and falling and the wind blowing in gusts, he wished them luck, then watched in dismay as three longbows bent and sent arrows soaring to strike the deck of the Bernice with a noise like hammers.
William’s good hand gripped the rail like a clamp, his frown deepening. Pirates found their crews in coastal towns, but there had never been a French bowman capable of that sort of accuracy. He knew he was watching English archers, traitors and scoundrels who preferred a life of thieving and murder to more honest work. The captain came past him at a run, heading to the stern to see this development. William tried to go with him, but with only one good hand, he staggered and almost fell as soon as he left the rail. From instinct, the captain grabbed at him before he went into the sea. It was bad luck that he fastened on the mangled hand, making William cry out in sudden pain.
The captain was shouting an apology over the wind when an arrow took him, sinking cleanly into his back and through, so that William could see the bodkin head standing clear, with white rib splinters around the dark iron. The two men gaped at each other and the captain tried to speak before his eyes dulled and rolled up in his head. William flailed at him, but the weight was too much and the captain vanished over the rail into the froth, slipping under in an instant.
More arrows thumped around them and William heard a sailor shout in pain and surprise as another found its mark. The great sail above William’s head began to flap. He could see the men at the whipstaff were lying flat, abandoning their duty in the face of arrow fire. The Bernice moved sloppily without their hands to guide her, wandering off course. Keeping as low as he could, William bellowed for them to take hold once again, but the damage was done. The pursuing warship crashed suddenly along the side, a rasping roar of splintering wood while the rain hammered down on them all.
William was thrown from his feet and was still struggling up as armed men leaped over, yelling their own fear as they crossed the strip of heaving leaden waves. William saw one man miss his catch and slip to be crushed or drowned, but there was another there in an instant, scrambling over to him with a sword held straight and sure.
‘Pax!’ William said, gasping as he tried to rise. ‘I’m Lord Suffolk! I can be ransomed.’
The man looming over him put his foot down hard on William’s broken hand, making the world go white for a second. He groaned and gave up any thought of standing as he lay there on the deck, drenched and frozen as the rain drummed the wood around him.
The boarders relied on shock and violence to secure the Bernice. Her hapless crew were either tossed overboard or cut down in the first wild flurry, most of them unarmed. William glared up at his captor, half-surprised he had not already been killed. He knew they’d strip the cargo and probably sink the Bernice, taking all witnesses down with her. He’d seen bodies washed ashore enough times to know how they worked and even the prospect of a ransom might not be worth the added risk. He waited for the blow, sickened by the waves of agony coming from his crushed hand.
The wind continued to howl around the ropes and the strange beast of two ships wallowing together in a crashing sea.
Jack Cade glowered at the men who’d come to him daring to dispute his plans. It didn’t help that they were all those he’d raised to command others. They were the originals from his meeting at the tavern, where he’d set them to training groups of a dozen men. Under his leadership, they’d fought and won against the sheriff of Kent. That man’s gaping head still leaned at an odd angle on the top of a pole by Jack’s fire, with the white-horse shield resting at its foot. The sheriff had been a short man in life, but as Paddy pointed out, he was finally taller than all of them.
Although Jack could not have said exactly why, it bothered him more than anything that it was Ecclestone they’d asked to beard the lion in his tent, or whatever the phrase was. His friend stood at the head of a small group of men, talking calmly and slowly, as if to a lunatic.
‘No one’s saying they’re afraid, Jack. That’s not it. It’s just that London … well, it’s big, Jack. God knows how many people are there, all crushed up between the river and the old walls. The king doesn’t even know, most likely, but there are a lot of them — and a lot more than we have.’
‘So you think we’re done,’ Jack said, his eyes glinting dangerously beneath his dipped head. He sat and watched the fire they’d lit, feeling nicely warm outside and in, with a bottle of clear spirit to hand that he’d been given just that morning. ‘Is that it then, Rob Ecclestone? I’m surprised to hear it from you. You think you speak for the men?’
‘I don’t speak for any of them, Jack. This is just me talking now. But you know, they have thousands of soldiers and a hundred times as many seething in the city. Half of those are hard men, Jack. There’ll be butchers and barbers to stand against us, men who know one end of a gutting knife from another. I’m just saying. It might be a step too far to go looking for the king himself. It might be the kind of step that will see us all swinging on the Tyburn gibbets. I hear they have three of them now, with room for eight on each one. They can hang two dozen at a time, Jack, that’s all. It’s a hard city.’
Jack grunted in irritation, tipping his head back to empty the last of the fiery spirit down his throat. He stared a while longer and then clambered to his feet, looming over Ecclestone and the others.
‘If we stop now,’ he said softly, ‘they’ll still come for us. Did you think you could just go home? Boys, we’ve robbed and stolen. We’ve killed king’s men. They’re not going to let us walk away, not now, not since we started. We either throw the dice for London, or …’ He shrugged his big shoulders. ‘Well, I suppose we could try for France. I don’t think we’d be too welcome there, though.’
‘They’d hang you in Maine, Jack Cade. They know a Kentish scoundrel when they see one.’
The voice had come from the back of the group. Jack stiffened, blinded by the firelight as he peered into the darkness.
‘Who was that? Show your face if you’d speak to me.’
He squinted into the yellow and black flickers. Shadows moved across men turning nervously to see who had spoken. Jack made out the bulk of his Irish friend heaving two other men towards him.
‘He said he knew you, Jack,’ Paddy said, panting. ‘He said you’d remember an archer. I didn’t think he was a madman to taunt you.’
‘He’s had worse from me in the past, you great Irish bullock,’ Thomas Woodchurch replied, struggling against an iron grip. ‘Christ, what do they feed you?’
With both his hands full of cloth, Paddy could only shake the two he held in exasperation. He did that until their heads were lolling dizzily.
‘Had enough?’ he said.
‘Woodchurch?’ Jack said in amazement, walking forward out of the firelight. ‘Tom?’
‘I am. Now, will you tell this bog hound to put me back on my feet before I kick his balls up his throat!’
With a roar, Paddy let go of Rowan and raised his fist to hammer Thomas to his knees. Rowan saw what he was about and grappled the Irishman in a rush, toppling all three in a heap of kicking and swearing.
Jack Cade reached down and pulled the young man away with his fists still flailing.
‘Who’s this, then?’ Jack asked.
Rowan could only glare at him, held by his own collar so tightly that he was choking and turning red.
‘My son,’ Thomas said, sitting up and fending Paddy’s kicks away.
Thomas got to his feet first and put out his hand to help the Irishman. Paddy was still ready to attack, but he settled down to an angry muttering as Jack held his palms up and dusted Rowan down with an odd smile flickering about his mouth.
<
br /> ‘I remember him, Tom, when he was just a squalling brat, about as red in the face as he is now. What ever happened to that girl from the rookeries? She was a right smart little piece, I always thought.’
Jack sensed Paddy’s temper was about to get the better of him and put a hand on his friend’s shoulder.
‘It’s all right, Paddy. Tom and I go back a long, long way. I’ll hear whatever he has to say and if I don’t like it, perhaps you can tempt him to try a bit of bare knuckle, to cheer the lads up.’
‘I’d like that,’ Paddy grumbled, still glaring.
Thomas squinted up at him, judging the Irishman’s size and weight before chuckling.
‘I couldn’t take him if I was fit — and I was cut getting out of France. It’s been a rough year for me and the boy. Then I heard Jack Cade had himself an army and I thought I’d trot over and see if it was the same man I remembered.’
‘Come to join the Kentish Freemen, have you? We can always use an archer, if you still have the arm for it.’
‘I was thinking about it, Jack, but your men are saying you have an eye on London and the king himself. What do you have, three thousand?’
‘Five,’ Jack said instantly. ‘Almost six.’
‘With enough warning, they could put double that on the roads, Jack. That’s a nasty old city. I should know.’
Cade’s eyes glinted as they assessed the man before him.
‘How would you do it then, Tom? I remember you used to see clear enough once.’
Thomas sighed, feeling his years and his body’s weakness. He and Rowan had eaten a haunch of the horse they’d stolen, exchanging a few days of rich meat for walking the last part of the way. Even so, he knew it would be a while longer before he could empty a quiver at a decent speed. He did not reply for a moment, his eyes dim as he thought back to the farms he’d seen burned and the bodies of entire families he’d passed on the road. In all his life he’d been quick to anger, but this was not the same thing. He’d built this fury slowly, over months of loss and being hunted. He blamed King Henry and his lords for everything he’d seen; that was true enough. He blamed the French, though he’d made them bleed for every yard of his land. He also blamed Derry Brewer, and he knew London was where he’d find him.
‘I’d go for the heart, Jack. The king will be in the Tower or the palace at Westminster. I’d send a few men in who know the city, long enough to find out where he is. My choice would be the Tower, for the Royal Mint and all the gold it holds. Then I’d make the run at night, fill my pockets and cut his black heart out. I’m done with kings and lords, Jack. They’ve taken too much from me. It’s about time I took something back for my trouble.’
Jack Cade laughed and clapped him on the shoulder.
‘It’s good to see you, Tom. Good to hear you as well. Sit with me and tell me what roads you’d take. These faint-hearted girls are telling me it can’t be done.’
‘Oh, it can be done, Jack. I don’t know if we can beat London, but we can show those nobles the price of what they took from us. Maybe we can make ourselves rich at the same time. There are worse ideas — I’ve been on the wrong end of most of them.’
William’s stomach was rebelling, forcing acid into his mouth as he knelt on the heaving deck with his hands tied behind his back. His old wound was cramping one of his legs and the muscle was screaming, but whenever he tried to move, one of the pirates would kick out at him, or cuff his head back and forth until he spat blood. He was helpless and furious, unable to do anything but watch as the last of the crew were killed without ceremony and pushed over the side, to vanish into the sea.
He could hear his captors rummaging around below deck, hooting and shouting with glee at whatever they found there. His own bags had already been cut open, with men scrambling after the purse of coins Derry had placed in there for him. William had said nothing as they’d jeered and taunted him, waiting for whoever commanded them to show himself.
He knew the man was coming when the wild excitement in the pirate crew was suddenly snuffed out. They stared instead at the deck or their feet, like dogs in the presence of the pack leader. William craned his neck to see, then gave a shout of surprise and pain as he was suddenly dragged forward along the deck, his legs sprawling behind him. Two pirates had a hold on his armpits and they grunted with his weight as he sagged and stumbled. He guessed they would take him across to their ship like a trussed sheep and only hoped that they wouldn’t drop him on the way, with the whitecaps tossing spume into the air and every step a challenge to remain upright.
He did not understand as they dragged him right to the prow of the Bernice, so that William looked out over the stays and the churning water below. The man the others obeyed came round into his sight and William looked up in confusion.
The pirate captain was both scarred and sallow, a hard sort such as William had seen butchering pigs in the Shambles of London. The man’s face bore old pox marks in great pits on the cheeks and when he smiled, his teeth were mostly dark brown and lined in black, as if he chewed charcoal. The captain leered down at his prisoner, his eyes alive with satisfaction.
‘William de la Pole? Lord Suffolk?’ he said with relish.
William’s heart sank and his thoughts cleared and settled, the nausea in his gut becoming a distant annoyance. He had not given his family name and those were not the sort of men to know it, unless they had been looking for his ship from the beginning.
‘You know my name, then,’ he said. ‘Who gave it to you?’
The captain smiled and tutted at him in reproof.
‘Men who expected justice from a weak king, Lord Suffolk. Men who demanded it and were denied.’
William watched in sick fascination as the man unsheathed a rusty-looking blade and ran his thumb across it.
‘I have surrendered, to be held for ransom!’ William said desperately, his voice cracking in fear. Despite his broken hand, he struggled against the ropes, but sailors knew how to tie a knot and there was no give in them. The captain smiled again.
‘I do not accept your surrender. You are a convicted traitor, William de la Pole. There are some who feel you should not be allowed to walk free, not with treason around your neck.’
William could feel himself growing pale as the blood drained from his face. His heart was beating strongly as he understood. He closed his eyes for a moment, struggling to find dignity as the deck climbed and fell beneath his feet.
His eyes opened as he felt a rough hand in his hair, gripping him and forcing his head forward.
‘No!’ he shouted. ‘I have given parole!’
The captain ignored his protest, taking a great bunch of the grey hair and lifting it up to reveal the seamed neck beneath, paler than the rest. With grim purpose, the man began sawing into the muscle. William’s outraged shout turned to a grunt of agony as blood spattered and greased the deck in all directions, whipped and carried by the spray. He jerked and shuddered, but he was held firmly until he slumped forward, thumping hard on the deck.
The captain ruined the blade chopping through the thick muscle and bone. He threw the weapon aside carelessly as he reached down and held up the severed head. His crew cheered the sight as it was put into a canvas bag and William’s body was left in a crumpled heap on the deck.
The Bernice was freed from the ropes that bound her, left behind to buck and toss on the seas alone as the pirate ship headed back for the coast of England.
PART THREE
There shall be in England seven halfpenny loaves sold for a penny; the three-hooped pot shall have ten hoops; and I will make it felony to drink small beer. All the realm shall be in common, and in Cheapside shall my palfrey go to grass.
Shakespeare’s Jack Cade: Henry VI, Part 2, act 4, scene 2
The first thing we do, let’s kill all the lawyers.
Henry VI, Part 2, act 4, scene 2
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‘The London gates are closed at night, Jack,’ Thomas said, pointing at the floor. The two men w
ere alone on the upper floor of an inn in the town of Southwark, just across the river from the city. With a rug pulled back to reveal ancient floorboards, Thomas had scratched a rough map, marking the Thames and the line of Roman wall that enclosed the heart of the ancient city.
‘What, all of them?’ Jack replied. He’d never been to the capital and he was still convinced Woodchurch had to be exaggerating. Talk of sixty or eighty thousand people seemed impossible, and now he was supposed to believe there were huge great gates all around it?
‘That is the point of city gates, Jack, so yes. Either way, if we’re looking to reach the Tower, it’s inside the wall. Cripplegate and Moorgate are out — we’d have to march right round the city and the villagers there would be rushing off to fetch the king’s soldiers while we did. Aldgate to the east — you see it there? That one has its own garrison. I used to walk the streets there when I was courting Joan. We could cross the Fleet river to the west perhaps, and come in by the cathedral, but no matter where we enter, we have to go over the Thames — and there’s only one bridge.’
Jack frowned at the chicken scratches on the floor, trying to make sense of them.
‘I don’t much like the idea of charging down a road they know we have to take, Tom. You mentioned ferries before. What about using those, maybe further along, where it’s quieter?’
‘For a dozen men, that would be your answer. But how many do you have since Blackheath?’
Cade shrugged. ‘They keep coming in, Tom! Essex men, though, even some from London. Eight or nine thousand, maybe? No one’s counting them.’
‘Too many to ferry over anyway. There aren’t boats enough and it would take too long. We need to get in and out again ’fore the sun comes up. That’s if you want to live to a ripe old age. Of course, there’s still the chance the king and his lords will answer our petition, don’t you think?’
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