Tombland

‘Good riddance, there’s over six thousand of us fit and trained men left, and we’ll fight to the end –’

‘Wait – I have to hulp –’ A man stepped aside and was violently sick.

‘Don’t shit your pants like young Hunter –’

And then, as the sky began to lighten properly, we reached the crest of the spur of land projecting from Mousehold Heath named Dussindale, which I had visited with Peter Bone two days before. The gun-platform was complete, a flattened area onto which a couple of dozen cannon had been pulled. Below, being drawn up in battle array by their officers, were the thousands of men from Mousehold camp, horsemen, foot soldiers with pole weapons raised, parish banners flying alongside the red banners of war. Halfway down the hill supply wagons had been turned on their sides, and behind them thousands of archers were taking up positions. Some had armour, others quilted jackets, but many had only their ordinary clothes.

At the bottom of the hill, facing a flat area, the last of the wooden stakes were being hammered into the ground, sharp points facing outward towards the enemy. In front of them the long trench was complete, the excavated earth thrown up in front to form a low barrier, while to the north the new earthworks stood high. A little way to the south stood the city walls, many of the towers bombarded into ruins by cannon over the last few days. If the rebels won, that was how they would re-enter Norwich.

Forced to descend, we came parallel to the gun platform. I saw Captain Miles there, walking to and fro, shouting orders to the gun-crews. I thought of his wife and children in detention in London, and realized it must have been Michael Vowell who betrayed him, too. I saw Peter Bone, standing behind a cannon, and I thought he looked at me, but he was too far off for me to be sure. Some way to the left I saw a group of men in helmets and bright clothes standing together, looking down the slope of the hill. The commanders, awaiting the start of the battle. Robert Kett was there with his brother; he glanced at our pathetic line being dragged along, then quickly looked away again.

We continued slowly downhill, past the main body of soldiers. Boos and catcalls sounded as we passed, from these men among whom I had lived peaceably all these weeks. We were brought to a halt just behind the stakes and ordered to stand in a line parallel with them. ‘Merciful Christ,’ someone muttered, ‘they’re going to do it.’ Some of the men who were hammering in the last of the wooden stakes brought two exceptionally large ones across to us. Boleyn and Nicholas and I were at the southern end of the line, and we watched as, next to us, our end of the chain was looped and padlocked tightly to a stake, then the stake hammered into the sandy soil. At the other end of the line another stake was being dug in. We stood, shackled and helpless, facing the coming enemy.

And they were coming; Warwick’s army, slowly, in a seemingly endless line through Coslany Gate, first horsemen in armour, a great many of them, the white cross of England emblazoned on their chests, then seemingly endless lines of men, foot soldiers and more horsemen, this time big men in battle armour, but with brightly coloured hose and huge feathers fixed to their helmets. The landsknechts. Many carried heavy arquebuses with apparent ease. Warwick’s army began slowly to move into position, only a few hundred feet from where we stood, as more soldiers continued marching through the gate behind them; English soldiers now, I recognized Captain Drury at their head. There seemed to be nearly as many of them as there were of the rebel forces, and they had many more horsemen, our only advantage being that of height and a greater number of cannon. As more and more came and took their places dust rose in clouds.

And now we were alone, standing chained together in a line, between the two armies. I felt the chain start to rattle and shake, slowly but steadily, all along its length, and realized many of the prisoners were trembling, as I had begun to do myself.

Chapter Seventy-eight