Tombland

I had not attended the great show trial to which Robert and William Kett had been subjected at the end of November; it would have been impolitic. I heard both men had pleaded guilty to the long list of charges read against them. They were first sentenced to be hanged, drawn and quartered at Tyburn but shortly after it was decided they should die in Norfolk, no doubt as a deterrent to further rebellion. I thought of Robert Kett, a man not far off sixty, being slowly raised from the ground to the dizzying heights of the castle roof in the bitter cold. With disgust I remembered John Flowerdew, gleeful at the prospect of giving evidence at the inquest into his property.

There was a quiet tap at the door, and Liz entered, Mousy in her arms, fast asleep now after the earlier excitement. She gave me her gentle smile, and said, ‘I thought perhaps you might like to take Mousy for a little.’ I looked into Liz’s clear blue eyes and thought, yes, she, too, remembers what day this is. We had never spoken of her husband’s part in the rebellion, nor mine, yet she had divined my feelings.

‘Thank you, Liz,’ I said quietly. ‘I should like to. It was thoughtful of you.’

She said hesitantly, ‘I knew, sir, that today would be hard.’ As she handed over the sleeping child, our hands touched, and I felt a sudden urge to grasp the soft, plump warmth of hers. Liz reddened, lowering her head. She stood there, but when I did no more she curtsied and left the room.

I held Mousy to me, feeling the gentle rise and fall of her chest. She was getting heavier now. There was a warm fire that heated most of the room, but I returned to the window, despite the cold draught there, and looked out again at the snow, falling in thick white flakes. The wind driving it came from the east. It would already be lying thick on Mousehold Heath, covering the burned-out ruins of the great camp, the bare branches of the Oak of Reformation, and softly blanketing the unmarked mass graves of thousands of brave commoners – old Hector Johnson, Natty, Peter Bone, Toby, Simon. I held Mousy tight, but the warmth of her little body was small comfort against the cold.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

First, huge thanks to my superb agent Antony Topping for all his help in getting Tombland into print. Thanks to my editor, Maria Rejt of Mantle, to Marian Reid, Liz Cowen, Josie Humber, Kate Tolley and Philippa McEwan of Pan Macmillan, and to my US editor, Joshua Kendall, and agent Jennifer Weltz.

Roz Brody, Mike Holmes, Jan King and William Shaw again made helpful comments on the manuscript. Special thanks to Roz for accompanying me on research trips to Norwich when I was not in the best of health.

I am very grateful to friends in Norwich – Colin Howey, Leo R. Jary, Adrian and Anne Hoare and Dr Matt Woodcock, for illuminating discussions on 1549. Thanks to Dr Clive Wilkins-Jones for advice on sources. Colin Howey and the Norwich Stonemasons’ Guild Master, Stephen Critchley, discussed the medieval Guild, which they have revived and which goes deservedly from strength to strength – thanks, too, for making me an apprentice!

I’m also grateful to those who showed me around sites that feature in the book: Adrian and Anne Hoare showed me round Wymondham. Will Stewart, Warden of Mousehold Heath, showed me the surviving section of the Heath. The Kett’s Heights Society is doing wonderful work in restoring the Heights, where a part-wall of St Michael’s Chapel survives. Nick Williams took me round the Guildhall, and Rod Spokes showed me the surviving city walls. Paul Dixon took me round the Maid’s Head, and Cathy Terry discussed textiles with me at the magnificent Strangers’ Hall.

Many thanks once again to Graham Brown of Fullerton’s for his help, including photocopying and enlarging pieces of sixteenth-century Norwich maps.

HISTORICAL ESSAY REIMAGINING KETT ’S REBELLION

INTRODUCTION

In April 1548, the year before Kett’s Rebellion, an orphaned minor gentlewoman of around fourteen, Agnes Randolf, was riding over Mousehold Heath with her married older sister and a young servant. They were accosted by John Atkinson, servant to Sir Richard Southwell, one of the most prominent gentlemen in Norfolk, and a companion. Atkinson attempted to abduct Agnes and when she tried to escape tied her on to his companion’s horse, saying, ‘Sit, whore, sit.’ She was taken to Sir Richard Southwell’s house and, later that week, forced to go through a marriage ceremony with Atkinson. Then he took her to London. ¹