The devils chalice, p.9
The Devil's Chalice, page 9
part #3 of Thomas Treviot Series
‘No, he is quite aimable … agreeable. Anyone may approach him. There is a big oak tree on the heath and he sit beneath it on a grand chair, like a king on a … throne. He receives petitions and issues orders.’
‘King Robert!’ Orme scoffed. ‘Ruler of wastrels, rogues, and vagabonds – and he no more than a yeoman. Seated on a throne, indeed! God grant I live to see him raised even higher – swinging from a gallows!’
After dinner, I went straight to one of the city markets seeking one of the stalls that offered cast-off clothing. In order to venture safely onto Mousehold Heath, I would have to change my appearance. My cambric shirt and Spanish leather jerkin would certainly have attracted attention. I found an old patched smock and a woollen cap from which some of the threads were hanging loose. Back in my small single chamber at the inn I tried on these clothes and satisfied myself that, thus dressed, I would be as inconspicuous as possible. I was now ready for the last stage of my quest.
And yet I hesitated. For five days I had been in a hurry, eager to catch up with my son. Now anxiety held me back. Was it fear of entering the hostile environment of Kett’s camp? Certainly I was apprehensive about that. But it was my encounter with Raffy that worried me more. How would I be able to persuade him or force him to return with me to London? Here, in the midst of a host fighting for justice, he must be feeling elated, excited, thrilled in a way that he had never felt before. He would resent any attempt to drag him back to the humdrum life of Goldsmiths’ Row. I delayed my departure for Mousehold Heath until the morrow,. I told myself that this would give me more time to locate Raffy and decide how best to achieve my objective. How easily we deceive ourselves with reason!
I headed north through Norwich’s narrow streets, crossed the River Wensom and walked to Pockthorpe Gate. As I left the city I noticed a gap of some twenty yards in the wall which gave every appearance of having been breached recently. Two of the city’s cannons were pointed towards it from within. I wondered how effective they would be against a determined charge.
The ground rose gently to the open heathland and it was not until I had covered a hundred yards that the rebel encampment came fully into view. Not until that moment did I fully appreciate the fear that had driven many citizens to flee their homes and now haunted those who remained. Clusters of people filled the landscape as far as I could see. Many were gathered around open fires and columns of smoke rose in the still air like the pillars of some vast, roofless abbey. There were a variety of rude shelters – dead branches overlaid with cowhide, simple windbreaks of stakes and woollen cloth, a few military tents of conical shapes but from the scattering of rugs I judged that most of Kett’s followers slept beneath the stars.
The reports I had heard about the size of this peasant army had not been exaggerated. Mousehold Heath was temporary home to thousands of men. There were also some women and even a few children, who ran to and fro among the ‘islands’ of habitation which seemed to be afloat on a sea of bracken and furze. As I wandered, unhindered, through the camp I realised that the first impression I had gained of an unorganised assembly was wrong. The general of this army had his lieutenants who could be seen moving purposely from group to group. They wore coloured armbands proclaiming their authority and appeared to be checking lists and issuing instructions. Some of the men were being directed to an area at the far side of the field. When I reached it I saw groups practising archery and pike drill.
I turned to make my way back towards the town. In my mind, I had divided the camp into two halves – east and west. This was the only way I could attempt an organised, single-handed search of the whole area. I concentrated first on the western sector and set off down the slope with purposeful tread, looking to the right and left in hope of sighting a familiar face. I had quickly discovered that the best way to deter inquisitive glances was to give the appearance that I was engaged on important business and knew exactly where I was going.
The task I had set myself was large and it grew in size as the morning wore on. The groups divided as their members finished their morning meal and went about their various tasks. My spirits sank lower as the sun rose higher. How would I ever find my son among these thousands of moving people?‘’Twere best to remove that ring, Master. There’s many here who would cut your throat for it.’
I spun round to find Walt standing behind me.
I grasped his hand. ‘Walt, ’tis good to see you! How fare you? And Raffy – how is he? I fear ’tis a heavy burden I have laid on you – heavier than ever I imagined.’
The old man’s weather-beaten face creased in a smile. ‘’Twas no hardship, Master. The boy had to be kept out of harm’s way. I was happy to look after him.’
‘So, where is he now?’
‘Down at what they call the speaking place. ’Tis where Kett and his preachers speak to the people to keep their spirits up. Come, Master, I will take you there. Master Raphael wanted to hear the magician everyone is talking about.’
‘Magician?’
‘Aye – a mad fellow but dangerous, I think. Calls himself “Prior Fustus” or some such.’
I stopped in my tracks. ‘Do you mean Parafaustus.’
‘Aye, Master, that is the name – Parafaustus.’
Chapter 8
There were, I guessed about a hundred and fifty or two hundred people sitting on the ground in a semi-circle around a small knoll on which the speaker stood. Walt pointed out Raffy close to the front and to one side. I worked my way round the edge of the crowd so that I was behind my son and also so I could get as close to the performer as possible. Then I sat down and studied him intently.
So this was Robert Allen who called himself Parafaustus. This was the man Cranmer and his colleagues were anxious to lay hands on – a stirrer of sedition a spreader of treason, a dabbler in black arts, a peddler of poison and – if the archbishop’s suspicions were justified – a tool in the hands of powerful political figures. It was frustrating that the man I had been sent to find and capture now stood before me and I was powerless to arrest him. The only thing I could do was fix his face firmly in my mind so that, if ever I encountered him again, I would recognise him instantly.
Allen was a small man. His spare frame was enveloped in an ankle-length black gown onto which various bright zodiac symbols had been sewn. A cluster of chains hung around his neck to which were fixed a variety of what I supposed were amulets – strange objects of wood, metal, and bone. He wore a black, clerical-type cap over dark hair which cascaded to his shoulders. Allen’s complexion was sallow. Thick brows overshadowed his eyes, an effect he had enhanced by the application of soot, or some such, to his lids. Slightly hollowed cheeks flanked a thin mouth. His chin was beardless. He carried a long staff, which he sometimes waved and, at other times, drew imaginary signs on the ground before him. His voice was harsh and strong.
‘Tomorrow, my brothers, tomorrow he comes – the agent of Beelzebub, the enemy of true English people. Tomorrow he shall meet his doom. How may I prophesy this? Because I am the great Parafaustus, master of more astronomical knowledge than all the teachers of Oxford and Cambridge and Paris and Padua. I have conjured Arrimanes.’
Here the speaker paused, raising his staff heavenwards. ‘And what has this spirit of war revealed?’
Allen glanced around his congregation. For several silent moments. ‘Victory!’
He brandished the staff and a chorus of cheers rose from the audience. ‘Yes, my friends, with the moon in Leo bold actions will be rewarded. We will defeat the oppressors of the people.’ (Cheers)
‘England will be once more a land where the common weal of the people is restored.’
(More cheers)
Allen held up a hand and his obedient disciples fell silent. In a subdued, sepulchral tone, he continued. ‘But there must be a cost. Blood will be shed. Some here may, perchance, be slain.’ Again the speaker resorted to a dramatic pause. ‘Now, who here would know that he will survive the coming battle?’
I could not see a man whose arm was not raised.
The black-robed magus thrust a hand into the scrip hanging from a strap across his shoulder. He pulled out a sheaf of papers. ‘Here I have a spell. Oh, a most powerful spell. A protection spell. A spell that summons the aerial spirits to stand guard over the wearer. Take this spell. Keep it close to your heart. Say twelve paternosters at the going down of today’s sun and twelve aves at his rising on the morrow and you will live to sing the songs of victory. This powerful spell is yours for a mere farthing. The tiniest coin for the greatest prize – your life. Who will take one?’
The audience rose as one man and moved forward.
Walt and I moved away a short distance.
‘Now I must seek out Raffy,’ I said.
The old man shook his head. ‘Think not to talk any sense into him after that display. His noddle will be full of all this magic nonsense. I know him well.’
I sighed. ‘Aye, better than his father, I think.’
‘Do not flail yourself, Master. You have many things to think of. My care is only for the horses and the wagons. Master Raphael has always loved to be about the animals – and a right good horseman he is, too. And to me, the lad has sometimes seemed like the son I never … But no more of that!’
‘I have always been grateful for your interest in the boy. I am sure you have been trying to knock this rebellious nonsense out of him these last days. If you have failed, I doubt I will succeed. But I have come all this way. Perhaps he will realise how concerned I am for him.’
‘Master Raphael has the makings of a fine man. He needs only to come through this headstrong stage.’
At that moment, a strident trumpet call rang out.
‘’Tis Master Kett calling a general muster,’ Walt explained. ‘I must go. We have to form up in our companies. You were best be off, Master. You are like to be recognised as not one of our number.’
‘But Raffy…’
‘Leave him to Master Segden and me for one more day. Where are you staying?
‘At the Maid’s Head.’
‘Then we will bring him there tomorrow evening.– whether he wants to come or not.’
I walked back into the city with a crowd of troubling images jostling in my head and making little sense of any of them.
The next day, Sunday 31 July, Norwich was buzzing with expectation. The relief force was known to be nearing the city. From mid-morning people lined the walls to watch, many carrying flags to wave at their deliverers. Others, however, rode or walked out to the riverbank and the northern wall to observe the reaction of the rebels. The question on everyone’s lips was, ‘What will Kett do now?’ Would he send his men back into the city to repel the king’s army? Would he march them around to the southern approach to bar the way? Around the tables of the Maid’s Head Inn, amateur strategists put forward their opinions on the military situation.
‘Kett will attack before Northampton’s men have time to form battle order.’ It had by now become well known that the Marquis of Northampton was the general in charge of the royal contingent.
‘If Kett is wise he will come out under a flag of truce to seek terms.’
‘Why would he do that? His host outnumbers the king’s men ten to one.’
‘I say Northampton will bombard the rebel camp with his artillery.’
‘’Twere better that than fighting in the streets.’
‘If I were Northampton I would put a ring of troops round Mousehold. Blockade the devils. Hem them in. Starve them into submission.’
‘That would force them to seize the city again.’
‘The first rule of strategy is to retain the initiative. ’Tis no good for rival generals to watch each other to see who moves first.’
Yet that is precisely what happened. The relief force, some fifteen hundred mounted men, mostly Italian mercenaries, came to a halt outside the city. I had a good vantage point on the south wall and watched a delegation of senior citizens ride out and confer with the king’s general. Then Northampton led the way into Norwich, through St Stephen’s gate, to the beat of a drum and the proud fluttering of flags. The ‘liberators’ of Norwich set up their camp in the Market Square while their captains were feasted in the nearby Guildhall.
And Kett? He did nothing. The watchmen on the city walls reported no belligerent activity in the rebels’ camp. Norwich held its breath, awaiting a response from the rebels which never came.
But I had other concerns. I waited with mounting impatience, for Walt to make contact. It was only as darkness began to encroach on the streets and lamps were being lit that the faithful head groom came to my chamber. He had Robert Segden with him.
The young tutor was full of apologies. ‘Master Treviot, I am so sorry it has come to this. I pray you believe that I have tried to turn Master Raphael from this dangerous course, but …’
‘You are not to blame, Robert,’ I said. ‘Raffy is a hasty-witted loggerhead. I doubt not this is all a great adventure for him. But where is he? You said you would bring him with you? Has he come to some harm amid that cutthroat rabble?’
Walt eased himself uneasily onto a stool. Until that moment, I think I had not realised that he had grown old in my service. He had always been in my life, highly valued by my father and promoted to the headship of the outdoor staff long before I took over the business. ‘Master Rafael is well and in high spirits. He is looking forward to the battle.’
‘Battle!’
‘Aye, Master Treviot,’ Robert explained. ‘’Tis what we are come to tell you. Kett has announced his plan to regain control of Norwich. He means to attack before dawn. I fear the marquis has played into his hands.’
‘Indeed,’ Walt agreed. ‘Had he kept outside the city his mounted force would have had the advantage. Within the walls, they must needs dismount and fight, hand-to-hand with men who know all the streets and alleys.’
‘They will meet arrows fired from windows and rooftops. They will be ambushed at every corner.’
I was appalled by the images Robert conjured. ‘This is terrible! We must warn the general straight away.’
My two visitors exchanged glances.
It was Walt who spoke. ‘There is a danger in that, Master?’
‘How so? It is, for sure, the only way to avoid danger.’
Walt ran a hand over his grey-stubbled head. ‘We have discussed this long, Master. If the marquis is alerted he will, for sure, withdraw his men from the city.’
‘Of course. ’Tis why …’
‘Do you not see, Master Treviot.’ Anguish creased Robert’s young face, ‘Kett will, thereby, know he is betrayed.’
‘And he will soon know who has betrayed him. He has a short way with those who displease him. He sits in judgement under a great oak on the heath and condemns to hanging any who break his own laws.’
‘But why should he suspect you?’
‘I fear we are suspect already.’ Robert explained. ‘’Tis known by many that Walt and I are here at your behest to draw Master Rafael away. We are watched. Now, we have managed to slip away while all in the camp are going early to their makeshift beds to be well-rested for the fray. We must return quickly.’
I struggled to grasp the implication of what I was being told. ‘So, if I pass on this information, you both face a hanging?’
‘Aye,’ Walt said, ‘and mayhap Master Rafael, too. What better way to punish you than to kill your son?’
‘But if I do nothing there will be butchery in these streets ’ere morning and my son is like to be among the slain or marked a traitor in the final reckoning.’
‘Final reckoning?’ Robert looked puzzled.
‘Oh, aye. Think you the Protector will leave Norwich in the hands of traitors? This rebellion can only have one ending. Then there will be hangings aplenty.’
I went to the window and stared across the open space of Tombland, now occupied by groups of soldiers whose bonfires lit up the stonework of the massive cathedral gateway. I wondered what the citizens were thinking in their locked and shuttered homes. Did they feel safe now that professional troops had been sent to protect them? Were they reassured by the lack of activity in the rebels’ camp? If they knew what I now knew …
I turned to face the others. ‘It seems I am a doomed gambler faced with two cards. Whichever I turn ’twill prove to be the ace of spades – the death card.’
‘Nay, Master Treviot we have a plan. ’Tis, I grant, a slender one, but all we can devise.’ Robert looked at me imploringly. ‘There is risk but if you approve it, it may save Master Raphael – and all of us.’
‘Go on.’
‘The attack will take place at several points around the city. Our company has been charged with the easternmost assault. We are to storm Bishop Bridge, break down the gate with gunpowder and make for the centre. Only the good Lord knows how long it will take us to do our job – or even if we shall succeed. But if we do, every man will be his own captain. Some will be looking for foreign troops to kill. Others, I think, will be breaking into houses and shops to steal all they can. Kett has forbidden looting but that will not stop them. There will be chaos.’ Robert shook his head. ‘Bloody chaos!’
Walt nodded. ‘Aye but ’twill give us our chance to bring Master Raphael here. What say you, Master? Do you approve our plan?’ He stood up.
It was a moment for instant decision. No time for gravely weighing arguments or nicely calculating consequences. ‘As you say, you must return quickly. I would not add to your risk by delaying you.’ I stared at my two servants, moved by their loyalty and shamed by the danger I had, unwittingly, plunged them into. The choice they were presenting was terrible. Since that night, I have never known whether the decision I made was the right one. What I do know is that, as I looked into their enquiring eyes, there was only one answer I could make. ‘Go,’ I said, ‘do what you have to do.’
That night I made no attempt to sleep. More than one of my candles burnt down and was replaced as I lay, fully clothed, ears straining for the first whisper of the coming storm. Yet, alert as I was, the sudden thudding of distant cannon fire alarmed me. The cathedral clock had scarce stopped chiming midnight. Too early, surely, for the planned rebel attack described by Walt and Robert. I went to the window and threw it open. In the square below the soldiers were scrambling around in some confusion. One leapt to his unsaddled horse and cantered off in the direction of Bishopgate. Others dispersed in small groups and left Tombland in different directions, buckling on swords and jamming on helmets as they went.
