Stormbird (29 page)

‘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.

‘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.

 

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
                

‘The London gates are closed at night, Jack,’ Thomas said, pointing at the floor. The two men were 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?’

The two men looked at each other and laughed cynically, raising the cups they both held in silent toast to their enemies. At Thomas’s urging, Jack had allowed a list of demands to be taken to the London Guildhall on behalf of ‘The Captain of the Great Assembly in Kent’. Some of the men had suggested virgins and crowns for their personal use, of course, but the discussion had eventually settled down to genuine grievances. They were all sick of high taxes and cruel laws that applied only to those who could not buy their way out. The petition they’d sent to the London mayor and his aldermen would change the country if the king agreed. Neither Jack nor Thomas expected King Henry even to see it.

‘They won’t answer us,’ Thomas said. ‘Not without crossing the interests of all those who take bribes and keep the common families under their boot heels. They’ve no interest in treating us fair, so we’ll just have to knock sense into them. Look there – the Tower is close by London Bridge – no more than half a mile at most. If we take any other route in, we’ll have to find our way through a maze of streets even local men don’t know that well. You asked for my advice and that’s it. We come up from Southwark and cross the bridge around
sunset, then cut east for the Tower before the king’s men even know we’re there amongst them. We’ll have to crack a few pates along the way, but if we keep moving, there aren’t enough soldiers in London to stop us. As long as we don’t get jammed into a small space, Jack.’

‘More people than I’ve ever seen, though,’ Jack muttered uncomfortably. He still couldn’t imagine such a vast number of men, women and children all crammed into the filthy streets. ‘Seems like they could stop us just by holding hands and standing still.’

Thomas Woodchurch laughed at the image.

‘Maybe they could, but they won’t. You heard the men you sent scouting. If half of it is true, Londoners are about as angry with the king and his lords as we are. They can hardly move or shit without some fat fool demanding a fine that goes into his pockets or to the lord that employs him. If you can keep your men from looting, Jack, they’ll
welcome
us in and cheer us all the way.’

He saw the big Kentish man glare at his map through red-rimmed eyes. Cade was drinking hard each evening and Thomas suspected he’d have stayed in Blackheath or the edge of Kent until doomsday. Cade was good enough in a stand-up fight against bailiffs or sheriff’s men, but he’d been lost at the task of taking on London. He’d fallen on Woodchurch like a drowning man, ready to listen. After all the bad fortune Thomas had suffered, he felt he was due a little of the other sort. For once, he felt he was in the right place at the right time.

‘You think we can do it?’ Jack mumbled, slurring. ‘There are a lot of men looking to me to keep them alive, Tom. I won’t see them all cut down. I’m not in this to fail.’

‘We won’t,’ Woodchurch said softly. ‘The country’s up in arms for a reason. This king of ours is a fool and a coward.
I’ve lost enough to him and so have you – so have all the men with us. They’ll stand when they need to; you’ve shown that. They’ll stand and they’ll walk right into London’s Tower.’

Jack shook his head. ‘It’s a
fortress
, Tom,’ he said, without looking up. ‘We can’t be outside it when the king’s soldiers catch up with us.’

‘There are gates there and we have men with axes and hammers. I won’t say it will be easy, but you have eight or nine thousand Englishmen and, with that many, there isn’t much that will stand against us for long.’

‘Most of them are
Kentish
men, Tom Woodchurch,’ Jack said, his eyes glittering.

‘Better still, Jack. Better still.’ He chuckled as Cade clapped him on the back, making him stagger.

The sun was coming up when the two men lurched out of the inn and stood in the doorway, blinking at the light. The band of Freemen had raided every farm and village for five miles and many of them were lying in a stupor on the ground, senseless on stolen barrels of spirits or wine. Jack nudged a man with his foot and watched him slump, groaning without waking up. The man was holding a great leg of pork, his arms wrapped around it like a lover. They’d marched hard over the previous few days and Jack didn’t begrudge them the chance to rest.

‘All right, Tom,’ he said. ‘The men can sober up today. I might sleep a while, myself. We’ll go in tonight across the bridge.’

Thomas Woodchurch looked north, imagining the morning fires of London being lit, creating their greasy fog and the smells he remembered so vividly from his youth. His wife had returned to her family home with his daughters and he wondered if they even knew he and Rowan were alive. The thought of his women brought his brows down in sudden thought.

‘You’ll have to tell the men there’ll be no rape or looting, Jack. No drinking either, not till it’s done and we’re safe back here. If we turn the people against us, we’ll never get out of the city.’

‘I’ll tell them,’ Jack said sourly, glaring at him.

Thomas realized he’d come close to giving the big man an order and spoke to smooth over the moment of tension.

‘They’ll listen to you, Jack. You’re the one who brought them all here, every last one of them. They’ll follow you.’

‘Get some sleep, Woodchurch,’ Jack replied. ‘It’ll be a busy night for both of us.’

Derry Brewer was in a foul mood. With his boots clacking on the wooden floor, he paced the room above the water gate of the Tower, looking out on the slate-grey Thames rushing past. Margaret watched him from a bench seat, her hands held tightly in her lap.

‘I’m not saying they’ll ever get closer than they are now, my lady, but there’s an army on the edge of London and the whole city is either terrified or wanting to join them. I have Lord Scales and Lord Grey at me every day to send out royal soldiers to scatter Cade’s men, as if they’re all peasants who’ll run from the sight of a few horses.’

‘Are they not peasants, Derihew?’ she said, awkwardly using his Christian name. Since they’d been thrown together as allies, she’d asked Derry to call her Margaret, but he resisted still. She looked up as he stopped and turned, wondering whether he saw strength or weakness.

‘My lady, I have men strolling right through their camp. That fool Cade knows nothing about passwords or guards. In that drunken crowd, anyone can come or go as they please and, yes, most of them are labourers, apprentices, hard men. There are gentlemen there too, though, with friends in
London. They have voices calling everywhere in their support and I smell York’s coins behind them.’ He blew out a breath and rubbed the bridge of his nose. ‘And I knew Jack Cade once, when he was just another big … um … devil, standing in ranks against the French. I heard he even fought for the French once, when they were paying better than us. There’s anger enough in him to burn London to the ground, my lady, if he gets the chance.’

He stopped speaking, considering whether he could ask one of his spies to put a dagger in Cade’s eye. It would mean the man’s death, of course, but Derry had the king’s purse available to him. He could pay a fortune to a widow and children, enough to tempt, at least.

‘No matter who they are, or why they’ve gathered, there’s a right horde of them, my lady, all shouting and giving speeches and working each other up to a fine lather. With a spark, London could be sacked. I’d be happier if I didn’t have to plan for the king’s safety, as well as everything else. If he was away from the city, I could act with a free hand.’

Margaret dipped her gaze, rather than be caught staring at her husband’s spymaster. She did not trust Derry Brewer completely, or understand him. She’d known he was on her side over the fate of William de la Pole, but it was weeks since a headless body had washed up with a dozen others at Dover. She closed her eyes briefly at a stab of pain for her friend. One of her hands clenched over the other.

Whether she trusted Derry Brewer or not, she knew she had few other allies at court. The riots seemed to be spreading and those lords who supported the Duke of York were not working too hard to put them down. It suited his faction of lords to have the country up in arms, roaring their discontent. She had learned to hate Richard of York, but hatred
wouldn’t jar him from his course. London and her husband had to be made safe before anything else.

As Derry turned back to the window, she ran a hand lightly over her womb, praying for life within. Henry didn’t seem to remember their first stolen intimacy, as drugged and ill as he had been at the time. She had been bold enough to go to him half a dozen times since and it was true her fluxes were late that month. She tried not to hope too desperately.

‘My lady? Are you unwell?’

Her eyes came open and she blushed, unaware that it made her pretty. She looked away from Derry’s searching gaze.

‘I am a little weary, is all, Derry. I know my husband does not want to leave London. He says he must remain, to shame them for their treason.’

‘Whatever he wants, my lady, it will not help him if thousands of men tear London apart. I cannot say for certain that he is safe here; do you understand me? York has his whisperers in as many ears as I have – and a fat purse to bribe weak men. If Cade’s army comes in, it would be too easy to stage an attack on the king – and too hard to protect him with the city under siege.’

He stepped closer and his hand came up for a moment as if he might take hers in his grasp. He let it drop, thinking better of it.

‘Please, Your Highness. I asked to see you for this reason. King Henry has a castle at Kenilworth, not eighty miles from London on good roads. If he is well enough to travel, he could be there in just a few days by carriage. I would know my king is safe and it would be one less burden in defeating the rabble with Cade.’ He hesitated, then spoke again, his voice dropping. ‘Margaret, you should go with him. We have loyal soldiers, but with Cade so close, the people themselves
are rioting and looting. They block roads and there are mobs gathering all over the city. Cade coming in will be the tipping point, the spark. This could go badly for us and I do not doubt York’s supporters have marked you well. After all, your fine and loyal members of Parliament have made York the royal heir “in the event of misfortunes”.’ Derry almost spat the words of the decree. ‘It would be madness to invite exactly what they want. To stay is to hold the knife to your own breast.’

Margaret looked steadily into his eyes as he spoke, asking herself again how much she trusted this man. What advantage would he gain with the king and queen gone from London, beyond his claims and the ease of his fears? She knew by then that Derry Brewer was not a simple man. There was rarely
one
reason for him to do anything. Yet she had seen his grief and rage when he heard of William’s murder. Derry had disappeared for two days, drinking himself into a stupor in one London tap-house after another. That had been real enough. She made her decision.

‘Very well, Derry. I will ask my husband to go to Kenilworth. I will stay in London.’

‘You’d be safer away,’ he said immediately.

Margaret didn’t waver.

‘There is
nowhere
safe for me, Derry, not as things stand. I am not a child any longer, to have the truth hidden from me. I am not safe while other men covet my husband’s throne. I am not safe while my womb is empty! Well, a pox on all that! I will stay here and I will watch my husband’s lords and soldiers defend the capital. Who knows, you may have need of me, before the end.’

Cade rolled his shoulders, looking out over a host of men that stretched far beyond the light of the crackling torches.
He was feeling strong, though his throat was dry and he would have liked another drink to warm his belly. The summer twilight had faded slowly, but darkness was truly upon them at last and an army waited on his word. God knew, he’d stood with smaller forces against the French! He looked around him in awe, sensing rather than seeing the extraordinary number of men who’d gathered. He knew at least half of them had come to him after some injustice. He’d heard a hundred angry stories, more. Men who had lost everything in France, or had their lives and families wrecked by some judgment of the courts. With everything taken away from them, they’d all come to walk with Jack Cade.