To the surprise of Jack and his two friends, his speech was met with a growling cheer from the crowd. Cornish turned a deep red, his mouth working with no sound coming out. Jack reached down to the wide leather strap that held his trousers and Cornish bolted, pushing through the crowd and disappearing at speed along the street away from the square.
Under the scrutiny of the crowd, Jack flushed almost as deeply.
‘By hell, what gathering is this?’ he demanded. ‘Did someone raise the tax on candles or beer? What brought all of you out to block the street?’
‘You’ll remember me, Jack!’ a voice called. A burly figure in a leather apron pushed forward. ‘I know you.’
Jack peered at the man.
‘Dunbar, aye, I know you. I thought you were in France, making your fortune.’
‘So I was, till they stole my land from under me.’
Jack raised his eyebrows, privately pleased to hear of the man’s failure.
‘Well, I ain’t never had land, Dunbar, so I wouldn’t know how that feels.’
The smith glowered, but he raised his chin.
‘It’s coming back to me why I didn’t like you, Jack Cade.’ For an instant, both men bristled with rising anger. With an effort, the smith forced himself to be pleasant. ‘Mind you, Cade, if you killed the magistrate, I’ll call you friend and see no shame in it. He got what he was due and nothing more.’
‘I didn’t …’ Jack began to reply, but the crowd roared their approval and he blinked at them.
‘We need a man to take our grievances to Maidstone, Jack,’ Dunbar said, taking him by the shoulder. ‘Someone who’ll hold those county bastards by the throat and shake them until they remember what justice is.’
‘Well, I ain’t him,’ Jack replied, pulling himself free. ‘I came for my boy and that’s all. Now step out of my way, Dunbar, or by God, I’ll make you.’
With a firm hand, he pushed the smith to one side and went to stand under the swaying body of his son, looking up with a terrible expression.
‘We’ll be going anyway, Jack,’ Dunbar said, raising his voice. ‘There’s sixty men here, but there’s thousands coming back from France. We’re going to show them that they can’t ride roughshod over Kentish men, not here.’
The crowd cheered the words, but they were all watching Jack as he took his old seax knife and sawed at the rope holding his son. Paddy and Ecclestone stepped in to take the body as it fell, lowering it gently to the stones. Jack looked at the swollen face and knuckled tears from his eyes before he looked up.
‘Ain’t never been to Maidstone,’ he said softly. ‘There’ll be soldiers there. You’ll get yourself killed, Dunbar, you and the rest of them. Kentish men or not, you’ll be cut down. They’ll set their dogs and bully boys on you — and you’ll tug your forelock and beg their pardon, I don’t doubt it.’
‘Not with a thousand, they won’t, Jack. They’ll hear us. We’ll make them hear.’
‘No, mate, they’ll send out men just like you, is what they’ll do. They’ll sit in their fancy houses and hard, London men will come out and crack your pates for you. Take the warning, Dunbar. Take it from one who knows.’
The smith rubbed the back of his neck, thinking.
‘Maybe they will. Or maybe we’ll find justice. Will you walk with us?’
‘I won’t, didn’t I just say? You can ask me that with my son lying here? I’ve given enough of my own to the bailiffs and judges, haven’t I? Go on your way, Dunbar. Your troubles ain’t mine.’ He knelt by his son, his head sagging from exhaustion and grief.
‘You’ve paid enough, Jack. The good Lord himself can see that. Maybe it isn’t in you to walk with Kentish lads, to demand of our king’s men a little of the fine justice they only give out to the rich.’
The smith watched as Jack straightened, very aware that the burned and blackened man before him was still carrying an ugly great seax with a blade as long as his forearm.
‘Steady there, Jack,’ he said, raising his palms. ‘We need men with experience. You were a soldier, weren’t you?’
‘I’ve seen my share.’
Jack looked thoughtfully at the crowd, noting how many of them were fit and strong. They were not city men, those refugees. He could see they’d lived lives of hard work. He felt their eyes on him as he scratched the back of his neck. His throat was dry and his thoughts seemed to move like slow boats drifting on a wide river.
‘A thousand men?’ he said at last.
‘Or more, Jack, or more!’ Dunbar said. ‘Enough to set a few fires and break a few heads, eh? Are you in, Jack? It might be your only chance to take a good thick stick to the king’s bailiffs.’
Jack glanced at Ecclestone, who looked steadily back, giving nothing away. Paddy was grinning like the Irishman he was, delighted at the prospect of chaos that had descended on them from a clear morning. Jack felt his own mouth twist in reply.
‘I suppose I could be the man for that kind of work, Dunbar. I burned two houses last night. It may be I’ve got an itch for it now.’
‘That’s good, Jack!’ Dunbar said, beaming. ‘We’ll march through the villages first and gather up all those back from France — and anyone else who feels the same.’
The smith broke off as he felt Jack’s big hand press against his chest for the second time that morning.
‘Hold up there, Dunbar. I ain’t taking orders from you. You wanted a man with experience? You ain’t even Kentish yet. You may live here now, Dunbar, but you were born some other place, one of those villages where sheep run from sight of man.’ He took a breath and the locals chuckled. ‘No, lads. I’ll get you to Maidstone and I’ll break heads as called upon. My word on it, Dunbar.’
The smith turned a deeper colour, though he dipped his head.
‘Right, Jack, of course.’
Cade let his gaze drift over the crowd, picking out the faces he knew.
‘I see you there, Ronald Pincher, you old bastard. Is your inn shut this morning, with a big gasping crowd like this one? I’ve a thirst on me and you’re the man to quench it, even with the piss-poor beer you serve.’ He raised his eyebrows as a thought struck him. ‘Free drink to Kentish men on a day like today, I’m thinking?’
The innkeeper in question looked less than pleased, but raised his eyes and blew air from puffed cheeks, accepting his lot. The men roared and laughed, already smacking their lips at the prospect. As they moved off, Dunbar looked back to see Jack and his two friends still standing by the gibbet.
‘Are you coming?’ Dunbar called.
‘Go ahead. I’ll find you,’ Jack replied without looking. His voice was hoarse.
As the crowd moved away, his shoulders slumped in grief. Dunbar watched for a moment as the big man lifted his son’s body on to his shoulder, patting it gently as he took the weight. With Paddy and Ecclestone walking on either side of him, Jack began the long trudge up to the churchyard to bury his boy.
16
William de la Pole walked up spiralling wooden stairs to the room above. It was a spartan place for a man with authority over the prestigious Calais garrison. One small table looked over a leaden sea through narrow slots in the stone walls. William could see white-flecked waves in the distance and heard the ever-present calls of gulls wheeling and hovering in the wind over the coast. The room was very cold, despite the fire burning in the hearth.
The Duke of York rose from his seat as William entered and the two men shook hands briefly before York waved him to a seat and settled himself. His expression was sardonic as he folded his hands on his belt and leaned back.
‘How should I address you now, William? You have so many new titles, by the king’s hand. Admiral of the fleet, is it? The king’s steward? Earl of Pembroke? Or perhaps Duke of Suffolk now, my equal? How you have risen! Like fresh bread. I can hardly comprehend what service to the Crown could have been so valuable as to earn such rewards.’
William stared back calmly, ignoring the mocking tone.