The Vanishing Witch (44 page)

A roar went up that brought men to their feet, stamping and clapping
one another on the back. ‘Death to the traitors! Death to the traitors!’

But Farringdon clearly had not finished, though it was some time before he could quieten the crowd again.

‘I have saved the best news until last.’ He paused, looking round at the vast ocean of faces. ‘King Richard himself has agreed to meet in person with the leaders of the uprising tomorrow morning, on the south bank of
the Thames.’

There were gasps of amazement.

‘God’s arse, I never thought the King himself would come to bargain with the likes of us,’ Giles said. ‘And him barely fourteen, not much older than you are, lad. Think of that.’

Giles said something else, but Hankin’s attention had turned back to Farringdon. In the guttering torchlight, his features continually dissolved and re-formed, so that he
seemed to wear the faces of a thousand different men.

‘Wat Tyler will present our demands to the King himself. He will demand death for all the traitors of the common people! Death to John of Gaunt, to Archbishop Sudbury, to Bishop Courtney of London, to Bishop Fordham of Durham, to Robert Hale and all those men who tried to rob us with their taxes. Death to every one of those vipers who surround
our brave young king and drip their foul poison into his ears!

‘Wat Tyler will place our petition directly in the King’s hands and he will demand that every man named on that petition shall be surrendered to us, the True Commons. Every man named on that list shall be beheaded in a public execution before us all, and their heads placed on the Great Bridge, as are the heads of all traitors!’

Hankin’s heart thudded in excitement. They were going to execute the Archbishop of Canterbury and John of Gaunt, the most powerful men in all England! And he was going to watch them do it. For the first time since those men had threatened his sister and ransacked his home, the impotent rage that had been burning inside him gave way to wild elation. It was as if all these weeks he had been pinned to
the ground, unable to protect himself. But today he had thrown off his assailant and was pounding him to a pulp instead.

Farringdon raised his hands, like a priest at mass. ‘Tonight begins the feast of Corpus Christi. The Body of Christ made flesh. Christ was a carpenter, a working man, a craftsman like many of you. He was forced by the priests and the tax-collectors to labour under the weight
of His own cross as He carried it to the place of His execution. Could there be a more fitting day for the common man of England to free himself from his oppressors, to turn upon the tax-gatherers, the bishops and the lords and trample them under his feet? On this day, we will finally overturn the tyranny of serfdom for ever. And in generations to come, the freemen of England will look back and
remember that on the feast of Corpus Christi a new parliament was born, the parliament of the True Commons! And each of you will return to your shires and villages with your heads held higher than any lord’s, knowing that you were part of the greatest army in history, the army that set the people of England free for ever!’

If Farringdon intended to say more, he never had the chance. The field
of men erupted into roars and cheers that Hankin thought must have been heard in the Tower of London itself, though he had little idea of where that might be. Farringdon was swept down from the wagon and carried shoulder high through the crowd, till Hankin lost sight of him.

Giles grabbed Hankin’s arm. ‘Come on, lad, let’s get ourselves a share of that meat before it all disappears. My belly’s
rumbling so loudly I could eat the devil’s arse if it was well roasted.’

But in spite of the best endeavours of the raiding parties, the beasts and fowls they had stolen did not stretch far among the thousands of men who sat around the fires that night. The few slices of meat and morsels of looted bread they received did little to blunt the sharpened appetites of men who’d been several days on
the march, but not even hunger could dampen their high spirits. When the food ran out, the singing and dancing began. The men were not dainty maidens and they pounded in circles till the ground shook as if a herd of cattle was stampeding across it.

Hankin looked back towards the dark blur in the distance that was the great city wall. He grinned as he thought of the archers in the bastilles, peering
out into the darkness, seeing the hundreds of fires and listening to the great roar of singing and shouting. He bet they were afraid of the rebels, afraid of him, for he was one of this great army and their fear thrilled him more than anything had before in his short life.

But as the camp finally grew quiet and men huddled down on the hard ground to snatch a few hours’ sleep before dawn, Hankin
lay awake. They had been talking about going back to their villages when this was over, marching home as victors from the fight. Discussing how they would farm
their
new land, for King Richard would force the manors and abbeys to divide their lands between the villagers. Craftsmen would be able to set their own prices. Bondsmen would be free to find work wherever they pleased and charge as much
as they wanted for their labour.

But where would he find work? After the terrible row he’d had with his mother, after sneaking away in the middle of the night, leaving his father alone to work the river, Hankin knew he would hardly be welcomed back. Where could he go after their victory tomorrow? He had never in his life been among so many people and he’d never felt so alone.

Children who fall into fits at the sight of a witch will recover if allowed to scratch or cut her and in doing so draw blood from above her breath.

The warehouse on the Braytheforde was quiet. A few cargoes had been dispatched in the cool of the early morning, before the sun’s heat grew too fierce for men and beasts. Only one incoming wagon stood outside the great doors, half
unloaded. Two paggers, the sweat running down their bare backs, were rolling barrels down the planks propped against the wagon and into the warehouse. They were taking their time, pausing between each barrel to take long swigs of ale from skins, much to the annoyance of the driver, who evidently wanted to get unloaded and slake his own thirst in the nearest tavern.

Fulk was sitting just inside
the warehouse in the shade, where the cool breeze from the river would reach him. Leonia and Adam stood watching on the far side of the quay.

‘There’s another way in, isn’t there?’ Leonia asked. ‘Another door? Catlin took me there once.’

Adam shook his head. ‘Not into the warehouse. There’s a door at the top of those stairs, at the side of the building, but that leads only to the tally room
above the warehouse floor. It’s just a loft where they store the records and things that would spoil when the river floods. But you can’t get to the warehouse floor that way. Only way into the warehouse is past Fulk.’

‘I want to see the tally room,’ Leonia said.

‘You can’t. Fulk’ll be furious if he finds strangers up there.’

‘But I’m not a stranger. I’m Robert of Bassingham’s daughter now.
The warehouse belongs to him, so I’ve a perfect right to go wherever I like. Fulk daren’t stop me. You wait here and count to . . .’ Her smooth brow furrowed. ‘Count to five hundred. Start when you see me at the top of the stairs. Then you come over. You’ll have to think of a way to make Fulk go back inside the warehouse with you.’

‘No!’ Adam backed away in alarm. ‘I told you what he does. I
don’t want to go anywhere near him.’

‘I won’t let him hurt you. I promise. Trust me. You do trust me, don’t you, Adam?’

Leonia gripped his arm, gazing earnestly at him with her huge brown eyes. The gold flecks in them glittered in the bright sunlight. He’d never seen a lion, except the painted ones on shields and emblems, but he imagined that if he ever did, their eyes would look exactly like
hers.

‘Just do as I say and all will be well, you’ll see.’

She smiled and he found himself wondering what it would be like to kiss that soft mouth, not that he would ever dare.

He watched her picking her way around the wharf, stepping daintily over mooring ropes and ducking as men carrying planks and bales swung them perilously close to her head. Finally, she reached the warehouse. He walked
a few paces to the side until he had a clear view of the staircase. She ran lightly up the steps, then disappeared through the door at the top. He began counting –
One, two, three
. . .
one hundred and sixty-five, one hundred and sixty-six . . .
four hundred and ninety-eight, four hundred and ninety-nine, five hundred
. He started walking.

His legs were shaking as he approached the warehouse,
and he thought he was going to vomit. He inched up to the open door. Fulk’s eyes were closed and he was dozing, his fat backside spilling over a stool and his feet propped on a box. A bundle of tally sticks lay in his lap.

For a few agonising moments, Adam stood watching him, everything inside him telling him to run before Fulk woke. But just as he was about to turn and flee, Fulk grunted and
opened his eyes. He blinked blearily at the boy, squinting to focus in the glare of the sun. Then he lumbered to his feet. Adam had not a single idea in his head about how he might coax Fulk deeper inside the warehouse but, as it turned out, he didn’t need to.

Fulk grabbed him by the back of the neck and dragged him inside, shaking him, like a dog shakes a rat. ‘You lazy little lump of pig shit.
Where have you been? You’re supposed to come here to help me. Wait till your father hears about this. You think I haven’t enough to do with that milksop brother of yours getting himself drowned? You know what they do with boys at sea who are work-shy? They tie a rope to them and drag them under the keel of the ship, that’s what. Maybe I ought to tie a rope to your feet and drag you across the
Braytheforde.’

Fulk’s fingers were squeezing so hard round his neck that Adam thought he was going to die. He was gasping for breath and struggling so frantically in the overseer’s grip that he’d forgotten about Leonia, until Fulk gave a startled cry and stared upwards. Adam felt something whoosh past his head. Fulk screamed and almost in the same instant Adam heard a sickening crunch. The overseer
released his neck and flew through the air. He landed with a crash on the floor.

Adam staggered sideways in horror. Fulk was lying on his back, his face pouring blood. White splinters of bone poked through the mangled flesh that had once been his nose. The two paggers came running in and skidded to a halt, staring in open-mouthed shock.

‘The hook – how the hell— Why’s it moving?’ one gabbled
in fear. ‘It can’t move all by itself, it can’t!’

Adam felt something like raindrops falling on his hair. He touched his head and stared at his fingers. They were red. He stumbled backwards, staring up. A massive iron hook was swinging from a ship’s rope in ever decreasing arcs above where Fulk had been standing moments before, scattering drops of blood in a shower onto the floor below.

Aghast,
Adam stared up at the open platform above, but no one was there. No one at all.

To cure a headache, tie a strand of a rope that has been used to hang a man round the head of the sufferer.

‘Betrayed! We’ve been betrayed!’

Hankin, along with the other men, scrambled to his feet as a rider galloped straight through the middle of the camp, scattering the Essex men to right and left. He reined in his horse near the walls of the Charterhouse and
wheeled round. Men began to run towards the rider, but there were so many that Hankin and Giles found themselves at the back of a vast crowd, with no hope of hearing anything the rider might be saying.

Soon after dawn that morning, as the bells for the Corpus Christi feast had begun pealing in the churches and chapels all over the city, the Essex men marched on Aldersgate once more and hammered
on the thick wood with spears, ancient swords and staves, demanding that they be opened. But although the city gates should have been open at Prime, they remained firmly barred. With the knowledge that the King would shortly receive Wat Tyler and accede to his demands, the men did not attempt to storm them. They could wait. Soon, they told each other, King Richard himself would order them to be
flung open and would even appear on the battlements above to welcome the Essex men as his loyal subjects.

Those who had ridden to London, or had seized horses from the abbeys they’d raided, set off at once to ride around the city walls to the other side of the Tower to watch the moment of their victory from the riverbank. It was rumoured that the King would sail from the Tower down to where the
Kentish men waited on the opposite bank and would there walk ashore and sit with them.

For the first time in his life, Hankin wished he could ride. It wasn’t so much the King he was longing to see, for they’d all see him soon enough, but the river: Giles had said it was so broad that a dozen boats could line up end to end and still not span it. That was beyond anything Hankin could imagine.

Now he couldn’t understand what had gone wrong, though plainly something had, for an angry roar shot up from the front of the crowd. Men were shouting and jeering. Then some were elbowing their way back through the crowd, jostling and shoving those still trying to go the other way. Giles grabbed the arm of one as he pushed past. ‘What’s happening? What does he mean
betrayed
?’

The man scowled.
‘The King wasn’t allowed to talk to us. The rider saw it all. The King’s barge, with its pennants, and all the attendant boats were rowing towards the bank where Tyler and the Kentish men were waiting. But that traitor Archbishop Sudbury was sitting next to the King, whispering in his ear. He persuaded him to turn back before they even touched the bank. The King never even landed!’

‘The bastard!’
Giles yelled. ‘If I ever get to within spitting distance of Sudbury, we’ll not need an axe ’cause I’ll rip his head off with my bare hands.’

The howls of outrage redoubled as the news spread among the crowd. Most of the men were running back towards Aldersgate, brandishing whatever they had in the way of weapons. It seemed they would batter their way in by force of rage, but just as they reached
the gates they swung open. Those in front stopped in their tracks, fearing that armed knights were about to charge out and attack them, but instead a stream of ordinary men like themselves poured out.