Jean Plaidy (27 page)

“My patience me,” grumbled the blacksmith Michael Joseph, ’tis hard enough for the likes of we to put bread in our mouths and those of our childer … are us going to stand by and pay like helpless fules? Don’t ’ee think we should up and do som’at about it?”

Joseph was a powerful speaker. In his forge he talked what the King would call sedition but what to the people of Bodmin seemed sound common sense.

“Where is the fighting?” asked Thomas Flammock. “It’s on the border between Scotland and England, there’s where it is. They’ve been fighting there for hundreds of years and they’ll go on fighting for a hundred more. Why should we be asked to pay for their quarrels?”

“But what do we do about it, eh, lawyer?” shouted a voice in the crowd.

“That is what I want to suggest to you,” said Flammock. “We can march to London. We can present a petition to the King and ask him to get rid of his evil advisers. If the King wants to wage war it is not for us … the people of Cornwall … who know no difference, wars or no wars … it is not for us to pay for it.”

The crowd cheered loudly.

“And who will go to London with this petition?” asked the man who had spoken before.

“We must all go, my friend. If one or two of us go … we’d not be received most likely. We’ve got to show them that we mean what we say. We must go to London in a body … march to London … show that we mean what we say: we will not pay these taxes for a fight which does not concern us.”

“We would want someone to lead us,” said the man. He pushed his way to the spot where Flammock was standing with Joseph. “Friends,” he cried, “here’s two good Cornish men. Shall we ask them to lead us to London and the King?”

There was a shout from the crowd.

“Lawyer Flammock and Blacksmith Joseph! Our leaders …”

There was wild enthusiasm, but Flammock lifted his hand for silence.

“I will lead you,” he said. “And you, Michael?”

“Aye,” said Michael. “I’ll come along.”

“We will lead you until we can find someone more worthy to be your leader.”

“Ain’t no one more worthy than ’ee, lawyer,” shouted a voice.

“Someone of the nobility would carry more weight. But we shall not delay. We shall set out for London… .Tomorrow at dawn … we’ll assemble here and those who can, must come with us. The more men we have the more likely we are to make our point. Is that agreed?”

There was a roar of approval in the crowd. The next morning at dawn, Flammock was amazed at the numbers who had assembled in the square. They were carrying bows and arrows and billhooks. He was a little alarmed for he had meant this to be a peaceful demonstration.

By the time they reached Taunton their numbers had grown and Flammock was a little dismayed for he had been joined by ruffians whose intent he knew was to rob and pillage. This was the last thing Flammock had had in mind, and he began to wonder whether it would not have been better to have selected, say, a dozen men, all worthies of the town of Bodmin, and with them gone to London to present the petition.

The crowd was getting out of hand. This was proved when the Provost of Taunton came out to remonstrate with them, for some of the men were overrunning the town and helping themselves from the shops.

Flammock was horrified to see the Provost lying in a pool of blood. The man was dead.

He managed to get them out of the town quickly. There he spoke to them. “That was a regrettable incident,” he said. “Now we have a man’s blood on our hands. To kill is not the purpose of this expedition. I want no more scenes like that. We have not come to rob and murder but to talk to the King about harsh taxes. There must be no more killing. God help us for we have slain a man who was doing nothing but his duty.”

At Wells they were joined by James Touchet, Lord Audley. Audley was very dissatisfied with the King. He had been in France with Henry and he felt he had not been given his dues. He was therefore feeling extremely disgruntled and when he saw the large numbers of men descending on Wells he rode out to speak with their leaders.

He found Thomas Flammock a reasonable and educated man and he agreed with him that it was insupportable that the King should demand such high taxes from people who were not in a position to pay them.

In a rather rash moment he offered to accompany them.

Seeing an opportunity of shifting responsibilities, Flammock was delighted.

“My lord,” he said, “you are a nobleman of high degree. It is for you to take over the leadership of our party.”

Audley saw the point of this.

So, with Audley at their head the Cornish rebels marched to London and on a hot June day, weary but expectant, they arrived at Deptford Strand.

Henry was furious. This was what he had always feared. A dissatisfied people no doubt fired by this impostor in Scotland now saw fit to rise against him.

The nightmare had become a reality.

His forces were concentrating in the North to deal with the Scottish threat. And now here was trouble from the West.

He hastily sent messengers to his armies on the way to the North. They must send a considerable force up to the Border it was true; but he must have forces in the South to meet the rebellious Cornishmen.

Lord Daubeney, who had only just set out for the North when the call came, turned back and made his way to Deptford Strand. The Cornishmen had become somewhat disheartened by the indifference of the people through whose towns and villages they had passed and who were clearly of the opinion that to start a rebellion would bring them more trouble than paying what was asked.

In vain did Flammock attempt to explain that it was merely a petition he had set out to take to London. He was learning that it was impossible to prevent such an undertaking assuming an uglier aspect.

He was dismayed when the King’s forces had come into contact with some of the marchers and the Cornishmen had a momentary victory, taking a few prisoners. There was one of these who was obviously of high rank and when he was questioned it was discovered that he was none other than Lord Daubeney himself—the leader of the King’s army.

Audley and Flammock conferred together.

“We must release him at once,” said Audley. “Otherwise we shall be called rebels and accused of treason. This is not a rebellion. It is a deputation to protest against the high taxation.”

Daubeney was brought in and Audley explained this to him.

Overcome with shame at being captured by rebels and guessing how this would lower his prestige with the King Daubeney hid his fury and embarrassment and pretended to understand.

He was immediately released with the other prisoners.

But Daubeney was not going to allow this insult to pass. He immediately planned to attack the Cornishmen and this he did, taking them by surprise at Blackheath. They, with their arrows and billhooks, were no match for the King’s trained soldiers and the battle was over almost before it had begun and Daubeney had the satisfaction of taking the rebel leaders, Audley, Flammock and Michael Joseph, alive.

So that little flurry was over, thought Henry; he could be grateful for that. He wondered how best to act. He wanted to show the people his leniency and on the other hand he must make them realize that no one could rise against him with impunity.

The Cornishmen themselves—the humble artisans from Bodmin—should have a free pardon. They could go back to their remote town and talk of the benevolence of the King.

The leaders should not get off so freely. Men like Flammock and Joseph were dangerous. Moreover, but for them this disturbing affair would not have taken place.

The people must be shown that the Flammocks and Josephs among them were dangerous men to follow. This time, because the King was merciful they had been forgiven and had escaped the punishment they deserved—but it must not happen again.

Audley was considered the chief offender. It was men such as he who were the real danger. He forgot his position in the country when he placed himself at the head of a rabble and he must pay the penalty. He was brought before the King and condemned to death. As he was a nobleman he should be beheaded and not suffer the barbarous penalty which befell low-born traitors, but he must be shamed first. He was put into a paper coat, which showed that he had been stripped of his knighthood, being no longer worthy of it, and was led from Newgate to Tower Hill where the executioner with his axe was waiting for him.

When his head was separated from his body it was stuck on London Bridge—a warning to all who thought they might play the traitor.

Flammock and Joseph were less fortunate. They suffered the traitor’s death. They were taken to Tyburn where they were hanged, drawn and quartered; and their limbs were displayed in various parts of the city.

This was what happened to traitors, those who in moments of folly lightly undertook to plot against the King.

Henry was satisfied. He had dealt with the matter in his usual calm way; and no one could say he had been unduly harsh.

Many a king would have slaughtered hundreds of them. But not Henry. He could always calmly decide what was best for Henry Tudor, and that was not to murder for murder’s sake. He did not want to do so for revenge even. He was rarely in a hot rage about any matter and therefore always had time to calculate which would be the most advantageous way to act.

Reluctantly he had decided on the traitor’s death for the three ringleaders. He must give no one an impression of weakness. No. He was not weak. He was stern perhaps, but just—always just.

He could congratulate himself that he had dealt very properly with the Cornish rebels.

There still remained Perkin Warbeck to haunt his days and turn pleasant dreams into nightmares.

James was growing rather tired of Perkin Warbeck. The expedition into England had shown clearly that the people were not going to flock to his banner, and James was not going to beggar himself by supporting another man’s cause—and a possible King of England at that! No, indeed not. Perkin must fight his own battles and the more thought James gave to the matter the more it seemed to him that it would be better for Perkin to fight somewhere which did not involve Scotland.

Not that James gave much thought to the matter. He was inclined to let it slide out of his mind, for he was deeply involved at this time with the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She was delightful, gentle, loving, passionate, outstandingly beautiful, and everything he liked best in a woman, and as he liked women better than anything else on Earth and had had great experience of them, this was saying a good deal. For the first time in his life—although he had often imagined himself to be in the condition on other occasions—James was truly in love.