Stormbird

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.

His original few thousand men of Kent had almost been swallowed by the mass of latecomers from Essex and London itself. He shook his head in wonder at that thought. There were scores there who lived within London’s walls yet were willing to march with billhook and sword against their own city. He didn’t understand them, but then they weren’t Kentish men, so he didn’t try.

His lieutenants had been busy all day, taking names and getting the army ready to march. Over the previous few weeks, the newcomers had arrived in such numbers it had been all he could do to assign them to a particular officer and leave them to find weapons for themselves. Paddy seemed to enjoy the work and Jack thought he’d have made a fine sergeant in the real army. With Ecclestone and Woodchurch, he’d worked to bring some order to the mass of men, especially those who had no training at all. The vast majority had some sort of iron in their hands and there was only one way to point them. Jack had no idea how they’d fare against royal troops in mail and plate, but at least the narrow streets of London would take away the threat of horsemen at the charge. His men walked, foot soldiers all, but then that was the sort of army he understood and he didn’t sweat too hard at the lack of mounts.

On his left, he could see the little Scot, Tanter, on the enormous beast of a plough horse he’d been given. Jack thought the man looked like a fly sitting on an ox, with his legs tucked up under him. Tanter was watching a pair of mistle thrushes, darting and soaring in an empty evening sky. The air was already thick and a bank of dark clouds was massing to the west. Cade suddenly remembered his mother telling him the thrushes were the last birds in the air before a great storm. Country folk would see them flying alone on the wind and know a tempest was on its way. Jack smiled at the memory. He was bringing the storm to the city that night, walking with it all around him, in the faces and cold iron of angry men.

A dozen of the biggest Kent lads stood close to Cade, grinning wolfishly in the light of the torches held high in their hands. It made a ring of light around him, so that they could all see their leader, as well as the Kentish banner they followed. Jack looked down at the boy carrying the pole, just one of a hundred keen lads they’d picked up along the way. Some of them were sons of the men, others just homeless urchins who’d followed in their wake, fighting over scraps and staring with wide eyes at adults who looked so fierce with their blades and tools.

Jack saw the boy was watching him and he winked.

‘What’s your name, lad?’

‘Jonas, captain,’ the boy replied, awed at having Cade speak to him.

‘Well, raise it up, Jonas,’ Jack said. ‘Both hands and steady, lad. It’s a good Kentish sign — and a warning.’

Jonas straightened, lifting the pole like a banner. The boy lacked the strength to hold it steady and it swayed in the golden light under the weight of the white-horse shield and the sheriff’s head.

‘You keep that high while we march. The men need to see it and know where I am, all right?’

‘Yes, captain,’ Jonas said proudly, staring in concentration at the wavering point above him.

‘Ready, captain!’ Paddy bellowed from over on his right.

‘Ready, Jack!’ Woodchurch shouted, further back.

Cade smiled as the calls were echoed all around him, until there were hundreds, then thousands repeating it in a growl of sound. They were ready.

Jack inflated his chest to give the order to march, but he saw a fellow pushing through the ranks towards him and waited to see what he was after. Heads turned to follow as the man grunted and slipped through, arriving panting at Jack’s side. He was a small man, with the sallow skin, thin arms and hollow cheeks that only decades of poverty could produce. Jack beckoned him closer.

‘What is it? Lost your nerve?’ he said, making his voice kind as he saw the man’s worry and fear written into every line of him.

‘I … I’m sorry, Jack,’ the man said, almost stammering. He looked around him at the glowering axemen and briefly up to the Kentish banner. To Jack’s surprise, he crossed himself as if he saw a holy relic.

‘Do I know you, son?’ Jack said, confused. ‘What brings you to me?’

Cade was leaning close to hear the reply when the man lunged towards his neck, a dagger in his hand. With a curse, Jack smacked it away with a raised arm, hissing in pain as the blade cut the back of his hand. The knife flew out of the man’s grip, clattering against metal and vanishing. Jack clenched his jaw and reached out with both hands, grabbing the man’s head and twisting hard. The man screeched and struggled until a snap sounded and he went limp. Jack let the body fall bonelessly to the ground.

‘Fuck you, boy, whoever the hell you were,’ he said to the corpse. He found he was breathing hard as he looked up into the shocked faces of the men around him.

‘Well? Did you think we didn’t have enemies? London’s sly, and don’t you forget it. Whatever they promised him, I’m still standing and he’s done.’

At a sudden flurry of movement, Cade spun round, convinced he was about to be attacked again. He saw Ecclestone barge through the crowd, with his razor held high, ready to kill. Jack faced him, raising his shoulders bullishly as rage filled him with strength.

‘You too?’ he growled, readying himself.

Ecclestone looked down at the body, then up into Jack’s eyes.

‘What? Christ, no, Jack. I was following him. He looked nervous and he kept creeping closer to you.’

Jack watched as his friend folded the narrow blade and made it vanish.

‘You were a bit late then, weren’t you?’ he said.

Ecclestone gestured uncomfortably to where blood dripped from Jack’s hands.

‘He cut you?’ he asked.

‘It’s not bad.’

‘I’ll stay close, Jack, if you don’t mind. We don’t know half of the men now. There could be others.’

Jack waved away the idea, his good mood already returning.

‘They’ve shot their bolt, but stay if it makes you happy. Are you ready, lads?’

The men around him were still pale and shocked at what they had witnessed, but they mumbled assent.

‘Watch my back while we march then, if it pleases you,’ Jack said. ‘I’m for London. They know we’re coming and they’re frightened. So they should be. Raise that pole high, Jonas! I bloody told you once! Let them see us