But it was in Norfolk that the grandest demonstration against the tyranny of the central Government occurred. It commenced at Aldborough, and at first seemed a matter of little consequence; but the rumours of what had happened in Kent, where new enclosures had been broken down, greatly inflamed the people from one end to the other of the eastern counties. There was little of the religious element in the revolt, although two-thirds of the people, at least, still adhered to the old faith, but now religious differences were set aside, and Catholics and Protestants stood shoulder to shoulder in the fight for what we should call liberty. At first the mass of the people were without a leader, but they soon found one in the person of an honest tanner, named Robert Ket.[165] It fell out on the 6th July 1549, at Wymondham, near Norwich, where many folk were watching, on a small stage erected in the market-place, a sort of “mystery,” that the actors touched sarcastically upon the leading events and scandals of the day. Ket, who was present, leapt on to a barrel, and delivered a rough and ready oration on burning topics, every word of which told, and roused the enthusiasm of his audience to a very delirium. In a surging, motley crowd, his hearers followed him from Wymondham to Mousehold Heath, near Norwich, a desolate sweep of country commanding glorious views, immortalised in later times by a Crome or a Vincent. Hereabouts, on an elevation, grew a stalwart oak, beneath which Ket and his men encamped, and where he held Courts of Justice, of Common Pleas, Chancery and King’s Bench, “even as in Westminster Hall.” With a high and generous sense of freedom, he allowed the orators, not only of his own, but of the opposition party, to harangue the multitude from this tree of liberty, which was now called “the Oak of Reformation.” The venerable tree had become a rostrum, and all who had anything to say scrambled into it. Aldrich, Mayor of Norwich, preached thence against the iniquities of Somerset’s rule. Clergymen and priests, parsons and ex-monks, made a rough pulpit of it. Matthew Parker, afterwards Archbishop of Canterbury, climbed into its branches one day, and harangued the mob “on the unwisdom of their attempt,” and the ruin they were sure to bring on themselves and their families. He would have done better to hold his peace; no one listened to him. So great was the crowd on Mousehold Heath, it looked on occasions like a surging sea of heads, and sometimes, as in Hyde Park in our times, separate groups of lecturers and hearers formed at a distance from the tree.
Suddenly, on July 31st, a glittering figure bearing the Royal Arms of England, rode into the midst of Ket’s camp—his white horse sheathed like himself in steel, a plume of white feathers nodding on its head. In a loud voice the man in the “coat-of-arms” proclaimed a free pardon to all present in that multitude, if they “would depart to their homes.” Some, weary of the business and only seeking an excuse, turned their backs on the oak, and trudged citywards; but Ket and the larger mass held their ground, saying they wanted no pardon, having committed no offence—they only craved justice, and that was the right of every Englishman. They were true subjects of the King, they said, and had done him no harm—all they needed was justice, justice! Turning his back on the tanner and the ancient oak, the glittering herald scattered the people right and left, as he galloped away across heath and common, dissolved into the mist like a meteor. When he had vanished, Ket, fearing a treacherous surprise, called his merry men together, and marched into Norwich, where they once more encountered the royal messenger, who again offered them his master’s pardon. Ket replied as disdainfully as ever, and the gorgeous official departed, whilst the rebels, having seized all the arms and ammunition they could find, returned to their camp on Mousehold Heath. To Court sped the herald, and the Protector, alarmed at the turn of events, sent a force of fifteen hundred horsemen, under the Marquis of Northampton, and some Italians led by a condottiére named Malatesta, against the malcontents. These troops entered Norwich, but Ket and his men were able to drive both Northampton and the Italian out of the city, in a fight in which “fell Lord Sheffield and several gentlemen; so that now, blood being up on both sides, the town was set fire to and plundered.” Hearing this news, the Protector ordered another army of eight thousand men, two thousand of whom were Germans, who were on their way to Scotland under the Earl of Warwick, to turn southward, march on Norwich, and disperse the rebels. After some resistance, Warwick entered the city, only to be so fiercely assailed on every side that it was as much as he could do to hold his ground. Ket galloped off towards Dossingdale; but Warwick’s troopers came after him, and 3500 of his men were cut to pieces. Yet another massacre followed, in which many of the royal forces were killed. Ket was captured at last, and hanged without ado, on the walls of Norwich Castle, his brother William (who had been a black monk of the Hospitallers of St. John)[166] was swung from the steeple of Wymondham Church, and nine of the ringleaders of the rebellion were hanged on the “Tree of Reformation.” In the course of this expedition, Warwick saw enough to convince him that every town and village, farmstead and cottage, from the borders of Cambridge to the sea, was a hotbed of rebellion, and that the names of Somerset and Warwick had become loathed bywords.
Such a state of internal strife, combined with foreign defeat, made up an aggregate of confusion which only a statesman of the highest genius could attempt to quell. Somerset, a man of indifferent education, even if of the best intentions, was quite unequal to the task. His natural defects of character—his love of power and money, his contempt for the ancient traditions of the country, his hatred of the religion of his ancestors, his prejudices and his inveterate habit of scheming, now began to occupy the malicious attention of his enemies, who felt the time for striking the decisive blow, which should crush his power for ever, was drawing nigh.
Their plans were served by Warwick’s reception in London as a conquering hero, recognised by the metropolis as a successful and able leader. His ambitious views were well seconded by old ex-Chancellor Wriothesley, who had a personal grudge against Somerset, and who now took up his would-be rival as a promising instrument for his revenge. Durham House presently became the rendezvous of a great number of the older nobility, who were discontented with the new régime; and here they plotted and schemed, with one great object in their hearts—the overthrow of Somerset and the exaltation of Warwick. The Londoners, too, were against the Protector. Boulogne had been lost mainly through his blundering policy, and the French war had been notoriously unsuccessful. Moreover, when Warwick demanded extra pay for some two hundred soldiers who had assisted in quelling the Ket rebellion, and other risings, Somerset, unconsciously playing into his enemy’s hands, refused the request, and the mercenaries, naturally incensed against the Protector, held themselves ready to aid Warwick without compunction.
Realising in some measure—especially after the defection of Pembroke and Winchester to Warwick’s party—that, unless he made some effort, his position would soon become altogether untenable, Somerset metaphorically entrenched himself and his family behind the person of the King at Hampton Court, and thence began to defy Warwick and his followers, so that, about September 1549, the Court of England was divided into two distinct camps—Warwick and the Council at Ely Place, Holborn; the Protector and the principal members of his party, Cranmer, Sir John Thynne, his secretary, Sir Thomas Smith, Cecil, Paget, and Petre, at Hampton Court, where King Edward was held in a state bordering on captivity. Then Somerset set to work to limit the power of his sovereign as much as possible, so as to have him on his own side in the struggle with Warwick, which was now beginning in earnest. On the ground that Warwick was bribing the Court lackeys to spy on the King, the royal attendants at Hampton Court were removed and replaced by Somerset’s own men. No one could approach His Majesty’s person save through the Protector. A stop was put to all those games and sports in which the little King delighted, on the score of his health, and the lad was made to feel himself so completely a prisoner, that he alludes sadly to the matter in his “Diary.” Meanwhile the Duke himself assumed almost regal rank, styling himself “By the Grace of God Lord Protector of the Realm, Highness”; using a prayer in which he is described as being “called by Providence to rule”; addressing the French King as “brother,” a title hitherto exclusively employed by the anointed monarch; and, as a climax, offending the nobility by taking a seat in the House of Lords above his peers. In October, he issued a proclamation, commanding all the King’s loyal subjects “to repair with all haste to His Highness at His Majesty’s Manor of Hampton Court, in most defensible array, with harness and weapons, to defend his most royal person, and his entirely beloved uncle the Lord Protector, against whom certain have attempted a most dangerous conspiracy. And this do in all possible haste. Given at Hampton Court the 5th day of October in the 3rd year of his most noble reign.”[167] Hundreds of copies of this document were distributed all over London; and Lord Edward Seymour, the Protector’s son, was dispatched with letters in the King’s name to Lord Russell and Sir William Herbert, who were still in the West, stamping out the rebellion, commanding them to hasten to the aid of the King and himself, with all the troops they could muster. These worthies, who would seem to have had personal grievances against Somerset,[168] promptly threw in their lot with Warwick’s party, promising assistance, and sending to Bristol for cannon for that purpose. Somerset now set the printing-presses to work to distribute thousands of handbills, calling on townsfolk and villagers to rise and “protect the King and the Lord Protector,” “because he [the Lord Protector] is the friend of the poor and the enemy of their oppressors.” The Lord Mayor and Corporation were also commanded to dispatch a thousand men to Hampton Court, and the Lieutenant of the Tower received orders to close the gates of that fortress and refuse admission to members of the Council. On 5th October, Petre was sent to London to interview Warwick and the Council. He found them at Ely Place; but as Petre, thinking all lost, did not return to Hampton Court, the Protector never got any answer to his message. At the same time, the Council sent letters to the chief nobles throughout the country, demanding their aid and dilating on Somerset’s misdeeds. Within a few days, the Lord Mayor, the Aldermen, and the Lieutenant of the Tower had all turned traitors to the Protector, and promised Warwick their support.
Hampton Court, put into a state of defence,[169] assumed the aspect of a fortress; the moat was filled up, the gates were fortified, and every battlement and tower was made ready in case of danger. Five hundred suits of armour were brought out of the armoury for the palace servants, much to the delight of King Edward, who watched the preparations. A vast crowd assembled round the palace, and in the neighbourhood; and the Protector, hoping that a sight of the King might rouse it to loyalty, led him into the Base Court, where the soldiers were drawn up to receive him. The stricken youth[170] appeared, leaning heavily on his uncle’s arm, with Archbishop Cranmer, Paget, and Cecil behind him; the heralds sounded their trumpets, and as the flare of the torches—for it was an autumn evening—flashed on their armour, the troops greeted his sickly Majesty with three times three cheers. From the Base Court the King and his escort passed over the stone bridge across the moat in front of the great gate, where a motley throng was gathered. Presently silence was obtained, and gradually the mumble of many voices was hushed, as the young King’s feeble tones struck on the still evening air, asking humbly, “I pray you be good to us and to our uncle.” Then Somerset made a speech, pleading in such stupid and selfish fashion for himself and the King that the rude crowd listened with impatience, and gave no cheers when he had finished. Mortified and disappointed, the Protector and the King turned their backs on the mob, and silently re-entered the palace. The people round Hampton Court were more bitter against Somerset than he imagined. Their grievance was not abstract and national, but local; they could not forget that it was Somerset who, in the first year of King Edward’s reign, had dechased Hampton Court Chase.
Seeing himself unable to inspire the people with anything like enthusiasm for their sovereign (or for himself), Somerset determined on more vigorous action, and on 7th October, the King, despite his “rewme,” was hurried to Windsor, at nine or ten o’clock at night. Thence the Protector wrote to the Council, asking what had become of Petre, and why no answer had been vouchsafed to his message, adding, “that if any violence was intended to the King’s person, he would resist till death.” Negotiations by letter continued for some days, and there was even an interview on 12th October at Windsor, between Warwick’s group and the Protector. On the following day, a number of charges were promulgated against Somerset, and the once all-powerful “Lord Protector of these Realms” was arrested and confined for the night in Windsor Castle. Next day he was conducted to the Tower, whither most of his adherents and associates in the Hampton Court adventure had preceded him; and he had the mixed pleasure of being received en route by his quondam friend the Lord Mayor, who had lately turned traitor to his cause. Meanwhile Edward, very glad, no doubt, to be rid of so austere and troublesome an uncle, returned from Windsor to Hampton Court, and appointed Warwick Lord Great Master and Lord High-Admiral. So far, John Dudley’s plot had prospered.