C.J. Sansom - Revelation

'Not any more, Sir Thomas.'

'This affair could not have come at a worse time,' Lord Hertford said. 'Those butchers are still being questioned about Lent breaches. But they won't give Bishop Bonner any names, brave men.'

'I think this man is possessed,' Harsnet said.

'Whatever he is,' Hertford said, 'we must catch him.'

A serving man appeared at our side, offering us platters of roast pig. I looked over to the cooking fire. The pig was cooked through now and the serving men, wiping their brows, stepped away from the fire which still burned merrily, throwing up bright yellow sparks as the boar fat sizzled. Dusk was falling rapidly; beyond the houses to the south, the Thames shone a white colour now as the sun fell to the horizon.

'I can smell bad fish somewhere,' Barak said.

'So can I. It must be coming from the river.' And indeed the smell of roast meat was now unpleasantly mingled with a salty, fishy smell.

'Where is Reverend Yarington?' someone asked. 'He should be here by now.'

I winced as Sir Thomas grasped me by my bad arm. 'Harsnet says one of those ex-monks you saw lives on Charterhouse Square.'

'The lay brother, Lockley, yes. In a tavern there.'

He frowned. 'I know those houses and taverns built round the sides of the old precinct. The largest house there is where Lady Catherine Parr lives. I have visited her there.'

'Easy, Thomas,' his brother said. 'It is surely clear now there is no connection between her and the murders.'

'I would not have her near any danger.' Sir Thomas' expression was anxious. I wondered, is that because you love the lady, or because she is a wealthy widow who may still turn the King down?

'Is there any more news of the projected marriage?' I asked Lord Hertford in quiet tones. That was, after all, what had first brought the involvement of these people in all this.

He speared a piece of boar and transferred it to his mouth. He glanced at his brother, then said, 'The lady still refuses to give the King an answer, she says she needs more time.'

Harsnet grunted. 'That was the tactic Anne Boleyn and Jane Seymour used. Keep him dangling, it only makes the King more determined to get what he wants.'

'No.' Sir Thomas smiled, a flash of white teeth against his dark beard. 'Lady Catherine refuses because she does not want to marry him. As who would?'

'Keep your voice down,' Hertford snapped. 'Thomas, I trust you have not visited the lady again. If the King knew—'

'I haven't,' Thomas snapped back.

'I would like to go,' I said to Harsnet in a low voice. 'My arm throbs, I need some rest.'

He nodded. 'Of course. I will stay here.' He looked around. 'It is strange Reverend Yarington is not here. I am sorry you were hurt.'

'It is getting better.'

He smiled. 'Good. My wife and I look forward to meeting you tomorrow at dinner. And you will meet my children.'

'Thank you, sir. How many children have you?'

'Four. All healthy and obedient. And a good wife. You should marry, sir.'

‘I do not think that is my lot.'

'You have no one, then:'

I thought of Dorothy. 'One may hope,' I said with a sad smile. 'Press your suit, Brother Shardlake. Tie the knot, like young Barak here.'

'Knot's the word for it,' he answered under his breath.

'Goodnight, sir.' I shook Harsnet's hand and turned to leave, Barak following. I frowned at him. 'That was a churlish thing to say. A knot indeed—'

Suddenly a woman screamed. 'The church! The church is on fire!'

Everyone stopped eating and talking. Through one of the windows, the surviving stained-glass one, a flickering light could be seen. It cast strange shadows on the darkened churchyard.

Reverend Meaphon was the first to step forward and grab the handle of the church door. 'It's locked!' he shouted. 'Who has the key:'

'Reverend Yarington!' Everyone looked around, but there was still no sign of the white-haired minister.

'Go to the vicarage!' someone shouted.

'He doesn't allow visitors to the vicarage,' the churchwarden said nervously, 'he is so afraid of anyone finding his copies of Luther and Calvin.'

'There's no time for that anyway. We have to get in and put out the fire.'

'Break the door down!' someone called.

Sir Thomas looked at the solid oak door, and laughed. 'You'd need a battering ram to break down that door!'

'There's a side door,' someone called. A couple of men ran round the church, but reappeared a moment later to say it, too, was locked. I looked at the window. The flames seemed brighter now.

The churchwarden Finch stepped forward. 'I've a key! I left it at home!'

'Then go and get it, you fool!' Harsnet said, giving the dithering churchwarden a push. Finch cast another horrified glance at the flickering light coming through the church window, then hurried away. Someone knelt down on the ground and started praying for the Lord to save their church, not to subject it to a second disaster.

Lord Hertford appeared beside us. He bent and spoke quietly to Harsnet. 'I think I should leave. There is nothing I can do, and there is going to be a scene here if the church is on fire.'

Harsnet nodded agreement. 'Ay, my Lord, that may be best.'

'I am staying,' Sir Thomas said. 'I want to see this.' His face was full of excitement. His brother frowned at him, then shrugged and walked swiftly away.

Harsnet was staring at the window. 'Look! The fire seems to be at one fixed spot,' he said in a low voice. 'And I smell no smoke.'

'And what's that noise?' Barak asked quietly.

Above the sound of the man praying to Heaven and the horrified murmuring of the rest of the congregation, a strange sound was faintly audible from the church. A series of muffled grunts, more animal than human.

'Dear Jesus, what is happening in there?' Harsnet asked, fear visible in his face in the dim light.

Finch ran back into the churchyard, a large key in his hand. There was a flurry of activity around the door. He unlocked it and threw it open. Half a dozen people dashed in. Then they stopped just inside. Someone gave a yell of terror. Sir Thomas Seymour lunged his way through the crowd, Barak and Harsnet and I following. We were hit by an awful stench of burning flesh, and something more: the rotting fishy smell Barak had noticed. Inside the doorway we all stopped dead at the horrific, extraordinary sight within.

A MAN IN a white clerical robe was chained to a stone pillar in the nave and he was on fire, blazing like a human torch in the darkness though there was no fuel stacked around him, no visible reason why he should be burning. In the doorway someone fainted, and others sank to their knees and called out to the Lord. Barak and Sir Thomas Seymour went forward, Harsnet and I following. The heat from the burning man was so intense we had to stop seven or eight feet away. I shall never forget that dreadful sight. It was Reverend Yarington who was burning there, his clothes already charring, red burned flesh showing through, blood trickling into the flames with a sizzle. He stared at us in terrible agony, and I saw he was gagged, a cloth tied round his mouth with string. The sounds we had heard were his muffled howls.

He watched with bulging eyes the bulk of his congregation who stood horror-struck, until someone shouted, 'Water! Get water!' Three men rushed out of the church, and I saw Yarington's bulging eyes turn to follow them. But it was too late, it had been too late before we ever entered the church. Even as we watched, the flames engulfed Yarington's head. I gazed with horror as that proud head of white hair caught light, becoming a yellow halo for a second then vanishing with a hiss. As the flames began to rip his face apart, his head slumped forward, and the terrible grunting noise ceased.

'No smoke,' Harsnet said in a shaking voice beside me. 'No smoke and no fuel. This is the devil's work.'