C. Sansom - Dark Fire

'He's right, you know.' Barak said.

Joseph looked between us. 'I haven't any choice but to do as you say, have I? Though it's driving me mad, sir, mad.'

We walked to the inn where we had left the horses. The way was narrow and Joseph walked a little way behind Barak and me, his shoulders slumped.

'He's near the end of his tether.' I sighed. 'But so am I.'

Barak raised his eyebrows. 'Don't you start playing the martyr. It's bad enough with him and her.'

I looked at him curiously. 'You had the measure of her in there. It was you got her to write that sentence.'

He shrugged. 'I've had some experience of her way of thinking. When I ran away from home I felt all the world had turned against me. It took being arrested to bring me out of it.'

'It hasn't done that for her.'

He shook his head. 'Something bad must have happened to drive her to those depths. Something the girl thinks will never be believed.' He lowered his voice. 'We'll see what's in that well tonight.'

I SAID FAREWELL TO JOSEPH, promising I should have news for him tomorrow. As I rode down Cheapside to the Guildhall I wondered again what might be down that well. I had to ride carefully to avoid the small boys playing in the puddles, squelching joyously with their bare feet in the ooze even as the puddles shrank around them. I thought of the sun's fire turning the water to vapour, drawing it upwards from the earth through the hot air. Earth, air, fire, water: the four elements that, combined in a million ways, made up everything under the moon. But what was the combination that produced Greek Fire?

Arriving at the Guildhall, I left Chancery in the stables and went to find Vervey in his shaded office. He was studying a contract with leisurely carefulness, and I found myself envying his peaceful routine. He welcomed me warmly and I gave him the opinion I had written out the previous evening. He read it, nodding occasionally, then looked up at me.

'You are hopeful, then, of a victory in Chancery?'

'Ay, though it may be a year before we get there.'

He looked at me meaningfully. 'We may need to take more than the usual fee to the Six Clerks' Office up at the Domus.'

'That may help get the matter listed more quickly. I am going to look at Bealknap's property this morning, by the way. The Chancery judge will want to know all the circumstances of the nuisance.'

'Good, good. The council places the highest priority on this. Some of these tenements in the old monastic properties are shocking. Hovels of cheap wood, unsanitary and a fire risk too, with everywhere as dry as tinder.' He looked out of his window at the clear blue sky. 'If a fire breaks out people may not be able to get enough water from the conduits to quench it. Then the Common Council will be blamed. We're trying to stop leaks in the pipes, but some of them run miles from the streams.'

'I know of a man who is working on repairing the conduits. Master Leighton.'

'Yes. I have a note to chase him, he was supposed to bring our contractors some new pipes but he hasn't appeared. Do you know him?'

'Only by repute. I hear he is a skilled man.'

Vervey smiled. 'Ay, he's one of the few founders who knows that type of work. A skilled fellow.'

Probably a dead fellow, but I could not tell him. I changed the subject. 'I wonder if I might have a look at your library while I am here. Perhaps borrow one or two books if you have them?'

He laughed. 'I can't see that we would have anything Lincoln's Inn does not.'

'It's not legal works I'm after. Some Roman history. Livy and Plutarch, Pliny.'

'I will prepare a note for the librarian. I heard about your friend Godfrey Wheelwright and the Duke of Norfolk.'

It was safe to speak, for Vervey was known as a reformist. 'Godfrey should be more careful.'

'Ay, the times grow dangerous again.' Although we were alone, he lowered his voice. 'There's a pair of Anabaptists booked for burning at Smithfield next weekend unless they repent. The council has been asked to help with the arrangements, ensure all the apprentices attend.'

'I hadn't heard.'

He shook his head sadly. 'I fear for the future. But come, let me do this note.'

I had a niggling fear the books might be gone from the Guildhall library too, but they were all there, on the shelf. I grasped them eagerly. The librarian was one of those fellows who believes books should be kept on shelves, not read, but with the aid of Vervey's note I was able to get past him. He watched sourly as I put the volumes in my satchel. As I walked down the Guildhall steps I felt a little pleased with myself, for the first time in days. Then I almost walked straight into Sir Edwin Wentworth.

Elizabeth's other uncle seemed to have aged even in the few days since I had seen him, his face lined and drawn with suffering. He was still dressed in black. Beside him walked his elder daughter Sabine, while the steward Needler followed behind, some large account books under one arm.

Sir Edwin pulled up short at the sight of me. For a second he looked as though he had been struck. I touched my cap and made to pass, but he stepped into my path. Needler passed his books to Sabine and stood protectively beside his master.

'What are you doing here?' Sir Edwin's face reddened and his voice trembled with anger. 'Making enquiries about my family?'

'No,' I said mildly. 'I have a case on with the Common Council.'

'Oh, yes, you lawyers have your long fingers in every pie, don't you? You crookbacked churl. How much is Joseph paying you for keeping that murderess alive?'

'We have not discussed a fee,' I said, ignoring the insult. 'I believe your niece to be innocent,' I added. 'Sir Edwin, does it not occur to you that if she is innocent, you will kill an innocent person while a guilty one goes free!'

'Know better than the coroner, do you?' Needler said boldly.

At his insolent manner, more than Sir Edwin's insult, something snapped inside me. 'Do you let your steward speak for you, sir?' I asked Sir Edwin.

'David speaks true. He knows as well as I that you will drag matters out as long as you get paid for it.'

'Have you any idea what death by the press means?' I asked him. A couple of aldermen walking up the steps stared round at my raised voice, but I took no heed. 'It means lying for days under heavy stones, in an agony of thirst and hunger, struggling to breathe as you wait for your back to break!'

Sabine began to cry. Sir Edwin looked round at her, then turned back to me. 'How dare you speak of such things in front of my poor daughter!' he shouted. 'She aches for her lost brother as I ache for my son! Black-robed, stinking, bent lawyer! You can tell you have no children!'

His face was contorted, spittle gathering at the corners of his mouth. People going up and down the steps had stopped to watch; someone laughed at his tirade of insults. To stop the spectacle making Elizabeth's name a talking point again, I stepped past Sir Edwin. Needler sidestepped too, blocking my path, but I stared at him fiercely and he gave way. Followed by a host of stares, I walked down the steps and away to the stables.

When I reached Chancery's stall I found I was trembling. I stroked his head and he nuzzled my hand, hoping for food. Sir Edwin's fury had been unnerving; there seemed something almost unbalanced in his hatred of Elizabeth. But he had lost his only son and he was right – I had no children, I could only imagine how he must feel. I slung my bag of books over my shoulder, mounted and rode out. Sir Edwin and his party had disappeared.

I rode north towards the City wall, where the former Franciscan priory of St Michael's lay. It was situated in a street where good houses were mixed in with poor tenements. The street was empty, quiet and shady, St Michael's halfway along. It was a small place, the church no bigger than a large parish church. The wide doors stood open and, curious, I dismounted and looked in.