Paul Doherty - The Book of Fires

‘Why?’ Athelstan asked.

‘First, she was a noble woman …’

‘Of noble birth?’ Cranston asked.

‘I am coming to that, Jack.’ She smiled faintly. ‘Isolda was a noble woman, condemned to a gruesome death. Execution by burning is truly horrific. However, let me return to the beginning. As some of you know, I was instrumental in Isolda meeting Sir Walter.’ She sipped delicately at her wine and pinched Cranston’s hand playfully. ‘Jack, don’t go to sleep on me! Now,’ she continued, ‘the abbey of St Mary and St Francis just south of St Botolph’s houses Franciscan nuns commonly called the Minoresses. One of their great services is that they take in foundlings, baby girls either abandoned by their mothers, Lord save them, or handed over to the good sisters,’ she shrugged, ‘to avoid scandal. God’s work.’ She paused. ‘Many a girl child is saved from a miscarriage, planned or otherwise. Isolda was one of these, a mere babe in arms, or so I understand, when she was left in the manger before the statue of the Virgin just outside the nunnery. The Minoresses provide an excellent school. Isolda attended it, following the rule of a novice. As for me, I am also a member of the Guild of St Martha. I and other ladies of noble birth take these young women under our wing. Isolda was one such: a maiden learned, schooled, of courtly manner and good repute.’ She smiled sadly. ‘Isolda, as many of you know, was truly beautiful. Now, the Guild would invite these young novices, suitably attired, to attend convivial – festivities and banquets, particularly at Westminster. Our set purpose was to introduce these young ladies to bachelors of good name and standing. In such company, supervised by the Guild, only men with honest intentions and of the proper status can approach our young ladies. Sir Walter was taken with Isolda and, to cut a long story short, love ran its course. They became betrothed, hand-fast at the door of St Michael and All Angels. That was five years ago. I thought all things were well until her arrest, and I walked into that cell at Newgate.’

‘You talked to her?’ Athelstan asked.

‘We talked, we prayed. Sometimes I would take needlecraft with me and encourage her to help.’

‘Did she talk about her crime?’

‘No, Brother, we are very strict on that. We are there to pray, comfort and offer spiritual guidance,’ Lady Anne fluttered her long, white bejewelled fingers, ‘and, to be honest, to distract. I brought her news from the city, of the fighting in the Narrow Seas. Understandably,’ Lady Anne sighed, ‘our rules were broken. Isolda hotly protested her innocence. I tried to lead her back to some other matter, then,’ she nodded at Garman, ‘it happened.’

‘Father?’ Cranston asked.

‘Two days before her execution,’ the chaplain declared, ‘I came to visit Lady Isolda. Due to her wealth and status she was able to rent a prison chamber.’ He paused, wrinkling his nose. Athelstan sensed the chaplain was trying to hide his contempt for the rich; just the tone of his voice, the flick of his eyes, that slight thrill to his face and voice. He was a secretive man, Athelstan concluded, who hid his feelings well. The friar recalled gossip he had heard in his own parish – how Garman had close ties with the Upright Men and the Great Community of the Realm.

‘Anyway,’ the chaplain ran a finger around the rim of his goblet, ‘I heard Isolda screaming. When the turnkey admitted me, I found Lady Anne huddled close to the door.’

‘Very frightened, I admit.’

‘And the cause of this quarrel?’ Athelstan asked.

‘Once again, Isolda tried to protest her innocence. She realized there would be no pardon, that she faced a horrid death. I made the mistake of telling her that I understood but of course I didn’t. Isolda grew very angry, screaming that I understood nothing. That I was to blame for her meeting Sir Walter. That she would not have married him if were not for me.’ Lady Anne dabbed at her eyes. Behind her Turgot grew restless and moved forward but she glanced over her shoulder and he stepped back. ‘I left her a set of Ave beads. I understand she threw them away.’

‘That reminds me.’ Garman pushed back his chair, opened his wallet and handed Lady Anne an Ave ring, but the chain was snapped and most of the beads missing. ‘I picked this up from the floor after you left.’ He handed it over.

‘That was the last time I saw Isolda,’ Lady Anne whispered. ‘I didn’t attend her death. I couldn’t.’

‘Who visited her in the condemned cell?’ Cranston asked.

‘I’m afraid only three people,’ Garman replied, ‘Master Falke, Lady Anne and me.’

‘We did not think it was appropriate,’ Lord Henry spoke up. ‘None of the household wanted to. Rosamund was still ill.’

‘And who attended her execution?’ Athelstan asked.

Garman slightly raised his hand. ‘It is my duty,’ he murmured, ‘one of the most hateful parts. I sat in the execution cart opposite her reciting the Dirige psalms.’

‘And Isolda?’

‘Brother, it was if all life had been crushed in her. She just sat listless.’

‘Had she received any potion?’

‘No.’ Garman shook his head. ‘Keeper Tweng was under strict orders from the Regent on the day before her execution – anything she ate or drank had to be tested. I recall doing so myself on more than one occasion. Isolda, understandably, had little appetite for food or drink.’

‘And at Smithfield?’ Athelstan asked, aware of the silence. Everyone in this chamber recognized the sheer blasphemy of a public burning: the screams, the stench, the noise of the crowd and all the gruesome paraphernalia which festooned such a death.

‘Isolda was carried in dead-faint to the execution stake.’ Garman’s voice was hardly above a whisper. ‘She was bound to the pillar. The Carnifex fired the straw and the smoke plumed up.’

‘And the Carnifex showed her no mercy?’

‘None,’ Garman agreed. ‘He was forbidden to go through the smoke to deliver a swift death.’ Garman crossed himself. ‘Isolda was very beautiful. Such a soul could not be capable of murder. She confessed her innocence to me and I believed her.’

‘And your mistress?’ Athelstan smiled at Rosamund, who turned in her chair, doe eyes blinking furiously.

She gestured at Lady Rohesia. ‘On the same day that Lady Isolda allegedly murdered her husband, I was discommoded, confined to my chamber with a severe bout of the sweating sickness. Ask anyone …’

‘That’s true,’ Buckholt declared kindly. ‘The poor girl became as wet as anything, the sweat fair shimmering on her.’

‘Did you believe in your mistress’ innocence?’ Athelstan persisted.

‘Father, I …’ she stammered, ‘I was surprised, shocked. I was ill. I couldn’t visit her in prison.’

‘Poor girl,’ Lady Anne intervened. ‘It was I who visited her. She was only strong enough for a walk in the garden.’

‘Continue.’ Athelstan turned back to Rosamund.

‘Brother, what happened to my master and mistress was tragic. All I could recall were the warnings.’

‘What warnings!’ Athelstan and Cranston spoke together.

‘About a year ago,’ Sir Henry replied, ‘yes, Buckholt?’

The steward nodded.

‘Sir Walter received messages, scraps of parchment thrust into the hands of servants entering the manor or left outside the porter’s lodge.’

‘How many?’

‘At least six.’

‘And the message?’

‘“As I and ours did burn,”’ Sir Henry replied, ‘“so shall ye and yours.” The writing was scrawled, the parchment dirty and wrinkled.’

‘Who would threaten Sir Walter like that and why?’ Cranston asked.

‘Sir John, my brother, did not know, and neither did I. The messages stopped as abruptly as they began.’