Paul Doherty - The Book of Fires

‘I’m not sure,’ Lady Anne replied. ‘Adam refused to talk about his service.’

‘And the same is true of Parson Garman,’ Mother Clare quickly added.

‘I think you are correct, Brother,’ Lady Anne continued. ‘Sir Walter amassed a great deal of information about cannon, powder and, above all, Greek fire, but he refused to share these secrets with others. Knowing Sir Walter’s greed for both money and power, I suspect he cheated them out of it and no man, especially a soldier, likes to proclaim how he was tricked and duped.’

Athelstan nodded and returned to his chair.

‘One further matter,’ Cranston asked, ‘Parson Garman? He also visited you here, Mother Clare. He met Isolda and was much taken by her. What else?’

‘Edward is a distant kinsman in more ways than one,’ the nun replied. ‘In his youth he too served with the Luciferi. Afterwards he lived for a while as a Hospitaller in Outremer. He returned to London to be ordained, was appointed as chaplain and became a spokesman for the poor, especially the wretched prisoners in Newgate. He didn’t just come here to visit Isolda but also to see Lady Anne.’

‘Oh, don’t …’ Lady Anne waved a hand playfully.

‘What?’ Athelstan asked.

‘Lady Anne does good work for us but she also performs sterling service as the Abbess of the Order of St Dismas, which is dedicated to helping prisoners in Newgate. Now,’ Mother Clare’s voice fell to a whisper, ‘Edward Garman, God bless him, knows about the Upright Men – he is passionate about their cause. They have assured him that when the Great Revolt occurs he will be amongst the saved not the damned. When the black and red banners are raised, Newgate will be stormed and any official, be he Crown or Church, will face summary trial and execution.’

‘I understand,’ Cranston murmured, ‘many places will be marked down for destruction, whilst others will be protected, and the same goes for individuals.’

‘We are the same here,’ Mother Clare added. ‘All we do is help the poor. Edward Garman came here to beg Lady Anne’s help for certain prisoners. In return, Garman promised that Lady Anne’s house, her person, possessions and retainers would be protected even if all London burns. Sir Walter, God rest him, always believed that because of Lady Anne’s work amongst the prisoners of Newgate, her house would be the safest in London when the revolt breaks out.’

‘I am sure,’ Lady Anne tried to hide her blush, ‘that Brother Athelstan will also be safe. You are highly regarded.’

‘I’m not too sure,’ Athelstan retorted. ‘What the Upright Men decree now and what will actually happen when the mud is stirred is another matter. But,’ he sketched a blessing in the air, ‘Sir John and I must leave you.’ He paused. ‘Oh, Lady Anne, I just remembered. You said you had something to say to me?’

‘I did not know you were coming here,’ she explained, ‘so I sent Turgot with a letter to you at St Erconwald’s. On the night we were attacked, Turgot returned to the corner of that alleyway. You recall it, a thin slit of blackness from where the Ignifer launched his murderous assault? Turgot knows those runnels, slender as arrow shafts which cut through the lanes and shops. He has formed relationships with the beggars and other outcasts who haunt such dark places. Men and women like himself, mutes and cripples.’ Lady Anne drew in a breath. ‘There is one in particular – Didymus.’

‘Didymus,’ Athelstan intervened. ‘That’s Greek for “twin”?’

‘Ah, yes,’ Lady Anne continued, ‘that’s the mystery. Didymus maintains he is a twin. He claims his brother is always with him, though nobody else can see him.’

‘Not the most reliable witness,’ Cranston joked.

‘Sir John, Didymus sees and smells things we do not.’

‘Smells?’ Athelstan asked.

‘As he did the night we were attacked,’ she replied. ‘Apparently Didymus was in his enclosure discussing matters with his twin brother. Didymus, like Turgot, was educated by the Cistercians. He is skilled in their sign language. On the night of the attack, Didymus saw our assailant creep up the runnel and pause. Didymus informed Turgot how this person was heavily cloaked like a priest,’ she pulled a face, ‘or a woman. He emphasized the latter because he claimed he caught the strong fragrance of a delicate perfume. Turgot questioned Didymus closely. The smell was like that of crushed lilies, very strong and pervasive. The figure did not notice Didymus and passed on. Didymus followed and actually glimpsed the attack taking place at the end of the alleyway. Well, not everything. He glimpsed the flare of flames and heard the hideous screams. Didymus, not the bravest of souls, fled to hide in his enclave. Now,’ she leaned across the table, ‘what is remarkable is Didymus’ description of the perfume. Sir John, Brother Athelstan, Mother Clare will be my witness – that is the same fragrance Lady Isolda always wore.’ She smiled thinly. ‘Anyway, that is the information that Turgot has taken by letter to St Erconwald’s …’

oOoOo

Athelstan and Cranston stood outside the house of the Minoresses and stared down Aldgate.

‘Interesting,’ Cranston murmured. ‘I’ve just remembered Didymus. Despite his apparent folly, he has reputation for being sharp-eyed. On reflection I would say he is a reliable witness. I just wonder who our assailant was, heavily robed and reeking of a woman’s perfume? Anyway, what now, Brother?’

‘I think we should return to Firecrest Manor, Sir John. I have more questions for them all. And that’s the problem,’ he added, ‘many questions, few answers.’ Athelstan stared around. He felt uncomfortable, that chill of apprehension when he suspected he was being watched had returned yet he could not detect the cause, though that would be difficult in this part of the city. The world and its wife processed through here; the good and the great as well as that shifting, constant swarm of London’s underworld, those who lived, lurked and prowled in its shadow. Athelstan stepped aside as a troop of Poor Toms swung by bare-legged and bare-armed, their hair gathered in elf-locks, hollow boots shuffling along the ground. Nearby a line of lunatics, shaking their chains and roaring some madcap song, distracted others making their way to dine at the many cook shops. The colour, noise and stench were intense after the hallowed serenity of the Minoresses. Cranston led him off, Athelstan walking just behind, remained ever-vigilant, searching the crowd for anything suspicious. He was shoved and pushed by emaciated beggars pleading with hands outstretched, waving their clacking dishes under his nose. Gaunt faces glared out of ragged hoods and tattered capuchons. Horses neighed, donkeys brayed and dogs constantly barked. Athelstan glimpsed a slow-moving, lumbering convoy of supply carts with its military escort on its way to the Tower. Shouts, yells and screams pierced the air as two market bailiffs chased a cunning man they had unmasked. The miscreant, his crutch over his shoulder, now leapt like a hare through the crowd. A group of musicians took up residence near a horse trough, but they were so drunk, one of them, wailing on a set of bagpipes, tipped over and fell into the water, provoking raucous laughter from a group of traders bringing their mounts to drink. The toper kept playing his bagpipes provoking the wandering dogs to snarl and bark even more. Horsemen trotted by. Dust clouds swirled in the ice-cold air. Athelstan tried to shake off his unease. He conceded that the true cause might not be so much the noisy crowd but the mysteries they were facing. Truly tangled, probably more than any they had ever confronted. The friar felt many lies had been peddled …

‘Brother, Brother?’ Cranston had walked back. ‘Athelstan, what is the matter? Why are you …?’