Paul Doherty - The Book of Fires

‘We have answered your questions,’ Sir Henry bleated.

‘Then answer them again,’ Athelstan snapped. He had slept well but the memory of the violence earlier in the day still affected him.

‘You are a merchant, Sir Henry. You deal in cannon, culverins, fire, missiles and gunpowder. You and your brother hold a commission for this from the Crown. You own foundries, warehouses and all the impedimenta of a great merchant. Yes?’

Sir Henry agreed.

‘You also own “The Book of Fires” by Mark the Greek?’

‘I don’t, Brother. I never held it. Sir Walter kept it very close. Of course, he talked about it being in a coffer or casket in his own bedchamber. I don’t think it was ever there. In all the years I worked with Sir Walter I swear I never opened it, let alone read it.’

‘Yet Sir Walter dealt in fiery liquids, he distilled oils and ground powders which could inflict great damage?’

‘Yes, but on certain special creations my brother insisted on working by himself. All our craftsmen and their apprentices would fetch things, go here and there or do this and that but, in these matters, Sir Walter acted by himself. Of course,’ Sir Henry hurried on, ‘this was when he was hale and hearty. As he sickened, he withdrew from the trade. Sometimes, perhaps he was preparing for death, he openly regretted what he had done, the wealth he had accumulated and the way he had done it. He declared that the whereabouts of “The Book of Fires” was a matter of revelation, safe on the island of Patmos. Of course, I didn’t know what he was referring to. Patmos is a Greek island, perhaps he visited it as a young man or something happened to him there. I assure you, “The Book of Fires” was Sir Walter’s great secret. He once informed me that the mysteries it held should be left hidden. Sir Walter believed we human beings have a hunger to discover new ways of destroying each other.’

‘Of course,’ Athelstan replied tartly, ‘and that would include himself? As the scripture says, “What doth it profit a man if he gain the whole world but suffer the loss of his immortal soul?”’

‘Perhaps.’ Sir Henry refused to meet Athelstan’s gaze.

‘But “The Book of Fires” definitely exists?’

‘Certainly, Brother, though I have no knowledge of its whereabouts.’

‘Brother Athelstan,’ Lady Rohesia leaned forward, ‘we are not lying. We want that book, as others do. It holds secrets which could provide even greater wealth.’

‘Where did it come from?’ Cranston asked.

‘Another mystery.’ Sir Henry took a deep breath. ‘In our youth Walter and I were apprentices, traders, craftsmen. I was content with that but my brother had a wanderlust, a deep curiosity which pricked and spurred him on. He left London and travelled abroad to Outremer, then on to Constantinople. There are rumours he even journeyed along the Great Silk Road to the fabulous kingdoms of the East, but in truth I know little about that.’

‘How long was he absent?’

‘Oh, about fifteen summers. He left a young man and returned a veteran soldier, a warrior and a most cunning and skilful trader and merchant. He was hardly home a year when I realized how much he had learnt. We began to produce fine powder, better culverins, bombards and cannon. We could manufacture a substance to be used in mining a wall, attacking a gate or defending a castle against besiegers: a fire with horrendous effect, easy to ignite, devastating once lit and most difficult to douse. Only then did we discover that Sir Walter nursed great secrets and had a copy of “The Book of Fires”.’

‘And its origins?’ Athelstan repeated Cranston’s original question.

‘Brother, I do not really know. Search Sir Walter’s manuscripts – everything about his years abroad still remains a mystery. I learnt only a few facts; he was here, there, everywhere. He learnt different languages and used these to disguise and hide even more cleverly all he knew about fire and its use in war. Sometimes in his cups he’d betray a few facts. He apparently led a troop of mercenaries, like the famous White Company in France or Hawkmoor’s in Italy. He called them the “ Luciferi ” – the “Light Bearers”, his own private army. Walter became a peritus , highly skilled in cannon, powder and fire, all the impedimenta of war. He led a comitatus similarly trained.’

‘Did any of his present household serve with him?’

‘No. Buckholt, Mortice and the rest were hired on his return, I believe Buckholt’s father was a member of his company but he died abroad.’

‘Did your brother’s past,’ Athelstan asked, ‘ever surface to confront and threaten him?’

‘The warnings just over a year ago. I did wonder …’

‘Yes, yes,’ Athelstan replied, ‘how did they go, “As I and ours burnt, so shall ye and yours”? Yet these abruptly ended. Anything else?’

‘Occasionally,’ Sir Henry declared, ‘we would have visitors – Greeks: men muffled, cowled and cloaked. They came here to meet my brother but what their business was he wouldn’t tell me. Occasionally my brother would go into the city and elsewhere; he would insist on being by himself. Again, I cannot help.’

Athelstan stared at this plump merchant prince, the sweat glistening on his thinning pate and rubicund cheeks, the constant shifting eyes, the stubby fingers never still, whilst beside him Lady Rohesia sat as if carved out of stone. You are not telling the full truth, Athelstan thought, but, there again, you are a weak man. Your brother ignored you. Athelstan glanced at Lady Rohesia, who probably was the source of any strength her husband showed. Athelstan drummed his fingers on the tabletop, aware of Sir John moving restlessly beside him.

‘Did you approve of your brother’s marriage to Isolda?’ the coroner asked.

‘I neither approved nor disapproved. It was none of my business.’

‘Oh, yes it was,’ Athelstan accused. ‘Sir Walter was hale and hearty when he espoused Isolda. He was deeply in love with her, at least then. She could have conceived a son, and if that had happened you would no longer be Sir Walter’s heir – but of course that didn’t happen …’ Athelstan pulled a face, ‘Well, it’s obvious. Walter and Isolda are dead – there is no other possible heir except you.’

‘I could object to that.’ Sir Henry quivered with indignation.

‘Object as much as you like, it is still the truth.’ Athelstan caught the smugness in these two worthies. They were cocksure, confident. He sensed their underlying attitude – they would cheerfully confess that they had done nothing wrong, though whether they had done anything right was another matter. ‘Did you hear either Sir Walter or Lady Isolda mention the possible annulment of their marriage?’

‘Never,’ they chorused together, a little too quickly, Athelstan thought.

‘And the fees paid to Master Falke to defend Isolda?’

‘Again,’ Lady Rohesia spoke up, ‘we don’t know. When she was committed to Newgate we sent her comforts, necessities. We thought she had money or that Falke defended her pro bono.’

‘Before all this happened did Falke ever come to this house? Was he on speaking terms with Sir Walter or Lady Isolda?’

‘Never, never,’ Sir Henry repeated emphatically.

‘Did Edmund Garman, Newgate chaplain, visit here?’

‘Yes, yes, he did.’

‘Why?’

‘I suppose because my brother is a rich man and Garman wanted alms for the prisoners. I do know Sir Walter furnished a small chapel in Newgate. I have little to do with Garman. Rumour has it that he too served in the Luciferi before he left to become a Hospitaller.’

‘Were you ever present at their meetings?’

‘No, why should I be? My brother dealt with petitions and requests. I am a merchant.’