Paul Doherty - The Book of Fires

‘Little friar,’ he remarked, ‘the day is done and we are for the dark.’

‘Sir John, we have no choice, for the darkness seeks us …’

Athelstan recalled the events of the day as he sat at table in the kitchen of his priest’s house. Outside the faded hubbub of noise of the pilgrims still intent on the vigil echoed faintly. Matters, however, were now more orderly in the parish of St Erconwald’s. Admission to the church, as well as supervision of the stalls offering food, drink or relics of the Great Miracle, was now in the iron grip of the parish council led by Watkin and Pike. Queues were now more orderly and, at the agreed time, an hour before midnight, the church would be closed. Athelstan smiled to himself. His parishioners had been most insistent that matters be left to them. ‘Hadn’t Father,’ they asked, ‘had a truly busy day? Hadn’t that strange creature the Ignifer, so rumour had it, struck again?’ On his return the privy council had been most solicitous. They had pointed out how the priest’s house had been thoroughly cleaned, the braziers lit, the hearth fire built up and banked. Merrylegs’ best venison pie was waiting in the oven, whilst a jug of the Piebald’s finest ale stood covered in the buttery.

Athelstan took their hint to leave the flow of pilgrims to them, though he remained deeply suspicious. He’d retired to the house along with Bonaventure, who now sprawled like a well-fed emperor across the hearth. Athelstan drummed his fingers on the tabletop. He picked up the letter that Lady Anne had sent with Turgot, where she recounted what she had said when they met at the Minoresses earlier that day. Athelstan re-read the finely etched script which described what the beggar Didymus had seen on the night the Ignifer had attacked them. How Didymus was sure their would-be assassin was garbed in heavy robes and reeked of a woman’s fragrant perfume. According to Crim the altar boy, who was in the house at the time, the heavily cowled and cloaked Turgot had knocked at the door, entrusted the letter to Crim and promptly disappeared. Athelstan stared up at the ceiling beams. He knew where Turgot and Lady Anne had been when the Ignifer struck that morning but what about the rest, including that sly-faced maid? Sir Henry, Buckholt, Garman or even Falke or Vanner? Had those he’d met been busy in Cheapside? As for Vanner, Athelstan believed Beaumont’s clerk was dead, yet he might be wrong. Athelstan decided to busy himself. He drew out a large piece of parchment from the leather case in his personal coffer. He quickly smoothed it with a pumice stone, putting small weights on each corner. Once ready, however, Athelstan rose and paced backwards and forwards, watched by a now bemused Bonaventure. ‘So, master cat, let us move to the arrow point. Primo , Sir Walter. Very wealthy, sickly but entertaining grave doubts about his second wife, the lovely Isolda. An old man with a very guilty conscience, which he richly deserved. Black Beaumont, as he was then called, served abroad. The climax of his career was the theft of “The Book of Fires” from the Greeks.

‘Allegedly he deserted one set of companions and may have murdered the group who left with him. Bloodthirsty and ruthless, Sir Walter returns home, where he amasses a fortune manufacturing machines of war for the likes of Gaunt. He keeps “The Book of Fires” close to his heart, a great secret. He does not reveal all its mysteries, perhaps he dare not for fear of the Greeks or is he waiting for the right occasion to sell the manuscript to the highest bidder? Undoubtedly he uses some of the formulas recorded in that book to manufacture more deadly weapons of war. In the meantime, he hides the book’s whereabouts with foolish references to it being a revelation or safe on the island of Patmos. Eventually Black Beaumont grows old and sickly. Remember that, master cat. Rumours abound that he is being slowly poisoned so he takes great care over what he eats or drinks. He is certainly sick in soul and that proves a fertile breeding ground for further evil. The lechery of his youth comes back to haunt him. He wonders whether his new wife could be the daughter of one of his cast-off mistresses. If Garman knew this, others would. His brother, Sir Henry, probably did little to disabuse him of such a notion. Oh, yes, Henry and Rohesia are like scavenging cats, horrified at Sir Walter’s marriage and the prospect of Isolda producing an heir. They must have been delighted at the turn of events. Parson Garman also plays his part. He views Sir Walter’s guilty conscience and nagging scruples as a fertile furrow to till. He hates Beaumont for a number of reasons: the merchant’s appalling reputation abroad, his betrayal, his desertions, his greed, everything Garman has come to hate.’ Athelstan paused in his pacing. ‘Bonaventure, this was all in the past and we must keep it that way. So, Garman wanted the return of “The Book of Fires”, or at least the ability to plunder its secrets, which he could either sell to raise money or assist the cause of the Upright Men. Garman also delighted in darkening Beaumont’s soul. The parson baited his old leader, bringing him those almond-coated figs from Beaumont’s green and salad days. He knew Sir Walter couldn’t or wouldn’t eat them. He certainly brought such a delicacy early on the day Beaumont died and, if Sir Walter did not eat the delicacy, who did – a member of his household?’ Athelstan paused, fingers flying to his lips. ‘Oh, my goodness!’ he exclaimed. ‘Oh my goodness, Bonaventure, is that possible?’ He leaned down and scratched the tomcat’s scarred ears. ‘For the moment, let’s keep to the path we are following. We have Sir Walter, “The Book of Fires” and then Sir Walter’s plan to have his marriage annulled. Of course, “by their fruits ye shall know them”. Sir Walter was not keen on his wife but he took a fancy to the doe-eyed Rosamund, who could perform certain lecherous tasks for him with her soft, light fingers. She certainly visited him on the day he died but then she mysteriously fell ill, a sickness which confined her to her chamber whilst the tragedy which engulfed her mistress was played out.

‘ Secondo , Bonaventure, the actual poisoning. Rumour has it that Beaumont may have been the victim of slow poisoning for some time before his death, hence the ailments of both belly and bowel. Brother Philippe says that is possible – he also mentioned that members of the Beaumont household suffered similar conditions. There is no firm evidence of this. Nevertheless, Sir Walter probably became more prudent about what he ate and drank. He’d also be wary of Isolda and his clerk, Vanner. After all, Sir Walter must have heard the rumours of how friendly his estranged wife and clerk had become. Of course, there is the faithful Buckholt, or was he as faithful as he should have been? Buckholt’s father had been in the Luciferi – did his son bear a grudge? Did Sir Walter employ Buckholt as an act of gratitude and reparation to the memory of his steward’s father? A strange man, Buckholt, a paradox, he serves as a rich merchant’s steward yet espouses the cause of the Upright Men.’ Athelstan paused and chuckled. ‘Could the Great Community of the Realm be the real reason for Buckholt’s service? Oh, Bonaventure, at last the threads of this tapestry are beginning to loosen. Nor must we forget how Buckholt nourished a passion for the fair Rosamund. He certainly resented Isolda and he would fiercely resent Rosamund’s ministrations for his master. In the end, however, one thing is certain: Buckholt was instrumental in the successful conviction of Isolda.’ Athelstan walked over to the table. He sifted through the leaves of parchment Cranston had sent across to him, a transcript of the trial proceedings, but they were little more than a summary and could provide no new information.