Paul Doherty - The Book of Fires

Once inside, Athelstan locked himself in. He hastily ate some porridge and began pacing up and down the kitchen, sifting through the evidence he’d collected as well as what he’d seen, or rather what he’d not seen, this morning.

‘What is most possible is probable. So, Bonaventure?’ Athelstan held the fierce gaze of the one-eyed tomcat. ‘What is more possible in this vale of tears, a miracle or a clever deception? Let us concede, for sake of argument, that it’s the latter.’ He sat down on his leather-backed chair. ‘Item: we have Fulchard of Richmond staggering into St Erconwald’s during the vigil. Yes? He claims to have had a vision: how our great saint would help him. He certainly was a cripple, the entire right side of his body being badly burnt. Item: Fulchard of Richmond carried letters of attestation to his injuries. He was officially a cripple and a public beggar. On his arrival in London he was critically examined by Brother Philippe, one of the most eminent physicians of this city. He viewed Fulchard’s terrible wounds. He also asserted that Fulchard was greatly weakened, even ill after his journey south. Item: on that particular morning Fulchard of Richmond leapt up to claim a miracle. He had been completely cured. Item: we have a host of witnesses to this miracle, be it Fitzosbert the defrocked priest as well as our noble physician, Brother Philippe. Item: we have the Great Miracle proclaimed. Strangers by the score flood into our ward and parish, bringing carts, barrows, pack ponies and other conveyances. Item: we have a goodly number of stout young men also interested in the miracle. Item: we have a sudden and very violent attack, or so I understand, against Gaunt’s barges further down the river. Item: this morning most of these young men have disappeared, along with many parishioners, not to mention Fulchard of Richmond and his companion, Fitzosbert. Item: we have a connection between Firecrest Manor and the events of last night. Bonaventure, I am sure Greek fire was used during that assault. What I saw from the tower was a blazing furnace. So, who concocted this Greek fire? Is the Ignifer a member of the Upright Men? Item: let’s return, Bonaventure, to this parish. What other strange events have happened in St Erconwald’s?’ Athelstan held a hand up. ‘Item: Merrylegs, or rather Merrylegs senior. We have that funeral feast around his corpse. Strangers were present, certainly Upright Men who used the occasion to plot, but what? Item: on the night before the burial of Merrylegs senior, Godbless and his goat participate in the festivities until both are so drunk they can hardly stand. Item: the requiem Mass for Merrylegs senior the morning after. Many attended yet it proceeded so serenely and smoothly.’ Athelstan stared at the small statue of St Erconwald standing on a plinth in the corner. He went and knelt before it, praying for guidance. ‘For the children of this world,’ he whispered, ‘are more astute in dealing with their own kind than the children of the light. Lord,’ he continued, ‘my heart is not proud. I do not claim to be a child of the light but I know I am here to serve them.’ He rose and went back to his reflections. The miracle at St Erconwald’s was certainly beginning to dim as the fug of mystery around it cleared. Athelstan ate some bread and drank a little ale. He was about to return to his studies when Cranston hammered on the door, shouting for entrance. Once inside, the coroner shook off his great cloak and beaver hat, moved Bonaventure to one side then squatted down, hands out to the flames.

‘Satan’s tits, Athelstan! Gaunt is furious. The Upright Men used Greek fire – pot after pot catapulted through the air to drench the quayside, its buildings and the barges. This was followed by a veritable hail of fire arrows which kindled a furnace from Hell.’ He rubbed his hands and got up. ‘Gaunt expected an attack but not like that. He and his captains had planned on a sword fight, a clash of arms, not a firestorm loosed from afar. Brother, they even brought catapults. No wonder the Upright Men have been quiet recently – they were busy plotting last night’s outrage.’

‘Rumour has it much damage was done.’

‘Brother, the barges were chained close together. The water afforded little protection. Some of the witnesses talk of the flames scudding across the water as if the Thames itself had caught fire. Two hundred barges were mustered there. I doubt if a score of them will reach the Lincolnshire Fens.’

‘And the attackers?’

‘They never really closed with Gaunt’s troops. They had no need. They forced the palisade, occupied the small rise overlooking the quayside and poured down a rain of fire. Once satisfied, they melted back into the darkness.’

‘And the catapults?’

‘Set them alight and left them burning. Gaunt’s men were cautious; they could see the fires but it was dark, misty and they were not sure about the true strength of the enemy. At daylight mounted archers were despatched but for what? The Upright Men were long gone.’ Cranston came and stood over Athelstan. ‘I am sure,’ he whispered, leaning down, ‘that some of your parishioners were out on the wild heathland last night. But never mind, little friar, I have no desire to see them hang. What disturbs me is that during the attack, Greek fire was used. I am sure Watkin and Pike know how to fire oil, but this was different. A substance which set the river aflame! It could not be doused with water. They had to use dry dirt and leather sheets soaked in vinegar or urine.’

‘So where did they get the fire from?’ Athelstan rose to his feet. ‘It must have been recent otherwise they would have used it before. Who would have experience of such a deadly substance?’

‘Sir Henry Beaumont?’

‘Perhaps. Think again.’

‘Parson Garman?’

‘Precisely, by his own confession he served in the Luciferi. He admitted he was a peritus , skilled in the machinery of war. He is also is an ardent supporter of the Upright Men. However, he’s been searching for “The Book of Fires” for years. So where, when, how and why did he manage to secure at least some of its secrets?’ Athelstan spread his hands. ‘Of course, we have no proof to confront him with. I …’ He paused at a rap on the door. He rose, drew the bolts and opened it. Two of the Tower archers stood there.

‘Brother Athelstan, Sir John, we have stopped these.’ The archer gestured over his shoulder. Athelstan stepped out and saw the four men, hooded and cloaked. One of these came forward, pushing back his cowl to reveal a dark, swarthy face. His long black hair neatly cut, as was his moustache and beard.

‘Master Nicephorus,’ Athelstan called, ‘you are he?’

‘I am.’ The Greek’s English was fluid and clear. ‘I am Nicephorus.’

‘And those are your swordsmen?’ Athelstan replied. ‘Soldiers of the Varangian Guard?’

‘You have been speaking to Master Falke?’

‘Of course, and now you wish to speak to me. Well, sir?’ Athelstan stepped back. ‘You are welcome but your swordsmen stay outside.’

Nicephorus came into the house. He clasped Cranston’s hand and that of Athelstan before bowing his head for the friar’s blessing, then crossed himself and took off his heavy cloak. Athelstan glimpsed the jewels shimmering on the finger rings and the costly gold chain around his neck displaying a miniature gem-studded icon of the Theotokos.

‘I suspect your parishioners,’ Nicephorus took the offered tankard of ale and the chair Athelstan pulled away from the table, ‘were involved in last night’s affray. Over one hundred and fifty barges were destroyed. Such, my friends, is the power of Greek fire.’

‘And you want that secret back?’ Cranston declared. ‘Mark the Greek’s “The Book of Fires”, stolen by Black Beaumont. That’s why you follow me and my secretarius around London,’ Cranston sat down, ‘and saved us on two occasions. For that we are grateful. But, my friend, why were you there?’