Paul Doherty - The Book of Fires

‘Eventually, about four years ago. I had moved to Lincolnshire. I had a son.’ He fought to keep his voice steady. ‘My son was murdered for objecting to a market tax imposed by Lord Scales. I had prospered. I was a wealthy farmer and, like my father, an apothecary and herbalist. Lord Scales treated me and mine as if we were shit on his shoe. The King’s justices in Eyre were as corrupt, their souls bought, their justice twisted. Lord Scales was no better than a robber, an assassin. I became, for what it’s worth, a leading captain amongst the Upright Men in Lincolnshire. About the same time Fulchard sent messages which I eventually received. I journeyed to meet him. I arranged for secret lodgings. Fulchard was a veteran, proud of even his horrible burns. The story I told you about the tavern in Athens is what he first told me. Like all seasoned mercenaries, he was most reluctant to talk about his past. During his long years on Patmos, Fulchard had changed – become more humble, more loving. He wished to make atonement. He saw his sufferings as just punishment for his sins. What sins, he only began to tell me about two years ago. Reluctantly, slowly, he confessed to what truly happened on Patmos. I was horrified.’

‘You wanted revenge?’

‘I thirsted for it.’ John of Richmond paused as if listening to the sound of a dog howling at the moon: the squeak of rats and other vermin pierced the stillness of the night.

‘You sent those threatening messages?’ Athelstan demanded.

‘Yes, I knew about Sir Walter Beaumont, his power, his wealth, his close friendship with the demon Gaunt. I was set on revenge. Then the Upright Men of Lincoln received reports from Parson Garman about the construction of a flotilla of flat-bottomed barges in the royal dockyards on Southwark side.’

‘Do you know, Brother, what Gaunt intended?’ Fitzosbert the defrocked priest banged the table with the hilt of his dagger. ‘He plotted to bring Flemish mercenaries, killers who would be at home in the wet fens. They would thread the marshes on those barges. Oh, I know,’ the defrocked priest sneered, ‘outlaws, outcasts, wolfsheads and wastrels, men like me shelter in the Fens. But so do women and children, as well as peasants who’ve fled from cruel lords and taken their families with them. Can you imagine, Friar, what would happen? The black waters of the Fens would turn red with innocent blood.’

‘I travelled into Lincolnshire,’ Garman spoke up, leaning forward so Athelstan could see his face in the candlelight. ‘I met my comrades and our response was discussed. John wished to help, so did his brother Fulchard. It took us days to weave the different strands of our plot. We realized the vigil novena at St Erconwald’s provided us with a skilful and subtle way to prepare and mount our assault. The rest was as you say. Of course, we made mistakes, about the crutch, about how weak Fulchard had become. Nevertheless, we were successful. The barges have been destroyed.’

‘My brother wanted that,’ John of Richmond exclaimed. ‘He hoped Black Beaumont would realize he could no longer control Greek fire but, of course, Beaumont was sent to Hell’s eternal flame. All we needed,’ he spread his hands, ‘and God is good, was a brief period so that men and weapons could flow into this ward without Gaunt’s spies being alerted. Our envoys from the Great Community could come and go without hindrance. Comrades could fill every tavern and lodging house. Others camped out, all thronged into Southwark and learnt about its alleyways and runnels, whilst our spies inspected and reported on Gaunt’s defences. Now we are finished. Soon we will be gone, unless you …’ His voice trailed off.

‘What price did your brother ask for all this?’ Athelstan demanded.

‘To strike at Gaunt, to protect our comrades, to prepare for the great revolt and, when it came, to ensure that Firecrest Manor was burnt to the ground. Not one stone was to be left upon another, its soil sown with salt and its masters executed as traitors to the common good. And before you ask, Brother Athelstan, yes, we have sympathizers in the Beaumont household, though we do not yet fully trust them. They knew nothing about this. So, Brother, what do you want?’

‘The truth.’

‘You have had that.’

‘About the Ignifer, the assassin?’

‘We know nothing,’ Garman retorted. ‘I – we – can tell you no more.’

‘Oh, yes, you can. How you obtained Greek fire, its deadliest variety. You, Parson Garman, must have it. You must have met the leaders of the Upright Men to demonstrate its true power?’

‘No,’ John of Richmond intervened, ‘I did that. Oh, for the love of God, Garman, tell him! What does it matter now?’

‘We were given the formula,’ the prison chaplain admitted. ‘Brother, I swear to this. Every day I stand outside Newgate jail just before the vespers bell. I do that deliberately to receive petitions from the families of prisoners, scraps of parchment with a scrawled message for their loved ones confined inside. About a week ago I was standing there when a beggar pushed a small leather pouch into my hand. He was making signs to someone I could not see. I thought he was moonstruck. However, when I opened the message in the prison chapel, I found the writing was clerkly. The letter greeted me in the name of the Great Community of the Realm. Beneath this salutation was a formula, very precise and exact, giving the different constituents and elements of Greek fire. Anyone who had served as an officer in the Luciferi would recognize it for what it was.’

‘You mixed these?’

‘No, I did,’ John of Richmond retorted. ‘I am an apothecary, skilled in measurement.’

‘Yes, yes, you are,’ Athelstan agreed, slightly distracted. He would certainly remember that when he came to analysing all he had learnt here.

‘The Upright Men of Essex and Southwark wanted my assurances,’ John of Richmond continued, ‘that this truly was Greek fire. They trusted in my skill as an apothecary. They also believed Fulchard must have also instructed me. To a certain extent he did before he died. He could remember, albeit not precisely, the different combustibles Beaumont had bought and mixed on Patmos. I took a clay bowl out to meet them. They were soon convinced.’

‘Parson Garman,’ Athelstan asked, ‘do you know the source of the message delivered to you?’

‘The beggar came and went. He was constantly gesturing, as if there was someone with him.’

Athelstan held the prison chaplain’s gaze, wondering if the zealot was lying. Whatever the truth, the friar sensed he’d obtained all that he could, so it was time to be gone. He rose abruptly to his feet, surprising them all.

‘Father!’ Pike exclaimed.

‘What I learnt here, Pike, I swear, remains with me. Now,’ Athelstan gestured around, ‘all of you who are not members of my parish must be gone from St Erconwald’s by curfew time tomorrow night. John of Richmond, before you leave, sometime around the angelus bell, I insist that you go on to the top step of my church. Pike and Watkin will create a makeshift pulpit for you and other members of the parish will help. You will proclaim to all and sundry that tonight you had a vision of St Erconwald. How our great saint instructed you that the proper place for pilgrims’ devotion is not St Erconwald’s but the saintly bishop’s own tomb in St Paul’s. Let us be honest, let us be frank,’ Athelstan added wryly, ‘that’s the truth. Gentlemen,’ the friar raised his hand in blessing, ‘to those of my flock, I bid goodnight. To those who are not, may God bless you all on the strict understanding that I do not look on your faces ever again …’

Athelstan woke with a start. The pounding on the door brought him tumbling down from his bed-loft. Tiptoft stood outside with the four Tower archers.