Paul Doherty: The Book of Fires

For the first time Lady Anne showed surprise, her mouth slack, her eyes blinking before she swiftly recovered. ‘And there is the testimony of the Carnifex’s scrivener, Scrimshaw. According to him, the man at Smithfield collecting Isolda’s remains and claiming to be Vanner reeked of the stable. Picquart,’ Athelstan blithely declared to hide the fact that he was bluffing, ‘declared Wickham also smelt constantly of horses. Indeed, it was a common joke in your household. Totally different from Turgot, who sprinkled himself with the same perfume Isolda wore – crushed lilies – in order to complicate matters further.’

Lady Anne’s gaze faltered. She pressed the white cloth against her dry lips. Cranston caught her deepening unease.

‘Continue, Brother,’ he murmured.

‘Now we come to circumstance, coincidence and their cause – Sir Walter’s arrogance and total disdain for anyone else, especially women. Black Beaumont stole “The Book of Fires” in Constantinople. He brought it to London, had it copied then sold the original back to the Greeks. He kept that copy very secret. I suspect the clerk who created it did not live long afterwards. Beaumont was a professional, seasoned killer. He would murder without qualm anyone who might pose a threat. The years passed. Beaumont dipped into his copy to discover more secrets. Of course, life never stands still. Time passes. People age and, more dangerously for Beaumont, new threats emerge. The Upright Men made their presence felt. They hated Gaunt and his coven, including Sir Walter. More importantly, Beaumont had to face threats from the past. About a year ago, and you must have learnt this, Beaumont received threats, a stark, brutal message repeated time and again, “As I and ours burnt, so shall ye and yours”. We now know its source, a hideous secret from Black Beaumont’s blood-soaked past. So, Lady Anne, think of Sir Walter as he grows old, still cherishing his precious secrets. The Upright Men want to seize them – so does his pretty young wife, his brother, his servants and his rivals, not to mention Gaunt.’ Athelstan paused at a blood-chilling shriek of pain which rang through the gloomy passageway outside. ‘Indeed,’ he continued, ‘the list is endless, yes? And what can Beaumont do with his secret copy of “The Book of Fires”? Hide it in the ground? It’s not gold and parchment soon rots. Lock it in an arca, a strong chest? Then everyone would know where it is. The same is true if he handed it over to the goldsmiths and bankers along Cheapside. My lord of Gaunt would certainly keep it safe but never hand it back. No,’ Athelstan pointed at Lady Anne, ‘he gave it to you.’

‘Nonsense.’ Lady Anne quivered with anger but Athelstan could see it was pretence.

‘Listen, now,’ he insisted. ‘Beaumont was very devious. “The Book of Fires” was not copied on fresh vellum but in a specially purchased copy of the Novum Testamentum - the New Testament. Beaumont had the copyist turn to the last book of the Testament which, as we know, is the Apocalypse or Book of Revelation, written by St John the Apostle when he was in exile on the island of Patmos. In Beaumont’s Novum Testamentum the lines were specially spaced. It was simply a matter of copying “The Book of Fires” into those spaces as well as using the generous margins on all four sides of each page and the blank pages found at the back of any book. Naturally, written in Latin by a clerkly hand with the usual chancery abbreviations, it would look like what it was meant to be-’

‘A commentary,’ Cranston broke in. ‘Scholars do that in Bibles, books of hours, a psalter, a missal.’

‘And Beaumont entrusted that with me?’ Lady Anne jibed. ‘So I could read it …’

‘Hush, now,’ Athelstan soothed. ‘Beaumont was arrogant, with the most disdainful attitude towards women. He probably thought you couldn’t even read, certainly not Latin or the clever abbreviations of the scriptorium and chancery. And if you did read it, what comprehension would you have?’ He turned to the coroner. ‘Think, Sir John.’ He urged. ‘What better place to hide “The Book of Fires” than amongst the lines of the New Testament? Especially the Apocalypse or Book of Revelation written by the Apostle John on the island of Patmos, which describes the end of creation when Christ comes again with fire and sword? Beaumont would see the humour in it. He thought he was very clever that no one would discover the secret which explains his sly illusions of the whereabouts of “The Book of Fires” being a “revelation”, “safe on the island of Patmos”.’

Cranston was now beside himself with excitement. He snapped his fingers, now and again gesturing at Lady Anne.

‘Beaumont,’ the coroner declared. ‘Yes, didn’t he say that Lady Anne’s house was the safest place in London? It would be a sanctuary of peace when the revolt comes because of her good work in Newgate and elsewhere? The Upright Men would not place her house under the ban.’ Cranston whistled softly, shaking his head.

‘A shrewd move,’ Athelstan agreed. ‘When the revolt does come, Firecrest Manor will be high on the list of mansions to be pillaged and burnt. It would be foolish to hide “The Book of Fires” there. Now,’ he paused to collect his thoughts, ‘Lady Anne, you are, despite what Beaumont thought, an educated, highly intelligent guild woman. You mix potions and powders. You consult leech books, medical treatises and works of physic. You are acquainted with the works of Galen and Bartholomew the Englishman. You are both literate and numerate, just as skilled and experienced as any Cheapside mercer, and so was Turgot, your familiar. Remember, you told me how you had him educated in the chapel school at Westminster Abbey?’

‘If I had “The Book of Fires”, why did I not use it to negotiate Isolda’s life?’

‘Sharp, very sharp,’ Athelstan replied. ‘Sharp as a serpent’s tooth! A very good question. So I return to circumstance and coincidence. It’s a matter of logic, isn’t it?’

Lady Anne just glared back.

‘Some people are in the right place at the right time or,’ Athelstan shrugged, ‘some people are in the wrong place at the right time and so on. To be brief, you never discovered the secret until after Isolda’s execution. God knows why and how. Was it mere chance? Did you sit brooding and realize all you had left from your complex plotting was Sir Walter’s copy of the New Testament? Did you wonder what to do with it? Take it out and leaf through the pages, or did you reflect on all you knew about Black Beaumont? The years abroad, his sly illusions to the book’s whereabouts being a revelation safe on the island of Patmos? I cannot say, but you certainly discovered the secret and used it to deadly effect.’ Athelstan cleared his throat. ‘At the same time you continued the pretence of condemning Isolda. You had no choice but to mask your true intentions.’

‘You will produce proof for all this?’ Lady Anne asked. ‘You can evidence what you say?’

‘You and your familiar Turgot became very busy,’ Athelstan retorted. ‘You are an apothecary – you can easily buy the different components and constituents. You also had the Keep in which to distil them. Turgot was young, skilled and able. Once ready, you strike. First, Turgot attacks Sutler and Gavelkind. An easy enough task. Go out on to any London street and you will find someone carrying a pot, a pail, a pan and sometimes a lantern or candle. Turgot acted this out. A pot of Greek fire in one hand, a flame in the other. Vengeance was inflicted on Sutler, Gavelkind and Pynchon, foreman of the jury. The latter was not caught out on a London street. He made it easy for you, a bachelor locked in his strong room in the cellars. All Turgot had to do, using a pair of bellows, was pump Greek fire through that grille, followed by a flame. Pynchon was drunk, clumsy on his feet and, of course, he had sealed himself in. Even for someone with a fresh mind, unlocking and unbarring a heavy door could be frustrating. You also turned on us. You knew our reputation. You feared discovery and you wished to deepen the mystery. Twice you attacked Sir John and me and, on a separate occasion, the coroner in his own house.’