Authors: Paul Doherty
‘Eat, drink and be merry, my friend.’ Athelstan stroked Bonaventure’s head. ‘For now I must pray.’ He blessed the great tomcat and left for the church. Crim and Benedicta had prepared the sanctuary for Mass. The widow woman tried to question him about the fire but Athelstan pressed a finger against her lips, ‘Silence,’ he whispered, ‘and discretion. Pilgrims and visitors flock here as, undoubtedly, do Gaunt’s spies.’
Athelstan swiftly vested and prepared himself. He decided to preach a homily before intoning the opening rite of the Mass. He also used the occasion to carefully study his congregation. The throng of people had definitely thinned. The attack on the barges must have frightened them but Athelstan immediately noticed, as he had when Crim first roused him and he crossed to the tower, how many of the young men, strangers who had allegedly come to view the Great Miracle, had now disappeared. Members of his parish were also conspicuous in their absence and the list was long. After the attack on the barges, the Upright Men would flee south into the countryside. The group would break up and would drift back towards their homes as if nothing had happened. Athelstan finished his homily and celebrated his Mass. He found this difficult, being distracted by thoughts which whirled through his mind like a flock of noisy sparrows. Once he had received the Eucharist, Athelstan paused and prayed fiercely for divine guidance. He then continued the Mass, reached the final blessing and raised his hand, staring round. Others were absent! Fulchard of Richmond, together with his witnesses and his keeper, the defrocked priest, Fitzosbert! Athelstan finished the blessing, bowed his head and thanked God for guidance. He returned to the sacristy, divested and hurried across to his house. He told the escort of archers to break their fast in a rota, shelter from the cold yet choose a place where they could keep a strict eye on anyone approaching his house.
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?’
‘Because you hunt the Ignifer, and he, Sir John,’ Nicephorus took a sip of ale, neatly wiping the white froth from his moustache, ‘either holds the secret of Greek fire or is close to someone who does. Mark the Greek’s manuscript contains many secrets, different formulas, correct measurements of what elements are needed. The Ignifer must have these.’ He sipped again. ‘Though I solemnly assure you, whoever it is should be most careful. You English have a saying: “It is dangerous to play with fire” – Greek fire in particular. It has a power you sometimes can’t control.’
‘And Black Beaumont never gave it back to you?’
‘Oh, yes, he did.’
‘What?’
‘Black Beaumont sold what he stole to Greek envoys a few years after his return to England.’
Athelstan sat down. ‘So you have it already?’
‘It’s back with my masters in the great city – that’s why we left Black Beaumont alone for a while. However, our spies here kept him under close watch. They reported something rather strange. How occasionally Sir Walter would go on journeys all by himself. He’d leave on horseback with a sumpter pony.’
‘To some deserted wasteland to experiment with different fires?’
‘In a word, yes. Beaumont sold the manuscript back to us and settled down in London to live high on the hog. The Secretissimi in the great city continued to watch him. After all, a man who steals will steal again. We discovered his secret journeys, we saw the flashes of fire and, before you ask, did he steal two copies of “The Book of Fires”? No! Beaumont had the original copied and, knowing Sir Walter as we do, the clerk or scrivener responsible did not live long afterwards.’
‘We’ve learnt,’ Athelstan declared,’ that Beaumont would make sly references to how this secret manuscript’s whereabouts would be a revelation to all, that it was safe on the island of Patmos.’
‘Yes, we discovered the same.’ Nicephorus put his tankard down. ‘We have spied, coaxed and threatened everyone we thought could help us and, believe me my friends, the list is long. Lady Isolda, Falke, Buckholt, Sir Henry; Parson Garman who, as a mercenary, served abroad under the name Saint-Croix: Vanner, whose corpse you have recently discovered, as well as other servants and retainers at Firecrest Manor. We cannot understand Beaumont’s jest except, of course, St John the Evangelist wrote the last book of the Bible, the Apocalypse, the Book of Revelation, whilst in exile on the island of Patmos.’
‘Of course,’ Athelstan breathed. ‘How stupid of me.’
‘Now, the Book of Revelation,’ Nicephorus continued, ‘talks about the Parousia, the Second Coming of Christ, the end of all things when the world will be destroyed by fire. Beaumont might have been referring to the power and possibilities of Greek fire, except,’ he held up a gauntleted hand, ‘Beaumont actually visited Patmos. Once he’d stolen the book, he escaped through Asia. We know he deserted most of his company in the desert outside Izmir. He and a group of henchmen then fled across the Middle Sea. They reached Patmos.’ Nicephorus sketched a cross over his heart. ‘I swear by the Holy Face only Black Beaumont left Patmos alive. The remains of his companions, nothing more than burnt, tangled blackened bone and scraps of flesh, were found high in the mountains. It took weeks before the governor could establish that these were the mortal remains of the English mercenaries who had landed on the island a few months earlier. Scraps of clothing, discarded weapons,’ he shrugged, ‘but, of course, once again, Black Beaumont had slipped away without leaving any evidence that he had anything to with what, murder? A dreadful accident? Attack by some other group?’
‘Satan’s tits!’ Cranston whispered. ‘I suspect it was murder. Black Beaumont was an assassin. He had a night-shrouded soul, a felon who should have been hanged high.’
‘What do you think happened?’ Athelstan asked.
‘Oh, Beaumont drugged his companions and used his skill to concoct Greek fire and burnt their bodies,’ Nicephorus smiled thinly, ‘or at least some of them.’
‘Did one escape?’ Athelstan asked. ‘Could this be our Ignifer?’
‘Ah, the Fire Bearer. You realize that Beaumont’s Luciferi had officers of different ranks. Some of these would have the title of Ignifer, being directly responsible for loosing the cannon or the hollow tubes through which Greek fire or any such flame can be shot. The Ignifer would also be responsible for loading and directing the trebuchets and catapults with fiery missiles. The mercenary Saint-Croix, known to you as Parson Garman, held the post of Ignifer, a high-ranking officer and quite a ruthless one.’
‘So Garman is the Ignifer?’