The Bone Fire

by The Bone Fire (retail) (epub)

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ I replied on their behalf. ‘We were exhausted after our long journey.’

  ‘And you are all well in yourselves?’ he asked. ‘No sign of coughs or fevers?’ He tried to make this sound like an offhand question, but I knew its true purpose.

  ‘No, Godfrey,’ I said. ‘We are all well. Otherwise we wouldn’t have come here.’

  He gave a short, embarrassed cough. ‘Of course, Oswald. It was a foolish question. I know that you, of all people, would not take risks with other people’s lives.’ Then, in a bid to change the subject, he patted Sandro on the head. ‘I see that your trusty valet has accompanied you here?’

  ‘Of course,’ I said. ‘But don’t worry, Godfrey. Sandro eats no more than a woman.’

  Godfrey tried to laugh at this. ‘Well, that’s good to hear,’ he said, before foolishly attempting to repeat the gesture. As his palm neared my valet’s head, Sandro made a sudden bow that left Godfrey’s hand waving clumsily in the air.

  I couldn’t help but smile at this, for I knew what had motivated Sandro’s quick move. My valet was now fourteen years of age – or so we believed. We couldn’t be sure of this, since he wasn’t sure of it himself. Whatever his age, Sandro was old enough to be growing a thin covering of hair on his top lip, and yet he did not reach my shoulder in height. Unfortunately this lack of stature meant that Sandro was often mistaken for a child. A pat on the head was a regular indignity, along with a pull to his ear or a pinch to one of his cherubic cheeks. I had even seen people stroking the crop of glossy black curls that fell in ringlets about his face, even though this boldness clearly made Sandro uncomfortable.

  My valet was something of a curiosity. A Venetian novelty. When asked about his history – which frequently happened – I said that I had recruited the boy at a palazzo in Venice, where he had impressed me with his skills at serving our hosts. The truth couldn’t have been more different. I had discovered Sandro three years previously, living on the streets of Venice as a ragged and starving child. Our paths had crossed when I was searching for a murderer. He had helped me, as much as I had subsequently helped him. But that is another story, for another time.

  After the awkwardness of the failed pat to the head, Godfrey turned his attentions to Filomena and Hugh. ‘And here is your son and beautiful wife,’ he said flamboyantly. ‘Come all the way to see me from Somershill.’ Godfrey approached Hugh and unwisely attempted to lift the boy, which only caused my small son to cling to Filomena’s legs with a squeal of fear. ‘He has grown again,’ observed Godfrey, pretending not to be embarrassed by Hugh’s reaction. ‘And it’s only three months since I last saw him.’

  It was supposed to be a light-hearted comment, but my wife did not register the comedy in it. In fact, she seemed determined to be affronted by Godfrey’s observation. ‘I may not be Hugh’s true mother,’ she said, ‘but I always make sure that he eats properly.’ She then let her hands rest for a moment upon her coral rosary.

  Godfrey’s eyes darted away, as if they had been stung. ‘Talking of food,’ he said quickly, turning back to me. ‘Thank you for bringing all of the provisions I requested, Oswald. I’ve inspected your cart already, and it seems that you followed my instructions precisely.’ He grunted a laugh. ‘Which is more that I can say for some of the other guests. They don’t seem able to read.’

  ‘Your list was very helpful,’ I said, remembering the exhaustive directives that I had received from Godfrey.

  ‘Thank you, Oswald,’ he said, stepping towards the door, now keen to leave. ‘Perhaps you and your valet would assist in moving the sacks and barrels into the storeroom now?’ He rubbed his hands together and smiled with genuine pleasure at last. ‘And then I want to show you something. I think you’ll be very impressed.’

  Sandro and I followed Godfrey through the inner ward, passing the handful of fellow guests who were still loitering in the meagre sunshine. I wanted to introduce myself, but Godfrey urged me on.

  ‘You can meet them later,’ he said with a wave of his hand. ‘There’s no rush. We will have months together.’

  From the inner ward, he led us down some steps into a dark, musty-smelling passageway that branched out into the network of cellars beneath the castle. Godfrey pushed at one of the many doors along this passageway and then we entered a large vaulted chamber, thinly illuminated by an unexpected shaft in the ceiling, near to the far wall. The room itself was cold, but smelt fresher and drier than the passageway outside. As my eyes became accustomed to the poor light, I saw that this chamber was stuffed with food – from the barrels on the floor, to the many hessian sacks on the shelves. Smoked hams hung from hooks on the ceiling, like a colony of bats roosting in the eaves.

  Godfrey strode across the room and then stood proudly beneath the shaft of light. ‘I had this ventilation tunnel built recently,’ he said. ‘It is my own design.’ He waved us over. ‘Come and see, Oswald. It funnels fresh air into these storerooms from outside of the castle walls.’

  ‘Outside of the walls?’ I said in surprise, as Sandro and I peered up the shaft. It was a very thin tunnel, only the width of a dinner plate, leading up towards the daylight at a sloped angle.

  ‘Of course,’ said Godfrey. ‘I didn’t want to draw the stale miasmas of the inner ward into these rooms. Our food is stored in here, and it needs fresh air.’ He dropped his head and strode purposefully back towards the door. ‘But let me show you something else,’ he said proudly. ‘I’ve replaced this door and frame with new timber.’ Sandro and I wandered over to inspect this carpentry, without, I have to say, a great deal of enthusiasm. Godfrey didn’t notice this lack of interest, however, since he carried on in the same, ebullient manner. ‘Once these doors are locked, then nobody will be able to kick them in.’ He paused for effect. ‘Not even with a battering ram. If the castle is stormed, then the raiders will never get their hands on our food.’

  ‘Are you expecting an invasion?’ I asked, exchanging a sly smile with Sandro.

  This time Godfrey noticed our disdain and turned on me sharply. ‘This is no laughing matter, Oswald,’ he said. ‘I’m prepared for plague.’ I went to apologise but he continued. ‘Who can tell what will happen in the months to come?’ he said. ‘Who can tell what desperate souls will do, when they run out of food? The people on this island will only have their own measly stores to rely upon. Whereas we have this. A cellar full of provisions. Enough to feed us all for many months.’

  ‘It’s very impressive,’ I said, suitably chastised for my moment of mockery.

  He fixed me with a glare, seemingly still annoyed at my lack of sincerity. ‘We are at the End of Days, Oswald. The Son of Man prepares to send out his angels from Heaven. Soon they will gather the sinners from His kingdom and throw them all into a flaming furnace.’

  Sandro cast his eyes to the floor, but I kept my friend’s gaze. I had heard Godfrey quote these verses from the Gospel of Matthew before, and I was in no mood to hear them now. ‘I think it’s time to unload our food,’ I said quickly, walking back into the passageway and gesturing for my valet to join me. ‘Come on, Sandro. Hurry up.’

  We spent the next hour heaving sacks of grain and dried peas, barrels of wine, whole cheeses, smoked hams and sausages from the cart and then placing them onto the shelves according to Godfrey’s precise instructions. Godfrey supervised our work without making any efforts to lift the food and drink himself. Instead he worked at a table, making a list of each contribution and recording the shelf on which it was stored. I wondered if this meant we would only be allowed to eat the food that we had brought ourselves, but Godfrey assured me that his lists only existed so that he could plan out our meals for the next few months.

  When we’d finally unloaded the cart, I sent Sandro back to our rooms to see if Filomena needed his help, while Godfrey promised to take me on a tour of the castle, ending with the unveiling of his surprise. We began the tour in his library – a room high up in one of the towers that faced the sea. Godfrey had enlarged a
n existing arrow slit in the exterior wall of the room, to form a great window onto this view. I lingered here for many minutes, staring out at the low mist that lay upon the marsh like a feather quilt. It was liberating to look into the far distance again, since all of the other windows in the castle looked down upon the small inner ward, which only intensified the feeling of enclosure. I fancied that I could make out Rye to the west and Dover to the east, but this was just my imagination. The light of the marsh plays tricks on the eye.

  Godfrey soon dragged me away from this view, keen to show me the next of his improvements. These were the ancient murder holes that he had reopened in the ceiling of the gatehouse – a set of circular mouths above the entrance tunnel, from which we could pour boiling water onto the heads of those raiders he imagined were intent upon storming the castle and stealing our food. This time, however, I didn’t laugh at the idea. Instead, I praised Godfrey for his foresight – not wanting to prompt another lecture about the End of Days.

  After this, we inspected the well in the inner ward, looking down the deep shaft to a tiny silver circle of water, far below us. The well had been abandoned for many years, having become polluted with all sorts of debris, meaning that the servants had preferred to collect water from an outside stream. But now we had a source of clean water within the castle walls themselves. I congratulated Godfrey with genuine respect this time, for he had been lowered down the well himself in order to clear out the muck. It couldn’t have been a pleasant job, but he had not shirked from it.

  And then, at last, we came to Godfrey’s surprise. We retraced our steps along a passageway in the cellar, to a door that appeared to be locked at first, until Godfrey threw it open to reveal a room illuminated by a bank of lanterns. I stepped inside to look, in wonderment, at what lay before me. It was a large iron frame – as tall and as wide as a man, and filled with an array of wheels, cogs and pulleys. I recognised this immediately as the mechanism of an astronomical clock – a rare device in England, not usually seen outside the abbeys or royal palaces.

  I stepped nearer, wanting to touch the clock, when a man appeared from the shadows and warned me off. Beside him was a girl of maybe ten or eleven years of age, dressed in the clothes of a noblewoman. She did not acknowledge our presence, but continued to stare at a wheel that was rotating at speed within the frame.

  When Godfrey noticed the girl, he flinched. ‘Why is Lady Emma in here?’ he asked the man.

  ‘She likes to watch the clock, my Lord,’ he replied. ‘She’s not doing any harm. She never bothers us.’

  ‘I don’t think her father would be very pleased about this,’ said Godfrey. ‘She’s supposed to stay in their room.’ Godfrey approached the girl, leant down and suggested, in a quiet and gentle voice, that she should leave. The girl didn’t look up at Godfrey while he spoke, or make any effort to reply. Instead, she simply obeyed his request and glided out of the room like a small and silent swan.

  Once the girl had left us, Godfrey then introduced the man who had appeared from the shadows as Pieter de Groot – a master clock builder from the town of Delft in the Low Countries. De Groot was a squat and muscular man, with arms as thick as ham hocks and a bulbous nose that was split at its tip, like the crack of an arse. Whilst Godfrey was making his introductions, a thin youth of maybe eighteen or nineteen years slunk out of an adjoining room. When he saw our faces, he reddened, and then quickly disappeared again. Godfrey made no attempt to even acknowledge this slender boy, let alone introduce him.

  Godfrey ran his hands over the large cog that I had been warned away from. ‘Isn’t this the most wonderful invention, Oswald?’ he said, not sensing de Groot’s obvious twitchiness. Once Godfrey had released his hands from the clock, de Groot took a rag to the cog and wiped the area that Godfrey had just touched. Godfrey seemed oblivious to the slight and continued to speak. ‘This clock will hang from the wall above the dais in the Great Hall,’ he said. ‘Though none of these wheels and cogs will be on show. We will only see this.’ He then walked over to an object that was hidden by a sheet – pulling it back to reveal a large circular dial, painted with golden stars against a dark blue background. Godfrey’s actions caused de Groot to inhale sharply, but once again, Godfrey didn’t appear to notice his clockmaker’s obvious annoyance.

  ‘Look at these numerals, Oswald,’ said Godfrey, pointing to the symbols painted about the edge of the dial. ‘They represent the hour of the day. From one to twelve on this side, and then again on the other.’ He was becoming excited. His breathing rapid. ‘And this,’ he said, pointing to a thin rod capped by an emblem of the sun. ‘This hand will rotate around the clock face throughout the day, showing the correct hour. And this,’ he said, running his hand over a small disc at the centre of the clock. ‘This is the most remarkable part of all. This shows the age of the moon, from one to thirty days.’ He sighed in pleasure. ‘Have you ever seen such a thing?’

  ‘There’s the clock at St Albans abbey,’ I said unwisely, before quickly adding, ‘Though I have not seen it myself.’

  Godfrey bristled, but de Groot nodded at my words. ‘I have heard of that clock, my Lord,’ he said. ‘It was built by Richard of Wallingford. A very fine piece, I’m told. But this will be as fine,’ he said, tapping the same cog that Godfrey had previously touched.

  ‘If not finer,’ said Godfrey. ‘This will be the most accurate clock that Master de Groot has ever built.’

  De Groot huffed, ‘If I ever have the funds to finish it,’ he said acidly. ‘And who knows when that will be?’

  The comment hung in the air, before Godfrey hastily directed me to the door. ‘Let’s leave Master de Groot to his work, Oswald,’ he said, ushering me out of the room. ‘He’s a very busy man.’

  Once we were back in the passageway and the door was firmly closed behind us, Godfrey whispered to me, ‘You mustn’t take any notice of his gruff manner, Oswald. I’m afraid that de Groot can be rather rude. But he really was the finest clockmaker I could find.’

  ‘Who was the girl?’

  ‘That was Lady Emma,’ he answered. ‘You’ll meet her father, Lord Hesket, later. She’s rather strange, but you’ll get used to her.’

  ‘Who was the other man in the room?’ I asked. ‘The thin boy.’

  Godfrey frowned. ‘Oh him?’ he said dismissively. ‘That’s de Groot’s nephew, Hans. Apparently the boy is an apprentice. Though I’m not sure that he has any relevant skills.’ He paused to sigh. ‘Not in clock-making anyway.’

  I was about to ask more, when we were taken by surprise as a large, wiry-haired dog suddenly sped around the corner of the passage with its nose pressed to the floor. Godfrey tried to catch hold of the creature by the collar as it passed us, but it was in no mood to be caught.

  ‘Is that your dog?’ I asked.

  ‘No,’ said Godfrey, running after the creature as it sped towards a door at the end of the passageway. ‘It belongs to Sir Robert of Lyndham,’ he said, pulling it away from the door. ‘The knight I’ve engaged to protect the castle. You’ll meet him later as well.’

  ‘Perhaps you should release it?’ I suggested, as the dog was now barking with frantic excitement.

  ‘No,’ said Godfrey, making another attempt to subdue the creature. ‘This dog must learn some manners.’ But his attempt at discipline was to no avail. The dog soon escaped from Godfrey’s clasp and threw itself at the door, scratching madly at the wood.

  ‘I think there’s something inside,’ I said. ‘Why don’t we let it go in?’

  I went to lift the latch, but Godfrey put his hand on mine. ‘Please, Oswald. I don’t want you to go inside this room.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because—’

  It was too late. The dog had pushed the door open, and was now racing into the darkness, making a succession of high-pitched squeals as it bound about the room in a frenzy. I followed without further discussion, finding myself in a dingy and stale-smelling cellar – a room without the benefit of Godfrey’s ingenious
ventilation shaft. As my eyes became accustomed to the light, I could see shapes in the dark. Long, thin boxes resting against the walls like a circle of silent watchmen. The dog darted between these boxes with its nose to the floor, until it flushed out a tiny grey mouse. As the mouse and the dog shot past us and disappeared back into the passageway, I turned to Godfrey, hardly knowing what to say.

  ‘I warned you not to come in here,’ he said. ‘I knew it would upset you.’

  ‘Is there a coffin for each of us?’ I asked. He nodded in response. ‘Even Hugh?’

  ‘Yes.’ When I gave a short groan, he added, ‘I had to prepare them, Oswald. You must understand that.’

  ‘Did you?’

  ‘Yes. If we are to die, then we must be buried correctly. Our bodies laid to face the East, so that we may rise at dawn on the Day of Judgment. To see the coming of Christ.’ He hesitated. ‘You remember what happened to the dead at the last plague, Oswald. You remember the horror of the pits.’

  He was right. I did remember the plague pits of 1349. But then again, who could forget them? My own father and two older brothers were buried in such a hole, somewhere in the town of Rochester. Their deaths had been a tragedy and yet this turn of fate had changed my own life for the better. In 1349 I was only the third de Lacy son. A spare. The boy who had been sent to the monastery as an oblate at the age of seven – destined to become a Benedictine monk for the rest of his life. Instead, I had become Lord Somershill. I was a husband, with a wife and a son.

  Like so many others after the last plague, I had a pit to thank for this outcome. The accident of my brothers’ deaths had become my own chance at life.

  Chapter Four

  That evening we gathered in the Great Hall for a feast, organised by Godfrey to mark our arrival at Castle Eden. I use the word ‘feast’ loosely, for it was difficult to overindulge on a stew of boiled fowl and onions, accompanied by the roughest barley bread. Nevertheless, I knew better than to complain about the quality of the food. At least we were eating, and there were many months ahead when the hams and the cheeses would be more appreciated.