The Book of Fires

by Paul Doherty

  ‘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?’

  ‘Brother Athelstan, he could well be. He may have played a leading part in the attack on my lord of Gaunt’s barges. I understand the liquid used was of the same genus as Greek fire.’

  ‘You have met Garman?’ Athelstan asked.

  ‘Yes. All he’ll say is that the past is the past and he is nothing more than a lowly prison chaplain.’

  ‘I received the distinct impression,’ Athelstan declared, ‘that Garman did not have “The Book of Fires”, though he could have had extracts and formulas. We do not know what Parson Garman conceals from his past or what he has acquired since his return to England.’

  ‘Master Nicephorus,’ Cranston intervened, ‘according to you, Beaumont returned to England. He copied “The Book of Fires” and sold some of its secrets to the Crown and perhaps to others abroad. You negotiated the return of the original in return for what?’

  ‘Treasure, mercantile information, trading concessions and, yes, we suspected he may have made a copy either of the entire book or those sections of value.’

  ‘How long after his return to England did he agree to sell?’

  ‘Oh, about five years. My predecessors agreed on a price but insisted we pay in instalments. Payments,’ he added, ‘you will not find in Beaumont’s receipt books but went directly to his trading ventures. Then,’ Nicephorus leaned forward, tapping the table, ‘about a year ago he eventually confessed he did have a copy. He had the impudence to assert that he kept it as a pledge of our good faith. We replied that we also suspected that he had continued to sell its secrets abroad. It’s now common knowledge that the Hanse merchants in the Baltic have recently overhauled their armaments, weaponry and ships – their crews have become more skilled in the use of cannon as well as more powerful powder and fiery missiles. Beaumont, in fact, sold the secrets he kept in a piecemeal fashion, little by little both here and abroad.’ The Greek shrugged. ‘We have traitors in the great city, officers in the Imperial army who sell secrets. All the Secretissimi can do is block the flow and catch the drip for as long as we can.’

  ‘And what did Beaumont want in return?’ Athelstan asked.

  ‘We met him in the city. Beaumont agreed to hand over the copy in return for the following: the murders of the Lady Isolda and Parson Garman.’

  Cranston whistled under his breath.

  ‘And one more.’ Nicephorus stirred on his stool. ‘Rievaulx.’

  ‘Rievaulx?’ Athelstan queried.

  ‘One of Black Beaumont’s henchmen in the Luciferi,’ Nicephorus replied. ‘We never mentioned what we had discovered on Patmos. Beaumont eventually did. He maintained he left his company to go down to one of the villages to buy supplies. He stayed to roister and wench. On his return he found five of his companions must have been drugged or killed, their corpses burnt. He believed the sixth man, Rievaulx, had fled. Now whether Rievaulx was part of the murderous assault on the other five, Beaumont could not say.’

  ‘Did Sir Walter know Rievaulx’s birth name?’ Athelstan tried to hide his growing excitement. The line of logic he had been developing before the arrival of Sir John and Nicephorus was beginning to strengthen. ‘Rievaulx’ could finally clear the way forward.

  ‘No, he did not.’ Nicephorus chose his words carefully. ‘However, a year ago Beaumont believed this Rievaulx had emerged to threaten him.’

  ‘Of course, of course.’ Athelstan couldn’t hide his excitement.

  ‘Brother?’ Cranston looked askance at him.

  ‘Think, Sir John.’ Athelstan tried to divert his own secret joy at making progress. ‘A year ago Beaumont was being threatened. “As I and ours burnt, so shall ye and yours”!’

  ‘He told us the same,’ Nicephorus agreed. ‘The warnings were public. Rievaulx was hunting him.’

  ‘So,’ Cranston shook his head, ‘Beaumont needed you to rid him of a wife he no longer wanted, a priest who reminded him of his dark, sinister past and a former member of his company who had now emerged from the shadows. I can see why he chose you. No, do not take offence,’ he held up a hand, ‘Beaumont would be most reluctant to hire some London assassin who might later confess or blackmail him. He therefore chose someone who needed something precious from him, as well as one who would not be a constant reminder, an ever-present threat to his peace of mind. So,’ he raised his eyebrows, ‘what was your response?’

  ‘Sir John, we realize why he chose us but I am the accredited envoy of His Most Imperial Excellency.’ For a few heartbeats Nicephorus’ tactful demeanour faded. ‘We will kill and we have killed but we are not assassins. For the love of the Holy Face, Beaumont was demanding the murder of an innocent, high-born lady whatever her character, a priest much loved by the commons and a former member of his company whom we desperately wanted to talk to. Naturally we couldn’t tell that to Beaumont.’

  ‘So you temporized?’

  ‘Yes, Brother, we temporized. We promised to find Rievaulx. We never did. Naturally we continued to meet Beaumont, assuring him we were trying our very best.’

  ‘Did you inform Lady Isolda about what her husband wanted or Parson Garman that his former leader wanted him dead?’

  ‘Of course not.’ Nicephorus got to his feet. ‘The anger of God caught up with Black Beaumont. Oh, we met the Lady Isolda. Trust me, Brother, I’ve learnt what happened at Firecrest Manor – your discovery of Vanner’s corpse and your conviction that Lady Isolda was a murderess; she and Sir Walter richly deserved each other. As for Garman, there is nothing more dangerous than a former sinner who has found religion. He has his own secret cause and even a king’s ransom would not turn him.’ He paused. ‘I have told you what I know because one day I am sure you will discover the truth of all this. Sir John, Brother Athelstan, you enjoy a most formidable reputation. What I ask is a favour but, when you discover the truth, as an act of kindness, inform me, someone who also did his best to help you.’

  ‘We shall.’ Athelstan spoke before Cranston could intervene.

  ‘Very well, until then.’ Nicephorus clasped hands with both of them and left.

  ‘And I must go too.’ Cranston lurched to his feet. He strapped on his warbelt, put on his beaver hat, swung his cloak about him and grasped Athelstan by the shoulder, pulling him close.

  ‘The hunt has begun, hasn’t it, little friar? You, the human ferret, are in full pursuit of your quarry.’

  ‘Yes, I am racing down dark and twisting tunnels in search of our killer. In the meantime, I will deal with miracles.’

  ‘I do wonder about that,’ Cranston replied. He pulled the friar closer and hugged him. ‘Little friar,’ he whispered, ‘I am nurturing my own deep suspicions about what is happening in your parish but I leave that to you. On this we are divided.’ He released Athelstan and stepped back. ‘You, my friend, must look after your flock, and God knows they need looking after. I am the King’s officer – sometimes you must walk your path and I walk mine.’ Cranston put his hand on the latch. ‘My friend, I think we have just reached such a crossroads.’