by Amy Wolf
“Tell me,” asked Aventis, looking around. “In all this, where is the government?”
In truth, we had yet to see one official.
“Saving their own skins, of course,” said Carnatus. “Based on Charles last year, they’re probably in York by now.”
“This is a disgrace to England,” said Jeffries gravely. “Our buildings burn along with order. Where is the mayor? Or for that matter, the king?”
Finally, on what I assume was Monday, we saw a Trained Band of soldiers marching down the street. Their task was to quell wild mobs who had gathered amidst the smoke, trading conspiracy theories: this fire was a plot set in motion by French agents! Or worse, the agents were Papists . . .
The soldiers alternately harassed the rioters, and those they sought to accuse. I had never seen such mayhem!
Frightened, I turned to Aventis. Calm as always, he gave me a wink.
“As long as I don’t declare ‘Long live the Pope,’” he said, “I think I’ll be perfectly safe.”
I nodded and gave him a smile. What courage he possessed! So much greater than mine . . .
Jeffries continued to lead us in search of a flame-free block, but there was none to be found. Finally, we stopped at a house where yet another mob confronted a frightened man.
“What’s this?” Jeffries cried, shouldering his way forward.
“‘ang ‘em!” one imposing dyer was yelling “Ain’t ‘e a Frenchie?”
“And a Papist! What’s ‘e doin’ ‘ere?”
An enraged woman tore a crucifix from the foreigner’s throat.
“Some one of ye fetch a noose!”
I instantly clutched my throat, well remembering Tyburn. I would not allow another to undergo that agony! Tensing every muscle, I prepared for a fight.
I watched the mob act in concert as they hurled a rope over a half-charred beam. At the other end, they knotted a lasso.
“Kill ‘im!” they yelled. “Didn’t the bloody pope bade ‘im set this Jeremiah?”
The poor victim was dragged toward the noose, his expression one of pure terror. I prepared to leap forward.
“No.”
Aventis’s single word brought everyone to a halt. Withdrawing his sword, he stood before the Frenchman.
“Your talk of plots is nonsense!” said Aventis. “Neither Papists, nor French, nor Spaniards, lit this mighty blaze. Rather, it was a baker unmindful of his oven.”
The dyer, his arms stained crimson, narrowed his deep-set eyes.
“Why should we listen ter ya?” he snarled. “Look a’ ‘is beard—if e’s an Englishman, then I’m the bloody queen!”
The mob laughed, but it was not a happy sound: it was more like a presage to violence.
“I stand with this man,” said Jeffries, taking his place by Aventis. “As I stood with the king at Edgehill.”
The crowd, faced with an actual soldier, quieted.
Carnatus, with a great clatter, stepped up to join his friends.
“I am a nobleman,” he told the mob, “skilled in the arts of hunting and shooting.” He raised his sword. “Also, this.”
My turn at last, I took my place with the other three.
“Anyone who touches these men will answer to me,” I said. “I may be unarmed, but that has not stopped me before.”
“He near-killed a man with a wash basin!” Jeffries cried.
The crowd eyed us for a moment. Could we hold back so many? Or would we be swarmed, to suffer the same fate as the Frenchman?
The dyer was the first to speak.
“Beg pardon, cap’n,” he said to Jeffries. “Didn’t mean nah disrespect. If that gentleman—” he pointed to Aventis, “—is a friend of yorn, we won’t ‘arm a ‘air on ‘is ‘ead.”
The mob murmured its assent, their heat dissipating as quickly as that above us increased.
“Get to safety!” Jeffries ordered, and like good troops, they obeyed, snaking off in difference directions.
“Merci, Monsieurs,” said the Frenchman, his knees visibly trembling.
“I suggest you make your way north,” Jeffries told him. “Lose yourself in a crowd, do not utter a word, and in the name of God, hide that.”
He pointed to the crucifix which still lay in the dust. The Frenchman seized it and stuffed it in his cloak.
“I shall commend you to good King Louis,” he said with a bow, then disappeared into the smoke.
“Just what I’ve always wanted!” said Carnatus, rolling his eyes.
“Never mind that,” said Aventis, as the beam of the would-be gallows ignited into a fireball.
We all leaped back. The flames had to every house, each of which fell outward with a sound like a death rattle.
“Come,” said Jeffries. “We too must head to the open fields.”
We trekked back to the burning Thames, its waters choked with boats and barges piled high with furniture. This would not be a way out. Instead, we trailed a crowd walking back toward Newgate, but we could scarcely make progress, for the wall that enclosed the old city now served as a gaol of its own. Newgate, to my great joy, was brightened with bursts of orange. Let the cursed place burn! I could only hope and pray that its inmates had fled . . .
In the press of flesh that surrounded us, there was such a pushing and shoving that we likewise pushed our way out, for it was clear that we would never break through.
“Let us attempt to outrun the fire,” said Jeffries. Though it seemed a daft notion, that night we stayed on the move.
“I’m ready to drop,” said Gad, after trudging for what seemed like days.
In one swift move, Carnatus swept him up and placed him on his shoulders. As Gad commenced snoring, the rest of us bore witness to London’s near-destruction: there were no more fancy shops, food markets, or coffeehouses; and the flames, with their disregard for station, now moved toward the wealthier districts.
“Is there no end to this?” asked Carnatus. “God’s wounds, look where we are! We have come full circle to Newgate!”
I sighed. Though it was hard to see through the smoke, whipped up by that cruel east wind, I could see the outlines of the gate.
“Let us make for St. Paul’s,” I coughed. Why not? It had served as a refuge before—perhaps it could be one now. As we stumbled past the row houses adjacent to the Cathedral, I saw this was not to be.
St. Paul’s was actually melting. This church, which had stood for hundreds of years, which had housed first Catholics, then Anglicans, had become a hazard as lead from its roof poured into the streets, creating a lake of fire.
We were forced to run for our lives as stones from the church popped out and chased us like cannonballs. There was no tolling of bells to mourn St. Paul’s demise for no one was there to ring them; besides, the bells were probably molten . . .
“Make for Cripplegate!” Jeffries gasped, the air now so heated as to be unbreathable. It was then that I experienced things best reserved for delirium: fountain pools boiled, while the stones beneath my boots threatened to scorch my feet.
Using sound rather than sight, we arrived at last by the gate—this one too thronged by crowds. Jeffries turned to a sturdy tanner who held his meager belongings.
“What is the word?” asked the captain.
“Nothin’ good,” said the tanner. “King wants houses pulled down, but his high an’ mighty Mayor ain’t doin’ a thing. King an’ his brother finally rode out—tryin’ to set up firebreaks. Mos’ everythin’ gone. Mos’ everyone I know don’t have a house no more.”
“I am sorry,” said Jeffries.
“As am I,” I said. What were these poor souls to do?
The tanner sighed, looking up at bilious black smoke.
“What has God got agin’ us?” he asked. “Firs’ the plague and now this.”
“It has been a hellish two years,” Jeffries said.
“Have faith,” said Aventis. “The will of the Almighty cannot be known to us.”
“Well, I will this to stop.”
The tanner shrugged. “No offense to ye, Lord.”
It took some time to make our way through Cripplegate what with the jumble of crowds and their carts. As we finally broke free and walked north, we were joined by so many others we were like a great marching army. The farther we moved from old London, the clearer the air became, until my throat at last ceased burning.
When we arrived at a field in Islington, Carnatus set down his burden of Gad and rushed off to find sustenance. The rest of us slumped by a grazier’s wagon sadly bereft of cattle.
That night, thanks in part to borrowed blankets, we were able to eat, drink, and sleep freely. Of course, we could still see the fire raging in London—accompanied by its exiles’ fear of plots. A rumor swept through out camp that not only had the French and Dutch set the fire, but were on their way to invade! I had to laugh at the powerful pull of deception—who, after all, would know better than I?
“Aventis,” I said, glancing at him with concern. “You must have a care! Do what we told the Frenchman: hide your face, and don’t speak! This mob will pull you apart if you are discovered.”
“Do not fret, Megs,” he said, giving me a smile. “I will not take out my Rosary and say my Hail Marys.”
Still, I was troubled, for we were part of hundreds of thousands who could be incited to riot by the slightest suspicion. Luckily, the Trained Bands and Life Guards were there to keep the peace.
For two more long days, we camped by our friend the grazier. Carnatus, disgusted with it all, turned to us with hands on hips.
“This press reminds me of Tyburn,” he said.
“Those crowds sought amusement in death,” said Aventis. “These merely desire a refuge.”
“Bah! Do not mistake me. I enjoy great throngs—as long as they are limited to no more than two.”
We all smiled, then looked, as everyone did, toward London.
“Will this damn’d wind ever end?” asked Jeffries. He gave Aventis a wink. “Perhaps it was sent by Spain.”
Aventis laughed.
“Though I do not believe that,” he said, “I observe that it must end.”
Of course, he was right.
That Friday, five days after they’d started, word reached our camp that firemen in the city had quenched the last of the flames.
“Seems like forever!” said Gad. He turned to his master. “Kin we get out of here? I’ve got some drinkin’ to do!”
“In time,” said Carnatus. He put a hand on Jeffries’s arms. “May we finally resume our trade? I warrant that in London, there is much left to be had.”
“From those who have lost near everything?” asked Aventis. “I thought we were better than that.”
“Ugh!” said Carnatus. “There is nothing worse than a thief with scruples! As for myself, I require some breakfast. Come, Gad.”
The two of them tramped off.
“I must continue my search for Moll,” Jeffries said to Aventis and me. “She must be somewhere in this throng.”
“You’ll find her,” Aventis told him as he pushed his way through the crowds.
I turned to my last remaining friend.
“I am glad,” I said, “that you were not hanged, skewered, or trampled in the midst of all this madness.”
“As am I,” he smiled. “In harsh times, the ignorant seek a culprit, one who is unlike them and upon whom they can lay blame.”
“You have withstood both fire and plague,” I said. “Your resilience is near-biblical.”
He threw back his head and laughed.
“As is yours,” he said. “I never endured Newgate, the Old Bailey, or Tyburn!”
“We are both survivors,” I said, gazing up into his face. “The only things we cannot conquer are Jeffries and his dam’d strictures.”
Aventis looked down at me for a moment.
“Yet he is not here,” he said.
Taking me by the arm, he led me to a spot behind the wagon where we could be well-hidden. For only the second time in our long acquaintance, he threw off my hat and unbanded my hair. Bringing his face close to mine, he kissed me full on the lips. If possible, it was even sweeter than the first time.
“Count,” I whispered, holding him tight. “Why must we always be apart?”
“Fair Margaret,” he said with a sigh. “This courtship is more perilous than Catherine at the convent.”
“Alas, no sign of Moll,” a voice called at my back. “One hopes she got to—”
I whirled guiltily to face Jeffries, whose eyes nearly shot sparks.
“What ails you two?” he yelled. “Can I not leave you alone for a moment?!”
Damn our luck, for he had not been the sole witness of our brief embrace! Carnatus and Gad strode up, the first having gone so red in the face he matched the hue of his cloak.
“What is this?!” Carnatus shouted. “At last I shall put a halt to this unnatural behavior!”
Though Jeffries tried to deter him, the giant threw him off like a sack. I could feel his hands seize my coat, lift me up from the ground, and place me none-to-gently on the dirt before him. Teeth clenched, he searched my face, my loose hair, then ripped off my cloak and stretched my long shirt thin. Though a cloth still bound my chest, in this exaggerated pose there could be no doubt.
“You . . . are . . . A WOMAN!” Carnatus raged.
At his side, Gad gaped like a trout.
“Did I not advise you?” Jeffries hissed to me. His eyes, if anything, looked even more angry.
“You knew?!” Carnatus asked, taking a step back.
“I’m afraid so,” said Jeffries. “I warned them. I warned them over and over, for I am well aware of your feelings on the matter.”
“Feelings?” Carnatus bellowed. “Matter?! For a full five years, I have been riding with, eating with, sleeping with . . . a high tobyman who is not even a man! My honor shall never recover from the shame!”
He balled his huge fists in an effort not to strike me.
“Such deception!” he cried. “Such arts!”. “And-and we risked our lives at Tyburn . . . for what? To rescue a her!”
That, I fear, was the limit of my tolerance, and I faced him head on.
“Is my life then to be forfeit,” I asked, “on the basis of sex?”
“YES!” Carnatus yelled. “To which you are a disgrace! You should be home, waiting on husband and children, not riding the roads like a man! While pretending to be one!” He slapped his forehead. “Sweet Jesus! I-I’ve actually shared a bed with her!”
“Sure wish I ‘ad,” said Gad.
“Carnatus, Lord Phillip, or whoever you are,” I said, “It is clear that your mind is closed. No locksmith may undo it.”
“This is hardly the time for metaphors!” he roared. “I ought to cut you in two! Put a lead ball straight through your heart!”
Aventis reached for his sword, which seemed to have an effect. Carnatus’s hand moved away from his pistol.
“No longer can I trust you, doxy.” He looked with contempt at the others. Nor you two. Gad, let us take ourselves off to find more honest thieves.”
The three of us who remained watched him drag Gad by the wrist until they disappeared in the crowd.
Jeffries, with great sadness, turned to me and Aventis.
“You know full well this is the end of our company,” he said. “Count, I expected better. Margaret, I am grieved I took you on. Farewell.”
He did not bow or incline his hat as he turned on his heel and left. Aventis, groaning, dropped his head to his breast.
“God forgive me,” he whispered. “I have destroyed friendships ten years in the making. I was not worthy of their trust.”
“Aventis—” I said.
“No. For what I have done, I must atone. Farewell, Megs.”
He did not pause to look back as he too walked into the crowd.
What just happened? I thought, my knees buckling under me. As I kneeled on the dirt, the full import struck me: I was now completely alone.
Home
I did not know how long I remained there. I did not rise, even when the grazier yelled, “Ho, there! You all right?”
In fact, I was not. When feeling returned to my limbs, I was sure to bind my hair and retrieve my hat. Things were bad enough without presenting to the world this creature—part man, part woman—who would earn more contempt than even that shown by Carnatus.
Where to now? I almost laughed as the question burned in my brain.
Moll’s had undoubtedly burned to the ground and I would no longer be welcome: not there, or at any of Jeffries’s haunts. Where did that leave me?
Along with the crowd around me, I turned my eyes to London. It was a smoking wreck, but upon reflection, so was I. I joined scores of others I a slow march south. As we entered the city proper, remnants of ash crept into my eyes and nostrils, causing me to cough. That was a good sign, I thought. It meant I was still alive.
With effort, I took in the landscape. So many houses gone! And most buildings serving the Crown. How, I asked myself, picking my way through debris, was this to be rebuilt? Yet as I continued my trek, I took hope from the few landmarks still standing: the Tower, the Navy Office, even London Bridge, though it lay crushed.
The fire had not consumed everything.
It was then that I realized where I must go. Setting my steps toward Hounslow, I realized then how sorely I missed my horse. When I reached the Heath, I tried not to dwell on the past, for it seemed that every breeze whispered the names of my friends.
Head bowed, I was so distracted I hardly realized that I was home. Yet there it was—the old signpost. And across from it . . . precious little. After all I had witnessed in London, the state of the Whale was not shocking, though it did fill me with grief. The whole inn had burned to the ground, its only remnant three widely spaced brick chimneys. Out of habit more than anything, I entered through what was once the front door. Standing amidst charred wood, I conjured images of what had been: the tap room, crammed tight with barrels; the stairway which Jeffries had trod; and the chamber which we had shared. All, all gone, cleansed from the earth by fire.
I bowed my head. When I looked up, I saw a woman of perhaps forty wheeling some last possessions on a small wooden cart.