Dark Fire

  ‘Good idea. I’m hungry too.’ Barak, evidently restored by his rest, leaped from the bed and led the way downstairs. I followed, guilt at my deception of him gnawing at me.

  Joan had prepared a pottage for us, which she brought to the parlour.

  Barak scratched at his near-bald pate. ‘Shit, this itches, damn it.

  I’ll have to wear a cap when I go out from now on, I hate the way people stare at me, my head bald as a bird’s arse like some old dotard—’

  He was interrupted by a loud knock at the front door. ‘That’ll be the message,’ he said, rising. ‘That was quick.’

  But it was Joseph Wentworth that Joan showed into the parlour a moment later. He looked exhausted, his clothes were dusty and his hair glinted with sweat. Haggard eyes stared from a dirty face.

  ‘Joseph,’ I said. ‘What has happened?’

  ‘I’ve come from Newgate,’ he said. ‘She’s dying, sir. Elizabeth is dying.’ And then the big man burst into tears, covering his face with his hands.

  I made him sit down and tried to calm him. He wiped his face with a dirty rag of handkerchief, the same one he had brought the day he first came to the house, which Elizabeth had embroidered. He looked up at me, helpless and distraught, his earlier anger at my lack of progress apparently forgotten.

  ‘What has happened?’ I asked again gently.

  ‘These last two days Elizabeth has had another cellmate. A child, a mad beggar girl who has been running round the wards accusing all she meets of abducting her little brother. She made trouble at a baker’s shop in Cheapside—’

  ‘We saw her the other day—’

  ‘The baker complained. She was picked up by the constable and taken to the Hole. Elizabeth wouldn’t talk to her, any more than she would to the old woman who was hanged—’ He paused.

  ‘She went wild when the old woman was taken out, though. Has that happened again?’

  Joseph shook his head wearily. ‘No. When I went to visit Lizzy this morning the turnkey told me the child had been examined by a doctor and removed to the Bedlam. He reckoned her mad. But he said when he went to take them food last night, he heard Lizzy and the girl talking. He couldn’t hear what they were saying but he remarked it; it was the first time he had heard Elizabeth speak, and the girl had been sullen and quiet too since she was put in the Hole.’

  ‘What was her name?’

  ‘Sarah, I believe. She and her brother were orphans, kicked out of St Helen’s foundling hospital when the nunnery closed.’ He sighed. ‘This morning Elizabeth just sat, hollow-eyed, would not even look at me or at the food I had brought, though her last meal was lying there untouched. Then when I went this evening—’ He broke off and put his head in his hands again.

  ‘Joseph,’ I said, ‘I was hoping to have some news for you tomorrow. I know you feared I had forgotten you—’

  He looked up at me. ‘You’re all I have, Master Shardlake. You were my only hope. But now I fear it’s too late. This evening Lizzy was lying insensible on the straw, her face burning hot to the touch. She has gaol fever, sir.’

  Barak and I exchanged glances. Outbreaks of fever were common in gaols, blamed on the foul humours released by the stinking straw. Whole prisons had sometimes died of it, and it had been known to penetrate the Old Bailey, felling witnesses and even judges. If Elizabeth had it, her chances were slim.

  ‘The turnkeys won’t go near her,’ Joseph said. ‘I said I’d pay to have her put somewhere better, get a physician. Though God knows how, I hear my crops are ruined by the heat.’ A note of hysteria entered his voice.

  I rose wearily. ‘Then I shall have to take a hand. I have assumed a responsibility for Elizabeth and it is time I met it. I’ll come to the gaol. I know they have good rooms for those who can pay. And I know an apothecary who can cure her if anyone can.’

  ‘She needs a physician.’

  ‘This man is a physician, though as a foreigner he is not allowed to practise here.’

  ‘But the cost—’

  ‘I’ll deal with that - you can repay me later. God knows,’ I muttered, ‘at least this is something clean and clear to do.’

  ‘I’ll come if you like,’ Barak said.

  ‘You will?’ Joseph looked at him, staring a little as he noticed his shaven head for the first time.

  ‘Thank you, Barak. Then come, I will get Simon to run to Guy with a note, ask him to come to Newgate.’ I stood up. From somewhere, God knew where, I had found a last reserve of energy. Joseph might have thought me self-sacrificing, but I felt that if Elizabeth died now before our time was up, after all my decision to act for her had led me into, the irony would be so dark as to be beyond bearing.

  THE GAOL LOOKED DARK and sinister at night, its towers a grim outline against the starry sky. The gaoler was sleepy, angry at being woken until I pressed a shilling into his hand. He summoned the fat turnkey. The man’s face fell when the gaoler told him to take us to the Hole and he led us below ground without his usual brutal badinage. Quickly unlocking the door, he retreated fast and stood against the opposite wall.

  The stink of urine and bad food that hit us in the hot cell was appalling: it stung the throat and brought tears to the eyes. We held our sleeves to our noses as we went in. Elizabeth lay insensible on the straw, her limbs askew. Even unconscious her face was troubled, the eyes working beneath the closed lids in some fevered dream. Her colour was high, her obscenely bald head shining bright pink. I put my hand to her brow. Joseph was right - she was burning. I motioned the others to go back outside and went over to the turnkey. ‘Listen,’ I said, ‘I know you have comfortable rooms upstairs.’

  ‘Only for those that can pay.’

  ‘We’ll pay,’ I said. ‘Take me back to the gaoler.’

  The turnkey locked the door again and, motioning the others to remain behind, I followed him back up to the gaoler’s room, a comfortable chamber with a feather bed and a wall hanging. The gaoler was sitting at his table, a worried look on his hard features.

  ‘Is she dead yet, Williams?’ he asked.

  ‘No, master.’

  ‘Listen,’ I said. ‘We want to get her out of these foul airs. I’ll pay for a good room.’

  The gaoler shook his head. ‘Moving her will only spread the humours of her fever round the gaol. And the judge’s order was she was to stay in the Hole.’

  ‘I’ll answer to Forbizer. I have an apothecary who may be able to help her. He might be able to cure her fever. Then it won’t spread, eh?’

  He still looked doubtful. ‘Who’s to carry her up there? I’m not going near, and nor are my men.’

  I hesitated a moment, then said, ‘We will. There must be some back stairs we could use.’

  He pursed his lips. ‘Two shillings a night’s the price. I’ll show you where to take her.’ Even in his terror of gaol fever the man’s greed glinted in his sharp eyes.

  ‘Agreed,’ I said, though the price was outrageous. I reached for my purse and held up a gold half angel. ‘For five nights. That’ll cover her till she goes before Forbizer.’

  That seemed to decide the wretch. He nodded, holding out his hand for the coin.

  IT WAS A NIGHTMARE climb, up four floors from the Hole to the tower room my half angel had bought. The gaoler walked well ahead with a candle while Barak and Joseph carried the unconscious Elizabeth between them. I clambered up behind as they half-dragged, half-carried the poor girl up the stone steps, the outlines of Elizabeth’s and Barak’s two shaven heads making weird shadows on the walls. A vile smell came from poor Elizabeth’s unwashed, feverish body. As I climbed painfully upwards, I realized my strength was ebbing again —I could not possibly make it to the well that night.

  We were shown into a light, airy room with a good bed with a blanket, a ewer of water on a table and a large window which though barred was at least open; a gentleman prisoner’s room. Joseph and Barak laid Elizabeth on the bed. She seemed unaware of her removal, only stirring slightly and moaning, Then she muttered a
name. ‘Sarah,’ she muttered. ‘Oh, Sarah.’

  Joseph bit his lip. ‘The girl who went to Bedlam,’ he whispered.

  I nodded. ‘Maybe if she recovers she will speak at last, tell us why the girl upset her so. Tell us everything she has chosen to keep to herself while we are distracted with worry,’ I added with sudden bitterness.

  Joseph looked at me, then said softly, ‘I become angered with her too.’

  I sighed. ‘My apothecary should be here soon.’

  ‘You are generous, sir,’ Joseph said. ‘How much—’

  I raised a hand. ‘No, Joseph, we can discuss that later. Barak, you look exhausted. You should go home.’

  ‘I can stay,’ he said. ‘I’d like to see whether the Old Moor can help her.’

  It was strange, even touching, to see how absorbed he had become in Elizabeth’s fate. Yet I did not want him here when Guy came; I had secreted the pewter jar of Greek Fire in a pocket of my robe. ‘No, go,’ I said sharply. ‘I don’t want you risking gaol fever, I need you fit.’

  He nodded reluctantly and went out. I clutched at the jar of Greek Fire as Joseph and I stood in silence, listening to Elizabeth’s fevered breathing.

  GUY ARRIVED an hour later. The gaoler himself fetched him up, goggling at his brown face till I bade him sharply to be gone. I introduced Guy to Joseph, who likewise stared at him in surprise, although Guy affected not to notice.

  ‘So this is the poor girl whose travails have worried you so,’ he said to me.

  ‘Yes.’ I told him of the onset of her fever. He looked at her for a long moment.

  ‘I don’t think it’s gaol fever,’ he said at length. ‘The fever would be higher. I’m not sure what it is. It would help to see her urine. Does she have a pisspot ?’

  ‘She was left to piss on the straw in the Hole.’

  He shook his head. ‘Then I will give her something to try and stop her burning up, and it would be good if she were to be washed and that filthy dress taken off her.’

  Joseph blushed. ‘Sir, it would hardly be proper for me to see her unclothed—’

  ‘I will do it, if you like. In my trade a naked body is hardly a new sight. Could you buy her a shift tomorrow and bring it here?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I will.’

  As we watched Elizabeth stirred and made a little moan, then lay back again. Guy shook his head. ‘What pain and anger there are in that face, even while her mind sleeps.’

  ‘Is there any hope, sir?’ Joseph asked.

  ‘I do not know,’ Guy said frankly. ‘This may be one of those cases where much depends on the sufferer’s will to live.’

  ‘Then she will surely die,’ he said.

  ‘Come, we do not know that.’ Guy smiled gently. ‘And now, if you will leave me, I will wash her.’

  Joseph and I waited outside while Guy carried out his task. ‘I cannot help being angered, sir,’ he said. ‘But I love her; for all she has put me through I still love her.’

  I touched his shoulder. ‘That is very plain, Joseph.’

  At length Guy called us back. He had laid Elizabeth under the blanket and lit some sort of oil in a lamp, which made a sweet smell in the room. A cloth, black with dirt, floated in the ewer. Elizabeth’s face was clean, the first time I had seen it so.

  ‘She is pretty,’ I said. ‘How sad she should come to this.’

  ‘Sad whether she is pretty or ugly,’ Guy said.

  ‘What is that smell?’ Joseph asked.

  ‘An infusion of lemons.’ Guy smiled. ‘Sometimes when a soul is in pain a foul or cruel environment can drive it deeper into darkness. Thus light and cleanliness and soft airs may help lift her spirit, perhaps even reach it while she lies unconscious.’ He shrugged self-deprecatingly. ‘So I think, at least.’ He looked at us. ‘You both look exhausted. You should sleep. I will stay with her till morning if you wish.’

  ‘I could not ask that—’ Joseph protested.

  ‘Please, I would be happy to.’

  ‘I would stay a little too,’ I said. ‘I have something else I wish to discuss with you.’

  Joseph left, with fulsome thanks, his weary footsteps clattering down the stairs.

  ‘Thank you for this, Guy.’ I said.

  ‘It is all right. I confess I am intrigued. This is a strange condition.’

  ‘I have something even more intriguing,’ I said. I reached into my pocket and took out the cloth with the pewter jar in it. ‘This, I believe, is Greek Fire. No one else knows I have it.’ I unwrapped the jar and laid it on the table, first putting the oil lamp on the floor. ‘Don’t bring the candle near, Guy. I fear it may take light.’

  He examined the stuff as best he could in the weak light, rubbing the dark liquid between his fingers, sniffing it with a look of distaste. ‘So this is it,’ he said. ‘Dark Fire.’ I had never seen his face more serious.

  ‘Ay. I wondered how fire could be dark; I see now they meant the liquid was black.’

  ‘Perhaps they also meant the darkness it could bring to men’s lives.’

  ‘Perhaps. They called it the devil’s tears as well in the old books.’ I told him how I had found it at Smithfield, how narrowly it had escaped Rich’s clutches. ‘Take it. Will you examine it tomorrow?’

  ‘On the terms I gave you. I will do nothing to help Cromwell use it.’

  ‘Agreed.’

  He shook his head. ‘You would be in serious trouble, Matthew, if he were to find you had given this to me instead of to him.’

  I smiled nervously. ‘Then we must be sure he does not find out.’ I shook my head. ‘Yet I cannot help thinking - ’ I hesitated - ‘Cromwell has done many evil things. But at least he has a vision of a Christian commonwealth, while Norfolk would take England back to superstition and darkness.’

  ‘A Christian commonwealth? Is such a thing even possible in this fallen world? Surely the annals of the last thousand years show it is not. That is why many like me chose to escape to the cloister before that was forbidden.’

  ‘Yes, the old Church always believed the sinful world was heading towards a final cataclysm; nothing man did could make any difference. And that excused much oppression.’

  ‘You would need fierce measures to make a perfect commonwealth. If you were to end poverty and beggary you’d need to squeeze their wealth from the rich, for example.’

  ‘Sometimes I think that would be a good thing.’

  ‘Now you sound like an Anabaptist.’

  I laughed. ‘No, just a puzzled old lawyer.’

  He looked at me seriously. ‘But ending social injustice is not Cromwell’s first priority, you know that. What matters to him is the Protestant faith and he would use Greek Fire to cut a terrible swathe to achieve that if he could.’

  I nodded sadly. ‘Yes, you are right. He cannot be trusted with it. No one can.’

  Guy looked relieved. ‘Thank Christ you see that.’ He looked at the pewter pot, then carefully put it in his pocket. ‘I will let you know as soon as I have something to tell you.’

  ‘Thank you. Tomorrow if you can - there are only five days now till the demonstration before the king.’ I sighed. ‘On the day Elizabeth goes back to court.’

  As though in response to her name Elizabeth stirred, her legs moving beneath the blanket. We turned to her. ‘Sarah,’ she muttered again, then, ‘that evil boy. The evil boy.’ And then her eyes fluttered open and she looked at us uncomprehendingly.

  Guy leant over her. ‘Miss Wentworth, you are in a clean room in the prison. You have a fever. I am Guy Malton, an apothecary. Your good uncle and Master Shardlake had you brought here.’

  I leant over her. Her eyes were heavy with fever but she seemed fully conscious. Knowing this was a chance that might never come again, I said slowly, ‘We are still trying to find the truth, Elizabeth. We are trying to save you. I know there is something in the well at your uncle’s house—’

  She seemed to shrink back. ‘The death of God,’ she whispered. ‘The death of God.’

&nbs
p; ‘What?’ I asked, but her eyes closed again. I made to shake her but Guy held my arm.

  ‘Do not distress her further.’

  ‘But—what did she mean? The death of God? God’s death is a common curse, but—’

  He looked at me seriously. ‘The death of God is despair. When I was a monk sometimes one of my brethren would lose his faith, succumb to despair. Usually they came back to faith, but until they did - ’ he shook his head—‘it felt as though God was dead.’

  ‘The well,’ Elizabeth muttered. ‘The well.’ And then she fell back to her pillows, sinking once more into unconsciousness.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  I LEFT SOON AFTER. I was so exhausted that the short ride home through the darkness felt as though it lasted for ever, and once I had to pinch myself to stop myself from falling asleep in the saddle. I wondered whether Guy would be able to fathom how Greek Fire was made up. So many had died to keep that secret.

  When I arrived home it was past two in the morning and Barak had already gone to his room. I hauled myself upstairs and fell fully clothed onto the bed. I fell asleep at once, but found myself troubled by a nightmare. I dreamed I was back in Forbizer’s court, sitting watching as the judge coldly sentenced a succession of prisoners to death. Yet their faces were those of people already dead: Sepultus and Michael Gristwood, Bathsheba and her brother, the watchman and a strange man in a leather apron whom I knew must be the founder. All their faces were sad, yet whole, not shattered and bloodied as I had seen them. In my dream I took the pewter jar of Greek Fire from my robe, lifted it and let it fall on the floor. At once a roaring tide of flame shot from it, engulfing everyone: prisoners, spectators, judge. I saw Forbizer raise his arms with a scream as his beard flared and crackled. I sat in the centre of the flames, untouched for a moment, but then the fire seemed to gather itself and rushed at me, engulfing me. I felt its searing heat on my face and screamed, then jolted awake to the bright light of morning, the sun hot on my face and the bells of London’s hundred churches clamouring in the distance, calling the City to prayer. It was Sunday, the sixth of June.