I stared at him in astonishment. I had not expected this. He laughed uneasily. ‘Sounds like a mummers’ tale, eh? Tell me, Matthew, have you ever heard of Greek Fire?’
‘I’m not sure.’ I frowned. ‘The name is vaguely familiar.’
‘I knew nothing of it myself until a few weeks ago. Greek Fire was an unknown liquid that the Byzantine emperors used in warfare against the infidel eight hundred years ago. They fired it at enemy ships and it would set them ablaze from end to end, a rushing inextinguishable fire. It could burn even on water. The formula for its creation was kept a close secret, passed down from one Byzantine emperor to another till in the end it was lost. The alchemists have been after it for hundreds of years but they’ve never fathomed it. Here, Grey.’ He snapped his fingers and the clerk rose from his desk and put a piece of parchment in his master’s hands. ‘Handle it carefully, Matthew,’ Cromwell murmured. ‘It is very old.’
I took the parchment from him. It was frayed at the edges and torn at the top. Above some words in Greek was a richly painted picture without perspective, such as the old monks used to illustrate their books. Two oared ships of ancient design faced each other across a stretch of water. At the front of one ship a golden pipe was belching red tongues of fire, engulfing the other.
‘This looks like a monkish thing,’ I said.
He nodded. ‘So it is.’ He paused, collecting his thoughts. I glanced at Barak. His face was sober, nothing mocking in it now. Grey stood beside me, looking at the parchment, his hands folded.
Cromwell spoke again, quietly though there were only the three of us to hear. ‘Friend Gristwood was at St Bartholomew’s one day last autumn when he was called to the church by one of the Augmentations clerks. Among the old lumber in the crypt they had found a large barrel, which, when they opened it, proved to be full of a thick, dark liquid with a terrible smell, like the stench of Lucifer’s privy Gristwood said. Michael Gristwood had never seen anything remotely like it before and he was curious. There was a plaque on the barrel, with a name, Alan St John. And some Latin words. Lupus est homo homini.’
‘Man is wolf to man.’
‘Those monks could never use plain English. Well, friend Gristwood thought to set the librarian to search for the name St John in the library. They found it in the catalogue and it led them to an ancient box of manuscripts about Greek Fire, deposited there by one Captain St John, who died in St Bartholomew’s hospital a century ago. He was an old soldier, a mercenary who was at Constantinople when it fell to the Turks. He left a memoir.’ Cromwell raised his eyebrows. ‘He told how a Byzantine librarian fleeing with him to the boats gave him the barrel, which he claimed contained the last of Greek Fire, together with the formula to make the substance. The librarian had found it when clearing out the emperor’s library and gave it to St John so that at the last a Christian should have the secret, not the heathen Turks. You see the page is torn?’
‘Yes.’
‘Gristwood tore off the formula that was written in Greek above that picture, together with instructions for constructing the throwing apparatus used to project it. Of course, he should have brought it to me - it was monastic property and it belongs to the king now - but he didn’t.’ Cromwell frowned and his heavy jaw set. There was a moment’s silence, and I realized I was twisting at my cap again. He went on in the same quiet voice.
‘Michael Gristwood has an older brother. Samuel. Also known as Sepultus Gristwood the alchemist.’
‘Sepultus,’ I repeated. ‘Latin for buried.’
‘As in the buried knowledge only alchemists can divine. Yes, like most of those rogues he gave himself a fancy Latin name. But when Sepultus heard Michael’s story, he realized the formula could be worth a fortune.’
I swallowed hard. I realized now how great this matter was.
‘If it’s genuine,’ I said. ‘Alchemists’ formulae for the creation of wonders are ten a penny.’
‘Oh, it’s genuine,’ he said. ‘I’ve seen it used.’
Godless gesture though it was, I felt a sudden urge to cross myself.
‘The Gristwoods must have spent some time making more of the stuff, for it was March this year before Michael Gristwood came to me. Not directly, of course, someone of his standing couldn’t do that, but through intermediaries. One of whom brought me that parchment and the other documents from the convent. Everything but the formula. With a message from the Gristwood brothers that they had made Greek Fire, they were offering a demonstration and if I decided I wanted the formula they’d give it to me. In return for a licence on its development, so they’d have the exclusive right of manufacture.’
I looked at the parchment. ‘But it didn’t belong to him. As you said, as it was monastic property it is now the king’s.’
He nodded. ‘Yes. And I could have had the brothers brought to the Tower and the information forced out of them. That was my first reaction. But what if they fled before they could be arrested? What if they sold the formula to the French or the Spaniards? They’re a tricky pair. I decided to play along at least until I’d seen what they could do; once I’d found out if there was anything in it I could promise them a licence, then have them arrested for theft when they were least expecting it.’ He set his thin lips. ‘That was my mistake.’ He looked at Grey, still hovering beside me. ‘Sit down, master clerk,’ he snapped. ‘You make me uneasy hovering there. Matthew can keep the parchment.’
Grey bowed and returned to his desk, where he sat expressionless., He must be used to bearing the brunt of Cromwell’s temper. I saw Barak’s eyes on his master, a look of almost filial concern in them. Cromwell leaned back again.
‘England has lit a fire across Europe, Matthew, the first large state to break from Rome. The pope wants the French and Spanish to combine and overthrow us. They won’t trade with us, there’s undeclared war with the French in the Channel and we’re having to plough half the revenues from the monasteries into defence. If you knew how much we’ve spent it would make your hair curl. The new forts along the coast, the building of ships and guns and cannon—’
‘I know, my lord. Everyone is frightened of invasion.’
‘Those who are loyal to reform, at least. You haven’t turned papist since last we met, have you?’ His stare took on a terrible intensity.
I squeezed the cap tightly. ‘No, my lord.’
He nodded slowly. ‘No, that’s what I’ve been told. You’ve lost the fire for our cause but you’ve not turned enemy, which is more than can be said for some. So a new weapon, something that could make our ships invincible, you can see how important that could be.’
‘Yes, but—’ I hesitated.
‘Go on.’
‘My lord, sometimes in desperate times we clutch at desperate remedies. The alchemists have promised us wonders for hundreds of years, but precious few have actually appeared.’
He nodded approvingly. ‘Good, Matthew, you could ever put your finger on a weak point in an argument. But, remember, I’ve seen it. I met the Gristwoods here and told them I’d arrange for an old crayer to be floated up to an abandoned jetty at Deptford early one morning and, if they could destroy it with Greek Fire in front of me, I’d make a deal with them. Jack arranged it all, and only he and I and they were present early one morning at the start of the month. And they did it.’ He spread his arms wide and shook his head. I could see that he was still amazed by what he had seen.
‘They brought some strange device of steel they’d made with them, with a pipe on a pivot. They operated a pump on the device - and then a great sheet of liquid flame shot out and consumed the old boat in minutes. When I saw it I nearly fell in the water. It wasn’t an explosion, like gunpowder, just’ - he shook his head again - ’an inextinguishable fire, more fast and furious than any fire I’ve seen. Like a dragon’s breath. And with no incantations, Matthew, no magic words. This is no trick, it’s something new; or, rather, something ancient rediscovered. I had a second demonstration a week later; they did it again. So now I??
?ve told the king.’
I glanced at Grey, who nodded at me seriously. Cromwell took a deep breath.
‘He was more enthusiastic than I’d dared to hope. You should have seen his eyes light up. He clapped me on the shoulder, and he’s not done that in a long while. He asked for a demonstration before him. There’s an old warship, the Grace of God, in Deptford for breaking up. I’ve arranged for it to be there on the tenth of June, in twelve days’ time.’ The tenth of June, I thought, the day Elizabeth’s period of grace expires.
‘I’ve been caught unawares,’ he went on. ‘I didn’t think the king would jump at it so quickly. I can’t fence with the Gristwoods any more. I must have that formula in my hands, and the Greek Fire they’ve made, before the king sees that demonstration. I want you to get it from them.’
I breathed heavily. ‘I see.’
‘It’s only a matter of persuasion, Matthew. Michael Gristwood knows you and respects you. If you remind him the formula is legally the king’s and tell him the king is personally involved, I think you can make him believe you, and give you the formula. I want it done then and there. Jack has a hundred pounds in gold angels about him that Gristwood is to have as a reward. And you can warn him that if he doesn’t cooperate I can call the Tower’s rack to my aid.’
I looked up at him. My head swam at the thought of becoming involved in a matter that concerned the king himself, but Cromwell had Elizabeth’s life in his hands. I took a deep breath.
‘Where does Gristwood live?’
‘Sepultus and Michael live with Michael’s wife in a big old house in Wolf’s Lane, in the parish of Allhallows the Less in Queenhithe. Sepultus works from there. I want you to go there today. Jack will accompany you.’
‘I beg this may be all. I live quietly these days, that is all I wish to do.’
I expected harsh words for my weakness, but Cromwell only smiled wryly. ‘Yes, Matthew, after this you may go back to your quiet.’ He looked at me fixedly. ‘Be grateful you have the chance.’
‘Thank you, my lord.’
He stood up. ‘Then go now, ride to Queenhithe. If the Gristwoods are not there, find them. Jack, I want you back here by the end of the day.’
‘Yes, my lord.’
I rose and bowed. Barak rose and opened the door. Before I followed him I turned back to my old master.
‘May I ask, my lord: why did you choose me for this?’ From the corner of my eye, I saw Grey give me a slight shake of the head.
Cromwell inclined his head. ‘Because Gristwood knows you for an honest man and will trust you. As I do because I know you are one of the few who would not seek to make advantage for themselves from this. You are too honest.’
‘Thank you,’ I said quietly.
His face hardened. ‘And because you care too much for the fate of the Wentworth girl and, finally, you are too afraid of me to dare cross me.’
Chapter Seven
OUTSIDE, BARAK TOLD ME brusquely to wait while he fetched the horses. I stood on the steps of the Domus, looking out across Chancery Lane. For a second time Cromwell had casually dropped me into an affair with dangerous ramifications. But there was nothing I could do; even if I had dared defy him, there remained Elizabeth.
Barak reappeared, riding his black mare and leading Chancery. I mounted and we rode to the gate. His expression was closed, serious. Barak, I thought, what sort of a name was that? It wasn’t English, though he seemed English enough.
We had to pause in the gateway as a long procession of sulky looking apprentices wearing the blue and red badges of the Leather-sellers’ Company marched past. Longbows were slung over their shoulders, and a few carried long matchlock guns. Because of the invasion threat, all young men now had to undertake compulsory military practice. They passed up towards Holborn Fields.
We rode downhill to the City. ‘So you were at the scene of this demonstration of Greek Fire, Barak?’ I said, adopting a deliberately haughty tone; I had decided I was not going to be intimidated by this rude young fellow.
‘Keep your voice down.’ He gave me a frowning look. ‘We don’t want that name bandied abroad. Yes, I was there. And it was as the earl said. I would not have believed it had I not seen it.’
‘Many wonderful tricks may be performed with gunpowder. At the last mayor’s procession there was a dragon that spat balls of exploding fire—’
‘D’you think I don’t know a gunpowder trick when I see one? What happened at Deptford was different. It wasn’t gunpowder: it was like nothing that’s been seen before, in England, anyway.’ He turned away, steering his horse through the crowds going through the Ludgate.
We rode along Thames Street, our progress slow through the lunchtime crowds. It was the hottest time of the day and Chancery was sweating and uncomfortable. I felt sunburn prickling on my cheeks and coughed as a swirl of dust went into my mouth.
‘Not far now,’ Barak said. ‘We turn down to the river soon.’
I voiced a thought which had occurred to me. ‘I wonder why Gristwood did not approach Lord Cromwell through Sir Richard Rich. He’s Chancellor of Augmentations.’
‘He wouldn’t trust Rich. Everyone knows what a rogue he is. Rich would have kept the formula and bargained with it himself, and probably dismissed Gristwood into the bargain.’
I nodded. Sir Richard was a brilliant lawyer and administrator, but he was said to be the most cruel and unscrupulous man in England.
We entered the maze of narrow streets leading down to the Thames. I glimpsed the river, its brown waters alive with wherries and white-sailed tilt boats, but the breeze that came from it was tainted; the tide was still out, the filth-strewn mud stewing in the sun.
Wolf’s Lane was a long narrow street full of old houses, decayed-looking cheap shops and lodging places. Outside one of the larger houses I saw a brightly painted sign which showed Adam and Eve standing on either side of the philosopher’s egg, the legendary sealed vase in which base metal could be turned to gold, an alchemist’s sign. The place was in dire need of repair, plaster was peeling from the walls and the overhanging roof lacked several tiles. Like many houses built on Thames mud, it had a pronounced tilt to one side.
The front door was open, and I saw to my surprise that a woman in a plain servant’s dress was hanging onto the jamb with both hands, as though afraid of falling.
‘What’s this?’ Barak asked. ‘Drunk at one in the afternoon?’
‘I don’t think it’s that.’ I had a sudden feeling of dread. Then, seeing us, the woman let out a screeching wail.
‘Help! For Jesu’s sake, help me! Murder!’
Barak jumped down and ran towards her. I threw the horses’ reins quickly over a rail, and ran over. Barak had the woman by the arms; she was staring wildly at him, sobbing loudly.
‘Come on, girl,’ he said with surprising gentleness. ‘What ails you?’
She made an effort to calm herself. She was young and plump-cheeked, a country girl by the look of her.
‘The master,’ she said. ‘Oh, God, the master—’
I saw that the wood of the doorframe was splintered and broken. The door, which hung from one hinge, had been battered in. I looked past her and down a long dim corridor hung with a faded tapestry showing the three kings bearing gifts to the infant Jesus. Then I gripped Barak’s arm. The rushes on the wooden floor were criss-crossed with footprints. They were dark red.
‘What has happened here?’ I whispered.
Barak shook the girl gently. ‘We’re here to help. Come on now, what’s your name?’
Whoever smashed their way in could still be here. I gripped the dagger at my waist.
‘I’m Susan, sir, the servant,’ the girl said tremulously. ‘I’d been shopping in Cheapside with my mistress, we - we came back and found the door like this. And upstairs my master and his brother—’ She gulped and looked within. ‘Oh, God, sir—’
‘Where is your mistress?’
‘In the kitchen.’ She took a deep, whooping breath. ‘Sh
e went stiff as a board when she saw them, she couldn’t move. I sat her down and said I’d go for help, but when I got to the door I felt faint, I couldn’t go another step.’ She clung to Barak.
‘You’re a brave girl, Susan,’ he said. ‘Now, can you take us to your mistress?’
The girl let go of the door. She shuddered at the sight of the bloody footsteps inside, then swallowed and, clutching Barak’s hand tightly, led the way down the corridor.
‘Two people, by the look of those prints,’ I said. ‘A big man and a smaller one.’
‘I think we’re in the shit here.’ Barak murmured.
We followed Susan into a large kitchen with a view onto a stone-flagged yard. The room was dingy, the fireplace black with dirt and stains of rats’ piss on the whitewashed ceiling. It struck me that Gristwood’s schemings had brought him little profit. A woman sat at a big table worn with years of use. She was small and thin, older than I would had expected, wearing a white apron over a cheap dress. Straggles of grey hair were visible under her white coif. She sat rigidly, her hands clutching the table edge, her head trembling.
‘She’s shocked out of her wits, poor soul,’ I whispered.
The servant crossed to her. ‘Madam,’ she said hesitantly. ‘Some men have come. To help us.’
The woman jerked and stared at us wildly. I raised a soothing hand. ‘Goodwife Gristwood?’
‘Who are you?’ she asked. Something sharp and watchful came into her face.
‘We came on some business with your husband and his brother. Susan said you came home and found the place broken into—’
‘They’re upstairs,’ Goodwife Gristwood whispered. ‘Upstairs.’ She clutched her bony hands together so hard the knuckles whitened.
I took a deep breath. ‘May we see?’
She closed her eyes. ‘If you can bear it.’
‘Susan, stay here and look after your mistress. Barak?’
He nodded. If he was feeling the same shock and fear as I, he gave no sign. As we turned to the door, Susan sat down and hesitantly took her mistress’s hand.