The de Lacy’s manor hall sat atop a rise amid meadows and fields not far from the banks of the Fleet River. I imagined that in spring and summer it was a delightful place, with views right down to London, Westminster and the curving Thames, but now, in this January freeze, their lands were as cold as anywhere else.
Their hall, however, its lower floor built of stone, its upper of wood, was warm and comfortable. I settled happily, enjoying the company and the respite from the busyness of London and the excitement and intrigue of court. My stay here was meant to be quiet, spent in front of fires, with gentle conversation to amuse me, but on my third day there came news that a fair day was to be held on the morrow on the Thames, upriver from the bridge, to mark Plough Monday.
Since the day of the Great Storm, which had seen scores of barges and boats crash into the bridge, creating a dam of splintered timbers, the waters upriver from the bridge had become almost completely still and for the past weeks the river had been freezing over, the ice growing ever more thick. Now the watermen of the Thames had declared the ice safe enough for man and beast alike to gambol over.
The Londoners, not ones to miss the opportunity for combining money-making and fun, had decided to hold a festival and fair. There were to be sports, dancing, hare chasing, dog races, bonfires, outdoor feasts, contests of all descriptions, mummers and players, troubadours and minstrels — and all on the ice.
Gilbert Ghent, who brought us this news, stood before myself, Alianor and Robert, his eyes a-gleam, and I had to smile at the hope in his face.
‘My lady?’ said Robert. ‘It is but a short ride away.’
‘There will be tents full of benches and braziers a-plenty for the ladies to sit and rest, if needed,’ Ghent said.
I did not need to be persuaded. ‘A gentle ride there,’ I said, ‘and we shall see on our arrival if we wish to stay, or return to our fires here. So long as tomorrow is not full of sleet or rain, then I say we should go.’
The day dawned fine and clear. Even the chill in the air seemed to have moderated. We rose at our leisure, said prayers in the de Lacys’ tiny chapel, broke our fast, and then decided to dare the ride to London.
We entered the city through Lud Gate, turning our horses toward Baynard Castle on Thames Street, running along the riverbank. It was mid-morning, and there were a goodly number of people moving through the streets toward the river, all intent on merry-making. Once on Thames Street we pulled our horses to one side of Baynard Castle, gazing in wonder at the river.
Where once had been flowing greenish water was now creamy ice. It appeared quite solid, for there were horses and laden carts trundling over its surface, as well as men, women and children walking, dancing, running.
Along the centre of the ice were two lines of tents, gaily coloured and with flags and pennants flying from their pinnacles. The de Lacys pointed out some of the standards and devices: some were of inns and taverns, now set up with trestle tables on the ice; some were for various of the guilds and crafts of London, there to sell their wares; some represented nobles, who had set their own tents; others marked bands of players or musicians, and there were the tents of vendors plying food and merchandise. Also, Alianor indicated to me in an undertone, privy tents where we could retire should the need take us.
In front of, and behind the twin rows of tents, were various areas marked out for dancing, racing, games and sports.
There were already crowds of people on the ice, and much noise and jollity.
We left the horses with our grooms and proceeded to a hastily built set of wooden steps leading down to the ice. Robert helped down Alianor, while Ghent took my hand and aided me down the steps.
I was tentative at first, not trusting my weight on the ice nor my footing on its surface, but my confidence grew as I walked further out into the ice fair and soon I was walking with only a light hand on Ghent’s arm.
There was activity everywhere. In one open space two knights were demonstrating sword play to a thick crowd of admirers. In another, a score of boys kicked a leather ball to and fro, trying to get it through large hoops that had been set up fifty or so paces opposite each other. Yet somewhere else a small racing circuit had been established, its bounds fenced with woven hurdles. Here, hares raced, carrying with them the bets of the wildly cheering crowd which had gathered.
One resourceful man had affixed a small sled to a pole which was itself affixed to a central gearing mechanism so that the man could push sledfuls of shrieking children round and round and round at ever faster rates. Elsewhere, adults, well-fuelled by ale, had set up circles on the ice to play Bee in the Middle.
People were selling hot nuts, dried apples, sweetmeats of every description, alcohol — whatever your heart could desire and whatever could be carried easily down to the ice (there was even one tent of whores, though Ghent hurried me past that all too quickly, despite my curiosity).
At one point our group stopped by an archery field set up in the very centre of the river, and it was not long before Alianor and I persuaded Ghent and Robert to show us their skills with the bow and arrow. Gytha watched with wide eyes (I had brought my three women with me), and when Ghent won a ribbon for his skills he presented it to the blushing girl.
I thanked him for that, for it was a sweet and courtly thing to do for a girl who had, I think, seen little pleasure in her life.
We wandered for hours, stopping now and then to rest at one of the tavern tents where we drank small beer and feasted on hot beef from one of the roasting oxen. The ice was such a novelty, and the scene so festive, that none of us truly wanted to leave.
By the late afternoon we had walked closer to the bridge. Here the ice was rougher, for the tides underneath the ice could the more easily pull at its edges, and we did not linger. We could see, also, the tops of the piles of jumbled timbers, poking through the ice and mush, that so obstructed the flow of the river that this ice pond had become possible.
There were groups of boys here who, I think, had imbibed a little too heavily of cups of full ale, for they were loud and raucous and too uncaring of the danger on the rougher ice. Several of them had brought along the smaller bows that boys often learned with, and were running about with arrows dipped in oil and set alight, that they might shoot them a little too close to their friends for comfort.
We left, lest they started shooting those arrows in our direction.
‘We should make our way back to the stairs,’ Alianor said, ‘and then make our way home.’
I nodded, and there was general agreeance. It had been a full and most enjoyable day, but I was tired now, and content to begin the gentle ride home to rest before a fire.
Everyone was weary, I think, for there was little conversation as we wandered back toward the stairs by Baynard Castle. My head slowly drooped, and, as I leaned ever more heavily on Ghent, I found myself studying the strange patterns in the ice. Occasionally objects had been caught and then frozen into the ice. There were muddy brown fish, and some flotsam and jetsam. An infant rabbit, its jaws wide open in an ever silent scream, its black eyes staring.
That made me shudder, yet I did not look away, for I was strangely fascinated by these objects that had become caught in the ice.
A few steps later I saw what looked like the partly decomposed hand of a man in the ice, its black hairs still clearly visible on its upper aspect, its wrist ragged and thick with putrid pus where the hand had been torn from its arm.
I began to feel ill, yet still I did not look away.
A few paces on I saw an entire body under the ice. It was blackened, yet red raw in places, and looked as if it had been burned. The layers of ice above it distorted the corpse, so that it appeared as if it had a short, thick body and impossibly long, thin limbs. Even its tail looked as if —
My heart started thudding. I stopped, staring, unable to look away.
Deep under the ice, the imp’s head swivelled so it looked up at me.
It grinned, its mouth gaping red and broken-
toothed.
I opened my mouth to scream when Ghent exclaimed, ‘Mother of God! Look to that! Look to the bridge!’
The bridge? The bridge? He was worried about the bridge when underneath our feet an imp —
I blinked, and the imp was gone and there was solid ice under my feet once more. Still, I felt sick to my stomach, and had to battle the urge to void the nuts and sweetmeats I had nibbled on these past few hours.
Everyone about me was exclaiming, and I finally looked up to see what had happened.
London Bridge was afire.
I couldn’t understand what I saw for a few heartbeats, for my mind was still consumed with the vision of the imp. But the leaping and roaring of the flames and the crackling of the timbers — heard even from this distance — finally penetrated the fog that had overcome my mind, and I gasped in horror.
Those boys must have shot one of their damned flaming arrows into the jumble of timbers about the base of the piers.
‘Everyone off the ice,’ Ghent said, his voice curiously flat. ‘Now.’
He began urging us toward the stairs, still some distance away. ‘Be still, man!’ Robert de Lacy said. ‘We need to see if those flames are going to enter the city!’
‘My lord,’ Ghent said, ‘the ice is no longer safe. If the bridge collapses it will break the weir of timbers beneath it, and likely all this still water dammed upstream will rush downriver — the ice will break apart if that happens.’
Before any of us could answer, one of the central spans of the bridge crumpled in a shower of sparks, and heavy, burning beams collapsed into the jumble of ice and timbers beneath it.
There was a momentary pause, and then we all saw the timbers and ice give way.
Even this far distant we all felt the slight shudder in the ice underfoot.
‘The stairs. Now!’ Ghent said.
We hesitated no longer. We all moved toward the stairs as fast as we dared, Ghent holding onto my arm and half pulling me across the ice.
Every so often I glanced back to the bridge. It burned even fiercer now, and two other spans collapsed as we walked and slid our way to the steps.
Most of the crowd on the ice were staring at the bridge, even moving closer to it to catch a better glimpse.
‘I hope those small boys drowned in the cursed water,’ Ghent muttered, and I could not find it in my heart to condemn him for his uncharitable thoughts.
Suddenly there came a distinct tremor under our feet, and we heard cries of fright behind us.
‘The ice is breaking up!’ Alianor said, and unfortunately her words carried, and the people nearby panicked and rushed for the stairs.
Our way was now more difficult, for so many pushed and pummelled us, fighting to get off the ice, that we found it ever harder to move as fast as we wanted. People fell in the crush, and at one stage Ghent had to lift me bodily over a tumble of three people fighting to get up.
I looked about me, desperate to see that Isouda, Ella and Gytha were close, and felt immense relief when I saw they were near behind. If Ghent felt responsible for me, then I felt responsible for them. Their faces were panicked, as I supposed mine was, too, and the smile I tried for them failed before it even began.
‘Maeb! Climb!’ Ghent said, and suddenly, thankfully, there were the stairs, Ghent pushing a way through for me, and reaching behind for Alianor and my three women. Robert de Lacy lent his strength, too, and I have never felt anything so good as those solid steps underneath my feet. Above I heard the grooms we had brought with us crying our names, and shouting something about —
The stairs trembled and then fell through the air.
The ice had collapsed at their base!
We clung to railings and steps, whatever we could manage to grasp and, achingly slowly, painfully, we clambered up the now vertical steps as if they were a ladder.
Praise sweet Jesu their upper joints had stayed fastened to the wharf.
Always there was Ghent at my side or beneath me, pushing me up, supporting me, saving my life.
I was sobbing with fear — I could hear Alianor crying, too — and every moment I expected to be pulled or pushed from my precarious hold by the terrified people about me. I feared the steps would collapse with the weight of the people remaining on it. I feared one or all of my women had fallen into the river below — the ice now deadly splinters churning amid the rushing waters.
I feared the imp would not let me go, and would reach up from the ice to drag me down.
But somehow, somehow, we all managed to reach the wharf alive, our grooms reaching down to haul us up the final few feet. Even my women clambered up securely, as did the de Lacys, and we stood shaking in fear, hugging each other as we wept.
I turned to Ghent, and in my joy and relief forgot all propriety and hugged him tight, kissing his mouth, thanking him with all the strength left in my voice, for without him I know I would have died.
We were among the last to have found safety.
As I clung to Ghent I turned my head and looked over the river.
Even now I can barely describe the horror.
Almost all of the burning bridge had now collapsed, and in the doing it had destabilised the weir that had held back the waters of the Thames. Everything had been swept away, bridge and weir, in the maddened rush of water downstream.
Upstream from the bridge the ice pond had collapsed, taking with it people, horses, tents, everything and anything that had sat on its surface. Now sheets of jagged ice surged and tumbled through the water, and I could see bright flashes of some of the gaily coloured tents as they rose suddenly through the churning waves and then were sucked underneath.
I saw the flailing limbs of people, as they too were sucked and spat through the torrent.
Hundreds, thousands, were dying.
I turned away, unable to look, and realised that only two score or so of people had made it up the stairs from the ice.
So many. Dead.
I was wracked with sobs, and Ghent lifted me into his arms, then put me atop his own courser, mounting behind me, keeping me safe with a strong encircling arm. He shouted to the others to mount, to ride away as safe as they might, that the fire was spreading into the city.
Ghent did not wait for them to mount. Instead he kicked his courser into a canter, sending it up through the streets of London, and then out Lud Gate, the first gate we encountered. His courser shied and panicked amid the shouting people in the streets and from the smell of fear on his riders, but even with one hand Ghent controlled him with little effort, and
I have never breathed so easy as I did once we were out of the city and riding northward toward the de Lacys’ hall.
There was a white flash by our side, and I saw that someone had loosed Dulcette, and she had followed us through the gate.
Our group reformed outside the city and we stopped, far from London, on the rise leading to the de Lacy’s hall.
None of us spoke.
The entire south-western corner of the city was ablaze.
We sat our horses for a long time, watching, and then, with a sigh, Ghent turned our horse for home, and everyone followed.
Chapter Eight
I stayed abed the next day, and only heard what news there was to be had when Ghent came to see me in the mid-afternoon.
He sat by my bed. ‘Are you well, my lady?’
Too often now these queries after my health could be roughly deciphered as, ‘Is the Pengraic heir you carry safe, my lady?’ But when Ghent asked, he sounded truly concerned for my own welfare.
‘I am, Gilbert. I am merely fatigued.’
He smiled, and I thought once again how good-looking he was.
‘I am glad,’ he said.
‘How goes London, Gilbert? Have you heard?’
He nodded. ‘It is said that near eight thousand perished in the river.’
Sweet Lord Jesu! I could not begin to comprehend such numbers, nor the terror they must have felt in their dying.
‘The
fire,’ Gilbert went on, ‘has been devastating, destroying many shops, homes, taverns and warehouses — even scorching Saint Paul’s — but it has taken relatively few lives. Sixty-three, so one of the aldermen has said. The loss of the bridge is disastrous, for it shall take many months to rebuild, and in the meantime Londoners shall need to rely on ferries for their transport to and fro the Thames.’
‘My lord’s house in Cornhill?’
‘The fire did not come anywhere near, my lady.’
‘Praise the saints. Can you send one of the grooms or servants, and instruct fitzErfast to offer what assistance he can? There must be homeless, and people need to be fed.’
Ghent nodded. ‘I have word also that Edmond is returning, together with his hunting party. They should be back within London by early tomorrow morning if they ride hard.’
‘I will return to Cornhill tomorrow, I think.’
Ghent looked concerned. ‘My lady —’
‘We will ride slow, and I will be well enough, Gilbert.’
I hesitated, then held out my hand.
He looked long and hard at it, then took it, closing his fingers gently about mine.
‘Gilbert. You saved my life. You saved all of our lives. I thank you, and shall tell my husband of your actions. I hope that he will reward you with more than mere grateful words.’
Ghent flushed slightly, but he nodded, and smiled.
I allowed my own smile to widen. ‘You have more than redeemed yourself for losing me in the forest. You are my saviour, Gilbert.’
He could hardly be held responsible for losing me to the dream falloways of the Old People in the forest, but I knew that Ghent felt that failure deeply.
The next morning we set off just after dawn. I knew that Raife must be either barely arrived at the Cornhill house, or close to, and I wanted to reach him as soon as possible. I knew he would be worried about me.
We avoided the western gates of London. A thin pall of smoke still hung over the south-western quarter of the city. We rode through the northern fields and orchards outside the city to Bishops Gate, where we rode down the street to Cornhill and thence to the house.