‘And then - the well?’ Barak looked at me. ‘We may not get another chance.’
For myself, now the business with Leman was done, the horror of the day’s earlier events was crowding back into my mind and the expedition to Sir Edwin’s house in the dark was the last thing I wished for. But it had to be done.
‘Yes, the well. We’ll have to wait till it’s dark.’ I glanced at the satchel, which I had retrieved from the cloister of St Michael’s before returning home, and slung in a corner. ‘I’ll take the chance to look at those books.’
I RETURNED TO MY STUDY after a quick supper. I read for hours, lighting candles as the summer sun dropped to the horizon and the moon came up with the thick, hot darkness. As ever, reading soothed my mind and took me far away from my troubles. I read about Roman experiments with fire weaponry that seemed to come to naught. The name Medea came up again and again; the name of the ancient Greek sorceress who presented her enemy with a shirt that burst into all-consuming fire when it was put on. Placing ‘the Shirt of Medea’ on victims in the arena was a sport in Nero’s time, mentioned in Plutarch and Lucullus. But what was it that made the shirt burn, and why had the Romans not developed this ‘infernal fire’ for military use?
I read on, finding references to military experiments with a mysterious substance called ‘naphtha’ that was found in Mesopotamia, on the eastern frontier of the empire. Pliny said it bubbled to the surface from underground and could be set on fire even if it spilled into a river. So God had seeded something in the earth there, as he seeded gold or iron in different places. I knew alchemists were able to locate deposits of some desired substance, such as iron or coal, by studying the nature of the ground, though they had never found deposits of the fabled ‘philosopher’s stone’ that could turn base metals into gold, however often they might gull poor fools into believing they had.
I laid down my book and rubbed my eyes. I must see Guy, I thought. Barak would not like me telling Guy more, so I would have to keep the visit from him. This world of the discovery and transformation of matter was alien to me, yet there was something in these books, some clue, I was sure. Or why had the Lincoln’s Inn copies been stolen? Who had stolen those books? Who was it the old librarian was afraid of? I sighed. Every step I took seemed only to throw up more puzzles.
I jumped at a knock on the door. Barak stood there, dressed in black doublet and hose, suppressed excitement in his eyes. ‘Ready?’ he asked. ‘It’s time to go to Sir Edwin’s.’
WE WALKED DOWN TO Temple Stairs to catch a boat. Barak carried a heavy knapsack that he told me contained tools to break the locks on the well cap, candles and a rope ladder to climb down. It felt strange to be out on illicit business at night; if a constable asked to see the contents of that knapsack we would be in trouble. Barak, though, seemed quite unconcerned, nodding and smiling at the occasional watchman who lifted his lamp as we passed.
We took the path through Temple Inn, silent and dark save for the occasional flicker of candles at a window. We passed the great round bulk of Temple church, where the crusading Knights Templar had worshipped.
‘Those were the fellows, eh?’ Barak said. ‘The Christian powers were on the march in those days, not forever being beaten by the heathen Turks like now.’
‘Christendom was united then.’
‘Maybe it will be again if we get Greek Fire. Under us. King Henry’s navies burning the French and Spanish navies off the seas. We could cross the Atlantic and take the Spanish colonies.’
‘Don’t get carried away.’ I gave him a cold look. The way he talked of burning navies repelled me. Had he not seen the burnings at Smithfield? Seen what fire did to men? ‘Perhaps it would be better if it never came to pass.’
He inclined his head, but did not reply. A moment later he bent down and picked up some of the pebbles that separated the rose-filled flower beds from the path, putting them in his pocket.
‘What are you doing?’
‘These might come in useful,’ he said ambiguously.
The Thames came into view, broad and shining in the moonlight, the lamps on the boats pinpricks on the water. ‘We’re in luck,’ I said. ‘There’s a wherry at the stairs.’
THE MOONLIT RIVER was quiet, only a few boats carrying officials between the City and Westminster. I sat looking at the faint lights on the Southwark shore, thinking of Chancery again. Well, he was gone, gone to nothing for animals have no souls, but that was better than hell, where most men must have their end, perhaps me too for all I knew. I realized that when I was attacked I had thought only of survival, my mind sharpened by danger, I had not thought to pray or of what might happen after if I was killed. Was that sinful? I shook my head; I was exhausted, but I had to stay awake and sharp.
The wherry bumped into Dowgate steps with a soft thud. Barak stepped out, offering me a hand, and we set off to Walbrook.