Fire

by C. C. Humphreys

  Her eyes rolled. Darkness came.

  —

  ‘I shall summon a chair.’

  ‘Nay.’ She gripped his arm as he tried to rise from the bench outside the church. ‘I am quite recovered. It was only my…you know what it was.’ She smiled. ‘Truly, I am well. And it is but a short walk to Covent Garden.’

  ‘Are you certain? Then we will take it slowly.’ He stood, bending down for her. ‘Come…wife.’

  They rose and she clutched him. Yet they’d gone but a half dozen paces when they were halted by a chair-man. Coke waved him away but the man did not move from the path. ‘ ’Tis not a fare I seek, sir,’ he said. ‘My fare would speak with you.’

  Coke bent to look – and the sight drew a cry from him. ‘Isaac? You came.’

  Isaac ben Judah leant forward, though even the small movement caused a spasm of pain to possess his face. ‘Alas, I am not here for your nuptials, Captain Coke. Would that I were.’ He leaned back, a small cry escaping as he did. ‘I have come to beg your help.’

  Coke straightened. ‘Dickon,’ he called. The boy was beside him immediately. ‘Take Sarah’s arm,’ he said. ‘Help her to the inn. I will follow fast.’

  ‘Follow? Nay, we’ll wait.’

  ‘Sarah, you need to sit, to eat.’ He reached up to touch her cheek. ‘I will talk with my friend here briefly and catch up with you before you even get to the Hare and Hound.’

  ‘What does this man want? Really, sir, this is not convenient.’

  ‘That I am to discover,’ he said gently, lifting her hand and placing it on Dickon’s arm. ‘Go. I will be but moments.’

  Reluctantly, Sarah allowed Dickon to lead her away and Coke swung himself onto the bench opposite Isaac. It was one of the smaller chairs, and the tall captain was wedged into a corner, his knees shoved high near his chest. ‘You should not have come forth, my friend,’ he said. ‘I would have come to you.’

  ‘I had to,’ the Jew wheezed. ‘I could not be certain that any messenger would move you from your wedding day. Besides, I could not write down my sorrow for others to see. I had to come.’

  ‘Tell me your sorrow then,’ replied Coke, ‘and how I may allay it. Is it to do with your daughter?’

  ‘It is. It is!’ A tear stole from the older man’s eye. ‘Oh, William, I have been so sick and unable to keep my usual attention on her. And with my sister dead, and my family scattered –’ He winced again, balling a fist into his stomach. ‘She has strayed, sir. Strayed from me and, I fear, our faith. There is a man –’

  ‘Not one of your tribe?’

  ‘No. I know little of him. She mentioned someone who was kind to her, who made her laugh. And then she started wearing a –’ He gestured to his head. ‘I do not know what they are called. In her hair, hidden under her scarf, but I saw it and asked her. She said it was gift from a friend. I was angry, and my fear made me more so. I shouted that she was to take no gifts from anyone I did not know. She was dutiful for a few days, if sullen. And then,’ he reached out to grip Coke’s arm, ‘she was gone. A day, a night. I tried to rise but it hurt so. I sent out friends to seek her. They had no success.’ He reached into his coat pocket. ‘This morning, there was a knock. No one was there. But this was.’

  He pulled out a piece of grubby paper, handing it to Coke, who took it and spread it out. There was printing on one side, handwriting on the back.

  Your daughter is saf. She is comin to no God. If ye wish to see her, come today, at the hour of three, to the Black Cat Tavrn, Maiden Lane, hard by St Lennard’s, Eastcheap.

  Come yourself, or send someone with twenty gold guineas. One man alone or you shall never see her more.

  Coke looked up. ‘Three o’clock? But that is less than two hours away.’

  ‘Aye, Captain. Do you know the tavern?’

  ‘I can find it. But is it not close to your lodgings?’ Isaac nodded and Coke studied the paper again. ‘They ask that you send someone?’

  ‘Rebekah must have told them I cannot walk.’

  Coke looked down again, frowned. ‘What is this about coming to “no” God?’

  ‘I think they mean “know”.’ Isaac swallowed. ‘Turn the paper over.’

  Coke did and drew in a harsh breath. The words at the top were in large font and in Hebrew of which he had no knowledge. But he knew these anyway, as many did.

  ‘Mene, Mene Tekel, Upharsin,’ he read aloud.

  ‘It is from our Book of Daniel,’ Isaac said. ‘The invisible angel’s finger writing on plaster at Belshazzar’s feast. “God hath numbered thy kingdom and finished it.” ’

  Coke glanced at the rest of the words. He did not need to read them; he had seen many of their like before – in tracts and pamphlets proclaiming the approaching apocalypse, the death of King Charles, the return of King Jesus. He paused only at the numbers at the bottom of the paper. ‘Do you know what these are?’

  ‘They are also from Daniel – verses.’ Isaac cleared his throat, spoke softly. ‘ “The Saints of the most high shall take the kingdom forever, even for ever and ever.” ’

  Coke went cold. ‘The Saints?’

  ‘It is why I brought this to you. None of my tribe would be, er, capable. For you know them, do you not?’

  Know them, he thought. Aye, as well as one can know men who have tried so hard to kill me. Not only last year, with the monster that was Lord Garnthorpe. Just the previous night, with the Bloods and a scarfed man, stabbing at him on a rooftop.

  He didn’t say any of that, only, ‘Aye. And the one thing you can be certain of, at least, is that they revere your people. I doubt they will have harmed your daughter.’

  ‘There are many ways to harm an innocent girl of our faith,’ the Jew replied softly. ‘And they are asking money to have her returned, so –’ He broke off. ‘Will you go and get her for me? It is much to ask on this of all your days, I know, but,’ he sighed, ‘I do not know anyone else who has had dealings with…such dangerous men.’

  He had met Isaac the goldsmith to their mutual profit in his days as a knight of the road. But he had liked the Jew from the off and had grown to like him more since he’d left that profession. There was also the small matter of the money Isaac was lending him for the house-building. Still, he would not undertake such a thing on his wedding day for money. Friendship, however?

  ‘Of course, I will aid you.’

  The relief on the man’s face was clear and immediate, then clouded with a frown. ‘Your bride?’

  ‘I will explain. She will understand.’ He held up the paper. ‘May I keep this?’

  ‘Of course. You will need this also.’ Isaac reached into the deep pockets within his cloak and pulled out a bag that clinked. ‘There’s thirty guineas there. The extra for you, if you –’

  Coke shook his head. ‘I will take it in case there’s any more bargaining to be done. But I will return you the remaining coins when I bring you back your daughter.’ He held up his hand to forestall protest. ‘It is agreed, sir.’

  Isaac sat back into the chair seat, a brief smile displacing the pain on his face. Coke unwound from the cramped space. When he was standing outside again, he leaned down and said, ‘I will bring her to you in a few hours, my friend.’ He straightened up, tapped the roof. ‘Take this gentleman home.’

  Coke watched the chair-men bobbing their way through the other chairs, coaches and pedestrians until they disappeared from sight around the corner of the church. Still, he did not move. It was not how he wanted this day to proceed. He wished to celebrate with his bride, to bring her later to their lodgings. To lie beside her all night, making love – or not, as her condition allowed, he was content either way. Well, perhaps he could yet do that last part. A bit of business in the city, swiftly concluded, and then he would return.

  He drew his sword an inch, felt it slide easily in its sheath. He did not reach for the dagger in his boot, though he felt it there. With fortune all would go well and he would have no need of a weapon. However, this he k
new: with the Saints involved it was best to be most cautious.

  He strode fast towards Covent Garden and caught up with the wedding party on Southampton Street. As the others waited, he took Sarah aside.

  ‘You are going now?’

  ‘I cannot delay. I am obliged to Isaac and –’

  ‘Obliged?’ She was aware of the shrillness in her voice. Nearby, Mary Betterton looked at her. Sarah continued, in a lower key. ‘And your obligation to me? To this day? What is so important that you can neglect that?’ She saw the hesitation, the same look on his face as when he was off to catch thieves with Pitman and wished to spare her the fear of it. ‘Nay, sir, you will tell me. Else how will I explain to our guests the bridegroom’s sudden absence?’

  More actors were looking now, so he took her further aside. ‘You need say little more than I go to aid a desperate friend. With fortune I will be back even before the feast’s end.’

  ‘But there is danger in this aid, is there not?’

  ‘Not so much –’

  ‘Come, sir, I will not be treated like a child. Where do you go and upon what cause?’

  ‘I do not treat you like a child, Sarah. I try to spare you –’ Her hiss made him stop, take a breath. ‘I go to aid my friend. His daughter is missing but he knows where she is and I will go to fetch her back. That is all.’

  ‘Is she pretty?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I cannot believe you would be so gallant on your wedding day for a homely girl.’

  The words were out. She would have them back – and yet not so. They’d just got married. How dare he be the courteous knight for someone else?

  ‘She’s, er, fifteen. I –’ He flushed. ‘Lady, what are you saying?’

  Behind them, one of the actors had pulled out a fiddle and struck up a reel. Dickon was there in a moment, capering to cheers. They both looked, and when she’d turned back she saw that his eyes had hooded over, in the way they did whenever she tried to probe something painful from his past. She had not seen that look, that absence, for a while.

  He spoke first. ‘You are being absurd.’

  ‘Am I?’

  ‘This is something I must do. So I will go, and I will return, either to the inn or to our lodgings.’ He bobbed his head. ‘Keep Dickon with you.’

  He walked away. She took a step after him. But her legs wobbled and she had to lean against a wall. She took a deep breath, and another, until her head cleared a little. Why was she behaving like this? Why? She knew who he was. ‘Captain?’ she called him by his rank, the only name she’d used for the longest time while she was trying not to fall in love with him. But her voice was faint. He rounded the corner and was gone. Gone like…

  It was then she remembered what her anger and confusion had masked. William Coke, in rags, pallid as any ghost, slipping away from her. She felt a sudden clutch inside. Not the pain of her pregnancy – worse.

  ‘Sa-sarah?’

  She turned. Dickon was there, concern on his face. She smiled for him, hard though it was. ‘All’s well. The captain will be back soon.’

  ‘The cap’n?’ Maybe he saw the ghost behind her smile. He took a step.

  There was nothing she could do now. She did not know where he’d gone or exactly what he was about. She could only bide, hope – and keep Dickon safe. ‘Nay, boy,’ she said, taking his arm, pulling him towards the fiddler. ‘You owe me the first dance.’

  10

  A RECKONING

  He held the last note of the song, plangent, sorrowful, beautifully sustained. He let it slowly fade, as if disappearing into the air above her head.

  ‘Again,’ Rebekah said, raising her hand above her as if reaching up to trap the fleeting strain. ‘Play it again.’

  Daniel lowered the flute. ‘Nay, lass. That was the last time – for now. Till after we are done. But then,’ he smiled, ‘then there will be more songs. Of praise. Of love.’

  ‘And will there be more of other things?’ She stretched a hand to him, running her fingers down his naked shoulder, the blanket that had covered her own nakedness falling away. She didn’t prevent it falling, enjoying the way his eyes widened at what was revealed. ‘Come,’ she said, pinching his flesh now between thumb and forefinger. ‘There is time enough, surely, for that?’

  He laid the flute down, turned to her. But just as he did, the bell struck twice in the tower of St Leonard’s. So he took her hand from him, kissed it and set it down. ‘You are a wanton,’ he said, as he rose from the bed.

  ‘If I am, ’twas you made me so.’ She came up onto her knees. ‘A week ago and I was ignorant of everything. You taught me all.’ Her lower lip thrust out. ‘Teach me more now.’

  But he was pulling on his breeches. ‘It is time for God’s lessons now, child,’ he said. ‘God’s judgments.’ He thought of Simeon. ‘You know what you are to do?’

  She flinched at the change in his tone, covering herself with the rough wool blanket. ‘You have told me, aye. I still do not understand –’

  ‘You do not need to understand,’ he replied, his voice still firm. ‘Which of us truly understands God’s ways? We only need to have faith.’

  ‘I – I have,’ she said, lowering her eyes, shivering. ‘You have brought me to that, too. It is just that this captain was always my father’s friend –’

  ‘And our Lord’s most accursed enemy.’ He pulled on his lawn shirt, tucked it in, then bent to her, putting his hand under her chin, raising her face up. ‘Do not question what greater wisdoms than ours have ordained. He has been judged. He will be punished, and the way of it will be both a sign of God’s favour and a warning to other sinners.’

  ‘I know. I believe. Yet –’

  Daniel lifted his hand from her face and slapped her, hard enough to sting. ‘No more questions,’ he said, his voice harsh now. ‘You have your task. Do it.’

  Tears ran down her nose now. But as he stepped away, she grabbed his hand. ‘I will! You know I will.’

  He pushed his hand into her tumble of thick hair and she bent her face against his palm. ‘I do know,’ he said, his voice soft again. ‘Both love and faith convince me.’

  She kissed his hand then, and he leaned down, pulling her lips to his. After a moment he stood straight. ‘Be ready,’ he said, and left the room.

  Daniel shut the door, propped himself against it and closed his eyes. He regretted much: the sin of fornication, if not its pleasure; the sin of the hurt he’d done her. But his master, who had brought him to faith, had assured him that these deeds were nothing in the infinity of God’s plan. That when the last trumpet sounded – so soon! – and Christ came to judge them all, his service would be weighed against his sin. And the laying low of so great an enemy would tip the scales heavily in his favour.

  He reached into his pocket, feeling the apothecary’s vial there. One more task, he thought, starting down the stairs, and it is done.

  —

  The Black Cat Tavern was at the end of an alley that ran alongside St Leonard’s church, into Pudding Lane.

  Most taverns stank of sour beer. Coke assumed the Vintners must own this one, for the scents of Rhenish wine assailed his nostrils from the moment he pushed through the door. It made him thirsty, even as it filled him with regret – he should have been toasting his bride in the stuff right now.

  He scanned the crowd. He did not know who he was to meet. He could only presume that they would know him.

  Someone did. A young man had risen in a corner settle and was signalling. Coke did not go over straightway. These were the Saints he was dealing with, after all. But everyone around the youth appeared to be boisterously engaged in their own company. Keeping his hand on the pommel of his sword, he crossed the rush-strewn floor.

  ‘Sit, sir. Take some wine.’

  The young man seemed familiar to him but he could not remember where he’d seen him. Still, familiar or not, he was not there to drink with him. ‘There is no need for me to sit,’ Coke replied curtly. ‘Only for you t
o rise and take me to the maid.’

  ‘Her whereabouts I do not know. Truly, Captain, if I may call you so. My friends told me you were a dangerous man and might try and trick us. You might even, er, attack me.’ He gestured again to the stool opposite him. ‘So once our business is concluded amicably here, another will lead you to your prize.’

  Coke had considered violence as an early resort. He had no scruples about dealing harshly with these rogues and kidnappers. But his first duty here was to Isaac, and the safe return of his daughter. So he sat, glancing around as he did, again trying to spot the man’s confederates. No one immediately offered themselves.

  ‘Drink, sir, please,’ said the youth, waving at the glass before Coke. ‘We have a little time. And you are paying for it, after all.’

  Coke, who had picked up the glass, now put it down without sipping. ‘You say someone will come and lead us to her? So she is not here?’

  ‘No, indeed, sir. Your health.’ The youth raised his glass.

  Coke leaned across the table. ‘Now listen to me, you puppy,’ he said, his voice low. ‘I do not pledge the health of a villain. What you have done to a sick old man is cruelty itself. So the sooner our business is done and the girl returned to her father, the sooner I can drink with whom I choose.’ He pulled out Isaac’s purse from which he’d removed the extra ten guineas. ‘Count this and be damned.’

  He threw the guineas across. The youth paled. ‘No villain, I, but only God’s true servant.’ He opened the purse string, emptied the coins out onto the settle seat beside him, counted, then swept the coins back into the cloth bag. ‘All there,’ he said.

  ‘Then will you signal the blackguard who accompanies you and let us be about it.’

  ‘We will await him, sir. I can do no more.’

  The youth sat back and stared at him sullenly. Coke slapped the table in frustration; then suddenly recalling his thirst, he picked up the glass and threw the contents back. It was Rhenish all right but not as good as he expected in the Vintner’s own tavern. There was a slightly bitter tang to it that had him running his tongue over his mouth. The youth had clearly paid for only the cheapest stuff.