The King's Corrodian (5 page)

‘Fire,’ he said, flinging back the clothes, groping for his outer garments. ‘There’s fire in the convent. I must go and help.’

‘Mercy on us, we’ll be burned in our beds!’ said Jennet. Alys straightened the bedclothes and swung her legs out of bed, feeling for the tinder box on the stool beside her. When she had a light she went to the chamber door and peered out.

‘There is nothing to see on this side of the building,’ she reported. ‘The fire is in the convent itself, maybe? Socrates, quiet!’

‘What is it, mem?’ Nory’s voice. Gil dragged on the leather jerkin he had ridden in and stepped into his boots.

‘Fire somewhere in the convent,’ he called, and bent to buckle the straps. ‘You men rouse yourselves, we can lend a hand.’

Crossing the outer chamber he ordered the dog to stay and unbarred the guest-hall door. The night was cloudy, with only a few stars showing, but there was a red glow rising from behind the hall, over in the priory. The bell was still ringing, and as he emerged into the raw cold the lay brothers appeared, trotting in a tight disciplined group, rakes and hay-forks at the port and Brother Dickon recognisable at their head in the eerie light.

‘Aye, maister,’ he called across the courtyard, ‘we’ll likely be glad o yir help.’

Gil let the door slam behind him and followed, through the narrow passage by the library into the main cloister. A towering column of red-lit smoke full of sparks was visible from here, not rising from this range of buildings but beyond.

‘The infirmary!’ said one of the lay brothers. ‘Ser— Brother Dickon, it’s the infirmary!’

‘Aye, lad,’ said his superior. ‘I’ve een in my heid.’

In the small courtyard by the infirmary building there was panic and disorder. Prior Boyd and another elderly man were planted stock-still in the middle of the courtyard, the one praying aloud, the other lamenting incoherently. About them friars ran to and fro shouting, their black and white lit wildly by the leaping flames which issued from the windows of the infirmary. The fire burned with a greedy sound, a snapping and crackling and roaring, and a heat which struck the face and hands. Someone was hauling on the handle of the draw-well, making the wooden mechanism squeal, while someone else hastened with a bucket.

Brother Dickon halted his troop at the entrance to the courtyard and assessed the situation.

‘Dod, Archie, Tammas, get across and help them deal wi the roof,’ he said decisively. ‘Jamesie, Eck, go and get a bucket chain together. Maister, will you come wi me? I need to learn if that laddie got out.’

‘My thought and all,’ said Gil rather grimly.

‘Rattray?’ said Prior Boyd when Brother Dickon grasped his sleeve. ‘Why, no, I— Our Lady protect him! James? Did Andrew get out?’

‘Andrew?’ His elderly companion turned a horrified face to the flames. ‘Oh, David! Oh, Our Lady forgive me! I never – I never thought—’

‘Where is he lodged?’ Gil demanded.

‘Along at the end,’ said the elderly friar, wringing his hands. ‘By the last window, in a wee cell by himself. Maybe he heard me shouting,’ he said hopefully. ‘Maybe he heard me shout “Fire!” or the bell or that.’

Gil did not pause to answer him, but plunged towards the burning building. It was a timber-framed structure of three bays, the red roof-tiles now cracking and shattering in the heat, the upper floor beginning to catch. The last window disgorged a furious blaze, flames licking out and upwards like dancing devils.

At his shoulder Brother Dickon bawled, ‘We’ll never get into that, but he might ha got out the cell. Here, maister!’

He produced a length of rag from under his scapular, and then another, dunked them in a passing bucket of water, handed Gil one. Tying it about his face, Gil followed him into the blaze, with a quick silent prayer to St Giles for protection.

He would have nightmares about it for years, he thought afterwards. The wet cloth helped, but the smoke bit at his eyes, obscured everything, and groping through a strange building amidst flames and roaring heat seemed to take more courage than he had known he possessed. Sparks and flakes of burning wood fell past him, a table in flames appeared before him and collapsed as he moved round it. Strange smells caught his throat, even behind the wet rag, as the infirmarer’s stock burned.

He kept as close as he could to Brother Dickon, who suddenly dropped to his knees. Gil knew a surge of alarm, but the older man crawled forward, feeling from side to side, and he realised that the air was clearer near the ground and got down likewise. For what seemed like forever they searched the outer chamber in this way, the flames crackling round them, burning debris falling like snow, but when Brother Dickon opened a door in the far wall a great gout of flame rushed out, with a roar like a lion’s. The Dominican rolled over, away from the door, and scrambled to his feet, half crouching.

‘Run!’ he bellowed, and stumbled back the way they had come. Gil rose, coughing, and followed him, and suddenly a dark shape loomed before them, one of the other lay brothers, grasping an arm of each with strong hard hands, pulling them towards the door.

They lurched choking from the building just as the far end collapsed with a great crash, flames shooting up into the night sky. Someone threw a bucket of water over Gil, which was when he realised that his hair and his hose were smouldering, and someone else held another bucket so that he could drink palmfuls of the water to soothe his throat.

‘Did you find him? Did you find him?’ It was the elderly Infirmarer, his hands shaking in the firelight.

‘No, Faither,’ said Brother Dickon hoarsely by his side. ‘We went as far’s we dared, and no sign o him. I doubt he’s never got out o his cell.’

‘But was he locked in?’ Alys smeared more green ointment on Tam’s brow. ‘Or had he perhaps had a sleeping draught?’

‘No to both.’ Gil tipped his head back against the upright back of the settle. The two women had lit the fire again and it was warm here in the guest hall; he was already beginning to think of the place as a refuge. At his feet Jennet knelt over a pannikin of wine, swirling it in the firelight to infuse the spices she had added. ‘Father James seems to have panicked, and simply run out of the building shouting “Fire!” It’s fortunate that someone in the dorter heard him, or it could have spread to the main range.’

‘It was burning fiercest at that end the building,’ observed Nory. ‘Where they said he was lodged, I mean. I doubt maybe it started there. Likely the laddie was owercome by the smoke and never knew what was happening, poor chiel. God send it was quick.’ He crossed himself, and Dandy did likewise.

‘We’ll hope that,’ said Tam, and flinched as Alys anointed another burn.

‘Or maybe it was the Devil carried him away,’ said Euan in portentous tones, ‘like the other one.’

‘Mercy on us!’ Jennet exclaimed. ‘There must be something badly amiss wi this place, maister, that the Devil can come and go as he likes! Should we maybe no leave here and lodge wi the Greyfriars?’

‘This fire was very different,’ said Gil. ‘The one which consumed Pollock was confined to one place, almost as if it was in a brazier, and the rest of the house is near undamaged. This one has destroyed the entire infirmary, like an ordinary house fire, and a fierce one at that. If you lads hadny been here I think it could have been worse. Father Prior may be a great scholar and a famous preacher, but he’s no man for quick action.’

‘Aye, the Infirmarer was fair lamenting his ointments and simples,’ said Nory. ‘He hardly kent which to grieve for the more, all his way of life gone up in flames or the young man that was trapped.’ His tone was disapproving.

Gil said, ‘It’s the shock. It takes folk strangely.’

‘If the fire was so different from the other,’ said Alys, pinning a bandage on Tam’s arm, ‘so ordinary, could it have been set a purpose?’ She looked about her to see if any burns remained unsalved, then considered Gil, moving the candles close to the hearth.

‘Surely never!’ said Euan, shocked, and Dandy muttered agreement. ‘Who would do sic a thing in a house of holy men?’

‘The town’s no so happy wi the Blackfriars, by what we saw,’ observed Tam, rolling down his singed sleeve.

‘It could ha been,’ said Gil grimly, ignoring them. ‘Brother Dickon will come for me as soon as there’s light to see, though Christ Himself kens that’s none so early at this time of year. We’ll search the wreckage, see if we can find the missing laddie, see if we can learn aught else.’

Alys made no comment, but tucked her hand into his and held it tightly. He caressed the knuckles with his thumb, and smiled at her.

‘This is about ready, mem,’ said Jennet, feeling the side of the pan with a cautious hand. ‘Have we beakers, or that?’

Inspecting his boots and jerkin by daylight, Gil found they were not so badly damaged as he had feared, though they stank of smoke like everything else about him. He was buckling on the boots again and contemplating the fact that since he had an established income he could now afford another pair if Nory could not refurbish these for best, when Brother Dickon opened the main door of the guest hall and stepped in, shaking drops of rain from his sleeves.

‘Aye, maister,’ he said, rather than offering the conventional friars’ blessing. ‘How d’ye feel the day?’

‘Hoarse,’ Gil admitted.

‘Aye, me and all, and the rest o the house. You should ha heard us croaking at Prime. And Brother Infirmarer canny help us, by reason o the fire itself, and all his simples consumed.’

‘My wife has a receipt which might help. The most of what it asks is common kitchen stores, she tells me. She’s gone hoping for a word wi the cook, now we’ve broken our fast.’

‘Oh, aye?’ Brother Dickon pulled a face. ‘Good luck to her, though I’d say if anyone can get round Brother Augustine this morn, madam your wife can. He’s no in a charitable state, what wi the broken night, and one o his best knives is missing the day and naeb’dy admitting to having lost it. A good cook, he is, and like all good cooks he’s a wee thing.’ He paused, considering Brother Augustine. ‘Touchy,’ he concluded.

‘Alys can likely deal wi him.’ Gil lifted his plaid. ‘How’s the ruin the day?’

‘A sorry sight.’ Brother Dickon turned back towards the door. ‘I’d a wee look as soon’s it began to lighten,’ he went on as they crossed the courtyard, ‘and it was still smouldering, but this rain’ll likely ha seen to that. I’ve set my lads,’ he ducked into the slype by the library, ‘I’ve set my lads to make a start on the end by the door, where we searched a’ready last night, and you and I’ll have a good nose about at the other end o the building, for the laddie never got out – or if he did,’ he added grimly, ‘he’s vanished into thin air. He’s no been seen.’

The infirmary was an ugly sight, as Brother Dickon had said. The further end had collapsed completely, the roof-tiles in a blackened layer over fallen timbers, part of a wall standing up like a broken tooth. The end by the door was still standing, though much of the roof had fallen in. Over all the reek of smoke hung, and the drizzle had laid the worst of the ash into a clinging slurry. Brother Dickon’s little troop was working hard, habits kilted up, more wet rags bound about their faces to keep the ash out, their sturdy boots and thick leggings smeared with the stuff. Gil’s two grooms were with them, and several young Dominicans, presumably novices of the house, their natural high spirits much subdued by the task. They had already amassed a number of stacks of different salvage, unbroken tiles, timbers only partly burned, a couple of pieces of furniture. Gil accepted a wet rag himself and made his way to the far end of the ruined building, assessing the task before them.

‘The fire was fiercer this end,’ he said. The lay brother grunted agreement. ‘It’s brought the whole structure down here, and yet the two couple o rafters at the other end are still standing.’

‘Have to come down, mind. The whole thing’ll need rebuilt.’ Brother Dickon dragged a charred beam aside, and kicked at the remains of the wall below it, which crumbled obligingly. ‘The laddie was in the end chamber by hissel, by what I can make out, and this should be the one next it.’

‘Where would the Infirmarer have been?’ Gil asked. Brother Dickon surveyed the scene, measured off a section and then another with his forefingers at arm’s length, and finally sketched with decisive gestures a narrow chamber not far from where the door had been.

‘About there,’ he said. ‘He’d be atween the patient and the door, if there was ever anyone kept there the night. Him or Brother Euan. No that Brother James would ha heard if the Last Trump sounded, bless him,’ he added. ‘He’s no so good the day, wasny fit to rise for Terce. I hope he does better. Right, maister. If we can clear the tiles, and they great timbers, we should be able to—Have you ever seen a corp that burned to death?’

‘No,’ Gil admitted. ‘Have you?’

‘Aye. No a bonnie sight.’ The lay brother bent to a blackened timber, and Gil tossed his plaid over a singed rosemary bush and hurried to take the other end. Fragments of tile slid away as they heaved. ‘These tiles is all done, we’ll get none fit to use again.’

They progressed sideways with the length of wood between them, and set it down some distance away.

‘Tell me more about the man Pollock,’ said Gil, rubbing wet ash from his hands, and stepped back into the ruins.

‘Him? Why?’

‘Because nobody else seems to want to talk about him,’ said Gil deliberately, bending to gather broken tiles, ‘and I’d say you were a man to gie me a straight answer. Is there aught like a basket we could use to fetch these out of the mess?’

‘A basket.’ Brother Dickon straightened up with care, stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled sharply. One of his industrious team looked up, left his task and joined them at the double. ‘Brother Jamesie, get to the store, will you, find two-three baskets. Sound ones, mind, that will hold these broken tiles. Should ha thought o that mysel,’ he allowed as his henchman trotted off. ‘Pollock. Well, it’s right hard to say aught about him, maister, seeing we’re enjoined no to speak ill o the dead, and him no buried yet either.’

‘If he was still alive, what would you ha said?’

The lay brother’s grizzled beard split in a grin.