A low moan filled the air, rising to the top of the ceiling and reverberating about our ears in strange echo. A woman screamed and men began to shout. Soldiers streamed from the choir down into the nave, rousing the inert and forcing everyone to pick up what they could and hurry away to our left.
Dowling and I stayed where we were. Keen to leave, but not before we found Josselin. We allowed ourselves to be swept along by the crowd towards the choir. Soldiers lined the steps, armed and anxious, surveying the crowd that swarmed the nave, nervous and afraid.
‘No more time,’ shouted another soldier at the merchants that fought against the tide, arms full. ‘Take the rest of your goods with you and seal the doors. No more time.’
I ducked my head just in time to avoid being spotted by Arlington and Withypoll.
I tugged at Dowling’s sleeve. ‘Lower your big head,’ I hissed.
He bent his knees and tried his best, but his white head shone like a beacon, glowing in the gloom.
I pulled him sideways, towards a thick wooden door. Behind it a narrow staircase, twisting up into the gloom.
‘How did they know where to find us?’ I panted, dashing up the first few stairs in case we were followed.
‘One of his spies,’ said Dowling, close behind. ‘Unless it’s Josselin’s doing.’
‘Why should he do that?’ I snorted, though I feared he might speak the truth. ‘Save us from the flames, then unleash those two beasts upon us.’
‘Just climb,’ Dowling snapped. ‘You’ll need every breath you’ve got.’
I had to stop and rest twice before we finally reached the top of the stairs, five hundred feet above the ground. The wind gusted strong, rattling loose timbers strewn all about, the sky awash with black smoke. My legs felt weak, petrified by the fear of being blown off the top, yet I couldn’t help but follow Dowling to the edge to contemplate the horror that played itself out before our eyes.
The whole of London was ablaze. We sat as if upon the mast of a giant ship floating on a small lake, the cathedral protected on all sides by the expanse of the churchyard. It was the only empty space betwixt the City walls, and so the flames below us happily consumed every house and every building, not a single hole in the sheet of fire. All gone. The churches, the halls, Cole Harbour, the Exchange. My little house on Bread Street and Dowling’s house and shop. Nothing survived.
Looking west was like looking down a long tunnel, fire on each side all the way to the wall. Only ahead could we still see whole buildings through thick black smoke, and a dark silhouette.
‘What are you doing up here?’ I shouted, wind carrying my words
in his direction above the incessant roar of the blaze.
Josselin turned, face covered in a thin layer of soot. His lips moved but I couldn’t hear the words. We moved closer.
‘… lit the fire, but I didn’t send the winds,’ he said, a strange brightness in his eyes. ‘I will execute judgement: I am the Lord.’
Which seemed a tenuous conclusion to me. God sent the wind every winter; it didn’t mean he expected us to put flame to buildings.
‘Do you have the letter?’ I asked.
‘Downstairs,’ Josselin replied, transfixed upon the flames, a strange smile upon drawn lips. ‘God will not allow its destruction.’
When a man sought assurance from God, it was usually because he faced circumstances he couldn’t contemplate managing alone.
‘Arlington is downstairs,’ I said, at last.
‘Arlington?’ He raised a slow brow. ‘I cannot meet him here, not with the letter upon me. I must take the letter somewhere safe first, then you must talk to him.’
‘The soldiers are forcing everyone out through Ludgate,’ I said. ‘Arlington and Withypoll will be gone soon. We should go too.’
‘Look around.’ Josselin flung his arms in the air. ‘Do you not see we are safe? Ye shall reverence my sanctuary: I am the Lord.’
Now he reckoned he was God. This was not going well. I leant over the balustrade, peering down through the black clouds that gathered about the spire. A steady procession of tiny people streamed out the west porch in a thin, straggled line towards Ludgate. Something told me Withypoll and Arlington would not be among them.
‘Look there!’ I yelled, pointing. Though the wind blew from east to west, the flames reached out from the City to touch the north-west corner of the building, seizing upon a stray board that covered a hole in the lead. Even as I watched, the fire seemed to skate along the
wooden roof, like oil rolling over a polished floor. ‘We have to go,’ I shouted. ‘If the fire takes hold of the nave, we will be trapped.’
Josselin’s eyes widened, a look of terror upon his long, dirty face. ‘The nave, you say?’ He spun to face the door and took off, crashing across planks of timber.
I ran behind him, clattering down the staircase as fast as my legs could manage. Josselin and Dowling might take these steps two at a time, but my legs were too short. My chest constricted, and I stepped aside for a moment to let Dowling pass, before resuming the chase.
Even as we ran I heard flames take hold of the scaffolding about the tower, heard the bricks groan and creak about us. I stepped out into the transept just behind Dowling, to see him chasing Josselin down the nave. Smoke filled the huge cavity above our heads as the roof’s giant timbers began to smoulder.
Arlington emerged from the gloom, and Josselin slowed to a halt, arms held up in the air.
‘At last!’ Arlington declared, clasping his hands together. ‘I almost gave up hope. I feared you might be burnt alive.’
Withypoll marched towards me, sword fully extended. I turned and ran towards the Lady Chapel, Dowling and Josselin fast behind. The walls sang out now, the stone screeching like it was being throttled. A great lump of burning metal dropped from the ceiling and hit the pavement in front of me with a great crack. I danced about the debris and kept running, all the way to the Rose Window, arriving just as it shattered into a thousand pieces, glass shards flying through the air, embedding themselves in my hair and on my clothes. I turned to see Withypoll slavering like some great hellhound, unsure who to devour first.
The vast, empty window sucked in fresh air, enraging the fire in
the rafters so it ignited in a great ball of flame, momentarily engulfing Withypoll. He fell to one knee, beating at his clothes with his beaver hat. Josselin saw his distraction and hurled himself forwards, grasping for Withypoll’s throat. Withypoll reached for his blade, lain discarded on the flagstone, but Josselin saw in time and rolled aside to grab it first. Josselin stood first, sword held aloft.
He jabbed the tip of it into Withypoll’s chest. ‘It was you killed Berkshire, wasn’t it?’
Withypoll clambered to his feet, letting his burning jacket fall to the floor.
‘Where are you, Arlington?’ Josselin shouted.
Arlington stood ten paces distant, sword still sheathed. He drew his weapon and approached.
Josselin bared his teeth. ‘Which one of you was it? Or must I slay you both?’
Arlington lowered his blade. ‘Why do you concern yourself with Berkshire? He would not have concerned himself with you.’
‘Don’t seek to confound me,’ Josselin replied, face contorted. ‘I am beyond confusion. Just tell me which of you killed Berkshire.’
Arlington pointed at Withypoll. ‘He did, because I told him to. I had no choice.’
‘Every man has a choice in every deed he does,’ said Josselin, slowly, like he had just learnt a difficult lesson.
Arlington waved a finger. ‘Not really. You told Berkshire about the third letter, did you not?’