‘Good.’ Athelstan stared round. ‘I beg you in Christ’s name, as well as for the amity and respect you should owe me, do not think of doing anything stupid. I admit, the story you gave about Fulchard’s early history contains some grains of truth. Fulchard of Richmond did go abroad. He served as a mercenary in Black Beaumont’s free company, the Luciferi. He assumed another name, Rievaulx, a reference to the great Benedictine abbey in Yorkshire where he and you, my friend,’ Athelstan pointed at the imposter, ‘were educated as boys. Black Beaumont and his troop arrived in Constantinople. During unrest there, they stole Mark the Greek’s “The Book of Fires” and fled the city. Black Beaumont decided not to share the secrets of that manuscript and the wealth they would bring with anyone else. He deserted one set of comrades in the desert outside Izmir and fled with a group of henchmen to Patmos in the Middle Seas where he committed further treachery, carrying out a horrid atrocity. Black Beaumont drugged and burnt alive his remaining companions, except,’ Athelstan pointed down at the imposter, ‘the man known as Rievaulx. He was grievously injured but, God knows how, he managed to escape. He eventually returned to England, crippled and worn. He hid for a while, then Fulchard of Richmond emerged as a professional beggar who suffered a hideous accident abroad. Of course,’ Athelstan smiled thinly, ‘you know all this, don’t you?’
The imposter just stared coolly back. ‘I examined all the possibilities, including a miracle. However, given all that I have said, I have reached a much stronger possibility, in fact the strongest, that it was probable that you, sir, and the real Fulchard of Richmond are identical twins.’ Athelstan sat back in the chair. He moved his tankard slightly forward. ‘I cannot tell you about your life – why should I? But you and your twin eventually became reconciled. Fulchard did not tell you the full truth immediately. He peddled the tongue-smooth tale of a dire accident in some Greek tavern. Time passed and the truth eventually emerged. You were horrified. Black Beaumont was now a well-known, leading merchant in this kingdom. You wanted revenge. You sent Beaumont threatening messages, “As I and ours burnt, so shall ye and yours”. But then others intervened.’ Athelstan’s gesture took in the entire company. ‘The Upright Men are strong in both Yorkshire and Lincolnshire. Like the ancient Saxon hero, Hereward the Wake, the Upright Men are fortifying hiding places in the dark, damp fens of East Anglia. Gaunt vowed to burn them out and his flotilla of flat-bottomed barges would be crucial in achieving this. It’s no idle threat. The royal dockyards along Southwark were busy and the barges would soon be deployed. The Upright Men decided to destroy them. They held council and a very subtle plot was concocted. You and Fulchard would meet others here at St Erconwald’s for the novena vigil to our saint. The miracle would take place assisted by witnesses who are also Upright Men from different shires, ably assisted by your coven in this parish led by you, Ranulf. Once the so-called miracle had occurred, your brother would be hidden and later secretly whisked away. The miraculous occurrence would attract the crowds and wealth, a good source of revenue for some of our parishioners.’ Athelstan glared at Pike and Watkin. ‘As well as a source of great profit to the Upright Men in more ways than one. Visitors streamed into Southwark. Pilgrims thronged this ward and my church. Carts, sumpter ponies and barrows arrived with goods for sale. The crowd surged in and set up camp. Gaunt’s spies were overwhelmed – they found it impossible to survey such a multitude. God had worked a great wonder and, according to canon law, pilgrims and shrines were specially blessed and protected by Holy Mother Church. Moreover, this was not some sham – both the Bishop of London’s curia and one of this city’s eminent physicians have tendered the only logical conclusion on the evidence they have scrupulously examined, that a genuine miracle has occurred. The Upright Men now had an ideal way to smuggle in both men and arms in preparation for the great assault on Gaunt’s fleet of barges. You needed one more thing.’ Athelstan pointed at Parson Garman. ‘You too served with Black Beaumont. You were an ignifer, skilled in the casting of fire. You were also searching for “The Book of Fires”. You must have found it to create that inferno amongst the barges.’ Athelstan paused. He strove to remain passive even as the sweat started and his stomach lurched. These were desperate men. If he published abroad what he’d whispered in this close, dark room, all those grouped here would die a hideous death. Garman, cleric though he was, would feel the full fury of Gaunt’s rage. The justices of oyer and terminer, the Regent’s creatures, would be instructed to charge each and every one of them with high treason as they had committed arson in the royal dockyards. Punishment would be dire: drawn to the scaffold, half hanged, their bodies split open, heart and entrails plucked out, their limbs quartered, their heads severed.
‘What I have said is the truth,’ Athelstan murmured. ‘I want none of you to hang. I do not hunt the Upright Men but the Ignifer who has tried to murder me and my good friend, Sir John Cranston.’ Athelstan stared at Garman. In his soul he felt the prison chaplain was the most obdurate and probably the moving spirit behind this subtle plot. A highly intelligent officer with great experience of war, Garman also nursed a deep hatred against the lords of the soil. Athelstan decided to press the point. ‘Parson Garman, you always suspected that a hideous massacre took place on Patmos. Perhaps you also suspected that the mercenary Rievaulx escaped. Did you know his real name? Fulchard of Richmond?’
The chaplain did not answer.
‘You certainly learnt from gossip at Firecrest Manor about the threats issued a year ago. You must have deduced such threats were connected with the Luciferi, how someone did escape that massacre and was now back in England. The Upright Men have covens and conventicles from here to the Scottish border. You made enquiries and your plot at St Erconwald’s was concocted and hatched. Strange,’ Athelstan mused, ‘that you expressed little interest in the miracle, nor did you ever come here because you knew the truth. So, I ask you formally, do you have Mark the Greek’s “The Book of Fires”?’
Garman made to rise but the imposter restrained him, one hand on the chaplain’s wrist as he pointed at Athelstan.
‘Brother, we in turn wish you no harm. No!’ he shouted to still the muttering of Fitzosbert and the other strangers. ‘For the love of God,’ he hissed, ‘Athelstan has all the proof he needs. It lies in his graveyard. Let us tell the truth, or as much as we can.’ No one dissented. Athelstan was comforted to see his parishioners, the majority around the table, would also stoutly resist any assault on their priest. He beckoned at the imposter to continue.
‘My true name is John of Richmond.’ The hubbub in the taproom died. ‘I am the identical twin of Fulchard, alike in all ways except upbringing. My father was a yeoman farmer, prosperous enough to be a herbalist and an apothecary. At first, the birth of identical twin boys delivered safely was a source of great joy and blessing. Fulchard and I were not only very similar in looks but even on a spiritual level. If he was hurt I also felt injury in that place. Anyway, my father’s wealth and good fortune provoked envy and malice, whispering and gossip, talk of witchcraft and other evil nonsense. In the end my father decided to send us out of the locality to be raised separately. Fulchard went to Rievaulx whilst I was educated at Fountains Abbey. We remained separate. Fulchard matured differently. He found obedience difficult. He resisted all the strictures of the good brothers and expressed this in a love of fire. Nothing serious or malicious – Fulchard was simply fascinated by creating fires with different mixtures.’ John of Richmond spread his hands. ‘The night draws on. I will be brief. Fulchard fled Rievaulx. He served as a squire in a troop of mounted archers but his true love was for culverins, cannon and, above all, fire in all its forms. Like many restless young men, he arrived in London and left for Dover as a member of Beaumont’s Luciferi, assuming his mercenary name of Rievaulx, a joke at the expense of the good brothers who had tried to educate him. The Luciferi campaigned all over Europe until they arrived in Constantinople.’