The Invention of Fire. Bruce Holsinger

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СКАЧАТЬ we can to hold off the spite from the Commons and the Lords alike, but I fear we may be too late. All rides on the king.’

      He led me down the passage to the chancellor’s chambers, a set of rooms tucked within the southeastern sprawl of the palace, not far from the Painted Chamber. The chancellor sat not at his study desk but in his receiving room, a low-ceilinged and intimate space long regarded as the hidden heart of Westminster, though its walls were all Yorkshire, washed brightly with rural scenes inspired by the streets and saints of the earl’s native shire.

      An old man already, Michael de la Pole seemed to have aged several years since I last saw him a few months before. Eye pockets smudged with fatigue, a neck carelessly shaved, cheeks bowed in above a jaw that had lost its confident jut and now trembled with a creeping palsy that had been coming on over the last two years. Not a broken man, not yet, though I believe he saw his defeat before him, drawn more sharply with each passing day.

      ‘I trust your lordship is well?’ I said, feigning ignorance of his distress.

      ‘The wolves are gathering round, Gower,’ he said brusquely, waving at me to be seated. ‘You know it as well as I do. So let’s slice through the politique.’

      ‘My lord?’

      His look hardened. ‘What do you want, Gower?’

      The abruptness of the question startled me. My voice betrayed it. ‘You – your lordship may have heard of an incident in the city,’ I said, with an unfamiliar stammer. ‘A rather grim discovery.’

      ‘In the sewers,’ said the earl.

      ‘Yes, my lord. Sixteen men, murdered, tossed in the ditch.’

      ‘Brembre may have said something about it, yes.’

      ‘You’ve spoken directly to the mayor, then?’

      ‘Just once,’ he said flatly.

      ‘Did he ask for your assistance?’

      ‘He did, at first, and as I told him, London deaths are London’s concern, not Westminster’s. I have enough to do keeping the lords at bay this season without meddling in the business of gongfarmers.’

      ‘I understand, my lord,’ I said, recalling Strode’s recollection of the mayor’s exchange with the earl, whose manner was putting me off at the moment. I knew the chancellor as a man of compassion and good judgment. Surely sixteen unexplained deaths beneath the streets of London should be arousing solicitude, not this show of lordly derision.

      ‘What concerns me, my lord – or rather what concerns the Guildhall, and I am here on the city’s behalf – is not simply the murders.’

      ‘Oh?’

      ‘What is of most concern is the unknown identity of these men, their nameless anonymity. Particularly the manner of their deaths.’

      His brow edged up. ‘And how did they die, Gower?’

      I hesitated. ‘They had been shot, my lord. Though not with arrows or bolts.’

      Silence.

      ‘With guns, my lord.’

      ‘Guns,’ he said.

      ‘Guns.’

      ‘Cannon?’ said Rune, leaning in.

      I shook my head. ‘Something smaller, as the corpses were largely intact, drilled through with small shot. Nothing much larger than a child’s thumb ball.’ My fingers brushed my thumb, recalling the heft of that first iron ball removed from one of the bodies, its killing weight.

      The earl looked to the side. ‘Quite interesting.’

      I waited, then said, ‘It is that, my lord.’

      He glanced up at Rune, uneasily this time, then back at me. ‘Let me repeat my first question, Gower. What do you want?’

      Once again I felt taken aback by the chancellor’s abrupt and peremptory tone, as if I were being impertinent with the questions I asked him, my presence a nuisance. ‘An answer, your lordship.’

      ‘To what question?’

      ‘Where did the killer or killers of these men procure these guns?’

      ‘Explain yourself.’

      ‘The city maintains no such handgonnes, as they are known. Nor are they in the possession of the church, and a hunter would hardly choose such instruments of war to bring down a hart. The only store of light artillery anywhere in or around London – if indeed a store exists at all – must lie within the Tower.’

      Rune stepped out from behind me. I snapped my mouth shut and looked up at his protective sneer. ‘What are you implying, Gower? That the lord chancellor of England ordered the execution of sixteen unnamed men and had them thrown down a London privy?’

      I showed him my palms, lowered my chin. ‘Nothing of the sort.’ I looked back at the earl. ‘Forgive me if I sound accusatory, my lord.’

      De la Pole waved a hand.

      ‘I am merely suggesting that the weapons that took these men’s lives must have originated from within the royal army. As for who wielded them, and why – those are separate questions, and I am at a loss even to speculate at this point. But the guns strike me as a singular piece of evidence. I should be surprised if they don’t lead us to the source of this horrific violence.’

      ‘Westminster does not investigate common killings,’ said Rune. ‘That is the work of sheriffs, justices, and constables, not chancellors and kings.’

      ‘They are hardly common killings, my lord,’ I said, keeping my eyes on the earl. ‘Over a dozen men, shot through with iron, left to rot beneath—’

      ‘Rot. Now there’s an apt word, eh, Rune?’ The chancellor looked at his secretary. ‘Rotting bodies, rotting rights, rotting laws.’

      ‘How have I earned your disfavour, my lord?’ I said. ‘Given all that happened in May of last year, your words to me then …’ I let my voice trail off, asking for a small favour, and a sharper recollection from the earl.

      The moment lengthened until finally the chancellor sighed, drummed his fingers on his desk. His jaw shook slightly. ‘What you’ve described, these deaths. A horror, and I will lend you what limited assistance I am able. Yet my authority diminishes by the day. You must be aware of the situation with that young fiend the Duke of Gloucester and the earls. FitzAlan, Beauchamp, even Mowbray is in on this plot. They will rise up to oppose me in the coming Parliament, I’ll be bound, and against Oxford as well.’

      ‘Though deservedly so, in his case,’ Rune muttered.

      The chancellor laughed gruffly at this dismissal of Robert de Vere, the king’s sweet-faced favourite, soon to be created duke if the rumours were true: a title properly reserved for those of royal blood, yet given to this braggart with little thought, and littler wisdom. A further sign of the young king’s disregard for tradition and propriety in his royal appointments.

      ‘Is СКАЧАТЬ