A Burnable Book. Bruce Holsinger

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СКАЧАТЬ sat on his heels, prompting the gardener to step forward hopefully. The bishop waved him off. ‘Thus shall die the first of thirteen English kings.’ Braybrooke wiped his brow. ‘Let me correct myself: thus did die the first of thirteen English kings, this one at the great battle at Mantes, of which we read in our chronicles.’

      ‘Of which this Lollius read in our chronicles, unless I’m an utter fool,’ I muttered, unswayed by the bishop’s lofty tone.

      He glared at me. ‘If you’re sceptical, Gower, keep listening.’ He nodded to the friar, who began a second series of lines.

       ‘With seven of swords to swing at their will,

       To chasten with chattel, and chase their king down.

       In Gloucester will he goeth, to be gutted by goodmen

       With rod straight of iron, in arsebone to run.

       With pallet of pullet, his breath out to press,

       And sovereign unsound for Sodom be sundered.’

      My hand went to my gut. ‘The second King Edward.’

      ‘And his disgusting execution,’ Braybrooke said. ‘Lying on a feather pallet, a poker shoved up his arse. A fitting death for a Ganymede king. And finally the more peaceful death of good King Edward.’

      The friar spoke a third time. I could not hide my surprise at his opening words.

       ‘Full long shall he lead us, full rich shall he rule,

       Through pain of pestilence, through wounds of long war.

       Yet morire is matter all sovereigns must suffer.

       This long-lived leader, beloved of all,

       At three of thistles shall suffer his fall;

       Gold bile shall him bite, with bitter wound wide,

       At Sheen will be shent, last shrift there to render.’

      Braybrooke scrutinized my face as I remembered where I had heard these lines before. At Holbourne cross, shouted into the drizzle by that deranged-looked preacher. The man had spoken this very verse.

      ‘Some say the gomoria took him,’ the bishop said, turning away with a smile, ‘though I believe the old fellow had a simple stroke.’ With the rocks removed and the ground cleared, he knelt to address the large rose bush before him. The gardener was trying not to weep.

      ‘The prophecies, if that’s what they are, are full of enigmas, Lord Bishop,’ I said, wondering how Braybrooke could be swayed so easily. ‘What are the “three of thistles”, the “seven of swords” in the account of Edward, or the “sovereign of swords” in William’s case? These sorts of symbols don’t appear in the chronicles, not in the ones I’ve read.’

      The bishop pricked a finger, brought it to his mouth. ‘The thistle is important to the Scots, I’m told,’ he said with a smack of his lips. ‘Perhaps some new Robert de Bruce is on the rise.’ His voice sounded almost jocular now, as if he were putting me on.

      I looked at his rounded back. ‘With respect, your lordship, the work your friar just recited is written in a modern fashion – its style, its rhythm. It sounds like the story of King Horne, or that vision of Piers the Ploughman that was so much in favour around the Rising. I have to say, I’m surprised so much is being made of an obvious forgery.’

      He turned to look at me. ‘The thing could have been written by anyone schooled in our nation’s chronicles. Is that what you are thinking, Gower?’

      Finally some sense. ‘The church is familiar with false prophets, my lord.’

      With an audible crack of his long spine, Braybrooke stood, flicking dirt off his hands. ‘Your scepticism is admirable, Gower, and matches my own.’ An attendant stepped forward with a bowl. Braybrooke dipped his hands and wiped them on a cloth. He turned to the friars and canon, who robed and capped him. He waved off his mitre like a cat refusing tack.

      ‘We are men of the law, Gower,’ he continued as we walked to the river. ‘I serve the church now, but I still have faith in our earthly institutions. The crown, Parliament, even the courts. You know all too well how my trust was once challenged in this regard, John, and I’m still grateful for the compassion you showed.’

      It was a rare moment of candour from Braybrooke, whose ambition often outstripped his memory. I murmured my thanks.

      He puffed his cheeks, blew air. ‘My contempt for Lancaster is no secret.’

      ‘I’ve witnessed it.’

      ‘Heresy and war arrange us in peculiar alliances.’ He said nothing of Oxford, though I assumed he was thinking of the earl. ‘If the reports I have received are accurate, the thirteenth prophecy is known only to a few.’

      ‘The thirteenth prophecy?’

      ‘England has had thirteen kings since the conquest.’ He waited a moment, then said, ‘Thirteen, including William.’

      ‘Yet if William—’ I stopped walking, finally understanding, and feeling like a fool.

      He stepped down on to the Fulham quay. ‘Now you know why a man in my position would be anxious to root out this book before the thirteenth prophecy becomes known, let alone realized. My friar, Brother Thomas back there, has heard only whisperings of its content, but apparently it implicates someone quite close to the king. Who that might be we don’t yet know, though one can guess. So you see it hardly matters whether the De Mortibus is a genuine work of prophecy or a clever forgery. If word of the last prophecy were to get out …’ He looked at me.

      ‘Yes, my lord.’ A missing book, a girl murdered in the Moorfields, and now this. ‘The thirteenth prophecy, then, concerns—’

      ‘The death of King Richard. Still a boy, really, but with all the world on his shoulders.’ He gazed across to the far bank. ‘Whatever Chaucer is paying you to find this book, I will give you double if you bring it to me instead, Gower. Triple.’ With that the Bishop of London turned from me, walked up the embankment, and was gone.

       FOURTEEN

       Cutter Lane, Southwark

      Hook out the belly, knot up the guts, snip out the anus – all that was fine, but Gerald still had trouble with the hiding. How to keep it one piece when it wants to split apart at the shoulders, that was the thing. As Grimes liked to remind him, a split hide wasn’t worth half a whole, and you’ll get the hole, boy, get it right through your pate ’f you split another vellum on me.

      This time it worked. Gerald grunted happily as he felt the spine, pared to the haunch, begin to loosen against the gored skin. СКАЧАТЬ