The Devil’s Diadem by Sara Douglass

Too often now these queries after my health could be roughly deciphered as, ‘Is the Pengraic heir you carry safe, my lady?’ But when Ghent asked, he sounded truly concerned for my own welfare.

‘I am, Gilbert. I am merely fatigued.’

He smiled, and I thought once again how good-looking he was.

‘I am glad,’ he said.

‘How goes London, Gilbert? Have you heard?’

He nodded. ‘It is said that near eight thousand perished in the river.’

Sweet Lord Jesu! I could not begin to comprehend such numbers, nor the terror they must have felt in their dying.

‘The fire,’ Gilbert went on, ‘has been devastating, destroying many shops, homes, taverns and warehouses — even scorching Saint Paul’s — but it has taken relatively few lives. Sixty-three, so one of the aldermen has said. The loss of the bridge is disastrous, for it shall take many months to rebuild, and in the meantime Londoners shall need to rely on ferries for their transport to and fro the Thames.’

‘My lord’s house in Cornhill?’

‘The fire did not come anywhere near, my lady.’

‘Praise the saints. Can you send one of the grooms or servants, and instruct fitzErfast to offer what assistance he can? There must be homeless, and people need to be fed.’

Ghent nodded. ‘I have word also that Edmond is returning, together with his hunting party. They should be back within London by early tomorrow morning if they ride hard.’

‘I will return to Cornhill tomorrow, I think.’

Ghent looked concerned. ‘My lady —’

‘We will ride slow, and I will be well enough, Gilbert.’

I hesitated, then held out my hand.

He looked long and hard at it, then took it, closing his fingers gently about mine.

‘Gilbert. You saved my life. You saved all of our lives. I thank you, and shall tell my husband of your actions. I hope that he will reward you with more than mere grateful words.’

Ghent flushed slightly, but he nodded, and smiled.

I allowed my own smile to widen. ‘You have more than redeemed yourself for losing me in the forest. You are my saviour, Gilbert.’

He could hardly be held responsible for losing me to the dream falloways of the Old People in the forest, but I knew that Ghent felt that failure deeply.

The next morning we set off just after dawn. I knew that Raife must be either barely arrived at the Cornhill house, or close to, and I wanted to reach him as soon as possible. I knew he would be worried about me.

We avoided the western gates of London. A thin pall of smoke still hung over the south-western quarter of the city. We rode through the northern fields and orchards outside the city to Bishops Gate, where we rode down the street to Cornhill and thence to the house.

Raife had just arrived — so recently that he was still in the courtyard of the house, handing the reins of his courser to a groom.

‘Maeb!’ he cried as he saw me. ‘Praise God you are safe!’

He reached up to me, helping me to dismount, then enveloping me in a bear hug. ‘I pray you kept safe at the de Lacys’ hall.’

I glanced at Ghent, who had dismounted just behind us.

‘My lord,’ I said, touching his face, feeling such a rush of pleasure at seeing him that I could hardly bear it. ‘My lord, we were not. We had gone to play on the ice with the Londoners, and, sweet Jesu, were on the river when the ice broke apart. Were it not for Gilbert then I would have died, and my ladies, and the de Lacys besides. He saved our lives, first from the ice, and then from the flames. Without him …’ My voice broke, and I could not continue.

Still holding me tight, Raife turned to look at Ghent. ‘By God,’ Raife said, in a voice thick with emotion, ‘I shall see you do well for this. I thank you, from the depths of my heart. I could not bear to lose my lady.’

‘And you, my lord?’ I asked. ‘How do you?’

‘We heard of the disastrous misfortune of London early yesterday,’ Raife said. ‘We rode through the day and then the night to reach the city. By God … by God, what calamity!’

I thought of the imp under the ice. I would not tell Raife, I decided. Maybe I had dreamed it; maybe the vision of the imp was some instinctive part of my being warning me of the river disaster. Raife had enough concerning him without my adding to those worries.

Raife gave me another long hug, and we went inside.

Everyone in London — king, the royal household, nobles and Londoners — spent the next week to ten days involved in helping those left homeless, those needing food, and beginning the reconstruction efforts. There was no court, nor entertainments, nor intrigues. There was only the effort to be put into restoring as much of the city and its citizens to rights with all due haste.

We took in two score and five people who had been left homeless by the fire, housing them partly in the dormitories and courtyard outbuildings, partly in the hall where we set up bedding for them.

But warehouses and houses and shops could be rebuilt. The loss to the city of the eight thousand who had died in the river was almost unbearable. Near a third of the city’s stall holders and traders had perished, many nobles had died, hundreds of craftsmen and tradesmen and artisans and their apprentices, a handful of aldermen and, crucially, the city’s portreeve. Many families had lost someone, and many, many families had vanished entirely. It would take the city longer to recover from that loss than it would from structural devastation.

Edmond did what he could. With so many aldermen and the portreeve lost, he stepped personally into the chaotic aftermath of both river and fire disasters, directed relief and aid, used the soldiers and guardsmen stationed at the Tower to help in the aid effort for people, but also to pull down dangerously leaning, half burned buildings and cart away the rubble. He rode through the city each day with the Constable of the Tower, Alan de Bretagne, seeing for himself what needed to be done and setting the Constable to sort it out.

Ten days after the tragedies, the king stopped for refreshment at our house before riding back to the Tower. He looked fatigued and drawn, and sat down heavily in a chair in our solar, inching it closer to the fire.

I poured him some spiced wine, and he thanked me for it as I handed it to him.

‘The damage, to buildings and spirit, is ruinous,’ Edmond said, drinking heavily of the wine before handing the cup back to me to refill. ‘Half the craftsmen needed for rebuilding died in the river. The other half are mourning wives or children or parents who died.’

He sighed. ‘Much of my work seems to be shaking people out of their shock in order to rebuild or aid others. How goes the families you have housed here?’

‘We have only a handful remaining,’ Raife said, stretching out his legs as he took a chair opposite the king. ‘Some have gone to family in outlying villages, or back to their home villages. Some have taken, for the moment, those houses left standing empty because their former occupants died in the river.’

‘It is an ill day, indeed,’ Edmond said, ‘when one tragedy gives hope and opportunity for those caught in the next tragedy.’

‘I’ve heard word that of the ships destroyed in the river,’ Raife said, ‘the greatest loss has been the —’

He was interrupted by the sight of fitzErfast, who had entered to stand just inside the door and look anxious.

‘What is it, man?’ Raife said.

FitzErfast came over and spoke quietly in Raife’s ear. Raife gave him a hard look, then nodded. ‘Let him enter.’

Then he looked to Edmond. ‘A rider, with urgent news,’ he said, ‘for you, my lord.’

A young man, probably a squire, although it was hard to tell from the travel stains and the wear on his clothes, hurried into the chamber and bowed before Edmond.

At the king’s nod, he spoke, his voice harsh from his fatigue. ‘My lord king, I bring you greetings from the Earl of Summersete, currently resident in Walengefort Castle.’

‘Yes, yes,’ said Edmond. ‘What has Summersete to say?’

‘My lord, he sends news that the plague is flourishing once again, from Monemude to Glowecestre, and from Cirecestre to Oxeneford, and many hamlets and villages along the way. It began with small outbreaks during Advent, but since Christmastide has spread farther, as well as deeper, within each community. My lord king, my lord of Summersete begs you to watch and plan for an outbreak in London, as the pestilence now draws close and shows no sign of abating, and he begs you to watch over your own health and that of your family.’