Chapter 6: London
Jack and Leonard left for London immediately at the end of the weekend festivities. Jack's longing to return home had grown more incessant with each day that passed, and, frankly, there was nothing he needed to do in France. For the moment, he didn't have any art commissions. Molière's next round of plays would start in late October. He'd be back well before then.
As for Leonard, he was also eager to leave court. Jack didn't understand why he was so concerned, but Leonard was convinced Louis's court was unhealthy. It didn't make much sense. He and Leonard had thrived on court life in England. In any case, Philippe would inevitably pull Jack back after a few weeks.
They rode to Calais where they purchased passage on a boat for Dover, arriving on the first of September. Instead of renting horses, they raced on foot. They steered clear of public roads, opting for the comfortable concealment of the woods. They approached the outskirts of London midday on Tuesday, the fourth.
As they drew near, Jack paused to sniff the air. "Do you smell something burning?"
Leonard nodded, a worried frown settling on his face. "It's a warm day. You wouldn't expect many fires to be lit. A house may have caught fire. Let's head to the nearest village. They may need our assistance."
They left the safety of the woods for the main thoroughfare. Normally it would be filled with traffic in both directions, but today it seemed as if everyone was fleeing London. Families with children, some with singed clothing, packed the roadway. Many were in tears. Carts and wagons were laden with household goods.
As they drew close, they overheard talk of burning buildings, smoke-filled streets. Horror gripped Jack as realization set in. London was on fire.
They cast caution to the wind. He and Leonard sprinted over anything in their way in a frantic dash to return home.
One man tried to stop them. "You'll only find death and destruction there. Best flee while you can," he urged.
"Our family's there," Jack shouted as he raced away. He prayed that Father H's domain wasn't on fire. Tents were being erected in the fields. Signs of destruction were everywhere, but they were nothing to the inferno that awaited them inside the city gates. Blackfriars, Southwark, Deptford—they were all in flames.
"We have to get to Christ Church," Jack yelled. The deafening roar of explosions and toppling buildings made communication nearly impossible. He'd overheard that cannons were being fired to create firebreaks.
Leonard yanked Jack away from a falling beam. "We can't! It's already in flames. Father H is a survivor. He would have gotten out. The Dog and Whistle may have been spared. Let's go there."
Jack clutched Leonard's arm as he caught sight of the spire of St. Paul's. "The cathedral's on fire too! The entire city is burning."
Leonard gave him a hard shove. "Not us, and we're going to keep it that way." He forced Jack west along the Strand. The fire had already crossed the River Fleet. Would there be anything left to the Dog and Whistle? It was only a few blocks from Whitehall. The palace could be in flames as well.
It was slow going. The streets that weren't on fire were packed with people left destitute and their handcarts. Jack tried not to think about Christ Church, the crypt, Susanna's house, the Hart and Crown. They were most likely all destroyed.
"Look!" Leonard's voice rang with joy. "The inn's still there. I warrant we'll find some friendly faces inside."
The interior was piled high with goods and people. Members of the gathering were crowded together. Annick and Jeffrey's son John currently ran the inn. His sister Annie, now a widow, greeted them as warmly as if they were Normans.
"Is Father H safe?" Jack demanded.
"Thankfully, yes. All the members of the gathering were able to escape in time."
"When did the fire start?" Leonard asked.
"On Sunday night. The next day we thought Blackfriars would be spared, but Father Hubbard insisted everyone evacuate just in case." Tears welled in Annie's eyes. "If he hadn't, many would have been lost. Members of the flock are now helping folks resettle. John's son owns the inn in Norwich. Several families are heading there."
Jack turned his head at a familiar scent. Father H had arrived. His face was blackened with soot, his cassock ripped, but he appeared uninjured. Jack raced forward to embrace him. "I was so worried about you," he whispered, gripping him tightly.
Father H looked dazed at the sight of him. "I don't know how you got here, but, Jesu, it's good to see you again." He patted Jack's shoulder awkwardly. "I've missed you, too."
"Annie said the flock is safe," Jack said, searching his face for confirmation.
"They are. Thanks to God's Grace we haven't lost anyone."
Jack heard Leonard gasp behind him. He spun around as Leonard said, "Pierre, why are you in London?"
Normally Jack only saw Pierre when he was delivering instructions from Philippe. Jack's heart sank. What if Pierre carried a letter sealed with one of Philippe's coins, ordering him back to France?
Pierre was covered in soot, his garments singed. He appeared equally startled to see them. "When did you two arrive?" He waved his hand as if to dismiss the question and turned to Father H. "I need your help. Monsieur de Clermont is missing. The last I heard he was at the Royal Exchange."
The world stuttered and stalled. Baldwin rarely came to London. Pierre was probably talking about Master Roydon.
"That building burned to the ground yesterday," Father H said. "Are you sure he was there?"
"I don't know where else he could be," Pierre said wearily. "Yesterday evening we were helping evacuate residents from that quarter. When I returned from leading a group to the gate, I couldn't find him. I've been searching for him ever since." He took a ragged breath. "The soot is so pervasive, I can't smell him."
"Leonard and I will go there immediately," Father H said. "Jack, you stay here."
"No," Jack protested. "You need me too." He added in a lower voice, "I know what will be required."
Father H searched his face then nodded. "Very well, but I would have spared you this."
As they sped off, Jack caught up with Pierre. "Are we looking for Mathieu de Clermont?" he asked, using Master Roydon's French name.
Pierre nodded. "I'm sorry, Jack. If we find him, you'll need to leave."
"I understand." As long as Master Roydon was still alive, nothing else mattered.
Father H led them around the perimeter of the fire damage. The exchange was in the northern section of the fire zone. It had been destroyed late in the day on Monday, around the same time Pierre had last seen Master Roydon. A firebreak had been created by blowing up houses north of the exchange. By the time they arrived, much of the fire had already died out. The worst flames were now to the west and south along the Thames. Father H and Pierre worked as one team. Jack and Leonard formed the other. Jack hadn't been around Master Roydon since he was a child. He wouldn't be able to recognize his scent, but he hoped he'd be able to detect the slow beat of a wearh heart.
For hours they searched. Jack was numb with exhaustion as he continued to dig through chunks of masonry. The Royal Exchange was the only large stone building in the area. The smaller structures could be quickly checked because there was nothing left to them . . . except cellars. Had Master Roydon managed to find refuge in one of them?
"Where are you going?" Leonard demanded when Jack started to sprint away.
"To search the cellars," Jack said, explaining his idea.
Leonard frowned. "Some of them are still smoldering. I'll go with you."
Charred remnants of people's lives . . . Father H believed that the inhabitants had all managed to flee to safety. Likely some of the crowds at the gates used to live in these very houses. Had Master Roydon been checking the cellars for stragglers when disaster struck?
"I hear something!" Leonard hissed.
Jack froze in place, twisting his head to hear any faint pulse. Then he heard it too. A wearh heart.
"It's coming from the building next door!" he yelled, scrambling out of the ruined pit they'd been searching. The structure might have once been a pub. It was on the corner of the street and originally had several floors. When the timber beams caught fire, an avalanche of bricks crashed to the ground.
Jack began flinging off bricks, digging deep for new reserves. His hands were bleeding and scraped but they still functioned.
"I'll dig," Leonard offered. "Go find Father H and Pierre."
"I'm not leaving. Not when we're so close." The image of Master Roydon's face as he'd painted him countless times appeared in front of Jack. Somewhere below the bricks, he was there.
Leonard briefly clasped his shoulder. "All right, I'll fetch them. But don't make us have to rescue you too. "
Jack tore at the bricks. The heartbeat grew louder. He could smell something. He sniffed again. Cinnamon and cloves. Was that Master Roydon's scent? He scooped up bricks by the armful, tossing them aside.
As the heartbeat began to thunder in his ears, he slowed his actions, not wanting to cause any additional injury. His hands shook as he lifted a chunk of debris and saw a forehead. He gently swiped away the dust and cinders to reveal Master Roydon's face. He was bloody and bruised, his eyes closed, but he was alive.
When Jack stroked dust off his eyelids, he saw them twitch. Master Roydon gave a low moan.
Running footsteps caused Jack to look up. The others had arrived on the scene. "He's trying to open his eyes," he said, his voice rough from smoke and emotion.
Father H gripped him by the shoulders, pulling him upright. "You did well. Pierre and I will dig him out." He turned to Leonard and gave him a nod.
"They'll make quick work of freeing him," Leonard said. "We need to leave."
"Matthew's strong," Pierre added. "He'll recover."
Jack suddenly realized he was crying. The blood tears tasted salty. He swiped his face with his sooty sleeve. On this day of so much despair, this moment of hope eclipsed everything else.
Paris. September 1666.
Philippe looked up from his correspondence when Freyja entered the library. The view from the window of his Parisian townhouse showed the Place Royale bathed in bright sunshine. It was a world away from the destruction in London.
"I saw the mail arrive," Freyja said. "Any news about Matthew?"
"He is safe." Philippe gestured for her to take a seat next to his desk. "He'd been trapped in the cellar of a tavern. Jean, Leonard, and Andrew Hubbard helped Pierre search for him. Matthew's recovering at the Old Lodge now. His injuries were extensive but he should make a full recovery."
"This is joyful news." Freyja offered a sly smile. "Does this mean you're no longer angry that I let Jean go to London without consulting with you?"
Philippe kept his chuckle to himself. "I'll grant it worked out well, and you correctly pointed out that I hadn't specifically forbidden Jean from traveling to London." He and Freyja had reached a new understanding regarding the pup. In retrospect, Philippe recognized he'd erred in not alerting her to Jack's history with Aurora. He hadn't believed Aurora would try to play such an active role at court. Gerbert generally had a low opinion of women. She must have convinced him she could be every bit as ruthless and conniving as her sire.
Jack had performed well. Pierre reported that he'd shown no sign of the unusual bloodsickness he'd exhibited when Philippe tested him even though Matthew was severely injured. What was different? The fact he'd been surrounded by friends? Or was he now free of the disease? For all their sakes, Philippe hoped that was the case.
"What happened to the woman Aurora was cultivating?" he asked Freyja. "Madeleine de Rignac I believe her name was."
"She wasn't an active player. I'm convinced Aurora intended her to be a gullible source of information. Madeleine believed the bottle was a love potion and was genuinely horrified when I told her that Aurora planned to poison ladies at court."
"You let her know? A bold move, Daughter."
She shrugged. "The gambit paid off. Madeleine couldn't resist gossiping about it. Aurora's reputation is now so tarnished, she'll never be able to rejoin Louis's court. As you know, Julie d'Angennes is championing Madame de Montespan to become the king's official mistress. Louise de la Vallière has gone into seclusion, awaiting the birth of her child."
"She'll have a difficult time maintaining her position," Philippe said, "but it matters little to us which one Louis favors."
Freyja's expression grew thoughtful. "It does to Jean, though. He enjoyed Louise's friendship."
"Then it's just as well he's staying in London. He wrote me to ask for permission and I've granted it. The situation in London is desperate. Hubbard will need his assistance for several months, and perhaps longer."
"The experience will be good for him. He's missed his family." She narrowed her eyes. "Did you agree just so he wouldn't paint more portraits of me?"
"Isn't one scandalous pose enough?" he joked back. "For the sake of harmonious relations within the family, I'm counting on you to never let Baldwin see that portrait of you on horseback."
Freyja wouldn't be the only one who would regret the pup's absence. But as long as Jack couldn't be recognized to be a member of the de Clermont family, it would be bittersweet for him to be in France—a difficult situation destined to last for centuries.
#
Matthew returned to Paris in late September. When he greeted Philippe in the salon of their Paris residence, he claimed to be completely recovered. For his part, Philippe could see no sign of the broken bones he'd suffered.
Matthew provided a first-hand report of the situation in London. "Many in Parliament blame the French and the Italians for the fire. I fear there won't be an early end to the war. We know Charles would like to sue for peace but Parliament is opposed."
"I predict Charles and Louis will eventually come to a private understanding," Philippe said. "Louis has sent provisions to London in an opening gambit."
"They'll be well received even by those who hate the French. The fire incinerated the central district of London. Practically the entirety of Andrew Hubbard's domain is in ruins." Matthew paused for a moment. "I've tempered my opinion of Hubbard. Pierre told me that the priest and some of his manjasangs rescued me from the ruins."
Matthew's opinion of Andrew was as low as Philippe's had been until he got to know him better. This wasn't the time to reveal he too had experienced a change in heart. "Do you remember anything about your rescue?" Philippe asked instead.
Matthew frowned as he dropped into a chair opposite Philippe. "Not much. I was helping in the evacuation of a tavern when the building collapsed. I regained consciousness as bricks were being lifted off of me." Matthew turned to look at him. "Do you know of any Knights of Saint Lazarus currently in London?"
Philippe had formed the order in the 1100s, and the de Clermonts oversaw its operations. After the disbandment of the Templars, they'd maintained a code of strict secrecy. "No, why?"
"Because of one of the manjasangs who dug me out. I thought I saw a medallion of Saint Lazarus around his neck. It looked like a silver one I'd owned." He gave a brief chuckle. "I was probably delirious. I remember blond hair, a young face."
"Your guardian angel, perhaps?" Philippe didn't comment further. Pierre had informed him of the circumstances. He hadn't believed Matthew was conscious. Was it fate that led to Jack rescuing him or something else? Diana had somehow managed to secure Andrew's agreement to safeguard Jack and Matthew. Because of her, Jack had been reborn, and now the pup had saved Matthew, preserving his ability to meet Diana in the far-off future. Philippe had given Jack Matthew's pendant. Would someday Matthew realize the truth?
Philippe continued to be adamantly opposed to Jack being anywhere near Matthew, but in this instance, he was grateful. Jack had also seen Baldwin and no harm had come from it. Baldwin had merely grumbled about the number of manjasangs at court. He'd attributed their presence to Gerbert. As it turned out, he wasn't far off the mark.
"Andrew was very appreciative of the aid you'd sent," Matthew added. "Their need is great."
"During disasters such as London suffered, our grievances don't count for much. Given the current climate, I'd like you to remain in France. Louis becomes more bellicose by the moment. He's consumed by plans for expansion."
Matthew grimaced. "It appears to be an unavoidable consequence of absolutism."
"Attempt to quench those flames. Your friendship with the Prince of Condé will be invaluable in that regard."
Matthew nodded his agreement. "I'll miss England. I made the acquaintance of a young brilliant mathematician during my time at Cambridge. His name is Isaac Newton. His theories on optics and physics may revolutionize science." Matthew shrugged. "Or he could flame out before achieving his potential. He's a daemon. He walks a fine line between genius and madness."
Notes: Philippe tested Jack in an earlier story—Masque. Jack has shown no recurrence of bloodsickness since Tom Harriot was arrested in Powder Keg. But it's a safe bet that Philippe will keep alert for any signs.