The King's Evil

Chapter Two

Christopher Redmayne could not believe what he saw. On the journey from Oxford, they encountered a number of people who had fled from London but their tales of woe smacked too much of wild exaggeration to be taken seriously. The evidence of their own eyes robbed Christopher and his companions of their scepticism. They were still miles away when they caught their first glimpse of the rising smoke which sullied the clear blue sky and hung over the city like a pall. The travellers reined in their horses to stare open-mouthed at the phenomenon ahead of them. It was truly incredible. London was destroyed. The most vibrant city in Europe had been burned to the ground.

As they considered the dreadful implications, everyone was struck dumb. It was minutes before an anguished voice shattered the silence.

'Dear God!' exclaimed Christopher. 'How did this happen?'

He had joined the others for security on the journey but he now spurned all thoughts of safety. Kicking his horse into life, he rode off at a steady canter to cover the remaining distance alone. Anxieties crowded in on him. What of his own house? Had that perished in the blaze? Were his possessions burned to a cinder? His precious drawings lost? Was Jacob, his servant, still alive? Did the fire reach his brother's house? Where was Henry Redmayne? And what of Christopher's friends? His neighbours? His parish church? What happened to all those magnificent buildings he so admired and from which he drew his inspiration?

How much of his London survived?

As he rode towards the smoking ruin, his mind was also ablaze.

The consequences of the Great Fire were soon all too apparent. Desultory groups of refugees trudged past him to uncertain destinations. The outer reaches of the city seemed to have been colonised by gipsies for there was hardly a spare patch of land which did not have its tents or its makeshift huts. Some families had no shelter whatsoever and simply sat by the roadside amid their vestigial belongings. Fires had been lit to cook food. Water was drawn from every stream or pond. A sense of fatigue pervaded the whole scene. Less than a week earlier, these same people all had homes, occupations and the promise of a future. Now they were nomads, exiled citizens of a capital which no longer existed.

When he reached St Giles's Fields, he saw what looked like the population of a small town, huddled together in sheer bewilderment, torn between protest and resignation, trying to make sense of a tragedy which had struck them so unexpectedly and wondering how they could fend for themselves without a place of work. Clergy moved assiduously among them but their words of comfort went largely unheard by people who were trapped in their private griefs. A thousand different stories of pain and suffering were scattered across the grass. Christopher was deeply moved by the sight of so much undeserved sorrow.

His attention turned to the city itself and he shuddered. Buildings, spires and pinnacles which usually rose above the walls to delight his eye were now wreathed in smoke and all he could make out of the dominating majesty of St Paul's Cathedral was the empty shell of its tower. Christopher tore his gaze away from the devastation and goaded a last burst of speed from his mount as he went along High Holborn. He steeled himself in readiness. It was more than possible that he, too, had been dispossessed. Holborn itself seemed largely undamaged but he could not answer for Fetter Lane until he swung into it. The scene which met him caused Christopher to bring his horse to a sharp halt.

He gaped in dismay. The left hand side of the lane had been gutted by fire at the far end and smoke still curled from the debris. Several of his neighbours were now homeless. Sympathy welled up in him but it was tempered with relief that his own house had somehow escaped. Situated near the Holborn end of the lane, it was marginally outside the circle of damnation. He offered up a silent prayer of thanks then nudged his horse forward.

Christopher was soon admitted to his home by his servant.

'Bless you, sir!' said Jacob, eyes watering with pleasure. 'You've come back at last. I am so glad to see you.'

'And I am so grateful to see you, Jacob.'

'We were spared, sir. God, in His benevolence, took pity on us.'

'I have not observed much sign of benevolence out there,' said Christopher, stepping into the house and closing the door behind him. 'Nor much indication of pity. Every step of the way was lined with poor wretches who have lost the roof over their heads.'

'Sad times!' sighed the old man. 'Sad and sorry times!'

'Tell me all.'

Christopher led the way into the parlour and cast a glance around it to reassure himself that it was completely intact. Only when he saw that his portfolio of drawings was unharmed did he begin to relax. He doffed his hat and turned back to face Jacob. The old man was much more than a servant to him. Honest, reliable and eternally willing, Jacob was a rock in the shifting sands of his master's career and Christopher had developed such an affection for him that he even endured his flights of garrulity without complaint. At a full six feet, he towered over the podgy little servant and had a perfect view of his bald pate. Jacob peered up at him from beneath bushy eyebrows.

'It has been a nightmare, sir,' he said.

'When did the fire start?' asked Christopher.

'Early on Sunday morning.'

'And how long did it rage?'

'Four days.' Jacob sucked in air through his few remaining teeth. 'Four long, terrible days. It would still be burning now if the wind had not dropped on Wednesday. Rain fell and slowed the blaze down. They were able to fight it properly for the first time. Rows of houses were blown up with dynamite to make fire breaks. That stopped it spreading.' He jabbed a gnarled finger towards the window. 'Yet here we are on Saturday and the city is still smoking. They say it will be weeks before the last embers are put out. All is lost, sir.'

'All?'

'St Paul's is gone and over eighty churches with it. There is talk of at least ten thousand houses brought down, probably many more. They are still counting them. The Guildhall went up in flames, so did the Royal Exchange and I doubt if there is a livery hall still standing.'

'What of the Tower?'

'That survived - thank Heaven! It had the wind at its back and the fire never reached it though much of Tower Street Ward was afflicted. It has been an ordeal for all of us, sir,' said Jacob with a sudden shiver. 'I feared mightily for the safety of this very house for the blaze was moving west with a vengeance on Tuesday. A fire post was set up at the bottom of Fetter Lane but our parish constables with a hundred men and thirty foot-soldiers to help them could not stop some of the houses being burned down.'

'So I saw.'

'We have been blessed, sir. We escaped.'

Tears trickled down the old man's face and he wiped them away with the back of his hand. Christopher held him in a token embrace then led him across to a stool and lowered him on to it. Jacob was patently harrowed by the experience. The hollowed cheeks and the deathly pallor showed that he had enjoyed very little sleep and there was still a glint of terror in his eyes. Christopher felt guilty that he had not been there to share the ordeal with his servant and help him through it. There was much more to tell and he listened patiently while Jacob unfolded his tale at exhaustive length. As the old man unburdened himself, he was shaking visibly and his whole body twitched at the conclusion of his narrative. Christopher left a long, considered pause before addressing himself to his own concerns.

'What news of my brother, Henry?' he said.

'He has sent word, sir.'

'Was his own house affected?'

'No, sir,' said Jacob, rising to his feet. 'The fire stopped well short of Bedford Street. Covent Garden was untouched. Your brother wants you to call on him as soon as you may. He is most insistent.'

'Henry always is.'

'Messages have come every day.'

'I need to get my breath back before I go running to my brother,' said Christopher, dropping into a chair. 'I have been in the saddle for hours on end. Do we have any drink in the house, Jacob?'

'Yes, sir. The last of that wine is still in the cellar.'

'Fetch a bottle. And bring two glasses.'

'Two, sir?'

'I think you need sustenance as much as I do. Besides, we have something to celebrate. The house is still standing. That is a small miracle. Bring the wine, Jacob. We will raise a glass together.'

'If you say so, sir.'

The servant's face recovered some of its ruddy glow and his eyes glistened. It was a rare privilege to be allowed - however briefly - to step across the line which separated master from man and Jacob appreciated it. A smile touched his lips for the first time in a week.

'Hurry along,' said Christopher with a flick of his hand. 'I need a restorative drink if I am to face Henry. Conversations with my brother can be wearing at the best of times.'

There was never any danger of Henry Redmayne indulging his servants. He treated them with a lofty disdain, reasoning that they were fortunate enough simply to be in the employ of so august a gentleman and that they deserved no further encouragement lest it give them ideas above their station. Accordingly, the barber who shaved him expected no word of approval, still less any hint of gratitude. Achievement lay in performing his duty without eliciting too many grumbles from his testy customer. His razor moved swiftly but carefully. The sallow face of Henry Redmayne was not one over which he cared to linger. When his work was done, he held up a small mirror while a detailed facial examination was carried out. Henry kept him waiting a long time before giving a dismissive nod.

As soon as the barber quit the room, the manservant entered to help his master to dress. It was a silent ritual in front of a large gilt-framed mirror. Henry preened himself at every stage, lavishing particular attention on his petticoat breeches and his new long multi-coloured waistcoat. When he put on his embroidered coat, he stroked it lovingly with both hands then shifted his stance to look at it from several angles before giving a grunt of satisfaction.

It was only then that the manservant dared to speak.

'Your brother has arrived, sir.'

'How long has he been here?'

'A little while,' said the other tactfully.

'Tell him I will be down in a moment.'

The man nodded and withdrew. He knew better than to interrupt his master while the latter was being shaved or dressed. The visitor had been understanding. He had already waited for almost half an hour. Henry added five more minutes to the delay before he pirouetted in front of the mirror for the last time. When he descended to the parlour, he found his younger brother reclining in a chair and gazing intently at a painting of a naval battle. Christopher was still in his dusty travelling clothes. Henry strode across to him and struck a pose.

'So?' he said with a note of reproach. 'You have come at last. We can always rely on your absence when you are most needed.'

Christopher stood up. 'I had work to do in Oxford.'

'Have you finally discovered the concept of work?'

'Do not be so cynical, Henry. We cannot all have a sinecure at the Navy Office, as you do. Besides,' he added, running an admiring eye over his brother's fashionable attire, 'I had a more personal reason for being in Oxford. Father was visiting the city to attend a convocation there.'

'How is the old gentleman?'

'In excellent health.'

'That means he is still preaching interminable sermons.'

'He spoke much about you, Henry.'

'Fondly, I hope?'

'Alas, no,' said Christopher. 'With some asperity. Reports have reached him that you live a dissolute life in London, quite unbecoming to the elder son of the Dean of Gloucester. The fact that you have reached the age of thirty without the companionship of a wife is also of deep concern to him. In Father's mind, that serves to reinforce the truth of the rumours. He demanded to know if you were indeed the seasoned voluptuary of report.'

Henry winced. 'What did you tell him?'

'What he wanted to hear. That you led a Christian life which kept you completely away from the snares of lust and drunkenness. I assured him that you were regular in your devotions and often expressed regrets that you yourself had not taken the cloth. In short,' said Christopher with an amiable grin, 'I lied outrageously on your behalf.'

'Did he believe you?'

'Only up to a point.'

'Oh dear!' said Henry with a sigh. 'In that case, I will soon receive one of his stern letters, chastising me for my sins and urging repentance. How does he gather all this intelligence about me? Can a man not enjoy the pleasures of the capital without their echoes reaching the cloisters

of Gloucester? I will need to be more discreet.'

'Or more restrained.'

'That is out of the question.'

They shared a laugh. It was difficult to believe that they were brothers. Both were tall, slim and well-favoured but the resemblance ended there. Henry's long face was already showing signs of dissipation and the moustache which he took such trouble to cultivate somehow added a sinister quality. Christopher, by contrast, had a more open countenance and a clearer complexion. While he exuded health, his brother looked as if he was well acquainted with disease, especially the kind which might be contracted in a bedchamber. Handsome and clean-shaven, Christopher had dark brown hair with a reddish hue which hung in natural curls. His brother's hair, lighter in colour and straighter in texture, was thinning so dramatically that he had ordered a periwig.

'I am relieved to find you safe and sound,' said Christopher with unfeigned sincerity. 'When I heard news of the fire, I feared that it might have reached this far.'

'Happily, no. It did not progress beyond Temple Bar. But that does not mean I came through the ordeal unscathed,' Henry emphasised, keen to portray himself as a victim. 'For I did not. I shared the misery of many friends who lost their homes and suffered agonies of apprehension on account of my own property. As for the city itself, it was like being locked in Bedlam.'

'What started the fire?'

'That was the problem, Christopher. Nobody knew and so they drew their own conclusions. The blaze was so fierce and so widespread that it seemed to have been started deliberately. Mobs soon formed, believing that London had been torched by Catholics. Passions ran high and the wilder spirits took the law into their own hands. We had open riot.'

'Is there any proof of a Popish Plot?'

'The mobs thought so,' said Henry ruefully. 'They beat confessions out of any Catholic they could find. Innocent foreigners were attacked at random. Frenchmen, Italians and the like who were unwise enough to venture into the streets were set on without mercy. The fortunate ones got away with cuts, bruises and broken bones. I have no sympathy for the Old Religion - remember to tell that to our father - but I do not wish its practitioners to be torn to shreds by an enraged mob. I abhor violence of any kind. It was shameful to behold.'

'Were any arrests made?'

'Dozens. But since most of the prisons were burned down, there was nowhere to keep the miscreants. It has been a gruesome week.'

'Who, then, did start the fire?'

'Investigations still continue but the finger points to a careless baker in Pudding Lane. That is certainly where the blaze began.'

Christopher gulped. 'A vast city razed by the folly of one man?'

'The fellow denies it hotly but he looks like the culprit.'

'Who will buy bread from him after this?'

'Ship's biscuits. That is what he made. Hard tack. I should know,' observed Henry, straightening his back with self-importance. 'His output helps to victual our fleet. His damnable name has probably passed before my eyes a dozen times at the Navy Office. But enough of the fire,' he said, crossing to rest an elbow on the marble mantelpiece and display himself to full effect. 'It has wreaked its havoc and been brought under control. What we must look to now are the rich pickings it may offer.'

Christopher was puzzled. 'What rich pickings? The city has been reduced to a state of abject poverty.'

'Use your imagination, brother.'

'To what end?'

'Future prospects. One city may have vanished but another one must rise in its place. The opportunities for a talented architect are unlimited. Scores of them will be needed to act as midwives if the new London is to be brought into being.'

'That thought did cross my mind,' admitted the other.

'Seize on it, Christopher. It is the chance you have wanted.'

'I never wanted such wholesale destruction.'

'Nor more did I,' said Henry smoothly, 'but I am alert to the openings it suddenly provides. I know you think me heartless and given over entirely to a life of vice but I do honour my promises. When Father enjoined me to take you under my wing in London, I vowed that I would. I am sure that you will be gracious enough to concede that I have kept that vow.'

'You have,' said Christopher. 'I made much of the point to Father. It was the one honest thing I could say in your favour.'

'Did he have no strictures for you?'

'Indeed he did, Henry. He taxed me with my inability to settle in a career and he was not at all impressed when I argued that I had made my mark in several. As I reminded him, I studied law at Cambridge then became embroiled in anatomy before trying my hand, with some success, at writing poetry. Astronomy was my next love and I prospered in its study until the blandishments of philosophy seduced me away. I spent a whole year among fine minds. I tell you, Henry, there is nothing which thrills the blood so much as a lively debate with fellow-philosophers.'

'I would take serious issue with you over that,' said his brother, arching a lecherous eyebrow. 'When I wish to thrill the blood, I do not require the presence of a fine mind. A voluptuous body alone suffices. But come to your latest enthusiasm, brother.'

'It is much more than that.'

'That is what I hoped.'

'Architecture is my obsession.'

'For how many weeks is it likely to last?'

'Indefinitely,' said Christopher with polite vehemence. 'I have found my true metier at last. Architecture embraces all the other disciplines. It combines the severity of the law with the fascination of anatomy, the joy of poetry, the mystery of astronomy and the intellectual stimulus of philosophy. When you add the iron logic of mathematics, you have a profession which outstrips all others. An architect is at once an artist and a scientist. What could be nobler?'

'Nobility can wait,' said Henry, strolling across to him. 'All that I am concerned with is securing a regular income for you. I have seen your drawings and was much impressed. They are brilliant. And I know that you have applied yourself diligently to this new interest.'

'Oh, it is not new, Henry. The seeds were sewn long ago in Rome when I chanced to meet Signor Bernini. He designed the Piazza of St Peter's and much else besides. Albeit a Catholic - I have not dared to breathe his name to Father - Bernini opened my eyes to the beauty of architecture. I have been putting my ideas down on paper ever since.'

'To good effect. You are clearly very gifted.'

'It is one of the reasons I went to Oxford,' continued the other as the glow of idealism lit up his features. 'To watch the progress of the Sheldonian Theatre. It is an extraordinary building. Wren is a genius. His design is breathtaking.'

'I am glad you mentioned your namesake. Christopher Wren is indeed a genius. The Great Fire will be the making of him.'

'In what way?'

'He has been invited to prepare a plan for the rebuilding of the city,' explained Henry knowledgeably. 'Wren is not the only one, mark you. I happen to know that John Evelyn will be submitting his own scheme, as will others. I have also caught wind of a notion put forward by a certain Captain Valentine Knight, involving the building of a wide canal from the River Fleet to Billingsgate. Ha!' he sneered with a gesture of disgust. 'Have you ever heard such nonsense?'

'You are amazingly well informed, Henry.'

'I consort with the right company.'

'Which of these many plans will be adopted?'

'That is the one thing I cannot tell you. They will have to be assessed in due course. But my guess is that Wren will emerge as the leading figure. Pattern yourself on him.'

'That is my intention.'

'Carpe diem, Christopher. Commit yourself. Study in earnest. It will be months before any rebuilding is allowed and that gives you time to hone your skills. Be ready to help the phoenix rise from the ashes.'

'Nothing would please me more!'

'I will do my share,' volunteered Henry. 'It is astonishing what information trickles into my ears. When new houses are in demand, I will assuredly learn who wishes to commission some of them. My advice may even be sought in certain cases. How convenient it would be if I could recommend, as an architect, my own brother.'

Christopher was touched. 'Would you do that for me, Henry?' he said, unused to such filial assistance. 'I would be eternally grateful.'

'You can repay me by harping on my generosity when you next write to Father. Play the architect in your correspondence. Design a Henry Redmayne who is more appealing to a Dean of Gloucester.'

'That is a feat beyond even my talent,' said his brother with a chuckle. 'But I will do my best. As for your offer, I embrace it warmly. I will serve a speedy apprenticeship and be ready when the call comes.'

'Then there is no more to be said.'

They exchanged a warm handshake then Henry drifted to the mirror to make a few adjustments to his apparel. Christopher came up behind him with a knowing smile.

'You are going out this evening, I see.'

'I'll not let a fire deprive me of my pleasures.'

'But all your haunts have been destroyed, surely?'

'Some escaped,' said Henry suavely, brushing a fleck of dust from his sleeve. 'Besides, I am bidden this evening to an establishment in Faringdon Without. That ward was unmolested by the fire. Many who fled from the city have taken up residence there.' He turned to face Christopher and gave a quizzical smirk. 'I suppose that it is no use my inviting you to accompany me?'

'No, Henry.'

'A visit to a house of resort might educate you.'

'Love which has to be bought has no value for me.'

'It is the only kind a man can truly rely on, Christopher.'

'Enjoy it in my stead.'

'Are you not even tempted?'

'Not in the slightest,' said Christopher with a grin. 'I have a far more important place to visit this evening.'

'Where is that?'

'The city of London. If I am to help rebuild it, I must first see the full extent of the damage. That is where I will be while the light holds. You seek out the delights of the flesh, Henry,' he said, guiding his brother out of the room. 'I must go forth to meet my destiny.'