Free Dark Fire by C. J. Sansom Page B

Michael Gristwood had never seen anything remotely like it before and he was curious. There was a plaque on the barrel, with a name, Alan St John.
And some Latin words.
Lupus est homo homini.
’
    ‘Man is wolf to man.’
    ‘Those monks could never use plain English. Well, friend Gristwood thought to set the librarian to search for the name St John in the library. They found it in the catalogue and it led
them to an ancient box of manuscripts about Greek Fire, deposited there by one Captain St John, who died in St Bartholomew’s hospital a century ago. He was old soldier, a mercenary who was at
Constantinople when it fell to the Turks. He left a memoir.’ Cromwell raised his eyebrows. ‘He told how a Byzantine librarian fleeing with him to the boats gave him the barrel, which he
claimed contained the last of Greek Fire, together with the formula to make the substance. The librarian had found it when clearing out the emperor’s library and gave it to St John so that at
the last a Christian should have the secret, not the heathen Turks. You see the page is torn?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Gristwood tore off the formula that was written in Greek above that picture, together with instructions for constructing the throwing apparatus used to project it. Of course, he should
have brought it to me – it was monastic property and it belongs to the king now – but he didn’t.’ Cromwell frowned and his heavy jaw set. There was a moment’s silence,
and I realized I was twisting at my cap again. He went on in the same quiet voice.
    ‘Michael Gristwood has an older brother. Samuel. Also known as Sepultus Gristwood the alchemist.’
    ‘Sepultus,’ I repeated. ‘Latin for buried.’
    ‘As in the buried knowledge only alchemists can divine. Yes, like most of those rogues he gave himself a fancy Latin name. But when Sepultus heard Michael’s story, he realized the
formula could be worth a fortune.’
    I swallowed hard. I realized now how great this matter was.
    ‘If it’s genuine,’ I said. ‘Alchemists’ formulae for the creation of wonders are ten a penny.’
    ‘Oh, it’s genuine,’ he said. ‘I’ve seen it used.’
    Godless gesture though it was, I felt a sudden urge to cross myself.
    ‘The Gristwoods must have spent some time making more of the stuff, for it was March this year before Michael Gristwood came to me. Not directly, of course, someone of his standing
couldn’t do that, but through intermediaries. One of whom brought me that parchment and the other documents from the convent. Everything but the formula. With a message from the Gristwood
brothers that they had made Greek Fire, they were offering a demonstration and if I decided I wanted the formula they’d give it to me. In return for a licence on its development, so
they’d have the exclusive right of manufacture.’
    I looked at the parchment. ‘But it didn’t belong to him. As you said, as it was monastic property it is now the king’s.’
    He nodded. ‘Yes. And I could have had the brothers brought to the Tower and the information forced out of them. That was my first reaction. But what if they fled before they could be
arrested? What if they sold the formula to the French or the Spaniards? They’re a tricky pair. I decided to play along at least until I’d seen what they could do; once I’d found
out if there was anything in it I could promise them a licence, then have them arrested for theft when they were least expecting it.’ He set his thin lips. ‘That was my mistake.’
He looked at Grey, still hovering beside me. ‘Sit down, master clerk,’ he snapped. ‘You make me uneasy hovering there. Matthew can keep the parchment.’
    Grey bowed and returned to his desk, where he sat expressionless. He must be used to bearing the brunt of Cromwell’s temper. I saw Barak’s eyes on his master, a look of almost filial
concern in them. Cromwell leaned back again.
    ‘England has lit a fire across Europe, Matthew, the first large