Revelation

A MAN IN a white clerical robe was chained to a stone pillar in the nave and he was on fire, blazing like a human torch in the darkness though there was no fuel stacked around him, no visible reason why he should be burning. In the doorway someone fainted, and others sank to their knees and called out to the Lord. Barak and Sir Thomas Seymour went forward, Harsnet and I following. The heat from the burning man was so intense we had to stop seven or eight feet away. I shall never forget that dreadful sight. It was Reverend Yarington who was burning there, his clothes already charring, red burned flesh showing through, blood trickling into the flames with a sizzle. He stared at us in terrible agony, and I saw he was gagged, a cloth tied round his mouth with string. The sounds we had heard were his muffled howls.

He watched with bulging eyes the bulk of his congregation who stood horror-struck, until someone shouted, 'Water! Get water!' Three men rushed out of the church, and I saw Yarington's bulging eyes turn to follow them. But it was too late, it had been too late before we ever entered the church. Even as we watched, the flames engulfed Yarington's head. I gazed with horror as that proud head of white hair caught light, becoming a yellow halo for a second then vanishing with a hiss. As the flames began to rip his face apart, his head slumped forward, and the terrible grunting noise ceased.

'No smoke,' Harsnet said in a shaking voice beside me. 'No smoke and no fuel. This is the devil's work.'

The men who had run out returned with buckets of water and torches. They lit the plain whitewashed interior of the church, the black thing chained to the pillar. They threw the water over Yarington, and the flames went out with a sizzle and a hiss. Thin trails of smoke now began to rise from parts of the body. Sir Thomas Seymour stepped boldly forward and looked into the burned face. 'He's dead,' he said. He stepped back. 'Ugh, he stinks.'

I looked at Yarington's body slumped in its chains, the white clothes melted into burnt flesh. Someone turned away to vomit. Even Barak, whose stomach was of iron, looked pale. It was not just the sight, but the smell, roasted flesh mixed with that stink of rotten fish. I looked at the floor. There were spots of some thick liquid there. I bent and hesitantly put my finger to one of them, lifting it and sniffing hesitantly.

'Fish oil,' I said quietly. 'He was covered in fish oil, probably the oil from those great fishes that is being sold everywhere.' I turned to Harsnet. 'That was the fuel.' I looked again at the face, though my stomach heaved. The gag was burned into his face now. The cottar Tupholme had been gagged. I guess that Yarington had been drugged, was unconscious when he was brought in here and chained to the pillar. He would have woken with a shock to find himself on fire.

Around us people were speaking in horrified whispers, clinging to each other, women crying. Harsnet looked at the body of the vicar, taking deep breaths. Quietly, he quoted from the Book of Revelation:

'And the fourth angel poured out his vial upon the sun; and power was given unto him to burn men with heat of fire.'

Barak walked over to the side door and pulled at the handle, confirming it was locked. Already I could see the familiar picture: Yarington overpowered somewhere, rendered unconscious, the killer using the vicar's own keys to lock them both inside the church, then escaping through the side door when poor Yarington was set alight, locking it after him.

'The killer knew we would be here,' I said. 'How could he know that?'

'Jesu, he's right,' Harsnet said. 'This spectacle was meant for us as well as the churchpeople. But it cannot be coincidence that we are here too. My vicar. My poor vicar.' Tears started to his eyes.

'Taunting us,' I said bitterly. 'Again. Playing with us, showing we are helpless.'

Someone stepped forward to try and loosen the chains, but when he touched the metal he pulled his hand away with a yelp. It was still burning hot. Meaphon stepped forward. He took off his cassock and threw it gently over Yarington's ruined head.

Harsnet looked round at the shocked congregation. 'Listen to me, all of you!' he said. 'I will investigate this outrage, the murderer will be caught! But until then say nothing — nothing — of what has happened here tonight! It would only give comfort to our enemies.'

There were murmurs from the crowd.

'Nothing, do you hear! If this news spread it could cause a panic.

'We are all under threat enough!' Harsnet's west country accent was prominent. 'Finch, I make you responsible for people keeping silence until I return. Bring down the minister's poor body when the chains have cooled enough.' Harsnet turned back to Sir Thomas and Barak and me. 'Come,' he said quietly. 'All of you. We must see the Archbishop at once.'

Chapter Twenty-four