Revelation

'That's the old Moor talking,' Barak noted shrewdly. 'In any case, here's another question. He's taking a hell of a risk, attacking you in public. But in that crowd he could have killed you. He could have killed Tamasin too.' His voice ended on a gulp, and I saw how the whole thing had harrowed him to the core. 'Why didn't he?'

'He wants me to withdraw from the case?'

'But they'd only appoint someone else.'

'Yes, they would.'

'It's almost as though the arsehole's taunting us. One thing's sure, you and I will both have to watch every step we take outside. Be glad we've got that man of Harsnet's in the kitchen.' He clenched his fists. 'I spot the bastard who's doing this and I'll kill him with my own hands.'

'No. We need him alive.' I shook my head. 'Is it Goddard, Barak?'

'I don't know.'

'We are so embroiled in the mystery and terror that it is tempting to clutch at any possibility.' I sighed. 'Whoever he is, I pray we catch him before someone else dies horribly.' I frowned. 'Before he shows us again how clever he is, for surely that is part of it.'

Barak's face was still clouded with perplexity and fear. To distract him I said, 'That crowd looked as though it could get nasty.'

'Bonner's after the player companies as well, then,' he said without much interest.

'As this morning showed, he could end by stirring up a hornet's nest. One the size of a city.'

'Ay. There could come a time when the sectaries fight back. Oh, a plague on both sides,' he added irritably.

'Indeed,' I agreed. 'Tell me, by the way, what do you think of Guy's assistant? Young Piers?'

'Didn't much like the look of him. Bit of a creeper and crawler, for all his pleasant manner and pretty face. He's clever, he sewed your arm up well. Trouble was, he looked as though he was quite enjoying it.'

'Guy would say he was learning the detachment of a medical practitioner.' I laughed wearily. 'Remember eighteen months ago, when you were hurt in that fall at York and found yourself an invalid? It is my turn now.'

He smiled.

'We have seen some troubles.'

'That we have.'

Barak still looked preoccupied. 'How is Tamasin?' I asked tentatively.

'Sleeping,' he said. 'She needs to rest. I—'

We were interrupted by a frantic knocking at the door, then urgent voices, Joan's and a man's. Footsteps sounded across the hall. Barak and I looked at each other.

'He's struck again,' I breathed.

But when the door opened it was Daniel Kite who stood there, his hair wild, breathing heavily.

'Sir!' he said. 'You must come! For the love of God, come!'

'What—'

'It's Adam, sir. He has escaped. He's got himself on top of London Wall, out by Bishopsgate, he's calling on the crowds to repent, to forsake the priests and come to God! They'll burn him this time!'

Chapter Twenty

IT WAS A MILE and a half to Bishopsgate, a painful walk through the London throng, my arm in its sling throbbing at every jolt. Daniel and Minnie strode on as fast as possible, Daniel with a set face, Minnie looking as though she would collapse at any moment. A gust of wind brought another squally shower, nearly casting my cap to the ground. I had donned my best robe and cap, for I guessed I might need to exert some authority at Bishopsgate.

Daniel had told me that a friend had arrived at his workshop an hour before to tell him that Adam was standing on top of London Wall, screaming out to the crowds that they must come to God for salvation. He had gone out there and seen his son haranguing a growing crowd; they had come for me because they had nowhere else to turn. I wondered angrily how Adam had escaped from the Bedlam. It struck me that this frantic preaching was something new. I had sent Barak to fetch Guy, with a pang of conscience at disturbing him again; yet he had come nearer than anyone to communicating with Adam, and if the boy could not be got down from that wall it might be the fire this time.

AS WE WALKED up All Hallows Street we heard the murmur of a crowd and shouts of laughter. A moment later Adam came into view. He was standing on top of the ancient, crumbling city wall, shouting down at the crowd which had gathered thirty feet below. Dressed in his filthy rags, his hair matted and his eyes wild, Adam looked like one of the wild country lunatics who escape their families and hide in inaccessible woods until they die of hunger. He was standing above Wormwood Street, perhaps fifty yards out from Bishopsgate Tower; somehow he must have got to the top of the gatehouse and clambered out. It seemed no one had gone out after him. The ancient city wall was wide but it was crumbling away in many places. Even as I watched, Adam dislodged a large stone with his feet, which crashed down to the crowd. 'Hey, there, look out!' someone cried. Adam almost slipped but managed somehow to regain his balance.

'You must come to Christ!' he bawled at them. 'You must, you must ensure you are one of the elect! The end is coming, the Antichrist is here! Please, you must pray!'