The King's Evil

'As a reward for recovering my stolen purse. It is the least that I can offer you. I can see that you are taken with it. Have it.'

'But it is yours, sir.'

'It is only one of several that I have,' said the young man, indicating the sheaf of papers. 'Do you see? I have two other drawings from this angle and three from the west side of the cathedral. Besides, I have tired of drawing what stands before me and have moved on to what ought to take its place. Look at this.'

He picked up the drawing which lay on the board and held it out for the constable to study it. Jonathan was frankly astounded. He had never seen anything so overwhelming in size and so stunning in conception. Where the old cathedral had a spireless tower, the new one was surmounted by a massive dome buttressed by paired columns. The facade featured a succession of pilastered columns and a portico which thrust out to lend additional sculptural impact. In place of the present churchyard was a vast piazza, enclosed by colonnades which reached out from the .main building like giant arms of marble.

Jonathan glanced at the ruins then back at the drawing.

'Is that what you could see when you looked up?'

'In my mind's eye.'

'It is ...'

'Amazing?' said the artist, fishing for compliments. 'Resplendent, ambitious, uplifting? Be honest, my friend.'

'It is like nothing I have ever seen.'

'That is because you have never been to Rome and imbibed the wonders of the Classical tradition. This is not so much a new design of St Paul's Cathedral as an English version of St Peter's in Rome.' He saw the scowl on the other's face. 'You disapprove?'

'Not of the drawing, sir. Only of its origin.'

'Too Catholic for your taste?'

'I prefer the cathedral we have just lost.'

'Yet that was built when England was of the Old Religion. Roman Catholic genius went into its design and building. True art should have no denomination,' said the young man, laying the drawing down. 'We should be free to borrow from all countries, whatever spiritual dimension they may have. I need to do far more work on the new St Paul's. You keep that drawing of the old one.'

'No, sir,' said Jonathan firmly.

'Why not?'

'I do not deserve it.'

'That is for me to judge. I may have the eye of an artist but you have the much more practical eye of a constable. While I was gazing into the future, you saw a pickpocket taking my purse. Hold on to the drawing in lieu of my thanks.'

'I do not wish to keep it, sir.'

'You are refusing the gift?'

'Yes, sir,' said Jonathan, handing it back to him. 'Excuse me.'

'Wait! You must not do this. It is a form of insult.'

'Then you brought it upon yourself.'

'Anybody else would have been delighted with such a drawing.'

'Give it to one of them.'

He tried to move away but the young man barred his way.

'Are you still angry with me because I stopped you from arresting that pickpocket? Is that what we have here? Pique and annoyance?'

'I could have done without your interference.'

'You had my apology. What more do you want?'

'Nothing, sir. I have duties to carry out.'

'What is to stop you taking my drawing with you?'

'My conscience.'

The constable pushed him gently aside and walked away.

'One moment,' called the other. 'What is your name?'

'Jonathan Bale,' he said over his shoulder.

'I am Christopher Redmayne and I am still grateful, however surly you choose to be.' He raised his voice at the departing figure. 'You are a sound officer. I will remember your name, Jonathan Bale.'

'I have already forgotten yours,' said the other to himself.

Chapter Four

When the cost of the fire was finally counted, chilling figures emerged. Four hundred acres within the city wall had been destroyed along with a further sixty-three acres outside it. Eighty-seven churches perished, as did forty- four livery halls and upwards of thirteen thousand houses. Several million pounds' worth of property went up in smoke. Business and domestic life were severely disrupted. Some trades were virtually expunged. Morale sank to a lower ebb even than during the Great Plague when, as many sourly observed, people were at least allowed to die in the privacy of their own homes.

Death itself, however, had been unusually restrained. Apart from the hapless maidservants in Pudding Lane, it claimed only eight other victims during the blaze, though the number of fatalities increased during subsequent weeks as people died from delayed shock or sheer despair at the enormity of their losses. Confidence shattered, hundreds of Londoners vowed never to return to the city itself and either settled in the outer suburbs or sought a new life further afield. Ruined tradesmen had no choice but to go elsewhere. Unjustly persecuted in the aftermath of the fire, foreign inhabitants thought twice about taking up residence once more in such a vengeful community.

Notwithstanding all this, the capital displayed, in general, a spirit of resilience. If the setbacks were to be overcome, an immense collective effort was needed and most people responded at once. Those whose houses or workplaces had been only partially damaged moved back into them as soon as possible to institute repairs. Within a week of the end of the fire, a man in Blackfriars cleared away the ruins of his old house and began to build a new one on the same site. Others elected to follow suit but their plans were immediately frustrated.

On the thirteenth of September 1666, while the smoke was still rising from parts of the city, a Royal Proclamation was issued, prohibiting any hasty building and empowering the authorities to pull down any structures erected before new regulations were put into place. The haphazard growth of the city over the centuries, with its narrow streets, its close-built dwellings, its superfluity of timber- framed properties, its surviving thatch and its inadequate water supply had contributed to its own demise. It might almost have been designed to assist the rapid spread of a fire. Such a disaster, it was insisted, must never happen again. Safety would henceforth be a prime consideration.

Rebuilding commenced in earnest the following spring.

'We must bear the new regulations in mind,' said Henry Redmayne, sipping his coffee. 'No half-timbering is allowed. The house must be built entirely of brick and stone with a tiled roof.'

'I would accept nothing less,' said his companion.

'Nor must the upper storeys jetty out.'

'Such a style would, in any case, offend my taste.'

'It is gone for ever from our midst, Sir Ambrose.'

'Thank Heaven!'

'I could not agree more.'

'That was an incidental blessing of the fire. It cleared away decrepit old houses that had no right to exist and rid us of squalid lanes and alleys where the poorer sort lived in their miserables holes. Yes,' added the other with easy pomposity, 'I did not support every recommendation put before us by the Commission but, by and large, their suggestions were admirable. I was particularly pleased that noxious trades have been banned from the riverside.