demolished and some of those that survived had lost their congregations temporarily to the outer suburbs. The few bells which did toll had a forlorn and apologetic note to them.
Jonathan's steps took him in the direction of Paul's Wharf and he was soon stopping to gaze wistfully at the ruins of St Peter's Church, once well attended, now deprived of its bell forever. Those who lay in its little churchyard would be its only parishioners from now on. St Peter's was not the only casualty in the ward. The churches of St Andrew in the Wardrobe, St Mary Magdalene and St Benet Paul's Wharf had also fallen to the flames. The spiritual life of the community had been dealt a series of crippling blows. Jonathan was still looking at the devastation when he heard a familiar voice behind him.
'Do not expect me to mourn its passing, Mr Bale.'
'What is that?' said Jonathan, turning to face the newcomer.
'I am glad that it was levelled to the ground. That is where St Peter's truly belongs. It was a Cavalier church. When the Lord Protector ruled, this was a refuge for the nobility.'
'I know it well, Mr Thorpe.'
'I would gladly have lit the match which set it alight.'
'Then I would just as gladly have arrested you for the crime.'
'Where is the crime in driving out sin?'
Jesus-Died-To-Save-Me Thorpe was a short, slim man in his fifties with a cadaverous face out of which two large eyes shone like beacons. He was dressed in the black garb of the Quakers and wore a high-crowned black hat whose wide brim had been singed by fire. His voice had the natural power of an orator and Jonathan had heard it raised in denunciation many times. The constable enjoyed an uneasy relationship with his neighbour, admiring him for his courage but deploring the extremes to which Thorpe sometimes went. Slight and innocuous in repose, the man could be highly volatile when moved by the Holy Spirit.
'Your attire is too eloquent, Mr Thorpe,' he observed.
'I am not ashamed to be seen for what I am.'
'Take care it does not lead to a beating. There are still mad fools abroad who believe that the fire may have been started by Quakers and who take revenge on any of your sect they encounter.'
'Violence holds no fears for me,' said the other bravely. 'Jesus himself endured many blows in defence of his beliefs. I have done the same before and will do so again.'
Jonathan heaved a sigh and glanced back at St Peter's.
'Whatever you say, it was a fine old church. It will be a great loss.'
'Not to me, Mr Bale. I have a long memory.'
'Too long, I fear. It is time to look forward and not back.'
'Yes,' said the other, 'thou wouldst say that. Thou art a parish constable now with duties and responsibilities. Mr Jonathan Bale upholds the laws of this corrupt Parliament. It pains him to recall that he was once as true a Christian as myself.'
'I still am.'
'No, sir. Thou hast betrayed us and betrayed thyself.'
'That is a matter of opinion.'
'Thou art familiar with mine.'
'It has not been kept hidden from me, Mr Thorpe,' said Jonathan with a wry smile. 'I hold fast to the beliefs which I have always held. Where you and I differ is in how they are best expressed.'
'Openly and defiantly.'
'That is the shortest route to the prison cell.'
'Why should we suffer punishment that others escaped?' said Thorpe, a bony finger raised in anger. 'Think back, Mr Bale. When this country was ruled by Parliament under the leadership of Lord Protector Cromwell, a due severity was introduced into church services. Not that we could accept the new liturgy ourselves,' he stressed. 'We wait in the grace and the truth that comes by Jesus. We need no liturgy and no priest to act as an intermediary between us and our God. And we were ready to suffer for those beliefs. But what of the congregation of St Peter's?' he demanded. 'Did they obey the law? No, Mr Bale. This church continued the hateful practice of dispensing the sacraments.
So many members of the nobility flocked here that they hung the galleries with turkey carpets for the accommodation of those titled sinners. The Lord Protector should have torn the place down.'
'He was not given to defiling consecrated ground,' said Jonathan. 'But I am surprised to hear you speaking with some respect of him. If we must look to the past, let me remind you that the same Lord Protector treated the Society of Friends with great harshness. Hundreds were imprisoned at his command. You were one of them.'
'I wore my ordeal as a badge of honour.'
'What of your wife and children, Mr Thorpe? I venture to suggest that they might have preferred to have you at home with them instead of languishing in a cell with your badge of honour.'
'My family and I are all of one mind.'
Jonathan bit back his rejoinder. There was no point in arguing with a man like Jesus-Died-To-Save-Me Thorpe. He was a combative Christian who thrived on debate. Mocking the established religion was a serious offence, committed by a headstrong man who refused to swear the appropriate oaths and who declined to pay tithes for the maintenance of the Church he despised. A printer by trade, Thorpe was also suspected of writing and distributing religious tracts which fell foul of the law. It was almost as if he was challenging his companion to arrest him. Jonathan refused to assist him in his search for martyrdom. Though the man was profoundly irritating, the constable had a sneaking fondness for him.
'Go home, sir,' he advised softly. 'I have no quarrel with you. In a bleak time such as this, I look for small mercies. I am pleased that you and your family came through the fire without undue loss. Your house was largely spared its ravages. Most of us were not so fortunate.'
'Indeed not,' agreed the other with genuine compassion. 'It has been a time of trial. Thou art a victim, Mr Bale, I know and I am truly sorry. I came past thy house on Addle Hill today and saw again how little of it is left standing.
Where are thy wife and children?'
'Staying with my parents in Hoxton.'
'Safe, then? That is good to hear.'
'Thank you for your concern.'
'We are neighbours, Mr Bale. I hoped at one time that we could also be close friends. But thou hast chosen another path.'
'It leads in the same direction as yours.'
'I would dispute that, sir.'
'Then you must do so alone.'
'Art thou afraid to discuss thy spiritual life?'
'Good day, Mr Thorpe. I must continue my patrol.'
A note of disappointment. 'Thou art not going to arrest me?'
'Not when there are so many real criminals to apprehend.'
Before the man could reply, Jonathan touched his hat in polite farewell and moved away. He escaped lightly. Jesus- Died-To-Save-Me Thorpe was a kind, generous, sincere man of undoubted intelligence but there were times when he could be the verbal equivalent of the Great Fire, raging wildly and consuming everything in his conversational path. Other members of the Society of Friends in Truth waited patiently upon the Lord but Thorpe was altogether too restless to sit in silence. It was only a matter of time before his incendiary disposition landed him behind bars again and Jonathan did not wish to be the man who put him there.
He went north up St Peter's Hill, turned left into Knightrider Street then immediately right into Sermon Lane. Each step of the way took him past ruined houses, empty shops and deserted inns. Yet there were curious survivals - stables which were untouched, a smoke- blackened warehouse with little interior damage, an occasional brick- built property with a tiled roof which had somehow kept the fire at bay. Jonathan wondered if there was any significance in the fact that the home of Jesus-Died-To-Save-Me Thorpe was still standing while his own had collapsed in a heap. Was there some hidden pattern to the Great Fire?
Carter Lane was another scene of carnage, a main thoroughfare which had been largely reduced to rubble, throwing untold numbers of people out of their homes and workplaces, and inflicting a gaping wound on the city.
