A Burnable Book – Bruce Holsinger

London 1385, and at Moorfields outside the walls of the medieval city a young woman of quality is pursued, caught and brutalised, the attacker demanding “doovray leebro” after each beating. The book he seeks is not given up; the woman dies without revealing what she knows but not before calling out a cryptic couplet.

Nearby, hidden and paralysed with fear, another woman of lower rank (it is hard to get lower) listens to the words, intended she feels for her, as she clutches to her chest a cloth-wrapped parcel thrust at her by the fleeing gentlewoman moments earlier.

Though the book disappears into London’s seedier quarter its rumoured existence, loss and contents preoccupy the rich and powerful in King Richard II’s court – nobles, lawyers and the clergy all want to get their hands on it. Why? – It is a book of prophecies that foretell the death of thirteen kings of England starting with William the Conqueror. Twelve are already deceased (in the mode foretold) leaving Richard as the thirteenth, alive for now but not for long according to the book.

So is it a prophecy or a plot; and if a plot would not such forewarning foil it? However in the paranoid world of fourteenth century politics there is what the nineteenth century would term a catch 22: to admit to knowledge of the plot is proof of involvement and so treasonable. So although everyone but the king knows of the book no-one dare tell him.

It falls to John Gower, poet, dealer in confidential information, and general fixer to track down and recover the toxic volume, helped or hindered by his friend (and better poet) the renowned Geoffrey Chaucer. But the Moorfields murderer is also on the trail and as the book passes from hand to hand mayhem and violence follow.

Holsinger populates his novel with a mixture of historic and fictional characters and furnishes it with authentic-seeming details of medieval city life – from high court politics to the sex trade in the stews. His use of (possibly fictitious) vernacular, liberally in the latter context, cleverly obviates the need to use the more familiar (and offensive to some) nouns and verbs.

The novel rattles along for 450 pages alternating between Gower’s first person narrative and third person accounts covering the other characters’ movements. In addition to history and murder a subtler theme of deception is woven into the work giving it a flavour of a John le Carre thriller. The ending has a twist or two and ties up all loose ends satisfactorily.

It is a good enough book not to burn, particularly if historical fiction is your thing.