Ken Follett - A Column of Fire

Rollo met Donal regularly at a tavern called the Cock at Gallows Cross. The place was in fact a brothel, so Rollo was able to rent a private room where they could talk unobserved. If any of the girls gossiped about their meetings, people would assume they were homosexual lovers. That was a sin and a crime, but men who were on gossiping terms with prostitutes were not generally in any position to make accusations.

‘Dan is angry about Dean Luke being made bishop,’ Donal said one day in the autumn of 1563. ‘The Puritans think Luke turns whichever way the wind blows.’

‘They’re right,’ Rollo said contemptuously. Changing your beliefs with every change of monarch was called ‘policy’, and people who did it were ‘politicians’. Rollo hated them. ‘I expect the queen chose Luke for his malleability. Who did Dan want for bishop?’

‘Father Jeremiah.’

Rollo nodded. Jeremiah was parson of St John’s in Loversfield, a southern neighbourhood of Kingsbridge. He had always been a reformer, though he had stayed in the Church. He would have made an extreme Protestant bishop, highly intolerant of people who missed the old ways. ‘Thank heaven Dan didn’t get his way.’

‘He hasn’t given up.’

‘What do you mean? The decision is made. The queen has announced it. Luke will be consecrated the day after tomorrow.’

‘Dan has plans. That’s why I asked to see you. You’ll be interested.’

‘Go on.’

‘For the consecration of a new bishop, the clergy always bring out St Adolphus.’

‘Ah, yes.’ Kingsbridge Cathedral had possessed the bones of St Adolphus for centuries. They were kept in a jewelled reliquary that was on display in the chancel. Pilgrims came from all over Western Europe to pray to the saint for health and good fortune. ‘But perhaps Luke will leave the bones where they are this time.’

Donal shook his head. ‘Luke is going to bring them out for the procession, because that’s what the people of Kingsbridge want. He says no one is worshipping the bones, so it’s not idolatry. They are just revering the memory of the holy man.’

‘Always a compromiser, that Luke.’

‘The Puritans think it’s blasphemy.’

‘No surprise.’

‘On Sunday they will intervene.’

Rollo raised his eyebrows. This was interesting. ‘What are they going to do?’

‘When the bones are elevated during the ceremony, they will seize the reliquary and desecrate the remains of the saint — all the while calling on God to strike them dead if he disapproves.’

Rollo was shocked. ‘They would do that to relics that have been cherished by the priests of Kingsbridge for five hundred years?’

‘Yes.’

Even Queen Elizabeth frowned on this kind of thing. A lot of iconoclasm had gone on during the reign of Edward VI, but Elizabeth had passed a law making it a crime to destroy pictures and objects belonging to the Church. However, the ban had been only partially successful: there were a lot of ultra-Protestants. ‘I shouldn’t be so surprised,’ Rollo said.

‘I thought you’d like to know.’

He was right about that. A secret was a weapon. But more than that, the possession of knowledge that others did not share always filled Rollo with elation. He could hug it to himself at night and feel powerful.

He reached into his pocket and handed Donal five of the gold coins called angels, each worth ten shillings or half a pound. ‘Well done,’ he said.

Donal pocketed the money with a satisfied air. ‘Thank you.’

Rollo could not help thinking of Judas Iscariot’s thirty pieces of silver. ‘Stay in touch,’ he said, and left.

He crossed Merthin’s bridge to the city centre and walked up the main street. There was a cold autumn bite to the air that seemed to intensify his excitement. As he looked up at the ancient holy stones of the cathedral he thrilled with horror to think of the blasphemy that was planned, and he vowed to prevent it.

Then it occurred to him that he might do more than just prevent it. Was there a way he could turn the incident to advantage?

Walking slowly, thinking hard, he went into Priory Gate, his father’s palace. Building it had almost broken the Fitzgerald family. But, in the end, it was the Willard family who had been broken. Now five years old, the house had lost its brand-new sheen and had mellowed. The pale grey of the stones, from the same quarry as those of the cathedral, had darkened a little in the English rain and the smoke of two thousand Kingsbridge fireplaces.

Earl Swithin was visiting, with Bart and Margery. They had come for the consecration of the new bishop. They were staying at the earl’s house on Leper Island, but spent much of their time at Priory Gate, and Rollo hoped they were here now, for he was bursting to tell Swithin the news he had heard from Donal. The earl would be even more outraged than Rollo himself.

He went up the marble staircase and entered Sir Reginald’s parlour. Although there were grander rooms in the house, this was where people gathered to talk business. Sir Reginald, old enough now to be sensitive to cold weather, had a fire blazing. The guests were there, and a jug of wine stood on a side table.

Rollo felt proud to see the earl of the county making himself comfortable in the house. Rollo knew that his father was equally proud, though he never said so — but in Swithin’s presence he became more restrained and judicious in his conversation, presenting himself as a wise and experienced counsellor, repressing the impulsive, belligerent side of his character.

Bart was by Swithin’s side, physically a younger version of the earl, though not such a strong character. Bart revered his powerful, assertive father, but he might never match him.

The old guard are still here, Rollo thought, despite Elizabeth. They had suffered reverses but they were not beaten.

He sat next to his sister, Margery, and accepted a cup of wine from his mother. He was vaguely worried about Margery. She was only twenty, but looked older. She had lost weight, there was no colour in her cheeks, and she had a bruise on her jaw. She had always been proud of her appearance, to the point of vanity, in his opinion, but today she wore a drab dress and her hair was greasy and unkempt. He had no doubt that she was unhappy, but he was not sure why. He had asked her directly whether Bart was cruel to her, but she had said firmly: ‘Bart is a decent husband.’ Perhaps she was disappointed that she had not yet conceived a child. Whatever the reason for her unhappiness, he just hoped she was not going to cause trouble.

He took a gulp of wine and said: ‘I’ve got some disturbing news. I’ve been talking to Donal Gloster.’

‘Despicable character,’ said Sir Reginald.

‘Contemptible, but useful. Without him we would not know that Dan Cobley and the Puritans are planning an outrage on Sunday, at the consecration of Luke Richards, whom they find insufficiently heretical for their taste.’

‘An outrage?’ said his father. ‘What are they going to do?’

Rollo dropped his bombshell. ‘Desecrate the bones of the saint.’

There was a moment of stunned silence.

Margery whispered: ‘No.’

Earl Swithin said: ‘I’ll stick my sword in his guts, if he tries it.’

Rollo’s eyes widened. The violence might not be one-sided: he had not thought of that.

His mother spoke up feistily. ‘If you kill a man in church, Swithin, you’ll be executed. Even an earl can’t get away with that.’ Lady Jane’s perky charm allowed her to speak bluntly.

Swithin looked downcast. ‘You’re right, damn it.’

Rollo said: ‘I think she may be wrong, my lord.’

‘How?’

‘Yes,’ said Lady Jane, arching her eyebrows. ‘Tell us how I’m wrong, my clever son.’