Ken Follett - A Column of Fire

He could hardly believe that Elizabeth Tudor had lasted twelve years as the illegitimate queen of England. She had given people a measure of religious freedom and, amazingly, her religious settlement had not yet collapsed. The Catholic earls had failed to overthrow her and all the monarchs of Europe had hesitated while she pretended she might marry a good Catholic. It was a terrible disappointment. Rollo would have believed that God was asleep, were it not a blasphemous thing to say.

Then, in May of 1570, everything changed, not just for Rollo but for everyone in England.

Rollo got the news at breakfast in Priory Gate. Margery was at the table. She was paying an extended visit to Kingsbridge to look after their mother, Lady Jane, who had been ill. Mother had recovered somewhat and was now at breakfast with them, but Margery seemed in no hurry to go home. The maid Peggy came in and handed Rollo a letter, saying a courier had brought it from London. It was a large piece of heavy paper, folded corners-to-middle and closed with a blob of red wax impressed with the Fitzgerald seal. The handwriting was that of Davy Miller, the family’s man of business in London.

Davy’s letters were normally about the price of wool, but this one was different. The Pope had made a formal announcement, called a Papal Bull. Such messages were not circulated in England, of course. Rollo had heard rumours about it, but now, according to Davy, someone had daringly nailed a copy to the gate of the bishop of London’s palace, so everyone knew what was in it. Rollo gasped when he read Davy’s summary.

Pope Pius V had excommunicated Queen Elizabeth.

‘This is good news!’ Rollo said. ‘The Pope describes Elizabeth as “the pretended queen of England and the servant of crime”. At last!’

‘Elizabeth must be furious,’ Margery said. ‘I wonder if Ned Willard knows about this.’

Lady Jane said darkly: ‘Ned Willard knows everything.’

‘It gets better,’ Rollo said jubilantly. ‘Englishmen are released from their allegiance to Elizabeth, even if they have sworn oaths.’

Margery frowned. ‘I’m not sure you should be so pleased,’ she said. ‘This means trouble.’

‘But it’s true! Elizabeth is a heretic and an illegitimate queen. No one should obey her.’

Lady Jane said: ‘Your sister’s right, Rollo. This may not be good news for us.’

Rollo carried on reading. ‘In fact, people are commanded not to obey her, and anyone who does obey is included in the sentence of excommunication.’

Margery said: ‘This is a catastrophe!’

Rollo did not understand them. ‘It needs to be said, and the Pope is saying it at last! How can this be bad news?’

‘Don’t you see what it means, Rollo?’ said Margery. ‘The Pope has turned every English Catholic into a traitor!’

‘He’s only making plain what everyone knows.’

‘Sometimes it’s better not to say what everyone knows.’

‘How is that possible?’

‘Everyone knows that Father Paul celebrates Mass for us, and Stephen Lincoln too, and all the other secret priests — but no one says it. That’s the only reason we get away with it. Now it’s under threat. We’re all potential traitors.’

Rollo saw what they meant, but they were wrong. People were stupid and freedom was dizzyingly perilous. Men had to fight against Elizabeth’s heresy, even if it made life uncomfortable or even dangerous. ‘You women don’t understand politics,’ he said.

Margery’s son, Bartlet, came into the room. Rollo looked at the boy with pride. Bartlet was his nephew, and would one day be the earl of Shiring.

‘Can we play with the kittens today?’ Bartlet said.

‘Of course, my darling,’ said Margery. She explained: ‘Ned’s tortoiseshell cat has had kittens, and Bartlet’s fascinated by them.’

Lady Jane said: ‘I wouldn’t stay too long at the Willard house, if I were you.’

Rollo wondered why his mother’s tone was so frosty, then he recalled the struggle to make Margery marry Bart rather than Ned. That was ancient history, but perhaps Lady Jane feared people would think Margery had an ulterior motive in going to Ned’s house.

Perhaps she did.

Rollo dismissed the thought: he had more important things on his mind. ‘I’ve got to go to a meeting of the borough council,’ he said. ‘I’ll see you all at dinner.’ He kissed his mother and went out.

Kingsbridge was ruled by a council of twelve aldermen, all local merchants, chaired by the Mayor. Rollo had taken his father’s place as an alderman when he inherited the family’s wool business, but the current mayor was Elijah Cordwainer, a crony of Dan Cobley’s. The council met in the Guild Hall, as they had for hundreds of years.

Rollo walked up the main street to the crossroads, went into the Guild Hall, and climbed the stairs to the council chamber, conscious that he was about to take part in a venerable tradition. The room was panelled in smoke-blackened wood. Leather chairs were arranged around a conference table that was scored with ancient graffiti. On a sideboard was a round of beef and a jug of ale, for anyone who had not had time for breakfast.

Rollo took his place. He was the only Catholic in the room: none of the other aldermen had ever appeared at one of Father Paul’s clandestine services. Rollo felt vaguely intimidated, as if he was a spy among enemies. He had not felt this way before, and he wondered if that was because of the Papal Bull. Perhaps Margery was right. He hoped not.

The council regulated commerce and industry in the city, and the morning’s business was about weights and measures, wages and prices, masters and apprentices. It was reported that some visiting tradesmen at the market were using the banned Tower Pound, which was lighter than the approved Troy Pound. They discussed a rumour that Queen Elizabeth might standardize a mile at 5,280 feet instead of 5,000. They were about to break up for midday dinner when Mayor Cordwainer announced a last-minute addition to the agenda: the Papal Bull.

Rollo was puzzled. The council never discussed religion. What was this about?

Cordwainer said: ‘Unfortunately, the Pope in Rome has seen fit to order Englishmen not to obey her majesty Queen Elizabeth.’

Rollo said irritably: ‘What has that to do with this council?’

Cordwainer looked uncomfortable and said: ‘Well, er, Alderman Cobley feels it may raise questions...’

So Dan Cobley was up to something, Rollo thought. That made him anxious. Dan still blamed him for the execution of Philbert, and lusted for vengeance.

Everyone looked at Dan.

‘It would be a bad thing if the shadow of treason were to fall on the borough of Kingsbridge,’ Dan said, clearly making a rehearsed speech. ‘I’m sure you all agree.’

There was a mutter of agreement around the table. Margery had said at breakfast that the Bull made traitors of all Catholics, and Rollo now felt a dark foreboding.

‘To avoid all suspicion,’ Dan went on, ‘I have a simple suggestion: all Kingsbridge merchants should swear to the Thirty-Nine Articles.’

The room fell silent. Everyone knew what this meant. It was a direct attack on Rollo. The Thirty-Nine Articles defined the doctrine of the Anglican Church. Any Catholic who accepted them would be betraying his faith. Rollo would die rather than take such an oath.

And everyone in the room knew that.

Not all Kingsbridge Protestants were as hard-line as Dan. Most of them wanted nothing more than to do business in peace. But Dan could be slyly persuasive.

Paul Tinsley, the lawyer who was clerk of the peace for the town, said: ‘There have been several attempts by Parliament to make all public officials take an oath affirming the Articles, but Queen Elizabeth has always refused to ratify any such legislation.’