Ken Follett - A Column of Fire

Ned was desperate to learn the Spanish king’s battle plan. Sylvie had asked her contacts in Paris to be alert for any clues. Meanwhile, they heard from Barney. His ship, the Alice , had anchored briefly at Dover on its way to Combe Harbour, and Barney had taken the opportunity to write to his brother to say that he would be in Kingsbridge within a few days, and he had a special reason to hope that he might see Ned there.

Sylvie had a competent assistant who was able to run the bookshop in her absence. Ned, too, was able to leave London for a few days. They reached Kingsbridge ahead of Barney. Not knowing exactly when he would arrive, they went to the waterfront every day to meet the morning barge from Combe Harbour. Barney’s son, Alfo, now twenty-three, went with them. So did Valerie Forneron.

Alfo and Valerie were a couple. Valerie was the attractive daughter of the immigrant Huguenot cambric maker, Guillaume Forneron. She was one of numerous Kingsbridge girls who had been attracted to Alfo’s Barney-like charm and exotic good looks. Sylvie wondered whether Guillaume had any misgivings about a suitor who looked so different from everyone else. However, it seemed that all Guillaume cared about was that Alfo was a Protestant. If Valerie had fallen for a Catholic boy, there would have been an explosion.

Alfo confided in Sylvie that he and Valerie were unofficially engaged to be married. ‘Do you think the Captain will mind?’ Alfo asked anxiously. ‘I haven’t been able to ask him.’

Sylvie thought for a minute. ‘Tell him that you’re sorry you haven’t been able to ask for his approval, because you haven’t seen him for three years, but you know he’s going to like her. I don’t think he’ll mind.’

Barney arrived on the third morning, and he had a surprise for them. He got off the barge with a rosy-cheeked woman of about forty with a mass of curly fair hair and a big smile. ‘This is Helga,’ he said, looking pleased with himself. ‘My wife.’

Helga immediately homed in on Alfo. She took his hand in both of hers and spoke in a German accent. ‘Your father has told me all about your mother, and I know I will never replace her. But I hope you and I will learn to love each other. And I will try not to be like the wicked stepmother in the stories.’

It was just the right thing to say, Sylvie thought.

The story came out in fits and starts. Helga was a childless widow from Hamburg. She had been a prosperous dealer in the golden German wine the English called Rhenish. Barney had been first a customer, then a lover, then a fiancé. She had sold her business to marry him, but she planned to start a new enterprise here in Kingsbridge, importing the same wine.

Alfo introduced Valerie and, as he fumbled for the right words to say they were engaged, Barney forestalled him by saying: ‘She’s marvellous, Alfo — marry her, quick.’

Everyone laughed, and Alfo was able to say: ‘That’s what I’m planning, Captain.’

Sylvie enjoyed the occasion hugely: everyone hugging and shaking hands, news pouring out, several people talking at the same time, laughter and delight. As always on such occasions, she could not help contrasting Ned’s family with her own. They had been just three, her parents and herself, and then two. At first she had been bewildered by Ned’s crowd, but she loved it now, and it made her original family seem limited.

At last they all began the short walk uphill along the main street. When they reached the house, Barney looked across the market square and said: ‘Hullo! What’s happened to the monastery ruins?’

Alfo said: ‘Come and see.’

He led the party through the new entrance in the west wall of the cloisters. He had paved the quadrangle, so that the crowds would not make it muddy. He had repaired the arcades and the vaulting, and now there was a market stall in each bay of the cloisters. The whole place was busy with shoppers.

Barney said: ‘Why, this is my mother’s dream! Who did it?’

‘You did, Captain,’ said Alfo.

Ned explained. ‘I bought the place with your money, and Alfo turned it into the indoor market that mother planned nearly thirty years ago.’

‘It’s wonderful,’ Barney said.

Alfo said proudly: ‘And it’s making you a lot of money.’

Sylvie, who knew a great deal about the needs of shopkeepers, had given Alfo much advice on the indoor market. In the manner of young men, Alfo was not saying a lot about the help he had received; and, in the manner of kindly aunts, she did not remind him.

In fairness, Alfo had good commercial instincts. Sylvie assumed he had inherited them from his enterprising mother, who had apparently made the best rum in New Spain.

‘The place is packed,’ Barney said.

‘I want to expand into the monks’ old refectory,’ Alfo said. Hastily he added: ‘That is, if you approve, Captain.’

‘It sounds like a good idea,’ Barney said. ‘We’ll have a look at the numbers together later. There’s plenty of time.’

They returned across the square and at last entered the house. The family gathered around the dining table for the midday meal, and inevitably the talk turned to the coming Spanish invasion.

‘After all we’ve done,’ Ned said with a gloom that tugged painfully at the strings of Sylvie’s heart. ‘We just wanted to have a country where a man could make his own peace with God, instead of mouthing prayers like a parrot. But they won’t let us.’

Alfo said to Barney: ‘Do they have slavery in Spain, Captain?’

Now where did that come from? Sylvie wondered. She recalled the moment when Alfo had become aware of slavery. He had been around thirteen or fourteen. His mother had told him that his grandmother had been a slave, and that many slaves were dark-skinned, as he was. He had been reassured to learn that slavery was not legally enforceable in England. He had not mentioned the subject since then, but Sylvie now realized that it had never left his mind. To him, England meant freedom; and the prospect of a Spanish invasion had renewed his fears.

‘Yes,’ Barney said. ‘Spain has slavery. In Seville, where I used to live, every wealthy family had slaves.’

‘And are the slaves dark-skinned?’

Barney sighed. ‘Yes. A few are European prisoners-of-war, usually oarsmen in the galleys, but most are African or Turkish.’

‘If the Spanish invade us, will they change our laws?’

‘Most certainly. They will make us all Catholic. That’s the point.’

‘And will they permit slavery?’

‘They might.’

Alfo nodded grimly, and Sylvie wondered if he would have the possibility of slavery hanging over him all his life. She said: ‘Can’t we do something to prevent the invasion?’

‘Yes,’ said Barney. ‘We shouldn’t just wait for them to arrive — we should hit them first.’

Ned said: ‘We’ve already put this proposal to the queen: a pre-emptive strike.’

‘Stop them before they start.’

Ned was more moderate. ‘Attack them before they set sail, aiming to do at least enough damage to make King Felipe think again.’

Barney said eagerly: ‘Has Queen Elizabeth agreed to this?’

‘She has decided to send six vessels: four warships and two pinnaces.’ Pinnaces were smaller, faster craft, often used for reconnaissance and messages, not much use in a fight.

‘Four warships — against the richest and most powerful country in the world?’ Barney protested. ‘It’s not enough!’

‘We can’t risk our entire navy! That would leave England defenceless. But we’re inviting armed merchant ships to join the fleet. There will be plunder, if the mission is successful.’

‘I’ll go,’ Barney said immediately.

‘Oh,’ said Helga, who had hardly spoken until now. She looked dismayed. ‘So soon?’