Ken Follett - A Column of Fire

‘Thank you.’ Margery was wearing a sky-blue velvet cap. She showed Sylvie the cloth she was contemplating. ‘Do you like this colour?’

‘You’re too young to wear burgundy,’ Sylvie said with a smile.

‘That’s kind.’

‘I saw your two sons. Roger has a beard now!’

‘They grow up too fast.’

‘I envy you. I have never conceived. I know Ned is disappointed, though he doesn’t complain.’

Sylvie’s intimacy with Ned’s unspoken feelings, so casually revealed, caused Margery to feel a hot wave of jealousy. You have no children, she thought, but you’ve got him.

She said: ‘I’m worried about my boys. If the Spanish invade us, they will have to fight.’

‘Ned says the queen’s ships will try to prevent the Spanish soldiers landing.’

‘I’m not sure we have enough ships.’

‘Perhaps God will be on our side.’

‘I’m not as sure as I used to be about whose side God is on.’

Sylvie smiled ruefully. ‘Nor am I.’

Out of the corner of her eye Margery saw Bart enter the indoor market. She was forced to make a quick decision. ‘Will you give Ned a message from me?’

‘Of course. But he’s here somewhere—’

‘I’m sorry, there’s no time. Ask him to raid New Castle and arrest Bart, Bartlet and Roger. He will find weapons stockpiled in the old oven — they’re to support the invaders.’ Her plan was risky, she knew, but she trusted Ned.

‘I’ll tell him,’ Sylvie said, wide-eyed. ‘But why do you want your sons arrested?’

‘So that they won’t have to fight. Better in prison than in the graveyard.’

Sylvie appeared startled by that thought. Perhaps she had not imagined that children might bring pain as well as joy.

Margery glanced at Bart. He had not yet noticed her. If she parted from Sylvie now he would not know that they had been talking. ‘Thank you,’ Margery said, and she walked away.

She did see Ned the following day, in the cathedral at the Easter service. His familiar slim figure was dear to her still, after all these years. Her heartbeat seemed to slow, and she was suffused by a mixture of love and regret that gave her joy and pain in equal measure. She was glad she had put on a new blue coat this morning. However, she did not speak to him. The temptation was strong: she longed to look into his eyes and see them crinkle at the corners when he said something wry. But she resisted.

She left Kingsbridge and returned to New Castle with her family on the Tuesday after Easter. On the Wednesday, Ned Willard came.

Margery was in the courtyard when a sentry on the battlements called out: ‘Horsemen on the Kingsbridge road! Twelve... fifteen... maybe twenty!’

She hurried into the house. Bart, Bartlet and Roger were in the great hall, already buckling on their swords. ‘It’s probably the sheriff of Kingsbridge,’ Bart said.

Stephen Lincoln appeared. ‘The hiding place is full of weapons!’ he said in a frightened voice. ‘What am I to do?’

Margery had thought about this in advance. ‘Take the box of sacramentals and leave by the back gate. Go to the tavern in the village and wait until you hear from us that the coast is clear.’ The villagers were all Catholic, and would not betray him.

Stephen hurried away.

Addressing the boys, she said: ‘You two are to say nothing and do nothing, do you hear? Leave it to your father to speak. Sit still.’

Bart said: ‘Unless I tell them otherwise.’

‘Unless your father tells you otherwise,’ she repeated.

Bart was not the father of either boy, but she had kept that secret well.

She realized it was thirty years since she and Ned had met in this hall after he returned from Calais. What was the play they had seen? Mary Magdalene . She had been so excited after kissing him that she had watched the performance without taking any of it in. She had been full of hope for a happy life with Ned. If I had known then how my life was going to turn out, she thought, I might have thrown myself from the battlements.

She heard the horses enter the courtyard, and a minute later the sheriff walked into the great hall. It was Rob Matthewson, the son of old Sheriff Matthewson, who had died. Rob was as big as his father and equally determined not to be ordered around by anyone but the queen.

Matthewson was followed by a large group of men-at-arms, Ned Willard among them. Seeing Ned up close, Margery noticed that his face was beginning to show lines of strain around the nose and mouth, and there was a touch of grey in his dark hair.

He was letting the sheriff take the lead. ‘I must search your house, Earl Bart,’ Matthewson said.

Bart said: ‘What the devil are you looking for, you insolent dog?’

‘I have information that there is a Catholic priest called Stephen Lincoln here. You and your family must stay in this room while I look for him.’

‘I’m not going anywhere,’ Bart said. ‘This is where I live.’

The sheriff went out again, and his entourage followed. Ned paused at the door. ‘I’m very sorry this has happened, Countess Margery,’ he said.

She went along with his act. ‘No, you’re not,’ she said, as if angry with him.

He went on: ‘But with the king of Spain getting ready to invade us, no one’s loyalty can be taken for granted.’

Bart gave a disgusted grunt. Ned said no more and went out.

A few minutes later, they heard shouts of triumph, and Margery guessed that Ned had guided Matthewson to the hidey-hole.

She looked at her husband, who had obviously made the same guess. Consternation and anger appeared on Bart’s face, and Margery knew there was going to be trouble.

The sheriff’s men began to drag the weapons into the great hall. ‘Swords,’ the sheriff said. ‘Dozens of them! Guns and ammunition. Battleaxes. Bows and arrows. All tucked away in a little secret room. Earl Bart, you are under arrest.’

Bart was apoplectic. He had been found out. He stood up and began to rage. ‘How dare you?’ he yelled. ‘I am the earl of Shiring. You cannot do this and expect to live.’ Red in the face, he raised his voice even more. ‘Guards!’ he shouted. ‘In here!’ Then he drew his sword.

Bartlet and Roger followed suit.

Margery screamed: ‘No!’ She had done this to keep her sons safe but instead she had put their lives in danger. ‘Stop!’

The sheriff and his men drew too.

Ned did not draw his sword, but held up his arms and shouted: ‘Hold it, everyone! Nothing will be achieved by a fight, and anyone who attacks the sheriff’s men will hang.’

The two groups faced each other across the hall. Bart’s men-at-arms came in to stand behind their earl, and more of the sheriff’s men appeared. Margery could hardly believe how quickly this had gone wrong. If they fought, there would be terrible slaughter.

Bart yelled: ‘Kill them all!’

Then he fell over.

He went down like a tree, slowly at first then faster, hitting the stone floor with a sickening thud.

Margery had often seen him fall down drunk, but this was grimly different.

Everyone froze.

Margery knelt beside Bart and put her palm on his chest. Then she felt his wrist and his neck. There was no sign of life.

She stared at her husband. He was a self-indulgent man who had done nothing but please himself, heedless of others, during his fifty years on earth.

‘He’s dead,’ she said.

And all she felt was relief.

Pierre Aumande went to the apartment where he kept Louise de Nîmes, his mistress for the last four years. He found her richly robed, with her hair in an elaborate coiffure, as if she were going to court, which, of course, she was never permitted to do. He always made her dress formally, for that intensified the pleasure of degrading her. Anyone could humiliate a servant, but Louise was a marchioness.