Ken Follett - A Column of Fire

Rollo knew that Alice was right. Reginald was in danger of revealing his desperation.

Reginald said: ‘Then how about the priory?’

Alice shook her head. ‘I don’t want your half-built house.’

‘Then the southern part, the cloisters and the monks’ quarters and the nunnery.’

Rollo was sure Alice would not accept that as security. The buildings of the old priory had been disused for more than twenty years, and were now beyond repair.

Yet, to his surprise, Alice suddenly looked interested. She said: ‘Perhaps...’

Rollo spoke up. ‘But, Father, you know that Bishop Julius wants the chapter to buy back the priory — and you’ve more or less agreed to sell it.’

The pious Queen Mary had tried to return all the property seized from the Church by her rapacious father, Henry VIII, but Members of Parliament would not pass the legislation — too many of them had benefited — so the Church was trying to buy it back cheaply; and Rollo thought it was the duty of good Catholics to help that process.

‘That’s all right,’ said Reginald. ‘I’m not going to default on the loan, so the security will not be seized. The bishop will have what he wants.’

‘Good,’ said Alice.

Then there was a pause. Alice was clearly waiting for something, but would not say what. At last Reginald guessed, and said: ‘I would pay you a good rate of interest.’

‘I would want a high rate,’ said Alice. ‘Except that to charge interest on loans is usury, which is a crime as well as a sin.’

She was right, but this was a quibble. Laws against usury were circumvented daily in every commercial town in Europe. Alice’s prissy objection was only for the sake of appearances.

‘Well, now, I’m sure we can find a way around that,’ said Reginald in the jocular tone of one who proposes an innocent deception.

Alice said warily: ‘What did you have in mind?’

‘Suppose I give you use of the priory during the term of the loan, then rent it back from you?’

‘I’d want eight pounds a month.’

Ned looked anxious. Evidently he wanted his mother to walk away from this deal. And Rollo could see why: Alice was going to risk four hundred pounds to earn just eight pounds.

Reginald pretended to be outraged. ‘Why, that’s twenty-four per cent a year — more, compounded!’

‘Then let’s drop the whole idea.’

Rollo began to feel hopeful. Why was Alice arguing about the rate of interest? It must mean she was going to make the loan. Rollo saw that Ned was looking mildly panicked, and guessed he was thinking the same, but regarding the prospect with dismay.

Reginald thought for a long moment. At last he said: ‘Very well. So be it.’ He held out his hand, and Alice shook it.

Rollo was awestruck by his father’s cleverness. For a man who was virtually penniless to make an investment of four hundred pounds was a triumph of audacity. And the cargo of the St Margaret would revive the family finances. Thank heaven for Philbert Cobley’s sudden urgent need for money.

‘I’ll draw up the papers this afternoon,’ said Alice Willard, and she turned away.

At the same moment, Lady Jane came up. ‘It’s time to go home,’ she said. ‘Dinner will be ready.’

Rollo looked around for his sister.

Margery was nowhere to be seen.

As soon as the Fitzgeralds were out of earshot, Ned said to his mother: ‘Why did you agree to lend so much money to Sir Reginald?’

‘Because he would have made trouble for us if I’d refused.’

‘But he may default! We could lose everything.’

‘No, we’d have the priory.’

‘A collection of tumbledown buildings.’

‘I don’t want the buildings.’

‘Then...’ Ned frowned.

‘Think,’ said his mother.

If not the buildings, what did Alice want? ‘The land?’

‘Keep thinking.’

‘It’s in the heart of the city.’

‘Exactly. It’s the most valuable site in Kingsbridge, and worth a lot more than four hundred pounds to someone who knows how to make the most of it.’

‘I see,’ said Ned. ‘But what would you do with it — build a house, like Reginald?’

Alice looked scornful. ‘I don’t need a palace. I would build an indoor market that would be open every day of the week, regardless of the weather. I’d rent space to stallholders — pastry cooks, cheesewrights, glovers, shoemakers. There, right next to the cathedral, it would make money for a thousand years.’

The project was an idea of genius, Ned judged. That was why his mother had thought of it, and he had not.

All the same, a trace of his worry remained. He did not trust the Fitzgeralds.

Another thought occurred to him. ‘Is this a contingency plan in case we’ve lost everything in Calais?’

Alice had made strenuous efforts to get news from Calais, but had learned no more since the French had taken the city. Perhaps they had simply confiscated all English property, including the richly stocked Willard warehouse; perhaps Uncle Dick and his family were on their way to Kingsbridge empty-handed. But the city had prospered mainly because English merchants brought trade, and it was just possible that the French king realized it was smarter to let the foreigners keep what was theirs and stay in business.

Unfortunately, no news was bad news: the fact that no Englishmen had yet escaped from Calais and come home with information, despite the passage of a month, suggested that few were left alive.

‘The indoor market is worth doing in any circumstances,’ Alice answered. ‘But yes, I’m thinking we may well need a whole new business if the news from Calais is as bad as we fear.’

Ned nodded. His mother was always thinking ahead.

‘However, it probably won’t happen,’ Alice finished. ‘Reginald would not have lowered himself to beg a loan from me unless he had a really attractive deal lined up.’

Ned was already thinking about something else. The negotiation with Reginald had temporarily driven from his mind the only member of the Fitzgerald family in whom he was really interested.

He looked around the congregation but he could no longer see Margery. She had already left, and he knew where she had gone. He walked down the nave, trying not to appear hurried.

Preoccupied as he was, he marvelled as always at the music of the arches, the lower ones like bass notes repeated in a steady rhythm, the smaller ones in the gallery and the clerestory like higher harmonies in the same chord.

He pulled his cloak closer around him as he stepped outside and turned north, as if heading for the graveyard. The snow was falling more heavily now, settling on the roof of the monumental tomb of Prior Philip. It was so big that Ned and Margery had been able to stand on the far side of it and canoodle without fear of being observed. According to legend, Prior Philip had been forgiving towards those who gave in to sexual temptation, so Ned imagined the soul of the long-dead monk might not have been much troubled by two young people kissing over his grave.

But Margery had thought of a better meeting place than the tomb, and had told Ned her idea in a brief conversation during the service. Following her instructions, Ned now walked around the site of her father’s new palace. On the far side he checked that he was unobserved. There was a breach in the fence here, and he stepped through.

Sir Reginald’s new house had floors, walls, staircases and a roof, but no doors or windows. Ned stepped inside and ran up the grand stairs of Italian marble to a broad landing. Margery was waiting there. Her body was swathed in a big red coat, but her face was eager. He threw his arms around her and they kissed passionately. He closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of her, a warm fragrance that arose from the skin of her neck.