Ken Follett - A Column of Fire

Barney could not restrain his curiosity. ‘You were thirteen? Did you love him?’

‘I adored him. I was never a pretty girl, and he was handsome and charming. He was also affectionate and kind and caring. I was in heaven.’ Aunt Betsy was in a confiding mood.

Carlos said: ‘And then my grandfather died...’

‘I was inconsolable,’ said Betsy. ‘He was the love of my life. I never wanted another husband.’ She shrugged. ‘But I had my children to take care of, so I was too busy to die of grief. And then there was you, Carlos, motherless before you were a day old.’

Barney had an instinctive feeling that, although Betsy was speaking candidly, there was something she was holding back. She had not wanted another husband, but was that the whole story?

Carlos made a connection. ‘Is this why Francisco Villaverde won’t let me marry his daughter?’

‘It is. He doesn’t care about your English grandmother. It’s your Muslim grandfather he considers impure.’

‘Hell.’

‘That’s not the worst of your problems. Obviously Alonso, too, knows about Youssef al-Khalil. Today’s visit was just the beginning. Believe me, he will be back.’

After Alonso’s visit Barney went to the home of the Ruiz family to see what had happened to Jerónima.

The door was opened by a young woman who looked North African and was evidently a slave. She was probably beautiful, he thought, but now her face was swollen and her eyes were red with grief. ‘I must see Jerónima,’ he said in a loud voice. The woman put her finger to her lips in a shushing gesture, then beckoned him to follow her and led him into the back of the house.

He expected to see a cook and a couple of maids preparing dinner, but the kitchen was cold and silent. He recalled Alonso saying that the inquisition routinely confiscated a suspect’s goods, but Barney had not realized how fast it would happen. Now he saw that Pedro’s employees had already been dismissed. Presumably his slave was going to be sold, which would be why she was crying.

She said: ‘I am Farah.’

Barney said impatiently: ‘Why have you brought me here? Where is Jerónima?’

‘Speak quietly,’ she said. ‘Jerónima is upstairs, with Archdeacon Romero.’

‘I don’t care, I want to speak to her,’ said Barney, and he stepped to the door.

‘Please don’t,’ said Farah. ‘It will cause trouble if Romero sees you.’

‘I’m ready for trouble.’

‘I’ll bring Jerónima here. I’ll say a neighbour woman has called and insists on seeing her.’

Barney hesitated, then nodded assent, and Farah went out.

He looked around. There were no knives, pots, jugs or plates. The place had been cleared out. Did the inquisition even sell people’s kitchenware?

Jerónima appeared a couple of minutes later. She was different: she looked a lot older than seventeen suddenly. Her beautiful face was an impassive mask, and her eyes were dry, but her olive skin seemed to have turned grey, and her slim body trembled all over as if shivering. He could see the enormous effort it took to bottle up her grief and rage.

Barney moved towards her, intending to embrace her, but she stepped back and held up her hands as if to push him away.

He looked at her helplessly and said: ‘What’s going on?’

‘I am destitute,’ she said. ‘My father is in prison, and I have no other family.’

‘How is he?’

‘I don’t know. Prisoners of the inquisition are not allowed to communicate with their families, or with anyone else. But his health is poor — you’ve heard him panting after even a short walk — and they will probably—’ She became unable to speak, but it lasted only a moment. She looked down, breathed in, and regained control. ‘They will probably put him to the water torture.’

Barney had heard of this. The victim’s nostrils were closed to prevent him breathing through his nose, and his mouth was forced open, then jar after jar of water was poured down his throat. What he swallowed distended his stomach agonizingly, and the water that got into his windpipe choked him.

‘It will kill him,’ Barney said in horror.

‘They have already taken all his money and possessions.’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘Archdeacon Romero has offered to take me into his household.’

Barney felt bewildered. Things were moving too fast. Several questions occurred to him at the same time. He said: ‘In what role?’

‘We are discussing that right now. He wants me to take charge of his wardrobe, ordering and caring for his vestments, supervising his laundress.’ Speaking of such practical matters clearly helped her control her feelings.

‘Don’t go,’ Barney said. ‘Come away with me.’

It was a reckless offer, and she knew it. ‘Where? I can’t live with three men. It’s all right for your grandmother.’

‘I have a home in England.’

She shook her head. ‘I know nothing about your family. I hardly know anything about you. I don’t speak English.’ Her face softened briefly. ‘Perhaps, if this had not happened, you might have courted me, and made a formal offer to my father, and perhaps I would have married you, and learned to speak English... who knows? I admit I have thought about it. But to run away with you to a strange country? No.’

Barney could see that she was being much more sensible than he. But all the same he blurted: ‘Romero wants to make you his secret mistress.’

Jerónima looked at Barney, and he saw in her big eyes a hardness he had never noticed before. He was reminded of Aunt Betsy’s words: ‘Jerónima Ruiz has her eye firmly on her own selfish interests.’ But surely there were limits? Jerónima now said: ‘And if he does?’

Barney was dumbfounded. ‘How can you even say it?’

‘I’ve been thinking about this for forty-eight sleepless hours. I have no alternative. You know what happens to homeless women.’

‘They become prostitutes.’

This seemed not to shake her. ‘So my choice is flight with you into the unknown, prostitution on the streets, or a dubious position in the affluent household of a corrupt priest.’

‘Has it occurred to you’, Barney said tentatively, ‘that Romero might even have denounced your father himself, with the intention of forcing you into this position?’

‘I’m sure he did.’

Barney was astonished again. She was always ahead of him.

She said: ‘I’ve known for months that Romero wanted to make me his mistress. It was the worst life I could imagine for myself. Now it’s the best life I can hope for.’

‘And he has done that to you!’

‘I know.’

‘And you’re going to accept it, and go to his bed, and forgive him?’

‘Forgive him?’ she said, and a new light came into her brown eyes, a look of hatred like boiling acid. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I might pretend. But one day I will have power over him. And when that day comes, I will take revenge.’

Ebrima had done as much as anyone to make the new furnace work, and he harboured a secret hope that Carlos would reward him by giving him his freedom. But as the furnace burned for days and weeks his hopes faded, and he realized that the thought had not even crossed Carlos’s mind. Loading cold ingots of iron onto a flatbed cart, stacking them in an interlocking web so that they would not shift in transit, Ebrima considered what to do next.

He had hoped Carlos would make the offer spontaneously, but as that had not happened he would have to ask outright. He did not like to beg: the very act of pleading would suggest that he was not entitled to what he wanted — but he was entitled, he felt that strongly.

He might try to recruit Elisa to support him. She was fond of him, and wanted the best for him, he felt sure; but did her affection extend so far as to free him, in which case he would no longer be there when she needed love at night?