Ken Follett - A Column of Fire

Back in the courtyard, Carlos was wearing a sword under his new coat with the fur collar. He hugged his grandmother, who was weeping. Barney kissed her on the cheek.

Then Aunt Betsy said to Ebrima: ‘Kiss me one more time, my love.’

Ebrima took her in his arms.

Barney frowned, and Carlos said: ‘Hey—’

Aunt Betsy kissed Ebrima passionately, her hand buried in his dark hair, while Carlos and Barney stared in astonishment. When they broke the kiss, she said: ‘I love you, Ebrima. I don’t want you to go. But I can’t let you stay here to die in the torture chamber of the inquisition.’

‘Thank you, Elisa, for being kind to me,’ said Ebrima.

They kissed again, then Betsy turned away and ran into the house.

Barney thought: What the hell...?

Carlos looked amazed, but there was no time for questions. ‘Let’s go,’ he said.

‘One second,’ said Barney. He showed them his dagger. ‘If we meet Alonso’s men on the way, I won’t be taken alive.’

‘Nor will I,’ said Carlos, touching the hilt of his sword.

Ebrima pulled aside his cloak to reveal an iron-headed hammer thrust into his belt.

The three men left, heading for the waterfront.

They were alert for Alonso’s men, but as they moved farther from the house the danger receded. All the same, people stared at them, and Barney realized that they looked scary, with both Carlos and Ebrima bruised and still bleeding from the fight.

After a few minutes, Carlos said to Ebrima: ‘Grandma?’

Ebrima spoke calmly. ‘Slaves are always used for sex. You must know that.’

Barney said: ‘I didn’t know it.’

‘We talk to one another in the marketplace. Just about every one of us is somebody’s whore. Not the old ones, but slaves don’t often live to be old.’ He looked at Barney. ‘Pedro Ruiz, your girlfriend’s father, fucks Farah, though she has to get on top.’

‘Is that why she was crying? Because she’s lost him?’

‘She was crying because now she will be sold, and a stranger will fuck her.’ Ebrima turned to Carlos. ‘Francisco Villaverde, who is too proud to be your father-in-law, always buys slaves as small boys, and buggers them until they grow up. Then he sells them to a farmer.’

Carlos was still incredulous. ‘So every night, when I’m asleep, you’ve been going to Grandma’s bedroom?’

‘Not every night. Just when she asked me.’

Barney said: ‘Did you mind?’

‘Elisa is an old woman, but she’s warm and loving. And I was glad it wasn’t a man.’

Barney felt as if he had been a child until today. He had known that priests could put a man in prison and torture him to death, but not that they could also take all his possessions and make his family destitute. He had not imagined that an archdeacon would take a girl into his house and make her his mistress. And he had had no idea what men and women did with their slaves. It was as if he had been living in a house with rooms he had never entered, sharing it with strange people he had never previously set eyes on. He was disoriented by the discovery of his own ignorance. It threw him off balance. And now his life was in danger and he was trying to leave Seville, leave Spain, all in a headlong rush.

They arrived at the waterfront. The beach was busy, as always, with stevedores and carts. At first glance, Barney reckoned there were about forty ships moored. The morning tide was preferred for departure, for then the ship had a whole day of sailing ahead; but usually one or two would leave in the afternoon. However, the tide was already on the turn: they would soon be away.

The three men hurried to the water’s edge and scanned the vessels, looking for signs of imminent departure: hatches closed, captain on deck, crew in the rigging. A ship called Ciervo was already moving out of its berth, the crew using long poles to keep it away from the barks on either side. There was still time to get aboard, just. Carlos cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted: ‘Skipper! Do you want three strong deck hands?’

‘No!’ came the answer. ‘I’ve got a complete crew.’

‘How about three passengers? We can pay.’

‘No room!’

He was probably planning something illegal, Barney speculated, and did not want it to be witnessed by people he did not know or trust. The commonest crime, in these waters, was offshore dealing in American silver, to evade the king’s taxes in Seville. But straightforward piracy was not unusual.

They hurried along the river bank, but their luck was out. No one else seemed to be leaving. Barney felt desperate. Now what would they do?

They reached the downstream limit of the harbour. It was marked by a fortress called the Golden Tower. At this point an iron chain could be stretched from one bank to the other, so that raiders coming upstream from the sea could not attack the ships at anchor.

Outside the fortress, a recruiter was at work, standing on a barrel, calling on young men to join the army. ‘There’s a hot meal and a bottle of wine for every man who enlists now,’ he shouted to a crowd of onlookers. ‘Over there is a ship called José y María , and the two blessed saints watch over her and guard all who sail in her.’ He pointed, and Barney saw that he had an iron hand, presumably the artificial replacement for a real one lost in battle.

Barney looked in the direction indicated and saw a big three-masted galleon bristling with cannons, its deck already crowded with young men.

The recruiter went on: ‘We’re sailing this afternoon to a place where there are wicked heathens to be killed, and where the girls are as willing as they are pretty, as I can tell you, my lads, from personal experience, if you know what I mean.’

There was a knowing laugh from the crowd.

‘I don’t want you if you’re weak,’ he said scornfully. ‘I don’t want you if you’re timid. I don’t want you if you’re a girlie-boy, and you know what I mean by that. This is only for the strong, the brave and the tough. This is for real men.’

On the deck of the José y María someone shouted: ‘All aboard!’

‘Last chance, lads,’ the recruiter called. ‘What is it to be? Stay at home with your Mama, eating bread-and-milk and doing as you’re told? Or come with me, Captain Ironhand Gómez, for a man’s life, travel and adventure, fame and fortune. All you have to do is walk up that gangway, and the world is yours.’

Barney, Carlos and Ebrima looked at one another. Carlos said: ‘Yes or no?’

Barney said: ‘Yes.’

Ebrima said: ‘Yes.’

The three men walked to the ship, climbed the gangway, and went on board.

Two days later they were on the open sea.

Ebrima had sailed many miles, but always as a captive, chained in the hold. Seeing the sea from the deck was a new and exhilarating experience.

The recruits had nothing to do but speculate on their destination, which still had not been revealed: it was a military secret.

Ebrima had an additional unanswered question: his future.

When they had boarded the José y Mar í a they had been met by an officer seated at a table with a ledger. ‘Name?’ he had said.

‘Barney Willard.’

The officer wrote in the book then looked at Carlos. ‘Name?’

‘Carlos Cruz.’

He wrote down the name, glanced at Ebrima, then put down his pen. Looking from Carlos to Barney and back, he had said: ‘You can’t have a slave in the army. An officer can, though he has to feed and clothe the man out of his own money. But an enlisted soldier obviously can’t do that.’

Ebrima had studied Carlos’s face closely. A look of desperation had come into Carlos’s eyes: he saw his escape route closing. After only a moment’s hesitation he said the only thing he could say: ‘He’s not a slave, he’s a free man.’