Ken Follett - A Column of Fire

‘So beautiful, and almost twenty-five years old!’ Swithin went on. ‘A red-blooded man such as myself cannot help thinking that such beauty should not be wasted — you will forgive me for saying so.’

‘Will I?’ Elizabeth replied frostily. She never was amused by vague sexual innuendo uttered in tones of jollity.

Swithin sensed Elizabeth’s coolness and looked at the servants standing in the background. Clearly he was wondering if he might get on better without them listening. He was mildly startled when his eye fell on Ned, but he said nothing to him. Turning back to Elizabeth he said: ‘May I speak privately to you, my dear?’

Assuming unwarranted familiarity was not the way to charm Elizabeth. She was a younger daughter, some said illegitimate, and that made her ultra-sensitive to any sign of disrespect. But Swithin was too stupid to grasp that.

Tom Parry said: ‘The lady Elizabeth must never be alone with a man — on the instructions of the queen.’

‘Nonsense!’ said Swithin.

Ned wished that Cecil had been here for this visit. It was risky for servants to stand up to an earl. The thought crossed his mind that Swithin might deliberately have arranged to come on a day when none of Elizabeth’s senior staff were at the house.

What was he up to?

Swithin said: ‘Elizabeth has nothing to fear from me,’ and he chortled heartily. It made Ned’s skin crawl.

But Elizabeth took offence. ‘Fear?’ she said, raising her voice. She resented any suggestion that she was a fragile woman in need of protection. ‘Why should I be afraid? Of course I will speak to you privately.’

Reluctantly, her servants left the room.

When the door was closed, Tom said to Ned: ‘You know him — what is he like?’

‘Swithin is a violent man,’ Ned said. ‘We must stay close.’ He realized that Tom and Nell were looking to him for guidance. He thought fast. ‘Nell, will you tell the kitchen to send wine for the guest?’ If it became necessary to enter the room, the wine would provide a pretext.

Tom said: ‘What will he do if we go back in?’

Ned thought of Swithin’s reaction to the Puritan walk-out at the play. ‘I’ve seen him try to kill a man who offended him.’

‘God save us.’

Ned touched his head to the door. He could hear the two voices: Swithin’s was loud and Elizabeth’s was penetrating. He could not make out the words, but the tones were calm, if not very amiable, and he felt that for the moment Elizabeth was in no danger.

Ned tried to figure out what was going on. Swithin’s surprise visit must have something to do with the succession to the throne. It was the only reason a powerful courtier would be interested in Elizabeth.

Ned recalled that a much-discussed solution to the problem of the succession was to marry Elizabeth to a strong Catholic. It was assumed that she would be led by her husband in religious matters. Ned now knew Elizabeth well enough to realize that such a plan would not work, but others thought it would. King Felipe had proposed his cousin, the duke of Savoy, but Elizabeth had refused.

Did Swithin want to marry Elizabeth himself? It was possible. He might hope to seduce her on this visit. More likely, he might think that if he spent enough time alone with her the suspicion of fornication would make a marriage the only way to rescue her reputation.

He would not be the first to try. When Elizabeth had been only fourteen Thomas Seymour — a man of forty — had indulged in sexual petting with her and schemed to marry her. Seymour had ended up executed for treason, though his designs on Elizabeth had not been his only offence. Ned thought it was quite possible that the foolhardy Earl Swithin might be prepared to risk the same fate.

The tones of voice within the room changed. Elizabeth began to sound commanding. Swithin went the other way, countering her coldness with a voice so amiable it was almost lecherous.

If something unpleasant should happen, Elizabeth could shout for help. Except that she never admitted needing help. And Swithin might be able to silence her anyway.

Nell reappeared carrying a tray with a jug of wine, two goblets, and a plate of cakes. Ned held up a hand to stop her entering the room. ‘Not yet,’ he murmured.

A minute later Elizabeth made a noise that was almost a scream. It was followed by a crash and a tinkling sound that Ned guessed was a bowl of apples being knocked to the floor. He hesitated, waiting for Elizabeth to shout. But there followed a silence. Ned did not know what to do. He found the silence more sinister than anything.

Unable to bear the suspense, he threw open the door, seized the tray from Nell, and stepped inside.

On the far side of the room, Earl Swithin held Elizabeth in a bear hug, kissing her. Ned’s worst fears had been justified.

Elizabeth turned her head from side to side, trying to escape his mouth, and Ned saw her small fists beating ineffectually on Swithin’s broad back. Clearly she was unwilling. But this would be Swithin’s idea of courtship, Ned thought. He would imagine that a woman might be overcome by the strength of his passion, yield to his embraces, and fall in love with him for his forceful masculinity.

Elizabeth would not be won that way if Swithin were the last man on earth.

In a loud voice Ned said: ‘Some refreshments for you, Earl.’ He was shaking with fear but he managed to make his voice jovial. ‘A glass of sherry wine, perhaps?’ He put the tray down on a table beside the window.

Swithin turned to Ned but kept tight hold of Elizabeth’s slim wrist in his deformed left hand. ‘Get out of here, you little turd,’ he said.

His persistence shocked Ned. How could Swithin continue now that he had been seen? Even an earl could be executed for rape, especially if there were three independent witnesses — and both Tom and Nell were in the doorway, watching, though too terrified to enter.

But Swithin was nothing if not headstrong.

Ned realized he could not leave now, no matter what.

With an effort he controlled the shaking of his hands enough to pour wine into a goblet. ‘And the kitchen has kindly sent some cakes. You must be hungry after your journey.’

Elizabeth said: ‘Let go of my arm, Swithin.’ She tugged, but even though he was holding her with his mutilated hand, the one that had lost two and a half fingers, she could not free herself.

Swithin put his hand on the dagger at his belt. ‘Leave the room instantly, young Willard, or by God I’ll slit your throat.’

Ned knew he was capable of it. At New Castle, in his rages, he had injured servants in several incidents that had been smoothed over, later, with a combination of threats and compensation. And if Ned defended himself, he could be hanged for wounding an earl.

But he could not leave Elizabeth now.

The mention of a knife inspired him. ‘There’s been a fight in the stables,’ he said, extemporizing. ‘Two of your companions got into an argument. The grooms managed to pull them apart, but one seems badly injured — a knife wound.’

‘Bloody liar,’ said Swithin, but clearly he was not sure, and the indecision cooled his ardour.

Behind Ned, Nell and Tom at last came hesitantly into the room. Nell knelt down and started to pick up pieces of the broken fruit bowl. Tom cottoned on to Ned’s story and said: ‘Your man is bleeding quite badly, Earl Swithin.’

Common sense began to prevail. Swithin seemed to realize that he could not stab three of Elizabeth’s servants without getting into trouble. And his plan of seduction had collapsed. He looked furious, but let go of Elizabeth. She immediately moved away from him, rubbing her wrist.

With a grunt of frustration, Swithin strode from the room.

Ned almost collapsed with relief. Nell began to cry. Tom Parry took a gulp of sherry directly from the jug.