Ken Follett - A Column of Fire

Pierre did not like that line of argument. ‘You can’t overlook this affront, your grace,’ he murmured. ‘It would appear weak.’

‘I don’t intend to appear weak,’ Scarface said hotly, and he kicked his horse on.

Le Pin gave Pierre a black look, but his soldiers followed Scarface eagerly, their spirits lifting at the prospect of action. Pierre decided to encourage them tactfully. He dropped back and spoke to a group. ‘I smell loot,’ he said, and they laughed. He was reminding them that when there was violence, there was usually pillage too.

As they entered the town, the bells stopped. ‘Send for the parish priest,’ the duke ordered.

The host moved slowly along the street to the town centre. Within a walled precinct stood a royal law court, a castle and a church. In the market square to the west of the church they found, waiting for them, the squadron of heavy cavalry they had come here to pick up: fifty men, each with two warhorses and a pack animal loaded with armour. The big horses whinnied and shifted as they smelled the newcomers.

Gaston Le Pin ordered the duke’s men-at-arms to dismount in the partly roofed market, and parked Cardinal Louis’s gunmen in the cemetery on the south side of the church. Some of the men went into the Swan tavern, on the square, to breakfast on ham and beer.

The parish priest came hurrying with crumbs of bread on his surplice. The provost of the castle was close behind him. Scarface said: ‘Now, tell me, are Protestants holding a blasphemous service here in Wassy this morning?’

‘Yes,’ said the priest.

‘I can’t stop them,’ said the provost. ‘They won’t listen.’

Scarface said: ‘The edict of tolerance — which has not been ratified — would permit such services only outside the town.’

The provost said: ‘Strictly speaking, they aren’t in the town.’

‘Where are they, then?’

‘Within the precincts of the castle, which is not considered part of the town, legally speaking. At least, that’s what they argue.’

Pierre commented: ‘A contentious legal quibble.’

Impatiently, Scarface said: ‘But where are they, exactly?’

The provost pointed across the graveyard to a large, dilapidated barn with holes in its roof, standing up against the castle wall. ‘There. That barn is within the grounds of the castle.’

‘Which means it’s my barn!’ said Scarface angrily. ‘This is intolerable.’

Pierre saw a way to escalate the situation. ‘The edict of tolerance gives royal officials the right to oversee Protestant assemblies, duke. You would be within your rights to inspect the service going on over there.’

Again Le Pin tried to avoid conflict. ‘That would be sure to cause unnecessary trouble.’

But the provost liked the idea. ‘If you were to speak to them today, duke, with your men-at-arms behind you, perhaps it would scare them into obeying the law in the future.’

‘Yes,’ said Pierre. ‘You have a duty, duke.’

Le Pin rubbed his mutilated ear as if it itched. ‘Better to let sleeping dogs lie,’ he said.

Scarface looked thoughtful, weighing up the conflicting advice, and Pierre feared he might be calming down and leaning towards Le Pin’s cautious approach; then the Protestants started to sing.

Communal singing was not part of normal Catholic services, but the Protestants loved it, and they sang psalms loudly and enthusiastically — and in French. The sound of hundreds of voices raised in song carried clearly across the cemetery to the market square. Scarface’s indignation boiled up. ‘They think they’re all priests!’ he said.

Pierre said: ‘Their insolence is insufferable.’

‘It certainly is,’ said Scarface. ‘And I shall tell them so.’

Le Pin said: ‘In that case, let me go ahead with just a couple of men to forewarn them of your arrival. If they understand that you have the right to speak to them, and they are prepared to listen to you in peace, perhaps bloodshed can be avoided.’

‘Very well,’ said Scarface.

Le Pin pointed to two men armed with rapiers. ‘Rasteau and Brocard, follow me.’

Pierre recognized them as the pair who had marched him through the streets of Paris from the tavern of St Étienne to the Guise family palace. That had been four years ago, but he would never forget the humiliation. He smiled to think how far above these thugs he stood now. How his life had changed!

They headed across the graveyard, and Pierre went with them.

‘I didn’t ask you to accompany me,’ Le Pin muttered.

‘I didn’t ask what you wanted,’ Pierre replied.

The barn was a ramshackle building. Some of the timbers of the walls were missing, the door hung askew, and there was a large pile of broken masonry outside. As they approached, he was aware that they were being watched intently by the men-at-arms outside the church and the gunmen in the graveyard.

The psalm came to an end, and silence fell as they reached the door of the barn.

Le Pin motioned to the others to stand back, then opened the door.

Inside the barn were about five hundred men, women and children, all standing — there were no pews. It was evident from their clothing that rich and poor were mixed promiscuously, unlike in a Catholic church where the elite had special seats. At one end of the barn Pierre could see a makeshift pulpit and, as he looked, a pastor in a cassock began to preach.

A moment later, several men near the door spotted the newcomers and moved to bar their way.

Le Pin took several paces back, to avoid a nose-to-nose confrontation. Rasteau and Brocard did the same. Then Le Pin announced: ‘The duke of Guise is coming to speak to you. Prepare the congregation to receive him.’

‘Hush!’ said a young man with a black beard. ‘Pastor Morel is preaching!’

‘Take care,’ Le Pin warned. ‘The duke is already displeased that you’re holding this service illegally in his barn. I advise you not to anger him further.’

‘Wait until the pastor has finished.’

Pierre said loudly: ‘The duke does not wait for such people as you!’

More of the congregation looked towards the door.

Blackbeard said: ‘You can’t come in!’

Le Pin stepped forward, slowly and purposefully, heading directly for him. ‘I will come in,’ he said deliberately.

The young man shoved Le Pin away with surprising force. Le Pin staggered back a pace.

Pierre heard shouts of indignation from the watching men-at-arms in the marketplace. Out of the corner of his eye he saw some of them begin to move into the graveyard.

‘You shouldn’t have done that,’ said Le Pin. With sudden speed he lashed out with his fist, hitting the young man squarely on the jaw. The beard provided negligible protection from such a powerful blow. The man fell down.

‘Now,’ said Le Pin, ‘I’m coming in.’

To Pierre’s astonishment and delight the Protestants did not have the sense to let him in. Instead, they all picked up stones, and Pierre realized that he had been wrong to assume that the pile was merely debris from the tumbledown building. He watched in disbelief. Were they really going to start a fight with hundreds of armed men?

‘Out of my way,’ said Le Pin, and he stepped forward.

The Protestants threw their stones.

Le Pin was hit by several. One struck his head and he fell.

Pierre, who did not carry a sword, stepped back out of the way.

Rasteau and Brocard roared with outrage at the assault on their captain. Both drew their rapiers and dashed forward.

The Protestants threw again. The two men-at-arms were hit by a hail of rocks. One gashed the cheek of Rasteau, the older of the two, the one with no nose. Another hit Brocard’s knee, causing him to fall. More men came out of the church and picked up stones.