Page 152 of A Column of Fire

Stephen looked uncomfortable.

There was a silence. At last Margery said: ‘What should I do?’

‘Pray for forgiveness,’ said Stephen.

Margery frowned. ‘What on earth do you mean?’

‘Ask forgiveness for sin. God will be merciful.’

Margery’s voice rose. ‘What sin? I haven’t committed a sin! I am the victim of a sin – how can you tell me to ask forgiveness?’

‘Don’t shout! I’m telling you that God will forgive your adultery.’

‘What about his sin?’

‘The earl’s?’

‘Yes. He has committed a sin much worse than adultery. What are you going to do about it?’

‘I’m a priest, not a sheriff.’

She stared at him in disbelief. ‘Is that it? Is that your response to a woman who has been raped by her father-in-law? To say that you’re not a sheriff?’

He looked away.

Margery stood up. ‘You worm,’ she said. ‘You utter worm.’ She left the room.

She felt like renouncing her religion, but that did not last long. She thought of Job, whose tribulations had been a test of his faith. ‘Curse God, and die,’ his wife had said, but Job had refused. If everyone who met a pusillanimous priest rejected God, there would not be many Christians. But what was she going to do? Bart was not due back until tomorrow. What if Swithin came again tonight?

She spent the day making her plans. She ordered a young maid, Peggy, to sleep in her room, on a palliasse at the foot of her bed. It was common for single women to have a maidservant with them at night, though Margery herself had never liked the practice. Now she saw the point.

She got a dog. There were always a few puppies around the castle, and she found one young enough to be taught to be loyal to her personally. He had no name, and she dubbed him Mick. He could make a noise now, and in time he might be trained to protect her.

She marvelled over Swithin’s behaviour during the day. She saw him again at dinner and supper. He hardly spoke to her, which was normal; and he talked to Stephen Lincoln about current affairs: the New World, the design of ships, and Queen Elizabeth’s continuing indecision about whom she should marry. It was as if he had forgotten the wicked crime he had committed during the night.

When she went to bed, she closed her door firmly, then, with the help of Peggy, dragged a chest across the doorway. She wished it was heavier, but then they would not have been able to move it.

Finally, she put a belt on over her nightdress and attached a small knife in a sheath. She resolved to get herself a bigger dagger as soon as she could.

Poor Peggy was terrified, but Margery did not explain her actions, for that would require that she accuse the earl.

She got into bed. Peggy blew out the candles and curled up on her mattress. Mick was evidently puzzled by his new quarters but took the change with canine stoicism, and went to sleep in front of the fireplace.

Margery got into bed. She could not lie on her left side because contact, even with a feather pillow, hurt her bruised face too much. She lay on her back with her eyes wide open. She knew she was not going to sleep, as surely as she knew she was not going to fly out of the window.

If only she could get through tonight, she thought. Tomorrow Bart would be home, and after that she would make sure she was never left alone with Swithin. But even as she said that to herself she realized it was not possible. Bart decided whether or not she would accompany him, and he did not always consult her wishes. Probably, he left her behind when he planned to see one of his mistresses, or to take all his friends to a brothel, or to indulge in some other entertainment at which a wife would be an embarrassment. Margery could not go against his wishes without a reason, and she could not reveal her reason. She was trapped, and Swithin knew it.

The only way out was for her to kill Swithin. But if she did so, she would be hanged. No excuses would help her escape punishment.

Unless she could make it look like an accident . . .

Would God forgive her? Perhaps. Surely he did not intend her to be raped.

As she contemplated the situation, the door handle rattled.

Mick barked nervously.

Someone was trying to get in. In a frightened voice Peggy said: ‘Who can it be?’