Page 189 of A Column of Fire

Rollo saw what they meant, but they were wrong. People were stupid and freedom was dizzyingly perilous. Men had to fight against Elizabeth’s heresy, even if it made life uncomfortable or even dangerous. ‘You women don’t understand politics,’ he said.

Margery’s son, Bartlet, came into the room. Rollo looked at the boy with pride. Bartlet was his nephew, and would one day be the earl of Shiring.

‘Can we play with the kittens today?’ Bartlet said.

‘Of course, my darling,’ said Margery. She explained: ‘Ned’s tortoiseshell cat has had kittens, and Bartlet’s fascinated by them.’

Lady Jane said: ‘I wouldn’t stay too long at the Willard house, if I were you.’

Rollo wondered why his mother’s tone was so frosty, then he recalled the struggle to make Margery marry Bart rather than Ned. That was ancient history, but perhaps Lady Jane feared people would think Margery had an ulterior motive in going to Ned’s house.

Perhaps she did.

Rollo dismissed the thought: he had more important things on his mind. ‘I’ve got to go to a meeting of the borough council,’ he said. ‘I’ll see you all at dinner.’ He kissed his mother and went out.

Kingsbridge was ruled by a council of twelve aldermen, all local merchants, chaired by the Mayor. Rollo had taken his father’s place as an alderman when he inherited the family’s wool business, but the current mayor was Elijah Cordwainer, a crony of Dan Cobley’s. The council met in the Guild Hall, as they had for hundreds of years.

Rollo walked up the main street to the crossroads, went into the Guild Hall, and climbed the stairs to the council chamber, conscious that he was about to take part in a venerable tradition. The room was panelled in smoke-blackened wood. Leather chairs were arranged around a conference table that was scored with ancient graffiti. On a sideboard was a round of beef and a jug of ale, for anyone who had not had time for breakfast.

Rollo took his place. He was the only Catholic in the room: none of the other aldermen had ever appeared at one of Father Paul’s clandestine services. Rollo felt vaguely intimidated, as if he was a spy among enemies. He had not felt this way before, and he wondered if that was because of the Papal Bull. Perhaps Margery was right. He hoped not.

The council regulated commerce and industry in the city, and the morning’s business was about weights and measures, wages and prices, masters and apprentices. It was reported that some visiting tradesmen at the market were using the banned Tower Pound, which was lighter than the approved Troy Pound. They discussed a rumour that Queen Elizabeth might standardize a mile at 5,280 feet instead of 5,000. They were about to break up for midday dinner when Mayor Cordwainer announced a last-minute addition to the agenda: the Papal Bull.

Rollo was puzzled. The council never discussed religion. What was this about?

Cordwainer said: ‘Unfortunately, the Pope in Rome has seen fit to order Englishmen not to obey her majesty Queen Elizabeth.’

Rollo said irritably: ‘What has that to do with this council?’

Cordwainer looked uncomfortable and said: ‘Well, er, Alderman Cobley feels it may raise questions . . .’

So Dan Cobley was up to something, Rollo thought. That made him anxious. Dan still blamed him for the execution of Philbert, and lusted for vengeance.

Everyone looked at Dan.

‘It would be a bad thing if the shadow of treason were to fall on the borough of Kingsbridge,’ Dan said, clearly making a rehearsed speech. ‘I’m sure you all agree.’

There was a mutter of agreement around the table. Margery had said at breakfast that the Bull made traitors of all Catholics, and Rollo now felt a dark foreboding.

‘To avoid all suspicion,’ Dan went on, ‘I have a simple suggestion: all Kingsbridge merchants should swear to the Thirty-Nine Articles.’

The room fell silent. Everyone knew what this meant. It was a direct attack on Rollo. The Thirty-Nine Articles defined the doctrine of the Anglican Church. Any Catholic who accepted them would be betraying his faith. Rollo would die rather than take such an oath.

And everyone in the room knew that.

Not all Kingsbridge Protestants were as hard-line as Dan. Most of them wanted nothing more than to do business in peace. But Dan could be slyly persuasive.

Paul Tinsley, the lawyer who was clerk of the peace for the town, said: ‘There have been several attempts by Parliament to make all public officials take an oath affirming the Articles, but Queen Elizabeth has always refused to ratify any such legislation.’

Dan said: ‘She won’t refuse next time it comes up – not after this Bull. She’s going to have to clamp down.’

‘Perhaps,’ said Tinsley. ‘But we could wait until Parliament makes a decision, rather than take the matter into our own hands.’

‘Why wait?’ said Dan. ‘Surely there is no one in this room who denies the truth of the Articles? And if there is, should he be allowed to trade in Kingsbridge after this Papal Bull?’

Tinsley persisted in his mild tone of voice. ‘You may well be right, Alderman Cobley. I’m suggesting merely that we should not act in haste.’

Rollo spoke up. ‘Alderman Tinsley is right. I for one will not sign a religious declaration put in front of me by Alderman Cobley.’ Untruthfully he added: ‘If her majesty the queen should ask for it, that would be a different matter.’ It would not, but Rollo was desperate: his livelihood was at stake.