Page 198 of A Column of Fire

‘Yes,’ she said.

Ned stared at her, fascinated. She looked back at him boldly for a few moments, then she said: ‘Until this afternoon, then.’

‘Goodbye.’

When she had gone, Ned went to the window and looked out across the busy fruit-and-vegetable market of the place Maubert. She was not as afraid as she might have been of a crackdown on Protestants.It probably wouldn’t be a surprise, she had said. He wondered what means she had of finding out in advance about the intentions of the ultra-Catholics.

A few moments later she emerged from the door below and walked away, a small, erect figure with a brisk, unwavering step; willing to die for the ideal of tolerance that Ned shared. What a woman, he thought. What a hero.

He watched her out of sight.

*

PIERREAUMANDEde Guise trimmed his fair beard in preparation for going to court at the Louvre Palace. He always shaped his beard into a sharp point, to look more like his young master and distant relative Henri, the twenty-one-year-old duke of Guise.

He studied his face. He had developed a dry skin condition that gave him red, flaking patches at the corners of his eyes and mouth and on his scalp. They had also appeared on the backs of his knees and the insides of his elbows, where they itched maddeningly. The Guise family doctor had diagnosed an excess of heat and prescribed an ointment that seemed to make the symptoms worse.

His twelve-year-old stepson, Alain, came into the room. He was a wretched child, undersized and timid, more like a girl. Pierre had sent him to the dairy on the corner to buy milk and cheese, and now he was carrying a jug and a goblet. Pierre said: ‘Where’s the cheese?’

The boy hesitated, then said: ‘They haven’t got any today.’

Pierre looked at his face. ‘Liar,’ he said. ‘You forgot.’

Alain was terrified. ‘No, I didn’t, honestly!’ He started to cry.

The scrawny maid, Nath, came in. ‘What’s the matter, Alain?’ she said.

Pierre said: ‘He lied to me, and now he’s afraid of a thrashing. What do you want?’

‘There’s a priest to see you – Jean Langlais.’

That was the pseudonym Pierre had given Rollo Fitzgerald, the most promising of the exiles studying at the English College. ‘Send him up here. Take this snivelling child away. And get some cheese for my breakfast.’

Pierre had met Rollo twice since that initial encounter, and had been impressed by him each time. The man was intelligent and dedicated, and in his eyes there was the burning light of a holy mission. He hated Protestants passionately, no doubt because his family had been ruined financially by the Puritans in Kingsbridge, the city from which he came. Pierre had high hopes for Rollo.

A moment later Rollo appeared, wearing a floor-length cassock and a wooden cross on a chain.

They shook hands, and Pierre closed the door. Rollo said: ‘Is that young lady your wife?’

‘Certainly not,’ said Pierre. ‘Madame Aumande de Guise was a lady-in-waiting to Véronique de Guise.’ That was not true. Odette had been a servant, not a lady-in-waiting, but Pierre did not like people to know it. ‘She’s out.’ Odette had gone to the fish market. ‘The woman who admitted you is just a maid.’

Rollo was embarrassed. ‘I do beg your pardon.’

‘Not at all. Welcome to our humble dwelling. I spend most of my time at the Guise family palace in the rue Vieille du Temple, but if you and I had met there we would have been seen by twenty people. This place has one great advantage: it is so insignificant that no one would bother to spy on it.’ In fact, Pierre was desperate to move out of this hovel, but had not yet managed to persuade the young duke to give him a room at the palace. He was now chief among the Guise family’s counsellors but, as always, they were slow to grant Pierre the status his work merited. ‘How are things in Douai?’

‘Excellent. Since the Pope excommunicated Elizabeth, another fifteen good young Catholic Englishmen have joined us. In fact, William Allen sent me here to tell you that we’re almost ready to send a group of them back to England.’

‘And how will that be organized?’

‘Father Allen has asked me to take charge of the operation.’

Pierre thought that was a good decision. Rollo clearly had the ability to be more than just a clandestine priest. ‘What’s your plan?’

‘We will land them on a remote beach at dusk, then they’ll travel through the night to my sister’s castle – she is the countess of Shiring. She has been organizing secret Catholic services for years, and she already has a network of undercover priests. From there they will spread out all over England.’

‘How reliable is your sister?’

‘Totally, with anything that doesn’t involve bloodshed. There she draws a line, I’m afraid. She has never understood that violence is sometimes necessary in the service of the Church.’