Page 80 of The Armor of Light

‘Indeed. And I’m a strong supporter of freedom of speech.’ This was the opposite of the truth, but it was a good thing to say. ‘However, we’re at war, and the country needs to be united against the damned French.’

Northwood shook his head. ‘You can go too far with repression, you know.’

That had never worried Hornbeam. ‘I don’t see just what you mean.’

‘Well, I’m sure you’ve heard what happened to Alf Nash, the dairyman.’

Hornbeam was startled. How did Northwood know about that already? ‘What has that got to do with anything?’

‘People are saying that Nash accused the printer who was flogged, and was beaten in revenge.’

‘That’s outrageous!’ protested Hornbeam, knowing full well that it was true. Spade and his friends had already put this story out around town, Hornbeam guessed.

‘I have men flogged sometimes,’ Northwood said. ‘It’s an appropriate punishment for thievery or rape. But a dozen or so lashes is plenty. The man is hurt and humiliated in front of his friends, and he vows never to take that risk again. However, sentences of fifty lashes or more are seen as vicious cruelty, and arouse sympathy for theoffender. The man becomes a hero. He shows the scars like campaign medals. The punishment backfires.’

Hornbeam saw that he was getting nowhere. ‘Well, all I can say is that Kingsbridge traders on the whole would like to see subversive meetings banned.’

‘I’m not surprised. But we also have a duty to our inferiors, don’t we? A horse that never leaves the stable soon loses its strength.’

Hornbeam was wasting his time. He stood up abruptly. ‘Thank you for seeing me, my lord.’

Northwood did not stand. ‘Always a pleasure to talk to one of my more prominent constituents.’

Hornbeam left with a foreboding that amounted almost to panic. He had now suffered three defeats. The forces of disorder had allies in unexpected places.

He needed to think, and he did not want to go to his home, where he might be interrupted by everyday problems. He crossed the market square and went into the cathedral. The quiet atmosphere and the cool grey stones helped him concentrate.

The heart of the problem was complacency. People saw no danger in a club for workers who sought knowledge. Hornbeam knew better. But he needed to shake others out of their torpor. Any group that encouraged hands to speak freely was opening a door. Insurrection was never far below the surface.

If the next meeting of the society should turn violent, it would prove his point.

Perhaps that could be arranged.

Yes, he thought, this could be the answer.

An outbreak of violence at the meeting would turn the town against the society. There might be arguments about who started it, but few people would care. Their attachment to free speech would not survive a few broken windows.

But how to organize it?

His mind immediately went to Will Riddick. Although the Riddicks were gentry, Will consorted with Kingsbridge low life. He spent a lot of time at Sport Culliver’s notorious house. He would know a few ruffians.

Hornbeam went out into the rain yet again and made his way to Riddick’s house.

Riddick’s butler took Hornbeam’s wet coat and hat and hung them near the hall fire. ‘Squire Riddick is at breakfast, Alderman,’ he said.

Hornbeam looked at his pocket watch. It was approaching midday. This was a late breakfast.

The butler opened a door and said: ‘Are you able to see Alderman Hornbeam, sir?’

Riddick’s voice came: ‘Send him in.’

Hornbeam went into the dining room and saw that Riddick was not alone. Sitting beside him was a young woman in a nightdress and wrapper, her long black hair unbrushed. In front of them was a plate of marrow bones, split and grilled, and the two of them were spooning out the marrow and gobbling it with relish. ‘Come in, Hornbeam,’ said Riddick. ‘Oh, by the way, this is...’ He seemed unable to remember the girl’s name.

‘Mariana,’ she said. She gave Hornbeam an arch look. ‘I’m Spanish, you see.’

About as Spanish as my arse, Hornbeam thought.

‘Have a bone,’ Riddick said hospitably. ‘They’re delicious.’ He took a long drink from a tankard of ale. His eyes were bloodshot.