Page 135 of A Column of Fire
‘Pierre hit me.’
‘Does he hit Odette too?’
Nath shook her head. ‘He’s too scared. She’d hit him back.’
Nath herself was about sixteen, small and thin, probably incapable of hitting a man – just as Sylvie had been unable to fight back against her father. The memory made Sylvie angry.
‘Drink some more wine,’ Sylvie said.
Nath took another gulp. ‘I hate him,’ she said.
Sylvie’s pulse raced. For more than a year she had been waiting for a moment such as this. She had known it would come, if she was patient, because everyone hated Pierre, and sooner or later someone was bound to betray him.
Now at last the opportunity had arrived, but she had to handle it right. She could not be too eager or too obvious. All the same, she would have to take risks.
‘You’re not the only one who hates Pierre,’ she said cautiously. ‘They say he is the main spy behind the persecution of Protestants.’ This was not inside information: half Paris knew it.
‘It’s true,’ Nath said. ‘He’s got a list.’
Sylvie felt suddenly breathless. Of course he had a list, but what did Nath know about it? ‘A list?’ Sylvie said in a voice so low it was almost a whisper. ‘How do you know?’
‘I’ve seen it. A black notebook, full of names and addresses.’
This was gold dust. It would be risky to try to subvert Nath, but the reward was irresistible. Making an instant decision, Sylvie took the plunge. Pretending to speak light-heartedly, she said: ‘If you want revenge, you should give the notebook to the Protestants.’
‘I would if I had the courage.’
Sylvie thought: Would you, really? How would you square that with your conscience? She said carefully: ‘That would go against the Church, wouldn’t it?’
‘I believe in God,’ Nath said. ‘But God isn’t in the church.’
Sylvie could hardly breathe. ‘How can you say that?’
‘I was fucked by the parish priest when I was eleven. I didn’t even have any hair between my legs. Was God there? I don’t think so.’
Sylvie emptied her cup, put it down, and said: ‘I’ve got a friend who would pay ten gold ecus for a look at that notebook.’ Sylvie could find the money: the business made a profit, and her mother would agree that this was a good way to spend it.
Nath’s eyes widened. ‘Ten gold ecus?’ It was more than she earned in a year – much more.
Sylvie nodded. Then she added a moral justification to the monetary incentive. ‘I suppose my friend thinks she might save a lot of people from being burned to death.’
Nath was more interested in the money. ‘But do you mean it about the ten ecus?’
‘Oh, absolutely.’ Sylvie pretended to realize suddenly that Nath was speaking seriously. ‘But surely . . . you couldn’t get hold of the notebook . . . could you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Where is it?’
‘He keeps it at the house.’
‘Where in the house?’
‘In a locked document chest.’
‘If the chest is locked, how could you get the notebook?’
‘I can unlock the chest.’
