Page 269 of A Column of Fire
‘I understand.’
‘Go.’
Gifford left the room, and Ned heard his hurried footsteps clatter down the stone stairs. Ned nodded to the guard, who also went out. Ned sat back in his chair, drained. He closed his eyes, but after a minute Launcelot screamed again, and Ned had to leave.
He went out of the Tower and walked along the bank of the river. A fresh breeze off the water blew away the smell of puke that had lingered in his nostrils. He looked around him, at boatmen, fishermen, street hawkers, busy people and idlers, hundreds of faces talking, shouting, laughing, yawning, singing – but not screaming in agony or sweating in terror. Normal life.
He crossed London Bridge to the south bank. This was where most of the Huguenots lived. They had brought sophisticated textile technology with them from the Netherlands and France, and they had quickly prospered in London. They were good customers for Sylvie.
Her shop was the ground floor of a timber-framed building in a row, a typical London house, with each storey jutting out over the one below. The front door was open, and he stepped inside. He was soothed by the rows of books and the smell of paper and ink.
Sylvie was unpacking a box from Geneva. She straightened up when she heard his step. He looked into her blue eyes and kissed her soft mouth.
She held him at a distance and spoke English with a soft French accent. ‘What on earth has happened?’
‘I had to perform an unpleasant duty. I’ll tell you, but I want to wash.’ He went out to the backyard, and dipped a bowl in a rain barrel, and washed his face and hands in the cold water.
Back in the house, he went upstairs to the living quarters and threw himself into his favourite chair. He closed his eyes and heard Launcelot crying for his mother.
Sylvie came upstairs. She went to the pantry, got a bottle of wine, and poured two goblets. She handed him a glass, kissed his forehead and sat close to him, knee to knee. He sipped his wine and took her hand.
She said: ‘Tell me.’
‘A man was tortured in the Tower today. He had threatened the life of the queen. I didn’t torture him – I can’t do it, I don’t have the stomach for that work. But I arranged to conduct an interrogation in the next room, so that my suspect could hear the screams.’
‘How dreadful.’
‘It worked. I turned an enemy agent into a double agent. He serves me now. But I can still hear those screams.’ Sylvie squeezed his hand and said nothing. After a while he said: ‘Sometimes I hate my work.’
‘Because of you, men like the duke of Guise and Pierre Aumande can’t do in England what they do in France – burn people to death for their beliefs.’
‘But in order to defeat them I have become like them.’
‘No, you haven’t,’ she said. ‘You don’t fight for compulsory Protestantism the way they fight for compulsory Catholicism. You stand for tolerance.’
‘We did, at the start. But now, when we catch secret priests, we execute them, regardless of whether they threaten the queen. Do you know what we did to Margaret Clitherow?’
‘Is she the woman who was executed in York for harbouring a Catholic priest?’
‘Yes. She was stripped naked, tied up, and laid on the ground; then her own front door was placed on top of her and loaded with rocks until she was crushed to death.’
‘Oh, God, I didn’t know that.’
‘Sickening.’
‘But you never wanted it to be this way! You wanted people with different beliefs to be good neighbours.’
‘I did, but perhaps it’s impossible.’
‘Roger told me something you once said to him. I wonder if you remember the time he asked you why the queen hated Catholics.’
Ned smiled. ‘I remember.’
‘He’s hasn’t forgotten what you told him.’
‘Perhaps I did something right. What did I say to Roger?’
‘You said that there are no saints in politics, but imperfect people can make the world a better place.’
