Page 286 of A Column of Fire
Bartlet and Roger followed suit.
Margery screamed: ‘No!’ She had done this to keep her sons safe but instead she had put their lives in danger. ‘Stop!’
The sheriff and his men drew too.
Ned did not draw his sword, but held up his arms and shouted: ‘Hold it, everyone! Nothing will be achieved by a fight, and anyone who attacks the sheriff’s men will hang.’
The two groups faced each other across the hall. Bart’s men-at-arms came in to stand behind their earl, and more of the sheriff’s men appeared. Margery could hardly believe how quickly this had gone wrong. If they fought, there would be terrible slaughter.
Bart yelled: ‘Kill them all!’
Then he fell over.
He went down like a tree, slowly at first then faster, hitting the stone floor with a sickening thud.
Margery had often seen him fall down drunk, but this was grimly different.
Everyone froze.
Margery knelt beside Bart and put her palm on his chest. Then she felt his wrist and his neck. There was no sign of life.
She stared at her husband. He was a self-indulgent man who had done nothing but please himself, heedless of others, during his fifty years on earth.
‘He’s dead,’ she said.
And all she felt was relief.
*
PIERREAUMANDEwent to the apartment where he kept Louise de Nîmes, his mistress for the last four years. He found her richly robed, with her hair in an elaborate coiffure, as if she were going to court, which, of course, she was never permitted to do. He always made her dress formally, for that intensified the pleasure of degrading her. Anyone could humiliate a servant, but Louise was a marchioness.
He had not tired of the game, and he felt he never would. He did not often beat her, because it hurt his hands. He did not even fuck her much. There were more exquisite ways to give her pain. What he liked most was to destroy her dignity.
She had run away from him once. He had laughed: he knew what would happen. Her few friends and relations were terrified that if they took her in they, too, would come under suspicion of heresy, so she had nowhere to go. Born to privilege, she was utterly incapable of making a living on her own. Like so many destitute women, she had ended up prostituting herself to avert starvation. After one night in a brothel she had asked him to take her back.
Just for fun, he had pretended reluctance, forcing her to go down on her knees and beg. But of course she was too good to lose.
Today he was mildly surprised to see his stepson, Alain, at the apartment, sitting close to Louise on a sofa, talking intimately. ‘Alain and Louise!’ he said.
They both sprang up.
‘What are you doing here?’ he asked Alain.
Alain pointed to a gown draped over a chair. ‘You told me to bring her that dress.’
That was true, Pierre recalled. He said: ‘I didn’t tell you to spend the afternoon gossiping here. Go back to the palace. Tell Duke Henri that I’m on my way to see him and I have learned the king of Spain’s battle plan for the invasion of England.’
Alain raised his eyebrows. ‘Who told you that?’
‘Never mind. Wait for me outside the duke’s apartment in the palace. You can take notes.’
He went up to Louise and casually fondled her breasts.
Alain left.
Both Alain and Louise were scared of Pierre. In moments of self-awareness he knew that was why he kept them around. It was not because of Alain’s usefulness as a dogsbody, or Louise’s sexual appeal. Those things were secondary. He liked their fear of him. It gave him a boost.
Did he care if they were friends? He saw no harm in it. He could even understand why Alain might sympathize with Louise. She was an older woman, a mother substitute.
