Page 72 of A Column of Fire
His mother spoke with sudden bitterness. ‘If she is, perhaps she’ll get rid of some of these arrogant bishops.’
Ned began to see a glimmer of hope.
Alice said: ‘I’ll write to Cecil for you, if you like.’
‘I don’t know,’ Ned said. ‘I might simply show up on his doorstep.’
‘He might simply send you home again.’
‘Yes,’ said Ned. ‘He might.’
*
THE REVENGE OFthe Fitzgeralds continued the next day.
The weather was hot, but the south transept of Kingsbridge Cathedral was cool in the afternoon. All the leading citizens were there for the Church court. The Protestants arrested in Widow Pollard’s barn were on trial for heresy. Few people were ever found not guilty, everyone knew that. The main question was how harsh the punishments would be.
Philbert Cobley faced the most serious charges. He was not in the cathedral when Ned arrived, but Mrs Cobley stood there weeping helplessly. Pretty Ruth Cobley was red-eyed, and Dan’s round face looked uncharacteristically grim. Philbert’s sister and Mrs Cobley’s brother were trying to give comfort.
Bishop Julius was in charge. This was his court. He was prosecutor as well as judge – and there was no jury. Beside him sat Canon Stephen Lincoln, a young sidekick, handing him documents and making notes. Next to Stephen was the dean of Kingsbridge, Luke Richards. Deans were independent of bishops and did not always follow their orders: Luke was the only hope for mercy today.
One by one the Protestants confessed their sins and recanted their beliefs. By doing so they escaped physical punishment. They were given fines, which most of them paid to the bishop immediately.
Dan Cobley was their deputy leader, according to Julius, and he was given an additional, humiliating sentence: he had to parade through the streets of Kingsbridge wearing only a nightshirt, carrying a crucifix, and chanting the paternoster in Latin.
But Philbert was the leader, and everyone was waiting to see what his sentence would be.
Suddenly the crowd’s attention turned to the nave of the church.
Following the direction in which they were looking, Ned saw Osmund Carter approaching, in his leather helmet and laced knee boots. He was with another member of the watch, and they were carrying between them a wooden chair that had on it some kind of bundle. Looking more closely, Ned saw that the bundle was Philbert Cobley.
Philbert was stocky, an imposing figure in spite of being short. Or he had been. Now his legs hung loose over the edge of the chair and his arms dangled limply at his sides. He groaned in pain constantly, his eyes closed. Ned heard Mrs Cobley scream at the sight.
The watchmen put the chair down in front of Bishop Julius and stood back.
The chair had arms that prevented Philbert from falling sideways, but he could not hold himself upright, and he began to slip down in the chair.
His family rushed to him. Dan took him under the arms and lifted him back: Philbert screamed in agony. Ruth pushed at Philbert’s hips to keep him in a sitting position. Mrs Cobley moaned: ‘Oh, Phil, my Phil, what have they done to you?’
Ned realized what had happened: Philbert had been tortured on the rack. His wrists had been attached to two posts, then his ankles had been tied with ropes that were wrapped around a geared wheel. As the gears were turned, the wheel tightened the rope and the victim’s body was stretched agonizingly. This form of torment had been devised because priests were forbidden to shed blood.
Philbert had obviously resisted, and refused to recant his beliefs, despite the pain, so the torture had continued until the shoulder and hip joints had been completely dislocated. He was now a helpless cripple.
Bishop Julius said: ‘Philbert Cobley has admitted to leading gullible fools into heresy.’
Canon Lincoln brandished a document. ‘Here is his signed confession.’
Dan Cobley approached the judges’ table. ‘Show me,’ he said.
Lincoln hesitated and looked at Julius. The court was under no obligation to the son of the accused man. But Julius probably did not want to provoke further protests from the crowd. He shrugged, and Lincoln gave the papers to Dan.
Dan looked at the last page and said: ‘This is not my father’s signature.’ He showed it to the men nearest him. ‘Any one of you knows my father’s hand. This is not it.’
Several of them nodded agreement.
Julius said irritably: ‘He was not able to sign unassisted, obviously.’
Dan said: ‘So you stretched him until—’ He choked, tears rolling down his face, but he forced himself to go on. ‘You stretched him until he was unable to write – and yet you pretend that he signed this.’
