A Column of Fire

by Ken Follett

  Well-bred girls were not supposed to stand at windows, let alone wave at passing boys, and she would get into trouble if she were found out. But she took the risk, every morning at this time; and Barney knew, with a thrill, that it was the closest she could get to flirting.

  Passing the house he turned and began to walk backwards, still smiling. He stumbled, almost fell, and made a wry face. She giggled, putting her hand to her red lips.

  Barney was not planning to marry Jerónima. At twenty he was not ready for marriage, and if he had been he would not have been sure Jerónima was the one. But he did want to get to know her, and discreetly caress her when no one was looking, and steal kisses. However, girls were supervised more strictly here in Spain than at home and, as he blew her a kiss, he was not sure he would ever get a real one.

  Then her head turned, as if she had heard her name called, and a moment later she was gone. Reluctantly, Barney walked away.

  Carlos’s place was not far, and Barney’s thoughts moved from love to breakfast with a readiness that made him feel slightly ashamed.

  The Cruz house was pierced by a broad arch leading through to a courtyard where the work was done. Piles of iron ore, coal and lime were stacked against the courtyard walls, separated by rough wooden dividers. In one corner an ox was tethered. In the middle stood the furnace.

  Carlos’s African slave, Ebrima Dabo, was stoking the fire ready for the first batch of the day, his high dark forehead beaded with perspiration. Barney had come across Africans in England, especially in port cities such as Combe Harbour, but they were free: slavery was not enforceable under English law. Spain was different. There were thousands of slaves in Seville: Barney guessed they were about one in ten of the population. They were Arabs, North Africans, a few Native Americans, and some like Ebrima from the Mandinka region of West Africa. Barney was quick with languages, and had even picked up a few words of Manding. He had heard Ebrima greet people with ‘I be nyaadi?’ which meant ‘How are you?’

  Carlos was standing with his back to the entrance of the house, studying a newly built structure of bricks. He had heard of a different type of furnace, one that permitted a blast of air to be blown in at the bottom while iron ore and lime were fed into the top. None of the three men had ever seen such a thing, but they were building an experimental prototype, working on it when they had time.

  Barney spoke to Carlos in Spanish. ‘There’s no iron ore to be had at the waterfront today.’

  Carlos’s mind was on the new furnace. He scratched his curly black beard. ‘We have to find a way to harness the ox so that it works the bellows.’

  Barney frowned. ‘I don’t quite see it, but you can get a beast to work any mechanism, if you have enough wheels.’

  Ebrima heard them. ‘Two sets of bellows,’ he said. ‘One blowing out while the other breathes in.’

  ‘Good idea,’ Carlos said.

  The cooking range stood in the courtyard a little nearer the house. Carlos’s grandmother stirred a pot and said: ‘Wash your hands, you boys. It’s ready.’ She was Barney’s great-aunt, and he called her Aunt Betsy, though in Seville she was known as Elisa. She was a warm-hearted woman, but not beautiful. Her face was dominated by a big, twisted nose. Her back was broad and she had large hands and feet. She was sixty-five, a considerable age, but still full-figured and active. Barney recalled his Grandma in Kingsbridge saying: ‘My sister Betsy was a handful of trouble when she was a girl – that’s why she had to be sent to Spain.’

  It was hard to imagine. Aunt Betsy now was cautious and wise. She had quietly warned Barney that Jerónima Ruiz had her eye firmly on her own selfish interests, and would surely marry someone a lot richer than Barney.

  Betsy had raised Carlos after his mother died giving birth to him. His father had died a year ago, a few days before Barney’s arrival. The men lived on one side of the arch and Betsy, who owned the place, occupied the other half of the house.

  The table was in the courtyard. They usually ate out of doors in daylight, unless the weather was exceptionally cold. They sat down to eggs cooked with onions, wheat bread, and a jug of weak wine. They were strong men who did heavy work all day, and they ate a lot.

  Ebrima ate with them. A slave would never eat with his owners in the large household of a wealthy family, but Carlos was an artisan who worked with his hands, and Ebrima toiled side by side with him. Ebrima remained deferential, however: there was no pretence that they were equals.

  Barney had been struck by Ebrima’s clever contribution to the exchange about the new furnace. ‘You know a lot about metal working,’ Barney said to him as they ate. ‘Did you learn from Carlos’s father?’

  ‘My own father was an iron maker,’ Ebrima said.

  ‘Oh!’ Carlos was surprised. ‘Somehow I never imagined Africans making iron.’

  ‘How did you think we got swords to fight wars?’

  ‘Of course. Then . . . how did you become a slave?’

  ‘In a war with a neighbouring kingdom. I was captured. Where I come from, prisoners-of-war normally become slaves, working in the fields of the winning side. But my master died, and his widow sold me to an Arab slave trader . . . and, after a long journey, I ended up in Seville.’

  Barney had not previously asked Ebrima about his past, and he was curious. Did Ebrima long for home, or prefer Seville? He looked about forty: at what age had he been enslaved? Did he miss his family? But now Ebrima said: ‘May I ask you a question, Mr Willard?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Do they have slaves in England?’

  ‘Not really.’

  Ebrima hesitated. ‘What does that mean, not really?’

  Barney thought for a moment. ‘In my home town, Kingsbridge, there is a Portuguese jeweller called Rodrigo. He buys fine fabrics, lace and silk, then sews pearls into them and makes headdresses, scarves, veils and other such frippery. Women go mad for his things. Rich men’s wives come from all over the west of England to buy them.’

  ‘And he has a slave?’

  ‘When he arrived, five years ago, he had a groom from Morocco called Achmed who was clever with animals. Word of this got around, and Kingsbridge people would pay Achmed to doctor their horses. After a while, Rodrigo found out and demanded the money, but Achmed would not hand it over. Rodrigo went to the court of quarter sessions, and said the money was his because Achmed was his slave; but Justice Tilbury said: “Achmed has broken no English law.” So Rodrigo lost and Achmed kept his money. Now he has his own house and a thriving business as an animal doctor.’

  ‘So English people can have slaves, but if the slave walks away, the owner can’t force him back?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  Barney could see that Ebrima was intrigued by this notion. Perhaps he dreamed of going to England and becoming a free man.

  Then the conversation was interrupted. Both Carlos and Ebrima suddenly tensed and looked towards the entrance arch.

  Barney followed their gaze and saw three people approaching. In the lead was a short, broad-shouldered man with costly clothes and a greasy moustache. Walking on either side of him and a pace or two behind were two taller men who appeared, from their inexpensive clothing, to be servants, perhaps bodyguards. Barney had never seen any of the three before but he recognized the type. They looked like thugs.

  Carlos spoke in a carefully neutral tone. ‘Sancho Sanchez, good morning.’

  ‘Carlos, my friend,’ said Sancho.

  To Barney they did not seem to be friends.

  Aunt Betsy stood up. ‘Please, sit down, Señor Sanchez,’ she said. Her words were hospitable but her tone was not warm. ‘Let me get you some breakfast.’

  ‘No, thank you, Señora Cruz,’ Sancho said. ‘But I’ll have a glass of wine.’ He took Aunt Betsy’s seat.

  His companions remained standing.

  Sancho began a conversation about the prices of lead and tin, and Barney gathered that he, too, was a metal worker. Sancho went on to discuss the war with France, and then an
epidemic of shivering fever that was sweeping the town, taking the lives of rich and poor alike. Carlos responded stiffly. No one ate anything.

  At last Sancho got down to business. ‘You’ve done well, Carlos,’ he said patronizingly. ‘When your father died, rest his soul, I didn’t think you would be able to continue to run the enterprise alone. You were twenty-one, and you had finished your apprenticeship, so you were entitled to try; but I thought you would fail. You surprised us all.’

  Carlos looked wary. ‘Thank you,’ he said neutrally.

  ‘A year ago, I offered to buy your business for one hundred escudos.’

  Carlos straightened his back, squared his shoulders and raised his chin.

  Sancho held up a hand defensively. ‘A low price, I know, but that was what I thought it was worth without your father to run it.’

  Carlos said coldly: ‘The offer was an insult.’

  The two bodyguards stiffened. Talk of insults could lead quickly to violence.

  Sancho was still being emollient, or as near to it as he could get, Barney thought. He did not apologize for offending Carlos, but rather spoke forgivingly, as if Carlos had slighted him. ‘I understand that you should feel that way,’ he said. ‘But I have two sons, and I want to give them a business each. Now I’m prepared to pay you one thousand escudos.’ As if Carlos might not be able to count, Sancho added: ‘That’s ten times my original offer.’

  Carlos said: ‘The price is still too low.’

  Barney spoke to Sancho for the first time. ‘Why don’t you just build another furnace for your second son?’

  Sancho stared haughtily, as if he had not previously noticed Barney’s presence. He seemed to think Barney should not speak until he was spoken to. It was Carlos who answered the question. ‘Like most industries in Spain, metal working is controlled by a “corporation”, somewhat like an English guild only more conservative. The corporation limits the number of furnaces.’

  Sancho said: ‘The regulations maintain high standards and keep crooked operators out of the industry.’

  Barney said: ‘And they ensure that prices are not undermined by cheap alternatives, I suppose.’

  Carlos added: ‘Sancho is on the council of the Seville metal guild, Barney.’

  Sancho was not interested in Barney. ‘Carlos, my friend and neighbour, just answer a simple question: what price would you accept for your business?’

  Carlos shook his head. ‘It’s not for sale.’

  Sancho visibly suppressed an angry retort and forced a smile. ‘I might go to fifteen hundred.’

  ‘I would not sell for fifteen thousand.’

  Barney saw that Aunt Betsy was looking alarmed. Clearly she was scared of Sancho and worried that Carlos was antagonizing him.

  Carlos saw her look and forced a more amiable tone of voice. ‘But I thank you for the courtesy of your proposal, neighbour Sancho.’ It was a good try but it did not sound sincere.

  Sancho dropped the façade. ‘You may regret this, Carlos.’

  Carlos’s voice became disdainful. ‘Why would you say a thing like that, Sancho? It almost sounds like a threat.’

  Sancho did not confirm or deny that. ‘If business turns bad, you will end up wishing you had taken my money.’

  ‘I will run that risk. And now I have work to do. The king’s armourer needs iron.’

  Sancho looked furious at being dismissed. He got to his feet.

  Aunt Betsy said: ‘I hope you enjoyed the wine, Señor – it’s our best.’

  Sancho did not trouble to reply to such a routine remark from a mere woman. He said to Carlos: ‘We’ll talk again soon.’

  Barney could see Carlos suppressing a sarcastic retort as he responded with a silent nod.

  Sancho was turning to leave when he caught sight of the new furnace. ‘What’s this?’ he said. ‘Another furnace?’

  ‘My old furnace is due for replacement.’ Carlos stood up. ‘Thank you for calling on me, Sancho.’

  Sancho did not move. ‘Your old furnace looks perfectly all right to me.’

  ‘When the new one is ready, the old one will be demolished. I know the rules as well as you do. Goodbye.’

  ‘The new one looks peculiar,’ Sancho persisted.

  Carlos allowed his irritation to show. ‘I’m making some improvements on the traditional design. There’s no corporation rule against that.’

  ‘Keep your temper, son, I’m simply asking you questions.’

  ‘And I’m simply saying goodbye.’

  Sancho did not even bristle at Carlos’s rudeness. He continued to stare at the new furnace for a full minute. Then he turned and left. His two bodyguards followed him. Neither had spoken a word the whole time.

  When Sancho was out of earshot, Aunt Betsy said: ‘He’s a bad man to have as an enemy.’

  ‘I know,’ said Carlos.

  *

  THAT NIGHT EBRIMA slept with Carlos’s grandmother.

  On the men’s side of the house, Carlos and Barney had beds on the upstairs floor, while Ebrima slept on a mattress on the ground floor. Tonight Ebrima lay awake for half an hour, until he was quite sure the house was silent; then he got up and padded across the courtyard to Elisa’s side. He slid into bed beside her and they made love.

  She was an ugly old white woman, but it was dark, and her body was soft and warm. More importantly, she had always been kind to Ebrima. He did not love her, and never would, but it was no hardship to give her what she wanted.

  Afterwards, as Elisa dozed off, Ebrima lay awake and remembered the first time.

  He had been brought to Seville on a slave ship and sold to Carlos’s father ten years ago. He was solitary and homesick and in despair. One Sunday, when everyone else was at church, Carlos’s grandmother, whom Barney called Aunt Betsy and Ebrima called Elisa, had come upon him weeping in desolation. To his astonishment she had kissed his tears and pressed his face to her soft breasts, and in his yearning for human affection he had made love to her hungrily.

  He realized that Elisa was using him. She could end the relationship any time she pleased, but he could not. However, she was the only human being he could hold in his arms. For a decade of lonely exile she had given him solace.

  When she began to snore he returned to his own bed.

  Each night, before going to sleep, Ebrima thought about freedom. He imagined himself in a house he owned, with a woman who was his wife, and perhaps some children too. In the vision he had money in his pocket that he had earned by his work, and he wore clothes he had chosen himself and paid for, not hand-me-downs. He left the house when he wanted to, and came back when he pleased, and no one could flog him for it. He always hoped he would go to sleep and dream this vision, and sometimes he did.

  He slept for a few hours and woke at first light. It was Sunday. Later he would go to church with Carlos, and in the evening he would go to a tavern owned by a freed African slave and gamble with the little money he made from tips, but now he had a private duty to perform. He put on his clothes and left the house.

  He passed through the north gate of the city and followed the river upstream as the daylight grew stronger. After an hour he came to an isolated spot he had visited before, where the river was bordered by a grove of trees. There he performed the water rite.

  He had never been observed here, but it would not matter anyway, for he looked as if he was merely bathing.

  Ebrima did not believe in the crucified God. He pretended to, because it made life easier, and he had been baptized a Christian here in Spain, but he knew better. The Europeans did not realize that there were spirits everywhere, in the seagulls and the west wind and the orange trees. The most powerful of them all was the river god: Ebrima knew this because he had been raised in a village that stood on the edge of a river. This was a different river, and he did not know how many thousands of miles he was from his birthplace, but the god was the same.

  As he entered the water, murmuring the sacred words, tranquillity seeped into his soul, and he
allowed his memories to rise from the depths of his mind. He remembered his father, a strong man with black burn scars on his brown skin from accidents with molten metal; his mother, bare-breasted as she weeded her vegetable patch; his sister holding a baby, Ebrima’s nephew, whom he would never see grow into a man. None of them even knew the name of the city where Ebrima now made his life, but they all worshipped the same spirit.

  In his sadness, the river god comforted him. As the rite came to an end, the god granted his final gift: strength. Ebrima came out of the river, water dripping down his skin, and saw that the sun was up, and he knew that, for a little while longer, he would be able to endure.

  *

  ON SUNDAY BARNEY went to church with Carlos, Aunt Betsy and Ebrima. They made an unusual group, Barney thought. Carlos looked young to be head of a family, despite his bushy beard and broad shoulders. Aunt Betsy looked neither old nor young: she had grey hair, but she had kept her womanly figure. Ebrima wore Carlos’s cast-off clothes, but he walked upright and somehow managed to look neatly dressed for church. Barney himself had a red beard and the golden-brown eyes of the Willards, and his earring was unusual enough to draw glances of surprise, especially from young women; which was why he wore it.

  The cathedral of Seville was bigger than that of Kingsbridge, reflecting the fabulous wealth of the Spanish clergy. The extraordinarily high central nave was flanked by two pairs of side aisles plus two rows of side chapels, making the building seem almost as wide as it was long. Any other church in the city would fit inside it, easily. A thousand people looked like a small group, clustered in front of the high altar, their responses to the liturgy lost in the emptiness of the vaults above. There was an immense altarpiece, a riot of gilded carving that was still unfinished after seventy-five years of work.

  Mass was a useful social event, as well as an opportunity to cleanse the soul. Everyone had to go, especially the leading citizens. It was a chance to speak to people one would not otherwise meet. A respectable girl might even talk to a single man without compromising her reputation, although her parents would watch closely.

  Carlos was wearing a new coat with a fur collar. He had told Barney that today he planned to speak to the father of Valentina Villaverde, the girl he adored. He had hesitated for a year, knowing that the business community were waiting to see whether he could make a success of his father’s enterprise; but now he felt he had waited long enough. The visit from Sancho indicated that people recognized the success he had achieved – and that at least one man wanted to take it from him. It was a good moment to propose to Valentina. If she accepted him, not only would he win the bride he loved, but he would also be marrying into the Seville elite, which would protect him from predators such as Sancho.