A Column of Fire

by Ken Follett

  Carlos did not seem surprised by this, so Alonso must be telling the truth when he said it was normal, but Barney was shocked. ‘All his possessions?’ he said. ‘How will his daughter live?’

  ‘By God’s grace, as we all do,’ said Alonso, and then he walked out, followed by his entourage.

  Carlos looked relieved. ‘I’m sorry about Jerónima’s father,’ he said. ‘But I think we got the better of Alonso.’

  Betsy said: ‘Don’t be so sure.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’ Carlos asked.

  ‘You don’t remember your grandfather, my husband.’

  ‘He died when I was a baby.’

  ‘Rest his soul. He was raised Muslim.’

  All three men stared at her in astonishment. Carlos said incredulously: ‘Your husband was a Muslim?’

  ‘At first, yes.’

  ‘My grandfather, José Alano Cruz?’

  ‘His original name was Youssef al-Khalil.’

  ‘How could you marry a Muslim?’

  ‘When they were expelled from Spain he decided to convert to Christianity rather than leave. He took instruction in the religion and was baptized as an adult, just like Ebrima. José was his new name. To seal his conversion, he decided to marry a Christian girl. That was me. I was thirteen.’

  Barney said: ‘Did many Muslims marry Christians?’

  ‘No. They married within their community, even after converting. My José was unusual.’

  Carlos was more interested in the personal side. ‘Did you know he had been raised Muslim?’

  ‘Not at first, no. He had moved here from Madrid and told no one. But people come here from Madrid all the time, and eventually there was someone who had known him as a Muslim. After that it was never quite secret, though we tried to keep it quiet.’

  Barney could not restrain his curiosity. ‘You were thirteen? Did you love him?’

  ‘I adored him. I was never a pretty girl, and he was handsome and charming. He was also affectionate and kind and caring. I was in heaven.’ Aunt Betsy was in a confiding mood.

  Carlos said: ‘And then my grandfather died . . .’

  ‘I was inconsolable,’ said Betsy. ‘He was the love of my life. I never wanted another husband.’ She shrugged. ‘But I had my children to take care of, so I was too busy to die of grief. And then there was you, Carlos, motherless before you were a day old.’

  Barney had an instinctive feeling that, although Betsy was speaking candidly, there was something she was holding back. She had not wanted another husband, but was that the whole story?

  Carlos made a connection. ‘Is this why Francisco Villaverde won’t let me marry his daughter?’

  ‘It is. He doesn’t care about your English grandmother. It’s your Muslim grandfather he considers impure.’

  ‘Hell.’

  ‘That’s not the worst of your problems. Obviously Alonso, too, knows about Youssef al-Khalil. Today’s visit was just the beginning. Believe me, he will be back.’

  *

  AFTER ALONSO’S VISIT Barney went to the home of the Ruiz family to see what had happened to Jerónima.

  The door was opened by a young woman who looked North African and was evidently a slave. She was probably beautiful, he thought, but now her face was swollen and her eyes were red with grief. ‘I must see Jerónima,’ he said in a loud voice. The woman put her finger to her lips in a shushing gesture, then beckoned him to follow her and led him into the back of the house.

  He expected to see a cook and a couple of maids preparing dinner, but the kitchen was cold and silent. He recalled Alonso saying that the inquisition routinely confiscated a suspect’s goods, but Barney had not realized how fast it would happen. Now he saw that Pedro’s employees had already been dismissed. Presumably his slave was going to be sold, which would be why she was crying.

  She said: ‘I am Farah.’

  Barney said impatiently: ‘Why have you brought me here? Where is Jerónima?’

  ‘Speak quietly,’ she said. ‘Jerónima is upstairs, with Archdeacon Romero.’

  ‘I don’t care, I want to speak to her,’ said Barney, and he stepped to the door.

  ‘Please don’t,’ said Farah. ‘It will cause trouble if Romero sees you.’

  ‘I’m ready for trouble.’

  ‘I’ll bring Jerónima here. I’ll say a neighbour woman has called and insists on seeing her.’

  Barney hesitated, then nodded assent, and Farah went out.

  He looked around. There were no knives, pots, jugs or plates. The place had been cleared out. Did the inquisition even sell people’s kitchenware?

  Jerónima appeared a couple of minutes later. She was different: she looked a lot older than seventeen suddenly. Her beautiful face was an impassive mask, and her eyes were dry, but her olive skin seemed to have turned grey, and her slim body trembled all over as if shivering. He could see the enormous effort it took to bottle up her grief and rage.

  Barney moved towards her, intending to embrace her, but she stepped back and held up her hands as if to push him away.

  He looked at her helplessly and said: ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘I am destitute,’ she said. ‘My father is in prison, and I have no other family.’

  ‘How is he?’

  ‘I don’t know. Prisoners of the inquisition are not allowed to communicate with their families, or with anyone else. But his health is poor – you’ve heard him panting after even a short walk – and they will probably—’ She became unable to speak, but it lasted only a moment. She looked down, breathed in, and regained control. ‘They will probably put him to the water torture.’

  Barney had heard of this. The victim’s nostrils were closed to prevent him breathing through his nose, and his mouth was forced open, then jar after jar of water was poured down his throat. What he swallowed distended his stomach agonizingly, and the water that got into his windpipe choked him.

  ‘It will kill him,’ Barney said in horror.

  ‘They have already taken all his money and possessions.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘Archdeacon Romero has offered to take me into his household.’

  Barney felt bewildered. Things were moving too fast. Several questions occurred to him at the same time. He said: ‘In what role?’

  ‘We are discussing that right now. He wants me to take charge of his wardrobe, ordering and caring for his vestments, supervising his laundress.’ Speaking of such practical matters clearly helped her control her feelings.

  ‘Don’t go,’ Barney said. ‘Come away with me.’

  It was a reckless offer, and she knew it. ‘Where? I can’t live with three men. It’s all right for your grandmother.’

  ‘I have a home in England.’

  She shook her head. ‘I know nothing about your family. I hardly know anything about you. I don’t speak English.’ Her face softened briefly. ‘Perhaps, if this had not happened, you might have courted me, and made a formal offer to my father, and perhaps I would have married you, and learned to speak English . . . who knows? I admit I have thought about it. But to run away with you to a strange country? No.’

  Barney could see that she was being much more sensible than he. But all the same he blurted: ‘Romero wants to make you his secret mistress.’

  Jerónima looked at Barney, and he saw in her big eyes a hardness he had never noticed before. He was reminded of Aunt Betsy’s words: ‘Jerónima Ruiz has her eye firmly on her own selfish interests.’ But surely there were limits? Jerónima now said: ‘And if he does?’

  Barney was dumbfounded. ‘How can you even say it?’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about this for forty-eight sleepless hours. I have no alternative. You know what happens to homeless women.’

  ‘They become prostitutes.’

  This seemed not to shake her. ‘So my choice is flight with you into the unknown, prostitution on the streets, or a dubious position in the affluent household of a corrupt priest.’

 
‘Has it occurred to you’, Barney said tentatively, ‘that Romero might even have denounced your father himself, with the intention of forcing you into this position?’

  ‘I’m sure he did.’

  Barney was astonished again. She was always ahead of him.

  She said: ‘I’ve known for months that Romero wanted to make me his mistress. It was the worst life I could imagine for myself. Now it’s the best life I can hope for.’

  ‘And he has done that to you!’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘And you’re going to accept it, and go to his bed, and forgive him?’

  ‘Forgive him?’ she said, and a new light came into her brown eyes, a look of hatred like boiling acid. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I might pretend. But one day I will have power over him. And when that day comes, I will take revenge.’

  *

  EBRIMA HAD DONE as much as anyone to make the new furnace work, and he harboured a secret hope that Carlos would reward him by giving him his freedom. But as the furnace burned for days and weeks his hopes faded, and he realized that the thought had not even crossed Carlos’s mind. Loading cold ingots of iron onto a flatbed cart, stacking them in an interlocking web so that they would not shift in transit, Ebrima considered what to do next.

  He had hoped Carlos would make the offer spontaneously, but as that had not happened he would have to ask outright. He did not like to beg: the very act of pleading would suggest that he was not entitled to what he wanted – but he was entitled, he felt that strongly.

  He might try to recruit Elisa to support him. She was fond of him, and wanted the best for him, he felt sure; but did her affection extend so far as to free him, in which case he would no longer be there when she needed love at night?

  On balance, it would probably be best to take her into his confidence before he spoke to Carlos. At least then he would know which way she was going to jump when the decision was made.

  When should he tell her? After making love one night? It might be smarter to raise the subject before lovemaking, when her heart was full of desire. He nodded to himself, and at that moment the attack began.

  There were six men, and they all carried clubs and hammers. They did not speak, but immediately began to beat Ebrima and Carlos with clubs. ‘What’s happening?’ Ebrima yelled. ‘Why are you doing this?’ They did not speak. Ebrima put up an arm to protect himself and suffered an agonizing blow to his hand, then another to his head, and he fell down.

  His assailant then went after Carlos, who was retreating across the yard. Ebrima watched, trying to recover from the daze induced by the blow to his head. Carlos seized a shovel, dipped it in the molten metal coming out of the furnace, and threw a shower of droplets at the attackers. Two of them screamed in pain.

  For a moment Ebrima thought perhaps he and Carlos might prevail, despite the odds; but, before Carlos could scoop up more metal, two others got to him and knocked him down.

  They then attacked the new furnace, smashing its brickwork with iron-headed sledgehammers. Ebrima saw his creation being destroyed, and found the strength to get to his feet. He rushed at the attackers, screaming: ‘No – you can’t do this!’ He shoved one so that he fell to the ground, and pulled the other away from the precious furnace. He used only his right hand, because he could no longer grip with the left, but he was strong. Then he was forced to scurry backwards out of the way of a lethally swinging sledgehammer.

  Desperate to save the furnace, he picked up a wooden shovel and went at them again. He hit one over the head, then he was hit from behind, a blow that landed on his right shoulder and caused him to drop the shovel. He turned to face his assailant and dodged the next blow.

  As he backed away, desperately leaping out of the way of a down-swinging club, he could see from the corner of his eye that the furnace was being demolished. The contents poured out, burning coal and red-hot minerals spilling over the ground. The ox began to grunt raucously in panic, a pitiful noise.

  Elisa came running out of the house, screaming at the men: ‘Leave them alone! Get out of here!’ The attackers laughed at the old woman, and one of the men Ebrima had knocked down got up, seized her from behind, and lifted her off her feet. He was big – they all were – and he easily restrained her writhing struggles.

  Two men were sitting on Carlos, one was holding Elisa, and one was keeping Ebrima cornered. The remaining two went to work with their sledgehammers. They smashed the bellows mechanism that Ebrima and Carlos and Barney had puzzled over for so long. Ebrima could have wept.

  When the furnace and the bellows mechanism were flattened, one of them pulled a long dagger and tried to cut the throat of the ox. It was not easy: the beast’s neck was thickly muscled, and he had to saw through the flesh with his knife, while the ox tried to kick free of the wreckage. At last he severed the jugular. The bellowing stopped abruptly. Blood came like a fountain from the wound. The ox sank to the ground.

  And then, as quickly as they had come, the six men left.

  *

  JERÓNIMA HAD BECOME a calculating shrew, Barney thought as he left the Ruiz house in a daze. Perhaps she had always had a hard streak, and he had never noticed it; or perhaps people could be transformed by a terrible ordeal – he did not know. He felt he knew nothing. Anything could happen: the river might rise up and drown the city.

  His feet took him automatically to Carlos’s house, and there he suffered another shock: Carlos and Ebrima had been beaten up.

  Carlos was sitting on a chair in the courtyard while Aunt Betsy tended to his wounds. One eye was closed, his lips were swollen and bloody, and he sat half bent over as if his belly hurt. Ebrima lay on the ground, clutching one hand under the opposite armpit, a bloodstained bandage around his head.

  Behind them was the wreckage of the new furnace. It had been ruined, and was now a pile of bricks. The bellows mechanism was a tangle of ropes and firewood. The ox lay dead in a pool of blood. There was a lot of blood in an ox, Barney thought disjointedly.

  Betsy had been bathing Carlos’s face with a scrap of linen soaked in wine. Now she stood upright and tossed the rag on the ground in a gesture of disgust. ‘Listen to me,’ she said, and Barney realized she had been waiting only for his return before making a speech.

  All the same he forestalled her. ‘What happened here?’

  ‘Don’t ask stupid questions,’ she said impatiently. ‘You can see what happened here.’

  ‘I mean, who did this?’

  ‘They were men we’ve never seen before, and almost certainly they’re not from Seville. The real question is who hired them, and the answer is Sancho Sanchez. He’s the one who’s been whipping up resentment of Carlos’s success, and he’s the one who wants to buy the business. I’ve no doubt it was he who told Alonso that Ebrima is a Muslim and works on Sundays.’

  ‘What are we going to do?’

  Carlos answered Barney’s question. Standing up, he said: ‘We’re going to give in.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘We could fight Sancho, or we could fight Alonso, but we can’t fight both.’ He went over to where Ebrima lay, grasped his right hand – the left was evidently injured – and pulled him to his feet. ‘I’m going to sell the business.’

  Betsy said: ‘That may not be enough, now.’

  Carlos was startled. ‘Why?’

  ‘Sancho will be satisfied with the business, but Alonso will not. He needs a human sacrifice. He can’t admit to having made a mistake. Now that he’s accused you, he has to punish you.’

  Barney said: ‘I’ve just seen Jerónima. She thinks they will put her father to the water torture. We’ll all confess to heresy if that happens to us.’

  Betsy said: ‘Barney is right.’

  Carlos said: ‘What can we do?’

  Betsy sighed. ‘Leave Seville. Leave Spain. Today.’

  Barney was shocked, but he knew she was right. Alonso’s men might come for them any time, and when that happened, it would be too late to flee. He looked apprehensive
ly at the archway entrance to the courtyard, fearing that they might already be there; but there was no one, not yet.

  Was it even possible to go today? Perhaps – if there was a ship leaving on the afternoon tide, and if that ship needed crew. They would probably have no choice about where they went. Barney glanced up at the sun. It was after midday. ‘If we’re really going to do this, we need to hurry,’ he said.

  Despite the danger he was in, his spirits lifted at the prospect of going to sea.

  Ebrima spoke for the first time. ‘If we don’t go, we’re dead men,’ he said. ‘And I’ll be the first.’

  Barney said: ‘What about you, Aunt Betsy?’

  ‘I’m too old to go far. Besides, they don’t really care about me – I’m a woman.’

  ‘What will you do?’

  ‘I have a sister-in-law in Carmona.’ Barney recalled Betsy going there for a few weeks in the summer. ‘I can walk to Carmona in a morning. Even if Alonso finds out where I am, I doubt that he’ll bother with me.’

  Carlos made up his mind. ‘Barney, Ebrima, get whatever you want from the house and be back by a count of a hundred.’

  None of them had many possessions. Barney tucked a small purse of money into his waist under his shirt. He put on his best boots and his heavy cloak. He did not own a sword: the heavy longsword was made for the battlefield, designed to be thrust into the vulnerable spots in the enemy’s suit of armour, but unwieldy at close quarters. Barney sheathed a two-foot-long Spanish dagger with a disc-shaped hilt and a double-edged steel blade. In a street brawl, a big knife such as this was more lethal than a sword.

  Back in the courtyard, Carlos was wearing a sword under his new coat with the fur collar. He hugged his grandmother, who was weeping. Barney kissed her on the cheek.

  Then Aunt Betsy said to Ebrima: ‘Kiss me one more time, my love.’

  Ebrima took her in his arms.

  Barney frowned, and Carlos said: ‘Hey—’

  Aunt Betsy kissed Ebrima passionately, her hand buried in his dark hair, while Carlos and Barney stared in astonishment. When they broke the kiss, she said: ‘I love you, Ebrima. I don’t want you to go. But I can’t let you stay here to die in the torture chamber of the inquisition.’