A Column of Fire by Ken Follett Read Free Book Online

Queen Mary Tudor had burned hundreds of Protestants at the stake.
    Ned certainly felt that way, as Cecil must have realized during the argument in the earl’s library about the succession to the throne. Millions of English people agreed: whether Catholic or Protestant, they were sickened by the slaughter.
    ‘As I said earlier, Elizabeth has told me many times that if she should become queen, it is her dearest wish that no Englishman should lose his life for the sake of his beliefs,’ Cecil repeated. ‘I think that’s an ideal worthy of a man’s faith.’
    Alice looked mildly resentful. ‘As you say, Sir William, my sons are destined to work in the family business. Off you go, Ned.’
    Ned turned around and looked for Margery.
    *
    E ARL S WITHIN HAD hired a travelling company of actors, and now they were building a raised platform up against one long wall of the great hall. While Margery was watching them, Lady Brecknock stood beside her and did the same. An attractive woman in her late thirties with a warm smile, Susannah Brecknock was a cousin of Earl Swithin’s, and was a frequent visitor to Kingsbridge, where she had a house. Margery had met her before and found her amiable and not too grand.
    The stage was made of planks on barrels. Margery said: ‘It looks a bit shaky.’
    ‘That’s what I thought!’ said Susannah.
    ‘Do you know what they’re going to perform?’
    ‘The life of Mary Magdalene.’
    ‘Oh!’ Mary Magdalene was the patron saint of prostitutes. Priests always corrected this by saying: ‘Reformed prostitutes,’ but that did not make the saint any less intriguing. ‘But how can they? All the actors are men.’
    ‘You haven’t seen a play before?’
    ‘Not this kind, with a stage and professional players. I’ve just seen processions and pageants.’
    ‘The female characters are always played by men. They don’t allow women to act.’
    ‘Why not?’
    ‘Oh, I expect it’s because we’re inferior beings, physically weak and intellectually feeble.’
    She was being sarcastic. Margery liked Susannah for the candid way she talked. Most adults responded to embarrassing questions with empty platitudes, but Susannah could be relied upon to tell the plain truth. Emboldened, Margery blurted out what was on her mind: ‘Did they force you to marry the Lord Brecknock?’
    Susannah raised her eyebrows.
    Margery realized immediately that she had gone too far. Quickly she said: ‘I’m so sorry, I have no right to ask you that, please forgive me.’ Tears came to her eyes.
    Susannah shrugged. ‘You certainly do not have the right to ask me such a question, but I haven’t forgotten what it was like to be fifteen.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Who do they want you to marry?’
    ‘Bart Shiring.’
    ‘Oh, God, poor you,’ she said, even though Bart was her second cousin. Her sympathy made Margery feel even more sorry for herself. Susannah thought for a minute. ‘It’s no secret that my marriage was arranged, but no one forced me,’ she said. ‘I met him and liked him.’
    ‘Do you love him?’
    She hesitated again, and Margery could see that she was torn between discretion and compassion. ‘I shouldn’t answer that.’
    ‘No, of course not, I apologize – again.’
    ‘But I can see that you’re in distress, so I’ll confide in you, provided you promise never to repeat what I say.’
    ‘I promise.’
    ‘Brecknock and I are friends,’ she said. ‘He’s kind to me and I do everything I can to please him. And we have four wonderful children. I am happy.’ She paused, and Margery waited for the answer to her question. At last Susannah said: ‘But I know there is another kind of happiness, the mad ecstasy of adoring someone and being adored in return.’
    ‘Yes!’ Margery was so glad that Susannah understood.
    ‘That particular joy is not given to all of us,’ she said solemnly.
    ‘But it should be!’ Margery could not bear the thought that a person might be denied love.
    For a