Free A Column of Fire by Ken Follett

famous men in France after the king.
    One had terrible scars on both cheeks, the marks of a lance that had pierced right through his mouth. The legend said that the spearhead had lodged there, and he had ridden back to his tent and had not even screamed when the surgeon pulled out the blade. This was François, duke of Guise, known as Scarface. He was a few days short of his thirty-ninth birthday.
    The younger brother, born on the same day five years later, was Charles, cardinal of Lorraine. He wore the bright red robes of his priestly office. He had been made archbishop of Reims at the age of fourteen, and he now had so many lucrative Church positions that he was one of the richest men in France, with an amazing annual income of three hundred thousand livres.
    For years Pierre had daydreamed of meeting these two. They were the most powerful men in the country outside the royal family. In his fantasy they valued him as a counsellor, talked to him almost as an equal, and sought his advice on political, financial and even military decisions.
    But now he stood before them as a criminal.
    He listened to their conversation. Cardinal Charles said quietly: ‘The king’s prestige has not really recovered from the defeat at St Quentin.’
    ‘But surely my victory at Calais has helped!’ said Duke François.
    Charles shook his head. ‘We won that battle, but we’re losing the war.’
    Pierre was fascinated, despite his fear. France had been fighting Spain over who was to rule the kingdom of Naples and other states in the Italian peninsula. England had sided with Spain. France had got Calais back but not the Italian states. It was a poor bargain, but few people would dare to say so openly. The two brothers were supremely confident of their power.
    Le Pin took advantage of a pause to say: ‘This is the imposter, my lords,’ and the brothers looked up.
    Pierre pulled himself together. He had escaped from awkward situations before, using fast talk and plausible lies. He told himself to regard this problem as an opportunity. If he remained alert and quick-witted he might even gain by the encounter. ‘Good evening, my lords,’ he said in a dignified tone. ‘This is an unexpected honour.’
    Le Pin said: ‘Speak when you’re spoken to, shithole.’
    Pierre turned to him. ‘Refrain from coarse language in the presence of the cardinal,’ he said. ‘Otherwise I shall see that you’re taught a lesson.’
    Le Pin bristled, but hesitated to strike Pierre in front of his masters.
    The two brothers exchanged a glance, and Charles raised an amused eyebrow. Pierre had surprised them. Good.
    It was the duke who spoke. ‘You pretend to be a member of our family. This is a serious offence.’
    ‘I humbly beg your forgiveness.’ Before either brother could reply, he went on: ‘My father is the illegitimate son of a dairymaid in Thonnance-lès-Joinville.’ He hated having to tell this story, because it was true, and it shamed him. However, he was desperate. He went on: ‘The family legend is that her lover was a dashing young man from Joinville, a cousin of the Guise family.’
    Duke François gave a sceptical grunt. The Guise family seat was at Joinville, in the Champagne region, and Thonnance-lès-Joinville was nearby, as its name implied. But many unmarried mothers put the blame on an aristocratic lover. On the other hand, it was often true.
    Pierre went on: ‘My father was educated at the Grammar School and became a local priest, thanks to a recommendation from your lordships’ father, now in heaven, rest his soul.’
    This was perfectly believable, Pierre knew. Noble families did not openly acknowledge their bastards, but they often gave them a helping hand, in the casual way that a man might stoop to draw a thorn from the paw of a limping dog.
    Duke François said: ‘How can you be the son of a celibate priest?’
    ‘My mother is his housekeeper.’ Priests were not allowed to marry, but they often took mistresses, and