Free A Column of Fire by Ken Follett Page A

‘housekeeper’ was the accepted euphemism.
    ‘So you’re doubly illegitimate!’
    Pierre flushed, and his emotion was genuine. He had no need to pretend to be ashamed of his birth. But the duke’s comment also encouraged him. It suggested that his story was being taken seriously.
    The duke said: ‘Even if your family myth were true, you would not be entitled to use our name – as you must realize.’
    ‘I know I did wrong,’ Pierre said. ‘But all my life I have looked up to the Guises. I would give my soul to serve you. I know that your duty is to punish me, but please – use me instead. Give me a task, and I will perform it meticulously, I swear. I will do anything you ask – anything.’
    The duke shook his head scornfully. ‘I cannot imagine there is any service you could do for us.’
    Pierre despaired. He had put his heart and soul into his speech – and it had failed.
    Then Cardinal Charles intervened. ‘As a matter of fact, there might be something.’
    Pierre’s heart leaped with hope.
    Duke François looked mildly irritated. ‘Really?’
    ‘Yes.’
    The duke made a ‘help yourself’ gesture with his hand.
    Cardinal Charles said: ‘There are Protestants in Paris.’
    Charles was an ultra-Catholic – which was no surprise, given how much money he made from the Church. And he was right about the Protestants. Even though Paris was a strongly Catholic city, where popular hellfire preachers raged against heresy from the pulpits every Sunday, there existed a minority eager to listen to denunciations of priests who took their Church income and did nothing for their congregations. Some felt strongly enough about Church corruption to take the risk of attending clandestine Protestant services, even though it was a crime.
    Pierre pretended to be outraged. ‘Such people should be put to death!’
    ‘And they will be,’ said Charles. ‘But first we have to find them.’
    ‘I can do that!’ Pierre said quickly.
    ‘Also the names of their wives and children, friends and relations.’
    ‘Several of my fellow students at the Sorbonne have heretical leanings.’
    ‘Ask where one can buy books and pamphlets dealing with criticism of the Church.’
    Selling Protestant literature was a crime punishable by death. ‘I’ll drop hints,’ Pierre said. ‘I’ll pretend to have sincere doubts.’
    ‘Most of all, I want to know the places where Protestants gather to perform their blasphemous services.’
    Pierre frowned, struck by a thought. Presumably the need for such information had not occurred to Charles in the last few minutes. ‘Your Eminence must already have people making such inquiries.’
    ‘You need not know about them, nor they about you.’
    So Pierre would be joining an unknown number of spies. ‘I will be the best of them!’
    ‘You will be well rewarded if you are.’
    Pierre could hardly believe his luck. He was so relieved that he wanted to leave now, before Charles could change his mind; but he had to give an impression of calm confidence. ‘Thank you for placing your trust in me, Cardinal.’
    ‘Oh, please don’t imagine that I trust you,’ said Charles with careless contempt. ‘But in the task of exterminating heretics, one is obliged to use the tools that come to hand.’
    Pierre did not want to leave on that note. He needed to impress the brothers somehow. He recalled the conversation they had been having when he was brought in. Throwing caution to the wind, he said: ‘I agree with what you were saying, Cardinal, about the need to boost the popular reputation of his majesty the king.’
    Charles looked as if he did not know whether to be offended or merely amused by Pierre’s effrontery. ‘Do you, indeed?’ he said.
    Pierre plunged on. ‘What we need now is a big, lavish, colourful celebration, to make them forget the shame of St Quentin.’
    The cardinal gave a slight nod.
    Encouraged, Pierre said: ‘Something like a royal wedding.’
    The two brothers looked at one