Sarum - Edward Rutherfurd [450]
He glanced at Robert, whose eyes fell; at Abigail: how steady she was, how certain.
“Each man must follow his own conscience,” she said quietly.
He looked at Peter again.
And then, for less than a second, yet unmistakable, terrible, never-to-be-forgotten, he saw in Peter Mason’s eyes a look that he had not seen before: a look of perfect comprehension. It was a look that told him the foolish fellow understood, perhaps, more than he about the world, a look that was accompanied by a pain and anguish that even Abigail and Robert did not see as he said, very gently:
“How can I?”
Chance caused Nellie Wilson to bring her husband to Sarum that day.
She had meant to send word to her brother Piers, then had a better idea. Instead of finding a poor priest to write a letter for her, she would arrive in person. It would be a small but happy triumph. As the two Wilsons came into the city in a small cart on a fine autumn morning, she was in a festive mood. She wondered why the people were all walking towards Fisherton.
Moments later, all her happiness had gone and she was racing towards the place herself.
He had already been brought to the stake when she arrived, and the fire was just being lit.
Two things she saw at once. The first was that the sheriffs men had decided to be merciful: for they had prepared a quick fire.
“Thank God for that at least,” she murmured.
The slow fire burned the more fiercely, for the dry wood was left uncovered so that the victim was licked by the naked flames to die an agonising death. The quick fire was kinder, for here the fire was packed with damp leaves so that the sentenced man was soon asphyxiated before his body was roasted.
The second thing she noticed was that one of the canons, a tall elderly man, was standing beside him, talking to him calmly but seriously, obviously urging him to recant; and then she saw where poor Peter’s eyes were looking – at Abigail and Robert, standing at the inner edge of the circle of spectators.
They did not see her at first.
Nor, to begin with, did Edward Shockley, who was standing with his wife and John Moody not far from the Mason group.
When the fire was lit, Edward looked at his wife and wondered:
“Do the flames truly purify his soul?”
But his wife did not trouble to look at him. She and her brother instead sank to their knees.
And once again, Edward felt a sense of shame, as he stood between the two sets – Mason and Moody – of true believers.
Did the fire purify? He stared, not at the flames, but billowing smoke. The sheriff’s men, thank God, had done their job with the leaves efficiently. He could not see Peter.
By looking down at the kneeling figures, he had missed one small act in the drama. Just before the smoke engulfed him, Peter had for some reason turned his gaze away from Abigail, and seen Nellie. For a second he stared in astonishment, and then he smiled, as he used to do, his simple-hearted, affectionate smile.
As the crowd began to disperse, Edward Shockley did not move; and thanks to this he witnessed a further small encounter. For long after Peter had gone, and the naked flames were consuming the thin remains of his body, Abigail Mason looked across and caught sight of Nellie, through the thinning crowd. She was staring at the stake. There were tears running down her cheeks.
For a moment Abigail did not move. Then her face set. She came towards Nellie slowly, Robert walking just behind her.
Her voice was quiet, but carrying as she reached Nellie, turned to where the Sheriff’s men were still standing with the town bailiff by the fire and announced:
“Arrest this woman. She is a harlot.”
Nellie looked at her, and pursed her lips thoughtfully.
It was Captain Wilson’s voice which rang out for all to hear.
“No more she ain’t. She’s my wife.” He stared, first at Robert, who now looked embarrassed, then at the sheriff’s men. “Would any care to dispute with me?”
No one seemed inclined to move.
“And who’s this pasty-faced scold?”