‘Mass is an abominable idolatry, blasphemous to the death of Christ and a profanation of the Lord’s supper.’ Knox hammers a beat with his fist upon the pulpit as he declaims his next lines. ‘The sacraments of the New Testament must be ministered as they were instituted by Christ Jesus and practised by the apostles; nothing ought to be added unto them and nothing ought to be diminished from them.’
A shudder of shock runs through the congregation. People shift and look to one another. Some push forward so they can see and hear more clearly, others ease their way to the back, ready to escape if need be. But no one leaves. There is something about the power of Knox’s belief which holds them all here, whether they agree or not.
‘Stand ye still and listen to the word that comes from the mouth of God, lest ye submit to Satan in error. It is not enough that man invents a ceremony and then gives it significance according to his pleasure, as the Papists do. We must follow the scripture and keep the religion that is received from God without alteration. Romans 10 verse 7, “faith comes by hearing, and hearing by the word of God,” and lest we forget, “whatsover is not of faith is of sin,” Romans 14, verse 23.’
She looks to Mother sitting next to her, Father beyond Mother and John tucked between them: John is asleep head rolled back and mouth open; Mother is holding a pomander to her nose, and she does not blame her, for the smell arising from the crush of the standing mass pressed close is suffocating. Father however is looking quietly thoughtful. She has seen that look often, it usually means he’s considering an opportunity but she cannot imagine how he plans to turn the preachings of Knox to his advantage.
She is also puzzled as to why Knox is permitted to speak. Since the truce it’s as though Arran has washed his hands of the siege and allows the protestors their place: perhaps he’s not unsympathetic to the cause; or perhaps he’s rewarding them for ridding him of his rival the Cardinal; or perhaps he simply does not want to do anything more to antagonise the men who hold his son hostage. And Gilbert Logie is faraway, with Arran, so can provide no insight.
Knox is leaning over the pulpit now, his spittle raining freely down upon the faithful. ‘The great Martin Luther, who was so recently gathered unto the bosom of Christ, taught that there is no Purgatory in which the souls of men can be purged after death. Ye either live a life of true faith and enter the Kingdom of Heaven, as Luther did, or ye suffer damnation, burning in the fires of hell for all eternity. To pray for the dead, and especially to pay indulgences for prayers to be said in their memory, is a vain abomination. Heaven opens only for the faithful.’
She is stunned by his passion. His voice never drops below a shout and he speaks for over four hours, even calling into question the right of the Queen to rule. ‘Where a woman reigns and papists bear authority we have a council headed by Satan,’ he bellows. The longer he speaks, the hoarser his voice becomes and now there’s a plug of mucus, stretching between his lips. She waits for it to break, but it never does. On and on he goes until she leans forward, resting her face in her hands, made dizzy to the point of collapse by his vehemence.
When the congregation finally emerges, blinking in the sunlight, they are unwilling to disperse but stand talking to their neighbours, quietly in the beginning, then louder and louder as people argue the points Knox has made. He follows them out, looking pleased that his discourse has resulted in such debate.
Hugh of Nydie is there with his wife Lady Merione. ‘These are solemn and true words spoken by John Knox,’ he says, his voice booming out over the crowd.
She can see Father is surprised by the passion in Nydie’s voice, indeed does not know how to respond. No wonder young Nydie stormed the castle with Norman Leslie, if his father holds such views. Bethia only wants a quiet life, and wonders why men must make such a to-do about doctrine. She thinks of how careful they all need be to not offend some person of power, or break any laws, spiritual or temporal, without the increased danger to their lives that this new thinking brings.
‘Knox is permitted free access. He comes and goes between town and castle as he pleases, and takes our sons the true word,’ Nydie says.
‘My son is in Edinburgh, with his aunt,’ says Father.
‘Aye, may be wise to stick to that story.’
Bethia feels sick, wishes Hugh of Nydie at the bottom of the mill lade, or anywhere other than here. Now Father will be insisting that her marriage go quickly ahead.
‘It was so hot, and so pungent in there, I thought I would faint,’ says Mother loudly to Lady Merione. ‘Come, you will break fast with us, if you may.’
Father glares at Mother, clearly not wanting his meal disturbed by Nydie’s dissecting of Knox’s words. Lady Merione, however, takes little persuading to eat before starting the ride back to Nydie lands. Soon they are gathered at the board with Agnes huffing and puffing at having to stretch the meal to feed more people, and the quality forby, Grissel getting into a guddle offering water and towels to the guests to wash their hands, and Mother determined neither Agnes nor Grissel will sit down with them to share the meal.
Bethia sits quietly while those around her chew, poking her knife at the stringy old goat meat Agnes has acquired, despite the shortage of food at this time of year, made worse by the depredations of the Castilians. She wonders if she could flee to Antwerp as Elspeth did. Now summer will soon be upon them there are more ships in the harbour – perhaps she can find one that will take her. She knows it’s nonsense to even consider such an escape. She cannot travel unattended and without funds, and her duty is to help her family in whatever way Father commands. Anyway, she is certain now that Mainard is not interested. The hurt is still there, but not so sharp. She sighs again and then realises everyone at the board is staring at her.
‘Well, my child, what say you?’ says Lady Merione.
‘I do not know,’ she says, bowing her head and mumbling, for indeed she does not know, either what she can do to save herself, or of what Lady Merione has been speaking.
There’s a crash as John upsets his trencher spilling the watered-down ale he drinks. The beaker rolls across the uneven floorboards and comes to rest against the door. He winks at her as Father’s hand reaches over to cuff him.
‘Leave us,’ Father says. Normally he would roar, but he’s mindful of Hugh of Nydie’s eyes upon him.
John needs no further invitation and goes, and Bethia, after a nod from Father, follows. As she closes the door she hears the Earl of Nydie inquire if she’s to be wed soon. She lingers to hear Father’s answer. It had been agreed with the Wardlaws that all will be done quietly, but, no doubt, Mother has shared the information with Lady Merione.
Before Father can speak, Nydie does.
‘She may do for my son.’
Her heart lifts. Is he suggesting what she hopes?
There’s a pause.
‘Young James?’ Father sounds surprised but there’s a trill of delight from Mother.
The door latch lifts and she scurries away. She has met James of Nydie a few times, most recently in the castle. He seems courteous and is certainly better to look upon than Fat Norman – and yet, there’s something missing. There is no tug to her heart, not in the way she had with Mainard and sometimes recently with Gilbert Logie, when she’s near him. Nevertheless she would far rather marry James than Norman, and surely he is the better match. Mother will certainly agree, but she’s less certain of Father. He’ll suspect Hugh of Nydie’s motives, for she is a step down for his family. She will have a generous dowry though, Mother will make sure of it.
She sighs, all she can do is wait while others decide her fate.