A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM

BY

KEN FOLLETT


By Ken Follett:

      A DANGEROUS FORTUNE
      NIGHT OVER WATER
      THE PILLARS OF THE EARTH
      LIE DOWN WITH LIONS
      ON WINGS OF EAGLES
      THE MAN FROM ST. PETERSBURG
      THE KEY TO REBECCA
      TRIPLE
      EYE OF THE NEEDLE
      A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM*

      *Published by Fawcett Books

      FAWCETT CREST  NEW YORK
 Sale of this book without a front cover may be unauthorized. If this book
 is coverless, it may have been reported to the publisher as "unsold or
 destroyed" and neither the author nor the publisher may have received
 payment for it.

 This book contains an excerpt from the hardcover edition of The Third Twin
 by Ken Follett. This excerpt has been set for this edition only and may
 not reflect the final content of the hardcover edition.

 A Fawcett Crest Book
 Published by Ballantine Books
 Copyright @ 1995 by Ken Follett
 Excerpt from The Aird Twin copyright @ 1996 by Ken Follett

 All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright
 Conventions. Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, a
 division of Random House, Inc., New York, and simultaneously in Canada by
 Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto.

 http://www.randomhouse.com

 Maps courtesy the Bettmann Archive

 Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 95-96170

 ISBN 0-449-22515-1

 This edition published by arrangement with Crown Publishers, Inc.

 Printed in Canada

 First Ballantine Books International Edition: June 1996
 First Ballantine Books Domestic Edition: August 1996

 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 21
 Dedicated to the memory of

 JOHN SMITH
 I did a lot of gardening when I first moved into High Glen House, and that's
 how I found the iron collar
  The house was fialling down and the garden was overgrown. A crazy old lady
  had lived here for twenty years and never given it a lick of paint. She
  died and I bought it from her son, who owns the Toyota dealership in
  Kirkbum, the nearest town, jy~y miles away.
  You might wonder why a person would buy a dilap
 idated house fifty miles from nowhere. But I just love
 this valley. There are shy deer in the woods and an ea
 gles' nest right at the top of the ridge. Out in the gar
 den I would spend half the time leaning on in ' y spade
 and staring at the blue-green mountainsides.
  But I did some digging too. I decided to plant some shrubs around the
  outhouse. It's not a handsome building-clapboard walls with no windows-and
  I wanted to screen it with bushes. While I was digging the trench, I found
  a box.
  It wasn't very big, about the size of those cases that contain twelve
  bottles of good wine. It wasn'tfancy either: just plain unvarnished wood
  held together with rusty nails. I broke it open with the blade of my spade.
 There were two things inside.
  One was a big old book. I got quite excited at that: perhaps it was afamily
  Bible, with an intriguing history written on the flyleaf-the births,
  marriages and deaths of people who had lived in my house a hundred years
  ago. But I was disappointed When I opened it Ifound ix
 x          Prologue

 that the pages had turned to pull). Not a word could be read.
  The other item was an oilcloth bag. That, too, was rotten, and when I
  touched it with my gardening gloves it disintegrated. Inside was an iron
  ring about six inches across. It was tarnished, but the oilcloth bag had
  prevented it from rusting away.
  It looked crudely made, probably b ' y a village black
 smith, and at first I thought it might have been part of
 a                              cart or a plow. But why had someone
 wrapped it
 carefully in oilcloth to preserve iO There was a break
 in the ring and it hail been bent. I began to think of it
 as a collar that some prisoner had been forced to wear
 When the prisoner escaped the ring had been broken
 with a heav ' v blacksmith's tool, then bent to get it off.
  I took it in the house and started to clean it up. It was slow work, so I
  steeped it in RustAway overnight then tried again in the morning. As I
  polished it with a rag, an inscription became visible.
  It was engraved in old-fashioned curly writing, and it took me a while to
  figure it out, but this is what it said:

        -474 -waw     ol'

            A.D. 1767

  It's here on my desk, beside the computer I use it as a paperweight. I
  often pick it up and turn it in my hands, rereading that inscription. If
  the iron collar could talk, I think to myself what kind of story would it
  tell?
A PLACE
CALLED
FREEDOM
                                          
 SNOW CROWNED THE RIDGES OF HIGH GLEN AND LAY on the wooded slopes in pearly
 patches, like jewelry on the bosom of a green silk dress. In the valley
 bottom a hasty stream dodged between icy rocks. The bitter wind that howled
 inland from the North Sea brought flurries of sleet and hail.
  Walking to church in the morning the McAsh twins, Malachi and Esther,
  followed a zigzag trail along the eastern slope of the glen. Malachi, known
  as Mack, wore a plaid cape and tweed breeches, but his legs were bare below
  the knee, and his feet, without stockings, froze in his wooden clogs.
  However, he was young and hot-blooded, and he hardly noticed the cold.
  This was not the shortest way to church but High Glen always thrilled him.
  The high mountainsides, the quiet mysterious woods and the laughing water
  formed a landscape familiar to his soul. He had watched a pair of eagles
  raise three sets of nestlings here. Like the eagles, he had stolen the
  laird's salmon from the teeming stream. And, like the deer, he had hidden
  in the trees, silent and still, when the gamekeepers came,
  The laird was a woman, Lady Hallim, a widow with a daughter. The land on
  the far side of the mountain belonged to Sir George Jamisson, and it was a
  different world. Engineers had torn great holes in the mountainsides;
  manmade hills of slag disfigured the valley; massive wagons loaded with
  coal plowed the muddy road; and the stream was black with dust. There the
  twins 3
 4        Ken Follett

 lived, in a village called Heugh, a long row of low stone houses marching
 uphill like a staircase.
  They were male and female versions of the same image. Both had fair hair
  blackened by coal dust, and striking pale green eyes. Both were short and
  broad backed, with strongly muscled arms and legs. Both were opinionated
  and argumentative.
  Arguments were a family tradition. Their father had been an all-round
  nonconformist, eager to disagree with the government, the church or any
  other authority. Their mother had worked for Lady Hallim before her
  marriage, and like many servants she identified with the upper class. One
  bitter winter, when the pit had closed for a month after an explosion,
  Father had died of the black spit, the cough that killed so many coal
  miners; and Mother got pneumonia and followed him within a few weeks. But
  the arguments went on, usually on Saturday nights in Mrs. Wheighel's
  parlor, the nearest thing to a tavern in the village of Heugh.
  The estate workers and the crofters took Mother's view. They said the king
  was appointed by God, and that was why people had to obey him. The coal
  miners had heard newer ideas. John Locke and other philosophers said a
  government's authority could come only from the consent of the people. This
  theory appealed to Mack.
  Few miners in Heugh could read, but Mack's mother could, and he had
  pestered her to teach him. She had taught both her children, ignoring the
  gibes of her husband, who said she had ideas above her station. At Mrs.
  Wheighel's Mack was called on to read aloud from the Times, the Edinburgh
  Advertiser, and political journals such as the radical North Briton. The
  papers were always weeks out of date, sometimes months, but the inen and
  women of the village listened avidly to long speeches reported verbatim,
  satirical diatribes, and accounts of strikes, protests and riots.
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM  5

  It was after a Saturday night argument at Mrs. Wheighel's that Mack had
  written the letter.
  None of the miners had ever written a letter before, and there had been
  long consultations about every word. It was addressed to Caspar Gordonson,
  a London lawyer who wrote articles in the journals ridiculing the
  government. The letter had been entrusted to Davey Patch, the one-eyed
  peddler, for posting; and Mack had wondered if it would ever reach its
  destination.
  The reply had come yesterday, and it was the most exciting thing that had
  ever happened to Mack. It would change his life beyond recognition, he
  thought. It might set him free.
  As far back as he could remember he had longed to be free. As a child he
  had envied Davey Patch, who roamed from village to village selling knives
  and string and ballads. What was so wonderful about Davey's life, to the
  child Mack, was that he could get up at sunrise and go to sleep when he
  felt tired. Mack, from the age of seven, had been shaken awake by his
  mother a few minutes before two o'clock in the morning and had worked down
  the mine for fifteen hours, finishing at five o'clock in the afternoon;
  then had staggered home, often to fall asleep over his evening porridge.
  Mack no longer wanted to be a peddler, but he still yearned for a different
  life. He dreamed of building a house for himself, in a valley like High
  Glen, on a piece of land he could call his own; of working from dawn to
  dusk and resting all the hours of darkness; of the freedom to go fishing on
  a sunny day, in a place where the salmon belonged not to the laird but to
  whoever caught them. And the letter in his hand meant that his dreams might
  come true.
  "I'm still not sure you should read it aloud in church," Esther said as
  they tramped across the frozen mountainside.
 Mack was not sure either, but he said: "Why not?"
 "There'll be trouble. Ratchett will be furious." Harry
 6        Ken Follett

 Ratchett was the viewer, the man who managed the mine on behalf of the
 owner. "He might even tell Sir George, and then what will they do to you?"
  He knew she was right, and his heart was full of trepidation. But that
  did not stop him arguing with her. "If I keep the letter to myself, it's
  pointless," he said.
  "Well, you could show it to Ratchett privately. He might let you leave
  quietly, without any fuss."
  Mack glanced at his twin out of the comer of his eye. She was not in a
  dogmatic frame of mind, he could tell. She looked troubled rather than
  combative. He felt a surge of affection for her. Whatever happened, she
  would be on his side.
  All the same he shook his head stubbornly. "I'm not the only one affected
  by this letter. There's at least five ]ads would want to get away from
  here, if they knew they could. And what about future generations?"
  She gave him a shrewd look. "You may be rightbut that's not the real
  reason. You want to stand up in church and prove the mine owner wrong."
  "No, I don't!" Mack protested. Then he thought for a moment and grinned.
  "Well, there may be something in what you say. We've heard so many
  sermons about obeying the law and respecting our betters. Now we find
  that they've been lying to us, all along, about the one law that affects
  us most. Of course I want to stand up and shout it aloud."
  "Don't give them reason to punish you," she said worriedly.
  He tried to reassure her. "I'll be as polite and humble as can be," he
  said. "You'll hardly recognize me."
 "Humble!" she said skeptically. "I'd like to see that."
  "I'm just going to say what the law is-how can that be wrong?"
 "It's incautious."
  "Aye, that it is," he conceded. "But I'm going to do it anyway."
 They crossed a ridge and dropped down the far side,
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM  7

 back into Coalpit Glen. As they descended, the air became a little less
 cold. A few moments later the small stone church came into view, beside a
 bridge over the dirty river.
  Near the churchyard clustered a few crofters' hovels. These were round huts
  with an open fire in the middle of the earth floor and a hole in the roof
  to let the smoke out, the one room shared by cattle and people all winter.
  The miners' houses, farther up the glen near the pits, were better: though
  they, too, had earth floors,and turf roofs, every one had a fireplace and
  a proper chimney, and glass in the little window by the door; and miners
  were not obliged to share their space with cows. All the same the crofters
  considered themselves free and independent, and looked down on the miners.
  However, it was not the peasants' huts that now arrested the attention of
  Mack and Esther and brought them up short. A closed carriage with a fine
  pair of grays in harness stood at the church porch. Several ladies in
  hooped skirts and fur wraps were getting out, helped by the pastor, holding
  on to their fashionable lacy hats.
  Esther touched Mack's arm and pointed to the bridge. Riding across on a big
  chestnut hunter, his head bent into the cold wind, was the owner of the
  mine, the laird of the glen, Sir George Jamisson.
  Jamisson had not been seen here for five years. He lived in London, which
  was a week's journey by ship, two weeks by stagecoach. He had once been a
  pennypinching Edinburgh chandler, people said, selling candies and gin from
  a comer shop, and no more honest than he had to be. Then a relative died
  young and childless, and George had inherited the castle and the mines. On
  that foundation he had built a business empire that stretched to such
  unimaginably distant places as Barbados and Virginia. And he was now
  starchily respectable: a baronet, a magistrate, and alderman of Wapping,
 8        Ken Follett

 responsible for law and order along London's waterfront.
  He was obviously paying a visit to his Scottish estate, accompanied by
  family and guests.
 "Well, that's that," Esther said with relief.
  "What do you mean?" said Mack, although he could guess.
 "You won't be able to read out your letter now."
 ")"y not?"
  "Malachi McAsh, don't be a damn fool!" she exclaimed. "Not in front of
  the laird himself!"
  "On the contrary," he said stubbornly. "This makes it all the better."

              2

 UZZIE HALLIM REFUSED TO GO TO CHURCH IN THE carriage. It was a silly idea.
 The road from Jamisson Castle was a rutted, potholed track, its muddy ridges
 frozen as hard as rock. The ride would be frightfully bumpy, the carriage
 would have to go at walking pace, and the passengers would arrive cold and
 bruised and probably late. She insisted on riding to church.
  Such unladylike behavior made her mother despaiL "How will you ever get a
  husband if you always act like a man?" Lady Hallim said.
  "I can get a husband whenever I like," Lizzie replied. It was true: men
  fell in love with her all the time. "The problem is finding one I can put
  up with for more than half an hour."
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   9

  "The problem is finding one that doesn't scare easily," her mother
  muttered.
  Lizzie laughed. They were both right. Men fell in love with her at first
  sight, then found out what she was like and backed off hurriedly. Her
  comments had scandalized Edinburgh society for years. At her first baB,
  talking to a trio of old dowagers, she had remarked that the high sheriff
  had a fat backside, and her reputation had never recovered. Last year
  Mother had taken her to London in the spring and "launched" her into
  English society. It had been a disaster. Lizzie had talked too loud,
  laughed too much and openly mocked the elaborate manners and tight clothes
  of the dandified young men who tried to court her.
  "It's because you grew up without a man in the house," her mother added.
  "It's made you too independent." With that she got into the carriage.
  Lizzie walked across the flinty front of Jamisson Castle, heading for the
  stables on the east side. Her father had died when she was three, so she
  hardly remembered him. When she asked what killed him her mother said
  vaguely: "Liver." He had left them penniless. For years Mother had scraped
  by, mortgaging more and more of the Hallim estate, waiting for Lizzie to
  grow up and many a wealthy man who would solve all their problems. Now
  Lizzie was twenty years old and it was time to fulfill her destiny.
  That was undoubtedly why the Jamisson family were visiting their Scottish
  property again after all these years, and why their principal houseguests
  were their neighbors, Lizzie and her mother, who lived only ten miles away.
  The pretext for the party was the twentyfirst birthday of the younger son,
  Jay; but the real reason was that they wanted Lizzie to marry the older
  son, Robert.
  Mother was in favor, as Robert was the heir to a great fortune. Sir George
  was in favor because he wanted to add the Hallim estate to the Jamisson
 10       Ken Follett

 family's land. Robert seemed to be in favor, to judge by the way he had
 been paying attention to her ever since they arrived; although it was
 always hard to know what was in Robert's heart.
  She saw him standing in the stable yard, waiting for the horses to be
  saddled. He resembled the portrait of his mother that hung in the castle
  hall-a grave, plain woman with fine hair and light eyes and a determined
  look about the mouth. There was nothing wrong with him: he was not
  especially ugly, neither thin nor fat, nor did he smell bad or drink too
  much or dress effeminately. He was a great catch, Lizzie told herself,
  and if he proposed marriage she would probably accept. She was not in
  love with him, but she knew her duty.
  She decided to banter with him a little. "It really is most inconsiderate
  of you to live in London," she said.
 "Inconsiderate?" He frowned. "Why?"
  "You leave us without neighbors." Still he looked puzzled. It seemed he
  did not have much of a sense of humor. She explained: "With you away
  there isn't another soul between here and Edinburgh."
  A voice behind her said: "Apart from a hundred families of coal miners
  and several villages of crofters."
  "You know what I mean," she said, turning. The man who had spoken was a
  stranger to her. With her usual directness she said: "Anyway, who are
  you?"
  "Jay Jamisson," he said with a bow. "Robert's cleverer brother. How could
  you forget?"
  "Oh!" She had heard he had arrived late last night, but she had not
  recognized him. Five years ago he had been several inches shorter, with
  pimples on his forehead and a few soft blond hairs on his chin. He was
  handsomer now. But he had not been clever then and she doubted if he had
  changed in that respect. "I remember you," she said. "I recognize the
  conceit."
  He grinned. "If only I'd had your example of humility and self-effacement
  to copy, Miss Hallim."
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM 11

  Robert said: "Hullo, Jay. Welcome to Castle Jamisson."
  Jay looked suddenly sulky. "Drop the proprietorial air, Robert. You may be
  the elder son but you haven't inherited the place yet."
  Lizzie intervened, saying: "Congratulations on your twenty-first birthday."
 "Thank you."
 "Is it today?"
 "Yes.
  Robert said impatiently: "Are you going to ride to church with us?"
  Lizzie saw hatred in Jay's eyes, but his voice was neutral. "Yes. I've told
  them to saddle a horse for me."
  "We'd better get going." Robert turned toward the stable and raised his
  voice. "Hurry up in there!"
  "All set, sir," a groom called from within, and a moment later three horses
  were led out: a sturdy black pony, a light bay mare, and a gray gelding.
  Jay said: "I suppose these beasts have been hired from some Edinburgh
  horse-dealer." His tone was critical, but he went to the gelding and patted
  its neck, letting it nuzzle his blue riding-coat. Lizzie saw that he was
  comfortable with horses and fond of them.
  She mounted the black pony, riding sidesaddle, and trotted out of the yard.
  The brothers followed, Jay on the gelding and Robert on the mare. The wind
  blew sleet into Lizzie's eyes. Snow underfoot made the road treacherous,
  for it hid potholes a foot or more deep that caused the horses to stumble.
  Lizzie said: "Let's ride through the woods. It will be sheltered, and the
  ground is not so uneven." Without waiting for agreement she turned her
  horse off the road and into the ancient forest.
  Underneath the tall pines the forest floor was clear of bushes. Streamlets
  and marshy patches were frozen hard, and the ground was dusted white.
  Lizzie urged her pony into a canter. After a moment the gray horse passed
  her. She glanced up and saw a challenging grin
 12       Ken Follett

 on Jay's face: he wanted to race. She gave a whoop and kicked the pony,
 who sprang forward eagerly.
  They dashed through the trees, ducking under low boughs, jumping over
  fallen trunks, and splashing heedlessly through streams. Jay's horse was
  bigger and would have been faster in a gallop, but the pony's short legs
  and light frame were better adapted to this terrain, and gradually Lizzie
  pulled ahead. When she could no longer hear Jay's horse she slowed down
  and came to a standstill in a clearing.
  Jay soon caught up, but there was no sign of Robert. Lizzie guessed he
  was too sensible to risk his neck in a pointless race. She and Jay walked
  on, side by side, catching their breath. Heat rose from the horses, keep-
  ing the riders warm. "I'd like to race you on the straight," Jay panted.
 "Riding astride I'd beat you," she said.
  He looked a little shocked. All well-bred women rode sidesaddle. For a
  woman to fide astride was considered vulgar. Lizzie thought that was a
  silly idea, and when she was alone she rode like a man.
  She studied Jay out of the comer of her eye. His mother, Alicia, Sir
  George's second wife, was a fairhaired coquette, and Jay had her blue
  eyes and winning smile. "What do you do in London?" Lizzie asked him.
  "I'm in the Third Regiment of Foot Guards." A note of pride came into his
  voice and he added: "I've just been made a captain."
  "Well, Captain Jamisson, what do you brave soldiers have to do?" she said
  mockingly. "Is there a war in London at the moment? Any enemies for you
  to kill?"
  "There's plenty to do keeping the mob under control."
  Lizzie suddenly remembered Jay as a mean, bullying child, and she
  wondered if he enjoyed his work. "And how do you control them?" she
  asked.
 "For example, by escorting criminals to the gallows,
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM 13

 and making sure they don't get rescued by their cronies before the hangman
 does his work."
  "So you spend your time killing Englishmen, like a true Scots hero."
  He did not seem to mind being teased. "One day I'd like to resign my
  commission and go abroad," he said.
 "Oh-why?"
  "No one takes any notice of a younger son in this country. Even servants
  stop and think about it when you give them an order."
 "And you believe it will be different elsewhere?"
  "Everything is different in the colonies. I've read books about it. People
  are more free and easy. You're taken for what you are."
 "What would you do?"
  "My family has a sugar plantation in Barbados. I'm hoping my father will
  give it to me for my twenty-first birthday, as my portion, so to speak."
  Lizzie felt deeply envious. "Lucky you," she said. "There's nothing I'd
  like more than to go to a new country. How thrilling it would be."
  "It's a rough life out there," he said. "You might miss the comforts of
  home-shops and operas and French fashions, and so on."
  "I don't care for any of that," she said contemptuously. "I hate these
  clothes." She was wearing a hooped skirt and a tight-waisted corset. "I'd
  like to dress like a man, in breeches and shirt and riding boots."
  He laughed. "That might be going a bit far, even in Barbados."
  Lizzie was thinking: Now, if Robert would take me to Barbados, I'd marry
  him like a shot.
 "And you have slaves to do all the work," Jay added.
  They emerged from the forest a few yards upstream from the bridge. On the
  other side of the water, the miners were filing into the little church.
  Lizzie was still thinking about Barbados. "It must be very odd, to own
  slaves, and be able to do anything you
 14       Ken Follett

 like to them, as if they were beasts," she said. "Doesn't it make you
 feel strange?"
 "Not in the least," Jay said with a smile.

              3

 THE LITTLE CHURCH WAS FULL. THE JAMISSON FAMILY and their guests took up
 a great deal of room, the women with their wide skirts and the men with
 their swords and three-cornered hats. The miners and crofters who formed
 the usual Sunday congregation left a space around the newcomers, as if
 afraid they might touch the fine clothes and besmirch them with coal dust
 and cow dung.
  Mack had spoken defiantly to Esther, but he was full of apprehension.
  Coal owners had the right to flog miners, and on top of that Sir George
  Jamisson was a magistrate, which meant he could order someone hanged, and
  there would be no one to contradict him. It was indeed foolhardy for Mack
  to risk the wrath of such a powerful man.
  But right was right. Mack and the other miners were being treated
  unjustly, illegally, and every time he thought of it he felt so angry he
  wanted to shout it from the rooftops. He could not spread the news
  surreptitiously, as if it might not really be true. He had to be bold,
  or back out.
  For a moment he considered backing out. Why make trouble? Then the hymn
  began, and the miners sang in harmony, filling the church with their
  thrilling voices. Behind him Mack heard the soaring tenor of Jimmy
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM 15

 Lee, the finest singer in the village. The singing made him think of High
 Glen and the dream of freedom, and he steeled his nerve and resolved to go
 through with his plan.
  The pastor, Reverend John York, was a mildmannered forty-year-old with
  thinning hair. He spoke hesitantly, unnerved by the magnificence of the
  visitors. His sermon was about truth. How would he react to Mack's reading
  out the letter? His instinct would be to take the side of the mine owner.
  He was probably going to dine at the castle after the service. But he was
  a clergyman: he would be obliged to speak out for justice, regardless of
  what Sir George might say, wouldn't he?
  The plain stone walls of the church were bare. There was no fire, of
  course, and Mack's breath clouded in the cold air. He studied the castle
  folk. He recognized most of the Jamisson family. When Mack was a boy they
  had spent much of their time here. Sir George was unmistakable, with his
  red face and fat belly. His wife was beside him, in a frilly pink dress
  that might have looked pretty on a younger woman. There was Robert, the
  elder son, hard eyed and humorless, twenty-six years old and just beginning
  to develop the roundbellied look of his father. Next to him was a handsome
  fair-haired man of about Mack's age: he had to be Jay, the younger son. The
  summer Mack was six years old he had played with Jay every day in the woods
  around Castle Jamisson, and both had thought they would be friends for
  life. But that winter Mack had started work in the pit, and then there was
  no more time for play.
  He recognized some of the Jamissons' guests. Lady Hallim and her daughter,
  Lizzie, were familiar. Lizzie Hallim had long been a source of sensation
  and scandal in the glen. People said she roamed around in men's clothing,
  with a gun over her shoulder. She would give her boots to a barefoot child
  then berate its mother for not scrubbing her doorstep. Mack had not set
  eyes on her for years. 'Me Hallim estate had its own church, so
 16       Ken Follett

 they did not come here every Sunday, but they visited when the Jamissons
 were in residence, and Mack recalled seeing Lizzie on the last occasion,
 when she had been about fifteen; dressed as a fine lady, but throwing
 stones at squirrels just like a boy.
  Mack's mother had once been a ladies' maid at High Glen House, the Hallim
  mansion, and after she married she had sometimes gone back, on a Sunday
  afternoon, to see her old friends and show off her twin babies. Mack and
  Esther had played with Lizzie on those visits-probably without the
  knowledge of Lady Hallim. Lizzie had been a little minx: bossy, selfish
  and spoiled. Mack had kissed her once, and she had pulled his hair and
  made him cry. She looked as though she had not changed much. She had a
  small impish face, curly dark hair and very dark eyes that suggested mis-
  chief Her mouth was like a pink bow. Staring at her, Mack thought I'd
  like to kiss her now. Just as the notion crossed his mind she caught his
  eye. He looked away, embarrassed, as if she might have read his mind.
  The sen-non came to an end. In addition to the usual Presbyterian service
  there was to be a christening today: Mack's cousin Jeri had given birth
  to her fourth child. Her eldest, Wullie, was already working down the
  pit. Mack had decided that the most appropriate time for his announcement
  was during the christening. As the moment drew near he felt a watery
  sensation in his stomach. Then he told himself not to be foolish: he
  fisked his life every day down a mine-why should he be nervous about
  defying a fat merchant?
  Jen stood at the font, looking weary. She was only thirty but she had
  borne four children and worked down the pit for twenty-three years and
  she was wom out. Mr. York sprinkled water on her baby's head. Then her
  husband, Saul, repeated the form of words that made a slave of every
  Scottish miner's son. "I pledge this child to work in Sir George
  Jamisson's mines, boy and man, for as long as he is able, or until he
  die."
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM  17

 This was the moment Mack had decided on.
 He stood up.
  At this point in the ceremony the viewer, Harry Ratchett, would normally
  step up to the font and hand over to Saul the "arles," the traditional
  payment for pledging the child, a purse of ten pounds. However, to Mack's
  surprise, Sir George rose to perform this ritual personally.
 As he stood up, he caught Mack's eye.
  For a moment the two men stood staring at one another.
 Then Sir George began to walk to the font.
  Mack stepped into the central aisle of the little church and said loudly:
  "The payment of arles is meaningless."
  Sir George froze in midstep and all heads turned to look at Mack. There
  was a moment of shocked silence. Mack could hear his own heartbeat.
  "This ceremony has no force," Mack declared. "Tbe boy may not be pledged
  to the mine. A child cannot be enslaved."
  Sir George said: "Sit down, you young fool, and shut your mouth."
  The patronizing dismissal angered Mack so much that all his doubts
  vanished. "You sit down," he said recklessly, and the congregation gasped
  at his insolence. He pointed a finger at Mr. York. "You spoke about truth
  in your sermon, Pastor-will you stand up for truth now?"
  The clergyman looked at Mack with a worried air. "What is this all about,
  McAsh?"
 "Slavery!"
  "Now, you know the law of Scotland," York said in a reasonable tone.
  "Coal miners are the property of the mine owner. As soon as a man has
  worked a year and a day, he loses his freedom."
 "Aye," Mack said. "It's wicked, but it's the law. I'm
 18       Ken Follett

 saying the law does not enslave children, and I can prove it."
  Saul spoke up. "We need the money, Mack!" he protested.
  "Take the money," Mack said. "Your boy will work for Sir George until he's
  twenty-one, and that's worth ten pounds. But-" He raised his voice. "But
  when he's of age, Ite will be free!"
  "I advise you to hold your tongue," Sir George said threateningly. "This is
  dangerous talk."
 "It's true, though," Mack said stubbornly.
  Sir George flushed purple: he was not used to being defied so persistently.
  "I will deal with you when the service is over," he said angrily. He handed
  the purse to Saul then turned to the pastor. "Carry on, please, Mr. York."
  Mack was flummoxed. Surely they would not simply go on as if nothing had
  happened?
 The pastor said: "Let us sing the final hymn."
  Sir George returned to his seat. Mack remained standing, unable to believe
  it was all over.
  The pastor said: "The Second Psalm: 'Why do the heathen rage, and the
  people imagine a vain thing?'
 A voice behind Mack said: "No, no-not yet."
  He looked around. It was Jimmy Lee, the young
 miner with the wonderful singing voice. He had run
 away once already, and as a punishment he wore
 around his neck an iron collar stamped with thr words
 This man is the propert ' v of Sir George Jamisson of
 Fife. Thank God for Jimmy, Mack thought.
  "You can't stop now," Jimmy said. "I'm twenty-one next week. If I'm going
  to be free, I want to know about it."
  Ma Lee, Jimmy's mother, said: "So do we all." She was a tough old woman
  with no teeth, much respected in the village, and her opinion was
  influential. Several other men and women voiced agreement.
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM  19

  "You're not going to be free," Sir George rasped, standing up again.
  Esther tugged at Mack's sleeve. "The letter!" she hissed urgently. "Show
  them the letter!"
  Mack had forgotten it in his excitement. "The law says differently, Sir
  George," he cried, waving the letter.
 York said: "What is that paper, McAsh?"
  "It's a letter from a London lawyer that I've consulted."
  Sir George was so outraged he looked as if he might burst. Mack was glad
  they were separated by rows of pews; otherwise the laird might have got him
  by the throat. "You have consulted a lawyer?" he spluttered. That seemed to
  offend him more than anything else.
 York said: "What does the letter say?"
  "I'll read it," Mack said. " 'The ceremony of arles has no foundation in
  English or Scottish law.' " There was a rumble of surprised comment from
  the congregation: this contradicted everything they had been taught to
  believe. " 'The parents cannot sell what they do not own, namely the
  freedom of a grown man. They may compel their child to work in the mine
  until he reaches the age of twenty-one, but' "-Mack paused dramatically and
  read the next bit very slowly-" 'but then he will be free to leave!' "
  All at once everyone wanted to say something. There was an uproar as a
  hundred people tried to speak, shout, begin a question or voice an
  exclamation. Probably half the men in the church had been pledged as
  children and had always considered themselves slaves in consequence. Now
  they were being told they had been deceived, and they wanted to know the
  truth.
  Mack held up a hand for quiet, and almost immediately they fell silent. For
  an instant he marveled at his power. "Let me read one more line," he said.
  " 'Once the man is adult, the law applies to him as it applies to
 20       Ken Follett

 everyone else in Scotland: when he has worked a year and a day as an adult
 he loses his freedom.' "
  There were grunts of anger and disappointment. This was no revolution, the
  men realized; most of them were no more free than they had ever been. But
  their sons might escape.
 York said: "Let me see that letter, McAsh."
 Mack went up to the front and handed it to him.
  Sir George, still flushed with anger, said: "Who is this so-called lawyer?"
 Mack said: "His name is Caspar Gordonson."
 York said: "Oh, yes, I've heard of him."
  "So have I," said Sir George scornfully. "An outand-out radical! He's an
  associate of John Wilkes." Everyone knew the name of Wilkes: he was the
  celebrated liberal leader, living in exile in Paris but constantly
  threatening to return and undermine the government. Sir George went on:
  "Gordonson will hang for this, if I have anything to do with it. That let-
  ter is treason."
  The pastor was shocked at this talk of hanging. "I hardly think treason
  comes into it-"
  "You'd better confine yourself to the kingdom of heaven," Sir George said
  sharply. "Leave it to men of this world to decide what is treason and what
  is not." With that he snatched the letter out of York's hand.
  The congregation were shocked at this brutal rebuke to their pastor, and
  they went quiet, waiting to see how he would react. York held Jamisson's
  gaze, and Mack was sure the pastor would defy the laird; but then York
  dropped his eyes, and Jamisson looked triumphant. He sat down again, as if
  it were all over.
  Mack was outraged by York's cowardice. The church was supposed to be the
  moral authority. A pastor who took orders from the laird was completely
  superfluous. Mack gave the man a look of frank contempt and said in a
  derisive voice: "Are we to respect the law, or not?"
 Robert Jamisson stood up, flushed with anger like his
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM  21

 father. "You'll respect the law, and your laird will tell you what the law
 is," he said.
 "That's the same as having no law at all," Mack said.
  "Which is just as well, as far as you're concerned," Robert said. "You're
  a coal miner: what have you to do with the law? As for writing to
  lawyers---2' He took the letter from his father. "This is what I think of
  your lawyer." He tore the paper in half.
  The miners gasped. Their future was written on those pages, and he was
  ripping them up.
  Robert tore the letter again and again, then threw the pieces in the air.
  They fluttered over Saul and Jen like confetti at a wedding.
  Mack felt as grief-stricken as if someone had died. The letter was the most
  important thing that had ever happened to him. He had planned to show it to
  everyone in the village. He had imagined taking it to other pits in other
  villages, until all Scotland knew about it. Yet Robert had destroyed it in
  a second.
  Defeat must have shown in his face, for Robert looked triumphant. 'Mat
  enraged Mack. He would not be crushed so easily. Anger made him defiant.
  I'm not finished yet, he thought. The letter had gone but the law was still
  the same. "I see you're frightened enough to destroy that letter," he said,
  and he was surprised by the withering scom in his own voice. "But you can't
  tear up the law of the land. That's written on a paper that's not so easily
  ripped."
  Robert was startled. He hesitated, not sure how to respond to such
  eloquence. After a moment he said angrily: "Get out."
  Mack looked at Mr. York, and the Jamissons did the same. No layman had the
  right to order a member of the congregation to leave a church. Would the
  pastor bow the knee, and let the laird's son throw out one of his flock?
  "is this God's house, or Sir George Jamisson's?" Mack demanded.
 It was a decisive moment, and York was not equal to
 22       Ken Follett
 it. He looked shamefaced and said: "You'd better leave, McAsh."
  Mack could not resist a retort, though he knew it was foolhardy. "Thank you
  for the sermon on truth, Pastor," he said. "I'll never forget it."
  He turned away. Esther stood up with him. As they started down the aisle,
  Jimmy Lee got up and followed. One or two others stood, then Ma Lee got to
  her feet, and suddenly the exodus became general. There was a loud scraping
  of boots and rustling of dresses as the miners left their places, bringing
  their families with them. As Mack reached the door he knew that every miner
  in the place was following him out of the church, and he was seized by a
  feeling of fellowship and triumph that brought tears to his eyes.
  They gathered around him in the churchyard. The wind had dropped but it was
  snowing, big flakes drifting lazily down onto the gravestones. "That was
  wrong, to tear up the letter," Jimmy said angrily.
 Several others agreed. "We'll write again," said one.
  Mack said: "It may not be so easy to get the letter posted a second time."
  His mind was not really on these details. He was breathing hard and he felt
  exhausted and exhilarated, as if he had run up the side of High Glen.
 "The law is the law!" said another miner.
  "Aye, but the laird is the laird," said a more cautious one.
  As Mack calmed down he began to wonder realistically what he had achieved.
  He had stirred everyone up, of course, but that on its own would not change
  anything. The Jamissons had flatly refused to acknowledge the law. If they
  stuck to their guns what could the miners do? Was there ever any point in
  fighting for justice? Would it not be better to touch his forelock to the
  laird and hope one day to get Harry Ratchett's job as viewer?
  A small figure in black fur shot out of the church porch like a deerhound
  unleashed. It was Lizzie Hallim.
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    23

 She made straight for Mack. The miners stepped out of her way with alacrity.
  Mack stared at her. She had looked pretty enough in repose, but now that
  her face was alive with indignation she was ravishing. Her black eyes
  flashing fire, she said: "Who do you think you are?"
 "I'm Malachi McAsh---2'
  "I know your name," she said. "How dare you talk to the laird and his son
  that way?"
  "How dare they enslave us when the law says they may not?"
 The miners murmured their agreement.
  Lizzie looked around at them. Snowflakes clung to the fur of her coat. One
  landed on her nose and she brushed it off with an impatient gesture.
  "You're fortunate to have paid work," she said. "You should all be grateful
  to Sir George for developing his mines and providing your families with the
  means to live."
  Mack said: "If we're so fortunate, why do they need laws forbidding us to
  leave the village and seek other work?"
  "Because you're too foolish to know when you're well off!"
  Mack realized he was enjoying this contest, and not just because it
  involved looking at a beautiful highbom woman. As an opponent she was more
  subtle than either Sir George or Robert.
  He lowered his voice and adopted an inquiring tone. "Miss Hallim, have you
  ever been down a coal mine?"
 Ma Lee cackled with laughter at the thought.
 Lizzie said: "Don't be ridiculous."
  "If one day you do, I guarantee that you'll never again call us lucky."
  "I've heard enough of your insolence," she said. "You should be flogged."
  "I probably will be," he said, but he did not believe it: no miner had been
  flogged here in his lifetime, though his father had seen it.
 24       Ken Follett

  Her chest was heaving. He had to make an effort not to look at her bosom.
  She said: "You've an answer for everything, you always had."
 "Aye, but you've never listened to any of them."
  He felt an elbow dig painfully into his side: it was Esther, telling him to
  watch his step, reminding him that it never paid to outsmart the gentry.
  She said: "We'll think about what you've told us, Miss Hallim, and thank
  you for your advice."
  Lizzie nodded condescendingly. "You're Esther, aren't you?"
 "Aye, miss."
  She turned to Mack. "You should listen to your sister, she's got more sense
  than you."
 "That's the first true thing you've said to me today."
 Esther hissed: "Mack~shut your gob."
  Lizzie grinned, and suddenly all her arrogance vanished. The smile lit Lip
  her face and she seemed another person, friendly and gay. "I haven't heard
  that phrase for a long time," she said, laughing. Mack could not help
  laughing with her.
 She turned away, still chuckling.
  Mack watched her walk back to the church porch and join the Jamissons, who
  were just emerging. "My God," he said, shaking his head. "What a woman."

              4

JAY WAS ANGERED BY THE ROW IN THE CHURCH. IT IN
furiated him to see people getting above their station. It
was God's will and the law of the land that Malachi
                                            A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM 25

 McAsh should spend his life hewing coal underground and Jay Jamisson should
 live a higher existence. To complain about the natural order was wicked. And
 McAsh had an infuriating way of speaking as if he were the equal of anyone,
 no matter how highborn.
  In the colonies, now, a slave was a slave, and no nonsense about working a
  year and a day or being paid wages. That was the way to do things, in Jay's
  opinion. People would not work unless compelled to, and compulsion might as
  well be merciless-it was more efficient.
  As he left the church some of the crofters offered congratulations on his
  twenty-first birthday, but not one of the miners spoke to him. They stood
  in a crowd to one side of the graveyard, arguing among themselves in low,
  angry voices. Jay was outraged by the blight they had cast on his
  celebratory day.
  He hurried through the snow to where a groom held the horses. Robert was
  already there, but Lizzie was not. Jay looked around for her. He had been
  looking forward to riding home with Lizzie. "Where's Miss Elizabeth?" he
  said to the groom.
 "Over by the porch, Mr. Jay."
 Jay saw her talking animatedly to the pastor.
  Robert tapped Jay on the chest with an aggressive finger. "Listen here,
  Jay-you leave Elizabeth Hallim alone, do you understand?"
  Robert's face was set in belligerent lines. It was dangerous to cross him
  in this mood. But anger and disappointment gave Jay courage. "What the
  devil are you talking about?" he said.
 "You're not going to marry her, I am."
 "I don't want to marry her."
 "Then don't flirt with her."
  Jay knew that Lizzie had found him attractive, and he had enjoyed bantering
  with her, but he had no thought of capturing her heart. When he was
  fourteen and she thirteen he had thought she was the most beautiful girl
 26       Ken Follett

 in the world, and it had broken his heart that she was not interested in him
 (or, indeed, any other boy)-but that was a long time ago. Father's plan was
 for Robert to marry Lizzie, and neither Jay nor anyone else in the family
 would oppose the wishes of Sir George. So Jay was surprised Robert had been
 upset enough to complain. It showed he was insecure-and Robert, like his
 father, was not often unsure of himself.
  Jay enjoyed the rare pleasure of seeing his brother worried. "What are you
  afraid of?" he said.
  "You know damn well what I mean. You've been stealing my things since we
  were boys-my toys, my clothes, everything."
  An old familiar resentment goaded Jay into saying: "Because you always got
  whatever you wanted, and I got nothing."
 "Nonsense."
  "Anyway, Miss Hallim is a guest at our house," Jay said in a more
  reasonable tone. "I can't ignore her, can IT'
  Robert's mouth set in a stubborn line. "Do you want me to speak to Father
  about it?"
  Those were the magic words that had ended so many childhood disputes. Both
  brothers knew that their father would always rule in favor of Robert. A
  long-familiar bitterness rose in Jay's throat. "All right, Robert," he
  conceded. "I'll try not to interfere with your courting."
  He swung onto his horse and trotted away, leaving Robert to escort Lizzie
  to the castle.
  Castle Jamisson was a dark gray stone fortress with turrets and a
  battlemented roofline, and it had the tall, overbearing look of so many
  Scottish country houses. It had been built seventy years ago, after the
  first coal pit in the glen began to bring wealth to the laird.
  Sir George inherited the estate through a cousin of his first wife's.
  Throughout Jay's childhood his father had been obsessed with coal. He had
  spent all his time
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM 27

 and money opening new pits, and no improvements had been made to the castle.
  Although it was Jay's childhood home he did not like the place. The huge,
  drafty rooms on the ground floor-hall, dining room, drawing room, kitchen
  and servants' hall-were arranged around a central courtyard with a fountain
  that was frozen from October to May. The place was impossible to heat.
  Fires in every bedroom, burning the plentiful coal from the Jamisson pits,
  made little impression on the chill air of the big flagstoned chambers, and
  the corridors were so cold that you had to put on a cloak to go from one
  room to another.
  Ten years ago the family had moved to London, leaving a skeleton staff to
  maintain the house and protect the game. For a while they would come back
  every year, bringing guests and servants with them, renting horses and a
  carriage from Edinburgh, hiring crofters' wives to mop the stone floors and
  keep the fires alight and empty the chamberpots. But Father became more and
  more reluctant to leave his business, and the visits petered out. This
  year's revival of the old custom did not please Jay. However, the grown-up
  Lizzie Hallim was a pleasant surprise, and not merely because she gave him
  a means of tormenting his favored older brother.
  He rode around to the stables and dismounted- He patted the gelding's neck.
  "He's no steeplechaser, but he's a well-behaved mount," he said to the
  groom, handing over the reins. "I'd be glad to have him in my regiment."
 The groom looked pleased. "Thank you, sir," he said.
  Jay went into the great hall. It was a big, gloomy chamber with dim shadowy
  comers into which the candlelight hardly penetrated. A sullen deerhound lay
  on an old fur rug in front of the coal fire. Jay gave it a nudge with the
  toe of his boot and made it get out of the way so that he could warm his
  hands.
 28       Ken Follett

  Over the fireplace was the portrait of his father's first wife, Robert's
  mother, Olive. Jay hated that painting. There she was, solenin and saintly,
  looking down her long nose at all who came after her. When she caught a
  fever and died suddenly at the age of twenty-nine his father had remarried,
  but he never forgot his first love. He treated Jay's mother, Alicia, like
  a mistress, a plaything with no status and no rights; and he made Jay feel
  almost like an illegitimate son. Robert was the firstborn, the heir, the
  special one. Jay sometimes wanted to ask whether it had been an immaculate
  conception and a virgin birth.
  He turned his back on the picture. A footman brought him a goblet of hot
  mulled wine and he sipped it gratefully. Perhaps it would settle the
  tension in his stomach. Today Father would announce what Jay's portion
  would be.
  He knew he was not going to get half, or even a tenth, of his father's
  fortune. Robert would inherit this estate, with its rich mines, and the
  fleet of ships he already managed. Jay's mother had counseled him not to
  argue about that: she knew Father was implacable.
  Robert was not merely the only son. He was Father all over again. Jay was
  different, and that was why his father spurned him. Like Father, Robert was
  clever, heartless, and mean with money. Jay was easygoing and spendthrift.
  Father hated people who were careless with money, especially his money.
  More than once he had shouted at Jay: "I sweat blood to make money that you
  throw away!"
  Jay had made matters worse, just a few months ago, by running up a huge
  gambling debt, nine hundred pounds. He had got his mother to ask Father to
  pay. It was a small fortune, enough to buy Castle Jamisson, but Sir George
  could easily afford it. All the same he had acted as if he were losing a
  leg. Since then Jay had lost more money, although Father did not know about
  that.
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM  29

  Don't fight your father, Mother reasoned, but ask for something modest.
  Younger sons often went out to the colonies: there was a good chance his
  father would give him the sugar plantation in Barbados, with its estate
  house and African slaves. Both he and his mother had spoken to his father
  about it. Sir George had not said yes, but he had not said no, and Jay had
  high hopes.
  His father came in a few minutes later, stamping snow off his riding boots.
  A footman helped him off with his cloak. "Send a message to Ratchett,"
  Father said to the man. "I want two men guarding the bridge twenty-four
  hours a day. If McAsh tries to leave the glen they should seize him."
  There was only one bridge across the river, but there was another way out
  of the glen. Jay said: "What if McAsh goes over the mountain?"
  "In this weather'? He can try. As soon as we learn he's gone, we can send
  a party around by road and have the sheriff and a squad of troops waiting
  on the other side by the time he gets there. But I doubt he'd ever make
  it."
  Jay was not so sure-these miners were as hardy as the deer, and McAsh was
  an obstinate wretch-but he did not argue with his father.
  Lady Hallim arrived next. She was dark haired and dark eyed like her
  daughter, but she had none of Lizzie's spark and crackle. She was rather
  stout, and her fleshy face was marked with lines of disapproval. "Let me
  take your coat," Jay said, and helped her shrug off her heavy fur. "Come
  close to the fire, your hands are cold. Would you like some mulled wine?"
  "What a nice boy you are, Jay," she said. "I'd love some."
  The other churchgoers came in, rubbing their hands for warmth and dripping
  melted snow on the stone floor. Robert was doggedly making small talk to
  Lizzie, going from one trivial topic to another as if he had a list. Father
  began to discuss business with Henry
 30       Ken Follett

 Drome, a Glasgow merchant who was a relation of his first wife, Olive; and
 Jay's mother spoke to Lady Hallim. The pastor and his wife had not come:
 perhaps they were sulking about the row in the church. There was a handful
 of other guests, mostly relatives: Sir George's sister and her husband,
 Alicia's younger brother and his wife, and one or two neighbors. Most of the
 conversations were about Malachi McAsh and his stupid letter.
  After a while Lizzie's raised voice was heard over the buzz of
  conversation, and one by one people turned to listen to her. "But why not?"
  she was saying. "I want to see for myself"
  Robert said gravely: "A coal mine is no place for a lady, believe me."
  "What's this?" Sir George asked. "Does Miss Hallim want to go down a pit?"
  "I believe I should know what it's like," Lizzie explained.
  Robert said: "Apart from any other considerations, female clothing would
  make it almost impossible."
 "Then I'll disguise myself as a man," she shot back.
  Sir George chuckled. "There are some girls I know who could manage that,"
  he said. "But you, my dear, are much too pretty to get away with it." He
  obviously thought this a clever compliment and looked around for approval.
  The others laughed dutifully.
  Jay's mother nudged his father and said something in a low voice. "Ah,
  yes," said Sir George. "Has everyone got a full cup?" Without waiting for
  an answer he went on: "Let us drink to my younger son, James Jamisson,
  known to us all as Jay, on his twenty-first birthday. To Jay!"
  They drank the toast, then the women retired to prepare for dinner. The
  talk among the men turned to business. Henry Drome said: "I don't like the
  news from America. It could cost us a lot of money."
 Jay knew what the man was talking about. The En-       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   31

 glish government had imposed taxes on various commodities imported into the
 American colonies-tea, paper, glass, lead and painters' colors-and the
 colonists were outraged.
  Sir George said indignantly: "They want the army to protect them from
  Frenchies and redskins, but they don't want to pay for it!"
  "Nor will they, if they can help it," said Drome. "The Boston town meeting
  has announced a boycott of all British imports. They're giving up tea, and
  they've even agreed to save on black cloth by skimping on mourning
  clothes!"
  Robert said: "If the other colonies follow the lead of Massachusetts, half
  our fleet of ships will have no cargoes."
  Sir George said: "The colonists are a damned gang of bandits, that's all
  they are-and the Boston rum distillers are the worst." Jay was surprised at
  how riled his father was: the problem had to be costing him money, for him
  to get so worked up about it. "The law obliges them to buy molasses from
  British plantations, but they smuggle in French molasses and drive the
  price down."
  "The Virginians are worse," said Drome. "The tobacco planters never pay
  their debts."
  "Don't I know it," said Sir George. "I've just had a planter
  default-leaving me with a bankrupt plantation on my hands. A place called
  Mockjack Hall."
  Robert said: "Thank God there's no import duty on convicts."
  There was a general murmur of agreement. The most profitable part of the
  Jamisson shipping business was transporting convicted criminals to America.
  Every year the courts sentenced several hundred people to transportation-it
  was an alternative to hanging as punishment for crimes such as stealing-and
  the government paid five pounds per head to the shipper. Nine out of ten
  transportees crossed the Atlantic on a Jamisson vessel. But the government
  payment was not the only
 32       Ken Follett

 way money was made. On the other side the convicts were obliged to do seven
 years' unpaid labor, which meant they could be sold as seven-year slaves.
 Men fetched ten to fifteen pounds, women eight or nine, children less. With
 130 or 140 convicts packed into the hold shoulder to shoulder like fish in
 a basket, Robert could show a profit of two thousand pounds-the purchase
 price of the ship-in a single voyage. It was a lucrative trade.
  "Aye," said Father, and he drained his goblet. "But even that would stop if
  the colonists had their way."
  The colonists complained about it constantly. Although they continued to
  buy the convicts-such was the shortage of cheap labor out there-they
  resented the mother country dumping its riffraff on them, and blamed the
  convicts for increasing crime.
  "At least the coal mines are reliable," Sir George said. "They're the only
  thing we can count on these days. That's why McAsh has to be crushed."
  Everyone had opinions about McAsh, and several different conversations
  broke out at once. Sir George seemed to have had enough of the subject,
  however. He turned to Robert. Adopting a jocular tone he said: "What about
  the Hallim girl, then, eh? A little jewel, if you ask me."
 "Elizabeth is very spirited," Robert said dubiously.
  "That's true," Father said with a laugh. "I remember when we shot the last
  wolf in this part of Scotland, eight or ten years ago, and she insisted on
  raising the cubs herself. She used to walk around with two little wolves on
  a leash. You've never seen anything like it in your life! The gamekeepers
  were outraged, said the cubs would escape and become a menace-but they
  died, fortunately."
 "She may make a troublesome wife," Robert said.
  "Nothing like a mettlesome mare," Sir George said. "Besides, a husband
  always has the upper hand, no matter what. You could do a lot worse." He
  lowered his
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    33

 voice. "Lady Hallim holds the estate in trust until Elizabeth marries.
 Since a woman's property belongs to her husband, the whole place will
 become her bridegroom's on her wedding day."
 "I know," Robert said.
  Jay had not known, but he was not surprised: few men would be happy to
  bequeath a sizable estate to a woman.
  Sir George went on: "There must be a million tons of coal under High
  Glen-all the seams run in that direction. The girl is sitting on a
  fortune, pardon the vulgarity." He chortled.
  Robert was characteristically dour. "I'm not sure how much she likes me."
  "What is there to dislike? You're young, you're going to be rich, and
  when I die you'll be a baronetwhat more could a girl want?"
  "Romance?" Robert answered. He pronounced the word with distaste, as if
  it were an unfamiliar coin offered by a foreign merchant.
 "Miss Haflim can't afford romance."
  "I don't know," Robert said. "Lady Hallim has been living in debt since
  I can remember. Why should she not go on like that forever?"
  "I'll tell you a secret," Sir George said. He glanced over his shoulder
  to make sure he was not overheard. "You know she has mortgaged the entire
  estate?"
 "Everyone knows that."
  "I happen to know that her creditor is not willing to renew."
  Robert said: "But surely she could raise the money from another lender,
  and pay him off."
  "Probably," Sir George said. "But she doesn't know it. And her financial
  adviser won't tell her-I've made sure of that."
  Jay wondered what bribe or threat his father had used to suborn Lady
  Hallim's adviser.
 34       Ken Follett

  Sir George chuckled. "So, you see, Robert, young Elizabeth can't afford to
  turn you down."
  At that moment Henry Drome broke away from his conversation and came over
  to the three Jamisson men. "Before we go in to dinner, George, there's
  something I have to ask you. I may speak freely in front of your sons, I
  know.'
 "Of course.
  "The American troubles have hit me quite hardplanters who can't pay their
  debts, and so on-and I fear I can't meet my obligations to you this
  quarter."
  Sir George had obviously loaned money to Henry. Normally Father was
  brutally practical with debtors: they paid, or they went to jail. Now,
  however, he said: I understand, Henry. Tunes are hard. Pay me when you
  can."
  Jay's jaw dropped, but a moment later he realized why his father was being
  so soft. Drome was a relative of Robert's mother, Olive, and Father was
  being easy on Henry for her sake. Jay was so disgusted he walked away.
  The ladies came back. Jay's mother wore a suppressed smile, as if she had
  an amusing secret. Before he could ask her what it was another guest
  arrived, a stranger in clerical gray. Alicia spoke to the man then took him
  to Sir George. "This is Mr. Cheshire," she said. "He's come in place of the
  pastor."
  The newcomer was a pockmarked young man with spectacles and an
  old-fashioned curly wig. Although Sir George and the older men still wore
  wigs, younger men did so rarely, and Jay never did. "Reverend Mr. York
  sends his apologies," said Mr. Cheshire.
  "Not at all, not at all," said Sir George, turning away: he was not
  interested in obscure young clergymen.
  They went in to dinner. The smell of food mingled with a damp odor that
  came from the heavy old curtains. The long table was laid with an elaborate
  spread: joints of venison, beef, and ham; a whole roast salmon; and several
  different pies. But Jay could hardly eat. Would
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM 35

 Father give him the Barbados property? If not, what else? It was hard to sit
 still and eat venison when your entire future was about to be decided.
  In some ways he hardly knew his father. Although they lived together, at
  the family house in Grosvenor Square, Sir George was always at the
  warehouse with Robert. Jay spent the day with his regiment. They sometimes
  met briefly at breakfast, and occasionally at supper-but Sir George often
  ate supper in his study while looking over some papers. Jay could not guess
  what his father would do. So he toyed with his food and waited.
  Mr. Cheshire proved mildly embarrassing. He belched loudly two or three
  times and spilled his claret, and Jay noticed him staring rather obviously
  into the cleavage of the woman sitting next to him.
  They had sat down at three o'clock and, by the time the ladies withdrew,
  the winter afternoon was darkening into evening. As soon as they had gone
  Sir George shifted on his seat and farted volcanically. "nat's better," he
  said.
  A servant brought a bottle of port, a drum of tobacco and a box of clay
  pipes. The young clergyman filled a pipe and said: "Lady Jamisson's a damn
  fine woman, Sir George, if I may say so. Damn fine."
  He seemed drunk, but even so such a remark could not be allowed to pass.
  Jay came to his mother's defense. "I'll thank you to say no more about Lady
  Jamisson, sir," he said frostily.
  The clergyman put a taper to his pipe, inhaled, and began to cough. He had
  obviously never smoked before. Tears came to his eyes, and he gasped and
  spluttered and coughed again. The coughs shook him so hard that his wig and
  spectacles fell off-and Jay saw immediately that this was no clergyman.
  He began to laugh. The others looked at him curiously. They had not seen it
  yet. "Look!" he said. "Don't you see who it is?"
 36       Ken Follett

  Robert was the first to realize. "Good God, it's Miss Hallim in disguise!"
  he said.
  There was a moment of startled silence. Then Sir George began to laugh. The
  other men, seeing that he was going to take it as a joke, laughed too.
  Lizzie took a drink of water and coughed some more. As she recovered, Jay
  admired her costume. The spectacles had hidden her flashing dark eyes, and
  the side-curls of the wig had partly obscured her pretty profile. A white
  linen stock thickened her neck and covered the smooth feminine skin of her
  throat. She had used charcoal or something to give her cheeks the
  pockmarked look, and she had drawn a few wispy hairs on her chin like the
  beard of a young man who did not yet shave every day. In the gloomy rooms
  of the castle, on a dull winter's afternoon in Scotland, no one had seen
  through her disguise.
  "Well, you've proved you can pass for a man," said Sir George when she had
  stopped coughing. "But you still can't go down the pit. Go and fetch the
  other ladies, and we'll give Jay his birthday present."
  For a few minutes Jay had forgotten his anxiety, but now it came back with
  a thump.
  They met up with the women in the hall. Jay's mother and Lizzie were
  laughing fit to bust: Alicia had obviously been in on the plot, which
  accounted for her secretive grin before dinner. Lizzie's mother had not
  known about it, and she was looking frosty.
  Sir George led the way out through the main doors. It was dusk. The snow
  had stopped. "Here," said Sir George. "This is your birthday present."
  In front of the house a groom held the most beautiful horse Jay had ever
  seen. It was a white stallion about two years old, with the lean lines of
  an Arab. The crowd made it nervous, and it skipped sideways, forcing the
  groom to tug on its bridle to keep it still. There was a wild look in its
  eyes, and Jay knew instantly it would go like the wind.
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM 37

  He was lost in admiration, but his mother's voice cut through his
  thoughts like a knife. "Is that all?" she said.
  Father said: "Now, Alicia, I hope you aren't going to be ungracious-"
  "Is that all?" she repeated, and Jay saw that her face was twisted into
  a mask of rage.
 "Yes," he admitted.
  It had not occurred to Jay that this present was being given to him
  instead of the Barbados property. He stared at his parents as the news
  sank in. He felt so bitter that he could not speak.
  His mother spoke for him. He had never seen her so angry. "This is your
  son!" she said, her voice shrill with fury. "He is twenty-one years
  old-he's entitled to his portion in life ... and you give him a horse?"
 The guests looked on, fascinated but horrified.
  Sir George reddened. "Nobody gave me anything when I was twenty-one!" he
  said angrily. "I never inherited so much as a pair of shoes-"
  "Oh, for heaven's sake," she said contemptuously. "We've all heard how
  your father died when you were fourteen and you worked in a mill to keep
  your sisters-that's no reason to inflict poverty on your own son, is it?"
  "Poverty?" He spread his hands to indicate the castle, the estate, and
  the life that went with it. "What poverty?"
  "He needs his independence-for God's sake give him the Barbados
  property."
 Robert protested: "That's mine!"
  Jay's jaw became unlocked, and at last he found his voice. "The
  plantation has never been properly administered," he said. "I thought I
  would run it more like a regiment, get the niggers working harder and so
  on, and make it more remunerative."
  "Do you really think you could do that?" said his father.
 38       Ken Follett

  Jay's heart leaped: perhaps Father would change his mind. "I do!" he said
  eagerly.
 "Well, I don't," Father said harshly.
 Jay felt as if he had been punched in the stomach.
  "I don't believe you have an inkling how to run a plantation or any other
  enterprise," Sir George grated. "I think you're better off in the army
  where you're told what to do."
  Jay was stunned. He looked at the beautiful white stallion. "I'll never
  ride that horse," he said. "Take it away."
  Alicia spoke to Sir George. "Robert's getting the castle and the coal
  mines and the ships and everything else---does he have to have the
  plantation too?"
 "He's the elder son."
  "Jay is younger, but he's not nothing. Why does Robert have to get
  everything?"
 "For the sake of his mother," Sir George said.
  Alicia stared at Sir George, and Jay realized that she hated him. And I
  do too, he thought. I hate my father.
  "Damn you, then," she said, to shocked gasps from the guests. "Damn you
  to hell." And she turned around and went back into the house.

              5

THE McAsH TWINS LIVED IN A ONE-ROOM HOUSE FiFteenfeet square, with a
fireplace on one side and two curtained alcoves for beds on the other.
The front door
opened onto a muddy track that ran downhill from the
pit to the bottom of the glen where it met the road that
                                           A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   39

 led to the church, the castle and the outside world. The water supply was a
 mountain stream at the back of the row of houses.
  All the way home Mack had been agonizing over what had happened in the
  church, but he said nothing, and Esther tactfully asked him no questions.
  Earlier that morning, before leaving for church, they had put a piece of
  bacon on the fire to boil, and when they returned home the smell of it
  filled the house and made Mack's mouth water, lifting his spirits. Esther
  shredded a cabbage into the pot while Mack went across the road to Mrs.
  Wheighel's for a jug of ale. The two of them ate with the gargantuan
  appetites of physical laborers. When the food and the beer were gone,
  Esther belched and said: "Well, what will you do?"
  Mack sighed. Now that the question had been posed directly, he knew there
  was only one answer. "I've got to go away. I can't stay here, after all
  that. My pride won't let me. I'd be a constant reminder, to every young man
  in the glen, that the Jamissons cannot be defied. I must leave." He was
  trying to remain calm, but his voice was shaky with emotion.
  "That's what I thought you'd say." Tears came to Esther's eyes. "You're
  pitting yourself against the most powerful people in the land."
 "I'm right, though."
  "Aye. But right and wrong don't count much in this world-only in the next."
  "If I don't do it now, I never will-and I'll spend the rest of my life
  regretting it."
  She nodded sadly. "That's for sure. But what if they try to stop you?"
 "How?"
 "They could post a guard on the bridge."
  The only other way out of the glen was across the mountains, and that was
  too slow: the Jamissons could be waiting on the other side by the time Mack
  got
 40       Ken Follett

 there. "If they block the bridge, I'll swim the river," he said.
  "The water's cold enough to kill you at this time of year."
  "The river's about thirty yards wide. I reckon I can swim across in a
  minute or so."
  "If they catch you they'll bring you back with an iron collar around your
  neck, like Jimmy Lee."
  Mack winced. To wear a collar like a dog was a humiliation the miners all
  feared. "I'm cleverer than Jimmy," he said. "He ran out of money and
  tried to get work at a pit in Clackmannan, and the mine owner reported
  his name."
  "That's the trouble. You've got to eat, and how will you earn your bread?
  Coal is all you know."
  Mack had a little cash put aside but it would not last long. However, he
  had thought about this. "I'll go to Edinburgh," he said. He might get a
  ride on one of the heavy horse-drawn wagons that took the coal from the
  pithead-but he would be safer to walk. "Then I'll get on a ship-I hear
  they always want strong young men to work on the coalers. In three days
  I'll be out of Scotland. And they can't bring you back from outside the
  country-the laws don't run elsewhere."
  "A ship," Esther said wonderingly. Neither of them had ever seen one,
  although they had looked at pictures in books. "Where will you go?"
  "London, I expect." Most coal ships out of Edinburgh were destined for
  London. But some went to Amsterdam, Mack had been told. "Or Holland. Or
  Massachusetts, even."
  "They're just names," Esther said. "We've never met anyone who's been to
  Massachusetts."
  "I suppose people eat bread and live in houses and go to sleep at night,
  the same as everywhere else,"
 "I suppose so," she said dubiously.
  "Anyway, I don't care," he said. "I'll go anywhere that's not
  Scotland-anywhere a man can be free.
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM  41

 Think of it: to live where you like, not where you're told. To choose your
 work, free to leave your place and take another job that's better paid, or
 safer, or cleaner. To be your own man, and nobody's slave-won't that be
 grand?"
  There were hot tears on her cheeks. "When will you go?"
  "I'll stay another day or two, and hope the Jamissons relax their vigilance
  a bit. But Tuesday's my twentysecond birthday. If I'm at the pit on
  Wednesday I'll have worked my year-and-a-day, and I'll be a slave again."
  "You're a slave anyway, in reality, whatever that letter said."
  "But I like the thought that I've got the law on my side. I don't know why
  it should be important, but it is. It makes the Jamissons the criminals,
  whether they acknowledge it or not. So I'll be away Tuesday night."
 In a small voice she said: "What about me?"
  "You'd better work for Jimmy Lee, he's a good hewer and he's desperate for
  another bearer. And Annie-"
 Esther interrupted him. "I want to go with you."
  He was surprised. "You've never said anything about it!"
  Her voice became louder. "Why do you think I've never married? Because if
  I get wed and have a child I'll never get out of here."
  It was true she was the oldest single woman in Heugh. But Mack had assumed
  there was just no one good enough for her here. It had not occurred to him
  that all these years she had secretly wanted to escape. "I never knew!"
  "I was afraid. I still am. But if you're going, I'll go with you."
  He saw the desperation in her eyes, and it hurt him to refuse her, but he
  had to. "Women can't be sailors. We haven't the money for your passage, and
  they
 42       Ken Follett

 wouldn't let you work it. I'd have to leave you in Edinburgh."
 "I won't stay here if you go!"
  Mack loved his sister. They had always sided with one another in any
  conflict, from childhood scraps, through rows with their parents, to
  disputes with the pit management. Even when she had doubts about his wis-
  dom she was as fierce as a lioness in his defense. He longed to take her
  with him, but it would be much harder for two to escape than one, "Stay
  a little while, Esther," he said. "When I get where I'm going, I'll write
  to you. As soon as I get work, I'll save money and send for you."
 "Will you?"
 "Aye, to be sure!"
 "Spit and swear."
  "Spit and swear?" It was something they had done as children, to seal a
  promise.
 "I want you to!"
  He could see she meant it. He spat on his palm, reached across the plank
  table, and took her hard hand in his own. "I swear I'll send for you."
 "Thank you," she said.

              6

 A DEER HUNT HAD BEEN PLANNED FOR THE FOLLOW-
 ing morning, and Jay decided to go along. He felt like killing
 something.
  He ate no breakfast but filled his pocket with whiskey butties, little
  balls of oatmeal steeped in whiskey,
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM 43

 then stepped outside to look at the weather. It was just becoming light. The
 sky was gray but the cloud level was high, and there was no rain: they would
 be able to see to shoot.
  He sat on the steps at the front of the castle and fitted a new
  wedge-shaped flint into the firing mechanism of his gun, fixing it firmly
  with a wad of soft leather. Perhaps slaughtering some stags would be an
  outlet for his rage, but he wished he could kill his brother Robert in-
  stead.
  He was proud of his gun. A muzzle-loading flintlock rifle, it was made by
  Griffin of Bond Street and had a Spanish barrel with silver inlay. It was
  far superior to the crude "Brown Bess" issued to his men. He cocked the
  flintlock and aimed at a tree across the lawn. Sighting along the barrel,
  he imagined he saw a big stag with spreading antlers. He drew a bead on the
  chest just behind the shoulder, where the beast's big heart pumped. Then he
  changed the image and saw Robert in his sights: dour, dogged Robert, greedy
  and tireless, with his dark hair and well-fed face. Jay pulled the trigger.
  The flint struck steel and gave a satisfactory shower of sparks, but there
  was no gunpowder in the pan and no ball in the barrel.
  He loaded his gun with steady hands. Using the measuring device in the
  nozzle of his gunpowder flask he poured exactly two and a half drams of
  black powder into the barrel. He took a ball from his pocket, wrapped it in
  a scrap of linen cloth, and pushed it into the barrel. Then he unclipped
  the ramrod from its housing under the barrel and used it to ram the ball
  into the gun as far as it would go. The ball was half an inch in diameter.
  It could kill a full-grown stag at a range of a hundred yards: it would
  smash Robert's ribs, tear through his lung, and rip open the muscle of his
  heart, killing him in seconds.
 He heard his mother say: "Hello, Jay."
 He stood up and kissed her good morning. He had
 44       Ken Follett

 not seen her since last night, when she had damned his father and stormed
 off. Now she looked weary and sad. "You slept badly, didn't you," he said
 sympathetically.
 She nodded. "I've had better nights."
 "Poor Mother."
 "I shouldn't have cursed your father like that."
  Hesitantly Jay said: "You must have loved him ... once."
  She sighed. "I don't know. He was handsome and rich and a baronet, and
  I wanted to be his wife."
 "But now you hate him."
  "Ever since he began to favor your brother over you.
  Jay felt angry. "You'd think Robert would see the unfairness of it!"
  "I'm sure he does, in his heart. But I'm afraid Robert is a very greedy
  young man. He wants it all."
  "He always did." Jay was recalling Robert as a child, never happier than
  when he had grabbed Jay's share of the toy soldiers or the plum pudding.
  "Remember Robert's pony, Rob Roy?"
 "Yes, why?"
  "He was thirteen, and I was eight, when he got that pony. I longed for
  a pony-and I could ride better than he, even then. But he never once let
  me ride it. If he didn't want to ride it himself, he would make a groom
  exercise Rob Roy while I watched, rather than let me have a go."
 "But you rode the other horses."
  "By the time I was ten I had ridden everything else in the stable,
  including Father's hunters. But not Rob Roy."
  "Let's take a turn up and down the drive." She was wearing a fur-lined
  coat with a hood, and Jay had his plaid cloak. They walked across the
  lawn, their feet crunching the frosted grass.
  "What made my father like this?" Jay said. "Why does he hate me?"
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM  45

  She touched his cheek. "He doesn't hate you," she said, "although you could
  be forgiven for thinking otherwise."
 "Then why does he treat me so badly?"
  "Your father was a poor man when he married Olive Drome. He had nothing but
  a comer shop in a low-class district of Edinburgh. This place, that is now
  called Castle Jamisson, was owned by a distant cousin of Olive's, William
  Drome. William was a bachelor who lived alone, and when he fell ill Olive
  came here to look after him. He was so grateful that he changed his will,
  leaving everything to Olive; and then, despite her nursing, he died."
 Jay nodded. "I've heard that story more than once."
  "The point is that your father feels this estate really belongs to Olive.
  And this estate is the foundation on which the whole of his business empire
  has been built. What's more, mining is still the most profitable of his
  enterprises."
  "It's steady, he says," Jay put in, remembering yesterday's conversation.
  "Shipping is volatile and risky, but the coal just goes on and on."
  "Anyway, your father feels he owes everything to Olive, and that it would
  be some kind of insult to her memory if he gave anything to you."
  Jay shook his head. "There must be more to it than that. I feel we don't
  have the whole story."
 "Perhaps you're right. I've told you all I know."
  They reached the end of the drive and walked back in silence. Jay wondered
  whether his parents ever spent nights together. His guess was that they
  probably did. His father would feel that whether she loved him or not she
  was his wife, and therefore he was entitled to use her for relief. It was
  an unpleasant thought.
  When they reached the castle entrance she said: "I've spent all night
  trying to think of a way to make things right for you, and so far I haven't
  succeeded. But don't despair. Something will come up."
 46       Ken Follett
  Jay had always relied on his mother's strength. She could stand up to his
  father, make him do what she wanted. She had even persuaded Father to pay
  Jay's gambling debts. But this time Jay feared she might fail. "Father has
  decided that I shall get nothing. He must have known how it would make me
  feel. Yet he made the decision anyway. There's no point in pleading with
  him."
 "I wasn't thinking of pleading," she said dryly.
 "What, then?"
  "I don't know, but I haven't given up. Good morning, Miss Hallim."
  Lizzie was coming down the steps at the front of the castle, dressed for
  hunting, looking like a pretty pixie in a black fur cap and little leather
  boots. She smiled and seemed happy to see him. "Good morning!"
  The sight of her cheered Jay up. "Are you coming out with us?" he inquired.
 "I wouldn't miss it for the world."
  It was unusual, though perfectly acceptable, for women to go hunting, and
  Jay, knowing Lizzie as he did, was not surprised that she planned to go out
  with the men. "Splendid!" he said. "You'll add a rare touch of refinement
  and style to what might otherwise be a coarsely masculine expedition."
 "Don't bet on it," she said.
 Mother said: "I'm going in. Good hunting, both of
 YOU."
  When she had gone Lizzie said: "I'm so sorry your birthday was spoiled."
  She squeezed his arm sympathetically. "Perhaps you'll forget your troubles
  for an hour or so this morning."
 He could not help smiling back. "I'll do my best."
  She sniffed the air like a vixen. "A good strong southwest wind," she said.
  "Just right."
  It was five years since Jay had last hunted red deer, but he remembered the
  lore. Hunters disliked a still day, when a sudden capricious breeze could
  blow the scent
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM  47

 of men across the mountainside and send the deer running.
  A gamekeeper walked around the comer of the castle with two dogs on a
  leash, and Lizzie went to pet them. Jay followed her, feeling cheered up.
  Glancing back, he saw his mother at the castle door, looking hard at Lizzie
  with an odd, speculative expression.
  The dogs were the long-legged, gray-haired breed sometimes called Highland
  deerhounds and sometimes Irish wolfhounds. Lizzie crouched down and spoke
  to each of them in turn. "Is this Bran?" she asked the keeper.
  "The son of Bran, Miss Elizabeth," he said. "Bran died a year ago. This
  one's Busker."
  The dogs would be kept well to the rear of the hunt and released only after
  shots had been fired. Their role was to chase and bring down any deer
  wounded but not felled by the hunter's fire.
  The rest of the party emerged from the castle: Robert, Sir George, and
  Henry. Jay stared at his brother, but Robert avoided his eye. Father nodded
  curtly, almost as if he had forgotten the events of last night.
  On the east side of the castle the keepers had set up a target, a crude
  dummy deer made of wood and canvas. Each of the hunters would fire a few
  rounds at it to get his eye in. Jay wondered whether Lizzie could shoot. A
  lot of men said women could not shoot properly because their arms were too
  weak to hold the heavy gun, or because they lacked the killer instinct, or
  for some other reason. It would be interesting to see if it was true.
  First they all shot from fifty yards. Lizzie went first and made a perfect
  hit, her shot striking the target in the killing spot just behind the
  shoulder. Jay and Sir George did the same. Robert and Henry struck farther
  back along the body, wounding shots that might allow the beast to get away
  and die slowly and painfully.
 They shot again from seventy-five yards. Surpris- 48       Ken Follett

 ingly, Lizzie hit perfectly again. So did Jay. Sir George hit the head and
 Henry the rump. Robert missed altogether, his ball striking sparks off the
 stone wall of the kitchen garden.
  Finally they tried from a hundred yards, the outside limit for their
  weapons. To everyone's astonishment Lizzie scored another perfect hit.
  Robert, Sir George and Henry missed altogether. Jay, shooting last, was de-
  termined not to be beaten by a girl. He took his time, breathing evenly and
  sighting carefully, then he held his breath and squeezed the trigger
  gently-and broke the target's back leg.
  So much for female inability to shoot: Lizzie had bested them all. Jay was
  full of admiration. "I don't suppose you'd like to join my regiment?" he
  joked. "Not many of my men can shoot like that."
  The ponies were brought around by stable hands. Highland ponies were more
  surefooted than horses on rough ground. They mounted up and rode out of the
  courtyard.
  As they jogged down the glen Henry Drome engaged Lizzie in conversation.
  With nothing to distract him, Jay found himself brooding over his father's
  rejection again. It burned in his stomach like an ulcer. He told himself
  that he should have expected refusal, for his father had always favored
  Robert. But he had fueled his foolish optimism by reminding himself that he
  was not a bastard, his mother was Lady Jamisson; and he had persuaded
  himself that this time his father would be fair. His father was never fair,
  though.
  He wished he were the only son. He wished Robert were dead. If there were
  an accident today and Robert was killed, all Jay's troubles would be over.
  He wished he had the nerve to kill him. He touched the barrel of the gun
  slung across his shoulder. He could make it look like an accident. With
  everyone shooting at the same time, it might be hard to tell who had fired
  the fatal ball. And even if they guessed the
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM  49

 truth, the family would cover it up: nobody wanted scandal.
  He felt a thrill of horror that he was even daydreaming about killing
  Robert. But I would never have had such an idea if Father had treated me
  fairly, he thought.
  The Jamisson place was like most small Scottish estates. There was a little
  cultivable land in the valley bottoms, which the crofters, farmed
  communally, using the medieval strip system and paying their rent to the
  laird in kind. Most of the land was forested mountains, good for nothing
  but hunting and fishing. A few landowners had cleared their forests and
  were experimenting with sheep. It was hard to get rich on a Scottish
  estateunless you found coal, of course.
  When they had ridden about three miles the gamekeepers saw a herd of twenty
  or thirty hinds half a mile farther on, above the tree line on a
  south-facing slope. The party halted and Jay took out his spyglass. The
  hinds were downwind of the hunters and, as they always grazed into the
  wind, they were facing away, showing the white flash of their rumps to
  Jay's glass.
  Hinds made perfectly good eating but it was more usual to shoot the big
  stags with their spectacular antlers. Jay examined the mountainside above
  the hinds. He saw what he had hoped for, and he pointed. "Look-two stags
  ... no, three ... uphill from the females."
  "I see them, just over the first ridge," Lizzie said. "And another, you can
  just see the antlers of the fourth."
  Her face was flushed with excitement, making her even prettier. This was
  exactly the kind of thing she would like, of course: being out of doors,
  with horses and dogs and guns, doing something violently energetic and a
  little unsafe. He could not help smiling as he looked at her. He shifted
  uncomfortably in his saddle. The sight of her was enough to heat a man's
  blood.
 50       Ken Follett

  He glanced at his brother. Robert looked ill at ease, out in the cold
  weather on a pony. He would rather be in a counting-house, Jay thought,
  calculating the quarterly interest on eighty-nine guineas at three and
  a half percent per annum. What a waste it would be for such a woman as
  Lizzie to marry Robert.
  He turned away from them and tried to concentrate on the deer. He studied
  the mountainside with his spyglass, searching for a route by which the
  stags could be approached. The stalkers had to be downwind so that the
  beasts could not pick up the scent of humans. For preference they would
  come at the deer from higher up the hillside. As their target practice
  had confirmed, it was nearly impossible to shoot a deer from farther away
  than about a hundred yards, and fifty yards was ideal; so the whole skill
  of deer stalking lay in creeping up on them and getting close enough for
  a good shot.
  Lizzie had already devised an approach. "There's a corrie a quarter of
  a mile back up the glen," she said animatedly. A corrie was the
  depression in the ground formed by a stream running down the
  mountainside, and it would hide the, hunters as they climbed. "We can
  follow that to the high ridge then work our way along."
  Sir George agreed. He did not often let anyone tell him what to do, but
  when he did it was usually a pretty girl.
  They returned to the corrie then left the ponies and went up the
  mountainside on foot. The slope was steep and the ground both rocky and
  boggy, so that their feet either sank into mud or stumbled over stones.
  Before long Henry and Robert were puffing and blowing, although the
  keepers and Lizzie, who were used to such terrain, showed no signs of
  strain. Sir George was red in the face and panting, but he was
  surprisingly resilient and did not slow his pace. Jay was quite fit,
  because of his daily life in the Guards, but all the same he found
  himself breathing hard.
 They crossed the ridge. In its lee, hidden from the
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   51

 deer, they worked their way across the mountainside. The wind was bitterly
 cold and there were flurries of sleet and swirls of freezing fog. Without
 the warmth of a horse beneath him Jay began to feel the cold. His fine kid
 gloves were soaked through, and the wet penetrated his riding boots and his
 costly Shetland wool stockings.
  The keepers took the lead, knowing the ground. When they thought they were
  coming close to the stags they edged downhill. Suddenly they dropped to
  their knees, and the others followed suit. Jay forgot how cold and wet he
  was and began to feel exhilaration: it was the thrill of the hunt and the
  prospect of a kill.
  He decided to risk a look. Still crawling, he veered uphill and peered over
  an outcrop of rock. As his eyes adjusted to the distance he saw the stags,
  four brown smears on the green slopes, ranged across the mountainside in a
  straggling line. It was unusual to see four together: they must have found
  a lush piece of grass. He looked through his glass. The farthest had the
  best head: he could not see the antlers clearly but it was big enough to
  have twelve points. He heard the caw of a raven and, glancing up, saw a
  pair of them circling over the hunters. They seemed to know that there
  might soon be offal for them to feed on.
  Up ahead someone yelped and cursed: it was Robert, slipping into a muddy
  puddle. "Damn fool," Jay said under his breath. One of the dogs let out a
  low growl. A keeper held up a warning hand and they all froze, listening
  for the sound of fleeing hooves. But the deer did not run, and after a few
  moments the party crawled on.
  Soon they had to sink to their bellies and wriggle. One of the keepers made
  the dogs lie down and covered their eyes with handkerchiefs, to keep them
  quiet. Sir George and the head keeper slid downhill to a ridge, raised
  their heads cautiously and peered over. When they came back to the main
  party, Sir George gave orders.
 He spoke in a low voice. "There are four stags and
 52       Ken Follett

 five guns, so I shan't shoot this time, unless one of you should miss," he
 said. He could play the perfect host when he wanted to. "Henry, you take the
 beast on the right here. Robert, take the next one along-it's the nearest,
 and the easiest shot. Jay, you take the next. Miss Hallim, yours is the
 farthest, but it has the best head-and you're a pretty good shot. All set?
 Then let's get in position. We'll let Miss Hallim shoot first, shall we?"
  The hunters spread out, slithering across the sloping mountainside, each
  looking for a lie from which to take aim. Jay followed Lizzie. She wore a
  short riding jacket and a loose skirt with no hoop, and he grinned as he
  watched her pert bottom wriggling in front of him. Not many girls would
  crawl around like that in front of a man-but Lizzie was not like other
  girls.
  He worked his way uphill to a point where a stunted bush broke the skyline,
  giving him extra cover. Raising his head he looked down the mountain. He
  could see his stag, a youngish one with a small spread of antlers, about
  seventy yards away; and the other three ranged along the slope. He could
  also see the other hunters: Lizzie to his left, still crawling along; Henry
  to his far right; Sir George and the keepers with the dogs-and Robert,
  below and to Jay's right, twenty-five yards away, an easy target.
  His heartbeat seemed to falter as he was struck, yet again, by the thought
  of killing his brother. The story of Cain and Abel came into his mind. Cain
  had said My punishment is greater than I can bear But I feel like that
  already, Jay thought. I can't bear to be the superfluous second son, always
  overlooked, drifting through life with no portion, the poor son of a rich
  man, a nobody-I just can't bear it.
  He tried to push the evil thought out of his mind. He primed his gun,
  pouring a little powder into the flashpan next to the touchhole, then
  closed the cover of the pan. Finally he cocked the firing mechanism. When
  he
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM 53

 pulled the trigger, the lid of the flashpan would lift automatically at die
 same time as the flint struck sparks. The powder in the pan would light, and
 the flame would flash through the touchhole to ignite the larger quantity of
 powder behind the ball.
  He rolled over and looked across the slope. The deer grazed in peaceful
  ignorance. All the hunters were in position except Lizzie, who was still
  moving. Jay sighted on his stag. Then he slowly swung the barrel around
  until it pointed at Robert's back.
  He could say that his elbow slipped on a patch of ice at the crucial
  moment, causing him to drop his aim to one side and, with tragic ill
  fortune, shoot his brother in the back. His father might suspect the
  truth-but he would never be sure, and with only one son left, would he not
  bury his suspicions and give Jay everything he had previously reserved for
  Robert?
  Lizzie's shot would be the signal for everyone to fire. Deer were
  surprisingly slow to react, Jay recalled. After the first gunshot they
  would all look up from their grazing and freeze, often for four or five
  heartbeats; then one of them would move and a moment later they would turn
  as one, like a flock of birds or a school of fish, and run away, their
  dainty hooves drumming on the hard turf, leaving the dead on the ground and
  the wounded limping behind.
  Slowly Jay swung the rifle back until it was pointing at his stag again. Of
  course he would not kill his brother. It would be unthinkably wicked. He
  might be haunted all his life by guilty memories.
  But if he refrained, might he not always regret it? Next time Father
  humiliated him by showing preference for Robert, would he not grind his
  teeth and wish with all his heart that he had solved the problem when he
  could and wiped his loathsome sibling off the face of the earth?
 He swung the rifle back to Robert.
 Father respected strength, decisiveness and ruthless- 54       Ken Follett

 ness. Even if he guessed that the fatal shot was deliberate, he would be
 forced to realize that Jay was a man, one who could not be ignored or
 overlooked without dreadful consequences.
  That thought strengthened his resolve. In his heart Father would approve,
  Jay told himself. Sir George would never let himself be mistreated: his
  response to wrongdoing was brutal and savage. As a magistrate in London
  he had sent dozens of men, women and children to the Old Bailey. If a
  child could be hanged for stealing bread, what was wrong with killing
  Robert for stealing Jay's patrimony?
  Lizzie was taking her time. Jay tried to breathe evenly but his heart was
  racing and his breath came in gasps. He was tempted to glance over at
  Lizzie, to see what the devil was holding her up, but he was afraid she
  would choose that instant to fire, and then he would miss his chance; so
  he kept his eyes and his gun barrel locked on Robert's back. His whole
  body was as taut as a harp string, and his muscles began to hurt with the
  tension, but he did not dare move.
  No, he thought, this can't be happening. I'm not going to kill my
  brother. By God, I will, though, I swear it.
 Hurry, Lizzie, please.
  Out of the comer of his eye he saw something move near him. Before he
  could look up he heard the crack of Lizzie's gun. The stags froze.
  Holding his aim on Robert's spine, just between the shoulder blades, Jay
  squeezed his trigger gently. A bulky form loomed over him and he heard
  his father shout. There were two more bangs as Robert and Henry fired.
  Just as Jay's gun went off, a booted foot kicked the barrel. It jerked
  upward, and the ball went harmlessly up into the air. Fear and guilt
  possessed Jay's heart and he looked up into the enraged face of Sir
  George.
 "You murdering little bastard," his father said.

            7 THE DAY IN THE OPEN AIR MADE LizzIE SLEEPY, AND soon after supper she
 announced that she was going to bed. Robert happened to be out of the
 room, and Jay politely sprang up to light her way upstairs with a candle.
 As they mounted the stone staircase he said quietly, "I'll take you down
 the mine, if you like."
 Lizzie's sleepiness vanished, "Do you mean it?"
  "Of course. I don't say things I don't mean." He grinned. "Do you dare
  to go?"
  She was thrilled. "Yes!" she said. Here was a man after her own heart!
  "When can we go?" she said eagerly.
  "Tonight. The hewers start work at midnight, the bearers an hour or two
  later."
  "Really?" Lizzie was mystified. "Why do they work at night?"
  "They work all day too. The bearers finish at the end of the afternoon."
 "But they hardly have time to sleep!"
 "It keeps them out of mischief."
  She felt foolish. "I've spent most of my life in the next glen and I had
  no idea they worked such long hours." She wondered if McAsh would be
  proved right and the visit to the pit would turn her view of coal rniners
  upside-down.
  "Be ready at midnight," Jay said. "You'll have to dress as a man
  again--do you still have those clothes?"
 'Yes.
"Go out by the kitchen door-I'll make sure it's 55
 56       Ken Follett

 open-and meet me in the stable yard. I'll saddle a couple of horses."
 "This is so exciting!" she said.
  He handed her the candle. "Until midnight," he whispered.
  She went into her bedroom. Jay was happy again, she noted. Earlier today
  he had had another row of some kind with his father, up on the mountain.
  No one had seen exactly what happened-they had all been concentrating on
  the deer-but Jay missed his stag and Sir George had been white with rage.
  The quarrel, whatever it was, had been easily smoothed over in the ex-
  citement of the moment. Lizzie had killed her stag cleanly. Both Robert
  and Henry had wounded theirs. Robert's ran a few yards, then fell, and
  he finished it off with another shot; but Henry's got away, and the dogs
  went after it and brought it down after a chase. However, everyone knew
  something had happened, and Jay had been quiet for the rest of the
  day-until now, when he became animated and charming again.
  She took off her dress, her petticoats and her shoes, then she wrapped
  herself in a blanket and sat in front of the blazing fire. Jay was such
  fun, she thought. He seemed to seek adventure, as she did. He was good-
  looking, too: tall, well dressed, and athletic, with a lot of wavy fair
  hair. She could hardly wait for midnight.
  There was a tap at the door and her mother came in. Lizzie suffered a
  guilty pang. I hope Mother doesn't want a long chat, she thought
  anxiously..But it was not yet eleven: there was plenty of time.
  Mother was wearing a cloak, as they all did to go from one room to
  another through the cold passages of Jamisson Castle. She took it off.
  Underneath she had on a wrap over her nightclothes. She unpinned Lizzie's
  hair and began to brush it.
  Lizzie closed her eyes and relaxed. This always took her back to her
  childhood. "You must promise me not to dress as a man again," Mother
  said. Lizzie was star-
         A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   57

 tled. It was almost as if Mother had overheard her talking to Jay. She would
 have to be careful: Mother had a remarkable way of guessing when Lizzie was
 up to no good. "You're much too old for such games now," she added.
 "Sir George was highly amused!" Lizzie protested.
 "Perhaps, but it's no way to get a husband."
 "Robert seems to want me."
  "Yes-but you must give him a chance to pay court! Going to church yesterday
  you rode off with Jay and left Robert behind. Then again, tonight you chose
  to retire when Robert was out of the room, so that he lost the chance of
  escorting you upstairs."
  Lizzie studied her mother in the looking-glass. The familiar lines of her
  face showed deten-nination. Lizzie loved her mother and would have liked to
  please her. But she could not be the daughter her mother wanted: it was
  against her nature. .11, m sorry, Mother," she said. "I just don't think of
  these things."
 "Do you ... like Robert?"
 "I'd take him it' I were desperate."
  Lady Hallim put down the hairbrush and sat opposite Lizzie. "My dear, we
  are desperate."
  "But we've always been short of money, for as long as I can remember."
  "That's true. I've managed by borrowing, and mortgaging our land, and
  living most of the time up here where we can eat our own venison and wear
  our clothes until they have holes in them."
  Once again Lizzie felt a pang of guilt. When Mother spent money it was
  almost always on Lizzie, not on herself. "Then let's just go on the same
  way. I don't mind having the cook serve at table, and sharing a maid with
  you. I like living here-I'd rather spend my days walking in High Glen than
  shopping in Bond Street."
  "There's a limit to how much one can borrow, you know. They won't let us
  have any more."
 "Then we'll live on the rents we get from the
 58       Ken Follett

 crofters. We must give up our trips to London. We won't even go to balls in
 Edinburgh. Nobody will come to dinner with us but the pastor. We'll live
 like nuns, and not see company from one year's end to the next."
  "I'm afraid we can't even do that. They're threatening to take away Hallim
  House and the estate."
 Lizzie was shocked. "They can't!"
 "They can-that's what a mortgage means."
 "Who are they?"
  Mother looked vague. "Well, your father's lawyer is the one who arranged
  the loans for me, but I don't exactly know who has put up the money. But
  that doesn't matter. The point is that the lender wants his money back-or
  he will foreclose."
  "Mother ... are you really saying we're going to lose our home?"
 "No, dear-not if you marry Robert."
 "I see," Lizzie said solemnly.
  The stable yard clock struck eleven. Mother stood up and kissed her. "Good
  night, dear. Sleep well."
 "Good night, Mother."
  Lizzie looked thoughtfully into the fire. She had known for years that it
  was her destiny to rescue their fortunes by marrying a wealthy man, and
  Robert had seemed as good as any other. She had not thought about it
  seriously until now: she did not think about things in advance,
  generally-she preferred to leave everything until the last moment, a habit
  that drove her mother crazy. But suddenly the prospect of marrying him ap-
  palled her. She felt a kind of physical disgust, as if she had swallowed
  something putrid.
  But what could she do? She could not let her mother's creditors throw them
  out of their home! What would they do? Where would they go? How could they
  make a living? She felt a chill of fear as she pictured the two of them in
  cold rented rooms in an Edinburgh tenement, writing begging letters to
  distant relations and doing sewing for pennies. Better to marry dull
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   59

 Robert. Could she bring herself to, though? Whenever she vowed to do
 something unpleasant but necessary, like shooting a sick old hound or
 going to shop for petticoat material, she would eventually change her mind
 and wriggle out of it.
  She pinned up her unruly hair, then dressed in the disguise she had worn
  yesterday: breeches, riding boots, a linen shirt and a topcoat, and a
  man's threecornered hat which she secured with a hatpin. She darkened her
  cheeks with a dusting of soot from the chimney, but she decided against
  the curly wig this time. For warmth she added fur gloves, which also con-
  cealed her dainty hands, and a plaid blanket that made her shoulders seem
  broader.
  When she heard midnight strike she took a candle and went downstairs.
  She wondered nervously whether Jay would keep his word. Something might
  have happened to prevent him, or he could even have fallen asleep
  waiting. How disappointing that would be! But she found the kitchen door
  unlocked, as he had promised; and when she emerged into the stable yard
  he was waiting there, holding two ponies, murmuring softly to them to
  keep them quiet. She felt a glow of pleasure when he smiled at her in the
  moonlight. Without speaking, he handed her the reins of the smaller
  horse, then led the way out of the yard by the back path, avoiding the
  front drive which was overlooked by the principal bedrooms.
  When they reached the road Jay unshrouded a lantem. They mounted their
  ponies and trotted away. "I was afraid you wouldn't come," Jay said.
  "I was afraid you might fall asleep waiting," she replied, and they both
  laughed.
  They rode up the glen toward the coal pits. "Did you have another row
  with your father this afternoon?" Lizzie asked him directly.
 'Yes.
 60       Ken Follett

  He did not offer details, but Lizzie's curiosity did not require
  encouragement. "What about?" she said.
  She could not see his face but she sensed that he disliked her
  questioning. However, he answered mildly enough. "The same old thing, I'm
  afraid-my brother, Robert."
  "I think you've been very badly treated, if that's any consolation."
 "It is-thank you." He seemed to relax a bit.
  As they approached the pits Lizzie's eagerness and curiosity heightened,
  and she began to speculate about what the mine would be like and why
  McAsh had implied it was some kind of hellhole. Would it be dreadfully
  hot or freezing cold? Did the men snarl at one another and fight, like
  caged wildcats? Would the pit be evil smelling, or infested with mice,
  or silent and ghostly? She began to feel apprehensive. But whatever
  happens, she thought, I'll know what it's like-and McAsh will no longer
  be able to taunt me with my ignorance.
  After half an hour or so they passed a small mountain of coal for sale.
  "Who's there?" a voice barked, and a keeper with a deerhound straining
  at a leash entered the circle of Jay's lantern. The keepers traditionally
  looked after the deer and tried to catch poachers, but nowadays many of
  them enforced discipline at the pits and guarded against theft of coal.
 Jay lifted his lantern to show his face.
  "I beg your pardon, Mr. Jamisson, sir," the keeper said.
  They rode on. The pithead itself was marked only by a horse trotting in
  a circle, turning a drum. As they got closer Lizzie saw that the drum
  wound a rope that pulled buckets of water out of the pit. "nere's always
  water in a mine," Jay explained. "It seeps from the earth." The old
  wooden buckets leaked, making the ground around the pithead a treacherous
  mixture of mud and ice.
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   61

  They tied up their horses and went to the edge of the pit. It was a shaft
  about six feet square with a steep wooden staircase descending its sides
  in a zigzag. Lizzie could not see the bottom.
 There was no handrail.
  Lizzie suffered a moment of panic. "How deep is itT' she asked in a shaky
  voice.
  "If I remember rightly, this pit is two hundred and ten feet," Jay said.
  Lizzie swallowed hard. If she called the whole thing off, Sir George and
  Robert might get to hear of it, then they would say: "I told you it was
  no place for a lady." She could not bear that-she would rather go down
  a two-hundred-foot staircase without a handrail.
  Gritting her teeth, she said: "What are we waiting for?"
  If Jay sensed her fear he made no comment. He went ahead, lighting the
  steps for her, and she followed with her heart in her mouth. However,
  after a few steps he said: "Why don't you put your hands on my shoulders,
  to steady yourself." She did so gratefully.
  As they descended, the wooden buckets of water waltzed up the well in the
  middle of the shaft, banging against the empty ones going down,
  frequently splashing icy water on Lizzie. She had a scary vision of her-
  self slipping off the stairs and tumbling crazily down the shaft,
  crashing into the buckets, overturning dozens of them before she hit the
  bottom of the shaft and died.
  After a while Jay stopped to let her rest for a few moments. Although she
  thought of herself as fit and active, her legs ached and she was
  breathing hard. Wanting to give him the impression she was not tired, she
  made conversation. "You seem to know a lot about the mines-where the
  water comes from and how deep the pit is and so on."
  "Coal is a constant topic of conversation in our family-it's where most
  of our money comes from. But I spent one summer with Harry Ratchett, the
  viewer,
 62       Ken Follett

 about six years ago. Mother had decided she wanted me to learn all about the
 business, in the hope that one day Father would want me to run it. Foolish
 aspiration."
 Lizzie felt sorry for him.
  They went on. A few minutes later the stairs ended in a deck that gave
  access to two tunnels. Below the level of the tunnels, the shaft was full
  of water. The pool was emptied by the buckets but constantly replenished by
  ditches that drained the tunnels. Lizzie stared into the darkness of the
  tunnels, her heart filled with mingled curiosity and fear.
  Jay stepped off the deck into a tunnel, turned, and gave his hand to
  Lizzie. His grasp was firm and dry. As she entered the tunnel he drew her
  hand to his lips and kissed it. She was pleased by this little piece of
  gallantry.
  As he turned to lead her on he kept hold of her hand. She was not sure what
  to make of this but she had no time to think about it. She had to
  concentrate on keeping her feet. She plowed through thick coal dust and she
  could taste it in the air. The roof was low in places and she had to stoop
  much of the time. She realized that she had a very unpleasant night ahead
  of her.
  She tried to ignore her discomfort. On either side candlelight flickered in
  the gaps between broad columns, and she was reminded of a midnight service
  in a great cathedral. Jay said: "Each miner works a twelvefoot section of
  the coal face, called a 'room.' Between one room and another they leave a
  pillar of coal, sixteen feet square, to support the roof."
  Lizzie suddenly realized that above her head there was two hundred and ten
  feet of earth and rock that could collapse on her if the miners had not
  done their work carefully; and she had to fight to suppress a feeling of
  panic. Involuntarily she gave Jay's hand a squeeze, and he squeezed back.
  From then on she was very conscious that they were holding hands. She found
  that she liked it.
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   63

  The first rooms they passed were empty, presumably worked out, but after
  a while Jay stopped beside a room where a man was digging. To Lizzie's
  surprise the miner was not standing up: he lay on his side, attacking the
  coal face at floor level. A candle in a wooden holder near his head threw
  its inconstant light on his work. Despite his awkward position he swung
  his pick powerfully. With each swing he dug the point into the coal and
  prized out lumps. He was making an indentation two or three feet deep
  across the width of his room. Lizzie was shocked to realize that he was
  lying in running water, which seeped out of the coal face, flowed across
  the floor of his room, and drained into the ditch that ran along the
  tunnel. Lizzie dipped her fingers into the ditch. The water was freezing
  cold. She shivered. Yet the miner had taken off his coat and shirt and
  was working in his breeches and bare feet; and she could see the gleam
  of perspiration on his blackened shoulders.
  The tunnel was not level, but rose and fell-with the seam of coal, Lizzie
  presumed. Now it began to go up more steeply. Jay stopped and pointed
  ahead to where a miner was doing something with a candle. "He's testing
  for firedamp," Jay said.
  Lizzie let go of his hand and sat on a rock, to relieve her back from
  stooping.
 "Are you all right?" Jay said.
 "Fine. What's firedamp?"
 "An inflammable gas."
 "Inflammable?"
  "Yes-it's what causes most explosions in coal mines."
  This sounded mad. "If it's explosive, why is he using that candle?"
  "It's the only way to detect the gas-you can't see it or smell it."
  The miner was raising the candle slowly toward the roof, and seemed to
  be staring hard at the flame.
 64       Ken Follett

  "The gas is lighter than air, so it concentrates at roof level," Jay went
  on. "A small amount will give a blue tinge to the candle flame."
 "And what will a large amount do?"
 "Blow us all to kingdom come."
  Lizzie felt this was the last straw. She was filthy and exhausted and her
  mouth was full of coal dust, and now she was in danger of being blown up.
  She told herself to keep very calm. She had known, before she came here,
  that coal mining was a dangerous business, and she must just steel her
  nerve. Miners went underground every night: surely she had the courage
  to come here one time?
  It would, however. be the last time: of that she had no doubt at all.
  They watched the man for a few moments. He moved up the tunnel a few
  paces at a time, repeating his test. Lizzie was determined not to show
  her fear. Making her voice sound normal, she said: "And if he finds
  firedamp-what then? How do you get rid of it?"
 "Set fire to it."
 Lizzie swallowed. This was getting worse.
  "One of the miners is designated fireman," Jay went on. "In this pit I
  believe it's McAsh, the young troublemaker. The job is generally handed
  down from father to son. The fireman is the pit's expert on gas. He knows
  what to do."
  Lizzie wanted to run back down the tunnel to the shaft and all the way
  up the ladder to the outside world. She would have done so but for the
  humiliation of having Jay see her panic. In order to get away from this
  insanely dangerous test, she pointed to a side tunnel and said: "What's
  down there?"
 Jay took her hand again. "Let's go and see."
  There was a strange hush throughout the mine, Lizzie thought as they
  walked along. Nobody spoke much: a few of the men had boys helping them
  but most worked alone, and the bearers had not yet arrived. The clang of
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM  65

 picks hitting the face and the rumble as the coal broke up were muffled
 by the walls and the thick dust underfoot. Every so often they passed
 through a door that was closed behind them by a small boy: the doors
 controlled the circulation of air in the tunnels, Jay explained.
  They found themselves in a deserted section. Jay stopped. "This part
  seems to be worked out," he said, swinging his lantern in an arc. The
  feeble light was reflected in the tiny eyes of rats at the limit of the
  circle. No doubt they lived on leavings from the miners' dinner pails.
  Lizzie noticed that Jay's face was smeared black, like the miners': the
  coal dust got everywhere. He looked funny, and she sn-died.
 "What is it?" he said.
 "Your face is black!"
  He grinned and touched her cheek with a fingertip. "And what do you think
  yours is like?"
  She realized that she must look exactly the same. "Oh, no!" she said with
  a laugh.
  "You're still beautiful, though," he said, and he kissed her.
  She was surprised, but she did not flinch: she liked it. His lips were
  firin and dry, and she felt the slight roughness over his upper lip where
  he shaved. When he drew back she said the first thing that came into her
  head: "Is that what you brought me down here for?"
 "Are you offended?"
  It was certainly against the rules of polite society for a young
  gentleman to kiss a lady not his fianc6e. She ought to be offended, she
  knew; but she had enjoyed it. She began to feel embarrassed. "Perhaps we
  should retrace our steps."
 "May I keep holding your hand?"
 'Yes.
  He seemed satisfied with that, and he led her back. After a while she saw
  the rock she had sat on earlier.
 66       Ken Follett

 They stopped to watch a miner work. Lizzie thought about the kiss and felt
 a little shiver of excitement in her loins.
  The miner had undercut the coal across the width of the room and was
  hammering wedges into the face higher up. Like most of them he was half
  naked, and the massive muscles of his back bunched and rolled as he swung
  his hammer. The coal, having nothing below to support it, eventually
  crumbled under its own weight and crashed to the floor in lumps. The
  miner stepped back quickly as the freshly exposed coal face creaked and
  shifted, spitting tiny fragments as it adjusted to the altered stresses.
  At this point the bearers began to arrive, carrying their candles and
  wooden shovels, and Lizzie suffered her most horrifying shock yet.
 They were nearly all women and girls.
  She had never asked what miners' wives and daughters did with their time.
  It had not occurred to her that they spent their days, and half their
  nights, working underground.
  The tunnels became noisy with their clatter, and the air rapidly warmed
  up, causing Lizzie to unfasten her coat. Because of the dark, most of the
  women did not notice the visitors, and their talk was uninhibited. Right
  in front of them an older man bumped into a woman who looked pregnant.
  "Out of the damn way, Sal," he said roughly.
  "Out of the damn way yourself, you blind pizzle," she retorted.
  Another woman said: "A pizzle's not blind, it's got one eye!" They all
  laughed coarsely.
  Lizzie was startled. In her world women never said "damn," and as for
  "pizzle," she could only guess what it meant. She was also astonished
  that the women could laugh at anything at all, having got out of bed at
  two o'clock in the morning to work for fifteen hours underground.
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   67

  She felt strange. Everything here was physical and sensory: the darkness,
  holding Jay's hand, the halfnaked miners hewing coal, Jay's kiss, and the
  vulgar hilarity of the women-it was unnerving but at the same time
  stimulating. Her pulse beat faster, her skin was flushed and her heart
  was racing.
  The chatter died down as the bearers got to work shoveling the coal into
  big baskets. "Why do women do this?" Lizzie asked Jay incredulously.
  "A miner is paid by the weight of coal he delivers to the pithead," he
  replied. "If he has to pay a bearer, the money goes out of the family.
  So he gets his wife and children to do it, and that way they keep it
  all."
  The big baskets were quickly filled. Lizzie watched as two women picked
  one up between them and heaved it onto the bent back of a third. She
  grunted as she took the weight. The basket was secured by a strap around
  her forehead, then she headed slowly down the tunnel, bent double. Lizzie
  wondered how she could possibly carry it up two hundred feet of steps.
  "Is the basket as heavy as it looks?" she said.
  One of the miners overheard her. "We call it a corf," he said to her. "It
  holds a hundred and fifty pounds of coal. Would you like to feel the
  weight, young sir?"
  Jay answered before Lizzie could speak. "Certainly not," he said
  protectively.
  The man persisted. "Or perhaps a half-corf, such as this wee one is
  carrying."
  Approaching them was a girl of ten or eleven, wearing a shapeless wool
  dress and a head scarf. She was barefoot and carried on her back a corf
  half full of coal.
  Lizzie saw Jay open his mouth to refuse, but she forestalled him. "Yes,"
  she said. "Let me feel the weight."
  The miner stopped the girl and one of his women lifted the corf. The
  child said nothing but seemed content to rest, breathing hard.
 68       Ken Follett

  "Bend your back, master," the miner said. Lizzie obeyed. The woman swung
  the corf onto Lizzie's back.
  Although she was braced for it, the weight was much more than she had
  anticipated, and she could not support it even for a second. Her legs
  buckled under her and she collapsed. The miner, seemingly expecting this,
  caught her, and she felt the weight lifted from her back as the woman
  removed the corf. They had known what would happen, Lizzie realized as
  she collapsed into the miner's arms.
  The watching women all shrieked with laughter at the discomfiture of what
  they thought was a young gentleman. The miner caught Lizzie falling
  forward and easily supported her on his strong forearm. A callused hand
  as hard as a horse's hoof squashed her breast through the linen shirt.
  She heard the man grunt with surprise. The hand squeezed, as if
  double-checking; but her breasts were large---embarrassingly large, she
  often felt-and an instant later the hand slid away. The man lifted her
  upright. He held her by her shoulders, and astonished eyes stared at her
  out of his coal-blackened face.
 "Miss Hallim!" he whispered.
 She realized the miner was Malachi McAsh.
  They looked at one another for a spellbound moment, while the women's
  laughter filled their ears. Lizzie found the sudden intimacy deeply
  arousing, after all that had gone before, and she could tell he felt it
  too. For a second she was closer to him than to Jay, even though Jay had
  kissed her and held her hand. Then another voice pierced the noise, and
  a woman said: "Mack-look at this!"
  A black-faced woman was holding a candle up to the roof. McAsh looked at
  her, looked back at Lizzie, and then, seeming to resent leaving something
  unfinished, he released his hold on Lizzie and went over to the other
  woman.
 He looked at the candle flame and said: "You're
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM  69

 tight, Esther." He turned back and addressed the others, ignoring Lizzie
 and Jay. "There's a little firedamp." Lizzie wanted to turn and run, but
 McAsh seemed calm. "It's not enough to sound the alarm-not yet, anyway.
 We'll check in different places and see how far it extends."
  Lizzie found his equanimity incredible. What kind of people were these
  miners? Though their lives were brutally hard their spirits seemed
  unquenchable. By comparison her own life seemed pampered and purposeless.
  Jay took Lizzie's arm. "I think we've seen enough, don't you?" he
  murmured.
  Lizzie did not argue. Her curiosity had been satisfied long ago. Her back
  ached from bending constantly. She was tired and dirty and seared and she
  wanted to get out on the surface and feel the wind on her face.
  They hurried along the tunnel toward the shaft. The mine was busy now and
  there were bearers in front of them and behind. The women hitched their
  skirts above their knees, for freedom of movement, and carried their
  candles in their teeth. They moved slowly under their enormous burdens.
  Lizzie saw a man relieving himself into the drainage ditch in full view
  of the women and girls. Can't he find somewhere private to do that? she
  thought, then she realized that down here there was nowhere private.
  They reached the shaft and started up the stairs. The bearers went up on
  all fours, like small children: it suited their bent posture. They
  climbed at a steady pace. There was no chattering and joking now: the
  women and girls panted and groaned beneath the tremendous weights they
  were carrying. After a while Lizzie had to rest, but the bearers never
  stopped, and she felt humiliated and sick with guilt as she watched
  little girls pass her with their loads, some of them crying from pain and
  exhaustion. Now and again a child would slow down or stop for a moment,
  only to be hurried along by a curse or a brutal blow from its mother.
 70       Ken Follett

 Lizzie wanted to comfort them. All the emotions of the night came together
 and turned into anger. "I swear," she said vehemently, "I'll never allow
 coal to be mined on my land, as long as I live."
  Before Jay could make any reply, a bell began to ring.
  "The alarm," Jay said. "They must have found more firedamp."
  Lizzie groaned and got to her feet. Her calves felt as if someone had stuck
  knives in them. Never again, she thought.
  "I'll carry you," Jay said, and without more ado he slung her over his
  shoulder and began to climb the stairs.

              8

 THE FIREDAMP SPREAD WITH TERRIFYING SPEED.
  At first the blue tinge had been visible only when the candle was at roof
  level, but a few minutes later it appeared a foot below the roof, and Mack
  had to stop testing for fear of setting fire to it before the pit was
  evacuated.
  He was breathing in short, panicky gasps. He tried to be calm and think
  clearly.
  Normally the gas seeped out gradually, but this was different. Something
  unusual must have happened. Most likely, firedamp had accumulated in a
  sealed-off area of exhausted workings, then an old wall had cracked and was
  rapidly leaking the dreaded gas into the occupied tunnels.
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM 71

  And every man, woman and child here carried a lighted candle.
  A small trace would bum safely; a moderate amount would flash, scorching
  anyone in the vicinity; and a large quantity would explode, killing
  everyone and destroying the tunnels.
  He took a deep breath. His first priority was to get everyone out of the
  pit as fast as possible. He rang the handbell vigorously while he counted
  to twelve. By the time he stopped, miners and bearers were hurrying along
  the tunnel toward the shaft, mothers urging their children to go faster.
  While everyone else fled the pit, his two bearers stayed-his sister,
  Esther, calm and efficient, and his cousin Annie, who was strong and
  quick but also impulsive and clumsy. Using their coal shovels the two
  women began frantically to dig a shallow trench, the length and breadth
  of Mack, in the floor of the tunnel. Meanwhile Mack snatched an oilcloth
  bundle hanging from the roof of his room and ran for the mouth of the
  tunnel.
  After his parents died there had been some muttering, among the men,
  about whether Mack was old enough to take over his father's role of
  fireman. Apart from the responsibility of the job, the fireman was
  regarded as a leader in the community. In truth Mack himself had shared
  their doubts. But no one else wanted the job-it was unpaid and dangerous.
  And when he dealt efficiently with the first crisis the muttering
  stopped. Now he was proud that older men trusted him, but his pride also
  forced him to appear calm and confident even when he was afraid.
  He reached the mouth of the tunnel. The last stragglers were heading up
  the stairs. Now Mack had to get rid of the gas. Burning was the only way
  to do this. He had to set fire to it.
  It was evilly bad luck that this should happen today. It was his
  birthday: he was leaving. Now he wished he
 72       Ken Follett

 had thrown caution to the winds and left the glen on Sunday night. He had
 told himself that a wait of a day or two might make the Jamissons think
 he was going to stay, and lull them into a false sense of security. He
 felt sick at heart that in his final hours as a coal miner he had to risk
 his life to save the pit he was about to quit forever.
  If the firedamp were not burned off, the pit would close. And a pit
  closure in a mining village was like a failed harvest in a farming
  community: people starved. Mack would never forget the last time the pit
  closed, four winters ago. During the harrowing weeks that followed, the
  youngest and oldest villagers had diedincluding both his parents. The day
  after his mother died, Mack had dug up a nest of hibernating rabbits, and
  had broken their necks while they were still groggy; and the meat had
  saved him and Esther.
  He stepped out onto the deck and tore the waterproof wrappings off his
  bundle. Inside was a big torch made of dry sticks and rags, a ball of
  string, and a large version of the hemispheric candle-holder the miners
  used, fixed to a flat wooden base so that it could not fall over. Mack
  stuck the torch firmly in the holder, tied the string to the base, and
  lit the torch with his candle. It blazed up immediately. Here it would
  bum safely, for the lighter-than-air gas could not gather at the bottom
  of the shaft. But his next task was to get the burning torch into the
  tunnel.
  He took another moment to lower himself into the drainage pool at the
  bottom of the shaft, soaking his clothes and hair in the icy water to
  give him a little extra protection from bums. Then he hurried back along
  the tunnel unwinding the ball of string, at the same time scrutinizing
  the floor, removing large stones and other objects that might obstruct
  the movement of the blazing torch as it was drawn into the tunnel.
  When he reached Esther and Annie, he saw by the light of the one candle
  on the floor that all was ready.
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   73

 The trench was dug. Esther was dipping a blanket into the drainage ditch,
 and now she quickly wrapped it around Mack. Shivering, he lay down in the
 trench, still holding the end of the string. Annie knelt beside him and,
 somewhat to his surprise, kissed him full on the lips. Then she covered
 the trench with a heavy board, closing him in.
  There was a sloshing sound as they poured more water on the board, in a
  further attempt to protect him from the flames he was about to ignite.
  Then one of them tapped three times, the sign that they were leaving.
  He counted to one hundred, to give them time to get out of the tunnel.
  Then, with his heart full of dread, he started to pull on the string,
  drawing the blazing torch into the mine, toward where he lay, in a tunnel
  half full of explosive gas.

  Jay carried Lizzie to the top of the stairs and set her down on the icy
  mud at the pithead.
 "Are you all right?" he said.
  "I'm so glad to be above ground again," she said gratefully. "I can't
  thank you enough for carrying me. You must be exhausted."
  "You weigh a good deal less than a corf full of coal," he said with a
  smile.
  He talked as if her weight were nothing, but he looked a little unsteady
  on his legs as they walked away from the shaft. However, he had never
  faltered on the way up.
  Daybreak was still hours away, and it had started to snow, not in gently
  drifting flakes but in driving icy pellets that blew into Lizzie's eyes.
  As the last of the miners and bearers came out of the shaft, Lizzie
  noticed the young woman whose child had been christened on Sunday-Jen,
  her name was. Although her child was only a week or so old, the poor
  woman was carrying a
 74       Ken Follett

 full corf. Surely she should have taken a rest after giving birth? She
 emptied the basket on the dump and handed the tallyman a wooden marker:
 Lizzie guessed the markers were used to calculate the wages at the end of
 the week. Perhaps Jen was too much in need of money to have time off.
  Lizzie continued to watch because Jen looked distressed. With her candle
  raised above her head she darted among the crowd of seventy or eighty
  mine workers, peering through the falling snow, calling: "Wullie!
  Wullie!" It seemed she was searching for a child. She found her husband
  and had a rapid, frightened conversation with him. Then she screamed
  "No!" She ran to the pithead and started back down the stairs.
  The husband went to the edge of the shaft then came back and looked
  around the crowd again, visibly distressed and bewildered. Lizzie said
  to him: "What's the matter?"
  He replied in a shaky voice. "We can't find our laddie, and she thinks
  he's still down the pit."
  "Oh, no!" Lizzie looked over the edge. She could see some kind of torch
  blazing at the bottom of the shaft. But as she looked it moved and
  disappeared into the tunnel.

  Mack had done this on three previous occasions, but this time it was much
  more frightening. Formerly the concentration of firedamp had been much
  lower, a slow seep rather than a sudden buildup. His father had dealt
  with major gas leaks, of course-and his father's body, as he washed
  himself in front of the fire on Saturday nights, had been covered with
  the marks of old bums.
  Mack shivered in his blanket sodden with icy water. As he steadily wound
  in the string, pulling the blazing torch closer to himself and to the
  gas, he tried to calm his fear by thinking about Annie. They had grown
  up together and had always been fond of one another. Annie had a wild
  soul and a muscular body. She had
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   75

 never kissed him in public before, but she had often done it secretly. They
 had explored one another's bodies and taught each other how to give
 pleasure. They had tried all sorts of things together, only stopping short
 of what Annie called "making bairns." And they had almost done that....
  It was no use: he still felt terrified. To calm himself he tried to think
  in a detached way about how the gas moved and gathered. His trench was at
  a low point in the tunnel, so the concentration here should be less; but
  there was no accurate way of estimating it until it ignited. He was afraid
  of pain, and he knew that bums were torment. He was not really afraid to
  die. He did not think about religion much but he believed God must be
  merciful. However, he did not want to die now: he had done nothing, seen
  nothing. been nowhere. He had spent all his life so far as a slave. If I
  survive this night, he vowed, I will leave the glen today. I'll kiss Annie,
  and say good-bye to Esther, and defy the Jamissons, and walk away from
  here, so help me God.
  The amount of string that had gathered in his hands told him the torch was
  now about halfway to him. It could light the firedamp at any moment.
  However, it might not catch fire at all: sometimes, his father had told
  him, the gas seemed to vanish, no one knew where.
  He felt a slight resistance to his pull and knew that the torch was rubbing
  against the wall where the tunnel curved. If he looked out he would be able
  to see it. Surely the gas must blow now, he thought.
 Then he heard a voice.
  He was so shocked that at first he thought he was having a supernatural
  experience, an encounter with a ghost or a demon.
  Then he realized that it was neither: he was hearing the voice of a
  terrified small child, crying and saying: "Where is everyone'?"
 Mack's heart stopped.
 He knew instantly what had happened. As a small
 76       Ken Follett

 boy working in the mine he had often fallen asleep during his fifteen-hour
 day. This child had done the same, and had slept through the alarm. Then it
 had woken up, found the pit deserted, and panicked.
  It took Mack only a split second to realize what he had to do.
  He pushed aside the board and sprang out of his trench. The scene was
  illuminated by the burning torch and he could see the boy coming out of a
  side tunnel, rubbing his eyes and wailing. It was Wullie, the son of Mack's
  cousin Jen. "Uncle Mack!" he said joyfully.
  Mack ran for the boy, unwrapping the sodden blanket from around him as he
  went. There was no room for two in the shallow trench: they would have to
  try to reach the shaft before the gas blew. Mack wrapped the boy in the wet
  blanket, saying: "There's firedamp, Wullie, we've got to get out!" He
  picked him up, tucked him under one arm, and ran on.
  As he approached the burning torch he willed it not to ignite the gas, and
  heard himself shouting: "Not yet! Not yet!" Then they were past it.
  The boy was light, but it was hard to run stooping, and the floor underfoot
  made it more difficult: muddy in places, thick with dust in others, and
  uneven everywhere, with outcroppings of rock to trip the hasty. Mack
  charged ahead regardless, stumbling sometimes but managing to keep his
  feet, listening for the bang that might be the last sound he ever heard.
  As he rounded the curve in the tunnel, the light from the torch dimmed to
  nothing. He ran on into the darkness, but within seconds he crashed into
  the wall and fell headlong, dropping Wullie. He cursed and scrambled to his
  feet.
  The boy began to cry. Mack located him by sound and picked him up again. He
  was forced to go on more slowly, feeling the tunnel wall with his free
  hand, cursing the dark. Then, mercifully, a candle flame appeared
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM 77

 ahead, at the entrance to the tunnel, and Mack heard Jen's voice calling:
 "Wullie! Wullie!"
  "I've got him here, Jen!" Mack shouted, breaking into a run. "Get yourself
  up the stair!"
 She ignored his instruction and came toward him.
  He was only a few yards from the end of the tunnel and safety.
 "Go back!" he yelled, but she kept coming.
 He crashed into her and swept her up in his free arm.
 Then the gas blew.
  For a split second there was an ear-piercing hiss, then there was a huge,
  deafening thump that shook the earth. A force that felt like a massive fist
  struck Mack's back and he was lifted off his feet, losing his grip on
  Wullie and Jen. He flew through the air. He felt a wave of scorching heat,
  and he was sure he was going to die; then he splashed headfirst into icy
  water, and realized he had been thrown into the drainage pool at the bottom
  of the mine shaft.
 And he was still alive.
 He broke the surface and dashed water from his eyes.
  The wooden decking and staircase were burning in places, and the flames
  illuminated the scene fitfully. Mack located Jen, splashing about and
  choking. He grabbed her and heaved her out of the water.
 Choking, she screamed: "Where's Wullie?"
  He might have been knocked unconscious, Mack thought. He pushed himself
  from one side of the small pool to the other, bumping into the bucket
  chain, which had ceased to operate. At last he found a floating object that
  turned out to be Wullie. He shoved the boy onto the deck beside his mother
  and clambered out himself.
  Wullie sat up and spewed water. "Thank God," Jen sobbed. "He's alive."
  Mack looked into the tunnel. Stray wisps of gas burned sporadically like
  fiery spirits. "Away up the stairs with us," he said. "There might be a
  secondary blast." He pulled Jen and Wullie to their feet and
 78      Ken Follett:

 pushed them up ahead of him. Jen lifted Wullie and slung him over her
 shoulder: his weight was nothing to a woman who could carry a full corf
 of coal up these stairs twenty times in a fifteen-hour shift.
  Mack hesitated, looking at the small fires burning at the foot of the
  stairs. If the entire staircase burned, the pit might be out of
  commission for weeks while it was rebuilt. He took a few extra seconds
  to splash water from the pool over the flames and put them out. Then lie
  followed Jen up.
  When lie reached the top he felt exhausted, bruised and dizzy. He was
  immediately surrounded by a crowd who shook his hand, slapped his back
  and congratulated him. The crowd parted for Jay Jamisson and his com-
  panion, whom Mack had recognized to be Lizzie Hallim dressed as a man.
  "Well done, McAsh," said Jay. "My family appreciates your courage."
 You smug bastard, Mack thought.
  Lizzie said: "Is there really no other way to deal with firedamp?"
 "No," said Jay.
 "Of course there is," Mack gasped.
 "Really?" Lizzie said. "What?"
  Mack caught his breath. "You sink ventilation shafts, which let the gas
  escape before ever it can accumulate." He took another deep breath. "The
  Jamissons have been told time and time again."
  There was a murmur of agreement from the miners standing around.
 Lizzie turned to Jay. "Then why don't you do it?"
  "You don't understand business-why should you?" Jay said. "No man of
  business can pay for an expensive procedure when a cheaper one will
  achieve the same result. His rivals would undercut his price. It's
  political economy."
  "Give it a fancy name if you like," Mack panted. "Ordinary folk call it
  wicked greed."
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    79

  One or two of the miners shouted: "Aye! That's right!"
  "Now, McAsh," Jay remonstrated. "Don't spoil everything by getting above
  your station again. You'll get into real trouble."
  "I'm in no trouble," Mack said. "Today is my twenty-second birthday." He
  had not meant to say this, but now he could not stop himself. "I haven't
  worked here the full year-and-a-day, not quite-and I'm not going to." The
  crowd was suddenly quiet, and Mack was filled with an exhilarating sense
  of freedom. "I'm leaving, Mr. Jamisson," he said. "I quit. Good-bye." He
  turned his back on Jay and, in total silence, he walked away.

              9

BY THE TiME JAY AND LizzlE GOT BACK TO THE
castle, ei-ht or ten servants were about, lighting fires
     L
 and swe
    eping floors by candlelight. Lizzie, black with coal dust and almost
    helpless with fatigue, thanked Jay in a whisper and staggered
    upstairs. Jay ordered a tub and hot water to be brought to his room
    then took a bath, scrubbing the coal dust off his skin with a pumice
    stone.
  In the last forty-eight hours, momentous events had happened in his life:
  his father had given him a derisory patrimony, his mother had cursed his
  father, and he had tried to murder his brother-but none of these things
  occupied his mind. As he lay there he thought about Lizzie. Her impish
  face appeared before him in the
 80       Ken Follett

 steam from his bath, smiling mischievously, the eyes crinkling in the
 corners, mocking him, tempting him, daring him. He recalled how she had
 felt in his arms as he had carried her up the mine shaft: she was soft and
 light, and he had pressed her small frame to himself as he climbed the
 stairs. He wondered if she was thinking about him. She must have called
 for hot water too: she could hardly go to bed as dirty as she was. He
 pictured her standing naked in front of her bedroom fire, soaping her
 body. He wished he could be with her, and take the sponge from her hand,
 and gently wipe the coal dust from the slopes of her breasts. The thought
 aroused him, and he sprang out of the bath and rubbed himself dry with a
 rough towel.
  He did not feel sleepy. He wanted to talk to someone about the night's
  adventure, but Lizzie would probably sleep for hours. He thought about
  his mother. He could trust her. She sometimes pushed him into doing
  things against his inclination, but she was always on his side.
  He shaved and put on fresh clothes then went along to her room. As he
  expected she was up, sipping chocolate at her dressing-table while her
  maid did her hair. She smiled at him. He kissed her and dropped onto a
  chair. She was pretty, even first thing in the morning, but there was
  steel in her soul.
  She dismissed her maid. "Why are you up so early?" she asked Jay.
 "I haven't been to bed. I went down the pit."
 "With Lizzie Hallim?"
  She was so clever, he thought fondly. She always knew what he was up to.
  But he did not mind, for she never condemned him. "How did you guess?"
  "It wasn't difficult. She was itching to go, and she's the kind of girl
  who won't take no for an answer."
  "We chose a bad day to go down. There was an explosion."
 "Dear God, are you all right?"
 "Yes-"
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM  81

 "I'll send for Dr. Stevenson anyway-"
  "Mother, stop worrying! I was out of the pit by the time it blew. So was
  Lizzie. I'm just a bit weak in the knees from carrying her all the way
  up the shaft."
 Mother calmed down. "What did Lizzie think of it?"
  "She swore she would never allow mining on the Hallim estate."
  Alicia laughed. "And your father is greedy for her coal. Well, I look
  forward to witnessing the battle. When Robert is her husband he will have
  the power to go against her wishes ... in theory. We shall see. But how
  do you think the courtship is progressing?"
  "Flirting isn't Robert's strong point, to say the least," Jay said
  scornfully.
 "It's yours, though, isn't it?" she said indulgently.
 Jay shrugged. "He's doing his clumsy best."
 "Perhaps she won't marry him after all."
 "I think she will have to."
  Mother looked shrewdly at him. "Do you know something I don't?"
  "Lady Hallim is having trouble renewing her mortgages-Father has made
  sure of it."
 "Has he! How sly he is."
  Jay sighed. "She's a wonderful girl. She'll be wasted on Robert."
  Mother put a hand on his knee. "Jay, my sweet boy, she's not Robert's
  yet."
 "I suppose she might marry someone else."
 "She might marry you."
  "Good God, Mo&r!" Although he had kissed Lizzie he had not got as far as
  thinking of marriage.
 "You're in love with her. I can tell."
 "Love? Is that what this is?'
  "Of course-your eyes light up at the mention of her name, and when she's
  in the room you can't see anyone else."
  She had described Jay's feelings exactly. He had no secrets from his
  mother. "But marry her?"
 82       Ken Follett

  "If You're in love with her, ask her! You'd be the laird of High Glen."
  "That would be one in the eye for Robert," Jay said with a grin. His
  heart was racing at the thought of having Lizzie as his wife, but he
  tried to concentrate on the practicalities. "I'd be penniless."
  "You're. penniless now. But you'd manage the estate better than Lady
  Hallim-she's no businesswoman. It's a big place-High Glen must be ten
  miles long, and she owns Craigie and Crook Glen too. You'd clear land for
  grazing, sell more venison, build a watermill.... You could make it
  produce a decent income, even without mining for coal."
 "What about the mortgages?"
  "You're a much more attractive borrower than she is-you're. young and
  vigorous and you come from a wealthy fainily. You would find it easy
  enough to renew the loans. And then, in time
 "What?"
  "Well, Lizzie is an impulsive girl. Today she vows she will never allow
  mining on the Hallim estate. Tomorrow, God knows, she may decide that
  deer have feelings, and ban hunting. Next week she may have forgotten
  both edicts. If ever you do allow coal mining, you'll be able to pay off
  all your debts."
  Jay grimaced. "I don't relish the prospect of going against Lizzie's
  wishes on something like that." He was also thinking that he wanted to
  be a Barbadian sugar grower, not a Scottish coal owner. But he wanted
  Lizzie, too.
  With disconcerting suddenness Mother changed the subject. "What happened
  yesterday, when you were hunting?"
  Jay was taken by surprise, and he found himself unable to tell a smooth
  lie. He flushed and stammered, and finally said: "I had another set-to
  with Father."
 "I know that much," she said. "I could tell by your
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM  83

 faces when you returned. But it wasn't just an argument. You did something
 that shook him. What was it?"
  Jay had never been able to deceive her. "I tried to shoot Robert," he
  confessed miserably.
 "Oh, Jay, that's dreadful," she said.
  He bowed his head. It was all the worse that he had failed. If he had
  killed his brother, the guilt would have been appalling, but there would
  have been a certain savage sense of triumph. This way he had the guilt on
  its own.
  Mother stood beside his chair and pulled his head to her bosom. "My poor
  boy," she said. "There was no need for that. We'll find another way, don't
  worry." And she rocked back and forth, stroking his hair and saying:
  "There, there."

  "How could you do such a thing?" Lady Hallim wailed as she scrubbed
  Lizzie's back.
  "I had to see for myself," Lizzie replied. "Not so hard!"
 "I have to do it hard-the coal dust won't shift."
  "Mack McAsh filed me when he said I didn't know what I was talking about,"
  Lizzie went on.
  "And why should you?" said her mother. "What business has a young lady to
  know about coal mining, may I ask?"
  "I hate it when people dismiss me by saying that women don't understand
  about politics, or farming, or mining, or trade-it lets them get away with
  all kinds of nonsense."
  Lady Hallim groaned. "I hope Robert doesn't mind your being so masculine."
 "He'll have to take me as I am, or not at all."
  Her mother gave an exasperated sigh. "My dear, this won't do. You must give
  him more encouragement. Of course a girl doesn't want to appear eager, but
  you go too far the other way. Now promise me you'll be nice to Robert
  today."
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 "Mother, what do you think of Jay?"
  Mother smiled. "A charming boy, of course-" She stopped suddenly and
  stared hard at Lizzie. "Why do you ask?"
 "He kissed me in the coal mine."
  "No!" Lady Hallim stood upright and hurled the pumice stone across the
  room. "No, Elizabeth, I will not have this!" Lizzie was taken aback by
  her mother's sudden fury. I have not lived twenty years in penury to see
  you grow up and marry a handsome pauper!"
 "He's not a pauper-"
  "Yes he is, you saw that awful scene with his father-his patrimony is a
  horse-Lizzie, you cannot do this!"
  Mother was possessed by rage. Lizzie had never seen her like this and she
  could not understand it. "Mother, calm down, won't you?" she pleaded. She
  stood up and got out of the tub. "Pass me a towel, please?"
  To her astonishment her mother put her hands to her face and began to
  cry. Lizzie put her arms around her and said: "Mother, dear, what is it?"
  "Cover yourself, you wicked child," she said between sobs.
  Lizzie wrapped a blanket around her wet body. "Sit down, Mother." She
  guided her to a chair.
  After a while Mother spoke. "Your father was just like Jay, just like
  him," she said, and there was a bitter twist to the set of her mouth.
  "Ta, handsome, charming, and very keen on kissing in dark places-and
  weak, so weak. I gave in to my lower nature, and married him against my
  better judgment, even though I knew he was a will-o'-the-wisp. Within
  three years he had wasted my fortune, and a year after that he fell off
  his horse when drunk and broke his beautiful head and died."
  "Oh, Mama." Lizzie was shocked by the hatred in her mother's voice. She
  normally spoke of Father in neutral tones: she had always told Lizzie
  that he was
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM 85

 unlucky in business, that he had died tragically young, and that lawyers
 had made a mess of the estate's finances. Lizzie herself could hardly
 remember him, for she had been three years old when he died.
  "And he scorned me for not giving him a son," Mother went on. "A son who
  would have been like him, faithless and feckless, and would have broken
  some girl's heart. But I knew how to prevent that."
  Lizzie was shocked again. Was it true that women could prevent pregnancy?
  Could it be that her own mother had done such a thing in defiance of her
  husband's wishes'?
  Mother seized her hand. "Promise me you won't marry him, Lizzie. Promise
  me!"
  Lizzie pulled her hand away. She felt disloyal, but she had to tell the
  truth. "I can't," she said. I love him."

  When Jay left his mother's room, his feelings of guilt and shame seemed
  to dissipate, and suddenly he was hungry. He went down to the dining
  room. His father and Robert were there, eating thick slices of grilled
  ham with stewed apples and sugar, talking to Harry Ratchett. Ratchett.
  as manager of the pits, had come to report the firedamp blast. Father
  looked sternly at Jay and said: I hear you went down Heugh pit last
  night."
  Jay's appetite began to fade. I did," he said. "There was an explosion."
  He poured a glass of ale from a jug.
  I know all about the explosion," Father said. "Who was your companion?"
  Jay swallowed some beer. "Lizzie Hallim," he confessed.
  Robert colored. "Damn you," he said. "You know Father did not wish her
  to be taken down the pit."
  Jay was stung into a defiant response. "Well, Father, how will you punish
  me? Cut me off without a penny? You've already done that."
 86       Ken Follett
  Father wagged a threatening finger, "I wam you not to disregard my
  orders."
  "You should be worrying about McAsh, not me." Jay said, trying to turn
  his father's wrath onto another object. "He told everyone he was leaving
  today."
  Robert said: "Insubordinate damned tyke." It was not clear whether he was
  referring to McAsh or Jay.
  Harry Ratchett coughed. "You might just let McAsh go, Sir George," he
  said. "The man's a good worker, but he's a troublemaker, and we'd be well
  rid of him."
  "I can't do that," Father replied. "McAsh has taken a public stand
  against me. If he gets away with it, every young miner will think he can
  leave too."
  Robert put in: "It's not just us, either. This lawyer, Gordonson, could
  write to every pit in Scotland. If young miners are allowed to leave at
  the age of twentyone, the entire industry could collapse."
  "Exactly," Father agreed. "And then what would the British nation do for
  coal? I tell you, if I ever get Caspar Gordonson in front of me on a
  treason charge, I'll hang him quicker than you can say 'unconstitu-
  tional,' so help me."
  Robert said: "In fact it's our patriotic duty to do something about
  McAsh."
  They had forgotten about Jay's offense, to his relief. Keeping the
  conversation focused on McAsh he asked: "But what can be done?"
 "I could jail him," said Sir George.
  "No," Robert said. "When he came out he would still claim to be a free
  man."
 There was a thoughtful silence.
 "He could be flogged," Robert suggested.
  "That might be the answer," said Sir George. "I have the right to whip
  them, in law."
  Ratchett looked uneasy. "It's many years since that right was exercised
  by a coal owner, Sir George. And who would wield the lash?"
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM 87

  Robert said impatiently: "Well, what do we do with troublemakers?"
  Sir George smiled. "We make them go the round," he said.

             10

 MACK WOULD HAVE LIKED TO START WALKING TO Edinburgh right away, but he knew
 that would be foolish. Even though he had not worked a full shift he was
 exhausted, and the explosion had left him feeling slightly dazed. He needed
 time to think about what the Jamissons might do and how he could outwit
 them.
  He went home, took off his wet clothes, lit the fire and got into bed. His
  immersion in the drainage pool had made him dirtier than usual, for the
  water was thick with coal dust, but the blankets on his bed were so black
  that a little more made no difference. Like most of the men, he bathed once
  a week, on Saturday night.
  The other miners had gone back to work after the explosion. Esther had
  stayed at the pit, with Annie, to fetch the coal Mack had hewed and bring
  it up to the surface: she would not let hard work go to waste.
  As he drifted off to sleep he wondered why men got weary more quickly than
  women. The hewers, all men, worked ten hours, from midnight until ten
  o'clock in the morning; the bearers, mostly women, worked from two A.M.
  until five P.m.-fifteen hours. The women's work was harder, climbing those
  stairs again and again with huge baskets of coal on their bent backs, yet
  they kept going long after their men had stumbled home and
 88       Ken Follett

 fallen into bed. Women sometimes became hewers, but it was rare: when
 wielding the pick or hammer most women could not hit hard enough, and it
 took them too long to win the coal from the face,
  The men always took a nap when they came home. They would get up after
  an hour or so. Most would prepare dinner for their wives and children.
  Some spent the afternoon drinking at Mrs. Wheighel's: their wives were
  much pitied, for it was hard for a woman to come home, after fifteen
  hours of bearing coal, to find no fire, no food and a drunk husband. Life
  was hard for miners, but it was harder for their wives.
  When Mack woke up he knew it was a momentous day but he could not
  remember why. Then it came back to him: he was leaving the glen.
  He would not get far if he looked like an escaped coal miner, so the
  first thing he had to do was get clean. He built up the fire then made
  several trips to the stream with the water barrel. He heated the water
  on the fire and brought in the tin tub that hung outside the back door.
  The little room became steamy. He filled the bath then got in with a
  piece of soap and a stiff brush and scrubbed himself.
  He began to feel good. This was the last time he would ever wash coal
  dust off his skin: he would never have to go down a mine again. Slavery
  was behind him. In front of him he had Edinburgh, London, the world. He
  would meet people who had never heard of Heugh pit. His destiny was a
  blank sheet of paper on which he could write anything he liked.
 While he was in the bath, Annie came in.
  She hesitated just inside the door, looking troubled and uncertain.
  Mack smiled, offered her the brush, and said: "Would you do my back?"
  She came forward and took it from him, but stood looking at him with the
  same unhappy expression.
 "Go on," he said.
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM  89

 She began to scrub his back.
  "They say a miner shouldn't wash his back," she said. "It's supposed to be
  weakening."
 "I'm not a miner anymore."
  She stopped. "Don't go, Mack," she pleaded. "Don't leave me here."
  He had been afraid of something like this: that kiss on the lips had been
  a forewarning. He felt guilty. He was fond of his cousin, and he had
  enjoyed the fun and games they had had together last summer, rolling in the
  heather on wann Sunday afternoons-, but he did not want to spend his life
  with her, especially if it meant staying in Heugh. Could he explain that
  without crucifying her? There were tears in her eyes, and he saw how she
  longed for him to promise he would stay. But he was determined to leave: he
  wanted it more than he had ever wanted anything. "I must go away," he said.
  "I'll miss you, Annie, but I have to go."
  "You think you're better than the rest of us, don't you?" she said
  resentfully. "Your mother had ideas above her station and you're the same.
  You're too good for me, is that it'? You're going to London to marry a fine
  lady, I suppose!"
  His mother had certainly had ideas above her station, but he was not going
  to London to marry a fine lady. Was he better than the rest of them? Did he
  think he was too good for Annie? There was a grain of truth in what she
  said, and he felt embarrassed. "We're all too good for slavery," he said.
  She knelt beside the tub and put her hand on his knee above the water.
  "Don't you love me, Mack?"
  To his shame he began to feel aroused. He longed to embrace her and make
  her feel all right again, but he hardened his heart. "You're dear to me,
  Annie, but I never said J love you,' no more than you did."
  She slipped her hand under the water and between his legs. She smiled when
  she felt how stiff he was.
 He said: "Where's Esther?"
 90       Ken Follett

  "Playing with Jen's new baby. She'll be away for a while."
  Annie had asked her to stay away, Mack inferred: otherwise Esther would
  have hurried home to talk to him about his plans.
  "Stay here and let's get married," Annie said, caressing him. ne
  sensation was exquisite. He had taught her how to do it, last summer, and
  then he had made her show him how she pleasured herself. As he remembered
  that, he became more inflamed. "We could do anything we liked, all the
  time," she said.
  "If I get married I'm stuck here for life," Mack said, but he felt his
  resistance weakening.
  Annie stood up and pulled off her dress. She wore nothing else: underwear
  was reserved for Sundays. Her body was lean and hard, with small, flat
  breasts and a mass of dense black hair at the groin. Her skin all over
  was gray with coal dust, like Mack's. To his astonishment she climbed
  into the tub with him, kneeling astride his legs. "It's your turn to wash
  me," she said, giving him the soap.
  He rubbed the soap slowly, working up a lather, then he put his hands on
  her breasts. Her nipples were small and stiff. She moaned deep in her
  throat, then she grasped his wrists and pushed his hands down, across her
  hard, flat belly, to her groin. His soapy fingers slipped between her
  thighs and he felt the coarse curls of her thick pubic hair and the firm,
  soft flesh beneath it.
  "Say you'll stay," she pleaded. "Let's do it. I want to feel you inside
  me."
  He knew that if he gave in his fate was sealed. There was something
  dreamily unreal about the scene. "No," he said, but his voice was a
  whisper.
  She came closer, pulling his face to her breasts, then lowered herself
  until she was poised over him, her sexual lips just touching the swollen
  end of his cock where it stuck up out of the water. "Say yes," she said.
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM 91

  He groaned and gave up the struggle. "Yes," he said. "Please. Quickly."
 There was a terrific crash and the door flew open.
 Annie screamed.
  Four men burst in, filling the little room: Robert Jamisson, Harry Ratchett
  and two of the Jamissons' keepers. Robert wore a sword and a pair of
  pistols, and one of the keepers carried a musket.
  Annie got off Mack and stepped out of the bath. Dazed and frightened, Mack
  stood up shakily.
  The keeper with the musket looked at Annie. "Cozy cousins," he said with a
  leer. Mack knew the man: his name was McAlistair. He recognized the other
  one, a big bully called Tanner.
  Robert laughed harshly. "Is that what she is-his cousin? I suppose incest
  is nothing to coal miners."
  Mack's fear and bewilderment gave way to fury at this invasion of his home.
  He suppressed his anger and struggled to remain controlled. He was in grave
  danger, and there was a chance Annie would suffer too. He had to keep his
  wits about him, not give in to outrage. He looked at Robert. "I'm a free
  man and I've broken no laws," he said. "What are you doing in my house?"
  McAlistair was still staring at Annie's body, damp and steaming. "What a
  pretty sight," he said thickly.
  Mack turned to him. In a low, even voice he said: "If you touch her I'll
  tear the head off your neck with my hands."
  McAlistair looked at Mack's bare shoulders and realized he could do what he
  threatened. He paled and took a step back, even though he held a gun.
  But Tanner was bigger and more reckless, and he reached out and grasped
  Annie's wet breast.
  Mack acted without forethought. A second later he was out of the tub and
  grasping Tanner by the wrist. Before anyone else could move he had thrust
  Tanner's hand into the fire.
 Tanner screamed and writhed, but he could not
 92       Ken Follett

 escape from Mack's grip. "Let me go!" he screeched. "Please, please!"
  Mack held the man's hand in the burning coals and yelled: "Run, Annie!"
  Annie snatched up her dress and flew out the back door.
  The butt of a musket cracked into the back of Mack's head.
  The blow enraged him, and with Annie gone he became heedless. He released
  Tanner, then grabbed McAlistair by the coat and butted him in the face,
  smashing the man's nose. Blood spurted and McAlistair roared with pain.
  Mack swung around and kicked Harry Ratchett in the groin with a bare foot
  as hard as a stone. Ratchett doubled up, groaning.
  Every fight Mack had ever fought had taken place down the pit, so he was
  accustomed to combat in a confined space; but four opponents were too many.
  McAlistair hit him again with the butt of the musket, and for a moment Mack
  swayed, stunned. Then Ratchett grabbed him from behind, pinning his arms,
  and before he could release himself the point of Robert Jamisson's sword
  was at his throat.
 After a moment Robert said: "Tie him up."

  They threw him across the back of a horse and covered his nakedness with a
  blanket, then they took him to Castle Jamisson and put him in the larder,
  still naked and tied hand and foot. He lay on the stone floor, shivering,
  surrounded by the dripping carcasses of deer, cattle and pigs. He tried to
  warm himself by moving as much as he could, but with his hands and feet
  tied he could not generate much heat. Eventually he managed to sit up with
  his back against the furry hide of a dead stag. For a while he sang to keep
  up his spirits-first the ballads they crooned at Mrs. Wheighel's on Satur-
  day nights, then a few hymns, then some old Jacobite
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM 93

 rebel ditties; but when he ran out of songs he felt worse than before.
  His head hurt from the musket blows, but what pained him most was how
  easily the Jamissons had taken him. What a fool he was to have delayed
  his departure. He had given them time to take action. While they were
  planning his downfall he had been feeling his cousin's breasts.
  It did not help to speculate about what they had in store for him. If he
  did not freeze to death here in the larder they would probably send him
  to Edinburgh and have him tried for assaulting the gamekeepers. Like most
  crimes, that was a hanging matter.
  The light coming through the cracks around the door gradually faded as
  night fell. They came for him just as the stable yard clock struck
  eleven. There were six men this time, and he did not attempt to fight
  them.
  Davy Taggart, the blacksmith who made the miners' tools, fitted an iron
  collar like Jimmy Lee's around Mack's neck. It was the ultimate
  humiliation: a sign for all the world to see, saying he was another man's
  property. He was less than a man, subhuman; he was livestock.
  They untied his bonds and threw some clothes at him: a pair of breeches,
  a threadbare flannel shirt and a ripped waistcoat. He put them on hastily
  and still felt cold. The keepers tied his hands again and put him on a
  pony.
 They rode to the pit.
  The Wednesday shift would begin in a few minutes' time, at midnight. The
  ostler was putting a fresh horse in harness to drive the bucket chain.
  Mack realized they were going to make him go the round.
  He groaned aloud. It was a crushing, humiliating torture. He would have
  given his life for a bowl of hot porridge and a few minutes in front of
  a blazing fire. Instead he was doomed to spend the night in the open
 94       Ken Follett

 air. He wanted to fall on his knees and beg for mercy; but the thought of
 how that would please the Jamissons stiffened his pride, and instead he
 roared: "You've no fight to do this! No right!" The keepers laughed at
 him.
  They stood him in the muddy circular track around which the pithead
  horses trotted day and night. He squared his shoulders and held his head
  high, although he felt like bursting into tears. They tied him to the
  harness, facing the horse, so that he could not get out of its way. Then
  the ostler whipped the horse into a trot.
 Mack began to run backward.
  He stumbled almost immediately, and the horse drew up. The ostler whipped
  it again, and Mack scrambled to his feet just in time. He began to get
  the knack of running backward. Then he became overconfident and slipped
  on the icy mud. This time the horse charged on. Mack slid to one side,
  writhing and twisting to get away from the hooves, and was dragged
  alongside the horse for a second or two, then he lost control and slipped
  under the horse's feet. The horse trod on his stomach and kicked his
  thigh, then stopped.
  They made Mack stand up, then they lashed the horse again. The blow to
  the stomach had winded Mack, and his left leg felt weak, but he was
  forced into a limping backward run.
  He gritted his teeth and tried to settle into a rhythm. He had seen
  others suffer this punishment-Jimmy Lee, for one. They had survived,
  although they bore the marks: Jimmy Lee had a scar over his left eye
  where the horse had kicked him, and the resentment that burned inside
  Jimmy was fueled by the memory of the humiliation. Mack, too, would
  survive. His mind dulled with pain and cold and defeat, he thought of
  nothing but staying on his feet and avoiding those deadly hooves.
  As time went by he began to feel an affinity with the horse. They were
  both in harness and compelled to run in a circle. When the ostler cracked
  his whip, Mack
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM  95

 went a little faster; and when Mack stumbled, the horse seemed to slacken
 its pace for a moment to allow him to recover.
  He was aware of the hewers arriving at midnight to begin their shift.
  They came up the hill talking and shouting, ribbing one another and
  telling jokes as usual; then they fell silent as they approached the
  pithead and saw Mack. The keepers hefted their muskets menacingly
  whenever a miner seemed disposed to stop. Mack heard Jimmy Lee's voice
  raised in indignation and saw, from the comer of his eye, three or four
  other miners surround Jimmy, taking him by the arms and pushing and
  shoving him toward the pit to keep him out of trouble.
  Gradually Mack lost all sense of time. The bearers arrived, women and
  children chattering on their way up the hill then failing silent, as the
  men had, when they passed Mack. He heard Annie cry: "Oh dear God, they've
  made Mack go the round!" She was kept away from him by the Jamissons'
  men, but she called out: "Esther's looking for you-I'll fetch her."
  Esther appeared some time later, and before the keepers could prevent her
  she stopped the horse. She held a flagon of hot sweetened milk to Mack's
  lips. It tasted like the elixir of life, and he gulped it frantically,
  almost choking himself. He managed to drain the jug before they pulled
  Esther away.
  The night wore on as slow as a year. The keepers put down their muskets
  and sat around the ostler's fire. Coal mining went on. The bearers came
  up from the pit, emptied their corves on the dump, and went down again
  in their endless round. When the ostler changed the horse Mack got a few
  minutes' rest, but the fresh horse trotted faster.
  There came a moment when he realized it was daylight again. Now it could
  be only an hour or two until the hewers stopped work, but an hour was
  forever.
 96       Ken Follett

  A pony came up the hill. Out of the comer of his eye Mack saw the rider
  get off and stand staring at him. Looking briefly in that direction he
  recognized Lizzie Hallim, in the same black fur coat she had wom to
  church. Was she here to mock him? he wondered. He felt humiliated, and
  wished she would go away. But when he looked again at her elfin face he
  saw no mockery there. Instead there was compassion, anger, and something
  else he could not read.
  Another horse came up the hill and Robert got off. He spoke to Lizzie in
  an irate undertone. Lizzie's reply was clearly audible: "This is
  barbaric!" In his distress Mack felt profoundly grateful to her. Her
  indignation comforted him. It was some consolation to know that there was
  one person among the gentry who felt human beings should not be treated
  this way.
  Robert replied indignantly, but Mack could not make out his words. While
  they were arguing, the men began to come up from the pit. However, they
  did not return to their homes. Instead they stood around the horse-gin,
  watching without speaking. The women also began to gather: when they had
  emptied their corves they did not go back down the shaft but joined the
  silent crowd.
 Robert ordered the ostler to stop the horse.
  Mack at last stopped running. He tried to stand proud, but his legs would
  not support him, and he fell to his knees. The ostler came to untie him,
  but Robert stopped the man with a gesture.
  Robert spoke loudly enough for everyone to hear. "Well, McAsh, you said
  yesterday that you were one day short of servitude. Now you have worked
  that extra day. Even by your own foolish rules you're my father's
  property now." He turned around to address the crowd.
  But before he could speak again, Jimmy Lee started to sing,
  Jimmy had a pure tenor voice, and the notes of a familiar hymn soared out
  across the glen:
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   97

      Behold, a man in anguish bending Marked by pain and loss Yonder
      stony hill ascending Carrving a cross

 Robert flushed red and shouted: "Be quiet!"
  Jimmy ignored him and began the second verse. The others joined in,
  some singing the harmonies, and a hundred voices swelled the melody.

      He is now transfixed with sorrow
      In the eyes of men
      When we see the bright tomorrow
      He will rise again

  Robert turned away, helpless. He stamped across the mud to his horse,
  leaving Lizzie standing alone, a smaH figure of defiance. He mounted
  and rode off down the hill, looking furious, with the thrilling voices
  of the miners shaking the mountain air like a thunderstorm:

      Look no more with eyes of pi~v See our victorv When we build that
      heavenly city All men shall be free!

             11

 JAY WOKE UP KNOWING HE WAS GOING TO PROPOSE
 marriage to Lizzie.
 98       Ken Follett

  It was only yesterday that his mother had put it into his mind, but the
  idea had taken root fast. It seemed natural, even inevitable.
  Now he was worried about whether she would have him.
  She liked him well enough, he thought-most girls did. But she needed
  money and he had none. Mother said those problems could be solved but
  Lizzie might prefer the certainty of Robert's prospects. The idea of her
  marrying Robert was loathsome.
  To his disappointment he found she had gone out early. He was tense, too
  tense to wait around the house for her to return. He went out to the
  stables and looked at the white stallion his father had given him for his
  birthday. The horse's name was Blizzard. Jay had vowed never to ride him,
  but he could not resist the temptation. He took Blizzard up to High Glen
  and galloped him along the springy turf beside the stream. It was worth
  breaking his vow. He felt as if he were on the back of an eagle, soaring
  through the air, borne up by the wind.
  Blizzard was at his best when galloping. Walking or trotting he was
  skittish, unsure of his footing, discontented and bad tempered. But it
  was easy to forgive a horse for being a poor trotter when he could run
  like a bullet.
  As Jay rode home lie indulged himself in thoughts of Lizzie. She had
  always been exceptional, even as a girl: pretty and rebellious and
  beguiling. Now she was unique. She could shoot better than anyone Jay
  knew, she had beaten him in a horse race, she was not afraid to go down
  a coal mine, she could disguise herself and fool everyone at a dinner
  table-he had never met a woman like her.
  She was difficult to deal with, of course: willful, opinionated and
  self-centered. She was more ready than most women to challenge what men
  said. But Jay and everyone else forgave her because she was so charm-
         A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM 99

 ing, tilting her pert little face this way and that, smiling and frowning
 even as she contradicted every word you said.
  He reached the stable yard at the same time as his brother. Robert was in
  a bad mood. When angry he became even more like Father, red faced and
  pompous. Jay said: "What the devil is the matter with you?" but Robert
  threw his reins to a groom and stomped indoors.
  While Jav was stabling Blizzard, Lizzie rode up. She, too, was upset, but
  the flush of anger on her cheeks and the glint in her eyes made her even
  prettier. Jay stared at her, enraptured. I want this girl, he thought; I
  want her for myself. He was ready to propose right then and there. But
  before he could speak she jumped off her horse and said: "I know that
  people who misbehave must be punished, but I don't believe in torture, do
  Von?"
  He saw nothing wrong in torturing criminals but he was not going to tell
  her that, not when she was in this mood. "Of course I don't," he said.
  "Have you come from the pithead?"
  "It was awful. I told Robert to let the inan go but he refused."
  So she had quarreled with Robert. Jay concealed his delight. "You haven't
  seen a man go the round before? It's not so rare."
  "No, I haven't. I don't know how I've remained so wretchedly ignorant about
  the lives of miners. I suppose people protected me from the grim truth
  because I was a girl."
 "Robert seemed angry about something," Jay probed.
  "All the miners sang a hymn and they wouldn't shut Lip when he ordered them
  to.,'
  Jay was pleased. It sounded as if she had seen Robert at his worst. My
  chances of success are improving by the minute, he thought exultantly.
  A groom took her horse mid they walked across the yard into the castle.
  Robert was talking to Sir George in
 100      Ken Follett

 the hall. "It was a piece of brazen defiance," Robert was saying.
 "Whatever happens, we must make sure McAsh doesn't get away with this."
  Lizzie made an exasperated noise and Jay saw a chance to score points
  with her. "I think we should consider letting McAsh go," he said to his
  father.
 Robert said: "Don't be ridiculous."
  Jay recalled Harry Ratchett's argument. "The man is a troublemaker-we'd
  be better off without him."
  "He has defied us openly," Robert protested. "He can't be allowed to get
  away with it."
  "He hasn't got away with it!" Lizzie declared. "He's suffered the most
  savage punishment!"
  Sir George said: "It's not savage, Elizabeth-you have to understand that
  they don't feel pain as we do." Before she could expostulate he turned
  to Robert. "But it's true that he hasn't got away with it. The miners now
  know they can't leave at the age of twenty-one: we've proved our point.
  I wonder if we shouldn't discreetly let him vanish."
  Robert was not satisfied. "Jimmy Lee is a troublemaker but we brought him
  back."
  "Different case," Father argued. "Lee is all heart and no brains-he'll
  never be a leader, we have nothing to fear from him. MeAsh is made of
  finer material."
 "I'm not afraid of McAsh," Robert said.
  "He could be dangerous," Father said. "He can read and write. He's the
  fireman, which means they look up to him. And to judge by the scene
  you've just described to me, he's halfway to becoming a hero already. If
  we make him stay here, he'll cause trouble all his godforsak-en life."
  Reluctantly Robert nodded. "I still think it looks bad," he said.
  "Then make it look better," Father said. "Leave the guard on the bridge.
  McAsh will go over the mountain, probably: we just won't chase him. I
  don't mind them
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    101

 thinking he's escaped-so long as they know he did not have the right to
 leave."
 "Very well," said Robert.
  Lizzie shot a triumphant look at Jay. Behind Robert's back she mouthed the
  words Well done!
  "I must wash my hands before dinner," Robert said. He disappeared toward
  the back of the house, still looking grumpy.
  Father went into his study. Lizzie threw her arms around Jay's neck. "You
  did it!" she said. "You set him free!" She gave him an exuberant kiss.
  It was scandalously bold, and he was shocked, but he soon recovered. He put
  his arms around her waist and held her close. He leaned down and they
  kissed again. This was a different kiss, slow and sensual and exploring.
  Jay closed his eyes to concentrate on the sensations. He forgot they were
  in the most public room of his father's castle, where family and guests,
  neighbors and servants passed through constantly. By luck no one came in,
  and the kiss was not disturbed. When they broke apart, gasping for breath,
  they were still alone.
  With a thrill of anxiety Jay realized that this was the moment to ask her
  to marry him.
  "Lizzie . . ." Somehow he did not know just how to bring the subject up.
 "What?"
  "What I want to say            you can't marry Robert,
 now."
  "I can do anything I like," she responded immediately.
  Of course, that was the wrong tack to take with Lizzie. Never tell her what
  she could and couldn't do. "I didn't mean-"
  "Robert might turn out to be even better at kissing than you," she said,
  and she grinned impishly.
 Jay laughed.
  Lizzie leaned her head on his chest. "Of course I can't marry him, not
  now."
 102      Ken Follett

 "Because . . ."
  She looked at him. "Because I'm going to marry you-am I not?"
  He could hardly believe she had said that. "Well ... yes!"
 "Isn't that what you were about to ask me?"
 "As a matter of fact-yes, it is."
 "There you are, then. Now you can kiss me again."
  Feeling a little dazed, he bent his head to hers. As soon as their lips met
  she opened her mouth, and he was shocked and delighted to feel the tip of
  her tongue hesitantly teasing its way through. It made him wonder how many
  other boys she had kissed, but this was not the time to ask. He responded
  the same way. He felt himself stiffen inside his breeches, and he was
  embarrassed in case she would notice. She leaned against him, and he was
  sure she must have felt it. She froze for a moment, as if unsure what to
  do, then she shocked him again by pressing up against him, as if eager to
  feel it. He had met knowing girls, in the taverns and coffeehouses of
  London, who would kiss and rub up against a man this way at the drop of a
  hat; but it felt different with Lizzie, as if she were doing it for the
  first time.
  Jay did not hear the door open. Suddenly Robert was shouting in his ear:
  "What the devil is this?"
  The lovers broke apart. "Calm down, Robert," said Jay.
  Robert was furious. "Damn it, what do you think you're doing?" he
  spluttered.
  "It's all right, brother," said Jay. "You see, we're engaged to be
  married."
  "You swine!" Robert roared, and he lashed out with his fist.
  It was a wild blow and Jay dodged it easily, but Robert came at him with
  fists flailing. Jay had not fought with his brother since they were boys,
  but he remembered Robert being strong, though slow moving. After ducking a
  rain of blows he rushed at Robert and grap-
         A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    103

 pled with him. To his astonishment Lizzie jumped on Robert's back,
 pummeling his head and screaming: "Leave him alone! Leave him alone!"
  The sight made Jay laugh, and he could not go on fighting. He let Robert
  go. Robert swung at him with a punch that hit him right beside the eye.
  Jay stumbled back and fell on the floor. With his unhurt eye he saw
  Robert struggling to throw Lizzie off his back. Despite the pain in his
  face, Jay burst out laughing again.
  Then Lizzie's mother came into the room, followed rapidly by Alicia and
  Sir George. After a shocked moment Lady Hallim said: "Elizabeth Hallim,
  get off that man at once!"
  Jay got to his feet and Lizzie disentangled herself from Robert. The
  three parents were too bemused to speak. With one hand over his hurt eye,
  Jay bowed to Lizzie's mother and said: "Lady Hallim, I have the honor to
  ask for your daughter's hand in marriage."

  "You bloody fool, you'll have nothing to live on," Sir George said a few
  minutes later.
  The families had separated to discuss the shocking news privately. Lady
  Hallim and Lizzie had gone upstairs. Sir George, Jay and Alicia were in
  the study. Robert had stomped off somewhere alone.
  Jay bit back a hurt retort. Remembering what his mother had suggested,
  he said: "I'm sure I can manage High Glen better than Lady Hallim.
  There's a thousand acres or more-it should produce an income large enough
  for us to live on."
  "Stupid boy, you won't have High Glen-it's mortgaged."
  Jay was humiliated by his father's scornful dismissal, and he felt his
  cheeks flush red. His mother cut in: "Jay can raise new mortgages."
  Father looked taken aback. "Are you on the boy's side in this, then?"
 "You refused to give him anything. You want him to
 104      Ken Follett

 fight for everything, as you did. Well, he's fighting, and the first thing
 he's got is Lizzie Hallim. You can hardly complain."
  "Has he got her--or have you done it for him?" Sir George said shrewdly.
 "I didn't take her down the coal mine," Alicia said.
  "Nor kiss her in the hall." Sir George's tone became resigned. "Oh, well.
  He's over twenty-one, so I don't suppose we can stop them." A crafty look
  came over his face. "At any rate. the coal in High Glen will come into our
  family."
 "Oh, no it won't," said Alicia.
  Jay and Sir George both stared at her. Sir George said: "What the devil do
  you mean?"
  "You're not going to dig pits on Jay's land-why should you?"
  "Don't be a damn fool, Alicia-there's a fortune in coal under High Glen. It
  would be a sin to leave it there."
  "Jay may lease the mining rights to someone else. There are several joint
  stock companies keen to open new pits-I've heard you say so."
  "You wouldn't do business with my rivals!" Sir George exclaimed.
  Mother was so strong, Jay was filled with admiration. But she seemed to
  have forgotten Lizzie's objections to coal mining. He said: "But Mother,
  remember that Lizzie-"
  His mother threw him a warning look and cut him off, saying to Father: "Jay
  may prefer to do business with your rivals. After the way you insulted him
  on his twenty-first birthday, what does he owe you?"
 "I'm his father, damn it!"
  "Then start acting like his father. Congratulate him on his engagement.
  Welcome his fianc6e like a daughter. Plan a lavish wedding celebration."
  He stared at her for a moment. "Is that what you want?"
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   105

 "It's not all."
 "I might have guessed. What else?"
 "His wedding present."
 "What are you after, Alicia?"
 "Barbados."
  Jay almost jumped out of his chair. He had not expected this. How crafty
  Mother was!
 "Out of the question!" his father roared.
  Mother stood up. "Think about it," she said, almost as if she didn't care
  one way or the other. "Sugar is a problem, you've always said. Profits
  are high but there are always difficulties: the rains fail, slaves get
  sick and die, the French undercut your prices, ships are lost at sea.
  Whereas coal is easy. You dig it out of the ground and sell it. It's like
  finding money in the backyard, you told me once."
  Jay was thrilled. He might get what he wanted, after all. But what about
  Lizzie?
 His father said: "Barbados is promised to Robert."
  "Let him down," Mother said. "You've let Jay down, God knows."
 "The sugar plantation is Robert's patrimony."
  Mother went to the door, and Jay followed her. "We've been through this
  before, George, and I know all your answers," she said. "But now the
  situation is different. If you want Jay's coal, you have to give him
  something for it. And what he wants is the plantation. If you don't give
  it to him, you won't have the coal. It's a simple choice, and you have
  plenty of time to think about it." She went out.
  Jay went with her. In the hall he whispered: "You were marvelous! But
  Lizzie won't allow mining in High Glen."
  "I know, I know," Mother said impatiently. "That's what she says now. She
  may change her mind."
 "And if she doesn't?" Jay said worriedly.
  "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," Mother said.
             12 

 UZZIE CAME DOWN THE STAIRS WEARING A FUR CLOAK so big that it went around
 her twice and brushed the floor. She had to get outside for a while.
  The house was full of tension: Robert and Jay hated one another, Mother was
  cross with her, Sir George was furious with Jay, and there was hostility
  between Alicia and Sir George too. Dinner had been nail-bitingly strained.
  As she was crossing the hall, Robert stepped out of the shadows. She halted
  and looked at him.
 "You bitch," he said.
  It was a gross insult to a lady, but Lizzie was not easily offended by mere
  words, and anyway he had reason to be angry. "You must be like a brother to
  me now," she said in a conciliatory voice.
  He grasped her arm, squeezing hard. "How could you prefer that smarmy
  little bastard to me?"
  "I fell in love with him," she said. "Let go of my arm .
  He squeezed harder, his face dark with fury. "I'll tell you something," he
  said. "Even if I can't have you, I'll still have High Glen."
  "You won't," she said. "When I marry, High Glen will become my husband's
  property."
 " You just wait and see."
  He was hurting her. "Let go of my arm or I'll scream," she said in a
  dangerous voice.
              106
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   107

  He let go. "You're, going to regret this for the rest of your life," he
  said, and he walked off.
  Lizzie stepped out of the castle door and pulled her furs more tightly
  around her. The clouds had partly cleared, and there was a moon: she
  could see well enough to pick her way across the drive and down the
  sloping lawn toward the river.
  She felt no remorse about letting Robert down. He had never loved her.
  If he had, he would be sad, but he was not. Instead of being distraught
  about losing her, he was furious that his brother had got the better of
  him.
  All the same, the encounter with Robert had shaken her. He had his
  father's ruthless determination. Of course he could not take High Glen
  from her. But what unight he do instead?
  She put him out of her mind. She had got what she wanted: Jay instead of
  Robert. Now she was eager to plan the wedding and set up house. She could
  hardly wait to live with him, and sleep in the same bed, and wake up
  every morning with his head on the pillow beside her.
  She was thrilled and scared. She had known Jay all her life, but since
  he had become a man she had only spent a few days with him. She was
  leaping into the dark. But then, she thought, marriage must always be a
  leap into the dark: you could never really know another person until
  after you had lived together.
  Mother was upset. Her dream was for Lizzie to marry a rich man and end
  the years of poverty. But she had to accept that Lizzie had her own
  dreams.
  Lizzie was not worried about money. Sir George would probably give Jay
  something in the end, but if he did not they could live at High Glen
  House. Some Scottish landowners were clearing their deer forests and
  leasing the land to sheep farmers: Jay and Lizzie might try that, at
  first, to bring in more money.
  Whatever happened it would be fun. What she liked best about Jay was his
  sense of adventure. He was
 108      Ken Follett

 willing to gallop through the woods and show her the coal mine and go to
 live in the colonies.
  She wondered if that would ever happen. Jay still hoped he would get the
  Barbados property. The idea of going abroad excited Lizzie almost as much
  as the prospect of getting married. Life over there was said to be free
  and easy, lacking the stiff formalities that she found so irritating in
  British society. She imagined throwing away her petticoats and hooped
  skirts, cutting her hair short, and spending all day on horseback with
  a musket over her arm.
  Did Jay have any faults? Mother said he was vain and self-absorbed, but
  Lizzie had never met a man who wasn't. At first she had thought he was
  weak for not standing up more to his brother and his father; but now she
  thought she must have been wrong about that, for in proposing to her he
  had defied them both.
  She reached the bank of the river. This was no mountain stream, trickling
  down the glen. Thirty yards wide, it was a deep, fast-moving torrent. The
  moonlight gleamed off the troubled surface in patches of silver, like a
  smashed mosaic.
  The air was so cold it hurt to breathe, but the fur kept her body warm.
  Lizzie leaned against the broad trunk of an old pine tree and stared at
  the restless water. As she looked over the river she saw movement on the
  far bank.
  It was not opposite her, but some way upstream. At first she thought it
  must be a deer: they often moved at night. It did not look like a man,
  for its head was too large. Then she saw that it was a man with a bundle
  tied to his head. A moment later she understood. He stepped to the
  riverbank, ice cracking beneath his feet, and slipped into the water.
  The bundle must be his clothes. But who would swim the river at this time
  of night in the middle of winter? She guessed it might be McAsh, sneaking
  past the guard on the bridge. Lizzie shivered inside her fur
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    109

 cloak when she thought how bitterly cold the water must be. It was hard
 to imagine how a man could swim in it and live.
  She knew she ought to leave. Only trouble could result from her staying
  here and watching a naked man swim the river. Nevertheless her curiosity
  was too much for her, and she stood motionless, seeing his head move
  slantwise across the torrent at a steady speed. The strong current forced
  him into a diagonal course, but his pace did not falter: he seemed
  strong. He would reach the near bank at a point twenty or thirty yards
  upstream from where Lizzie stood.
  But when he was halfway across he suffered a stroke of bad luck. Lizzie
  saw a dark shape rushing toward him on the surface of the water, and made
  it out to be a fallen tree. He seemed not to see it until it was upon
  him. A heavy branch struck his head, and his arms became entangled in the
  foliage. Lizzie gasped as he went under. She stared at the branches,
  looking for the man: she still did not know if it was McAsh. The tree
  came closer to her but he did not reappear. "Please don't drown," she
  whispered. The tree passed her and still there was no sign of him. She
  thought of running for help, but she was a quarter of a mile or more from
  the castle: by the time she got back he would be far downstream, dead or
  alive. But perhaps she should try anyway, she thought. As she stood there
  in an agony of indecision he surfaced, a yard behind the floating tree.
  Miraculously, his bundle was still tied to his head. He was no longer
  able to swim with that steady stroke, though: he splashed about, waving
  and kicking, gasping air in great ragged gulps, spluttering and coughing.
  Lizzie went down to the river's edge. Icy water seeped through her silk
  shoes and froze her feet. "Over here!" she called. "I'll pull you out!"
  He seemed not to hear but continued to thrash about as if, having almost
  drowned, he could think of nothing but his breath. Then he appeared to
  calm himself with an effort, and look
 110      Ken Follett

 about him to get his bearings. Lizzie called to him again. "Over here! Let
 me help you!" He coughed and gasped more and his head went under, but it
 came up again almost immediately and he struck out toward her, thrashing
 and spluttering but moving in the right direction.
  She knelt in the icy mud, careless of her silk dress and her furs. Her
  heart was in her mouth. As he came closer she reached out to him. His
  hands flailed the air randomly. She grabbed a wrist and pulled it to her.
  Grasping his arm with both hands, she heaved. He hit the side and
  collapsed, half on the bank and half in the water. She changed her grip,
  holding him under the arms, then dug her dainty slippers into the mud and
  heaved again. He pushed with his hands and feet and, -it last, flopped
  out of the water onto the bank.
  Lizzie stared at him, lying there naked and sodden and half dead like a
  sea monster caught by a giant fisherman. As she had guessed, the man
  whose life she had saved was Malachi McAsh.
  She shook her head wonderingly. What kind of man was he? In the last two
  days he had been blasted by a gas explosion and subjected to a shattering
  torture, yet he had the stamina and guts to swim the freezing river to
  escape. He just never gave up.
  He lay on his back, gasping raggedly and shivering uncontrollably. The
  iron collar had gone: she wondered how he had got it off. His wet skin
  gleamed silver in the moonlight. It was the first time she had looked at
  a naked man and, despite her concern for his life, she was fascinated to
  see his penis, a wrinkled tube nestling in a mass of dark curly hair at
  the fork of his muscular thighs.
  If he lay there for long he might yet die of cold. She knelt beside him
  and untied the sodden bundle on his head. Then she put her hand on his
  shoulder. He felt as cold as the grave. "Stand up!" she said urgently.
  He did not move. She shook him, feeling the massive muscles
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   111

 under the skin. "Get up, or you'll die!" She grabbed him with both hands
 but without his volition she could not shift him at all; he felt made of
 rock. "Mack, please don't die," she said, and there was a sob in her
 voice.
  Finally he moved. Slowly he got on all fours, then he reached up and took
  her hand. With a heave from her he struggled to his feet. "Thank God,"
  she murmured. He leaned heavily on her but she just managed to support
  him without collapsing.
  She had to warm him somehow. She opened her cloak and pressed her body
  up against his. Her breasts felt the terrible coldness of his flesh
  through the silk of her dress. He clung to her, his broad, hard body
  sucking the heat from hers. It was the second time they had embraced, and
  once again she felt a powerful sense of intimacy with him, almost as if
  they were lovers.
  He could not get warm while he was wet. Somehow she had to dry him. She
  needed a rag, anything she could use as a towel. She was wearing several
  linen petticoats: she could spare him one. "Can you stand up alone now'?"
  she said. He managed a nod between coughs. She let go of him and lifted
  her skirt. She felt his eyes on her, despite his condition, as she
  swiftly removed one petticoat. Then she began to rub him all over with
  it.
  She wiped his face and rubbed his hair, then went behind him and dried
  his broad back and his hard, compact rear. She knelt to do his legs. She
  stood up again and turned him around to dry his chest, and she was
  shocked to see that his penis was sticking straight out.
  She should have been disgusted and horrified, but she was not. She was
  fascinated and intrigued; she was foolishly proud that she was able to
  have that effect on a man; and she felt something else, an ache deep
  inside that made her swallow dryly. It was not the happy excitement she
  felt when she kissed Jay; this was nothing to do with teasing and
  petting. She was suddenly afraid McAsh would throw her to the ground and
  tear her
 112      Ken Follett

 clothes and ravish her, and the most frightening thing of all was that a
 tiny part of her wanted him to.
  Her fears were groundless. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. He turned away, bent
  to his bundle and drew out a sodden pair of tweed breeches. He wrung most
  of the water out of them then pulled them on, and Lizzie's heartbeat
  began to return to normal.
  As he started to wring out a shirt, Lizzie realized that if he put on wet
  clothes now he would probably die of pneumonia by daybreak. But he could
  not stay naked. "Let me get you some clothes from the castle," she said.
 "No," he said. "They'll ask you what you're doing."
  "I can sneak in and out-and I've got the men's clothes I wore down the
  mine."
  He shook his head. "I'll not delay here. As soon as I start walking I'll
  get warmer." He started to squeeze water out of a plaid blanket.
  On impulse she took off her fur cloak. Because it was so big it would fit
  Mack. It was costly, and she might never have another, but it would save
  his life. She refused to think about how she would explain its
  disappearance to her mother. "Wear this, then, and carry your plaid until
  you get a chance to dry it." Without waiting for his assent she put the
  fur over his shoulders. He hesitated, then drew it around him gratefully.
  It was big enough to cover him completely.
  She picked up his bundle and took out his boots. He handed her the wet
  blanket and she stuffed it into the bag. As she did so she felt the iron
  collar. She took it out. The iron ring had been broken and the collar
  bent to get it off. "How did you do this?" she said.
  He pulled on his boots. "Broke into the pithead smithy and used Taggart's
  tools."
  He could not have done it alone, she thought. His sister must have helped
  him. "Why are you taking it with you?"
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    113

  He stopped shivering and his eyes blazed with anger. "Never to forget," he
  said bitterly. "Never."
  She put it back and felt a large book in the bottom of the bag. "What's
  this?" she said.
 "Robinson Crusoe. "
 "My favorite story!"
 He took the bag from her. He was ready to go.
  She remembered that Jay had persuaded Sir George to let McAsh go. "The
  keepers won't come after you," she said.
  He looked hard at her. There was hope and skepticism in his expression.
  "How do you know?"
  "Sir George decided you're such a troublemaker he'll be glad to be rid of
  you. He left the guard on the bridge, because he doesn't want the miners to
  know he's letting you go; but he expects you to sneak past them, and he's
  not going to try to get you back."
  A look of relief came over his weary face. "So I needn't worry about the
  sheriff's men," he said. "Thank God."
  Lizzie shivered without her cloak-, but she felt warm inside. "Walk fast
  and don't pause to rest," she said. "If you stop before daybreak you'll
  die." She wondered where he would go, and what he would do with the rest of
  his life..
  He nodded, then held out his hand. She shook it, but to her surprise he
  raised her hand to his white lips and kissed it. Then he walked away.
 "Good luck," she said quietly.

  Mack's boots crunched the ice on the puddles in the road as he strode down
  the glen in the moonlight, but his body warmed quickly under Lizzie
  Hallim's fur cloak. Apart from his footsteps, the only sound was the
  rushing of the river that ran alongside the track. But his spirit was
  singing the song of freedom.
  As he got farther from the castle he began to see the curious and even
  funny side of his encounter with Miss
 114      Ken Follett

 Hallim. There was she, in an embroidered dress and silk shoes and a hairdo
 that must have taken two maids half an hour to arrange, and he had come
 swimming across the river as naked as the day he was born. She must have had
 a shock!
  Last Sunday at church she had acted like a typical arrogant Scottish
  aristocrat, purblind and self-satisfied. But she had had the guts to take
  up Mack's challenge and go down the pit. And tonight she had saved his life
  twice--once by pulling him out of the water, and again by giving him her
  cloak. She was a remarkable woman. She had pressed her body against his to
  warm him, then had knelt and dried him with her petticoat: was there
  another lady in Scotland who would have done that for a coal miner? He
  remembered her falling into his arms in the pit, and he recalled how her
  breast had felt, heavy and soft in his hand. He was sorry to think he might
  never see her again. He hoped she, too, would find a way to escape from
  this little place. Her sense of adventure deserved wider horizons.
  A group of hinds, grazing beside the road under cover of darkness.
  scampered away when he approached, like a herd of ghosts; then he was all
  alone. He was very weary. "Going the round" had taken more out of him than
  he had imagined. It seemed a human body could not recover from that in a
  couple of days. Swimming the river should have been easy, but the encounter
  with the floating tree had exhausted him all over again. His head still
  hurt where the branch had hit him.
  Happily he did not have far to go tonight. He would walk only to Craigie,
  a pit village six miles down the glen. There he would take refuge in the
  home of his mother's brother, Uncle Eb, and rest until tomorrow. He would
  sleep easily knowing the Jamissons were not intending to pursue him.
  In the morning he would fill his belly with porridge and ham and set out
  for Edinburgh. Once there he
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    115

 would leave on the first ship that would hire him, no matter where it was
 going-any destination from Newcastle to Peking would serve his purpose.
  He smiled at his own bravado. He had never ventured farther than the
  market town of Coats, twenty miles away-he had not even been to
  Edinburgh-but he was telling himself he was willing to go to exotic
  destinations as if he knew what those places were. like.
  As he strode along the rutted mud track he began to feel solemn about his
  journey. He was leaving the only home he had ever known, the place where
  he had been born and his parents had died. He was leaving Esther, his
  friend and ally, although he hoped to rescue her from Heugh before too
  long. He was leaving Annie, the cousin who had taught him how to kiss and
  how to play her body like a musical instrument.
  But he had always known this would happen. As long as he could remember
  he had dreamed of escape. He had envied the peddler, Davey Patch, and
  longed for that kind of freedom. Now he had it.
  Now he had it. He was filled with elation as he thought of what he had
  done. He had got away.
  He did not know what tomorrow would bring. There might be poverty and
  suffering and danger. But it would not be anothei- day down the pit,
  another day of slavery, another day of being the property of Sir George
  Jamisson. Tomorrow he would be his own man.
  He came to a bend in the road and looked back. He could still just see
  Castle Jamisson, its battlemented roofline lit by the moon. I'll never
  look at that again, he thought. It made him so happy that he began to
  dance a reel, there in the middle of the mud road, whistling the tune and
  jigging around in a circle.
  Then he stopped, laughed softly at himself, and walked on down the glen.
          13

      SHYLOCK WORE WIDE TROUSERS, A LONG BLACK GOWN and a red
      three-cornered hat. The actor was bloodcurdlingly ugly, with a big
      nose, a long double chin, and a slitted mouth set in a permanent
      one-sided grimace. He came on stage with a slow, deliberate walk,
      the picture of evil. In a voluptuous growl he said: "Three
      thousand ducats." A shudder went through the audience.
       Mack was spellbound. Even in the pit, where he stood with Dermot
       Riley, the crowd was still and silent. Shylock spoke every word
       in a husky voice between a grunt and a bark. His eyes stared
       brightly from under shaggy eyebrows. "Three thousand ducats for
       three months, and Antonio bound ......
       Dermot whispered in Mack's ear: "That's Charles Macklin-an
       Irishman. He killed a man and stood trial for murder, but he
       pleaded provocation and got off."
       Mack hardly heard. He had known there were such things as
       theaters and plays, of course, but he had never imagined it would
       be like this: the heat, the smoky oil lamps, the fantastic
       costumes, the painted faces, and most of all the emotion-rage,
       passionate love, envy and hatred, portrayed so vividly that his
       heart beat as fast as if it were real.
       When Shylock found out that his daughter had run away, he hurtled
       on stage with no hat, hair flying, hands clenched, in a perfect
       fury of grief, screaming "You knew!" like a man in the torment of
       hell. And when he said "Since I am a dog, beware my fangs!" he
                   119
 120      Ken Follett

 darted forward, as if to lunge across the footlights, and the entire
 audience flinched back.
  Leaving the theater, Mack said to Dermot: "Is that what Jews are like?"
  He had never met a Jew, as far as he knew, but most people in the Bible
  were Jewish, and they were not portrayed that way.
  "I've known Jews but never one like Shylock, thank God," Dermot replied.
  "Everyone hates a moneylender, though. They're all right when you need
  a loan, but it's the paying it back that causes the trouble."
  London did not have many Jews but it was full of foreigners. There were
  dark-skinned Asian sailors called lascars; Huguenots from France;
  thousands of Africans with rich brown skin and tightly curled hair; and
  countless Irish like Dermot. For Mack this was part of the tingling
  excitement of the city. In Scotland everyone looked the same.
  He loved London. He felt a thrill every morning when he woke up and
  remembered where he was. The city was full of sights and surprises,
  strange people and new experiences. He loved the enticing smell of coffee
  from the scores of coffeehouses, although he could not afford to drink
  it. He stared at the gorgeous colors of the clothes-bright yellow,
  purple, emerald green, scarlet, sky blue-worn by men and women. He heard
  the bellowing herds of terrified cattle being driven through the narrow
  streets to the city's slaughterhouses, and he dodged the swarms of nearly
  naked children, begging and stealing. He saw prostitutes and bishops, he
  went to bullfights and auctions, he tasted banana and ginger and red
  wine. Everything was exciting. Best of all, he was free to go where he
  would and do as he liked.
  Of course he had to earn his living. It was not easy. London swarmed with
  starving families who had fled from country districts where there was no
  food, for there had been two years of bad harvests. There were also
  thousands of hand-loom silk weavers, put out of work by the new northern
  factories, so Dermot said.
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   121

 For every job there were five desperate applicants. The unlucky ones had to
 beg, steal, prostitute themselves or starve.
  Dermot himself was a weaver. He had a wife and five children living in two
  rooms in Spitalfields. In order to get by they had to sublet Dermot's
  workroom, and Mack slept there, on the floor, beside the big silent loom
  that stood as a monument to the hazards of city life.
  Mack and Dermot looked for work together. They sometimes got taken on as
  waiters in coffeehouses, but they lasted only a day or so: Mack was too big
  and clumsy to carry trays and pour drinks into little cups, and Dermot,
  being proud and touchy, always insulted a customer sooner or later. One day
  Mack was taken on as a footman in a big house in Clerk-enwell, but he quit
  next morning after the master and mistress of the house asked him to get
  into bed with them. Today they had got portering work, carrying huge
  baskets of fish in the waterfront market at Billingsgate. At the end of the
  day Mack had been reluctant to waste his money on a theater ticket, but
  Dermot swore he would not regret it. Dermot had been right: it was worth
  twice the price to see such a marvel. All the same Mack worried about how
  long it could take him to save enough money to send for Esther.
  Walking east from the theater, heading for Spitalfields, they passed
  through Covent Garden, where whores accosted them from doorways. Mack had
  been in London almost a month, and he was getting used to being offered sex
  at every comer. The women were of all kinds, young and old, ugly and
  beautiful, some dressed like fine ladies and others in rags. None of them
  tempted Mack, though there were many nights he thought wistfully of his
  lusty cousin Annie.
  In the Strand was the Bear, a rambling whitewashed tavern with a coffee
  room and several bars around a courtyard. The heat of the theater had made
  them
 122      Ken Follett

 thirsty, and they went inside for a drink. The atmosphere was warm and
 smoky. They each bought a quart of ale.
 Dermot said: "Let's take a look out the back."
  The Bear was a sporting venue. Mack had been here before, and he knew
  that bearbaiting, dogfights, sword fights between women gladiators and
  all kinds of amusements were held in the backyard. When there was no
  organized entertainment the landlord would throw a cat into the duck pond
  and set four dogs on it, a game that generated uproarious laughter among
  the drinkers.
  Tonight a prizefighting ring had been set up, lit by numerous oil lamps.
  A dwarf in a silk suit and buckled shoes was haranguing a crowd of
  drinkers. "A pound for anyone who can knock down the Bermondsey Bruiser!
  Come on, my ]ads, is there a brave one among youT' He turned three
  somersaults.
  Dermot said to Mack: "You could knock him down, I'd say."
  The Bermondsey Bruiser was a scarred man wearing nothing but breeches and
  heavy boots. He was shaved bald, and his face and head bore the marks of
  many fights. He was tall and heavy, but he looked stupid and slow. "I
  suppose I could," Mack said.
  Dermot was enthusiastic. He grabbed the dwarf by the arm and said: "Hey,
  short-arse, here's a customer for you."
  "A contender!" the dwarf bellowed, and the crowd cheered and clapped.
  A pound was a lot of money, a week's wages for many people. Mack was
  tempted. "All right," he said.
 The crowd cheered again.
  "Watch out for his feet," said Dermot. "There'll be steel in the toes of
  his boots."
 Mack nodded, taking off his coat.
  Dermot added: "Be ready for him to jump you as soon as you get in the
  ring. There'll be no waiting for a signal to begin, mind you."
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   123

  It was a common trick in fights between miners down the pit. The quickest
  way to win was to start before the other was ready. A man would say: "Come
  on and fight in the tunnel where there's more room," then hit his opponent
  as he stepped across the drainage ditch.
  The ring was a rough circle of rope about waist height, supported by old
  wooden staves hammered into the mud. Mack approached, mindful of Den-not's
  waming. As he lifted his foot to step over the rope, the Bermondsey Bruiser
  rushed him.
  Mack was ready for it, and he stepped back out of reach, catching a
  glancing blow to his forehead from the Bruiser's massive fist. The crowd
  gasped.
  Mack acted without thinking, like a machine. He stepped quickly to the ring
  and kicked the Bruiser's shin under the rope, causing him to stumble. A
  cheer went up from the spectators, and Mack heard Dermot's voice yelling:
  "Kill him, Mack!"
  Before the man could regain his balance, Mack hit him on each side of the
  head, left and right, then once more on the point of the chin with an
  uppercut that had all the force of his shoulders behind it. The Bruiser's
  legs wobbled and his eyes rolled up, then he staggered back two steps and
  fell flat on his back.
 The crowd roared their enthusiasm.
 The fight was over.
  Mack looked at the man on the floor and saw a ruined hulk, damaged and good
  for nothing. He wished he had not taken him on. Feeling deflated, he turned
  away.
  Dermot had the dwarf in an armlock. "The little devil tried to run away,"
  he explained. "He wanted to cheat you of your prize. Pay up, long-legs. One
  pound."
  With his free hand the dwarf took a gold sovereign from a pocket inside his
  shirt. Scowling, he handed it to Mack.
 Mack took it, feeling like a thief.
 Dermot released the dwarf.
 124      Ken Follett

  A rough-faced man in expensive clothes appeared at Mack's side. "That was
  well done," he said. "Have you fought much?"
 "Now and again, down the pit."
  "I thought you might be a miner. Now listen, I'm putting on a prizefight at
  the Pelican in Shadwell next Saturday. If you want the chance of earning
  twenty pounds in a few minutes, I'll put you up against Rees Preece, the
  Welsh Mountain."
 Dermot said: "Twenty pounds!"
  "You won't knock him down as quickly as you did this lump of wood, but
  you'll have a chance."
  Mack looked at the Bruiser, lying in a useless heap. "No," he said.
 Dermot said: "Why the devil not?"
  The promoter shrugged. "If you don't need the money . . ."
  Mack thought of his twin, Esther, still carrying coal up the ladders of
  Heugh pit fifteen hours a day, waiting for the letter that would release
  her from a lifetime of slavery. Twenty pounds would pay her passage to
  London-and he could have the money in his hand on Saturday night.
 "On second thought, yes," Mack said.
  Dermot clapped him on the back. "That's me boy," he said.

             14

LizziE HALLIM AND HER MOTHER RATTLED NORTH
ward through the city of London in a hackney carriage.
                                            A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   125

 Lizzie was excited and happy: they were going to meet Jay and look at a
 house.
  "Sir George has certainly changed his attitude," said Lady Hallim.
  "Bringing us to London, planning a lavish wedding, and now offering to pay
  the rent on a London house for the two of you to live in."
  "I think Lady Jamisson has talked him around," Lizzie said. "But only in
  small matters. He still won't give Jay the Barbados property."
  "Alicia is a clever woman," Lady Hallim mused. "All the same, I'm surprised
  she can still persuade her husband, after that terrible row on Jay's
  birthday."
  "Perhaps Sir George is the type who forgets a quarrel."
  "He never used to be-unless there was something in it for him. I wonder
  what his motive might be. There isn't anything he wants from you, is
  there?"
  Lizzie laughed. "What could I give him? Perhaps he just wants me to make
  his son happy."
 "Which I'm sure you will. Here we are."
  The carriage stopped in Chapel Street, a quietly elegant row of houses in
  Holborn-not as fashionable as Mayfair or Westminster, but less expensive.
  Lizzie got down from the carriage and looked at number twelve. She liked it
  right away. There were four stories and a basement, and the windows were
  tall and graceful. However, two of the windows were broken and the number
  45 was crudely daubed on the gleaming blackpainted front door. Lizzie was
  about to comment when another carriage drew up and Jay jumped out.
  He was wearing a bright blue suit with gold buttons, and a blue bow in his
  fair hair: he looked good enough to eat. He kissed Lizzie's lips. It was a
  rather restrained kiss, as they were in a public street, but she relished
  it and hoped for more later. Jay handed his mother down from the carriage
  then knocked on the door of the house. "The owner is a brandy importer who
  has gone to France for a year," he said as they waited.
 126      Ken Follett

  An elderly caretaker opened the door. "Who broke the windows?" Jay said
  immediately.
 ~ "The hatters, it was," the man said as they stepped inside. Lizzie had
 read in the newspaper that the people who made hats were on strike, as
 were the tailors and grinders.
  Jay said: I don't know what the damn fools think they'll achieve by
  smashing respectable people's windows."
 Lizzie said: "Why are they on strike?"
  The caretaker replied: "They want better wages, miss, and who can blarne
  them, with the price of a fourpenny loaf gone up to eightpence farthing?
  How is a man to feed his family?"
  "Not by painting '45' on every door in London," Jay said gruffly. "Show
  us the house, man."
  Lizzie wondered about the significance of the number 45, but she was more
  interested in the house. She went through the building excitedly throwing
  back curtains and opening windows. The furniture was new and expensive,
  and the drawing room was a wide, light room with three big windows at
  each end. The place had the musty smell of an uninhabited building, but
  it needed only a thorough cleaning, a lick of paint and a supply of linen
  to make it delightfully habitable.
  She and Jay ran ahead of the two mothers and the old caretaker, and when
  they reached the attic floor they were alone. They stepped into one of
  several small bedrooms designed for servants. Lizzie put her arms around
  Jay and kissed him hungrily. They had only a minute or so. She took his
  hands and placed them on her breasts. He stroked them gently. "Squeeze
  harder," she whispered between kisses. She wanted the pressure of his
  hands to finger after their embrace. Her nipples stiffened and his
  fingertips found them through the fabric of her dress. "Pinch them," she
  said, and as he did so the pang of mingled pain and pleasure made her
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   127

 gasp. Then she heard footsteps on the landing and they broke apart, panting.
  Lizzie turned and looked out of a little dormer window, catching her
  breath. There was a long back garden. The caretaker was showing the two
  mothers all the little bedrooms. "What's the significance of the number
  forty-five?" she asked.
  "It's all to do with that traitor John Wilkes," Jay replied. "He used to
  edit a journal called the North Briton, and the government charged him with
  seditious libel over issue number forty-five, in which he as good as cafled
  the king a liar. He ran away to Paris, but now he's come back to stir up
  more trouble among ignorant common people."
 "Is it true they can't afford bread?"
  "There's a shortage of grain A over Europe, so it's inevitable that the
  price of bread should go up. And the unemployment is caused by the American
  boycott of British goods."
  She turned back to Jay. "I don't suppose that's much consolation to the
  hatters and tailors."
  A frown crossed his face: he did not seem to like her sympathizing with the
  discontented. "I'm not sure you realize how dangerous all this talk of
  liberty is." he said.
 "I'm not sure I do."
  "For example, the rum distillers of Boston would like the freedom to buy
  their molasses anywhere. But the law says they must buy from British
  plantations, such as ours. Give them freedom and they'll buy cheaper, from
  the French-and then we won't be able to afford a house like this."
  "I see." That did not make it right, she thought; but she decided not to
  say so.
  "All sorts of riffraff might want freedom, from coal miners in Scotland to
  Negroes in Barbados. But God has set people like me in authority over
  common men."
 128      Ken Follett

  That was true, of course. "But do you ever wonder why?" she said.
 "What do you mean?"
  "Why God should have set you in authority over coal miners and Negroes."
  He shook his head irritably, and she realized she had overstepped the
  mark again. "I don't think women can understand these things," he said.
  She took his arm. I love this house, Jay," she said, trying to mollify
  him. She could still feel her nipples where he had pinched them. She
  lowered her voice. "I can't wait to move in here with you and sleep
  together every night."
 He smiled. "Nor can I."
  Lady Hallim and Lady Jamisson came into the room. Lizzie's mother's gaze
  dropped to Lizzie's bosom, and Lizzie realized her nipples were showing
  through her dress. Mother obviously guessed what had been going on. She
  frowned with disapproval. Lizzie did not care. She would be married soon.
 Alicia said: "Well, Lizzie, do you like the house?"
 I adore it!"
 "Then you shall have it."
 Lizzie beamed and Jay squeezed her arm.
  Lizzie's mother said: "Sir George is so kind, I don't know how to thank
  him."
  "Thank my mother," Jay said. "She's the one who's made him behave
  decently."
  Alicia gave him a reproving look, but Lizzie could tell she did not
  really mind. She and Jay were very fond of one another, it was obvious.
  Lizzie felt a pang of jealousy, and told herself it was silly: anyone
  would be fond of Jay.
  They left the room. The caretaker was hovering outside. Jay said to him:
  "I'll see the owner's attorney tomorrow and have the lease drawn up,"
 "Very good, sir."
 As they went down the stairs, Lizzie remembered
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   129

 something. "Oh, I must show you this!" she said to Jay. She had picked up
 a handbill in the street and saved it for him. She took it from her pocket
 and gave it to him to read. It read:

AT THE SIGN OF THE PELICAN
NEAR SHAD-WELL
GENTLEMEN AND GAMESTERS TAKE NOTE
A GENERAL DAY OF SPORT
 MAD BULL TO BE LET LOOSE WITH FIREWORKS ALL
OVER HIM,
AND DOGS AFTER HIM
A MATCH FOUGHT OUT BETWEEN TWO COCKS
OF WESTMINSTER,
AND TWO OF EAST CHEAP, FOR FIVE POUNDS
 GENERAL COMBAT WITH CUDGELS BETWEEN SEVEN
WOMEN
AND
A FIST FIGHT-FOR TWENTY POUNDS!
REES PREECE, THE WELSH MOUNTAIN
VERSUS
MACK McASH, THE KILLER COLLIER
SATURDAY NEXT
BEGINNING AT THREE A CLOCK

  "What do you think?" she said impatiently. "It must be Malachi McAsh from
  Heugh, mustn't it?"
  "So that's what's become of him," said Jay. "He's a prizefighter. He was
  better off working in my father's coal pit."
 "I've never seen a prizefight," Lizzie said wistfully.
  Jay laughed. "I should think not! It's no place for a lady. 11
 "Nor is a coal mine, but you took me there."
 "So I did, and you nearly got killed in an explosion."
  "I thought you'd jump at the chance of taking me on another adventure."
 130      Ken Follett

  Her mother overheard and said: "What's this? What adventure?"
 "I want Jay to take me to a prizefight," Lizzie said.
 "Don't be ridiculous," said her mother.
  Lizzie was disappointed. Jay's daring seemed to have deserted him
  momentarily. However, she would not let that stand in her way. If he would
  not take her she would go alone.

  Lizzie adjusted her wig and hat and looked in the mirror. A young man
  looked back at her. The secret lay in the light smear of chimney soot that
  darkened her cheeks, her throat, her chin and her upper lip, mimicking the
  look of a man who had shaved.
  The body was easy. A heavy waistcoat flattened her bosom, the tail of her
  coat concealed the rounded curves of her womanly bottom, and knee boots
  covered her calves. The hat and wig of male pattern completed the illusion.
  She opened her bedroom door. She and her mother were staying in a sinall
  house in the grounds of Sir George's mansion in Grosvenor Square. Mother
  was taking an afternoon nap. Lizzie listened for footsteps, in case any of
  Sir George's servants were about the house, but she heard nothing. She ran
  light-footed down the stairs and slipped out the door into the lane at the
  back of the property.
  It was a cold, sunny day at the end of winter. When she reached the street
  she reminded herself to walk like a man, taking up a lot of space, swinging
  her arms and putting on a swagger, as if she owned the pavement and were
  ready to jostle anyone who disputed her claim.
  She could not swagger all the way to Shadwell, which was across town on the
  east side of London. She waved down a sedan chair, remembering to hold her
  arm up in command instead of fluttering her hand beseechingly like a woman.
  As the chair men stopped and set down the conveyance she cleared her
  throat, spat in
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    131

 the gutter and said in a deep croak: "Take me to the Pelican tavern, and
 look sharp about it."
  They carried her farther east than she had ever been in London, through
  streets of ever smaller and meaner houses, to a neighborhood of damp
  lanes and mud beaches, unsteady wharves and ramshackle boathouses,
  high-fenced timber yards and rickety warehouses with chained doors. They
  deposited her outside a big waterfront tavern with a crude painting of
  a pelican daubed on its wooden sign. The courtyard was full of noisy, ex-
  cited people: workingmen in boots and neckerchiefs. waistcoated
  gentlemen, low-class women in shawls and clogs, and a few women with
  painted faces and exposed breasts who, Lizzie presumed, were prostitutes.
  There were no women of what her mother would have called "quality."
  Lizzie paid her entrance fee and elbowed her way into the shouting,
  jeering crowd. There was a powerful smell of sweaty, unwashed people. She
  felt excited and wicked. The female gladiators were in the middle of
  their combat. Several women had already retired from the fray: one
  sitting on a bench holding her head, another trying to stanch a bleeding
  leg wound, a third flat on her back and unconscious despite the efforts
  of her friends to revive her. The remaining four milled about in a rope
  ring, attacking one another with roughly carved wooden clubs three feet
  long. They were all naked to the waist and barefoot, with ragged skirts.
  Their faces and bodies were bruised and scarred. The crowd of a hundred
  or more spectators cheered their favorites, and several men were taking
  bets on the outcome. The women swung the clubs with all their might,
  hitting one another bone-crunching blows. Every time one landed a
  well-aimed buffet the men roared their approval. Lizzie watched with
  horrid fascination. Soon another woman took a heavy blow to the head and
  fell unconscious. The sight of her half-naked body lying senseless on the
  muddy ground sickened Lizzie, and she turned away.
 132      Ken Follett

  She went into the tavern, banged on the counter with a fist, and said to
  the barman: "A pint of strong ale, Jack." It was wonderful to address the
  world in such arrogant tones. If she did the same in women's clothing,
  every man she spoke to would feel entitled to reprove her, even tavern
  keepers and sedan chair men. But a pair of breeches was a license to
  command.
  The bar smelled of tobacco ash and spilled beer. She sat in a comer and
  sipped her ale, wondering why she had come here. It was a place of
  violence and cruelty, and she was playing a dangerous game. What would
  these brutal people do if they realized she was an upper-class lady
  dressed as a man?
  She was here partly because her curiosity was an irresistible passion.
  She had always been fascinated by whatever was forbidden, even as a
  child. The sentence "It's no place for a lady" was like a red rag to a
  bull. She could not help opening any door marked "No entry." Her
  curiosity was as urgent as her sexuality, and to repress it was as
  difficult as to stop kissing Jay.
  But the main reason was McAsh. He had always been interesting. Even as
  a small boy he had been different: independent-minded, disobedient,
  always questioning what he was told. In adulthood he was fulfilling his
  promise. He had defied the Jamissons, he had succeeded in escaping from
  Scotland-something few miners achieved-and he had made it all the way to
  London. Now he was a prizefighter. What would he do next?
  Sir George had been clever to let him go, she thought. As Jay said, God
  intended some men to be masters of others, but McAsh would never accept
  that, and back in the village he would have made trouble for years. There
  was a magnetism about McAsh that made people follow his lead: the proud
  way he carried his powerful body, the confident tilt of his head, the
  intense look in his startling green eyes. She herself felt the at-
  traction: it had drawn her here.
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   133

  One of the painted women sat beside her and smiled intimately. Despite
  her rouge she looked old and tired. How flattering to her disguise it
  would be, Lizzie thought, if a whore propositioned her. But the woman was
  not so easily fooled. "I know what you are," she said.
  Women had sharper eyes than men, Lizzie reflected. "Don't tell anyone,"
  she said.
  "You can play the man with me for a shilling," the woman said.
 Lizzie did not know what she meant.
  "I've done it before with your type," she went on. "Rich girls who like
  to play the man. I've got a fat candle at home that fits just right, do
  you know what I mean?"
  Lizzie realized what she was getting at. "No, thank you," she said with
  a smile. "That's not what I'm here for." She reached into her pocket for
  a coin. "But here's a shilling for keeping my secret."
  **God bless Your Ladyship," the prostitute said, and she went away.
  You could learn a lot in disguise, Lizzie reflected. She would never have
  guessed that a prostitute would keep a special candle for women who liked
  to play the man. It was the kind of thing a lady might never find out
  unless she escaped from respectable society and went exploring the world
  outside her curtained windows.
  A great cheer went up in the courtyard, and Lizzie guessed the cudgel
  fight had produced a victor-the last woman left standing, presumably. She
  went outside, carrying her beer like a man, her arm straight down at her
  side and her thumb hooked over the lip of the tankard.
  The women gladiators were staggering away or being carried off, and the
  main event was about to begin. Lizzie saw McAsh right away. There was no
  doubt it was he: she could see the striking green eyes. He was
 134      Ken Follett

 no longer black with coal dust, and she saw to her surprise that his hair
 was quite fair. He stood close to the ring talking to another man. He
 glanced toward Lizzie several times, but he did not penetrate her
 disguise. He looked grimly determined.
  His opponent, Rees Preece, deserved his nickname "the Welsh Mountain."
  He was the biggest man Lizzie had ever seen, at least a foot taller than
  Mack, heavy and red faced, with a crooked nose that had been broken more
  than once. There was a vicious look about the face, and Lizzie marveled
  at the courage, or foolhardiness, of anyone who would willingly go into
  a prizefighting ring with such an evil-looking animal. She felt
  frightened for McAsh. He could be maimed or even killed, she realized
  with a chill of dread. She did not want to see that. She was tempted to
  leave, but she could not drag herself away.
  The fight was about to begin when Mack's friend got into an irate
  discussion with Preece's seconds. Voices were raised and Lizzie gathered
  it had to do with Preece's boots. Mack's second was insisting, in an
  Irish accent, that they fight barefoot. The crowd began a slow hand clap
  to express their impatience. Lizzie hoped the fight would be called off.
  But she was disappointed. After much vehement discussion, Preece took off
  his boots.
  Then, suddenly, the fight was on. Lizzie saw no signal. The two men were
  at one another like cats, punching and kicking and butting in a frenzy,
  moving so fast she could hardly see who was doing what. The crowd roared
  and Lizzie realized she was screaming. She covered her mouth with her
  hand.
  The initial flurry lasted only a few seconds: it was too energetic to be
  kept up. The men separated and began to circle one another, fists raised
  in front of their faces, protecting their bodies with their arms. Mack's
  lip was swelling and Preece's nose was bleeding. Lizzie bit her finger
  fearfully.
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    135

  Preece rushed Mack again, but this time Mack jumped back, dodging, then
  suddenly stepped in and hit Preece once, very hard, on the side of the
  head. Lizzie winced to hear the thud of the blow: it sounded like a
  sledgehammer hitting a rock. The spectators cheered wildly. Preece seemed
  to hesitate, as if startled by the blow, and Lizzie guessed he was
  surprised by Mack's strength. She began to feel hopeful: perhaps Mack
  could defeat this huge man after all.
  Mack danced back out of reach. Preece shook himself like a dog, then
  lowered his head and charged, punching wildly. Mack ducked and
  sidestepped and kicked Preece's legs with a hard bare foot, but somehow
  Preece managed to crowd him and land several mighty punches. Then Mack
  hit him hard on the side of the head again, and once more Preece was
  stopped in his tracks.
  The same dance was repeated, and Lizzie heard the Irishman yell: "In for
  the kill, Mack, don't give him time to get over it!" She realized that
  after hitting a stopping punch Mack always backed off and let the other
  man recover. Preece, by contrast, always followed one punch with another
  and another until Mack fought him off.
  After ten awful minutes someone rang a bell and the fighters took a rest.
  Lizzie felt as grateful as if she had been in the ring herself. The two
  boxers were given beer as they sat on crude stools on opposite sides of
  the ring. One of the seconds took an ordinary household needle and thread
  and began to stitch a rip in Preece's ear. Lizzie winced and looked away.
  She tried to forget the damage being done to Mack's splendid body and
  think of the fight as a mere contest. Mack was more nimble and had the
  more powerful punch, but he did not possess the mindless savagery, the
  killer instinct that made one man want to destroy another. He needed to
  get angry.
 When they began again both were moving more
136    Ken Follett

 slowly, but the combat followed the same pattern: Preece chased the
 dancing Mack, crowded him, got in close, landed two or three solid blows,
 then was stopped by Mack's tremendous tight-hand punch.
  Soon Preece had one eye closed and was limping from Mack's repeated
  kicks, but Mack was bleeding from his mouth and from a cut over one eye.
  As the fight slowed down it became more brutal. Lacking the energy to
  dodge nimbly, the men seemed to accept the blows in mute suffering. How
  long could they stand there pounding one another into dead meat? Lizzie
  wondered why she cared so much about McAsh's body, and told herself that
  she would have felt the same about anyone.
  There was another break. The Irishman knelt beside Mack's stool and spoke
  urgently to him, emphasizing his words with vigorous gestures of his
  fist. Lizzie guessed he was telling Mack to go in for the kill. Even she
  could see that in a crude trial of strength and stamina Preece would win,
  simply because he was bigger and more hardened to punishment. Could Mack
  not see that for himself?
  It began again. As she watched them hammering at one another, Lizzie
  remembered Malachi McAsh as a six-year-old boy, playing on the lawn at
  High Glen House. She had been his opponent then, she remembered: she had
  pulled his hair and made him cry. The memory brought tears to her eyes.
  How sad that the little boy had come to this.
  There was a flurry of activity in the ring. Mack hit Preece once, twice,
  and a third time, then kicked his thigh, making him stagger. Lizzie was
  seized by the hope that Preece would collapse and the fight would end.
  But then Mack backed off, waiting for his opponent to fall. The shouted
  advice of his seconds and the bloodthirsty cries of the crowd urged him
  to finish Preece off, but he took no notice.
 To Lizzie's dismay Preece recovered yet again, rather
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   137

 suddenly, and hit Mack with a low punch in the pit of the belly. Mack
 involuntarily bent forward and gasped-and then, unexpectedly, Preece
 butted him, putting all the force of his broad back into it. Their heads
 met with a sickening crack. Everyone in the crowd drew breath.
  Mack staggered, falling, and Preece kicked him in the side of the head.
  Mack's legs gave way and he fell to the ground. Preece kicked him in the
  head again as he lay prone. Mack did not move. Lizzie heard herself
  screaming: "Leave him alone!" Preece kicked Mack again and again, until
  the seconds from both sides jumped into the ring and pulled him away.
  Preece looked dazed, as if he could not understand why the people who had
  been egging him on and screaming for blood now wanted him to stop; then
  he regained his senses and raised his hands in a gesture of victory,
  looking like a dog that has pleased its master.
  Lizzie was afraid Mack might be dead. She pushed through the crowd and
  stepped into the ring. Mack's second knelt beside his prone body. Lizzie
  bent over Mack, her heart in her mouth. His eyes were closed, but she saw
  that he was breathing. "Thank God he's alive," she said.
  The Irishman glanced briefly at her but did not speak. Lizzie prayed Mack
  was not permanently damaged. In the last half hour he had taken more
  heavy blows to the head than most people suffered in a lifetime. She was
  terrified that when he returned to consciousness he would be a drooling
  idiot.
 He opened his eyes.
 "How do you feel?" Lizzie said urgently.
 He closed his eyes again without responding.
  The Irishman stared at her and said: "Who are you, the boy soprano?" She
  realized she had forgotten to put on a man~s voice.
  "A friend," she replied. "Let's carry him inside-he shouldn't lie on the
  muddy ground."
 138      Ken Follett

  After a moment's hesitation the man said: "All right." He grasped Mack
  under the arms. Two spectators took his legs and they lifted him.
  Lizzie led the way into the tavern. In her most arrogant male voice she
  shouted: "Landlord-show me your best room, and quick about it!"
  A woman came from behind the bar. "Who's paying?" she said guardedly.
 Lizzie gave her a sovereign.
 "This way," said the woman.
  She led them up the stairs to a bedroom overlooking the courtyard. The
  room was clean and the four-poster bed was neatly made with a plain
  coarse blanket. The men laid Mack on the bed. Lizzie said to the woman:
  "Light the fire then bring us some French brandy. Do you know of a
  physician in the neighborhood who could dress this man's wounds?"
 "I'll send for Dr. Samuels."
  Lizzie sat on the edge of the bed. Mack's face was a mess, swollen and
  bloody. She undid his shirt and saw that his chest was covered with
  bruises and abrasions.
  The helpers left. The hishman said: "I'm Dermot Riley-Mack lodges in my
  house."
  "My name is Elizabeth Hallim," she replied. "I've known him since we were
  children." She decided not to explain why she was dressed as a man: Riley
  could think what he liked.
 "I don't think he's hurt bad," Riley said.
  "We should bathe his wounds. Ask for some hot water in a bowl, will you?"
  "All right." He went out, leaving her alone with the unconscious Mack.
  Lizzie stared at Mack's still form. He was hardly breathing. Hesitantly,
  she put her hand on his chest. The skin was warm and the flesh beneath
  it was hard. She pressed down and felt the thump of his heartbeat,
  regular and strong.
 She liked touching him. She put her other hand on
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    139

 her own bosom, feeling the difference between her soft breasts and his
 hard muscles. She touched his nipple, small and soft, and then her own,
 bigger and protruding.
 He opened his eyes.
  She snatched her hand away, feeling guilty. What in heaven's name am I
  doing? she thought.
  He looked at her blankly. "Where am I? Who are you?"
 "You were in a prizefight," she said. "You lost."
  He stared at her for several seconds, then at last he grinned. "Lizzie
  Hallim, dressed as a man again," he said in a normal voice.
 "Thank God you're all right!"
  He gave her a peculiar look. "It's very ... kind of you to care."
  She felt embarrassed. "I can't think why I do," she said in a brittle
  tone. "You're only a coal miner who doesn't know his place." Then to her
  horror she felt tears running down her face. "It's very hard to watch a
  friend being beaten to a pulp," she said with a catch in her voice that
  she could not control.
  He watched her cry. "Lizzie Hallim," he said wonderingly, "will I ever
  understand you?"

             15

BRANDY EASED THE PAIN OF MACK'S WOUNDS THAT
evening, but on the following morning he woke up in
agony. He hurt in every part of his body that he could
identify, from his sore toes-injured by kicking Rees
                                     140      Ken Follett

 Preece so hard-to the top of his skull, where he had a headache that felt as
 if it would never go away. The face in the shard of mirror he used for
 shaving was all cuts and bruises, and too tender to be touched, let alone
 shaved.
  All the same, his spirits were high. Lizzie Hallim never failed to
  stimulate him. Her irrepressible boldness made all things seem possible.
  Whatever would she do next? When he had recognized her, sitting on the edge
  of the bed, he had suffered a barely controllable urge to take her in his
  arms. He had resisted the temptation by reminding himself that such a move
  would be the end of their peculiar friendship. It was one thing for her to
  break the rules: she was a lady. She might play toughand-tumble with a
  puppy dog, but if once it bit her she would put it out in the yard.
  She had told him she was going to marry Jay Jamisson, and he had bitten his
  tongue instead of telling her she was a damn fool. It was none of his
  business and he did not want to offend her.
  Dermot's wife, Bridget, made a breakfast of salt porridge and Mack ate it
  with the children. Bridget was a woman of about thirty who had once been
  beautiful but now just looked tired. When the food was all gone Mack and
  Dermot went out to look for work. "Bring home some money," Bridget called
  as they left.
  It was not a lucky day. They toured the food markets of London, offering
  themselves as porters for the baskets of wet fish, barrels of wine. and
  bloody sides of beef the hungry city needed every day; but there were too
  many men and not enough work. At midday they gave up and walked to the West
  End to try the coffeehouses. By the end of the afternoon they were as weary
  as if they had worked all day, but they had nothing to show for it.
  As they turned into the Strand a small figure shot out of an alley, like a
  bolting rabbit, and crashed into Dermot. It was a girl of about thirteen,
  ragged and thin
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    141

 and scared. Dermot made a noise like a punctured bladder. The child squealed
 in fright, stumbled, and regained her balance.
  After her came a brawny young man in expensive but disheveled clothes. He
  came within an inch of grabbing her as she bounced off Dermot, but she
  ducked and dodged and ran on. Then she slipped and fell, and he was on her.
  She screamed in terror. The man was mad with rage. He picked up the slight
  body and punched the side of her head, knocking her down again, then he
  kicked her puny chest with his booted foot.
  Mack had become hardened to the violence on the streets of London. Men,
  women and children fought constantly, punching and scratching one another,
  their battles usually fueled by the cheap gin that was sold at every comer
  shop. But he had never seen a strong man beat a small child so mercilessly.
  It looked as if he might kill her. Mack was still in pain from his encoun-
  ter with the Welsh Mountain, and the last thing he wanted was another
  fight, but he could not stand still and watch this. As the man was about to
  kick her again Mack grabbed him roughly and jerked him back.
  He turned around. He was several inches taller than Mack. He put his hand
  in the center of Mack's chest and shoved him powerfully away. Mack
  staggered backward. The man turned again to the child. She was scrambling
  to her feet. He hit her a mighty slap to her face that sent her flying.
  Mack saw red. He grabbed the man by the collar and the seat of the breeches
  and lifted him bodily off the ground. The man roared with surprise and
  anger, and began to writhe violently, but Mack held him and lifted him up
  over his head.
  Dermot stared in surprise at the ease with which Mack held him up. "You're
  a strong boy, Mack, by gob," he said.
 "Get your filthy hands off me!" the man shouted.
 142      Ken Follett

  Mack set him on the ground but kept hold of one wrist. "Just leave the
  child alone."
  Dermot helped the girl stand up and held her gently but firmly.
  "She's a damned thief!" said the man aggressively; then he noticed Mack's
  ravaged face and decided not to make a fight of it.
  "Is that all?" Mack said. "By the way you were kicking her I thought
  she'd murdered the king."
  "What business of yours is it what she's done?" The man was calming down
  and catching his breath.
  Mack let him go. "Whatever it was, I think you've punished her enough."
  The man looked at him. "You're obviously just off the boat," he said.
  "You're a strong lad but, even so, you won't last long in London if you
  put your trust in the likes of her." With that he walked off.
 The girl said: "Thanks, Jock-you saved my life."
  People knew Mack was Scottish as soon as he spoke. He had not realized
  that he had an accent until he came to London. In Heugh everyone spoke
  the same: even the Jamissons had a softened version of the Scots dialect.
  Here it was like a badge.
  Mack looked at the girl. She had dark hair roughly cropped and a pretty
  face already swelling with bruises from the beating. Her body was that
  of a child but there was a knowing, adult look in her eyes. She gazed
  warily at him, evidently wondering what he wanted from her. He said: "Are
  you all right?"
  "I hurt," she said, holding her side. "I wish you'd killed that
  Christforsak-en john."
 "What did you do to him?"
  "I tried to rob him while he was fucking Cora, but he cottoned to it."
  Mack nodded. He had heard that prostitutes sometimes had accomplices who
  robbed their clients. "Would you like something to drink?"
 "I'd kiss the pope's arse for a glass of gin."
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    143

  Mack had never heard such talk from anyone, let alone a little girl. He did
  not know whether to be shocked or amused.
  On the other side of the road was the Bear, the tavern where Mack had
  knocked down the Bermondsey Bruiser and won a pound from a dwarf. They
  crossed the street and went in. Mack bought three mugs of beer and they
  stood in a corner to drink them.
  The girl tossed most of hers down in a few gulps and said: "You're a good
  man, Jock."
 "My name is Mack," he said. "This is Dermot."
 "I'm Peggy. They call me Quick Peg."
 "On account of the way you drink, I suppose."
  She grinned. "In this city, if you don't drink quick someone will steal
  your liquor. Where are you from, Jock?"
  "A village called Heugh, about fifty miles from Edinburgh."
 "Where's Edinburgh?"
 "Scotland."
 "How far away is that, then?"
  "It took me a week on a ship, down the coast." It had been a long week.
  Mack was unnerved by the sea. After fifteen years working down a pit the
  endless ocean made him dizzy. But he had been obliged to climb the masts to
  tie ropes in all weathers. He would never be a sailor. "I believe the
  stagecoach takes thirteen days," he added.
 "Why did you leave?"
  "To be free. I ran away. In Scotland, coal miners are slaves."
 "You mean like the blacks in Jamaicky?"
  "You seem to know more about Jamaicky than Scotland."
 She resented the implied criticism. "*Vhy shouldn't IT'
 "Scotland is nearer, that's all."
 "I knew that." She was lying, Mack could tell. She
 144      Ken Follett

 was only a little girl, despite her bravado, and she touched his heart.
  A woman's voice said breathlessly: "Peg, are you all right?"
  Mack looked Up LO see a young woman wearing a dress the color of an
  orange.
  Peg said: "Hello, Cora. I was rescued by a handsome prince. Meet Scotch
  Jock McKnock."
  Cora smiled at Mack and said: "Thank you for helping Peg. I hope you
  didn't get those bruises in the process."
 Mack shook his head. "That was another brute."
 "Let me buy you a drink of gin."
  Mack was about to refuse-he preferred beer-but Dermot said: "Very kind,
  we thank you."
  Mack watched her as she went to the bar. She was about twenty years old,
  with an angelic face and a mass of flaming red hair. It was shocking to
  think someone so young and pretty was a whore. He said to Peg: "So she
  shagged that fellow who chased you, did she?"
  "She doesn't usually have to go all the way with a man," Peg said
  knowledgeably. "She generally leaves him in some alley with his dick up
  and his breeches down."
 "While you run off with his purse," Dermot said.
  "Me? Get off. I'm a lady-in-waiting to Queen Charlotte."
  Cora sat beside Mack. She wore a heavy, spicy perfume that had sandalwood
  and cinnamon in it. "What are you doing in London, Jock?"
  He stared at her. She was very attractive. "Looking for work."
 "Find any?"
 "Not much."
  She shook her head. "It's been a whore of a winter, cold as the grave,
  and the price of bread is shocking. There's too many men like you."
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    145

  Peg put in: "That was what made my father turn to thieving, two years ago,
  only he didn't have the knack."
  Mack reluctantly tore his gaze away from Cora and looked at Peg. "What
  happened to him?"
 "He danced with the sheriff's collar on."
 "What?"
 Dermot explained. "it means he was hanged."
 Mack said: "Oh, dear, I'm sorry."
  "Don't feel sorry for me, you Scotch git, it makes me sick."
  Peg was a real hard case. "All right, all right, I won't," Mack said
  mildly.
  Cora said: "If you want work, I know someone who's looking for coal
  heavers, to unload the coal ships. The work is so heavy that only young men
  can do it, and they prefer out-of-towners who aren't so quick to complain."
 "I'll do anything," Mack said, thinking of Esther.
  "The coal heaving gangs are all run by tavern keepers down in Wapping. I
  know one of them, Sidney Lennox at die Sun."
 "Is he a good man?"
  Cora and Peg laughed. Cora said: "He's a lying, cheating, miserable-faced,
  evil-smelling festering drunken pig, but they're aU the same, so what can
  you do?"
 "Will you take us to the Sun?"
 "Be it on your own head," said Cora.

  A warm fog of sweat and coal dust filled the airless hold of the wooden
  ship. Mack stood on a mountain of coal, wielding a broad-bladed shovel,
  scooping up lumps of coal, working with a steady rhythm. The work was
  brutally hard; his arms ached and he was bathed in perspiration; but he
  felt good. He was young and strong, he was earning good money, and he was
  no one's slave.
 He was one of a gang of sixteen coal heavers, bent
 146      Ken Follett

 over their shovels, grunting and swearing and making jokes. Most of the
 others were muscular young Irish farm boys: the work was too hard for
 stunted city-born men. Dermot was thirty and he was the oldest on the
 gang.
  It seemed he could not escape from coal. But it made the world turn. As
  Mack worked he thought about where this coal was going: all the London
  drawing rooms it would heat, all the thousands of kitchen fires, all the
  bakery ovens and breweries it would fuel. The city had an appetite. for
  coal that was never satisfied.
  It was Saturday afternoon, and the gang had almost emptied this ship, the
  Black Swan from Newcastle. Mack enjoyed calculating how much he would be
  paid tonight. This was the second ship they had unloaded this week, and
  the gang got sixteen pence, a penny per man, for every score, or twenty
  sacks of coal. A strong man with a big shovel could move a sackful in two
  ininutes. He reckoned each man had earned six pounds gross.
  However, there were deductions. Sidney Lennox, the middleman or
  "undertaker," sent vast quantities of beer and gin on board for the men.
  They had to drink a lot to replace the gallons of fluid they lost by
  sweating, but Lennox gave them more than was necessary and most of the
  men drank it, gin too. Consequently there was generally at least one
  accident before the end of the day. And the liquor had to be paid for.
  So Mack was not sure how much he would receive when he lined up for his
  wages at the Sun tavern tonight. However, even if half of the money was
  lost in deductions-an estimate surely too high-the remainder would still
  be double what a coal miner would earn for a six-day week.
  And at that rate lie could send for Esther in a few weeks. Then he and
  his twin would be free of slavery. His heart leaped at the prospect.
 He had written to Esther as soon as he had settled at
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    147

 Dermot's place, and she had replied. His escape was the talk of the glen,
 she said. Some of the young hewers were trying to get up a petition to the
 English Parliament protesting against slavery in the mines. And Annie had
 married Jimmy Lee. Mack felt a pang of regret about Annie. He would never
 again roll in the heather with her. But Jimmy Lee was a good man. Perhaps
 the petition would be the beginning of a change; perhaps the children of
 Jimmy and Annie would be free.
  The last of the coal was shoveled into sacks and stacked on a barge, to
  be rowed to the shore and stored in a coal yard. Mack stretched his
  aching back and shouldered his shovel. Up on deck the cold air hit him
  like a blast, and he put on his shirt and the fur cloak Lizzie Hallim had
  given him. The coal heavers rode to shore with the last of the sacks,
  then walked to the Sun to get their wages.
  The Sun was a rough place used by seamen and stevedores. Its earth floor
  was muddy, the benches and tables were battered and stained, and the
  smoky fire gave little heat. The landlord, Sidney Lennox, was a gambler,
  and there was always a game of some kind going on: cards, dice, or a
  complicated contest with a marked board and counters. The only good thing
  about the place was Black Mary, the African cook, who used shellfish and
  cheap cuts of meat to make spicy, hearty stews the customers loved.
  Mack and Dermot were the first to arrive. They found Peg sitting in the
  bar with her legs crossed underneath her, smoking Virginia tobacco in a
  clay pipe. She lived at the Sun, sleeping on the floor in a corner of the
  bar. Lennox was a receiver as well as an undertaker, and Peg sold him the
  things she stole. When she saw Mack she spat into the fire and said
  cheerfully: "What ho, Jock-rescued any more maidens?"
 "Not today." He grinned.
 Black Mary put her smiling face around the kitchen
 148      Ken Follett

 door. "Oxtail soup, boys?" She had a Low Countries accent: people said she
 had once been the slave of a Dutch sea captain.
  "No more than a couple of barrelfuls for me, please," Mack replied.
 She smiled. "Hungry, eh? Been working hard?"
  "Just taking a little exercise to give us an appetite," said Dermot.
  Mack had no money to pay for his supper, but Lennox gave all the coal
  heavers credit against their earnings. After tonight, Mack resolved, he
  would pay cash on the nail for everything: he did not want to get into
  debt.
  He sat beside Peg. "How's business?" he said facetiously.
  She took his question seriously. "Me and Cora tumbled a rich old gent
  this afternoon so we're having the evening off."
  Mack found it odd to be friends with a thief. He knew what drove her to
  it: she had no alternative but starvation. All the same something in him,
  some residue of his mother's attitudes, made him disapprove.
  Peg was small and frail, with a bony frame and pretty blue eyes, but she
  had the callous air of a hardened criminal, and that was how people
  treated her. Mack suspected that her tough exterior was protective
  coloring: below the surface there was probably just a frightened little
  girl who had no one in the world to take care of her.
  Black Mary brought him soup with oysters floating in it, a slab of bread
  and a tankard of dark beer, and he fell on it like a wolf.
  The other coal heavers drifted in. There was no sign of Lennox, which was
  unusual: he was normally playing cards or dice with his customers. Mack
  wished he would hurry up. Mack was impatient to find out how much mon ey
  he had made this week. He guessed
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   149

 Lennox was keeping the men waiting for their wages so they would spend
 more at the bar.
  Cora came in after an hour or so. She looked as striking as ever, in a
  mustard-colored outfit with black trimmings. All the men greeted her, but
  to Mack's surprise she came and sat with him. "I hear you had a
  profitable afternoon," he said.
  "Easy money," she said. "A man old enough to know better."
  "You'd better tell me how you do it, so I don't fall victim to someone
  like you."
  She gave him a flirtatious look. "You'll never have to pay girls, Mack,
  I can promise you that."
 "Tell me anyway-I'm curious."
  "The simplest way is to pick up a wealthy drunk, get him amorous, take
  him down a dark alley then run off with his money."
 "Is that what you did today'?"
  "No, this was better. We found an empty house and bribed the caretaker.
  I played the role of a bored housewife-Peg was my maid. We took him to
  the house, pretending I lived there. I got his clothes off and got him
  into bed, then Peg came rushing in to say my husband was back
  unexpectedly."
  Peg laughed. "Poor old geezer, you should have seen his face, he was
  terrified. He hid in the wardrobe!"
  "And we left, with his wallet, his watch and all his clothes."
  "He's probably still in that wardrobe!" said Peg, and they both went off
  into gales of laughter.
  The coal heavers' wives began to appear, many of them with babies in
  their arms and children clinging to their skirts. Some had the spirit and
  beauty of youth, but others looked weary and underfed, the beaten wives
  of violent and drunken men. Mack guessed they were all here in the hope
  of getting hold of some of the wages before all the money was drunk,
  gambled or sto-
   150      Ken Follett

 len by whores. Bridget Riley came in with her five children and sat with
 Dermot and Mack.
 Lennox finally showed up at midnight.
  He carried a leather sack full of coins and a pair of pistols, presumably
  to protect him from robbery. The coal heavers, most of whom were drunk
  by this time, cheered him like a conquering hero when he came in, and
  Mack felt a momentary contempt toward his workmates: why did they show
  gratitude for what was no more than their due?
  Lennox was a surly man of about thirty, wearing knee boots and a flannel
  waistcoat with no shirt. He was fit and muscular from carrying heavy kegs
  of beer and spirits. There was a cruel twist to his mouth. He had a
  distinctive odor, a sweet smell like rotting fruit. Mack noticed Peg
  flinch involuntarily as he went by: she was scared of the man.
  Lennox pulled a table into a corner and put the sack down and the pistols
  next to it. The men and women crowded around, pushing and shoving, as if
  afraid Lennox would run out of cash before their turn came. Mack hung
  back: it was beneath his dignity to scramble for the wages he had earned.
  He heard the harsh voice of Lennox raised over the hubbub. "Each man has
  earned a pound and eleven pence this week, before bar bills."
  Mack was not sure he had heard right. They had unloaded two ships, some
  fifteen hundred score, or thirty thousand sacks of coal, giving each man
  a gross income of about six pounds. How could it have been reduced to
  little more than a pound each?
  There was a groan of disappointment from the men, but none of them
  questioned the figure. As Lennox began to count out individual payments,
  Mack said: "Just a minute. How do you work that out?"
  Lennox looked up with an angry scowl. "You've unloaded one thousand four
  hundred and forty-five score,
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    151

 which gives each man six pounds and fivepence gross. Deduct fifteen
 shillings a day for drink-"
  "What?" Mack interrupted. "Fifteen shillings a day?" That was
  three-quarters of their earnings!
  Dermot Riley muttered his agreement. "Damned robbery, it is." He did not
  say it very loudly, but there were murmurs of agreement from some of the
  other men and women.
  "My commission is sixteen pence per man per ship," Lennox went on.
  "There's another sixteen pence for the captain's tip, six pence per day
  for rent of a shovel-"
 "Rent of a shovel?" Mack exploded.
  "You're new here and you don't know the rules, McAsh," Lennox grated.
  "Why don't you shut your damned mouth and let me get on with it, or no
  one will get paid."
  Mack was outraged, but reason told him Lennox had not invented this
  system tonight: it was obviously well established, and the men must have
  accepted it. Peg tugged at his sleeve and said in a low voice: "Don't
  cause trouble, Jock~Lennox will make it worse for you somehow."
  Mack shrugged and kept quiet. However, his protest had struck a chord
  among the others, and Dermot Riley now raised his voice. "I didn't drink
  fifteen shillings' worth of liquor a day," he said.
 His wife added: "For sure he didn't."
  "Nor did I," said another man. "Who could? A man would burst with all
  that beer!"
  Lennox replied angrily, "That's how much I sent on board for you--do you
  think I can keep a tally of what every man drinks every day?"
  Mack said: "If not, you're the only innkeeper in London who can't!" The
  men laughed.
  Lennox was infuriated by Mack's mockery and the laughter of the men. With
  a thunderous look he said: "The system is, you pay for fifteen shillings'
  worth of liquor, whether you drink it or not."
 152      Ken Follett

  Mack stepped up to the table. "Well, I have a system too," he said. "I
  don't pay for liquor that I haven't asked for and haven't drunk. You may
  not have kept count but I have, and I can tell you exactly what I owe

 YOU."
  "So can I," said another man. He was Charlie Smith, an English-born Negro
  with a flat Newcastle accent. "I've drunk eighty-three tankards of the
  small beer you sell in here for fourpence a pint. That's twenty-seven
  shillings and eightpence for the entire week, not fifteen shillings a
  day."
  Lennox said: "You're lucky to be paid at all. you black villain, you
  ought to be a slave in chains."
  Charlie's face darkened. "I'm an Englishman and a Christian, and I'm a
  better man than you because I'm honest," he said with controlled fury.
  Dermot Riley said: "I can tell you exactly how much I've drunk, too."
  Lennox was getting irate. "If you don't watch yourselves you'll get
  nothing at all, any of you," he said.
  It crossed Mack's mind that he ought to cool things down. He tried to
  think of something conciliatory to say. Then he caught sight of Bridget
  Riley and her hungry children, and indignation got the better of him. He
  said to Lennox: "You'll not leave that table until you've paid what you
  owe."
 Lennox's eyes fell to his pistols,
  With a swift movement Mack swept the guns to the floor. "You'll not
  escape by shooting me either, you damn thief," he said angrily.
  Lennox looked like a cornered mastiff. Mack wondered if he had gone too
  far: perhaps he should have left room for a face-saving compron-dse. But
  it was too late now. Lennox had to back down. He had made the coal
  heavers drunk and they would kill him unless he paid them.
 He sat back on his chair, narrowed his eyes, gave
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   153

 Mack a look of pure hatred and said: "You'll suffer for this, McAsh, I
 swear by God you will."
  Mack said mildly: "Come on, Lennox, the men are only asking you to pay
  them what they're due."
  Lennox was not mollified, but he gave in. Scowling darkly, he began to
  count out money. He paid Charlie Smith first. then Dermot Riley, then
  Mack, taking their word for the amount of liquor they had consumed.
  Mack stepped away from the table full of elation. He had three pounds and
  nine shillings in his hand: if he put half of it aside for Esther he
  would still be flush.
  Other coal heavers made guesses at how much they had drunk, but Lennox
  did not argue, except in the case of Sam Potter, a huge fat boy from
  Cork, who claimed he had drunk only thirty quarts, causing uproarious
  laughter from the others: he eventually settled for three times that.
  An air of jubilation spread among the men and their women as they
  pocketed their earnings. Several came up to Mack and slapped him on the
  back, and Bridget Riley kissed him. He realized he had done something
  remarkable, but he feared that the drama was not yet ended. Lennox had
  given in too easily.
  As the last man was being paid, Mack picked up Lennox's guns from the
  floor. He blew the flintlocks clear of powder, so that they would not
  fire, then placed them on the table.
  Lennox took his disarmed pistols and the nearly empty money bag and stood
  up. The room went quiet. He went to the door that led to his private
  rooms. Everyone watched him intently, as if they were afraid he might yet
  find a way to take the money back. He turned at the door. "Go home, all
  of you," he said malevolently. "And don't come back on Monday. There'll
  be no work for you. You're all dismissed."

  Mack lay awake most of the night, worrying. Some of the coal heavers said
  Lennox would have forgotten
 154      Ken Follett

 all about it by Monday morning, but Mack doubted that. Lennox did not seem
 the type of man to swallow defeat; and he could easily get another sixteen
 strong young men to form his gang.
  It was Mack's fault. The coal heavers were like oxen, strong and stupid and
  easily led: they would not have rebelled against Lennox if Mack had not
  encouraged them. Now, he felt, it was up to him to set matters right.
  He got up early on Sunday nioming and went into the other room. Dermot and
  his wife lay on a mattress and the five children slept together in the
  opposite corner. Mack shook Dermot awake. "We've got to find work for our
  gang before tomorrow," Mack said.
  Dermot got up. Bridget mumbled from the bed: "Wear something respectable,
  now, if you want to impress an undertaker." Dermot put on an old red waist-
  coat, and he loaned Mack the blue silk neckcloth he had bought for his
  wedding. They called for Charlie Smith on the way. Charlie had been a coal
  heaver for five years and he knew everyone. He put on his best blue coat
  and they went together to Wapping.
  The muddy streets of the waterfront neighborhood were almost deserted. The
  bells of London's hundreds of churches called the devout to their prayers,
  but most of the sailors and stevedores and warehousemen were enjoying their
  day of rest, and they stayed at home. The brown river Thames lapped lazily
  at the deserted wharves, and rats sauntered boldly along the foreshore.
  All the coal heaving undertakers were tavern keepers. The three men went
  first to the Frying Pan, a few yards from the Sun. They found the landlord
  boiling a ham in the yard. The smell made Mack's mouth water. "What ho,
  Harry," Charlie addressed him cheerfully.
  He gave them a sour look. "What do you boys want, if it's not beer?"
  "Work," Charlie replied. "Have you got a ship to uncoal tomorrow?"
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   155

 "Yes, and a gang to do it, thanks all the same."
  They left. Dermot said: "What was the matter with him? He looked at us like
  lepers,"
 "Too much gin last night," Charlie speculated.
  Mack feared it might have been something more sinister, but he kept his
  thoughts to himself for the moment. "Let's go into the King's Head," he
  said.
  Several coal heavers were drinking beer at the bar and greeted Charlie by
  name. "Are you busy, my lads?" Charlie said. "We're looking for a ship."
  The landlord overheard. "You men been working for Sidney Lennox at the
  Sun?"
  "Yes, but he doesn't need us next week," Charlie replied.
 "Nor do I," said the landlord.
  As they went out Charlie said: "We'll try Buck Delaney at the Swan. He runs
  two or three gangs at a time."
  The Swan was a busy tavern with stables, a coffee room, a coal yard and
  several bars. They found the Irish landlord in his private room overlooking
  the courtyard. Delaney had been a coal heaver himself in his youth, though
  now he wore a wig and a lace cravat to take his breakfast of coffee and
  cold beef. "Let me give you a tip, me boys," he said. "Every undertaker in
  London has heard what happened at the Sun last night. There's not one will
  employ you, Sidney Lennox has made sure of that."
  Mack's heart sank. He had been afraid of something like this.
  "If I were you," Delaney went on, "I'd take ship and get out of town for a
  year or two. When you come back it will all be forgotten."
  Dermot said angrily: "Are the coal heavers always to be robbed by you
  undertakers, then?"
  If Delaney was offended he did not show it. "Look around you, me boy," he
  said mildly, indicating with a vague wave the silver coffee service, the
  carpeted room,
 156      Ken Follett

 and the bustling business that paid for it all. "I didn't get this by
 being fair to people."
  Mack said: "What's to stop us going to the captains ourselves, and
  undertaking to unload ships?"
  "Everything," said Delaney. "Now and again there comes along a coal
  heaver like you, McAsh, with a bit more gumption than the rest, and he
  wants to run his own gang, and cut out the undertaker and do away with
  liquor payments and all, and all. But there's too many people making too
  much money out of the present arrangement." He shook his head. "You're
  not the first to protest against the system, McAsh, and you won't be the
  last."
  Mack was disgusted by Delaney's cynicism, but he felt the man was telling
  the truth. He could not think of anything else to say or do. Feeling
  defeated, he went to the door, and Dermot and Charlie followed.
  "Take my advice, McAsh," Delaney said. "Be like me. Get yourself a little
  tavern and sell liquor to coal heavers. Stop trying to help them and
  start helping yourself. You could do well. You've got it in you, I can
  tell."
  "Be like you?" Mack said. "You've made yourself rich by cheating your
  fellow men. By Christ, I wouldn't be like you for a kingdom."
  As he went out he was gratified to see Delaney's face darken in anger at
  last.
  But his satisfaction lasted no longer than it took to close the door. He
  had won an argument and lost everything else. If only he had swallowed
  his pride and accepted the undertakers' system, he would at least have
  work to do tomorrow morning. Now he had nothingand he had put fifteen
  other men, and their families, in the same hopeless position. The
  prospect of bringing Esther to London was farther away than ever. He had
  handled everything wrong. He was a damn fool.
  The three men sat in one of the bars and ordered beer and bread for their
  breakfast. Mack reflected that he
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    157

 had been arrogant to look down on the coal heavers for accepting their lot
 dumbly. In his mind he had called them oxen, but he was the ox.
  He thought of Caspar Gordonson, the radical lawyer who had started all
  this by telling Mack his legal rights. If I could get hold of Gordonson,
  Mack thought, I'd let him know what legal rights are worth.
  The law was useful only to those who had the power to enforce it, it
  seemed. Coal miners and coal heavers had no advocate at court. They were
  fools to talk of their rights. The smart people ignored right and wrong
  and took care of themselves, like Cora and Peg and Buck Delaney.
  He picked up his tankard then froze with it halfway to his mouth. Caspar
  Gordonson lived in London, of course. Mack could get hold of him. He
  could let him know what legal rights were worth-but perhaps he could do
  better than that. Perhaps Gordonson would be the coal heavers' advocate.
  He was a lawyer, and he wrote constantly about English liberty: he ought
  to help.
 It was worth a try.

  The fatal letter Mack received from Caspar Gordonson had come from an
  address in Fleet Street. The Fleet was a filthy stream running into the
  Thames at the foot of the hill upon which St. Paul's Cathedral stood.
  Gordonson lived in a three-story brick row house next to a large tavern.
 "He must be a bachelor," said Dermot.
 "How do you know?" Charlie Smith asked.
  "Dirty windows, doorstep not polished-there's no lady in this house."
  A manservant let them in, showing no surprise when they asked for Mr.
  Gordonson. As they entered, two well-dressed men were leaving, continuing
  as they went a heated discussion that involved William Pitt, the Lord
  Privy Seal, and Viscount Weymouth, a secretary of
 158      Ken Follett

 state. They did not pause in their argument but one nodded to Mack with
 absentminded politeness, which surprised him greatly, since gentlemen
 normally ignored low-class people.
  Mack had imagined a lawyer's house to be a place of dusty documents and
  whispered secrets, in which the loudest noise was the slow scratching of
  pens. Gordonson's home was more like a printer's shop. Pamphlets and
  journals in string-tied bundles were stacked in the hall, the air smelled
  of cut paper and printing ink, and the sound of machinery from below
  stairs suggested that a press was being operated in the basement.
  The servant stepped into a room off the hall. Mack wondered if he was
  wasting his time. People who wrote clever articles in journals probably
  did not dirty their hands by getting involved with workingmen. Gordon-
  son's interest in liberty might be strictly theoretical. But Mack had to
  try everything. He had led his coal heaving gang into rebellion, and now
  they were all without work: he had to do something.
  A loud and shrill voice came from within. "McAsh? Never heard of him! Who
  is he? You don't know? Then ask! Never mind---2'
  A moment later a balding man with no wig appeared in the doorway and
  peered at the three coal heavers through spectacles. "I don't think I
  know any of you," he said. "What do you want with me?"
  It was a discouraging introduction, but Mack was not easily disheartened,
  and he said spiritedly: "You gave me some very bad advice recently but,
  despite that, I've come back for more."
  There was a pause, and Mack thought he had given offense; then Gordonson
  laughed heartily. In a friendly voice he said: "Who are you, anyway?"
  "Malachi McAsh, known as Mack. I was a coal miner at Heugh, near
  Edinburgh, until you wrote and told me I was a free man."
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    159

  Understanding lit up Gordonson's expression. "You're the liberty-loving
  miner! Shake hands, man."
 Mack introduced Dermot and Charlie.
 "Come in, all of you. Have a glass of wine?"
  They followed him into an untidy room furnished with a writing table and
  walls of bookcases. More publications were piled on the floor, and
  printers' proofs were scattered across the table. A fat old dog lay on a
  stained rug in front of the fire. There was a ripe smell that must have
  come from the rug or the dog, or both. Mack lifted an open law book from a
  chair and sat down. "I won't take any wine, thank you," he said. He wanted
  his wits about him.
  "A cup of coffee, perhaps? Wine sends you to sleep but coffee wakes you
  up." Without waiting for a reply he said to the servant: "Coffee for
  everyone." He turned back to Mack. "Now, McAsh, why was my advice to you so
  wrong?"
  Mack told him the story of how he had left Heugh. Dermot and Charlie
  listened intently: they had never heard this. Gordonson lit a pipe and blew
  clouds of tobacco smoke, shaking his head in disgust from time to time. The
  coffee came as Mack was finishing.
  "I know the Jamissons of old-they're greedy, heartless, brutal people,"
  Gordonson said with feeling. "What did you do when you got to London?"
  "I became a coal heaver." Mack related what had happened in the Sun tavern
  last night.
  Gordonson said: "The liquor payments to coal heavers are a long-standing
  scandal."
  Mack nodded. "I've been told I'm not the first to protest."
  "Indeed not. Parliament actually passed a law against the practice ten
  years ago."
 Mack was astonished. "Then how does it continue?"
 "The law has never been enforced."
 "Why not?"
 "Me government is afraid of disrupting the supply of
 160      Ken Follett

 coal. London runs on coal-nothing happens here without it: no bread is made,
 no beer brewed, no glass blown, no iron smelted, no horses shod, no nails
 manufactured-"
  "I understand," Mack interrupted impatiently. "I ought not to be surprised
  that the law does nothing for men such as us."
  "Now, you're wrong about that," Gordonson said in a pedantic tone. "The law
  makes no decisions. It has no will of its own. It's like a weapon, or a
  tool: it works for those who pick it up and use it."
 "The, rich."
  .1usually," Gordonson conceded. "But it might work for you."
 "How?" Mack said eagerly.
  -Suppose you devised an alternative ganging system for unloading coal
  ships."
  This was what Mack had been hoping for. "It wouldn't be difficult," he
  said. "The men could choose one of their number to be undertaker and deal
  with the captains. The money would be shared out as soon as it's received."
  "I presume the coal heavers would prefer to work under the new system, and
  be free to spend their wages as they pleased."
  "Yes," Mack said, suppressing his mounting excitement. "They could pay for
  their beer as they drink it, the way anyone does." But would Gordonson
  weigh in on the side of the coal heavers? If that happened everything could
  change.
  Charlie Smith said lugubriously: "It's been tried before. It doesn't work."
  Charlie had been a coal heaver for many years, Mack recalled. He asked:
  "Why doesn't it work?"
  "What happens is, the undertakers bribe the ships' captains not to use the
  new gangs. Then there's trouble and fighting between the gangs. And it's
  the new gangs that get punished for the fights, because the magistrates
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    161

 are undertakers themselves, or friends of undertakers ... and in the end
 all the coal heavers go back to the old ways."
 "Damn fools," Mack said.
  Charlie looked offended. "I suppose if they were clever they wouldn't be
  coal heavers."
  Mack realized he had been supercilious, but it angered him when men were
  their own worst enemies "They only need a little determination and
  solidarity,' he said.
  Gordonson put in: "There's more to it than that. It's a question of
  politics. I remember the last coal heavers' dispute. They were defeated
  because they had no champion. The undertakers were against them and no
  one was for them."
 "Why should it be different this time?" said Mack.
 "Because of John Wilkes."
  Wilkes was the defender of liberty, but he was in exile. "He can't do
  much for us in Paris."
 "He's not in Paris. He's back."
 That was a surprise. "What's he going to do?"
 "Stand for Parliament."
  Mack could imagine how that would stir up trouble in London's political
  circles. "But I still don't see how it helps us."
  "Wilkes will take the coal heavers' part, and the government will side
  with the undertakers. Such a dispute, with workingmen plainly in the
  right, and having the law on their side too, would do Wilkes nothing but
  good.
 "How do you know what Wilkes will do?"
 Gordonson smiled. "I'm his electoral agent."
  Gordonson was more powerful than Mack had realized. This was a piece of
  luck.
  Charlie Smith, still skeptical, said: "So you're planning to use the coal
  heavers to advance your own political purposes."
 "Fair point," Gordonson said mildly. He put down
 162      Ken Follett

 his pipe. "But why do I support Wilkes? Let me explain. You came to me today
 complaining of injustice. This kind of thing happens all too often: ordinary
 men and women cruelly abused for the benefit of some greedy brute, a George
 Jamisson or a Sidney Lennox. It harms trade, because the bad enterprises
 undermine the good. And even if it were good for trade it would be wicked.
 I love my country and I hate the brutes who would destroy its people and
 ruin its prosperity. So I spend my life fighting for justice." He smiled and
 put his pipe back in his mouth. "I hope that doesn't sound too pompous."
  "Not at all," said Mack. "I'm glad you're on our side."

             16

 JAY JAMISSON'S WEDDING DAY WAS COLD AND DAMP. From his bedroom in Grosvenor
 Square he could see Hyde Park, where his regiment was bivouacked. A low mist
 covered the ground, and the soldiers' tents looked like ships' sails on a
 swirling gray sea. Dull fires smoked here and there, adding to the fug. The
 men would be miserable, but soldiers were always miserable.
  He turned from the window. Chip Marlborough, his brideman, was holding
  Jay's new coat. Jay shrugged into it with a grunt of thanks. Chip was a
  captain in the Third Foot Guards, like Jay. His father was Lord Arebury,
  who had business dealings with Jay's father.
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    163

 Jay was flattered that such an aristocratic scion had agreed to stand beside
 him on his wedding day.
 "Have you seen to the horses?" Jay asked anxiously.
 "Of course," said Chip.
  Although the Third Foot was an infantry regiment, officers always went
  mounted, and Jay's responsibility was to supervise the men who looked after
  the horses. He was good with horses: he understood them instinctively. He
  had two days' leave for his wedding but he still worried whether the beasts
  were being looked after property.
  His leave was so short because the regiment was on active service. There
  was no war: the last war the British army had fought was the Seven Years'
  War, against the French in America, and that had ended while Jay and Chip
  were schoolboys. But the people of London were so restless and turbulent
  that the troops were standing by to suppress riots. Every few days some
  group of angry craftsmen went on strike or marched on Parliament or ran
  through the streets breaking windows. Only this week silk weavers, outraged
  by a reduction in their rate of pay, had destroyed three of the new engine
  looms in Spitalfields.
  "I hope the regiment isn't called out while I'm on leave," Jay said. "It
  would be just my luck to miss the action."
  "Stop worrying!" Chip poured brandy from a decanter into two glasses. He
  was a great brandy drinker. "To love!" he said.
 "To love," Jay repeated.
  He did not know much about love, he reflected. He had lost his virginity
  five years ago with Arabella, one of his father's housemaids. He thought at
  the time that he was seducing her but, looking back, he could see that it
  had been the other way around. After he had shared her bed three times she
  said she was pregnant. He had paid her thirty pounds-which he had borrowed
  from a moneylender-to disappear. He now suspected
 164      Ken Follett

 she had never been pregnant and the whole thing was a deliberate swindle.
  Since then he had flirted with dozens of girls, kissed many of them, and
  bedded a few. He found it easy to charm a girl: it was mainly a matter of
  pretending to be interested in everything she said, although good looks and
  good manners helped. He bowled them over without much effort. But now for
  the first time he had suffered the same treatment. When he was with Lizzie
  he always felt slightly breathless, and he knew that he stared at her as if
  she were the only person in the room, the way a girl stared at him when he
  was being fascinating. Was that love'? He thought it must be.
  His father had mellowed toward the marriage because of the possibility of
  getting at Lizzie's coal. That was why he was having Lizzie and her mother
  staying in the guest house, and paying the rent on the Chapel Street house
  where Jay and Lizzie would live after the wedding. They had not made any
  firm promises to Father, but neither had they told hirn that Lizzie was
  dead set against mining in High Glen. Jay just hoped it would worl~ out all
  right in the end.
  The door opened and a footman said: "Will you see a Mr. Lennox, sir?"
  Jay's heart sank. He owed Sidney Lennox money: gambling losses. He would
  have sent the man away-he was only a tavern keeper-but then Lennox might
  turn nasty about the debt. "iou'd better show him in," Jay said. "I'm sorry
  about this," he said to Chip.
  "I know Lennox," Chip said. "I've lost money to him myself." Lennox walked
  in, and Jay noticed the distinctive sweet-sour smell of the man, like
  something fermenting. Chip greeted him. "How are you, you damned rogue?"
  Lennox gave him a cool look. "Yc)u don't call me a damned rogue when you
  win, I notice."
 Jay regarded him nervously. Lennox wore a yellow
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   165

 suit and silk stockings with buckled shoes, but he looked like a jackal
 dressed as a man: there was an air of menace about him that fancy clothes
 could not conceal. However, Jay could not quite bring himself to break with
 Lennox. He was a very useful acquaintance: he always knew where there was a
 cockfight, a gladiatorial combat or a horse race. and if all else failed he
 would start a card school or a dice game himself.
  He was also willing to give credit to young officers who ran out of cash
  but wanted to continue gambling; and that was the trouble. Jay owed Lennox
  a hundred mid fifty pounds. It would be embarrassing if Lennox insisted on
  collecting the debt now.
  "You know I'm getting married today, Lennox," Jay said.
  "Yes, I know that," Lennox said. "I came to drink vour health."
  "Bv all means, by all means. Chip-a tot for our friend."
 Chip poured three generous measures of brandy.
 Lennox said: "To you and your bride."
 "Thank you," said Jay, and the three men drank.
  Lennox addressed Chip. "There'll be a big faro game tomorrow night, at Lord
  Archer's coffeehouse, Captain Marlborough."
 "It sounds good to me," said Chip.
  "I'll hope to see you there. No doubt you'll be too busy, Captain
  Jamisson."
  "I expect so," Jay replied. Anyway, I can't afford it, he thought to
  himself.
  Lennox put down his glass. 1 wish you a good day and hope the fog lifts,"
  he said, and he went out.
  Jay concealed his relief. Nothing had been said about the money. Lennox
  knew that Jay's father had paid the last debt, and perhaps he felt
  confident that Sir George would do the same again. Jay wondered why Lennox
  had come: surely not just to cadge a free glass of brandy? He had an
  unpleasant feeling that Lennox had
 166      Ken Follett

 been making some kind of point. There was an unspoken threat in the air.
 But what could a tavern keeper do to the son of a wealthy merchant, in the
 end?
  From the street Jay heard the sound of carriages drawing up in front of
  the house. He put Lennox out of his mind. "Let's go downstairs," he said.
  The drawing roorn was a grand space with expensive furniture made by
  Thomas Chippendale. It smelled of wax polish. Jay's mother, father and
  brother were there, all dressed for church. Alicia kissed Jay. Sir George
  and Robert greeted him awkwardly: they had never been an affectionate
  family, and the row over the twenty-first birthday gift was still fresh
  in their memories.
  A footman was pouring coffee. Jay and Chip each took a cup. Before they
  could sip it the door flew open and Lizzie came in like a hurricane. "How
  dare you?" she stormed. "How dare you?"
  Jay's heart missed a beat. What was the matter now? Lizzie was pink with
  indignation, her eyes flashing, her bosom heaving. She was wearing her
  bridal outfit, a simple white dress with a white cap, but she looked
  ravishing. "What have I done?" Jay asked plaintively.
 "The wedding is off!" she replied.
  "No!" Jay cried. Surely she was not to be snatched from him at the last
  moment? The thought was unbearable.
  Lady Hallim hurried in after her, looking distraught. "Lizzie, please
  stop this," she said.
  Jay's mother took charge. "Lizzie dear, what on earth is the trouble?
  Please tell us what has made you so distressed."
 "This!" she said, and she fluttered a sheaf of papers.
  Lady Hallim was wringing her hands. "It's a letter from my head keeper,"
  she said.
  Lizzie said: "It says that surveyors employed by the Jamissons have been
  sinking boreholes on the Hallim estate."
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   167

  "Boreholes?" Jay said, mystified. He looked at Robert and saw a furtive
  expression on his face.
  Lizzie said impatiently: "They're looking for coal, of course."
  "Oh, no!" Jay protested. He understood what had happened. His impatient
  father had jumped the gun. He was so eager to get at Lizzie's coal that he
  had not been able to wait until the wedding.
  But Father's impatience might have lost Jay his bride. That thought made
  Jay angry enough to shout at his father. "You danin fool!" he said
  recklessly. "Look what you've done!"
  It was a shocking thing for a son to say, and Sir George was not used to
  opposition from anyone. He went red in the face and his eyes bulged. "Call
  off the damned wedding, then!" he roared. "What do I care?"
  Alicia intervened. "Calm down, Jay, and you too, Lizzie," she said; and she
  meant Sir George as well, though she tactfully did not say so. "There has
  obviously been a mistake. No doubt Sir George's surveyors misunderstood
  some instructions. Lady Hallim, please take Lizzie back to the guest house
  and allow us to sort this out. I feel sure we do not need to do anything so
  drastic as to call off the wedding."
  Chip Marlborough coughed. Jay had forgotten he was there. "If you'll excuse
  me Chip said. He went to the door.
  "Don't leave the house," Jay pleaded. "Wait upstairs."
  "Certainly," Chip said, although his face showed that he would rather be
  anywhere else in the world.
  Alicia gently ushered Lizzie and Lady Hallim toward the door behind Chip.
  "Please, just give me a few minutes and I will come and see you and
  everything will be all right."
  As Lizzie went out she was looking more doubtful than angry, and Jay hoped
  she realized he had not known about the boreholes. His mother closed the
  door
 168      Ken Follett

 and turned around. Jay prayed she could do something to save the wedding.
 Did she have a plan? She was so clever. It was his only hope.
  She did not remonstrate with his father. Instead she said: "If there's
  no wedding you won't get your coal."
 "High Glen is bankrupt!" Sir George replied.
  "But Lady Hallim could renew her mortgages with another lender."
 "She doesn't know that."
 "Someone will tell her."
  There was a pause while that threat sank in. Jay was afraid his father
  would explode. But Mother was a good judge of how far he could be pushed,
  and in the end he said resignedly: "What do you want, Alicia?"
  Jay breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps his wedding might be saved after
  all.
  Mother said: "First of all, Jay must speak to Lizzie and convince her
  that he did not know about the surveyors."
 "It's true," Jay inte~ected.
 "Shut up and listen," his father said brutally.
  Mother went on: "If he can do that, they can get married as planned."
 'Then what?"
  "Then be patient. In time, Jay and I can talk Lizzie around. She's
  against coal mining now, but she will change her mind, or at least become
  less passionate about it-especially when she has a home and a baby and
  begins to understand the importance of money."
  Sir George shook his head. "It's not good enough, Alicia-I can't wait."
 "Whyever not?"
  He paused and looked at Robert, who shrugged. "I suppose I might as well
  tell you," Father said. "I've got debts of my own. You know we have
  always run on borrowed money-most of it from Lord Arebury. In the past
  we've made profits for ourselves and for him. But our trade with America
  has fallen very low since the
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   169

 trouble started in the colonies. And it's almost impossible to get paid
 for what little business we do--our biggest debtor has gone bust, leaving
 me with a tobacco plantation in Virginia that I can't sell."
  Jay was stunned. It had never occurred to him that the family enterprises
  were risky and that the wealth he had always known might not last
  forever. He began to see why his father had been so enraged at having to
  pay his gambling debts.
  Father went on: "The coal has been keeping us going, but it's not enough.
  Lord Arebury wants his money. So I have to have the Hallim estate.
  Otherwise I could lose my entire business."
  There was a silence. Both Jay and his mother were too shocked to speak.
  Eventually Alicia said: "Then there is only one solution. High Glen will
  have to be mined without Lizzie's knowledge."
  Jay frowned anxiously. That proposal frightened him. But he decided not
  to say anything just yet.
 "How could it be done?" said Sir George.
 "Send her and Jay to another country."
  Jay was startled. What a clever idea! "But Lady Hallim would know." he
  said. "And she'll be sure to tell Lizzie."
  Alicia shook her head. "No, she won't. She'll do anything to make this
  marriage happen. She'll keep quiet if we tell her to."
 Jay said: "But where would we go? What country?"
 "Barbados," said his mother.
  "No!" Robert intedected. "Jay can't have the sugar plantation."
  Alicia said quietly: "I think your father will give it up if the survival
  of the entire family enterprise depends upon it."
  Robert's face wore a triumphant look. "Father can't, even if he wants to.
  The plantation already belongs to me.
 170      Ken Follett

  Alicia looked inquiringly at Sir George. "Is that true? Is it his?"
 Sir George nodded. "I made it over to him."
 "When?"
 "Three years ago."
  That was another shock. Jay had no idea. He felt wounded. "That's why you
  wouldn't give it to me for my birthday," he said sadly. "You had already
  given it to Robert."
  Alicia said: "But, Robert, surely you'd give it back to save the entire
  business?"
  "No!" Robert said hotly. "This is only the beginning-you'll start by
  stealing the plantation, and in the end you'll get everything! I know
  you've always wanted to take the business from me and give it to that
  little bastard."
 "All I want for Jay is a fair share," she replied.
  Sir George said: "Robert, if you don't do this it could mean bankruptcy
  for all of us."
  "Not for me," he said triumphantly. "I'll still have a plantation."
  "But you could have so much more," said Sir George.
  Robert looked sly. "All right. I'll do it-on one condition: that you sign
  over the rest of the business to me, I mean everything. And you retire."
  "No!" Sir George shouted. "I won't retire-I'm not yet fifty years old!"
  They glared at one another, Robert and Sir George, and Jay thought how
  similar they were. Neither would give in over this, he knew, and his
  heart sank.
  It was an impasse. The two stubborn men were deadlocked and between them
  they would ruin everything: the wedding, the business, and the family's
  future.
  But Alicia was not ready to give up. "What's this Virginia property,
  George?"
 "Mockjack Hall-it's a tobacco plantation, about a
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    171

 thousand acres and fifty slaves. . . . What are you thinking?"
 -You could give that to Jay."
  Jay's heart leaped. Virginia! It would be the fresh start he had longed
  for, away from his father and brother, with a place of his own to manage
  and cultivate. And Lizzie would jump at the chance.
  Sir George's eyes narrowed. "I couldn't give him any money," he said. "He'd
  have to borrow what he needed to get the place going."
 Jay said quickly: "I don't care about that."
  Alicia put in. "But you'd have to pay the interest on Lady Hallim's
  mortgages--otherwise she could lose High Glen."
  "I can do that out of the income from the coal." Father went on thinking
  out the details. "They'll have to leave for Virginia immediately, within a
  few weeks."
  "They can't do that," Alicia protested. "They have to make preparations.
  Give them three months, at least."
  He shook his he.ad. "I need the coal sooner than diat."
  "That's all right. Lizzie won't want to make the journey back to
  Scotland-she'll be too busy preparing for her new life."
  All this talk of deceiving Lizzie filled Jay with trepidation. He was the
  one who would suffer her wrath if she found out. "What if someone writes to
  her?" he said.
  Alicia looked thoughtful. "We need to know which of the servants at High
  Glen House might do that-you can find that out, Jay."
 "How will we stop them?"
 "We'll send someone up there to dismiss them."
  Sir George said: "That could work. All right-we'll do it."
  Alicia turned to Jay and smiled triumphantly. She had got him his patrimony
  after all. She put her arms around him and kissed him. "Bless you, my dear
  son,"
172     Ken Follett

 she said. "Now go to her and tell her that you and your family are
 desperately sorry about this mistake, and that your father has given you
 Mockjack Hall as a wedding present."
  Jay hugged her and whispered: "Well done, Mother-thank you."
  He went out. As he walked across the garden he felt jubilant and
  apprehensive at the sarne time. He had got what he had always wanted. He
  wished it could have been done without deceiving his bride-but there was no
  other way. If he had refused he would have lost the property and he might
  have lost her as well.
  He went into the little guest house adjoining the stables. Lady Hallim and
  Lizzie were in the modest drawing room sitting by a smoky coal fire. They
  had both been crying.
  Jay felt a sudden dangerous impulse to tell Lizzie the truth. If he
  revealed the deception planned by the parents, and asked her to marry him
  and live in poverty, she might say yes.
  But the risk scared him. And their dream of going to a new country would
  die. Sometimes, he told himself, a fie was kinder.
 But would she believe it?
  He knelt in front of her. Her wedding dress smelled of lavender. "My father
  is very sorry," he said. "He sent in the surveyors as a surprise for me-he
  thought we'd be pleased to know if there was coal on your land. He didn't
  know how strongly you felt about mining."
 She looked skeptical. "Why didn't you tell him?"
  He spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. "He never asked." She
  still looked stubborn, but he had another card up his sleeve. "And there's
  something else. Our wedding present."
 She frowned. "What is it?"
  "Mockjack Hall-a tobacco plantation in Virginia. We can go there as soon as
  we like."
 She stared at him in surprise.
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    173

  "It's what we always wanted, isn't it?" he said. "A fresh start in a new
  country-an adventure!"
  Slowly her face broke into a smile. "Really? Virginia? Can it really be
  true?"
  He could hardly believe she would consent. "Will you accept it, then?" he
  said fearfully.
  She smiled. Tears came to her eyes and she could not speak. She nodded
  dumbly.
  Jay realized he had won. He had got everything he wanted. The feeling was
  like winning a big hand at cards. It was time to rake in his profits.
  He stood up. He drew her out of her chair and gave her his arm. "Come with
  me, then," he said. "Let's get married."

             17

 AT NOON ON THE THIRD DAY, THE HOLD OF THE DuRham Primrose was empty of coal.
  Mack looked around, hardly able to believe it had really happened. They had
  done it all without an undertaker.
  They had watched the riverside and picked out a coal ship that arrived in
  the middle of the day, when the other gangs were already working. While the
  men waited on the riverbank, Mack and Charlie rowed out to the ship as it
  anchored and offered their services, starting immediately. The captain knew
  that if he held out for a regular gang he would have to wait until the fol-
  lowing day, and time was money to ships' captains, so he hired them.
 174      Ken Follett

  The men seemed to work faster knowing they would be paid in full. They
  still drank beer all day, but paying for it jar by jar they took only
  what they needed. And they uncoaled the ship in forty-eight hours.
  Mack shouldered his shovel and went on deck. The weather was cold and
  misty, but Mack was hot from the hold. As the last sack of coal was
  thrown down onto the boat a great cheer went up from the coal heavers.
  Mack conferred with the first mate. The boat carried five hundred sacks
  and they had both kept count of the number of round trips it had made.
  Now they counted the odd sacks left for the last trip and agreed on the
  total. Then they went to the captain's cabin.
  Mack hoped there would be no last-minute snags. They had done the work:
  they had to be paid now, didn't they?
  The captain was a thin, middle-aged man with a big red nose. He smelled
  of rum. "Finished?" he said, "You're quicker than the usual gangs. What's
  the tally?"
  "Six hundred score, all but ninety-three," the first mate said, and Mack
  nodded. They counted in scores, or twenties, because each man was paid
  a penny per score.
  He beckoned them inside and sat down with an abacus. "Six hundred score
  less ninety-three, at sixteen pence per score . . ." It was a complicated
  sum, but Mack was used to being paid by the weight of coal he produced,
  and he could do mental arithmetic when his wages depended on it.
  The captain had a key on a chain attached to his belt. He used it to open
  a chest that stood in the comer. Mack stared as he took out a smaller
  box, put it on the table, and opened it. "If we call the odd seven sacks
  a half score, I owe you thirty-nine pounds fourteen shillings exactly,"
  And he counted out the money.
  The captain gave him a linen bag to carry it in and included plenty of
  pennies so that he could share it out
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    175
 exactly among the men. Mack fQU a tremendous sense of triumph as he held
 the money in his hands. Each man had earned almost two pounds and ten
 shillingsmore in two days than they got for two weeks with Lennox. But
 more important, they had proved they could stand up for their rights and
 win justice.
  He sat cross-legged on the deck of the ship to pay the men out. The first
  in line, Amos Tipe, said: "Thank you, Mack, and God bless you, boy."
 "Don't thank me, you earned it," Mack protested,
  Despite his protest the next man thanked him in the same way, as if he
  were a prince dispensing favors.
  "It's not just the money," Mack said as a third man, Slash Harley,
  stepped forward. "We've won our dignity, too."
  "You can have the dignity, Mack," said Slash. "Just give me the money."
  The others laughed.
  Mack felt a little angry with them as he continued to count out the
  coins. Why could they not see that this was more than a matter of today's
  wages? When they were so stupid about their own interests he felt they
  deserved to be abused by undertakers.
  However, nothing could mar his victory. As they were all rowed to shore
  the men began lustily to sing a very obscene song called "The Mayor of
  Bayswater," and Mack joined in at the top of his voice.
  He and Dermot walked to Spitalfields. The morning fog was lifting. Mack
  had a tune on his lips and a spring in his step. When he entered his room
  a pleasant surprise was waiting for him. Sitting on a three-legged stool,
  smelling of sandalwood and swinging a shapely leg, was Peg's red-haired
  friend Cora, in a chesmutcolored coat and a jaunty hat.
  She had picked up his cloak, which normally lay on the straw mattress
  that was his bed, and she was stroking the fur. "Where did you get this?"
  she said.
  "It was a gift from a fine lady," he said with a grin. "What are you
  doing here?"
 176      Ken Follett

  "I came to see you," she said. "If you wash your face you can walk out
  with me-that is, if you don't have to go to tea with any fine ladies."
  He must have appeared doubtful, for she added: "Don't look so startled.
  You probably think I'm a whore, but I'm not, except in desperation."
  He took his sliver of soap and went down to the standpipe in the yard.
  Cora followed him and watched as he stripped to the waist and washed the
  coal dust from his skin and hair. He borrowed a clean shirt from Dermot,
  put on his coat and hat, and took Cora's arm.
  They walked west, through the heart of the city. In London, Mack had
  learned, people walked the streets for recreation the way they walked the
  hills in Scotland. He enjoyed having Cora on his arm. He liked the way
  her hips swayed so that she touched him every now and again. Because of
  her striking coloring and her dashing clothes she attracted a lot of
  attention, and Mack got envious looks from other men.
  They went into a tavern and ordered oysters, bread and the strong beer
  called porter. Cora ate with gusto, swallowing the oysters whole and
  washing them down with drafts of dark ale.
  When they went out again the weather had changed. It was still cool, but
  there was a little weak sunshine. They strolled into the rich residential
  district called Mayfair.
  In his first twenty-two years Mack had seen only two palatial homes,
  Jamisson Castle and High Glen House. In this neighborhood there were two
  such houses on every street, and another fifty only a little less
  magnificent. London's wealth never ceased to astonish him.
  Outside one of the very grandest a series of carriages was drawing up and
  depositing guests as if for a party. On the pavement either side was a
  small crowd of passersby and servants from neighboring houses, and people
  were looking out from their doors and windows. The house was a blaze of
  light, although it was midafter-
         A PLACE CAUED FREEDOM  177

 noon, and the entrance was decorated with flowers. "It must be a wedding,"
 Cora said.
  As they watched another carriage drew up and a familiar figure stepped
  out. Mack gave a start as he recognized Jay Jamisson. Jay handed his
  bride down from the carriage, and the bystanders cheered and clapped.
 "She's pretty," Cora said.
  Lizzie smiled and looked around, acknowledging the applause. Her eyes met
  Mack's, and for a moment she froze. He smiled and waved. She averted her
  eyes quickly and hurried inside.
  It had taken only a fraction of a second, but the sharp-eyed Cora had not
  missed it. "Do you know herT'
 "She's the one gave me the fur," Mack said.
  "I hope her husband doesn't know she gives presents to coal heavers."
  "She's throwing herself away on Jay Jamisson-he's a handsome weakling."
  "I suppose you think she'd be better off marrying you," Cora said
  sarcastically.
  "She would, too," Mack said seriously. "Shall we go to the theater?"

  Late that evening Lizzie and Jay sat up in bed in the bridal chamber,
  wearing their nightclothes, surrounded by giggling relations and friends,
  all more or less drunk. The older generation had long since left the
  room, but custom insisted that wedding guests should hang on, tormenting
  the couple, who were assumed to be in a desperate hurry to consummate
  their marriage.
  The day had passed in a whirl. Lizzie had hardly thought about Jay's
  betrayal, his apology, her pardon, and their future in Virginia. There
  had been no time to ask herself whether she had made the right decision.
  Chip Marlborough came in carrying a jug of posset. Pinned to his hat was
  one of Lizzie's garters. He proceeded to fill everyone's glasses. "A
  toast!" he said.
 178      Ken Follett

  "A final toast!" said Jay, but they all laughed and jeered.
  Lizzie sipped her drink, a mixture of wine, milk and egg yolk with sugar
  and cinnamon. She was exhausted. It had been a long day, from the
  morning's terrible quarrel and its surprisingly happy ending, through the
  church service, the wedding dinner, music and dancing, and now the final
  comic ritual.
  Katie Drome, a Jamisson relation, sat on the end of the bed with one of
  Jay's white silk stockings in her hand and threw it backward over her
  head. If it hit Jay, the superstition said, then she would soon be
  married. She d-irew wildly but Jay good-humoredly reached out and caught
  the stocking and placed it on his head as if it had landed there, and
  everyone clapped.
  A drunken man called Peter McKay sat on the bed beside Lizzie.
  "Virginia," he said. "Hamish Drome went to Virginia, you know, after he
  was cheated out of his inheritance by Robert's mother."
  Lizzie was startled. The family legend was that Robert's mother, Olive,
  had nursed a bachelor cousin while he was dying, and he had changed his
  will in her favor out of gratitude.
 Jay heard the remark. "Cheated?" he said.
  "Olive forged that will, of course," McKay said. "But Hamish could never
  prove it, so he had to accept it. Went to Virginia and was never heard
  of again."
 Jay laughed. "Ha! The saintly Olive-a forger!"
  "Hush!" said McKay. "Sir George will kill us all if he hears!"
  Lizzie was intrigued, but she had had enough of Jay's relations for one
  day. "Get these people out!" she hissed.
  All the demands of custom had now been satisfied but one. -Right," said
  Jay. "If you won't go willingly . . ." He threw the blankets off his side
  of the bed and got out. As he advanced on the crowd he lifted his
  nightshirt to show his knees. All the girls screamed
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    179

 as if terrified-it was their role to pretend that the sight of a man in
 his nightshirt was more than a maiden could bear-and they rushed out of
 the room in a mob, chased bv the men.
  Jay shut the door and locked it. Then he moved a heavy chest of drawers
  across the doorway to make sure they would not be interrupted.
  Suddenly Lizzie's mouth was dry. This was the moment she had been looking
  forward to ever since the day Jay had kissed her in the hall at Jamisson
  Castle and asked her to marry him. Since then their embraces, snatched
  in the few odd moments when they were left alone together, had become
  more and more passionate. From open-mouthed kissing they had progressed
  to ever more intimate caresses. They had done everything two people could
  do in an unlocked room with a mother or two liable to come in at any
  moment. Now, at last, they were allowed to lock the door.
  Jay went around the room snuffing out candles. As he came to the last,
  Lizzie said: "Leave one burning."
 He looked surprised. "Why?"
  "I want to look at you." He seemed dubious, and she added: "Is that all
  right?"
  "Yes, I suppose so," he said, and he climbed into bed.
  As he began to kiss and caress her she wished they were both naked, but
  she decided not to suggest it. She would let him do it his way, this
  time.
  The familiar excitement made her limbs tingle as his hands ran all over
  her body. In a moment he parted her legs and got on top of her. She
  lifted her face to kiss him as he entered her, but he was concentrating
  too hard and he did not see. She felt a sudden sharp pain, and she almost
  cried out, then it was gone.
  He moved inside her, and she moved with him. She was not sure if it was
  the thing to do but it felt right. She was just starting to enjoy it when
  Jay stopped.
 180      Ken Follett

 gasped, thrust again, and collapsed on her, breathing hard.
 She frowned. "Are you all right?" she said.
 "Yes," he grunted.
 Is that all, then? she thought, but she did not say it.
  He rolled off her and lay looking at her. "Did you like it?" he said.
  "It was a bit quick," she said. "Can we do it again in the morning?"

  Wearing only her shift, Cora lay back on the fur cloak and pulled Mack
  down with her. When he put his tongue in her mouth she tasted of gin. He
  lifted her skirt. The fine, red-blond hair did not bide the folds of her
  sex. He stroked it, the way he had with Annie, and Cora gasped and said:
  "Who taught you to do that, my virgin boy?"
  He pulled down his breeches. Cora reached for her purse and took out a
  small box. Inside was a tube of something that looked like parchment. A
  pink ribbon was threaded through its open end.
 "What's that?" said Mack,
 "It's called a cundum," she said.
 "What the hell is it for?"
  By way of reply she slipped it over his erect penis and tied the ribbon
  tightly.
  He said bemusedly: "Well, I know my dick isn't very pretty but I never
  thought a girl would want to cover it UP."
  She started to laugh. "You ignorant peasant, it's not for decoration,
  it's to stop me getting pregnant!"
  He rolled over and entered her, and she stopped laughing. Ever since he
  was fourteen years old he had wondered what it would feel like, but he
  still felt he hardly knew, for this was neither one thing nor the other.
  He stopped and looked down at Cora's angelic face. She opened her eyes.
  "Don't stop," she said.
 "After this, will I still be a virgin?"
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   181

  "If you are, I'll be a nun," she said. "Now stop talking. You're going to
  need all your breath." And he did.

             18

 JAY AND UZZIE MOVED INTO THE CHAPEL STREET house on the day after the
 wedding. For the first time they ate supper alone, with no one present but
 the servants. For the first time they went upstairs hand in hand, undressed
 together, and got into their own bed. For the first time they woke up
 together in their own house.
  They were naked: Lizzie had persuaded Jay to take off his nightshirt last
  night. Now she pressed herself against him and stroked his body, arousing
  him; then she rolled on top of him.
  She could tell he was surprised. "Do you mind?" she said.
 He did not reply, but started to move inside her.
 When it was over she said: "I shock you, don't IT' After a pause he said:
 "Well, yes."
 14Why?"
 "It's not ... normal for the woman to get on top."
  "I've so idea what people think is normal-I've never been in bed with a man
  before."
 "I should hope not!"
 "But how do you know what's normal?"
 "Never you rm*nd."
  He had probably seduced a few seamstresses and shopgirls who were overawed
  by him and let him take
 182      Ken Follett

 charge. Lizzie had no experience but she knew what she wanted and believed
 in taking it. She was not going to change her ways. She was enjoying it
 too much. Jay was, too, even though he was shocked: she could tell by his
 vigorous movements and the pleased look on his face afterward.
  She got up and went naked to the window. The weather was cold but sunny.
  The church bells were ringing muffled because it was a hanging day: one
  or more criminals would be executed this morning. Half the city's
  workingpeople would take an unofficial day off, and many of them would
  flock to Tyburn, the crossroads at the northwestern comer of London where
  the gallows stood, to see the spectacle.. It was the kind of occasion
  when rioting could break out, so Jay's regiment would be on alert all
  day. However, Jay had one more day's leave.
  She turned to face him and said: "Take me to the hanging."
 He looked disapproving. "A gruesome request."
 "Don't tell me it's no place for a lady."
 He smiled. "I wouldn't dare."
  "I know that rich and poor women and men go to see it."
 "But why do you want to go?"
  That was a good question. She had mixed feelings about it. It was
  shameful to make entertainment of death, and she knew she would be
  disgusted with herself afterward. But her curiosity was overwhelming. "I
  want to know what it's like," she said. "How do the condemned people
  behave? Do they weep, or pray, or gibber with fear? And what about the
  spectators? What is it like to watch a human life come to an end?"
  She had always been this way. The first time she saw a deer shot, when
  she was only nine or ten years old, she had watched enthralled as the
  keeper gralloched it. taking out its entrails. She had been fascinated
  by the multiple stomachs and had insisted on touching the
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   183

 flesh to see what it felt like. It was warm and slimy. The beast was two or
 three months pregnant, and the keeper had shown her the tiny fetus in the
 transparent womb. None of it had revolted her: it was too interesting.
  She understood perfectly why people flocked to see the spectacle. She also
  understood why others were revolted by the thought of watching it. But she
  was part of the inquisitive group.
  Jay said: "Perhaps we could hire a room overlooking the gallows-that's what
  a lot of people do."
  But Lizzie felt that would mute the experience. "Oh, no-I want to be in the
  crowd!" she protested.
 "Women of our class don't do that."
 "Tben I'll dress as a man."
 He looked doubtful.
  "Jay, don't make faces at me! You were glad enough to take me down the coal
  mine dressed as a man."
 "It is a bit different for a married woman."
  "If you tell me that all adventures are over just because we're married, I
  shall run away to sea."
 "Don't be ridiculous."
  She grinned at him and jumped onto the bed. "Don't be an old curmudgeon."
  She bounced up and down. "Let's go to the hanging."
 He could not help laughing. "All right," he said.
 "Bravo!"
  She performed her daily chores rapidly. She told the cook what to buy for
  dinner; decided which rooms the housemaids would clean; told the groom she
  would not be riding today; accepted an invitation for the two of them to
  dine with Captain Marlborough and his wife next Wednesday; postponed an
  appointment with a milliner; and took delivery of twelve brassbound trunks
  for the voyage to Virginia.
 Then she put on her disguise.
 184      Ken Follett

  The street known as T~burn Street or Oxford Street was thronged with
  people. The gallows stood at the end of the street, outside Hyde Park.
  Houses with a view of the scaffold were crowded with wealthy spectators
  who had rented rooms for the day. People stood shoulder to shoulder on
  the stone wall of the park. Hawkers moved through the crowds selling hot
  sausages and tots of gin and printed copies of what they said were the
  dying speeches of the condemned.
  Mack held Cora's hand and pushed through the crowd. He had no desire to
  watch people getting killed but Cora had insisted on going. Mack just
  wanted to spend all his free time with Cora. He liked holding her hand,
  kissing her lips whenever he wanted to, and touching her body in odd
  moments. He liked just to look at her. He enjoyed her devil-may-care
  attitude and her rough language and the wicked look in her eye. So he
  went with her to the hanging.
  A friend of hers was going to be hanged. Her name was Dolly Macaroni, and
  she was a brothel keeper, but her crime was forgery. "What did she forge,
  anyway?" Mack said as they approached the gallows.
  "A bank draft. She changed the amount from eleven pounds to eighty
  pounds."
 "Where did she get a draft for eleven pounds?"
 "From Lord Massey. She says he owed her more."
 "She ought to have been transported. not hanged."
 "They nearly always hang forgers."
  They were as close as they could get, about twenty yards away. The
  gallows was a crude wooden structure, just three posts with crossbeams.
  Five ropes hung from the beams, their ends tied in nooses ready for the
  condemned. A chaplain stood nearby, with a handful of official-looking
  men who were presumably law officers. Soldiers with muskets kept the
  crowd at a distance.
  Gradually Mack became aware of a roaring sound from farther down T~bum
  Street. "What's that noise?" he asked Cora.
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   185

 "They're coming."
  First there was a squad of peace officers on horseback, led by a
  personage who was presumably the city marshal. Next were the constables,
  on foot and armed with clubs. Then came the tumbril, a high four-wheeled
  cart drawn by two plow horses. A company of javelin men brought up the
  rear, holding their pointed spears rigidly upright.
  In the cart, sitting on what appeared to be coffins, their hands and arms
  bound with ropes, were five people: three men, a boy of about fifteen and
  a woman. "That's Dolly," Cora said, and she began to cry.
  Mack stared in horrid fascination at the five who were to die. One of the
  men was drunk. The other two looked defiant. Dolly was praying aloud and
  the boy was crying.
  The cart was driven under the scaffold. The drunk man waved to some
  friends, villainous-looking types, who stood at the front of the crowd.
  They shouted jokes and ribald comments: "Kind of the sheriff to invite
  you along!" and "I hope you've learned to dance!" and "Fry that necklace
  on for size!" Dolly asked God's forgiveness in a loud, clear voice. The
  boy cried: "Save me, Mama, save me, please!"
  The two sober men were greeted by a group at the front of the crowd.
  After a moment Mack distinguished their accents as Irish. One of the
  condemned men shouted: "Don't let the surgeons have me, boys!" There was
  a roar of assent from his friends.
 "What are they talking about?" Mack asked Cora.
  "He must be a murderer. The bodies of murderers belong to the Company of
  Surgeons. They cut them up to see what's inside."
 Mack shuddered.
  The hangman climbed on the cart. One by one he placed the nooses around
  their necks and drew them tight. None of them struggled or protested or
  tried to escape. It would have been useless, surrounded as they
 186      Ken Follett

 were by guards, but Mack thought he would have tried anyway-
  The priest, a bald man in stained robes, got up on the cart and spoke to
  each of them in turn: just for a few moments to the drunk, four or five
  minutes with the other two men, and longer with Dolly and the boy.
  Mack had heard that sometimes executions went wrong, and he began to hope
  it would happen this time. Ropes could break; the crowd had been known
  to swarm the scaffold and release the prisoners; the hangman might cut
  people down before they were dead. It was too awful to think these five
  living human beings would in a few moments be dead.
  The priest finished his work. The hangman blindfolded the five people
  with strips of rag then got down, leaving only the condemned on the cart.
  The drunk man could not keep his balance and he stumbled and fell; and
  the noose began to strangle him. Dolly continued to pray loudly.
 The hangman whipped the horses.

 Lizzie heard herself scream: "No!"
 The cart jerked and moved off.
  The hangman lashed the horses again and they struggled to a trot. The
  cart was drawn from under the condemned people and, one by one, they fell
  to the extent of the ropes: first the drunk, already half dead; then the
  two Irishmen; then the weeping boy, and at last the woman, whose prayer
  was cut off in midsentence.
  Lizzie stared at the five bodies dangling from the ropes, and she was
  filled with loathing for herself and the crowd around her.
  They were not all dead. The boy, mercifully, seemed to have broken his
  neck instantly, as did the two Irishmen; but the drunk was still moving,
  and the woman, whose blindfold had slipped, stared out of open, tenified
  eyes as she slowly choked.
 Lizzie buried her face in Jay's shoulder.
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    187

  She would have been glad to leave, but she forced herself to stay. She had
  wanted to see this and now she should stick it out until the end.
 She opened her eyes again.
  The drunk had expired, but the woman's face worked in agony. The rowdy
  onlookers had fallen silent, stilled by the horror in front of them.
  Several minutes went by.
 At last her eyes closed.
  The sheriff stepped up to cut down the bodies, and that was when the
  trouble started.
  The Irish group surged forward, trying to get past the guards to the
  scaffold. The constables fought back, and the javelin men joined in,
  stabbing at the Irish. Blood began to flow.
  "I was afraid of this," Jay said. "They want to keep their friends' bodies
  out of the hands of the surgeons. Let's get clear as fast as we can."
  Many around them had the same idea, but those at the back were trying to
  get closer and see what was happening. As some surged one way and some the
  other, fistfights broke out. Jay tried to force a way through. Lizzie stuck
  close to him. They found themselves up against an unbroken wave of people
  going the other way. Everyone was shouting or screaming. They were forced
  back toward the gallows. The scaffold was now swarming with Irish, some of
  whom were beating off the guards and dodging the lunges of the javelin men
  while others tried to cut down the bodies of their ftiends.- - - - - - -
  For no apparent reason the crush around Lizzie and Jay eased suddenly. She
  turned around and saw a gap between two big, rough-looking men. "Jay, come
  on!" she shouted, and darted between them. She turned to make sure Jay was
  behind her. Then the gap closed. Jay stepped forward to push his way
  through, but one of the men raised a hand threateningly. Jay flinched and
  stepped back, momentarily afraid. The hesitation was fatal: he was cut off
  from hm She saw his blond head
 188      Ken Follett

 above the crowd and fought to get back to him but she was stopped by a
 wall of people. "Jay!" she screamed. "Jay!" He shouted back but the crowd
 forced them farther apart. He was pushed in the direction of Tyburn Street
 while the crowd took her the opposite way, toward the park. A moment later
 he was lost from sight.
  She was on her own. She gritted her teeth and turned her back on the
  scaffold. She faced a solid pack of people. She tried to push herself
  between a small man and a big-bosomed matron. "Keep your hands to your-
  self, young man," the woman said. Lizzie persisted in pushing and managed
  to squeeze through. She repeated the process. She trod on the toes of a
  sour-faced man and he punched her in the ribs. She gasped with pain and
  pressed on.
  She saw a familiar face and recognized Mack McAsh. He, too, was fighting
  his way through the crowd. "Mack!" she yelled gratefully. He was with the
  red-haired woman who had been at his side in Grosvenor Square. "Over
  here!" Lizzie cried. "Help me!" He saw her and recognized her. Then a
  tall man's elbow jabbed her eye and for a few moments she could hardly
  see. When her vision returned to normal Mack and the woman had vanished.
  Grimly she pressed on. Inch by inch she was getting away from the fracas
  at the gallows. With each step she found it a little easier to move.
  Within five minutes she was no longer squeezing between tightly packed
  people but passing through gaps several inches wide. Eventually she came
  up against the front wall of a house. She worked her way along to the
  comer of the building and stepped into an alley two or three feet wide.
  She leaned against the house wall, catching her breath. The alley was
  foul and stank of human waste. Her ribs ached where she had been punched.
  She touched her face gingerly and found that the flesh around her eye was
  swelling.
 She hoped Jay was all right. She turned around to
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    189

 look for him, and was startled to see two men staring at her.
  One was middle-aged and unshaven with a fat belly, the other a youth of
  about eighteen. Something about their stares frightened her, but before she
  could move away they pounced. They grabbed her by the arms and threw her to
  the ground. They snatched her hat and the man's wig she wore, pulled off
  her silver-buckled shoes, and went through her pockets with bewildering
  speed, taking her purse, her pocket watch and a handkerchief
  The older man shoved the spoils into a sack, stared at her for a moment,
  then said: "That's a good coatnearly new."
  They both bent over her again and began to pull off her coat and matching
  waistcoat. She struggled but all she achieved was to rip her shirt. They
  stuffed her garments into a sack. She realized her breasts were exposed.
  Hastily she covered herself with the shreds of her clothes but she was too
  late. "Hey, it's a girl!" cried the younger man.
  She scrambled to her feet but he grabbed her and held her.
  The fat one stared at her. "And a pretty girl, too, by God," he said. He
  licked his lips. "I'm going to fuck her," he said decisively.
  Seized with horror, Lizzie struggled violently, but she could not shake off
  the young man's grip.
  The youth looked back along the alley to the crowd in the street. "What,
  here?"
  "Nobody's looking this way, you young fool." He stroked himself between the
  legs. "Get those breeches off her and let's have a look."
  The boy threw her to the ground, sat on her heavily and started to pull off
  her breeches while the other man watched. Fear flooded Lizzie and she
  screamed at the top of her voice, but there was so much noise in the street
  she doubted whether anyone would hear her.
 190      Ken Follett

 Then, suddenly, Mack McAsh appeared.
  She glimpsed his face and a raised fist, then he struck the older one on
  the side of the head. The thief rocked sideways and staggered. Mack hit
  him again, and the man's eyes rolled up into his head. Mack hit him a
  third time, and the man slumped and lay still.
  The boy scrambled off Lizzie and tried to run away but she grabbed his
  ankle and tripped him. He measured his length on the ground. Mack picked
  him up and threw him against the house wall, then hit him on the chin
  with a punch that came up from below with all his weight behind it, and
  the boy fell unconscious on top of his partner-in-crime.
  Lizzie got to her feet. "Thank God you were here!" she said fervently.
  Tears of relief filled her eyes. She threw her arms around him and said:
  "You saved methank you, thank you!"
  He hugged her closely. "You saved me, once-when you pulled me out of the
  river."
  She held him tight and tried to stop shaking. She felt his hand behind
  her head, stroking her hair. In her breeches and shirt, with no
  petticoats to get in the way, she could feel the entire length of his
  body pressed against hers. He felt completely different from her husband.
  Jay was tall and supple, Mack short and massive and hard.
  He shifted and looked at her. His green eyes were mesmerizing. The rest
  of his face seemed to blur. "You saved me, and I saved you," he said with
  a wry smile. "I'm your guardian angel, and you're mine."
  She began to calm down. She remembered that her shirt was torn and her
  breasts were bare. "If I were an angel, I wouldn't be in your arms," she
  said, and she made to detach herself from his embrace.
  He looked into her eyes for a moment, then gave that wry smile again and
  nodded, as if agreeing with her. He turned away.
 He bent and took the sack from the older thief's limp
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   191

 hand. He took out her waistcoat and she put it on, buttoning it hastily to
 cover her nakedness. As soon as she felt safe again she began to worry about
 Jay. "I have to look for my husband," she said as Mack helped her put her
 coat on. "Will you help me?"
  "Of course." He handed her the wig and hat, purse and watch and
  handkerchief.
 "What about your red-haired friend?" she asked.
 "Cora. I made sure she was safe before I came after
 YOU."
  "Did you?" Lizzie felt unreasonably irritated. "Are you and Cora lovers?"
  she said rudely.
  Mack smiled. "Yes," he said. "Since the day before yesterday."
 "My wedding day."
 "I'm having a wonderful time. Are you?"
  A sharp retort came to her lips then, despite herself, she laughed. "Thank
  you for rescuing me," she said, and she leaned forward and kissed him
  briefly on the lips.
 "I'd do it all over again for a kiss like that."
 She grinned at him then turned toward the street.
 Jay stood there watching.
  She felt terribly guilty. Had he seen her kiss McAsh? She guessed he had,
  by the thunderous look on his face. "Oh, Jay!" she said. "Thank heaven
  you're all right!"
 "What happened here?" he said.
 "Those two men robbed me."
  "I knew we shouldn't have come." He took her by the arm to lead her out of
  the alley.
  "McAsh knocked them down and rescued me," she said.
 "That's no reason to kiss him," said her husband.
              19

 JAY'S REGIMENT WAS ON DUTY IN PALACE YARD ON
 the day of John Wilkes's trial.
  The liberal hero had been convicted of criminal libel years ago and had
  fled to Paris. On his return, earlier that year, he was accused of being
  an outlaw. But while the legal action against him dragged on he won the
  Middlesex by-election handsomely. However, he had not yet taken his seat
  in Parliament, and the government hoped to prevent him doing so by having
  him convicted in court.
  Jay steadied his horse and looked nervously over the crowd of several
  hundred Wilkes supporters milling around outside Westminster Hall, where
  the UW was taking place. Many of them wore pinned to their hats the blue
  cockade that identified them as Wilkesites. Tories such as Jay's father
  wanted Wilkes silenced, but everyone was worried about what his
  supporters would do.
  If violence broke out, Jay's regiment was supposed to keep order. There
  was a small detachment of guards-too damn small, in Jay's opinion: just
  forty men and a few officers under Colonel Cranbrough, Jay's commanding
  officer. They formed a thin red-andwhite line between the court building
  and the mob.
  Cranbrough took orders from the Westminster magistrates, represented by
  Sir John Fielding. Fielding was blind, but that did not seem to hinder
  him in his work. He was a famous reforming justice, although Jay
              192
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    193

 thought him too soft. He had been known to say that crime was caused by
 poverty. That was like saying adultery was caused by marriage.
  The young officers were always hoping to see action, and Jay said he felt
  the same, but he was also scared. He had never actually used his sword or
  gun in a real fight.
  It was a long day, and the captains took turns to break off from patrolling
  and drink a glass of wine. Toward the end of the. afternoon, while Jay was
  giving his horse an apple, he was approached by Sidney Lennox.
  His heart sank. Lennox wanted his money. No doubt he had intended to ask
  for it when he called at Grosvenor Square but had postponed the request be-
  cause of the wedding.
  Jay did not have the money. But he was terrified that Lennox would go to
  his father.
  He put on a show of bravado. "What are you doing here, Lennox? I didn't
  know you were a Wilkesite."
  "John Wilkes can go to the devil," Lennox replied. "I've come about the
  hundred and fifty pounds you lost at Lord Archer's faro game."
  Jay blanched at the reminder of the amount. His father gave him thirty
  pounds a month, but it was never enough, and he did not know when he could
  lay his hands on a hundred and fifty. The thought that his father might
  find out he had lost more money gambling made his legs feel weak. He would
  do anything to avoid that. "I may have to ask you to wait a little longer,"
  he said with a feeble attempt at an air of superior indifference.
  Lennox did not reply directly. "I believe you know a man called Mack
  McAsh."
 "Unfortunately I do."
  "He's started his own coal heaving gang, with the help of Caspar Gordonson.
  The two of them are causing a lot of trouble."
 194      Ken Follett

  "It doesn't surprise me. He was a damned nuisance in my father's coal
  mine."
  "The problem is not just McAsh," Lennox went on. "His two cronies, Dermot
  Riley and Charlie Smith, have gangs of their own now, and there'll be more
  by the end of the week."
 "That will cost you undertakers a fortune."
 "It will ruin the trade unless it's stopped."
 "All the same, it's not my problem."
 "But you could help me with it."
  "I doubt it." Jay did not want to get involved with Lennox's business.
 "It would be worth money to me."
 "How much?" Jay said warily.
 "A hundred and fifty pounds."
  Jay's heart leaped. The prospect of wiping out his debt was a godsend.
  But Lennox would not readily give away so much. He must want a heavyweight
  favor. "What would I have to do?" Jay said suspiciously.
  "I want the ship owners to refuse to hire McAsh's gangs. Now, some of the
  coal shippers are undertakers themselves, so they will cooperate. But most
  are independent. The biggest owner in London is your father. If he gave a
  lead, the others would follow."
  "But why should lie? He doesn't care about undertakers and coal heavers."
  "He's alderman of Wapping, and the undertakers have a lot of votes. He
  ought to defend our interests. Besides, the coal heavers are a troublesome
  crowd, and we keep them under control."
  Jay frowned. It was a tall order. He had no influence at all with his
  father. Few people did: Sir George could not be influenced into coming in
  out of the rain. But Jay had to try.
  A roar from the crowd signaled that Wilkes was coming out. Jay mounted his
  horse hastily. "I'll see what I can do," he called to Lennox as he trotted
  away.
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    195

  Jay found Chip Marlborough and said: "What's happening?"
  "Wilkes has been refused bail and committed to the King's Bench Prison."
  The colonel was mustering his officers. He said to Jay: "Pass the word-no
  one is to fire unless Sir John gives the order. Tell your men."
  Jay suppressed an anxious protest. How were soldiers to control the mob if
  their hands were tied? But he rode around and relayed the instruction.
  A carriage emerged from the gateway. The crowd gave a bloodcurdling roar,
  and Jay felt a stab of fear. The soldiers made a path for the carriage by
  beating the mob with their muskets. Wilkes's supporters ran across
  Westminster Bridge, and Jay realized that the carriage would have to cross
  the river into Surrey to get to the prison. He spurred his horse toward the
  bridge, but Colonel Cranbrough waved him down. "Don't cross the bridge," he
  commanded. "Our orders are to keep the peace here, outside the court."
  Jay reined in. Surrey was a separate district, and the Surrey magistrates
  had not asked for army support. This was ridiculous. He watched, helpless,
  as the carriage crossed the river Thames. Before it reached the Surrey side
  the crowd stopped it and detached the horses.
  Sir John Fielding was in the heart of the throng, following the carriage
  with two assistants to guide him and tell him what was happening. As Jay
  watched, a dozen strong men got between the traces and began to pull the
  carriage themselves. They turned it around and headed back toward
  Westminster, and the mob roared its approval.
  Jay's heart beat faster. What would happen when the mob reached Palace
  Yard? Colonel Cranbrough was holding up a cautionary hand, indicating that
  they should do nothing.
 196      Ken Follett

  Jay said to Chip: "Do you think we could take the carriage away from the
  mob?"
  "The magistrates don't want any bloodshed," Chip said.
  One of Sir John's clerks darted through the crowd and conferred with
  Cranbrough.
  Once across the bridge the mob turned the carriage east. Cranbrough
  shouted to his men: "Follow at a distance--don't take action!"
  The detachment of guards fell in behind the mob. Jay ground his teeth.
  This was humiliating. A few rounds of musket fire would disperse the
  crowd in a minute. He could see that Wilkes would make political capital
  out of being fired on by the troops, but so what?
  The carriage was drawn along the Strand and into the heart of the city.
  The mob sang and danced and shouted "Wilkes and liberty!" and "Number
  forty-five!" They did not stop until they reached Spitalfields. There the
  carriage drew up outside the church. Wilkes got out and went into the
  Three Tuns tavern, followed hastily by Sir John Fielding.
  Some of his supporters went in after them, but they could not all get
  through the door. They milled about in the street for a while, and then
  Wilkes appeared at an upstairs window, to tumultuous applause. He began
  to speak. Jay was too far away to hear everything, but he caught the
  general drift: Wilkes was appealing for order.
  During the speech Fielding's clerk came out and spoke to Colonel
  Cranbrough again. Cranbrough whispered the news to his captains. A deal
  had been done: Wilkes would slip out of a back door and surrender himself
  at the King's Bench Prison tonight.
  Wilkes finished his speech, waved and bowed, and vanished. As it became
  clear that he was not going to reappear, the crowd began to get bored and
  drift away. Sir John came out of the Three Tuns and shook Cranbrough's
  hand. "A splendid job, Colonel, and my
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    197

 thanks to your men. Bloodshed was avoided and the law was satisfied." He was
 putting a brave face on it, Jay thought, but the truth was that the law had
 been laughed at by the mob.
  As the guard marched back to Hyde Park, Jay felt depressed. He had been
  keyed up for a fight all day, and the letdown was hard to bear. But the
  government could not go on appeasing the mob forever. Sooner or later they
  would try to clamp down. Then there would be action.

  When he had dismissed his men and checked that the horses were taken care
  of, Jay remembered Lennox's proposition. Jay was reluctant to put Lennox's
  plan to his father, but it would be easier than asking for a hundred and
  fifty pounds to pay another gambling debt. So he decided to call in at
  Grosvenor Square on his way home.
  It was late. The family had eaten supper, the footman said, and Sir George
  was in the small study at the back of the house. Jay hesitated in the cold,
  marble-floored hall. He hated to ask his father for anything. He would
  either be scorned for wanting the wrong thing, or reprimanded for demanding
  more than his due. But he had to go through with it. He knocked on the door
  and went in.
  Sir George was drinking wine and yawning over a list of molasses prices.
  Jay sat down and said: "Wilkes was refused bail."
 "So I heard."
  Perhaps his father would like to hear how Jay's regiment had kept the
  peace. "The mob drew his carriage to Spitalfields, and we followed, but he
  promised to surrender himself tonight."
 "Good. What brings you here so late?"
  Jay gave up trying to interest his father in what he had done today. "Did
  you know that Malachi McAsh has surfaced here in London?"
 198      Ken Follett

  His father shook his head. "I don't think it matters," he said
  dismissively.
 "He's stirring up trouble among the coal heavers."
  "That doesn't take much doing-they're a quarrelsome lot."
  "I've been asked to approach you on behalf of the undertakers."
  Sir George raised his eyebrows. "Why you?" he said in a tone that implied
  no one with any sense would employ Jay as an ambassador.
  Jay shrugged. "I happen to be acquainted with one particular undertaker,
  and he asked me to come to you."
  "Tavern keepers are a powerful voting group," Sir George said
  thoughtfully. "What's the proposition?"
  "McAsh and his friends have started independent gangs who don't work
  through the undertakers. The undertakers are asking ship owners to be
  loyal to them and tum away the new gangs. They feel that if you give a
  lead the other shippers will follow."
 "I'm not sure I should interfere. It's not our battle."
  Jay was disappointed. He thought he had put the proposition well. He
  pretended indifference. "It's nothing to me, but I'm surprised-you're
  always saying we've got to take a firm line with seditious laboring men
  who get ideas above their station."
  At that moment there was a terrific hammering at the front door. Sir
  George frowned and Jay stepped into the hall to have a look. A footman
  hurried past and opened the door. There stood a burly workingman with
  clogs on his feet and a blue cockade in his greasy cap. "Light up!" he
  ordered the footman. "Illuminate for Wilkes!"
  Sir George emerged from the study and stood with Jay, watching, Jay said:
  "They do this-make people put candles in all their windows in support of
  Wilkes."
 Sir George said: "What's that on the door?"
  They walked forward. The number 45 was chalked on the door. Outside in
  the square a small mob was going from house to house.
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    199

  Sir George confronted the man on the doorstep. "Do you know what you've
  done?" he said. "That number is a code. It means: 'The king is a liar.'
  Your precious Wilkes has gone to jail for it, and you could too."
  "Will you light up for Wilkes?" the man said, ignoring Sir George's speech.
  Sir George reddened. It infuriated him when the lower orders failed to
  treat him with deference. "Go to the devil!" he said, and he slammed the
  door in the man's face.
  He went back to the study and Jay followed him. As they sat down they heard
  the sound of breaking glass. They both jumped up again and rushed into the
  dining room at the front of the house. There was a broken pane in one of
  the two windows and a stone on the polished wood floor. "That's Best Crown
  Glass!" Sir George said furiously. "Two shillings a square foot!" As they
  stood staring, another stone crashed through the other window.
  Sir George stepped into the hall and spoke to the footman. "Tell everyone
  to move to the back of the house, out of hann's way," he said.
  The footman, looking scared, said: "Wouldn't it be better just to put
  candles in the windows like they said, sir?"
  "Shut your damned mouth and do as you're told," Sir George replied.
  There was a third smash somewhere upstairs, and Jay heard his mother scream
  in fright. He ran up the stairs, his heart pounding, and met her coming out
  of the drawing room. "Are you all right, Mama?"
  She was pale but calm. "I'm fine-what's happening?"
  Sir George came up the stairs saying with suppressed fury: "Nothing to be
  afraid of, just a damned Wilkesite mob. We'll stay out of the way until
  they've gone."
  As more windows were smashed they all hurried into the small sitting-room
  at the rear of the house. Jay
200   Ken Follett

 could see his father was boiling with rage. Being forced to retreat was
 guaranteed to madden him. This might be the moment to bring up Lennox's
 request again. Throwing caution to the winds he said: "You know, Father, we
 really have to start dealing more decisively with these troublemakers."
 "What the devil are you talking about?"
  "I was thinking of McAsh and the coal heavers. If they're allowed to defy
  authority once, they'll do it again." It was not like him to speak this
  way, and he caught a curious glance from his mother. He plowed on. "Better
  to nip these things in the bud. Teach them to know their place."
  Sir George looked as if he were about to make another angry rejoinder; then
  he hesitated, scowled and said: "You're absolutely right. We'll do it
  tomorrow."
 Jay smiled.

             20

As MACK WALKED DOWN THE MUDDY LANE KNOWN AS
Wapping High Street he felt he knew what it must be
like to be king. From every tavern doorway, from win
dows and yards and rooftops, men waved at him, called
out his name and pointed him out to their friends.
Everyone wanted to shake his hand. But the men's ap
preciation was nothing compared with that of their
wives. The men were not only bringing home three or
four times as much money, they were also ending the
day much soberer. The women embraced him in the
street and kissed his hands and called to their neigh-
                                            A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    201

 bors, saying: "It's Mack McAsh, the man who defied the undertakers, come
 quick and see!"
  He reached the waterfront and looked over the broad gray river. The tide
  was high and there were several new ships at anchor. He looked for a
  boatman to row him out. The traditional undertakers waited at their taverns
  until the captains came to them and asked for a gang to uncoal their ships:
  Mack and his gangs went to the captains, saving them time and making sure
  of the work.
  He went out to the Prince of Denmark and climbed aboard. The crew had gone
  ashore, leaving one old sailor smoking a pipe on deck. He directed Mack to
  the captain's cabin. The skipper was at the table, writing laboriously in
  the ship's log with a quill pen. "Good day to you, Captain," Mack said with
  a friendly smile. "I'm Mack McAsh."
  "What is it?" the man said gruffly. He did not ask Mack to take a seat.
  Mack ignored his rudeness: captains were never very polite. "Would you like
  your ship uncoaled quickly and efficiently tomorrow?" he said pleasantly.
 'No.
  Mack was surprised. Had someone got here before him? "Who's going to do it
  for you, then?"
 "None of your damn business."
  "It certainly is my business; but if you don't want to tell me, no
  matter-someone else will."
 "Good day to you, then."
  Mack frowned. He was reluctant to leave without finding out what was wrong.
  "What the devil is the trouble with you, Captain-have I done something to
  offend you?"
  "I've nothing more to say to you, young man, and you'll oblige me by taking
  your leave."
  Mack had a bad feeling about this but he could not think of anything else
  to say, so he left. Ships' captains
 202      Ken Follett

 were a notoriously bad-tempered lot-perhaps because they were away from
 their wives so much.
  He looked along the river. Another new ship, Whitehaven Jack, was anchored
  next to the Prince. Her crew were still furling sails and winding ropes
  into neat coils on the deck. Mack decided to try her next, and got his
  boatman to take him there.
  He found the captain on the poop deck with a young gentleman in sword and
  wig. He greeted them with the relaxed courtesy which, he had found, was the
  fastest way to win people's confidence. "Captain, sir, good day to you
  both."
  This captain was polite. "Good day to you. This is Mr. Tallow, the owner's
  son. What's your businessT'
  Mack replied: "Would you like your ship uncoaled tomorrow by a fast and
  sober gang?"
 The captain and the gentleman spoke together.
 "Yes," said the captain.
 'No, said Tallow.
  The captain showed surprise and looked questioningly at Tallow. The young
  man addressed Mack, saying: "You're McAsh, aren't youT'
  "Yes. I believe shippers are beginning to take my name as a guarantee of
  good work-"
 "We don't want you," said Tallow.
  This second rejection riled Mack. "Why not?" he said challengingly.
  "We've done business with Harry Nipper at the Frying Pan for years and
  never had any trouble."
  The captain interjected: "I wouldn't exactly say we've had no trouble."
 Tallow glared at him.
  Mack said: "And it's not fair that men should be forced to drink their
  wages, is itT'
  Tallow looked piqued. "I'm not going to argue with the likes of you-there's
  no work for you here, so be off."
 Mack persisted. "But why would you want your ship
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    203

 uncoaled in three days by a drunken and rowdy gang when you could have it
 done faster by my men?"
  The captain, who was clearly not overawed by the owner's son, added:
  "Yes, I'd like to know that."
  "Don't you dare to question me, either of you," Tallow said. He was
  trying to stand on his dignity but he was a little too young to succeed.
  A suspicion crossed Mack's mind. "Has someone told you not to hire my
  gang?" The look on Tallow's face told him he had guessed right.
  "You'll find that nobody on the river will hire your gang, or Riley's or
  Charlie Smith's," Tallow said petulantly. "The word has gone out that
  you're a troublemaker."
  Mack realized this was very serious, and a cold chill settled on his
  heart. He had known that Lennox and the undertakers would move against
  him sooner or later, but he had not expected them to be supported by the
  ship owners.
  It was a little puzzling. The old system was not particularly good for
  the owners. However, they had worked with the undertakers for years, and
  perhaps sheer conservatism led them to side with people they knew,
  regardless of justice.
  It would be no use to show anger, so he spoke mildly to Tallow. "I'm
  sorry you've made that decision. It's bad for the men and bad for the
  owners. I hope you'll reconsider, and I bid you good day."
  Tallow made no reply, and Mack had himself rowed ashore. He felt dashed.
  He held his head in his hands and looked at the filthy brown water of the
  Thames. What had made him think he could defeat a group of men as wealthy
  and ruthless as the undertakers? They had connections and support. Who
  was he? Mack McAsh from Heugh.
 He should have foreseen this.
  He jumped ashore and made his way to St. Luke's Coffee House, which had
  become his unofficial head-
   204      Ken Follett

 quarters. There were now at least five gangs working the new system. Next
 Saturday night, when the remaining old-style gangs received their
 decimated wages from the rapacious tavern keepers, most of them would
 change over. But the shippers' boycott would ruin that prospect.
  The coffeehouse was next to St. Luke's Church. It served beer and spirits
  as well as coffee, and food too, but everyone sat down to eat and drink,
  whereas most stood up in a tavern.
  Cora was there, eating bread and butter. Although it was midafternoon,
  this was her breakfast: she was often up half the night. Mack asked for
  a plate of hashed mutton and a tankard of beer and sat down with her.
  Straightaway she said: "What's the matter?"
  He told her. As he talked he watched her innocent face. She was ready for
  work, dressed in the orange gown she had worn the first time he had met
  her and scented with her spicy perfume. She looked like a picture of the
  Virgin Mary, but she smelled like a sultan's harem. It was no wonder that
  drunks with gold in their purses were willing to follow her down dark
  alleys, he thought.
  He had spent three of the last six nights with her. She wanted to buy him
  a new coat. He wanted her to give up the life she led. She was his first
  real lover.
  As he was finishing his story, Dermot and Charlie came in. He had been
  cherishing a faint hope that they might have had better luck than he, but
  their expressions told him they had not. Charlie's black face was a
  picture of despondency, and Dermot said in his Irish brogue: "The owners
  have conspired against us. There's not a captain on the river that will
  give us work."
  "Damn their eyes," Mack said. The boycott was working and he was in
  trouble.
  He suffered a moment of righteous indignation. All he wanted was to work
  hard and earn enough money to
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   205

 buy his sister's freedom, but he was constantly thwarted by people who had
 money in bagfuls.
 Dermot said: "We're finished, Mack."
  His readiness to give up angered Mack more than the boycott itself
  "Finished?" he said scornfully. "Are you a man or what?"
  "But what can we do?" said Dermot. "If the owners won't hire our gangs, the
  men will go back to the old system. They've got to live."
  Without thinking, Mack said: "We could organize a strike."
 The other men were silent.
 Cora said: "Strike?"
  Mack had blurted out his suggestion as soon as it came into his mind but,
  as he thought more, it seemed the only thing to do. "All the coal heavers
  want to change to our system," he said. "We could persuade them to stop
  working for the old undertakers. Then the shippers would have to hire the
  new gangs."
  Dermot was skeptical. "Suppose they still refuse to hire us?"
  This pessimism angered Mack. Why did men always expect the worst? "If they
  do that, no coal will come ashore."
 "What will the men live on?"
  "They can afford to take a few days off. It happens all the time-when there
  are no coal ships in port none of us work."
 "That's true. But we couldn't hold out forever."
  Mack wanted to scream with frustration. "Nor can the shippers-London must
  have coal!"
  Dermot still looked dubious. Cora said: "But what else can vou do, Dermot?"
  Dermot frowned, and he thought for a moment, then his face cleared. "I'd
  hate to go back to the old ways. I'll give it a try, by gob."
 "Good!" said Mack, relieved.
 206      Ken Follett

  "I was in a strike once," Charlie said lugubriously. "It's the wives that
  suffer."
  "When were you in a strike?" Mack asked. He had no experience: it was
  something he had read about in the newspapers.
 "Three years ago, on Tyneside. I was a coal miner."
  "I didn't know you'd been a miner." It had never occurred to Mack, or
  anyone in Heugh, that miners could strike. "How did it end?"
 "The coal owners gave in," Charlie admitted.
 "There you are!" Mack said triumphantly.
  Cora said anxiously: "You're not up against northern landowners here, Mack.
  You're talking about London tavern keepers, the scum of the earth. They
  might just send someone to cut your throat while you sleep."
  Mack looked into her eyes and saw that she was genuinely frightened for
  him. "I'll take precautions," he said.
 She gave him a skeptical look but said no more.
  Dermot said: "It's the men that will have to be persuaded."
  "That's fight," Mack said decisively. "There's no point in the four of us
  discussing it as if we had the power to make the decision. We'll call a
  meeting. What o'clock is it?"
  They all glanced outside. It was becoming evening. Cora said: "It must be
  six."
  Mack went on: "The gangs that are working today will finish as soon as it
  gets dark. You two go around all the taverns along the High Street and
  spread the word."
  They both nodded. Charlie said: "We can't meet here-it's too small. There
  are about fifty gangs altogether."
  "The Jolly Sailor's got a big courtyard," said Dermot. "And the landlord's
  not an undertaker."
  "Right," Mack agreed. "Tell them to be there an hour after nightfall."
                             '107
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM
 "They won't a get there," said Charlie.
 "Most will, though."
  Dermot said: "We'll round up as many as we can." He and Charlie went out.
  Mack looked at Cora. "Are you taking an evening off?" he said hopefully.
  She shook her head. "Just waiting for my accomplice."
  It troubled Mack that Peg was a thief and Cora was responsible. "I wish we
  could find a way for that child to make a living without stealing," he
  said.
 "Why?"
 The question flummoxed him. "Well, obviously
 "Obviously what?"
 "It would be better if she grew up honest."
 "How would it be better?"
  Mack heard the undertone of anger in Cora's questions, but he could not
  back off now. "What she does now is dangerous. She could end up hanging at
  Tyburn."
  "Would she be better off scrubbing the kitchen floor in some rich house,
  beaten by the cook and raped by the master?"
 "I don't think every kitchen skivvy gets raped---2'
  "Every pretty one does. And how would I make a living without her?"
  "You could do anything, you're shrewd and beautiful-"
  "I don't want to do anYthing, Mack, I want to do this."
 "Why?"
  "I like it. I like dressing up and drinking gin and flirting. I steal from
  stupid men who have more money than they deserve. It's exciting and it's
  easy and I make ten times as much as I'd get dressmaking or running a
  little shop or serving customers in a coffeehouse."
  He was shocked. He had thought she would say she stole because she had to.
  The notion that she liked it
 208      Ken Follett

 overturned his expectations. "I really don't know you," he said.
  "You're clever, Mack, but you don't know a damn thing."
  Peg arrived. She was pale and thin and fired, as always. Mack said: "Have
  you had some breakfast?"
  "No," she said, sitting down. "I'd love a glass of gin."
  Mack waved at a waiter. "A bowl of porridge with cream, please."
  Peg made a face, but when the food came she tucked in with relish.
  While she was eating, Caspar Gordonson came in. Mack was glad to see him:
  he had been thinking of calling at the Fleet Street house to discuss the
  shippers' boycott and the idea of a strike. Now he swiftly ran over the
  day's events while the untidy lawyer sipped brandy.
  As Mack talked, Gordonson looked more and more worried. When he had done,
  the lawyer began to speak in his high-pitched voice. "You have to
  understand that our rulers are frightened. Not just the royal court and the
  government, but the entire top layer: dukes and earls, aldennen, judges,
  merchants, landowners. All this talk of liberty unnerves them, and the food
  riots last year and the year before showed them what the people can do when
  they're angry."
  "Good!" said Mack. "Then they should give us what we want."
  "Not necessarily. They're afraid that if they do that you'll only ask for
  more. What they really want is an excuse to call out the troops and shoot
  people."
  Mack could see that behind Gordonson's cool analysis lay real fear. "Do
  they need an excuse?"
  "Oh, yes. That's because of John Wilkes. He's a real thorn in their flesh.
  He accuses the government of being despotic. And as soon as troops are used
  against citizens, then thousands of people of the middling sort will
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   209

 say: 'There, Wilkes was right, this government is a tyranny.' And all those
 shopkeepers and silversmiths and bakers have votes."
 "So what kind of excuse does the government need?"
  "They want you to scare those middling people by violence and rioting. That
  will get people worrying about the need to maintain order, and stop them
  thinking about freedom of speech. Then, when the army marches in, there
  will be a collective sigh of relief instead of a roar of outrage."
  Mack was fascinated and unnerved. He had never thought about politics this
  way. He had discussed highflown theories out of books, and he had been the
  helpless victim of unjust laws, but this was halfway between the two. This
  was the zone where contending forces struggled and swayed, and tactics
  could alter the result. This, he felt, was the real thing-and it was
  dangerous.
  The enchantment was lost on Gordonson: he just looked worried. "I got you
  into this, Mack, and if you get killed it will be on my conscience."
  His fear began to infect Mack. Four months ago I was just a coal miner, he
  thought; now I'm an enemy of the government, someone they want to kill. Did
  I ask for this? But he was under a powerful obligation. Just as Gordonson
  felt responsible for him, he was responsible for the coal beavers. He could
  not run away and hide. It would be shameful and cowardly. He had led the
  men into trouble and now he had to lead them out of it.
  "What do you think we should do?" he asked Gordonson.
  "If the men agree to strike, your job will be to keep them under control.
  You'll have to stop them setting fire to ships and murdering strikebreakers
  and laying siege to undertakers' taverns. These men aren't parsons, as you
  well know-they're young and strong and angry, and if they run riot they'll
  bum London."
 210      Ken Follett

  "I think I might be able to do that," Mack said. "Mey listen to me. They
  seem to respect me."
  "They worship you," Gordonson said. "And that puts you in even greater
  danger. You're a ringleader, and the government may break the strike by
  hanging you. From the moment the men say yes, you'll be in terrible dan-
  ger."
  Mack was beginning to wish he had never mentioned the word "strike." He
  said: "What should I do?"
  "Leave the place where you're lodging and move somewhere else. Keep your
  address secret from all but a few trusted people."
 Cora said: "Come and live with me."
  Mack managed a smile. That part would not be difficult.
  Gordonson went on: "Don't show yourself on the streets in daylight.
  Appear at meetings, then vanish. Become a ghost."
  It was faintly ridiculous, Mack felt, but his fear made him accept it.
  "All tight."
  Cora got up to leave. To Mack's surprise, Peg put her arms around his
  waist and hugged him. "Be careful, Scotch Jock," she said. "Don't get
  knifed."
  Mack was surprised and touched by how much they all cared for him. Three
  months ago he had never met Peg, Cora or Gordonson.
  Cora kissed him on the lips and then sauntered out, already swaying her
  hips seductively. Peg followed.
  A few moments later Mack and Gordonson left for the Jolly Sailor. It was
  dark, but Wapping High Street was busy, and candlelight gleamed from
  tavern doorways, house windows and handheld lanterns. The tide was out,
  and a strong smell of rottenness wafted up from the foreshore.
  Mack was surprised to see the tavern's courtyard packed with men. There
  were about eight hundred coal heavers in London, and at least half of
  them were here. Someone had hastily erected a crude platform and
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   211

 placed four blazing torches around it for illumination. Mack pushed through
 the crowd. Every man recognized him and spoke a word or clapped him on the
 back. The news of his arrival spread quickly and they started to cheer. By
 the time he reached the platform they were roaring. He stepped up and gazed
 at them. Hundreds of coal-smeared faces looked back at him in the
 torchlight. He fought back tears of gratitude for their trust in him. He
 could not speak: they were shouting too loudly. He held up his hands for
 quiet, but it did no good. Some cried his name, others yelled "Wilkes and
 liberty!" and other slogans. Gradually one chant emerged and came to
 dominate the rest, until they were all bellowing the same:
 "Strike! Strike! Strike!"
  Mack stood and stared at them, thinking: What have I done?

             21

 JAY JAMISSON RECEIVED A NOTE FROM HIS FATHER AT
 breakfast time. It was characteristically curt.

Grosvenor Square 8 o'clock a.m.

  Meet me at mY place of business at noon.
                            --G.J.

  His first guilty thought was that Father had found out about the deal he
  had made with Lennox.
 212      Ken Follett

  It had gone off perfectly. The shippers had boycotted the new coal
  heaving gangs, as Lennox had wanted; and Lennox had returned Jay's IOUs,
  as agreed. But now the coal heavers were on strike and no coal had been
  landed in London for a week, Had Father discovered that all that might
  not have happened but for Jay's gambling debts? The thought was dreadful.
  He went to the Hyde Park encampment as usual and got permission from
  Colonel Cranbrough to be absent in the middle of the day. He spent the
  morning worrying. His bad temper made his men surly and his horses
  skittish.
  The church bells were striking twelve as he entered the Jamissons'
  riverside warehouse. The dusty air was laden with spicy smells--coffee
  and cinnamon, rum and port, pepper and oranges. It always made Jay think
  of his childhood, when the barrels and tea-chests had seemed so much
  bigger. Now he felt as he had as a boy, when he had done something
  naughty and was about to be carpeted. He crossed the floor, acknowledging
  the deferential greetings of the men, and climbed a rickety wooden
  staircase to the counting-house. After passing through a lobby occupied
  by clerks he went into his father's office, a comer room full of maps and
  bills and pictures of ships.
  "Good morning, Father," he said. "Where's Robert?" His brother was almost
  always at Father's side.
  "He had to go to Rochester. But this concerns you more than him. Sir
  Philip Armstrong wants to see me."
  Armstrong was the right-hand man of Secretary of State Viscount Weymouth.
  Jay felt even more nervous. Was he in trouble with the government as well
  as with his father? "What does Armstrong want?"
  "He wants this coal strike brought to an end and he knows we started it."
  This did not seem to have anything to do with gambling debts, Jay
  inferred. But he was still anxious.
 "He'll be here any moment now," Father added.
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    213

  "Why is he coining here?" Such an important personage would normally summon
  people to his office in Whitehall.
 "Secrecy, I imagine."
  Before he could ask any more questions the door opened and Armstrong came
  in. Both Jay and Sir George stood up. Armstrong was a middle-aged man
  formally dressed with wig and sword. He walked with his nose a little high,
  as if to show that he did not usually descend into the mire of commercial
  activity. Sir George did not like him-Jay could tell by his father's
  expression as he shook hands and asked Armstrong to sit down.
  Armstrong refused a glass of wine. "This strike has to end," he said. 'The
  coal heavers have closed down half of London's industry."
  Sir George said: "We tried to get the sailors to uncoal the ships. It
  worked for a day or two."
 "What went wrong?"
  "They were persuaded, or intimidated, or both, and now they are on strike
  too."
  "And the watermen," Annstrong said with exasperation. "And even before the
  coal dispute started, there was trouble with tailors, silk weavers,
  hatters, sawyers.... This cannot go on."
 "But why have you come to me, Sir Philip?"
  "Because I understand you were influential in starting the shippers'
  boycott which provoked the coal heavers."
 "It's true."
 "May I ask why?"
  Sir George looked at Jay, who swallowed nervously and said: "I was
  approached by the undertakers who organized the coal heaving gangs. My
  father and I did not want the established order on the waterfront to be
  disturbed."
 "Quite right, I'm sure," Armstrong said, and Jay
 214      Ken Follett

 thought: Get to the point. "Do you know who the ringleaders are?"
  "I certainly do," Jay said. "The most important is a man called Malachi
  McAsh, known as Mack. As it happens, he used to be a coal hewer in my
  father's mines."
  "I'd like to see McAsh arrested and charged with a capital offense under
  the Riot Act. But it would have to be plausible: no trumped-up charges or
  bribed witnesses. There would have to be a real riot, unmistakably led by
  striking workmen, with firearms used against officers of the Crown, and
  numerous people killed and injured."
  Jay was confused. Was Armstrong telling the Jam~issons to organize such a
  riot?
  His father showed no sign of puzzlement. "You make yourself very clear, Sir
  Philip." He looked at Jay. "Do you know where McAsh can be found?"
  "No," he said. Then, seeing the expression of scom on his father's face, he
  added hastily: "But I'm sure I can find out,"

  At daybreak Mack woke Cora and made love to her. She had come to bed in the
  small hours, smelling of tobacco smoke, and he had kissed her and gone back
  to sleep. Now he was wide awake and she was the sleepy one. Her body was
  warm and relaxed, her skin soft, her red hair tangled. She wrapped her arms
  around him loosely and moaned quietly, and at the end she gave a small cry
  of delight. Then she went back to sleep.
  He watched her for a while. Her face was perfect, small and pink and
  regular. But her way of life troubled him more and more. It seemed
  hard-hearted to use a child as her accomplice. If he talked to her about
  it, she got angry and told him that he was guilty too, for he was living
  here rent free and eating the food she bought with her ill-gotten gains.
 He sighed and got up.
 Cora's home was the upstairs floor of a tumbledown
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    215

 building in a coal yard. The yard owner had once lived here, but when he
 prospered he had moved. Now he used the ground floor as an office and
 rented the upper floor to Cora.
  There were two rooms, a big bed in one and a table and chairs in the
  other. The bedroom was full of what Cora spent all her money on: clothes.
  Both Esther and Annie had owned two dresses, one for work and one for
  Sundays, but Cora had eight or ten different outfits, all in striking
  colors: yellow, red, bright green and rich brown. She had shoes to match
  each one, and as many stockings and gloves and handkerchiefs as a fine
  lady.
  He washed his face, dressed quickly and left. A few minutes later he was
  at Dermot's house. The family were eating their breakfast porridge. Mack
  smiled at the children. Every time he used Cora's "cundum" he wondered
  if he would have children of his own someday. At times he thought he
  would like Cora to have his baby; then he remembered how she lived and
  changed his mind.
  Mack refused a bowl of porridge, for he knew they could not spare it.
  Dermot, like Mack, was living off a woman: his wife washed pots in a
  coffeehouse in the evenings while he took care of the children.
  "You've got a letter," Dermot said, and handed Mack a sealed note.
  Mack recognized the handwriting. It was almost identical with his own.
  The letter was from Esther. He felt a stab of guilt. He was supposed to
  be saving money for her, but he was on strike and penniless.
  "Where's it to be today?" Dermot said. Every day Mack met his lieutenants
  at a different location.
  "The back bar of the Queen's Head tavern," Mack replied.
  "I'll spread the word." Dermot put his hat on and went out.
 Mack opened his letter and began to read.
 It was full of news. Annie was pregnant, and if the
 216      Ken Follett

 child turned out to be a boy they would call him Mack. For some reason
 that brought tears to Mack's eyes. The Jamissons were sinking a new coal
 pit in High Glen, on the Hallim estate: they had dug fast and Esther would
 be working there as a bearer within a few days. That news was surprising:
 Mack had heard Lizzie say she would never allow coal mining in High Glen.
 The Reverend Mr. York's wife had taken a fever and died: no shock there,
 she had always been sickly. And Esther was still determined to leave Heugh
 as soon as Mack could save the money.
  He folded the letter and pocketed it. He must not let anything undermine
  his determination. He would win the strike, then he would be able to
  save.
  He kissed Dermot's children and went along to the Queen's Head.
  His men were already arriving, and he got down to business right away.
  One-Eye Wilson, a coal heaver who had been sent to check on new ships
  anchoring in the river, reported two coal carriers arrived on the morning
  tide. "From Sunderland, both of them," he said. I spoke to a sailor who
  came ashore for bread."
  Mack turned to Charlie Smith. "Go on board the ships and talk to the
  captains, Charlie. Explain why we're on strike and ask them to wait
  patiently. Say we hope the shippers will soon give in and allow the new
  gangs to uncoal the ships."
  One-Eye interjected: "Why send a nigger? They might listen better to an
  Englishman."
 "I am an Englishman," Charlie said indignantly.
  Mack said: "Most of these captains were bom in the northeast coal field,
  and Charlie speaks with their accent. Anyway, he's done this sort of
  thing before and he's proved himself a good ambassador."
 "No offense, Charlie," said One-Eye.
  Charlie shrugged and left to do his assigned task. A woman rushed in,
  pushing past him, and approached
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    217

 Mack's table, breathless and flustered. Mack recognized Sairey, the wife of
 a bellicose coal heaver called Buster McBride. "Mack, they've caught a
 sailor bringing a sack of coal ashore and I'm afraid Buster will kill him."
 "Where are they?"
  "They've put him in the outhouse at the Swan and locked him in, but
  Buster's drinking and he wants to hang him upside-down from the clock
  tower, and some of the others are egging him on."
  This kind of thing happened constantly. The coal heavers were always on the
  edge of violence. So far Mack had been able to rein them in. He picked a
  big, affable boy called Pigskin Pollard. "Go along there and calm the boys
  down, Pigskin. The last thing we want is a murder."
 "I'm on my way," he said.
  Caspar Gordonson arrived with egg yolk on his shirt and a note in his hand.
  "There's a barge train bringing coal to London along the river Lea. It
  should arrive at Enfield Lock this afternoon."
 "Enfield," Mack said. "How far away is that?"
  "T'welve miles," Gordonson replied. "We can get there by midday, even if we
  walk."
  "Good. We must get control of the lock and prevent the barges passing. I'd
  like to go myself. I'll take twelve steady men."
  Another coal heaver came in. "Fat Sam Barrows, the landlord of the Green
  Man, is trying to recruit a gang to uncoal the Spirit of Jarrow," he said.
  "He'd be lucky," Mack commented. "Nobody likes Fat Sam: he's never paid
  honest wages in his life. Still, we'd better keep an eye on the tavern,
  just in case. Will Trimble, go along there and snoop about. Let me know if
  there's any danger of Sam getting sixteen men."

  "He's gone to ground," said Sidney Lennox. "He's left his lodgings and no
  one knows where he went."
 Jay felt awful. He had told his father, in front of Sir
 218      Ken Follett

 Philip Armstrong, that he could locate McAsh. He wished he had said
 nothing. If he failed to deliver on his promise, his father's scom would
 be blistering.
  He had been counting on Lennox to know where to find McAsh. "But if he's
  in hiding, how does he run the strike?" he said.
  "He appears every morning at a different coffeehouse. Somehow his
  henchmen know where to go. He gives his orders and vanishes until the
  next day."
  "Someone must know where he lays his head," Jay said plaintively. "If we
  can find him, we can smash this strike."
  Lennox nodded. He more than anyone wanted to see the coal heavers
  defeated. "Well, Caspar Gordonson must know."
  Jay shook his head. "That's no use to us. Does McAsh have a woman?"
  "Yes-Cora, But she's as tough as a boot. She won't tell."
 "There must be someone else."
 "There's the kid," Lennox said thoughtfully.
 "Kid?"
  "Quick Peg. Site goes robbing with Cora. I wonder . . ."

  At midnight Lord Archer's coffeehouse was packed with officers, gentlemen
  and whores. The air was full of tobacco smoke and the smell of spilled
  wine. A fiddler was playing in a comer but he could hardly be heard over
  the roar of a hundred shouted conversations.
  Several card games were in progress, but Jay was not playing. He was
  drinking. The idea was for him to pretend to be drunk, and at first he
  had tipped most of his brandy down the front of his waistcoat; but as the
  evening wore on he drank more, and now he did not have to make much
  effort to appear unsteady on his feet. Chip Marlborough had been drinking
  seriously from the start of the evening, but he never seemed to get
  drunk.
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    219

  Jay was too worried to enjoy himself. His father would never listen to
  excuses. Jay had to produce an address for McAsh. He had toyed with the
  idea of making one up, then claiming McAsh must have moved again; but he
  felt his father would know he was lying.
  So he was drinking in Archer's and hoping to meet Cora. During the course
  of the evening numerous girls had approached him, but none fitted the
  description of Cora: pretty face, flaming red hair, age about nineteen
  or twenty. Each time, he and Chip would flirt for a while, until the girl
  realized they were not serious and moved on. Sidney Lennox was a watchful
  presence on the far side of the room, smoking a pipe and playing faro for
  low stakes.
  Jay was beginning to think they would be unlucky tonight. There were a
  hundred girls like Cora in Covent Garden. He might have to repeat this
  performance tomorrow, and even the day after, before running into her.
  And he had a wife waiting at home who did not understand why he needed
  to spend the evening in a place where respectable ladies were not seen.
  Just as he was thinking wistfully of climbing into a warm bed and finding
  Lizzie there, eager and waiting, Cora came in.
  Jay was sure it was she. She was easily the prettiest girl in the room,
  and her hair really was the color of the flames in the fireplace. She was
  dressed like a whore in a red silk dress with a low neckline and red
  shoes with bows, and she scanned the room with a professional gaze.
  Jay looked over at Lennox and saw him nod slowly twice.
 Thank God, he thought.
 He looked away, caught Cora's eye and smiled.
  He saw a faint flash of recognition in her expression, as if she knew who
  he was; then she smiled back and came over.
 Jay felt nervous and told himself that he only had to
 220      Ken Follett

 be charming. He had charmed a hundred women. He kissed her hand. She wore
 a heady perfume with sandalwood in it. "I thought I knew every beautiful
 woman in London, but I was wrong," he said gallantly. "I'm Captain
 Jonathan and this is Captain Chip." Jay had decided not to use his real
 name in case Mack had mentioned him to Cora. If she found out who he was
 she would be sure to smell a rat.
  "I'm Cora," she said, giving them a once-over look. "What a handsome
  pair. I can't decide which captain I like best."
 Chip said: "My family is nobler than Jay's."
  "But mine's richer," said Jay, and for some reason that made them both
  giggle.
  "If you're so rich, buy me a measure of brandy," she said.
 Jay waved at the waiter and offered her a seat.
  She squeezed in between him and Chip on the bench. He smelled gin on her
  breath. He looked down at her shoulders and the swell of her breasts. He
  could not help comparing her with his wife. Lizzie was short but
  voluptuous, with wide hips and a deep bosom. Cora was taller and more
  slender, and her breasts looked to him like two apples lying side by side
  in a bowl.
  Giving him a quizzical look she said: "Do I know you?"
  He felt a stab of anxiety. Surely they had never met? "I don't think so,"
  he said. If she recognized him the game would be up.
  "You look familiar. I know I've never spoken to you, but I've seen you."
  "Now's our chance to get to know one another," he said with a desperate
  smile. He put his arm over the back of the seat and stroked her neck. She
  closed her eyes as if she were enjoying it, and Jay began to relax.
  She was so convincing that he almost forgot she was pretending. She put
  a hand on his thigh, close to his crotch. He told himself not to enjoy
  this too much: he
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   221

 was supposed to be playacting. He wished he had not drunk so much. He might
 need his wits about him.
  Her brandy came and she drank it in a gulp. "Come on, big boy," she said.
  "We'd better get some air before you burst out of those breeches."
  Jay realized he had a visible erection, and he blushed.
  Cora stood up and headed for the door, and Jay followed.
  When they were outside she put her arm around his waist and led him along
  the colonnaded sidewalk of the Covent Garden piazza. He draped an arm over
  her shoulder, then worked his hand into the bosom of her dress and played
  with her nipple. She giggled and turned into an alley.
  They embraced and kissed, and he squeezed both her breasts. He forgot all
  about Lennox and the plot: Cora was warm and willing and he wanted her. Her
  hands were all over him, undoing his waistcoat, rubbing his chest, and
  diving into his breeches. He pushed his tongue into her mouth and tried to
  lift her skirts up at the same time. He felt cold air on his belly.
  From behind him there came a childish scream. Cora gave a start and pushed
  Jay away. She looked over his shoulder then turned as if to run, but Chip
  Marlborough appeared and grabbed her before she took the first step.
  Jay wined around and saw Lennox struggling to keep hold of a screaming,
  scratching, wriggling child. As they struggled the child dropped several
  objects. In the starlight Jay recognized his own wallet and pocket watch,
  silk handkerchief and silver seal. She had been picking his pockets while
  he was kissing Cora. Even though he was expecting it he had felt nothing.
  But he had entered very fully into the part he was playing.
  The child stopped struggling and Lennox said: "We're taking you two before
  a magistrate. Picking pockets is a hanging offense."
 Jay looked around, half expecting Cora's friends to
 222      Ken Follett

 come rushing to her defense; but no one had seen the scuffle in the alley.
  Chip glanced at Jay's crotch and said. "You can put your weapon away,
  Captain Jamisson-the battle is over."

  Most wealthy and powerful men were magistrates and Sir George Jan-tisson
  was no exception. Although he never held open court, he had the right to
  try cases at home. He could order offenders to be flogged, branded or
  imprisoned, and he had the power to commit more serious offenders to the
  Old Bailey for trial.
  He was expecting Jay, so he had not gone to bed, but all the same he was
  irritable at having been kept up so late. "I expected you around ten
  o'clock," he said grumpily when they all trooped into the drawing room
  of the Grosvenor Square house.
  Cora, dragged in by Chip Marlborough with her hands tied, said: "So you
  were expecting us! This was all planned-you evil pigs."
  Sir George said: "Shut your mouth or I'll have you flogged around the
  square before we begin."
 Cora seemed to believe him, for she said no more.
  He drew paper toward him and dipped a pen in an inkwell. "Jay Jamisson,
  Esquire, is the prosecutor. He complains that his pocket was picked by
  . . ."
 Lennox said: "She's called Quick Peg, sir."
  "I can't write that down," Sir George snapped. "What is your real name,
  childT'
 "Peggy Knapp, sir."
 "And the woman's name?"
 "Cora Higgins," said Cora.
  "Pocket picked by Peggy Knapp, accomplice Cora Higgins. The crime
  witnessed by ..."
  "Sidney Lennox, keeper of the Sun tavern in Wapping."
 "And Captain Marlborough?"
 Chip raised his hands in a defensive gesture. "I'd
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    223

 rather not get involved, if Mr. Lennox's evidence will suffice."
  "It surely will, Captain," said Sir George. He was always polite to Chip
  because he owed Chip's father money. "Very good of you to assist in the
  apprehension of these thieves. Now, have the accused anything to say?"
  Cora said: "I'm not her accomplice-I've never seen her before in my life."
  Peg gasped and stared at Cora in disbelief, but Cora carried on. "I went
  for a walk with a handsome young man, that's all. I never knew she was
  picking his pockets."
  Lennox said: "The two are known associates, Sir George-I've seen them
  together many times."
  "I've heard enough," Sir George said. "You are both committed to Newgate
  Prison on charges of pickpocketing."
  Peg began to cry. Cora was white with fear. "Why are you all doing this?"
  she said. She pointed an accusing finger at Jay. "You were waiting for me
  in Archer's." She pointed at Lennox. "You followed us out. And you, Sir
  George Jamisson, stayed up late, when you should be in bed, to commit us.
  What's the point of it all? What have Peg and me ever done to you?"
  Sir George ignored her. "Captain Marlborough, oblige me by taking the woman
  outside and guarding her for a few moments." They all waited while Chip led
  Cora out and closed the door. Then Sir George turned to Peg. "Now, child,
  what is the punishment for picking pockets---do you know?"
  She was pale and trembling. "The sheriff's collar," she whispered.
  "If you mean hanging, you're right. But did you know that some people are
  not hanged, but sent to America instead?"
 The child nodded.
 "They are people who have influential friends to
 224      Ken Follett

 plead for them, and beg the judge to be merciful. Do you have
 influential friends?"
 She shook her head.
  "Well, now, what if I tell you that I will be your influential friend
  and intercede for you?"
  She looked up at him, and hope gleamed in her little face.
 "But you have to do something for me."
 "What?" she said.
  "I will save you from hanging if you tell us where Mack McAsh is
  living."
 The room was silent for a long moment.
  "In the attic over the coal yard in Wapping High Street," she said,
  and she burst into tears.

              22

 MACK WAS SURPRISED TO WAKE UP ALONE.
  Cora had never before stayed out until daybreak. He had been living with
  her for only two weeks and he did not know all her habits, but all the
  same he was worried.
  He got up and followed his usual routine. He spent the morning at St.
  Luke's Coffee House, sending messages and receiving reports. He asked
  everyone if they had seen or heard of Cora, but no one had. He sent
  someone to the Sun tavern to speak to Quick Peg, but she too had been out
  all night and had not returned.
  In the afternoon he walked to Covent Garden and went around the taverns
  and coffeehouses, questioning the whores and waiters. Several people had
  seen Cora
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   225

 last night. A waiter at Lord Archer's had noticed her leaving with a rich
 young drunk. After that there was no trace.
  He went to Dermot's lodgings in Spitalfields, hoping for news. Dermot was
  feeding his children a broth made of bones for their supper. He had been
  asking after Cora all day and had heard nothing.
  Mack walked home in the dark, hoping that when he arrived at Cora's
  apartment over the coal yard she would be there, lying on the bed in her
  underwear, waiting for him. But the place was cold and dark and empty.
  He lit a candle and sat brooding. Outside on Wapping High Street the
  taverns were filling up. Although the coal heavers were on strike they
  still found money for beer. Mack would have liked to join them, but for
  safety he did not show his face in the taverns at night.
  He ate some bread and cheese and read a book Gordonson had loaned him, a
  novel called Tristram Shandy, but he could not concentrate. Late in the
  evening, when he was beginning to wonder if Cora was dead, there was a
  commotion in the street outside.
  He heard men shouting and the noise of running feet and what sounded like
  several horses and carts. Fearing that the coal heavers might start some
  kind of fracas he went to the window.
  The sky was clear and there was a half-moon, so Mack could see all along
  the High Street. Ten or twelve horse-drawn carts were lumbering down the
  uneven dirt road in the moonlight, evidently headed for the coal yard. A
  crowd of men followed the carts, jeering and shouting, and more spilled out
  of the taverns and joined them at every comer.
 The scene had all the makings of a riot.
 Mack cursed. It was the last thing he wanted.
  He turned from the window and rushed down the stairs. If he could talk to
  the men with the carts and persuade them not to unload, he might avert
  violence.
 226      Ken Follett

  When he reached the street the first cart was turning into the coal yard.
  As he ran forward the men jumped off the carts and, without warning,
  began to throw lumps of coal at the crowd. Some of the heavers were hit;
  others picked up the lumps of coal and threw them back. Mack heard a
  woman scream and saw children being herded indoors.
  "Stop!" he yelled. He ran between the coal heavers and the carts with his
  hands held up. "Stop!" The men recognized him and for a moment there was
  quiet. He was grateful to see Charlie Smith's face in the crowd. "Try to
  keep order here, Charlie, for God's sake," he said. "I'll talk to these
  people."
  "Everybody stay calm," Charlie called out. "Leave it to Mack."
  Mack turned his back on the heavers. On either side of the narrow street,
  people were standing on house doorsteps, curious to see what was
  happening but ready to duck quickly inside. There were at least five men
  on each coal cart. In the unnatural silence Mack approached the lead
  cart. "Who's in charge here?" he said.
 A figure stepped forward in the moonlight. "I am."
 Mack recognized Sidney Lennox.
  He was shocked and puzzled. What was going on here? Why was Lennox trying
  to deliver coal to a yard? He had a cold premonition of disaster.
  He spotted the owner of the yard, Jack Cooper, known as Black Jack
  because he was always covered in black dust like a miner. "Jack, close
  up the gates of your yard, for God's sake," he pleaded. "There'll be
  murder done if you let this go on."
 Cooper looked sulky. "I've got to make a living."
  "You will, as soon as the strike is over. You don't want to see bloodshed
  on Wapping High Street, do you?"
  "I've set my hand to the plow and I'll not look back now."
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   227

  Mack gave him a hard look. "Who asked you to do this, Jack? Is there
  someone else involved?"
 "I'm my own man-no one tells me what to do."
  Mack began to see what was happening, and it made him angry. He turned
  to Lennox. "You've paid him off. But why?"
  They were interrupted by the sound of a handbell being rung loudly. Mack
  turned to see three people standing at the upstairs window of the Frying
  Pan tavern. One was ringing the bell, another holding a lantern. The
  third man, in the middle, wore the wig and sword that marked him as
  someone of importance.
  When the bell stopped ringing, the third man announced himself. "I am
  Roland MacPherson, a justice of the peace in Wapping, and I hereby
  declare a riot." He went on to read the key section of the Riot Act.
  Once a riot had been declared, everyone had to disperse within an hour.
  Defiance was punishable by death.
  The magistrate had got there quickly, Mack thought. Clearly he had been
  expecting this and waiting in the tavern for his cue. This whole episode
  had been carefully planned.
  But to what end? It seemed to him they wanted to provoke a riot that
  would discredit the coal heavers and give them a pretext to hang the
  ringleaders. And that meant him.
  His first reaction was aggressive. He wanted to yell, "If they're asking
  for a riot, by God we'll give them one they'll never forget-we'll bum
  London before we're done!" He wanted to get his hands around Lennox's
  throat. But he forced himself to be calm and think clearly. How could he
  frustrate Lennox's plan?
  His only hope was to give in and let the coal be delivered,
  He turned to the coal heavers, gathered in an angry crowd around the open
  gates of the yard. "Listen to me," he began. "This is a plot to provoke
  us into a riot.
 228      Ken Follett

 If we all go home peacefully we will outwit our enemies. If we stay and
 fight, we're lost."
 There was a rumble of discontent.
  Dear God, Mack thought, these men are stupid. "Don't you understand?" he
  said. "They want an excuse to hang some of us. Why give them what they
  want? Let's go home tonight and fight on tomorrow!"
  "He's right," Charlie piped up. "Look who's hereSidney Lennox. He's up
  to no good, we can be sure of that."
  Some of the coal beavers were nodding agreement now, and Mack began to
  think he might persuade them. Then he heard Lennox's voice yell: "Get
  him!"
  Several men came at Mack at once. He turned to run, but one tackled him
  and he crashed to the muddy ground. As he struggled he heard the coal
  heavers roar, and he knew that what he had dreaded was about to begin:
  a pitched battle.
  He was kicked and punched but he hardly felt the blows as he struggled
  to get up. Then the men attacking him were thrown aside by coal heavers
  and he regained his feet.
  He looked around swiftly. Lennox had vanished. The rival gangs filled the
  narrow street. He saw fierce handto-hand fighting on all sides. The
  horses bucked and strained in their traces, neighing in terror. His
  instincts made him want to join in the fray and start knocking people
  down, but he held himself back. What was the quickest way to end this?
  He tried to think fast. The coal heavers would not retreat: it was
  against their nature. The best bet might be to get them into a defensive
  position and hope for a standoff.
  He grabbed Charlie. "We'll try to get inside the coal yard and close the
  gates on them," he said. "Tell the men!"
  Chariie ran from man to man, spreading the order, shouting at the top of
  his voice to be heard over the noise of the battle: "Inside the yard and
  close the gates!
       A PLACE CAUED FREEDOM 229

 Keep them out of the yard!" Then, to his horror, Mack heard the bang of
 a musket.
  "What the hell is going on?" he said, although no one was listening.
  Since when did coal drivers carry firearms? Who were these people?
  He saw a blunderbuss, a musket with a shortened barrel, pointed at him.
  Before he could move, Charlie snatched the gun, turned it on the man who
  held it, and shot him at point-blank range. The man fell dead.
 Mack cursed. Charlie could hang for that.
  Someone rushed him. Mack sidestepped and swung a fist. His blow landed
  on the point of the chin and the man fell down.
  Mack backed away and tried to think. The whole thing was taking place
  right outside Mack's window. That must have been intentional. They had
  found out his address somehow. Who had betrayed him?
  The first shots were followed by a ragged tattoo of gunfire. Flashes lit
  up the night and the smell of gunpowder mingled with the coal dust in the
  air. Mack cried out in protest as several coal heavers fell dead or
  wounded: their wives and widows would blame him, and they would be right.
  He had started something he could not control.
  Most of the coal heavers got into the yard where there was a supply of
  coal to throw. They fought frenziedly to keep the coal drivers out. The
  yard walls gave them cover from the musket fire that rattled internidt-
  tently.
  The hand-to-hand fighting was fiercest at the yard entrance, and Mack saw
  that if he could get the high wooden gates closed the entire battle might
  peter out. He fought his way through the melee, got behind one of the
  heavy timber gates, and started to push. Some of the coal heavers saw
  what he was attempting and joined in. The big gate swept several
  scuffling men out of the way, and Mack thought they would get it shut in
  a moment; then it was blocked by a cart.
            Ken Follett

  Gasping for breath, Mack shouted: "Move the cart, move the cart!"
  His plan was already having some effect, he saw with an access of hope.
  The angled gate made a partial barrier between the two sides.
  Furthermore, the first excitement of the battle had passed, and the men's
  zest for fighting had been tempered by injuries and bruises and the sight
  of some of their comrades lying dead or wounded. The instinct of
  self-preservation was reasserting itself, and they were looking for ways
  to disengage with dignity.
  Mack began to think he might end the fighting soon. If the confrontation
  could be stalled before someone called out the troops, the whole thing
  might be perceived as a minor skirmish and the strike could continue to
  be seen as a mainly peaceful protest.
  A dozen coal heavers began to drag the cart out of the yard while others
  pushed the gates. Someone cut the horse's traces, and the frightened
  beast ran around in a panic, neighing and kicking. "Keep pushing, don't
  stop!" Mack yelled as huge lumps of coal rained down on them. The cart
  inched out and the gates closed the gap with maddening slowness.
  Then Mack heard a noise that wiped out all his hopes at a stroke: the
  sound of marching feet.

  The guards marched down Wapping High Street, their white-and-red uniforms
  gleaming in the moonlight. Jay rode at the head of the column, keeping
  his horse close-reined at a brisk walk. He was about to get what he had
  said he wanted: action.
  He kept his face expressionless but his heart was pounding. He could hear
  the roar of the battle Lennox had started: men shouting, horses neighing,
  muskets banging. Jay had never yet used a sword or gun in anger: tonight
  would be his first engagement. He told himself that a rabble of coal
  heavers would be terrified
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    231

 of a disciplined and trained troop of guards, but he found it hard to be
 confident.
  Colonel Cranbrough had given him this assignment and sent him out without
  a superior officer. Normally Cranbrough would have commanded the detachment
  himself, but he knew this was a special situation, with heavy political
  interference, and he wanted to keep out of it. Jay had been pleased at
  first, but now he wished he had an experienced superior to help him.
  Lennox's plan had sounded foolproof in theory, but as he rode to battle Jay
  found it full of holes. What if McAsh were somewhere else tonight? What if
  he escaped before Jay could arrest him?
  As they approached the coal yard the pace of the march seemed to slow,
  until Jay felt they were creeping forward by inches. Seeing the soldiers,
  many of the rioters fled and others took cover; but some threw coal, and a
  rain of lumps came down on Jay and his men. Without flinching they marched
  up to the coal yard gates and, as prearranged, took up their firing
  positions.
  There would be only one volley. They were so close to the enemy that they
  would not have time to reload.
  Jay raised his sword. The coal heavers were trapped in the yard. They had
  been trying to close the yard gates but now they gave up and the gates
  swung fully open. Some scrambled over the walls, others tried pathetically
  to find cover among the heaps of coal or behind the wheels of a cart. It
  was like shooting chickens in a coop.
  Suddenly McAsh appeared on top of the wall, a broad-shouldered figure, his
  face lit by the moon. "Stop!" he yelled. "Don't shoot!"
 Go to hell, Jay thought.
 He swept his sword down and shouted: "Fire!"
  The muskets cracked like thunder. A pall of smoke appeared and hid the
  soldiers for a moment. Ten or twelve coal heavers fell, some shouting in
  pain, others deathly silent. McAsh jumped down from the wall and
 232      Ken Follett

 knelt by the motionless, blood-soaked body of a Negro. He looked up and
 met Jay's eye, and the rage in his face chilled Jay's blood.
 Jay shouted: "Charge!"
  The coal heavers engaged the guards aggressively, surprising Jay. He had
  expected them to flee, but they dodged swords and muskets to grapple
  hand-to-hand, fighting with sticks and lumps of coal and fists and feet.
  Jay was dismayed to see several uniforms fall.
 He looked around for McAsh and could not see him.
  Jay cursed. The whole purpose of this was to arrest McAsh. That was what
  Sir Philip had asked for, and Jay had promised to deliver. Surely he had
  not slipped away?
 Then, suddenly, McAsh was in front of him.
  Instead of running away the man was coming after Jay.
  McAsh grabbed Jay's bridle. Jay lifted his sword, and McAsh ducked around
  to Jay's left side. Jay struck awkwardly and missed. McAsh jumped up,
  grabbed Jay's sleeve and pulled. Jay tried to jerk his arm back but McAsh
  would not let go. With dreadful inevitability Jay slid sideways in his
  saddle. McAsh gave a mighty heave and pulled him off his horse.
 Suddenly Jay feared for his life.
  He managed to land on his feet. McAsh's hands were around his throat in
  an instant. He drew back his sword but, before he could strike, McAsh
  lowered his head and butted Jay's face brutally. Jay went blind for a mo-
  ment and felt hot blood on his face. He swung his sword wildly. It
  connected with something and he thought he had wounded McAsh, but the
  grip on his throat did not slacken. His vision returned and he looked
  into McAsh's eyes and saw murder there. He was terrified, and if he could
  have spoken he would have begged for mercy.
  One of his men saw him in trouble and swung the butt of a musket. The
  blow hit McAsh on the ear. For
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    233

 a moment his grip slackened, then it became tighter than ever. The soldier
 swung again. McAsh tried to duck, but he was not quick enough, and the
 heavy wooden stock of the gun connected with a crack that could be heard
 over the roar of the battle. For a split second McAsh's stranglehold
 increased, and Jay struggled for air like a drowning man; then McAsh's
 eyes rolled up in his head, his hands slipped from Jay's neck, and he
 slumped to the ground, unconscious.
  Jay drew breath raggedly and leaned on his sword. Slowly his terror
  eased. His face hurt like fire: he was sure his nose must be broken. But
  as he looked at the man crumpled on the ground at his feet he felt
  nothing but satisfaction.

          23

      LIZZIE DID NOT SLEEP THAT NIGHT.
       Jay had told her there might be trouble, and she sat in their
       bedroom waiting for him, with a novel open but unread on her
       knee. He came home in the early hours with blood and dirt all
       over him and a bandage on his nose. She was so pleased to see him
       alive that she threw her arms around him and hugged him, ruining
       her white silk robe.
       She woke the servants and ordered hot water, and he told her the
       story of the riot bit by bit as she helped him out of his filthy
       uniform and washed his bruised body and got him a clean
       nightshirt.
      Later, when they were lying side by side in the big
 234      Ken Follett

 four-poster bed, she said tentatively: "Do you think McAsh will be
 hanged?"
  "I certainly hope so," Jay said, touching his bandage with a careful
  finger. "We have witnesses to say he incited the crowd to riot and
  personally attacked officers. I can't imagine a judge giving him a light
  sentence in the present climate. If he had influential friends to plead
  for him it would be a different matter."
  She frowned. "I never thought of him as a particularly violent man.
  Insubordinate, disobedient, insolent, arrogant-but not savage."
  Jay looked smug. "You may be right. But things were arranged so that he
  had no choice."
 "What do you mean?"
  "Sir Philip Armstrong paid a clandestine visit to the warehouse to speak
  to me and Father. He told us he wanted McAsh arrested for rioting. He
  practically told us to make it happen. So Lennox and I arranged a riot."
  Lizzie was shocked. It made her feel even worse to think that Mack had
  been deliberately provoked. "And is Sir Philip pleased with what you've
  done?"
  "He is. And Colonel Cranbrough was impressed by the way I handled the
  riot. I can resign my commission and leave the army with an unimpeachable
  reputation."
  Jay made love to her then, but she was too troubled to enjoy his
  caresses. Normally she liked to romp around the bed, rolling him over and
  getting on top sometimes, changing positions, kissing and talking and
  laughing; and naturally he noticed that she was different. When it was
  over he said: "You're very quiet."
 She thought of an excuse. "I was afraid of hurting

 YOU."
  He accepted that and a few moments later he was asleep. Lizzie lay awake.
  It was the second time she had been shocked by her husband's attitude to
  justiceand both occasions had involved Lennox. Jay was not vicious, she
  was sure; but he could be led into evil by others, particularly
  strong-minded men such as Lennox.
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    235

 She was glad they were leaving England in a month's time. Once they set
 sail, they would never see Lennox again.
  Still she could not sleep. There was a cold, leaden feeling in the pit
  of her stomach. Mack McAsh was going to be hanged. She had been revolted
  to watch the hanging of total strangers the morning she had gone to
  Tyburn Cross in disguise. The thought of the same thing happening to her
  childhood friend was unbearable.
  Mack was not her problem, she told herself. He had run away, broken the
  law, gone on strike and taken part in a riot. He had done all he could
  to get into trouble: it was not her responsibility to rescue him now. Her
  duty was to the husband she had married.
 It was all true, but still she could not sleep.
  When the light of dawn began to show around the edges of the curtains,
  she got up. She decided to begin packing for the voyage, and when the
  servants appeared she told them to fetch the waterproof trunks she had
  bought and start filling them with her wedding presents: table linen,
  cutlery, china and glassware, cooking pots and kitchen knives.
  Jay woke up aching and bad tempered. He drank a shot of brandy for
  breakfast and went off to his regiment. Lizzie's mother, who was still
  living at the Jamissons' house, called on Lizzie soon after Jay left, and
  the two of them went to the bedroom and began folding Lizzie's stockings
  and petticoats and handkerchiefs.
 "What ship will you travel on?" Mother asked.
 "The Rosebud. She's a Jamisson vessel."
  "And when you reach Virginia-how will you get to the plantation?"
  "Oceangoing ships can sail up the Rappahannock River all the way to
  Fredericksburg, which is only ten miles from Mockjack Hall." Lizzie could
  see that her mother was anxious about her undertaking a long sea
 236      Ken Follett

 voyage. "Don't worry, Mother, there are no pirates anymore."
  "You must take your own fresh water and keep the barrel in your
  cabin--don't share with the crew. I'll make up a medicine chest for you
  in case of sickness."
  "Thank you, Mother." Because of the cramped quarters, contaminated food
  and stale water Lizzie was much more likely to die of some shipboard
  illness than be attacked by pirates.
 "How long will it take?"
  "Six or seven weeks." Lizzie knew that was a minimum: if the ship was
  blown off course the voyage could stretch to three months. Then the
  chance of sickness was much greater. However, she and Jay were young and
  strong and healthy, and they would survive. And it would be an adventure!
  She could hardly wait to see America. It was a whole new continent and
  everything would be different: the birds, the trees, the food, the air,
  the people. She tingled whenever she thought about it.
  She had been living in London for four months, and she disliked it more
  every day. Polite society bored her to death. She and Jay often dined
  with other officers and their wives, but the officers talked of card
  games and incompetent generals and the women were interested only in hats
  and servants. Lizzie found it impossible to make small talk, but if she
  spoke her mind she always shocked them.
  Once or twice a week she and Jay dined at Grosvenor Square. There at
  least the conversation was about something real: business, politics, and
  the wave of strikes and disturbances that had washed over London this
  spring. But the Jamissons' view of events was completely one-sided. Sir
  George would rail against the workingmen, Robert would forecast disaster,
  and Jay would propose a clampdown by the military. No one, not even
  Alicia, had the imagination to see the conflict from the point of view
  of the other side. Lizzie did not
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   237

 think the workingmen were right to strike, of course, but she believed
 they had reasons that seemed strong to them. That possibility was never
 admitted around the highly polished dining table at Grosvenor Square.
  "I expect you'll be glad to go back to Hallim House," Lizzie said to her
  mother.
  Mother nodded. "The Jamissons are very kind. but I miss my home, humble
  though it is."
  Lizzie was putting her favorite books into a trunk: Robinson Crusoe, Tom
  Jones, Roderick Random-all stories of adventure-when a footman knocked
  and said that Caspar Gordonson was downstairs.
  She asked the man to repeat the visitor's name, because she could hardly
  believe Gordonson would dare to call on any member of the Jamisson
  family. She should have refused to see him, she knew: he had encouraged
  and supported the strike that was damaging her father-in-law's business.
  But curiosity got the better of her, as ever, and she told the footman
  to show him into the drawing room.
  However. she had no intention of making him welcome. "You've caused a
  great deal of trouble," she said as she walked in.
  To her surprise he was not the aggressive know-it-all bully she had
  expected, but an untidy, shortsighted man with a high-pitched voice and
  the manner of an absentminded schoolteacher. "I'm sure I didn't mean to,"
  he said. "That is ... I did, of course ... but not to you personally."
  "Why have you come here? If my husband were at home he would throw you
  out on your ear."
  "Mack McAsh has been charged under the Riot Act and committed to Newgate
  Prison. He will be tried at the Old Bailey in three weeks' time. It's a
  hanging offense."
  The reminder struck Lizzie like a blow, but she hid her feelings. "I
  know," she said coldly. "Such a
 238      Ken Follett

 tragedy-a strong young man with his life in front of him."
 "You must feel gmilty," Gordonson said.
  "You insolent fool!" she blazed. "Who encouraged McAsh to think he was
  a free man? Who told him he had rights? You! You're the one who should
  feel guilty!"
 "I do," he said quietly.
  She was surprised: she had expected a hot denial. His humility calmed
  her. Tears came to her eyes but she fought them back. "He should have
  stayed in Scotland."
  "You realize that many people who are convicted of capital offenses don't
  hang, in the end."
  "Yes." There was still hope, of course. Her spirits lifted a little. "Do
  you think Mack will get a royal pardon?"
  "It depends who is willing to speak for him. Influential friends are
  everything in our legal system. I will plead for his life, but my words
  won't count for much. Most judges hate me. However, if vou would plead
  for him-"
  "I can't do that!" she protested. "My husband is prosecuting McAsh. It
  would be dreadfully disloyal of me.,,

 "You could save his life."
 "But it would make Jay look such a fool!"
 "Don't you think he might understand-"
 "No! I know he wouldn't. No husband would."
 "Think about it-"
  "I won't! I'll do something else. I'll She cast about for ideas. "I'll
  write to Mr. York, the pastor of the church in Heugh. I'll ask him to
  come to London and plead for Mack's life at the trial."
  Gordonson said: "A country parson from Scotland? I don't think he'll have
  much influence. The only way to be certain is for you to do it yourself."
 "It's out of the question."
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    239
  "I won't argue with you-it will only make you more determined," Gordonson
  said shrewdly. He went to the door. "You can change your mind at any
  time. Just come to the Old Bailey three weeks from tomorrow. Remember
  that his life may depend on it."
 He went out, and Lizzie let herself cry.

  Mack was in one of the common wards of Newgate Prison.
  He could not remember all that had happened to him the night before. He
  had a dazed recollection of being tied up and thrown across the back of
  a horse and carried through London. There was a tall building with barred
  windows, a cobbled courtyard, a staircase and a studded door. Then he had
  been led in here. It had been dark, and he had not been able to see much.
  Battered and fatigued, he had fallen asleep.
  He woke to find himself in a room about the size of Cora's apartment. It
  was cold: there was no glass in the windows and no fire in the fireplace.
  The place smelled foul. At least thirty other people were crammed in with
  him: men, women and children, plus a dog and a pig. Everyone slept on the
  floor and shared a large chamberpot.
  There was constant coming and going. Some of the women left early in the
  morning, and Mack learned they were not prisoners but prisoners' wives
  who bribed the jailers and spent nights here. The warders brought in
  food, beer, gin and newspapers for those who could pay their grossly
  inflated prices. People went to see friends in other wards. One prisoner
  was visited by a clergyman, another by a barber. Anything was per-
  n-~itted, it seemed, but everything had to be paid for.
  People laughed about their plight and joked about their crimes. There was
  an air of jollity that annoyed Mack. He was hardly awake before he was
  offered a swallow of gin from someone's bottle and a puff on a pipe of
  tobacco, as if they were all at a wedding.
 240      Ken Follett

  Mack hurt all over, but his head was the worst. There was a lump at the
  back that was crusted with blood. He felt hopelessly gloomy. He had failed
  in every way. He had nin away from Heugh to be free, yet he was in jail. He
  had fought for the coal heavers' rights and had got some of them killed. He
  had lost Cora. He would be put on trial for treason, or riot, or murder.
  And he would probably die on the gallows. Many of the people around him had
  as much reason to grieve, but perhaps they were too stupid to grasp their
  fate.
  Poor Esther would never get out of the village now. He wished he had
  brought her with him. She could have dressed as a man, the way Lizzie
  Hallim did. She would have managed sailors' work more easily than Mack
  himself, for she was nimbler. And her common sense might even have kept
  Mack out of trouble.
  He hoped Annie's baby would be a boy. At least there would still be a Mack.
  Perhaps Mack Lee would have a luckier life, and a longer one, than Mack
  McAsh.
  He was at a low point when a warder opened the door and Cora walked in.
  Her face was dirty and her red dress was torn but she still looked
  ravishing, and everyone turned to stare.
  Mack sprang to his feet and embraced her, to cheers from the other
  prisoners.
 "What happened to you?" he said.
  "I was done for picking pockets-but it was all on account of you," she
  said.
 "What do you mean?"
  "It was a trap. He looked like any other rich young drunk, but he was Jay
  Jamisson. They nabbed us and took us in front of his father. It's a hanging
  offense, picking pockets. But they offered Peg a pardon-if she would tell
  them where you lived."
  Mack suffered a moment of anger with Peg for betraying him; but she was
  just a child, she could not be blamed. "So that was how they found out."
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    241

 "What happened to you?"
 He told her the story of the riot.
  When he had done she said: "By Christ, McAsh, you~re an unlucky man to
  know."
  It was true, he thought. Everyone he met got into some kind of trouble.
  "Charlie Smith is dead," he said.
  "You must talk to Peg," she said. "She thinks you must hate her."
 "I hate myself for getting her into this."
  Cora shrugged. "You didn't tell her to thieve. Come on .
  She banged on the door and a warder opened it. She gave him a coin, jerked
  a thumb at Mack and said: "He's with me." 'Me warder nodded and let them
  out.
  She led him along a corridor to another door and they entered a room very
  like the one they had left. Peg was sitting on the floor in a comer. When
  she saw Mack she stood up. looking scared. "I'm sorry," she said. "They
  made me do it, I'm sorry!'9
 "It wasn't your fault," he said.
  Her eyes filled with tears. "I let you down," she whispered.
  "Don't be silly." He took her in his arms, and her tiny frame shook as she
  sobbed and sobbed.

  Caspar Gordonson arrived with a banquet: fish soup in a big tureen, a joint
  of beef, new bread, several jugs of ale, and a custard. He paid the jailer
  for a private room with table and chairs. Mack, Cora and Peg were brought
  from their ward and they all sat down to eat.
  Mack was hungry, but he found he had little appetite. He was too worried.
  He wanted to know what Gordonson thought of his chances at the trial. He
  forced himself to be patient and drank some beer.
  When they had finished eating, Gordonson's servant cleared away and brought
  pipes and tobacco. Gordonson took a pipe, and so did Peg, who was addicted
  to this adult vice.
 242      Ken Follett

  Gordonson began by talking about Peg and Cora's case. "I've spoken with the
  Jamisson family lawyer about the pickpocketing charge," he began. "Sir
  George will stand by his promise to ask for mercy for Peg."
  "That surprises me," said Mack. "It's not like the Jamissons to keep their
  word."
  "Ah, well, they want something," Gordonson said. "You see, it will be
  embarrassing for them if Jay tells the court he picked Cora up thinking she
  was a prostitute. So they want to pretend she just met him in the street
  and got him talking while Peg picked his pocket."
  Peg said scornfully: "And we're supposed to go along with this fairy tale,
  and protect Jay's reputation."
 "If you want Sir George to plead for your life, yes."
  Cora said: "We have no choice. Of course we'll do it."
  "Good." Gordonson turned to Mack. "I wish your case was so easy."
 Mack protested: "But I didn't riot!"
 "You didn't go away after the Riot Act was read."
  "For God's sake-I tried to get everyone to go, but Lennox's ruffians
  attacked."
 "Let's look at this step by step."
  Mack took a deep breath and suppressed his exasperation. "All right."
  "The prosecutor will say simply that the Riot Act was read, and you did not
  go away, so you are guilty and should be hanged."
  "Yes, but everyone knows there's more to it than that!"
  "There: that's your defense. You simply say that the prosecutor has told
  half the story. Can you bring witnesses to say that you pleaded with
  everyone to disperse?"
  "I'm sure I can. Dermot Riley can get any number of coal heavers to
  testify. But we should ask the Jamissons why the coal was being delivered
  to that yard, of all places, and at that time of night!"
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   243

 "Well-"
  Mack banged the table impatiently. "The whole riot was prearranged, we have
  to say that."
 "It would be hard to prove."
  Mack was infuriated by Gordonson's dismissive attitude. "The riot was
  caused by a conspiracy-surely you're not going to leave that out? If the
  facts don't come out in court, where will they?"
 Peg said: "Will you be at the trial, Mr. Gordonson?"
 "Yes-but the judge may not let me speak."
 "For God's sake, why not?" Mack said indignantly.
  "The theory is that if you're innocent you don't need legal expertise to
  prove it. But sometimes judges make exceptions."
  "I hope we get a friendly judge," Mack said anxiously.
  "The judge ought to help the accused. It's his duty to make sure the
  defense case is clear to the jury. But don't rely on it. Place your faith
  in the plain truth. It's the only thing that can save you from the
  hangman."

             24

 ON THE DAY OF THE TRIAL THE PRISONERS WERE
 awakened at five o'clock in the morning.
  Dermot Riley arrived a few minutes later with a suit for Mack to borrow: it
  was the outfit Dermot had got married in, and Mack was touched. He also
  brought a razor and a sliver of soap. Half an hour later Mack looked
  respectable and felt ready to face the judge.
 With Cora and Peg and fifteen or twenty others he
 244      Ken Follett

 was tied up and marched out of the prison, along Newgate Street, down a side
 street called Old Bailey and up an alley to the Sessions House.
  Caspar Gordonson met him there and explained who was who. The yard in front
  of the building was already full of people: prosecutors, witnesses, jurors,
  lawyers, friends and relatives, idle spectators, and probably whores and
  thieves looking for business. The prisoners were led across the yard and
  through a gate to the bail dock. It was already half full of defendants,
  presumably from other prisons: the Fleet Prison, the Bridewell and Ludgate
  Prison. From there Mack could see the imposing Sessions House. Stone steps
  led up to its ground floor, which was open on one side except for a row of
  columns. Inside was the judges' bench on a high platform. On either side
  were railed-off spaces for jurors, and balconies for court officers and
  privileged spectators.
  It reminded Mack of a theater-but he was the villain of the piece.
  He watched with grim fascination as the court began its long day of trials.
  The first defendant was a woman accused of stealing fifteen yards of
  linsey-woolseycheap cloth made of a mixture of linen and wool-from a shop.
  The shopkeeper was the prosecutor, and he valued the cloth at fifteen
  shillings. The witness, an employee, swore that the woman picked up the
  bolt of cloth and went to the door then, realizing she was observed,
  dropped the material and ran away. The woman claimed she had only been
  looking at the cloth and had never intended to make off with it.
  The jurors went into a huddle. They came from the social class known as
  "the middling sort": they were small traders, well-to-do craftsmen and
  shopkeepers. They hated disorder and theft but they mistrusted the
  government and jealously defended liberty-their own, at least.
 They found her guilty but valued the cloth at four
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   245

 shillings, a lot less than it was worth. Gordonson explained that she
 could be hanged for stealing goods worth more than five shillings from a
 shop. The verdict was intended to prevent the judge from sentencing the
 woman to death.
  She was not sentenced immediately, however: the sentences would all be
  read out at the end of the day.
  The whole thing had taken no more than a quarter of an hour. The
  following cases were dealt with equally rapidly, few taking more than
  half an hour. Cora and Peg were tried together at about midafternoon.
  Mack knew that the course of the trial was preordained, but still he
  crossed his fingers and hoped it would go according to plan.
  Jay Jamisson testified that Cora had engaged him in conversation in the
  street while Peg picked his pockets. He called Sidney Lennox as the
  witness who had seen what was happening and warned him. Neither Cora nor
  Peg challenged this version of events.
  Their reward was the appearance of Sir George, who testified that they
  had been helpful in the apprehension of another criminal and asked the
  judge to sentence them to transportation rather than hanging.
  The judge nodded sympathetically, but the sentence would not be
  pronounced until the end of the day.
 Mack's case was called a few minutes later.

 Lizzie could think of nothing but the trial.
  She had dinner at three o'clock and, as Jay was at the court all day, her
  mother came to dine and keep her company.
  "You're looking quite plump, my dear," Lady Hallim said. "Have you been
  eating a lot?"
  "On the contrary," Lizzie said. "Sometimes food makes me feel ill. It's
  all the excitement of going to Virginia, I suppose. And now this dreadful
  trial."
  "It's not your concern," Lady Hallim said briskly. "Dozens of people are
  hanged every year for much less
 246      Ken Follett
 dreadful crimes. He can't be reprieved just because you knew him as a
 child."
 "How do you know he committed a crime at all?"
  "If he did not, he will be found not guilty. I'm sure he is being treated
  the same as anyone foolish enough to get involved in a riot."
  "But he isn't," Lizzie protested. "Jay and Sir George deliberately provoked
  that riot so that they could arrest Mack and finish the coal heavers'
  strike-Jay told me."
 "Then I'm sure they had good reason."
  Tears came to Lizzie's eyes. "Mother, don't you think it's wrong?"
  "I'm quite sure it's none of my business or yours, Lizzie," she said
  firinly.
  Wanting to hide her distress from her mother, Lizzie ate a spoonful of
  dessert-apples mashed with sugarbut it made her feel sick and she put down
  her spoon. "Caspar Gordonson said I could save Mack's life if I would speak
  for him in court."
  "Heaven forbid!" Mother was shocked. "That you should go against your own
  husband in a public courtroom--don't even speak of it!"
  "But it's a man's life! Think of his poor sister-how she will grieve when
  she finds out he has been hanged."
  "My dear, they are miners, they aren't like us. Life is cheap, they don't
  grieve as we do. His sister will just get drunk on gin and go back down the
  pit."
 "You don't really believe that, Mother, I know."
  "Perhaps I'm exaggerating. But I'm quite sure it does no good to worry
  about such things."
  "I just can't help it. He's a brave young man who only wanted to be free,
  and I can't bear the thought of him hanging from that rope."
 "You could pray for him."
 "I do," Lizzie said. "I do."
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   247

 The prosecutor was a lawyer, Augustus Pym.
  "He does a lot of work for the government," Gordonson whispered to Mack.
  "They must be paying him to prosecute this case."
  So the government wanted Mack hanged. That made him feel low.
  Gordonson approached the bench and addressed the judge. "My lord, as the
  prosecution is to be done by a professional lawyer, will you allow me to
  speak for Mr. McAsh?"
  "Certainly not," said the judge. "If McAsh cannot convince the jury
  unless he has outside help, he can't have much of a case."
  Mack's throat was dry and he could hear his heartbeat. He was going to
  have to fight for his life alone. Well, he would fight every inch of the
  way.
  Pym began. "On the day in question a delivery of coal was being made to
  the yard of Mr. John Cooper, known as Black Jack, in Wapping High
  Street."
 Mack said: "It wasn't day-it was night."
 The judge said: "Don't make foolish remarks."
  "It's not foolish," Mack said. "Whoever heard of coal being delivered at
  eleven o'clock at night?"
 "Be quiet. Carry on, Mr. Pym."
  "The delivery men were attacked by a group of striking coal heavers, and
  the Wapping magistrates were alerted."
 "Who by?" said Mack.
  Pym answered: "By the landlord of the Frying Pan tavern, Mr. Harold
  Nipper."
 "An undertaker," said Mack.
  The judge said: "And a respectable tradesman, I believe."
  Pym went on: "Mr. Roland MacPherson, justice of the peace, arrived and
  declared a riot. The coal heavers refused to disperse."
 "We were attacked!" Mack said.
 They ignored him. "Mr. MacPherson then summoned
 248       Ken FoNett

 the troops, as was his right and duty. A detachment of the Third Foot
 Guards arrived under the command of Captain Jamisson. The prisoner was
 among those arrested. The Crown's first witness is John Cooper." Black
 Jack testified that he went downriver to Rochester to buy coal that had
 been unloaded there. He had it driven to London in carts. Mack asked: "Who
 did the ship belong to?" "I don't know-I dealt with the captain." "Where
 was the ship from?" "Edinburgh." "Could it have belonged to Sir George
 Jamisson?" "I don't know." "Who suggested to you that you might be able to
 buy coal in Rochester?" "Sidney Lennox." "A friend of the Jamissons'." "I
 don't know about that." Pym's next witness was Roland MacPherson, who
 swore that he had read the Riot Act at a quarter past eleven in the
 evening, and the crowd had refused to disperse. Mack said: "You were on
 the scene very quickly." 'Yes. "Who summoned you?" "Harold Nipper." "The
 landlord of the Frying Pan." "Yes.,, "Did he have far to go?" "I don't
 know what you mean." "Where were you when he summoned you?" "In the back
 parlor of his tavern." "That was handy! Was it planned?" "I knew there was
 going to be a coal delivery and I feared there might be trouble." "Who
 forewarned you?" "Sidney Lennox." One of the jurors said: "Ho!"
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    249

  Mack looked at him. He was a youngish man with a skeptical expression,
  and Mack marked him down as a potential ally in the jury.
  Finally Pyrn called Jay Jamisson. Jay talked easily, and the judge looked
  faintly bored, as if they were friends discussing a matter of no
  importance. Mack wanted to shout: "Don't be so casual-my life is at
  stake!"
  Jay said he had been in command of a detachment of Guards at the Tower
  of London.
  The skeptical juror interrupted: "What were you doing there?"
  Jay looked as if the question had taken him by surprise. He said nothing.
 "Answer the question," said the juror.
  Jay looked at the judge, who seemed annoyed with the juror and said with
  obvious reluctance: "You must answer the jury's questions, Captain."
 "We were there in readiness," Jay said.
 "For what?" said the juror.
  "In case our assistance was needed in keeping the peace in the eastern
  part of the city."
 "Is that your usual barracks?" said the juror.
 'No.
 "Where, then?"
 "Hyde Park, at the moment."
 "On the other side of London."
 'Yes.
  "How many nights have you made this special trip to the Tower?"
 "Just one.
  "How did you come to be there that particular night?"
 "I assume my commanding officers feared trouble."
  "Sidney Lennox warned them, I suppose," the juror said, and there was a
  ripple of laughter.
  Pym continued to question Jay, who said that when he and his men arrived
  at the coal yard there was a riot in full progress, which was true. He
  told how Mack had
 250      Ken Follett

 attacked him-also true-and had been knocked out by another soldier.
  Mack asked him: "What do you think of coal heavers who riot?"
 "They are breaking the law and should be punished."
  "Do you believe most folk agree with you, by and large?"
 "Yes.
  "Do you think the riot will turn folk against the coal heavers?"
 "I'm sure of it."
  "So the riot makes it more likely that the authorities will take drastic
  action to end the strike?"
 "I certainly hope so."
  Beside Mack, Caspar Gordonson was muttering: "Brilliant, brilliant, he fell
  fight into your trap."
  "And when the strike is over, the Jamisson family's coal ships will be
  unloaded and you will be able to sell your coal again."
  Jay began to see where he was being led, but it was too late. "Yes."
  "An end to the strike is worth a lot of money to You."
 "Yes.,,

 "So the coal heavers' riot will make money for you." "it might stop my
 family losing money."
  "Is that why you cooperated with Sidney Lennox in provoking the riot?" Mack
  turned away.
  "I did no such thing!" said Jay, but he was speaking to the back of Mack's
  head.
  Gordonson said: "You should be a lawyer, Mack. Where did you learn to argue
  like that?"
 "Mrs. Wheighel's parlor," he replied.
 Gordonson was mystified.
  Pym had no more witnesses. The skeptical juror said: "Aren't we going to
  hear from this Lennox character?"
 "The Crown has no more witnesses," Pym repeated.
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    251

  "Well, I think we should hear from him. He seems to be behind it all."
 "Jurors cannot call witnesses, the judge said.
  Mack called his first, an Irish coal heaver known as Red Michael for the
  color of his hair. Red told how Mack had been on the point of persuading
  the coal heavers to go home when they were attacked.
  When he had finished, the judge said: "And what work do you do, young
  man?"
 "I'm a coal heaver, sir," Red replied.
  The judge said: "The jury will take that into account when considering
  whether to believe you or not."
  Mack's heart sank. The judge was doing all he could to prejudice the jury
  against him. He called his next witness, but he was another coal heaver
  and suffered the same fate. The third and last was also a coal heaver.
  That was because they had been in the thick of things and had seen
  exactly what happened.
  His witnesses had been destroyed. Now there was only himself and his own
  character and eloquence.
  "Coal heaving is hard work, cruelly hard," he began. "Only strong young
  men can do it. But it's highly paid-in my first week I earned six pounds.
  I earned it, but I did not receive it: most was stolen from me by an
  undertaker."
  The judge interrupted him. 'This has nothing to do with the case," he
  said. "The charge is riot."
  "I didn't riot," Mack said. He took a deep breath and gathered his
  thoughts, then went on. "I simply refused to let undertakers steal my
  wages. That's my crime. Undertakers get rich by stealing from coal
  heavers. But when the coal heavers decided to do their own undertaking,
  what happened? They were boycotted by the shippers. And who are the
  shippers, gentlemen? The Jamisson family which is so inextricably
  involved in this trial today."
  The judge said irritably: "Can you prove that you did not riot?"
 252      Ken Follett

  The skeptical juror intedected: "The point is that the fighting was
  instigated by others."
  Mack was not put off by the interruption. He simply continued with what
  he wanted to say. "Gentlemen of the jury, ask yourselves some questions."
  He turned away from the jurors and looked straight at Jay. "Who ordered
  that wagons of coal should be brought down Wapping High Street at an hour
  when the taverns are full of coal heavers? Who sent them to the very coal
  yard where I live? Who paid the men who escorted the wagons?" The judge
  was trying to break in again but Mack raised his voice and plowed on.
  "Who gave them muskets and ammunition? Who made sure the troops were
  standing by in the immediate neighborhood? Who orchestrated the entire
  riot?" He swung around swiftly and looked at the jury. "You know the
  answer, don't you?" He held their gaze a moment longer, then turned away.
  He felt shaky. He had done his best, and now his life was in the hands
  of others.
  Gordonson got to his feet. "We were expecting a character witness to
  appear on McAsh's behalf-the Reverend Mr. York, pastor of the church in
  the village of his birth-but he has not yet arrived."
  Mack was not very disappointed about York, for he did not expect York's
  testimony to have much effect, and neither did Gordonson.
  The judge said: "If he arrives he may speak before sentencing." Gordonson
  raised his eyebrows and the judge added: "That is, unless the jury finds
  the defendant not guilty, in which case further testimony would be
  superfluous, needless to say. Gentlemen, consider your verdict."
  Mack studied the jurors fearfully as they conferred. He thought, to his
  dismay, that they looked unsympathetic. Perhaps he had come on too
  strong. "What do you think?" he said to Gordonson.
 The lawyer shook his head. "They'll find it hard to
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   253

 believe that the Jamisson family entered into a shabby conspiracy with
 Sidney Lennox. You might have done better to present the coal heavers as
 well intentioned but misguided."
 "I told the truth," Mack said. "I can't help it."
  Gordonson smiled sadly. "If you weren't that kind of man, you might not be
  in so much trouble."
  The jurors were arguing. "What the devil are they talking about?" Mack
  said. "I wish we could hear." He could see the skeptical one making a point
  forcefully, wagging his finger. Were the others listening attentively, or
  ranged against him?
  "Be grateful," Gordonson said. "The longer they talk, the better for you."
 "Why?"
  "If they're arguing, there must be doubt; and if there is doubt, they have
  to find you not guilty."
  Mack watched fearfully. The skeptical one shrugged and half turned away,
  and Mack feared he had lost the argument. The foreman said something to
  him, and he nodded.
 The foreman approached the bench.
 The judge said: "Have you reached a verdict?"
 "We have."
 Mack held his breath.
 "And how do you find the prisoner?"
 "We find him guilty as charged."

  Lady Hallim said: "Your feeling for this miner is rather strange, my dear.
  A husband might find it objectionable."
 110h, Mother, don't be so ridiculous."
  There was a knock at the dining room door and a footman came in. "The
  Reverend Mr. York, madam," he said.
  "What a lovely surprise!" said Mother. She had always been fond of York. In
  a low voice she added:
 254      Ken Follett

 "His wife died, Lizzie--did I tell you?-leaving him with three children."
  "But what's he doing here?" Lizzie said anxiously. "He's supposed to be at
  the Old Bailey. Show him in, quickly."
  The pastor came in, looking as if he had dressed hastily. Before Lizzie
  could ask him why he was not at the trial he said something that
  momentarily took her mind off Mack.
  "Lady Hallim, Mrs. Jamisson, I arrived in London a few hours ago, and I've
  called on you at the earliest possible moment to offer you both my
  sympathies. What a dreadful-"
  Lizzie's mother said, "No-" then clamped her lips tight.
 "-blow to you."
  Lizzie shot a puzzled look at her mother and said: "What are you talking
  about, Mr. York?"
 "The pit disaster, of course."
  "I don't know anything about it-although I see my mother does.. . ."
  "My goodness, I'm terribly sorry to have shocked you. There was a roof
  collapse at your pit, and twenty people were Uled."
  Lizzie gasped. "How absolutely dreadful." In her mind she saw twenty new
  graves in the little churchyard by the bridge. There would be so much
  grief: everyone in the neighborhood would be mourning someone. But
  something else worried her. "What do you mean when you say 'your' pit?"
 "High Glen."
 Lizzie went cold. "There is no pit at High Glen.
  "Only the new one, of course-tbe one that was begun when you married Mr.
  Jamisson."
  Lizzie felt frozen with rage. She rounded on her mother. "You knew, didn't
  youT'
 Lady Hallim had the grace to look ashamed. "My
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   255

 dear, it was the only thing to do. That's why Sir George gave you the
 Virginia property-"
  "You betrayed me!" Lizzie cried. "You all deceived me. Even my husband. How
  could you? How could you lie to me?"
  Her mother began to cry. "We thought you'd never know. You're going to
  America-"
  Her tears did nothing to blunt Lizzie's outrage. "You thought I'd never
  know? I can hardly believe my ears!"
 "Don't do anything rash, I beg you."
  An awful thought struck Lizzie. She turned to the pastor. "Mack's twin
  sister . . ."
  "I'm afraid Esther McAsh was among the dead," he said.
  "Oh, no." Mack and Esther were the first twins Lizzie had ever seen, and
  she had been fascinated by them. As children they were hard to tell apart
  until you got to know them. In later life Esther looked like a female Mack,
  with the same striking green eyes and the miner's squat muscularity. Lizzie
  remembered them a few short months ago, standing side by side outside the
  church. Esther had told Mack to shut his gob, and that had made Lizzie
  laugh. Now Esther was dead and Mack was about to be condemned to death-
 Remembering Mack, she said: "The trial is today!"
  York said: "Oh, my goodness, I didn't know it was so soon-am I too late?"
 "Perhaps not, if you go now."
 "I will. How far is it?"
  "Fifteen minutes' walk, five minutes in a sedan chair. I'm coming with
  you."
 Mother said: "No, please-"
  Lizzie made her voice harsh. "Don't try to stop me, Mother. I'm going to
  plead for Mack's life myself. We killed the sister-perhaps we can save the
  brother."
 "I'm coming with you," said Lady Hallim.
 256      Ken Follett

  The Sessions Yard was crammed with people. Lizzie was confused and lost,
  and neither York nor her mother was any help. She pushed through the
  crowd, searching for Gordonson or Mack. She came to a low wall that
  enclosed an inner yard and at last saw Mack and Caspar Gordonson through
  the railings. When she called, Gordonson came out through a gate.
 At the same time Sir George and Jay appeared.
  Jay said in a reproving tone: "Lizzie, why are you here?"
  She ignored him and spoke to Gordonson: "This is the Reverend Mr. York,
  from our village in Scotland. He's come to plead for Mack's life."
  Sir George wagged a finger at York. "If you've got any sense you'll turn
  around and go straight back to Scotland."
  Lizzie said: "And I'm going to plead for his life, too."
  "Thank you," Gordonson said fervently. "It's the best thing you could
  possibly do."
 Lady Hallim said: "I tried to stop her, Sir George."
  Jay flushed with anger and grabbed Lizzie by the arm, squeezing hard.
  "How dare you humiliate me like this?" he spat. "I absolutely forbid you
  to speak!"
 "Are you intimidating this witness?" said Gordonson.
  Jay looked cowed and let go. A lawyer with a bundle of papers pushed
  through the middle of their little group. Jay said: "Do we have to have
  this discussion here where the whole world can see?"
    11
 "Yes, said Gordonson. "We can't leave the court."
  Sir George said to Lizzie: "What the devil do you mean by this, my girl?"
  The arrogant tone maddened Lizzie. "You know damn well what I mean by
  it," she said. The men were all startled to hear her swear, and two or
  three people standing nearby turned and looked at her. She ignored their
  reactions. "You all planned this riot to trap McAsh. I'm not going to
  stand by and see you hang him."
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    257

  Sir George reddened. "Remember that you're my daughter-in-law and---2'
  "Shut up, George," she interrupted. "I won't be bullied."
  He was thunderstruck. No one ever told him to shut up, she was sure.
  Jay took up the cudgels. "You can't go against your own husband," he
  stormed. "It's disloyal!"
  "Disloyal?" she repeated scornfully. "Who the hell are you to talk to me
  about loyalty? You swore to me that you would not mine coal on my
  land-then went ahead and did exactly that. You betrayed me on our wedding
  day!"
  They all went quiet, and for a moment Lizzie could hear a witness giving
  evidence loudly on the other side of the wall. "You know about the
  accident, then," said Jay.
  She took a deep breath. "I might as well say now that Jay and I will be
  leading separate lives from today. We'll be married in name only. I shall
  return to my house in Scotland, and none of the Jamisson family will be
  welcomed there. As for my speaking up for McAsh: I'm not going to help
  you hang my friend, and you can both-both-kiss my arse."
  Sir George was too stupefied to say anything. No one had spoken to him
  this way for years. He was beetroot red, his eyes bulged, and he
  spluttered, but no words came out.
  Caspar Gordonson addressed Jay. "May I make a suggestion?"
  Jay gave him a hostile glare but said curtly: "Go on, go on."
  "Mrs. Jamisson might be persuaded not to testify---on one condition."
 "What?"
 "You, Jay, should plead for Mack's life."
 "Absolutely not," said Jay.
 Gordonson went on: "It would be just as effective.
 258      Ken Follett

 But it would save the family the embarrassment of a wife going against her
 husband in open court." He suddenly looked sly. "Instead, you would look
 magnanimous. You could say that Mack was a miner in the Jainisson pits and
 for that reason the family wishes to be merciful."
  Lizzie's heart leaped with hope. A plea for mercy from Jay, the officer who
  had quelled the riot, would be much more effective.
  She could see hesitation flicker across Jay's face as he weighed the
  consequences. Then he said sulkily: "I suppose I have to accept this."
  Before Lizzie had time to feel exultant, Sir George intervened. "There's
  one condition, which I know Jay will insist upon."
  Lizzie had a bad feeling that she knew what was coming.
  Sir George looked at her. "You must forget all this nonsense about separate
  lives. You are to be a proper wife to Jay in every way."
  "No!" she cried. "He has betrayed me-how can I trust him? I won't do it."
  Sir George said: "Then Jay will not plead for McAsh's life."
  Gordonson said: "I must tell you, Lizzie, that Jay's plea will be more
  effective than yours, because he's the prosecutor."
  Lizzie felt bewildered. It was not fair-she was being forced to choose
  between Mack's life and her own. How could she decide such a thing? She was
  pulled both ways, and it hurt.
  They were all staring at her: Jay, Sir George, Gordonson, her mother, and
  York. She knew she should give in, but something inside would not let her.
  "No," she said defiantly. "I will not trade my own life for Mack's."
 Gordonson said: "Think again."
 Then her mother said: "You have to."
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    259

  Lizzie looked at her. Of course her mother would urge her to do the
  conventional thing. But Mother was on the verge of tears. "What is it?"
  She began to cry. "You have to be a proper wife to Jay."
 "Why?"
 "Because you're going to have a baby."
  Lizzie stared at her. "What? What are you talking about?"
 "You're pregnant," her mother said.
 "How would you know?"
  Mother spoke through sobs. "Your bosom has got bigger and food makes you
  feel sick. You've been married for two months: it's not exactly
  unexpected."
  "Oh, my God." Lizzie was dumbfounded. Everything was turned upside-down. A
  baby! Could it be? She thought back and realized she had not had the curse
  since her wedding day. So it was true. She was trapped by her own body. Jay
  was the father of her child. And Mother had realized this was the one thing
  that could change Lizzie's mind.
  She looked at her husband. On his face she saw anger mixed with a pleading
  look. "Why did you lie to me?" she said.
 "I didn't want to, but I had to," he said.
  She felt bitter. Her love for him would never be quite the same, she knew.
  But he was still her husband.
 "All right," she said. "I accept."
  Caspar Gordonson said: "Then we're all in agreement."
 It sounded to Lizzie like a life sentence.

  "Oh yes! Oh yes! Oh yes!" shouted the court crier. "My lords, the king's
  justices, strictly command all manner of persons to keep silence while the
  sentence of death is passing on the prisoners at the bar, on pain of
  imprisonment."
 The judge put on his black cap and stood up.
 260      Ken Follett

  Mack shuddered with loathing. Nineteen cases had been tried on the same
  day, and twelve people had been found guilty. Mack suffered a wave of
  terror. Lizzie had forced Jay to plead for mercy, which meant that his
  death sentence should be reprieved. but what if the judge decided to
  discount Jay's plea or just made a mistake?
  Lizzie was at the back of the court. Mack caught her eye. She looked pale
  and shaken. He had not had a chance to speak to her. She tried to give him
  an encouraging smile, but it turned into a grimace of fear.
  The judge looked at the twelve prisoners, standing in a line, and after a
  moment he spoke. "The law is that thou shalt return from hence, to the
  place whence thou camest, and from thence to the place of execution, where
  thou shalt hang by the neck, till the body be dead! dead! dead! and the
  Lord have mercy on thy soul."
  There was an awful pause. Cora held Mack's arm, and he felt her fingers
  digging into his flesh as she suffered the same dreadful anxiety. The other
  prisoners had little hope of pardon. As they heard their death sentences
  some screamed abuse, some wept, and one prayed loudly.
  "Peg Knapp is reprieved and recommended for transportation," the judge
  intoned. "Cora Higgins is reprieved and recommended for transportation.
  Malachi McAsh is reprieved and recommended for transportation. The rest are
  left to hang."
  Mack put his arms around Cora and Peg, and the three of them stood in a
  mutual embrace. Their lives had been spared.
  Caspar Gordonson joined in the embrace, then he took Mack's arm and said
  solemnly: "I have to give you some dreadful news."
  Mack was seared again: would their reprieves somehow be overturned?
 "There has been a roof collapse in one of the
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   261

 Jamisson pits," he went on. Mack's heart missed a beat: he dreaded what
 was coming. "Twenty people were killed," Gordonson said.
 "Esther ... ?"
 "I'm sorry, Mack. Your sister was among the dead."
  "Dead?" It was hard to take in. Life and death had been dealt out like
  cards today. Esther, dead? How could he not have a twin? He had always
  had her, since he was born.
  "I should have let her come with me," he said as his eyes filled with
  tears. "Why did I leave her behind?"
  Peg stared at him wide-eyed. Cora held his hand and said: "A life saved,
  and a life lost."
 Mack put his hands over his face and wept.

             25

 THE DAY OF DEPAR,ruRE CAME QUICKLY.
  One morning without warning all the prisoners who had been sentenced to
  transportation were told to pick up their possessions and herded into the
  courtyard.
  Mack had few possessions. Other than his clothes, there was just his
  Robinson Crusoe, the broken iron collar he had brought from Heugh, and
  the fur cloak Lizzie had given him.
  In the courtyard a blacksmith shackled them in pairs with heavy leg
  irons. Mack was humiliated by the fetters. The feel of the cold iron on
  his ankle brought him very low. He had fought for his freedom and lost
  the battle, and once again he was in chains like an animal. He hoped the
  ship would sink and he would drown.
 262      Ken Follett

  Males and females were not allowed to be chained together. Mack was paired
  with a filthy old drunk called Mad Barney. Cora made eyes at the blacksmith
  and got herself paired with Peg.
  "I don't believe Caspar knows we're leaving today," Mack said worriedly.
  "Perhaps they don't have to notify anyone."
  He looked up and down the line of convicts. There were more than a hundred,
  he reckoned, around a quarter of them were female, with a sprinkling of
  children from about nine years upward. Among the men was Sidney Lennox.
  Lennox's fall had caused much glee. No one would trust him since he gave
  evidence against Peg. The thieves who had disposed of their stolen goods at
  the Sun tavern now went elsewhere. And although the coal heavers' strike
  had been broken, and most of the men were back at work, no one would work
  for Lennox at any price. He had tried to coerce a woman called Gwen
  Sixpence into stealing for him, but she and two friends had informed
  against him for receiving stolen property, and he had duly been convicted.
  The Jamissons had intervened and saved him from the gallows, but they could
  not prevent his being transported.
  The great wooden doors of the prison swung wide. A squad of eight guards
  stood outside to escort them. A jailer gave a violent shove to the pair at
  the front of the line, and slowly they moved out into the busy city street.
  "We're not far from Fleet Street," Mack said. "It's possible Caspar may get
  to know of this."
 "What difference does it make?" said Cora.
  "He can bribe the ship's captain to give us special treatment."
  Mack had learned a little about crossing the Atlantic by questioning
  prisoners, guards and visitors in Newgate. The one indubitable fact he had
  learned was that the voyage killed many people. Whether the passengers
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    263

 were slaves, convicts or indentured servants, conditions below decks were
 lethally unhealthy. Shippers were motivated by money: they crammed as many
 people as possible into their holds. But captains were mercenary too, and a
 prisoner with cash for bribes could travel in a cabin.
  Londoners stopped what they were doing to watch the convicts make their
  last, shameful progress through the heart of the city. Some shouted
  condolences, some jeered and mocked, and a few threw stones or rubbish.
  Mack asked a friendly-looking woman to take a message to Caspar Gordonson,
  but she refused. He tried again, twice, with the same result.
  The irons slowed them down, and it took more than an hour to shuffle to the
  waterfront. The river was busy with ships, barges, ferries and rafts, for
  the strikes were over, crushed by the troops. It was a warm spring moming.
  Sunlight glinted off the muddy Thames. A boat was waiting to take them out
  to their ship, which was anchored in midstream. Mack read its name: "The
  Rosebud."
 "Is it a Jamisson ship?" said Cora.
 "I think most of the convict ships are."
  As he stepped from the muddy foreshore into the boat, Mack realized this
  would be the last time he stood on British soil for many years, perhaps
  forever. He had mixed feelings: fear and apprehension mingled with a
  certain reckless excitement at the prospect of a new country and a new
  life.
  Boarding the ship was difficult: they had to climb the ladder in pairs with
  the leg irons on. Peg and Cora managed easily enough, being young and
  nimble, but Mack had to carry Barney. One pair of men fell into the river.
  Neither the guards nor the sailors did anything to help them. and they
  would have drowned if the other prisoners had not reached out and pulled
  them back into the boat.
 The ship was about forty feet long by fifteen wide.
 264      Ken Follett

 Peg commented: "I've burgled drawing rooms that were bigger than this, by
 Christ." On deck were hens in a coop, a small pigsty, and a tethered goat.
 On the other side of the ship a magnificent white horse was being hoisted
 out of a boat with the help of the yardarm used as a crane. A scrawny cat
 bared its fangs at Mack. He had an impression of coiled ropes and furled
 sails, a smell of varnish, and a rocking motion underfoot; then they were
 shoved across the lip of a hatch and down a ladder.
  There seemed to be three lower decks. On the first, four sailors were
  eating their midday meal, sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded
  by sacks and chests that presumably contained supplies for the voyage.
  On the third, all the way down at the foot of the ladder, two men were
  stacking barrels, hammering wedges between them so that they could not
  move during the voyage. At the level of the middle deck, which was
  obviously for the convicts, a sailor roughly pulled Mack and Barney off
  the ladder and shoved them through a doorway.
  There was an odor of tar and vinegar. Mack peered at his surroundings in
  the gloom. The ceiling was an inch or two above his head: a tall man
  would have to stoop. It was pierced by two gratings that admitted a
  little light and air, not from outside but from the enclosed deck above,
  which itself was lit by open hatches. Along both sides of the hold were
  wooden racks, six feet wide, one at waist height and one a few inches off
  the floor.
  With horror Mack realized the racks were for the convicts to lie on. They
  would be spending the voyage on these bare shelves.
  They shuffled along the narrow walkway between the rows. The first few
  berths were already occupied by convicts lying flat, still chained in
  pairs. They were quiet, stunned by what was happening to them. A sailor
  directed Peg and Cora to lie next to Mack and Barney,
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   265

 like knives in a drawer. They took their positions, and the sailor roughly
 shoved them closer together, so that they were touching. Peg was able to sit
 upright but the grown-ups were not, for there was not enough headroom. The
 best Mack could do was to prop himself on one elbow.
  At the end of the row Mack spotted a large earthenware jar, about two feet
  high, cone shaped with a broad flat base and a rim about nine inches
  across. There were three others around the hold. They were the only items
  of furniture visible, and he realized they were the toilets.
 "How long will it take to get to Virginia?" said Peg.
 "Seven weeks," he said. "If we're lucky."

  Lizzie watched as her trunk was carried into the large cabin at the rear of
  the Rosebud. She and Jay had the owner's quarters, a bedroom and a day
  room, and there was more space than she had expected. Everyone talked of
  the horrors of the transatlantic voyage, but she was determined to make the
  best of it and try to enjoy the novel experience.
  Making the best of things was now her philosophy of life. She could not
  forget Jay's betrayal-she still clenched her fists and bit her lip every
  time she thought of the hollow promise he had made on their wedding day-but
  she tried always to push it to the back of her mind.
  Only a few weeks ago she would have been thrilled by this trip. Going to
  America was her great ambition: it was one of the reasons she had married
  Jay. She had anticipated a new life in the colonies, a more free-andeasy,
  outdoor existence, without petticoats or calling cards, where a woman could
  get dirt under her fingernails and speak her mind like a man. But the dream
  had lost some of its glow when she learned of the deal Jay had made. They
  ought to call the plantation "Twenty Graves," she thought moodily.
 266      Ken Follett

  She tried to pretend that Jay was as dear to her as ever, but her body told
  the truth. When he touched her at night she did not respond as she once
  had. She would kiss and caress him, but his fingers did not scorch her
  skin, and his tongue no longer seemed to reach all the way inside to touch
  her soul. Once upon a time the mere sight of him had made her moist between
  the legs; now she surreptitiously oiled herself with cold cream before
  getting into bed, otherwise intercourse hurt her. He always ended up
  groaning and gasping with pleasure as he spilled his seed inside her, but
  there was no such culmination for her. Instead she was left with an
  unfulfilled feeling. Later, when she heard him snoring, she would console
  herself with her fingers, and then her head would fill with strange images,
  men wrestling and whores with exposed breasts.
  But her life was dominated by thoughts of the baby. Her pregnancy made her
  disappointments seem less important. She would love her baby without
  reservation. The child would become her life's work. And he, or she, would
  grow up a Virginian.
  As she was taking off her hat there was a tap at the cabin door. A wiry man
  in a blue coat and a threecornered hat stepped inside and bowed. "Silas
  Bone, first mate, at your service, Mrs. Jarnisson, Mr. Jamisson," he said.
  "Good day to YOU, Bone," Jay said stiffly, assuming the dignity of the
  owner's son.
  "Captain's compliments to you both," Bone said. They had already met
  Captain Parridge, a dour, aloof Kentishman from Rochester, "We'll get under
  way at the turn of the tide," Bone went on. He gave Lizzie a patronizing
  smile. "However, we'll be within the Thames estuary for the first day or
  two, so madam need not worry about bumpy weather just yet."
 Jay said: "Are my horses on board?"
 "Yes sir."
 "Let's have a look at their accommodation."
                             267
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM

  "Certainly. Perhaps Mrs. J. will stay and unpack her little bits and
  pieces."
  Lizzie said: "I'll come with you. I'd like to take a look around."
  Bone said: "You'll find it best to stay in your cabin as much as possible
  on the voyage, Mrs. J. Sailors are rough folk and the weather is rougher."
  Lizzie bridled. "I have no intention of spending the next seven weeks
  cooped up in this little room," she snapped. "Lead the way, Mr. Bone."
 "Aye-aye, Mrs. J."
  They stepped out of the cabin and walked along the deck to an open hatch.
  The mate scampered down a ladder, agile as a monkey. Jay went after him and
  Lizzie followed. They went to the second of the lower decks. Daylight
  filtered down from the open hatch, and it was augmented a little by a
  single lamp on a hook.
  Jay's favorite horses, the two grays, and the birthday present, Blizzard,
  stood in narrow stalls. Each had a sling under its belly, attached to a
  beam overhead, so that if it lost its footing in heavy seas it could not
  fall. There was hay in a manger at the horses' heads, and the deck below
  them was sanded to protect their hooves. They were valuable beasts and
  would be hard to replace in America. They were nervous and Jay petted them
  for a while, speaking to them soothingly.
  Lizzie became impatient and wandered along the deck to where a heavy door
  stood open. Bone followed her. "I wouldn't wander around, if I were you,
  Mrs. J..he said. "You might see things that would distress you.-
  She ignored him and went forward. She was not squeamish.
  "That's the convict hold ahead," he said. "It's no place for a lady."
  He had said the magic words that guaranteed she would persist. She turned
  around and fixed him with a look. "Mr. Bone, this ship belongs to my
  father-in-law and I will go where I like. Is that clear?"
 268      Ken Follett

 "Aye-aye, Mrs. J."
 "And you can call me Mrs. Jamisson."
 "Aye-aye, Mrs. Jamisson."
  She was keen to see the convict hold because McAsh might be there: this
  was the first convict ship to leave London since his trial. She went
  forward a couple of paces, ducked her head under a beam, pushed open a
  door and found herself in the main hold.
  It was warm, and there was an oppressive stink of crowded humanity. She
  stared into the gloom. At first she could see nobody, although she heard
  the munnur of many voices. She was in a big space filled with what looked
  like storage racks for barrels. Something moved on the shelf beside her,
  with a clank like a chain, and she jumped. Then she saw to her horror
  that what had moved was a human foot in an iron clamp. Someone was lying
  on the shelf, she saw; no, two people, fettered together at their ankles.
  As her eyes adjusted she saw another couple lying shoulder to shoulder
  with the first, then another, and she realized there were dozens of them,
  packed together on these racks like herrings in a fishmonger's tray.
  Surely, she thought, this was just temporary accommodation, and they
  would be given proper bunks, at least, for the voyage? Then she realized
  what a foolish notion that was. Where could such bunks be? This was the
  main hold, occupying most of the space below deck. There was nowhere else
  for these wretched people to go. They would spend at least seven weeks
  lying here in the airless gloom.
 "Lizzie Jamisson!" said a voice.
  She gave a start. She recognized the Scots accent: it was Mack. She
  peered into the dark, saying: "Mackwhere are you?"
 "Here."
  She took a few paces along the narrow walkway between the racks. An arm
  was stretched out to her,
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    269

 ghostly gray in the twilight. She squeezed Mack's hard hand. "This is
 dreadful," she said. "What can I do?"
 "Nothing, now," he said.
  She saw Cora lying beside him and the child, Peg, next to her. At least
  they were all together. Something in Cora's expression made Lizzie let go
  of Mack's hand. "Perhaps I can make sure you get enough food and water,"
  she said.
 "That would be kind."
  Lizzie could not think of anything else to say. She stood there in silence
  for a few moments. "I'll come back down here every day, if I can," she said
  at last.
 "Thank you."
 She turned and hurried out.
  She retraced her steps with an indignant protest on her lips, but when she
  caught the eye of Silas Bone she saw such a look of scorn on his face that
  she bit back her words. The convicts were on board and the ship was about
  to set sail, and nothing she could say would change matters now. A protest
  would only vindicate Bone's warning that women should not go below decks.
  "The horses are comfortably settled," Jay said with an air of satisfaction.
  Lizzie could not resist a retort. "They're better off than the human
  beings!"
  "Ah, that reminds me," said Jay. "Bone, there's a convict in the hold
  called Sidnev Lennox. Have his irons struck and put him in a cabin,
  please."
 "Aye-aye, sir."
 "Why is Lennox with us?" Lizzie said, aghast.
  "He was convicted of receiving stolen goods. But the family has made use of
  him in the past and we can't abandon him. He might die in the hold."
  "Oh, Jay!" Lizzie cried in dismay. "He's such a bad man!"
 "On the contrary, he's quite useful."
  Lizzie turned away. She had rejoiced to be leaving Lennox behind in
  England. What bad luck that he too
 270      Ken Follett

 had been transported. Would Jay never escape from his malign influence?
  Bone said: "The tide's on the turn, Mr. Jamisson. Captain will be impatient
  to weigh anchor."
  "My compliments to the captain, and tell him to carry on. '
 They all climbed the ladder.
  A few minutes later Lizzie and Jay stood in the bows as the ship began to
  move downriver on the tide. A fresh evening breeze buffeted Lizzie's
  cheeks. As the dome of St. Paul slipped below the skyline of warehouses she
  said: I wonder if we'll ever see London again."
    III

     N

  w -(~ E

     s

 Virginia
             26

 MACK LAY IN THE HOLD OF THE RosEBuD, SHAKING with fever. He felt like an
 animal: filthy, neirly naked, chained and helpless. He could hardly stand
 upright but his mind was clear enough. He vowed he would never again allow
 anyone to put iron fetters on him. He would fight, try to escape, and hope
 they killed him rather than suffer this degradation again.
  An excited cry from on deck penetrated the hold: "Soundings at thirty-five
  fathoms, Captain-sand and reeds!"
  A cheer went up from the crew. Peg said: "What's a fathom?"
  "Six feet of water," Mack said with weary relief. "It means we're
  approaching land."
  He had often felt he would not make it. Twenty-five of the prisoners had
  died at sea. They had not starved: it seemed that Lizzie, who had not
  reappeared below decks, had nevertheless kept her promise and ensured they
  had enough to eat and drink. But the drinking water had been foul and the
  diet of salt meat and bread unhealthily monotonous, and all the convicts
  had been violently ill with the type of sickness that was called sometimes
  hospital fever and sometimes jail fever. Mad Barney had been the first to
  die of it. the old went quickest.
  Disease was not the only cause of death. Five people had been killed in one
  dreadful storm, when the 273
 274      Ken Follett

 prisoners had been tossed around the hold, helplessly injuring themselves
 and others with their iron chains.
  Peg had always been thin but now she looked as if she were made of sticks.
  Cora had aged. Even in the half dark of the hold Mack could see that her
  hair was falling out, her face was drawn, and her once voluptuous body was
  scraggy and disfigured with sores. Mack was just glad they were still
  alive.
  Some tinne later he heard another sounding: "Eighteen fathoms and white
  sand." Next time it was thirteen fathoms and shells; and then, at last, the
  cry: "Land ho!"
  Despite his weakness Mack longed to go on deck. This is America, he
  thought. I've crossed the world to the far side, and I'm still alive, I
  wish I could see America.
  That night the Rosebud anchored in calm waters. The seaman who brought the
  prisoners' rations of salt pork and foul water was one of the more friendly
  crew members. His name was Ezekiel Bell. He was disfiguredhe had lost one
  ear, he was completely bald and he had a huge goiter like a hen's egg on
  his neck-and he was ironically known as Beau Bell. He told them they were
  off Cape Henry, near the town of Hampton in Virginia.
  Next day the ship remained at anchor. Mack wondered angrily what was
  prolonging their voyage. Someone must have gone ashore for supplies,
  because that night there came from the galley a mouthwatering smell of
  fresh meat roasting. It tortured the prisoners and gave Mack stomach
  cramps.
  "Mack, what happens when we get to Virginia?" Peg asked.
  "We'll be sold, and have to work for whoever buys us," he replied.
 "Will we be sold together?"
 He knew there was little chance of it, but he did not
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   275

 say so. "We might be," he said. "Let's hope for the best."
  There was a silence while Peg took that in. When she spoke again her
  voice was frightened. "Who will buy us?"
  "Farmers, planters, housewives ... anyone who needs workers and wants
  them cheap."
 "Someone might want all three of us."
  Who would want a coal miner and two thieves? Mack said: "Or perhaps we
  might be bought by people who live close together."
 "What work will we do?"
  "Anything we're told to, I suppose: farm work, cleaning, building . . ."
 "We'll be just like slaves."
 "But only for seven years."
 "Seven years," she said dismally. "I'll be grown-up!"
  "And I'll be almost thirty," Mack said. It seemed middle-aged.
 "Will they beat us?"
  Mack knew that the answer was yes, but he lied. "Not if we work hard and
  keep our mouths shut."
 "Who gets the money when we're bought?"
  "Sir George Jamisson." The fever had tired him, and he added impatiently:
  "I'm sure you've asked me half these damn questions before."
  Peg turned away, hurt. Cora said: "She's worried, Mack-that's why she
  keeps asking the same questions."
 I'm worried too, Mack thought wretchedly.
  "I don't want to reach Virginia," Peg said. "I want the voyage to go on
  forever."
 Cora laughed bitterly. "You enjoy living this way?"
 "It's like having a mother and father," Peg said.
 Cora put her arm around the child and hugged her.
  They weighed anchor the following morning, and Mack could feel the ship
  bowling along in front of a strong favorable wind. In the evening he
  learned they
 276      Ken Follett

 were almost at the mouth of the Rappahannock River. Then contrary winds
 kept them at anchor for two wasted days before they could head upriver.
  Mack's fever abated and he was strong enough to go up on deck for one of
  the intermittent exercise periods; and as the ship tacked upriver he got
  his first sight of America.
  Thick woods and cultivated fields lined both banks. At intervals there
  would he a jetty, a cleared stretch of bank-, and a lawn rising up to a
  grand house. Here and there around the jetties he saw the huge barrels
  known as hogsheads, used for transporting tobacco: he had watched them
  being unloaded in the port of London, and it now struck him as remarkable
  that every one had survived the hazardous and violent transatlantic
  voyage to get there from here. Most of the people in the fields were
  black, he noticed. The horses and dogs looked the same as any others, but
  the birds perching on the ship's rail were unfamiliar. There were lots
  of other vessels on the river, a few merchantmen like the Rosebud and
  many smaller craft.
  That brief survey was all he saw for the next four days, but he kept the
  picture in his mind like a treasured souvenir as he Jay in the hold: the
  sunshine, the people walking around in the fresh aiL the woods and the
  lawns and the houses. The longing he felt, to get off the Rosebud and
  walk around in the open air, was so strong it was like a pain.
  When at last they anchored he learned they were at Fredericksburg, their
  destination. The voyage had taken eight weeks.
  That night the convicts got cooked food: a broth of fresh pork with
  Indian com and potatoes in it, a slab of new bread, and a quart of ale.
  The unaccustomed rich food and strong ale made Mack feel dizzy and sick
  all night.
  Next morning they were brought up on deck in groups of ten. and they saw
  Fredericksburg.
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    277

  They were anchored in a muddy river with midstream islands. There was a
  narrow sandy beach, a strip of wooded waterfront, then a short, sharp
  rise to the town itself, which was built around a bluff. It looked as
  though a couple of hundred people might live there: it was not much
  bigger than Heugh, the village where Mack had been born, but it seemed
  a cheerful, prosperous place, with houses of wood painted white and
  green. On the opposite. bank, a little upstream, was another town, which
  Mack learned was called Falmouth.
  The river was crowded. with two more ships as big as the Rosebud, several
  smaller coasters, some flatboats. and a ferry crossing between the two
  towns. Men worked busily all along the waterfront unloading ships,
  rolling barrels and carrying chests in and out of warehouses.
  The prisoners were given soap and made to wash, and a barber came on
  board to shave the men and cut their hair. Those whose clothes were so
  ragged as to be indecent were given replacement garments, but their
  gratitude was diminished when they recognized them as having been taken
  from those who had died on the voyage. Mack got Mad Barney's verminous
  coat: he draped it over a rail and beat it with a stick until no more
  lice fell out.
  The captain made a list of. the surviving prisoners and asked each what
  his trade had been at home. Some had been casual laborers or, like Cora
  and Peg, had never earned an honest living: they were encouraged to
  exaggerate or invent something. Peg was put down as a dressmaker's
  apprentice, Cora as a barmaid. Mack realized it was all a belated effort
  to make them look attractive to buyers.
  They were returned to the hold, and that afternoon two men were brought
  down to inspect them. They were an odd-looking pair: one wore the red
  coat of a British soldier over homespun breeches, the other a once
  fashionable yellow waistcoat with crudely sewn
 278      Ken Follett

 buckskin trousers. Despite their odd clothes they looked well fed and had
 the red noses of men who could afford all the liquor they wanted. Beau Bell
 whispered to Mack that they were "soul drivers" and explained what that
 meant: they would buy up groups of slaves, convicts and indentured servants
 and herd them up-country like sheep, to sell to remote farmers and mountain
 men. Mack did not like the look of them. They went away without making a
 purchase. Tomorrow was Race Day, Bell said: the gentry came into town from
 all around for the horse races. Most of the convicts would be sold by the
 end of the day. Then the soul drivers would offer a knockdown price for all
 those who remained. Mack hoped Cora and Peg did not end up in their hands.
  That night there was another good meal. Mack ate it slowly and slept
  soundly. In the morning everyone was looking a little better: they seemed
  bright eyed and able to smile. Throughout the voyage their only meal had
  been dinner, but today they got a breakfast of porridge and molasses and a
  ration of rum and water.
  Consequently, despite the uncertain future that faced them, it was a
  cheerful group that mounted the ladder Out of the hold and hobbled, still
  chained, on deck. There was more activity on the waterfront today, with
  several small boats landing, numerous carts passing along the main street,
  and small knots of smartly dressed people lounging around, obviously taking
  a day off,
  A fat-bellied man in a straw hat came on board accompanied by a tall,
  gray-haired Negro. The two of them looked over the convicts, picking out
  some and rejecting others. Mack soon figured that they were selecting the
  youngest and strongest men, and inevitably he was among the fourteen or
  fifteen chosen. No women or children were picked.
  When the selection was finished the captain said: "Right, you lot, go with
  these men."
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    279

  "Where are we going?" Mack asked. They ignored him.
 Peg began to cry.
  Mack embraced her. He had known this was going to happen, and it broke
  his heart. Every adult Peg trusted had been taken from her: her mother
  killed by sickness, her father hanged, and now Mack sold away from her.
  He hugged her hard and she clung to him. "Take me with you!" she wailed.
  He detached himself from her. "Try and stay with Cora, if you can," he
  said.
  Cora kissed him on the lips with desperate passion. It was hard to
  believe that he might never see her again, never again lie in bed with
  her and touch her body and make her gasp with pleasure. Hot tears ran
  down her face and into his mouth as they kissed. "Try and find us, Mack,
  for God's sake," she pleaded.
 "I'll do my best---2'
 "Promise me!" she insisted.
 "I promise, I'll find you."
  The fat-bellied man said: "Come on, ]over boy," and jerked Mack away from
  her.
  He looked back over his shoulder as he was pushed down the gangway onto
  the wharf. Cora and Peg stood watching with their arms around one
  another, crying. Mack thought of his parting from Esther. I won't fail
  Cora and Peg the way I failed Esther, he vowed. Then they were lost from
  sight.
  It felt strange to put his feet on solid ground after eight weeks of
  having the never-ceasing movement of the sea beneath him. As he hobbled
  down the unpaved main street in his chains he stared about him, looking
  at America. The town center had a church, a market house, a pillory and
  a gallows. Brick and wood houses stood widely spaced along either side
  of the street. Sheep and chickens foraged in the muddy road. Some
  buildings seemed old-established but there was a raw, new look to many.
 280      Ken Follett

  The town was thronged with people, horses, carts, and carriages, most of
  which must have come from the countryside all around. The women had new
  bonnets and ribbons, and the men wore polished boots and clean gloves. Many
  people's clothes had a homemade look, even though the fabrics were costly.
  He overheard several people talking of races and betting odds. Virginians
  seemed keen on gambling.
  The townspeople looked at the convicts with mild curiosity, the way they
  might have watched a horse canter along the street, a sight they had seen
  before but which continued to interest them.
  The town petered out after half a mile. They waded across the river at a
  ford, then set off along a rough track through wooded countryside. Mack put
  himself next to the middle-aged Negro. "My name is Malachi McAsh," he said.
  "They call me Mack."
  The man kept his eyes straight ahead but spoke in a friendly enough way.
  "I'm Kobe," he said, pronouncing it to rhyme with Toby. "Kobe Tambala."
  "The fat man in the straw hat-does he own us now?"
  "No. Bill Sowerby's just the overseer. Him and me wits told to go aboard
  the Rosebud and pick out the best field hands."
 "Who has bought its?"
 "You ain't exactly been bought."
 "What, then?"
  "Mr. Jay Jamisson decided to keep you for hisself, to work on his own
  place, Mockjack Hail."
 "Jamisson!"
 "That's right."
  Mack was once again owned by the Jamisson family. The thought made him
  angry. Damn them to hell, I'll run away again, he vowed. I will be my own
  man.
 Kobe said: "What work did you do, before?"
 "I used to be a coal miner."
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    281

  "Coal? I've heard tell of it. A rock that bums like wood, but hotter?"
  "Aye. Trouble is, you have to go deep underground to find it. What about
  yourself?"
  "My people were farmers in Africa. My father had a big piece of land,
  more than Mr. Jamisson."
  Mack was surprised: he had never thought of slaves as coming from rich
  families. "What kind of farm?"
  "Mixed-wheat, some cattle-but no tobacco. We have a root called the yam
  grows out there. Never seen it here, though."
 "You speak English well."
  "I've been here nearly forty years." A look of bitterness came over his
  face. "I was just a boy when they stole me."
  Peg and Cora were on Mack's mind. "There were two people on the ship with
  me, a woman and a girl," he said. "Will I be able to find out who bought
  them?"
  Kobe gave a humorless laugh. "Everybody's trying to find someone they
  were sold apart from. People ask around all the time. When slaves meet
  up, on the road or in the woods, that's all they talk about."
  "The child's name is Peg," Mack persisted. "She's only thirteen. She
  doesn't have a mother or father."
  "When you've been bought, nobody has a mother or father."
  Kobe had given up, Mack realized. He had grown accustomed to his slavery
  and learned to live with it. He was bitter, but he had abandoned all hope
  of freedom. I swear I'll never do that, Mack thought.
  They walked about ten miles. It was slow, because the convicts were
  fettered. Some were still chained in pairs. Those whose partners had died
  on the voyage were hobbled, their ankles chained together so that they
  could walk but not run. None of them could go fast and they might have
  collapsed if they had tried, so weak were they from lying flat for eight
  weeks. The overseer, Sowerby, was on horseback, but he seemed in no
  hurry,
 282      Ken Follett

 and as he rode he sipped some kind of liquor from a flask.
  The countryside was more like England than Scotland, and not as alien as
  Mack had anticipated. The road followed the rocky river, which wound
  through a lush forest. Mack wished he could lie in the shade of those big
  trees for a while.
  He wondered how soon he would see the amazing Lizzie. He felt bitter about
  being the property of a Jamisson again, but her presence would be some
  consolation. Unlike her father-in-law she was not cruel, though she could
  be thoughtless. Her unorthodox ways and her vivacious personality delighted
  Mack. And she had a sense of justice that had saved his life in the past
  and might do so again.
  It was noon when they arrived at the Jamisson plantation. A path led
  through an orchard where cattle grazed to a muddy compound with a dozen or
  so cabins. Two elderly black women were cooking over open fires, and four
  or five naked children played in the dirt. The cabins were crudely built
  with rough-hewn planks, and their shuttered windows had no glass.
  Sowerby exchanged a few words with Kobe and disappeared.
 Kobe said to the convicts: "These are your quarters."
  Someone said: "Do we have to live with the blackies?"
  Mack laughed. After eight weeks in the hellhole of the Rosebud it was a
  miracle they could complain about their accommodation.
  Kobe said: "White and black live in separate cabins. There's no law about
  it, but it always seems to work out that way. Each cabin takes six people.
  Before we rest we have one more chore. Follow me."
  They walked along a footpath that wound between fields of green wheat, tall
  Indian corn growing out of hillocks, and the fragrant tobacco plant. Men
  and
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    283

 women were at work in every field, weeding between the rows and picking
 grubs off the tobacco leaves.
  They emerged onto a wide lawn and went up a rise toward a sprawling,
  dilapidated clapboard house with drab peeling paint and closed shutters:
  Mockjack Hall, presumably. Skirting the house, they came to a group of
  outbuildings at the back. One of the buildings was a smithy. Working
  there was a Negro whom Kobe addressed as Cass. He began to strike the
  fetters from the convicts' legs.
  Mack watched as the convicts were unchained one by one. He felt a sense
  of liberation, though he knew it was false. These chains had been put on
  him in Newgate Prison, on the far side of the world. He had resented them
  every minute of the eight degrading weeks he had worn them.
  From the high point where the house stood he could see the glint of the
  Rappahannock River, about half a mile awav, winding through woodland.
  When my chains are struck I could just run away, down to the river, he
  thought, and I could jump in and swim across and make a bid for freedom.
  He would have to restrain himself. He was still so weak that he probably
  could not run half a mile. Besides, he had promised to search for Peg and
  Cora, and he would have to find them before he escaped, for he might not
  be able to afterward. And he had to plan carefully. He knew nothing of
  the geography of this land. He needed to know where he was going and how
  he would get there.
  All the same, when at last he felt the irons fall from his legs he had
  to make an effort not to run away.
  While he was still fighting the impulse, Kobe began to speak. "Now you've
  lost your chains, some of you are already figuring how far you can get
  by sundown. Before you run away, there's something important you need to
  know, so listen up and pay attention."
 He paused for effect, then went on: "People who run
 284      Ken Follett

 away are generally caught, and they get punished. First they're flogged,
 but that's the easy part. Then they have to wear the iron collar, which
 some find shameful. But the worst is, your time is made longer. If you're
 away for a week, you have to serve two weeks extra. We got people here run
 away so many times they won't be free until they're a hundred years old."
 He looked around and caught Mack's eye. "If you're willing to chance that
 much," he finished, "all I can say is, I wish you luck."

  In the morning the old women cooked a boiled com dish called hominy for
  breakfast. The convicts and slaves ate it with their fingers out of
  wooden bowls.
  There were about forty field hands altogether. Apart from the new intake
  of convicts, most were black slaves. There were four indentured servants,
  people who had sold four years' labor in advance to pay for their
  transatlantic ticket. They kept apart from the others and evidently
  considered themselves superior. There were only three regular waged
  employees, two free blacks and a white woman, all past fifty years old.
  Some of the blacks spoke good English, but many talked in their own
  African languages and communicated with the whites in a childish kind of
  pidgin. At first Mack was inclined to treat them as children, then it
  struck him that they were superior to him in speaking one and a half
  languages, for he had only one.
  They were marched a mile or two across broad fields to where the tobacco
  was ready to harvest. The tobacco plants stood in neat rows about three
  feet apart and a quarter of a mile long. They were about as tall as Mack,
  each with a dozen or so broad green leaves.
  The hands were given their orders by Bill Sowerby and Kobe. They were
  divided into three groups. The first were given sharp knives and set to
  cutting down the ripe plants. The next group went into a field that had
  been cut the previous day. The plants lay on the
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   285

 ground, their big leaves wilted after a day drying in the sun. Newcomers
 were shown how to split the stalks of the cut plants and spear them on
 long wooden spikes. Mack was in the third group, which had the job of
 carrying the loaded spikes across the fields to the tobacco house, where
 they were hung from the high ceiling to cure in the air.
  It was a long, hot summer day. The men from the Rosebud were not able to
  work as hard as the others. Mack found himself constantly overtaken by
  women and children. He had been weakened by disease, malnutrition and
  inactivity. Bill Sowerby carried a whip but Mack did not see him use it.
  At noon they got a meal of coarse cornbread that the slaves called pone.
  While they were eating Mack was dismayed, but not completely surprised,
  to see the familiar figure of Sidney Lennox, dressed in new clothes,
  being shown around the plantation by Sowerby. No doubt Jay felt that
  Lennox had been useful to him in the past and might be so again.
  At sundown, feeling exhausted, they left the fields; but instead of
  returning to their cabins they were marched to the tobacco house, now lit
  up by dozens of candles. After a hasty meal they worked on, stripping the
  leaves from cured plants, removing the thick central spine, and pressing
  the leaves into bundles. As the night wore on some of the children and
  older people fell asleep at their work, and an elaborate warning system
  came into play, whereby the stronger ones covered for the weak and woke
  them when Sowerby approached.
  It must have been past midnight, Mack guessed, when at last the candles
  were snuffed and the hands were allowed to return to their cabins and lie
  down on their wooden bunks. Mack fell asleep immediately.
  It seemed only seconds later that he was being shaken awake to go back
  to work. Wearily he got to his feet and staggered outside. Leaning
  against the cabin wall he ate his bowl of hominy. No sooner had he
 286      Ken Foflett

 stuffed the last handful into his Mouth than they were marched off again.
  As they entered the field in the dawn light, he saw Lizzie.
  He had not set eyes on her since the day they had boarded the Rosebud. She
  was on a white horse, crossing the field at a walk. She wore a loose linen
  dress and a big hat. The sun was about to rise and there was a clear,
  watery light. She looked well: rested, comfortable, the lady of the manor
  riding about her estate. She had put on some weight, Mack noticed, while he
  had wasted away from starvation. But he could not resent her, for she stood
  up for what was fight and had thereby saved his life more than once.
  He recalled the time he had embraced her, in the alley off Tyburn Street,
  after he had saved her from the two ruffians. He had held that soft body
  close to his own and inhaled the fragrance of soap and feminine
  perspiration, and for a mad moment he had thought that Lizzie, rather than
  Cora, might be the woman for him. Then sanity had returned.
  Looking at her rounded body he realized she was not getting fat, she was
  pregnant. She would have a son and he would grow up a Jarnisson, cruet and
  greedy and heartless, Mack thought. He would own this plantation and buy
  human beings and treat them like cattle, and he would be rich.
  Lizzie caught his eye. He felt guilty that he had been thinking such harsh
  thoughts of her unborn child. She stared at first, unsure who he was; then
  she seemed to recognize him with a jolt. Perhaps she was shocked by the
  change in his appearance caused by the voyage.
  He held her eye for a long time, hoping she would come over to him; but
  then she turned away without speaking and kicked her horse into a trot, and
  a moment later she disappeared into the woods.
             27

 A WEEK AFTER ARRIVING AT MOCKJACK HALL JAY Jamisson sat watching two
 slaves unpack a trunk of glassware. Belle was middle-aged and heavy, and
 she had ballooning breasts and a vast rear; but Mildred was about eighteen
 years old, with perfect tobacco-colored skin and lazy eyes. When she
 reached up to the shelves of the cabinet he could see her breasts move
 under the drab homespun shift she wore. His stare made both women uneasy,
 and they unwrapped the delicate crystal with shaky hands. If they broke
 anything they would have to be punished. Jay wondered if he should beat
 them.
  The thought made him restless, and he got up and went outside. Mockjack
  Hall was a big, long-fronted house with a pillared portico facing down
  a sloping lawn to the muddy Rappahannock River. Any house of its size in
  England would have been made of stone or brick, but this was a wood-frame
  building. It had been painted white with green shutters many years ago,
  but now the paint was peeling and the colors had faded to a uniforrn
  drab. At the back and sides were numerous outhouses containing the
  kitchen, laundry, and stables. The main house had grand reception
  rooms--drawing room, dining room, and even a ballroom-and spacious
  bedrooms upstairs, but the whole interior needed redecoration. There was
  much once fashionable imported furniture. and faded silk hangings and
  worn rugs. The
              287
 288      Ken Follett

 air of lost grandeur about the place was like a smell of drains.
  Nevertheless Jay felt good as he surveyed his estate from the portico. It
  was a thousand acres of cultivated fields. wooded hillsides, bright streams
  and broad ponds, with forty hands and three house servants-, and the land
  and the people belonged to him. Not to his family, not to his father, but
  to him. At last he was a gentleman in his own right.
  And this was just the start. He planned to cut a dash in Virginia society.
  He did not know just how colonial government worked, but he understood they
  had local leaders called vestrymen, and the assembly in Williamsburg was
  composed of burgesses, the equivalent of members of Parliament. Given his
  status he thought he might skip the local stage and stand for election to
  the House of Burgesses at the earliest opportunity. He wanted everyone to
  know that Jay Jamisson was a man of importance.
  Lizzie came across the lawn, riding Blizzard, who had survived the voyage
  unscathed. She was riding him well, Jay thought, almost like a man-and then
  he realized, to his irritation, that she was riding astride. It was so
  vulgar for a woman to go up and down like that with her legs apart. When
  she reined in he said: "You shouldn't ride like that."
  She put a hand on her rounded waist. "I've been going very slowly, just
  walking and trotting."
  "I wasn't thinking of the baby. I hope nobody saw you riding astride."
  Her face fell, but her rejoinder was defiant, as always: "I don't intend to
  ride sidesaddle out here."
  "Out here?" he repeated. "What does it matter where we are?"
 "But there's nobody here to see me."
  "I can see you. So can the servants. And we might have visitors. You
  wouldn't walk around naked 'out here,' would you?"
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    289

  "I'll ride sidesaddle to church, and when we're with company, but not on my
  own."
  There was no arguing with her in this mood. "Anyway, quite soon you'll have
  to stop riding altogether, for the sake of the baby," he said sulkily.
  "But not just yet," she said brightly. She was five months pregnant: she
  planned to stop riding at six. She changed the subject. "I've been looking
  around. The land is in better condition than the house. Sowerby is a drunk,
  but he has kept the place going. We probably should be grateful,
  considering he hasn't been paid his wages for almost a year."
 "He may have to wait a little longer--cash is short."
  "Your father said there were fifty hands, but in fact there are only
  twenty-five. It's a good thing we have the fifteen convicts from the
  Rosebud." She frowned. "Is McAsh among them?"
 'Yes.
 "I thought I saw him across the fields."
  "I told Sowerby to pick out the youngest and strongest." Jay had not
  realized that McAsh was on the ship. If he had thought about it, he might
  have guessed and told Sowerby to be sure to leave the troublemaker behind.
  But now that he was here Jay was reluctant to send him away: he did not
  want to appear intimidated by a mere convict.
  Lizzie said: "I presume we didn't pay for the new men."
  "Certainly not-why should I pay for something that belongs to my family?"
 "Your father may find out."
  "He certainly will. Captain Parridge demanded a receipt for fifteen
  convicts, and naturally I obliged him. He will hand that to Father."
 "And then?"
  Jay shrugged. "Father will probably send me a bill, which I will pay-when
  I can." He was rather pleased with this little piece of business. He had
  got fifteen
 290      Ken Follett

 strong men to work for seven years, and it had cost him nothing.
 "How will your father take it?"
  Jay grinned. "He'll be furious, but what can he do at this distance?"
 "I suppose it's all right." Lizzie said dubiously.
  He did not like her questioning his judgment. "These things are best left
  to men."
  That annoyed her, as always. She went on the attack. "I'm sorry to see
  Lennox here-I can't understand your attachment to that man."
  Jay had mixed feelings about Lennox. He might be as useful here as he had
  been in London-but he was an uncomfortable presence. However, once he had
  been rescued from the hold of the Rosebud, the man had assumed he would
  be living on the Jamisson plantation, and Jay had never summoned the
  nerve to discuss the matter. "I thought it would be useful to have a
  white man to do my bidding," he said airily.
 "But what will he do?"
 "Sowerby needs an assistant."
  "Lennox knows nothing about tobacco, except how to smoke the stuff."
  "He can learn. Besides, it's mainly a matter of making the Negroes work."
 "He'll be good at that," Lizzie said caustically.
  Jay did not want to discuss Lennox. "I may go into public life here," he
  said. "I'd like to get elected to the House of Burgesses. I wonder how
  soon it could be arranged."
  "You'd better meet our neighbors and talk to them about it."
  He nodded. "In a month or so, when the house is ready, we'll give a big
  party and invite everyone of importance from round about Fredericksburg.
  That will give me a chance to get the measure of the local gentry.,,
 "A party," Lizzie said dubiously. "Can we afford it?"
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    291

  Once again she was questioning his judgment. "Leave the finances to me,"
  he snapped. "I'm sure we can get supplies on credit-the family has been
  trading in these parts for at least ten years, my name must be worth
  quite a lot."
  She persisted with her questions. "Wouldn't it be better to concentrate
  on running the plantation, at least for a year or two? Then you could be
  sure you had a solid foundation for your public career."
  "Don't be stupid," he said. "I didn't come here to be a farmer."

  The ballroom was small, but it had a good floor and a little balcony for
  the musicians. Twenty or thirty couples were dancing in their bright
  satin clothes, the men wearing wigs and the women in lacy hats. Two
  fiddlers, a drummer and a French horn player were giving a minuet. Dozens
  of candles lit up the fresh paintwork and floral decorations. In the
  other rooms of the house, guests played cards, smoked, drank and flirted.
  Jay and Lizzie moved from the ballroom to the dining room, smiling and
  nodding at their guests. Jay was wearing a new apple green silk suit he
  had bought in London just before they left; Lizzie was in purple, her
  favorite color. Jay had thought their clothes might outshine those of the
  guests, but to his surprise he found that Virginians were as fashionable
  as Londoners.
  He had drunk plenty of wine and was feeling good. They had served dinner
  earlier, but refreshments were now on the table: wine, jellies,
  cheesecakes, syllabubs and fruit. The party had cost a small fortune, but
  it was a success: everyone who was anyone had come.
  The only sour note had been struck by the overseer, Sowerby, who had
  chosen today to ask for his back pay. When Jay told him it was not
  possible to pay him until the first tobacco crop was sold, Sowerby had
  insolently asked how Jay could afford to give a party for fifty guests.
  The truth was that Jay could not afford it-
   292      Ken Follett

 everything had been bought on credit-but he was too proud to say that to
 his overseer. So he had told him to hold his tongue. Sowerby had looked
 disappointed and worried, and Jay had wondered if he had some specific
 money problem. However, he did not inquire.
  In the dining room the Jamissons' nearest neighbors were standing at the
  fire, eating cake. There were three couples: Colonel and Mrs. Thumson,
  Bill and Suzy Delahaye, and the Armstead brothers, two bachelors. The
  Thurnsons were very elevated: the colonel was a burgess, a member of the
  general assembly, grave and self-important. He had distinguished himself
  in the British army and the Virginia militia, then had retired to grow
  tobacco and help rule the colony. Jay felt he could model himself on
  Thumson.
  They were talking politics. and Thumson explained: "The governor of
  Virginia died last March, and we're waiting for his replacement."
  Jay assumed the air of an insider in the London court. "The king has
  appointed Norborne Berkeley, the baron de Botetourt."
  John Armstead. who was drunk, laughed coarsely, "What a name!"
  Jay gave him a frosty look. "I believe the baron was hoping to leave
  London soon after I did."
  Thumson said: "The president of the council is acting as his deputy in
  the interim."
  Jay was keen to show that he knew a lot about local affairs. He said: "I
  assume that's why the burgesses were so unwise as to support the
  Massachusetts Letter." The letter in question was a protest against
  customs duties. It had been sent by the Massachusetts Legislature to King
  George. Then the Virginia Legislature had passed a resolution approving
  of the letter. Jay and most London Tories considered both the letter and
  the Virginia resolution disloyal.
  Thumson seemed to disagree. He said stiffly: "I trust the burgesses were
  not unwise."
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   293

  "His Majesty certainly thought so," Jay rejoined. He did not explain how he
  knew what the king thought, but left room for them to suppose the king had
  told him personally.
  "Well, I'm sorry to hear that," said Thumson. not sounding sorry at all.
  Jay felt that he might be on dangerous ground, but he wanted to impress
  these people with his acumen, so he went on. "I'm quite sure the new
  governor will demand that the resolution be withdrawn." He had learned this
  before leaving London.
  Bill Delahaye, younger than Thumson, said hotly: "The burgesses will
  refuse." His pretty wife. Suzy, put a restraining hand on his arm, but he
  felt strongly, and he added: "It's their duty to tell the king the truth.
  not mouth empty phrases that will please his Tory sycophants."
  Thumson said tactfully: "Not that all Tories are. sycophants, of course."
  Jay said: "If the burgesses refuse to withdraw their resolution. the
  governor will have to dissolve the assembly."
  Roderick Armstead, soberer than his brother. said: "It's curious how little
  difference that makes. nowadays."
 Jay was mystified. "How so?'
  "Colonial parliaments are constantly being dissolved for one reason or
  another. They simply reassemble informally, in a tavern or a private house,
  and carry on their business."
  "But in those circumstances they have no legal status!" Jay protested.
  Colonel Thumson answered him. "Still, they have the consent of the people
  they govern, and that seems to be enough."
  Jay had heard this sort of thing before, from men who read too much
  philosophy. The idea that governments got their authority from the consent
  of the people
 294      Ken Follett

 was dangerous nonsense. The implication was that kings had no right to rule.
 It was the kind of thing John Wilkes was saying back at home. Jay began to
 get angry with Thumson. "In London a man could be jailed for talking that
 way, Colonel," he said.
 "Quite," Thumson said enigmatically.
  Lizzie intervened. "Have you tried the syllabub, Mrs. Thumson?"
  The colonel's wife responded with exaggerated enthusiasm. "Yes, it's very
  good, quite delicious."
 "I'm so glad. Syllabub can so easily go wrong."
  Jay knew that Lizzie could not care less about syllabub; she was trying to
  move the conversation away from politics. But he had not finished. "I must
  say I'm surprised by some of your attitudes, Colonel," he said.
  "Ah, I see Dr. Finch-I must have a word with him," Thumson said, and moved
  smoothly, with his wife, to another group.
  Bill Delahaye said: "You've only just arrived, Jamisson. You may find that
  living here for a while gives you a different perspective."
  His tone was not unkind, but he was saying Jay did not yet know enough to
  have a view of his own. Jay was offended. "I trust, sir, that my loyalty to
  my sovereign will be unshaken, no matter where I may choose to live."
  Delahaye's face darkened. "No doubt," he said, and he too moved away,
  taking his wife with him.
  Roderick Armstead said, "I must try this syllabub," and turned to the
  table, leaving Jay and Lizzie with his drunk brother.
  "Politics and religion," said John Armstead. "Never talk about politics and
  religion at a party." And with that he leaned backward, closed his eyes and
  fell flat.

  Jay came down to breakfast at midday. He had a headache.
 He had not seen Lizzie: they had adjoining bed-       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   295

 rooms, a luxury they had not been able to afford in London. However, he
 found her eating grilled ham while the house slaves cleaned up after the
 ball.
  There was a letter for him. He sat down and opened it, but before he could
  read it Lizzie glared at him and said: "Why on earth did you start that
  quarrel last night?"
 "What quarrel?"
 "With Thumson and Delahaye, of course."
 "It wasn't a quarrel, it was a discussion."
 "You've offended our nearest neighbors."
 "Then they're too easily offended."
 "You practically called Colonel Thurnson a traitor!" "It seems to me he
 probably is a traitor."
  "He's a landowner, a member of the House of Burgesses, and a retired
  officer-how in the name of heaven can he be a traitor?"
 "You heard him talk."
 "That's obviously normal here."
 "Well, it's never going to be normal in my house." Sarah, the cook, came in,
 interrupting the argument. Jay ordered tea and toast.
  Lizzie got the last word, as always. "After spending all that money to get
  to know our neighbors you succeeded in making them dislike you." She
  resumed eating.
  Jay looked at his letter. It was from a lawyer in Williamsburg.

Duke (~f Gloucester Street Williamsburg
                      29 August 1768

 I am commanded to write to you, dear Mr Jamisson, by yourfather, Sir George.
 I welcome you to Virginia and hope that we shall soon have the pleasure of
 seeing you here in the colonial capital.
 296      Ken Follett

  Jay was surprised. This was uncharacteristically thoughtful of his father.
  Would he start to be kind, now that Jay was half a world away?

  Until then, please let me know if I may be of any assistance. I know that
  you have taken over a plantation in difficulties, and that you may choose
  to seek financial help. Allow me to offer my services should you require
  a mortgage. I am sure a lender could be found without dij)'lculty. I
  remain, Sir

your most humble and obedient servantMatthew Murchman.

  Jay smiled. This was just what he needed. The repair and redecoration of
  the house, and the lavish party, had already put him up to his neck in debt
  with local merchants; and Sowerby kept asking for supplies: seed, new
  tools, clothes for the slaves, rope, paint, the list was endless. "Well,
  you needn't worry about money any longer," he said to Lizzie as he put down
  the letter.
 She looked skeptical.
 "I'm going to Williamsburg," he said.

             28

 WHILE JAY WAS IN WILLIAMSBuRG LizZIE GOT A LET-
 ter from her mother. The first thing that struck her about it was the
 return address:
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   297

                         The Manse St John's Church Aberdeen
                     August 15th, 1768

 What was Mother doing in a vicarage in Aberdeen? She read on:

 I have so much to tell you, my dear daughter! But I must take care to write
 it step by step, as it happened.
  Soon after I returned to High Glen your brother
 in-law, Robert Jamisson, took over the management
 of the estate. Sir George is now paying the interest
 on my mortgages so I am in no position to argue.
 Robert asked me to leave the big house and live in
 the old hunting lodge, for the sake of econom " y. I
 confess I was not best pleased with the arrangement
 but he insisted, and I have to tell you he was not
 as pleasant or affectionate as a family member
 might be.

  A surge of impotent anger possessed Lizzie. How dare Robert evict Uzzie's
  mother from her home? She recalled his words after she had rejected him and
  accepted Jay: "Even if I can't have you, I'll still have High Glen." It had
  seemed impossible at the time, but now it had come true.
 Gritting her teeth, she continued to read.

  Then the Reverend Mr York announced that he was
 leaving us. He has been pastor at Heugh forfifteen
 Years and he is my oldest friend. I understood that
 after the tragic early death of' his wife he felt the
 need to go and live in a new place. But you ma ' v
 imagine how distraught I was that he was leaving
 just when I neededfiriends.
  Then the most astonishing thing happened. My
 298      Ken Follett

 dear I blush to tell ' you that he asked me to marry
 himP And I acceptedP!

 "Good God!" Lizzie said aloud.

  So you see we are wed, and have moved to Aber-
 deen, from where I write.
  Many will say I married beneath myself, being the
 widow of Lord Hallim; but I know how worthless a
 title is, and John cares nothing for what society
 people think We live quietly, and I am known as Mrs
 York, and I am happier now than I ever have been.

  There was more-about her three stepchildren, the servants at the manse, Mr.
  York's first sermon, and the ladies in the congregation-but Lizzie was too
  shocked to take it in.
  She had never thought of her mother remarrying. There was no reason why
  not, of course: Mother was only forty. She might even have more children;
  it was not impossible.
  What shocked Lizzie was a sense of being cast adrift. High Glen had always
  been her home. Although her life was here in Virginia with her husband and
  her baby, she had thought of High Glen House as a place she could always
  return to, if she really needed sanctuary. But now it was in the hands of
  Robert.
  Lizzie had always been the center of her mother's life. It had never
  occurred to her that this would change. But now her mother was a minister's
  wife living in Aberdeen, with three stepchildren to love and care for, and
  she might even be expecting a new baby of her own.
  It meant Lizzie had no home but this plantation, no family but Jay.
  Well, she was determined to make a good life for herself here.
 She had privileges many women would envy: a big
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    299

 house, an estate of a thousand acres, a handsome husband, and slaves to
 do her bidding. The house slaves had taken her to their hearts. Sarah was
 the cook, fat Belle did most of the cleaning, and Mildred was her personal
 maid and also served at table sometimes. Belle had a twelve-year-old son,
 Jimmy, who was the stable boy: his father had been sold away years ago.
 Lizzie had not yet got to know many of the field hands, apart from Mack,
 but she liked Kobe, the supervisor. and the blacksmith, Cass, whose
 workshop was at the back of the house.
  The house was spacious and grand, but it had an empty, abandoned feel.
  It was too big. It would suit a family with six growing children and a
  few aunts and grandparents, and troops of slaves to light fires in every
  room and serve vast communal dinners. For Lizzie and Jay it was a
  mausoleum. But the plantation was beautiful: thick woodlands, broad
  sloping fields, and a hundred little streams.
  She knew Jay was not quite the man she had taken him for. He was not the
  daring free spirit he had seemed to be when he took her down the coal
  mine. And his lying to her over mining in High Glen had shaken her: after
  that she could never feel the same about him. They no longer romped in
  bed in the mornings. They spent most of the day apart. They ate dinner
  and supper together, but they never sat in front of the fire, holding
  hands and talking of nothing in particular, the way they once had. But
  perhaps Jay was disappointed, too. He might have similar feelings about
  her: that she was not as perfect as she had once seemed. There was no
  point in regrets. They had to love one another as they were today.
  All the same she often felt a powerful urge to run away. But whenever she
  did, she remembered the child growing inside her. She could no longer
  think only of herself. Her baby needed its father.
 Jay did not talk about the baby much. He seemed
 300      Ken Follett

 uninterested. But he would change when it was born, especially if it was
 a boy.
 She put her letter in a drawer.
  When she had given the day's orders to the house slaves she got her coat
  and went outside.
  The air was cool. It was now mid-October; they had been here two months.
  She headed across the lawn and down toward the river. She went on foot:
  she was past six months now, and she could feel the baby kicksometimes
  painfully. She was afraid she might harm the baby if she rode.
  Still she walked around the estate almost every day. It took her several
  hours. She was usually accompanied by Roy and Rex, two deerhounds Jay had
  bought. She kept a close eye on the work of the plantation, for Jay took
  no interest at all. She watched the processing of the tobacco and kept
  count of the bales; she saw the men cutting trees and making barrels; she
  looked at the cows and horses in the meadows and the chickens and geese
  in the yard. Today was Sunday, the hands' day of rest, and it gave her
  a special opportunity to poke around while Sowerby and Lennox were
  somewhere else. Roy followed her, but Rex lazily remained on the porch.
  The tobacco harvest was in. There was still a lot of work to do
  processing the crop: sweating, stemming, stripping and pressing the
  leaves before they could be packed into hogsheads for the voyage to
  London or Glasgow. They were sowing winter wheat in the field they called
  Stream Quarter, and barley, rye and clover in Lower Oak. But they had
  come to the end of the period of most intensive activity, the time when
  they worked in the fields from dawn to dusk and then labored on by
  candlelight in the tobacco sheds until midnight.
  The hands should have some reward, she thought, for all their effort.
  Even slaves and convicts needed encour-
         A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    301

 agement. It occurred to her that she might give them a party.
  The more she thought about it, the more she liked the idea. Jay might be
  against it, but he would not be home for a couple of weeks-Williamsburg was
  three days away-so it could be over and done with by the time he returned.
  She walked along the bank of the Rappahannock River, turning the idea over
  in her mind. The river was shallow and rocky here, upstream from
  Fredericksburg, which marked the fall line, the limit of navigation. She
  skirted a clump of half-submerged bushes and stopped suddenly. A man was
  standing waist deep in the water, washing, his broad back to her. It was
  McAsh.
 Roy bristled, then recognized Mack.
  Lizzie had seen him naked in a river once before, almost a year ago. She
  remembered drying his skin with her petticoat. At the time it had seemed
  natural but, looking back, she felt the scene had a strange quality, like
  a dream: the moonlight, the rushing water, the strong man looking so
  vulnerable, and the way she had embraced him and warmed him with her body.
  She held back now, watching him, as he came out of the river. He was
  completely naked, as he had been that night.
  She remembered another moment from the past. One afternoon in High Glen she
  had surprised a young deer drinking in a bum. The sight came back to her
  like a picture. She had emerged from the trees and found herself a few feet
  away from a buck two or three years old. It had lifted its head and stared
  at her. The far bank of the stream had been steep, so the deer had been
  forced to move toward her. As it came out of the stream the water glistened
  on its muscular flanks. Her rifle was in her hand, loaded and primed, but
  she could not shoot: being so close seemed to make her too intimate with
  the beast.
 As she watched the water roll off Mack's skin she
 302      Ken Follett

 thought that, despite all he had been through, he still had the powerful
 grace of a young animal. As he pulled on his breeches Roy loped up to him.
 Mack looked up, saw Lizzie and froze, startled. Then he said: "You in ight
 turn your back."
 "You might turn yours!" she replied.
 "I was here first."
  "I own the place!" she snapped. It was astonishing how quickly he could
  irritate her. He obviously felt he was every bit as good as she. He was a
  convict fan-nhand and she was a fine lady, but to him that was no reason to
  show respect: it was the act of an arbitrary providence, and it did her no
  credit and brought him no shame. His audacity was annoying, but at least it
  was honest. McAsh was never sly. Jay, by contrast, often mystified her. She
  did not know what was going on in his mind, and when she questioned him he
  became defensive, as if he were being accused of something.
  McAsh seemed amused now as he tied the string that held up his breeches.
  "You own me, too," he said.
  She was looking at his chest. He was getting his muscles back. "And I've
  seen you naked before."
  Suddenly the tension was gone and they were laughing, just as they had
  outside the church when Esther had told Mack to shut his gob.
  "I'm going to give a party for the field hands," she said.
 He pulled on his shirt. "What kind of party?"
  Lizzie found herself wishing he had left the shirt off a little longer; she
  liked looking at his body. "What kind would you like?"
  He looked thoughtful. "You could have a bonfire in the backyard. What the
  hands would like most of all would be a good meal. with plenty of meat.
  They never get enough to eat."
 "What food would they like?"
  "Hmmm." He licked his lips. "The smell of fried harn coming from the
  kitchen is so good it hurts.
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   303

 Everyone loves those sweet potatoes. And wheat bread-the field hands never
 get anything but that coarse combread they call pone."
  She was glad she had thought to talk to Mack about this: it was helpful.
  "What do they like to drink?"
  "Rum. But some of the men get in a fighting mood when they drink. If I were
  you I'd give them apple cider, or beer."
 "Good idea."
  "How about some music? The Negroes love to dance and sing."
  Lizzie was enjoying herself It was fun planning a party with Mack. "All
  right-but who would play?"
  "There's a free black called Pepper Jones who performs in the ordinaries in
  Fredericksburg. You could hire him. He plays the banjo."
  Lizzie knew that "ordinary" was the local term for a tavern, but she had
  never heard of a banjo. "What's that?" she said.
  "I think it's an African instrument. Not as sweet as a fiddle but more
  rhythmic."
  "How do you know about this man? When have you been to Fredericksburg?"
  A shadow crossed his face. "I went once on a Sunday."
 "Wbat for?"
 "To look for Cora."
 "Did you find her?"
 "No.,'

 "I'm sorry."
  He shrugged. "Everyone has lost somebody." He turned his face away, looking
  sad.
  She wanted to put her arms around him and comfort him, but she restrained
  herself Pregnant though she was, she could not embrace anyone other than
  her husband. She made her voice cheerful again. "Do you think Pepper Jones
  could be persuaded to come here and perform?"
 304      Ken Follett

  "I'm sure of it. I've seen him play in the slave quarters at the Thumson
  plantation."
 Lizzie was intrigued. "What were you doing there?"
 "Visiting."
  "I never thought about slaves doing that kind of thing."
  "We have to have something in our lives other than work."
 "What do you do?"
  "The young men love cockfights-they'll walk ten miles to see one. The
  young women love the young men. The older ones just want to look at one
  another's babies and talk about brothers and sisters they've lost. And
  they sing. The Africans have these sad songs that they sing in harmony.
  You can't understand the words. but the tunes make your hair stand on
  end."
 "The coal miners used to sing."
 He was silent for a moment. "Aye, we did."
  She saw that she had made him sad. "Do you think you will ever go back
  to High Glen?"
 "No. Do you?"
  Tears came to her eyes. "No," she said. "I don't think you or I will ever
  go back."
 The baby kicked her, and she said: "Ouch!"
 "What?" said Mack.
  She put a hand on her bulge. "The baby is kicking. He doesn't want me to
  yeam for High Glen. He's going to be a Virginian. Ow! He just did it
  again."
 "Does it really hurt?"
  "Yes-feel." She took his hand and placed it on her belly. His fingers
  were hard and rough skinned, but his touch was gentle.
 The baby was still. Mack said: "When is it due?"
 "Ten weeks."
 "What will you call it?"
  "My husband has decided on Jonathan for a boy, Alicia for a girl."
 The baby kicked again. "That's hard!" Mack said,
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   305

 laughing. "I'n~ not surprised you wince." He took his hand away.
  She wished he had left it there a little longer. To hide her feelings she
  changed the subject. "I'd better talk to Bill Sowerby about this party."
 "You haven't heard?"
 "What?"
 "Ah. Bill Sowerby has left."
 "Left? What do you mean?"
 "He disappeared."
 "When?"
 "Two nights ago."
  Lizzie realized she had not seen Sowerby for a couple of days. She had not
  been alarmed because she did not necessarily see him every day. "Did he say
  when he was coming back?"
  "I don't know that he talked to anyone, directly. But I'd say he isn't
  coming back at all."
 "Why?"
  "He owes money to Sidney Lennox, a lot of money, and he can't pay."
  Lizzie felt indignant. "And I suppose Lennox has been acting as overseer
  ever since."
 "It's only been one working day ... but yes, he has."
  "I don't want that brute taking over the plantation!" she said hotly.
  "Amen to that," Mack said with feeling. "None of the hands want it either."
  Lizzie frowned suspiciously. Sowerby was owed a lot in wages. Jay had told
  him he would be paid when the first tobacco crop was sold. Why had he not
  simply waited? He could have paid his debts eventually. He must have been
  frightened. Lennox had threatened him, she felt sure. The more she thought
  about it, the angrier she got. "I believe Lennox has forced Sowerby out,"
  she said.
 Mack nodded. "I don't know much-about it but that's
 306      Ken Follett

 my guess too. I've done battle with Lennox. and look what happened to me."
  There was no self-pity in his tone, just a bitter practicality, but her
  heart went out to him. She touched his arm and said: "You should be
  proud. You're brave and honorable."
  "And Lennox is corrupt and savage, and what happens'? He'll become
  overseer here, then he'll steal enough from you, one way and another. to
  open a tavem in Fredericksburg; and soon he'll be living much as he did
  in London."
  "Not if I can help it," Lizzie said determinedly. "I'm going to speak to
  him right away." Lennox had a small two-room house down by the tobacco
  sheds, near Sowerby's house. "I hope he's at home."
  "He's not there now. At this time on a Sunday he'll be at the Ferry
  House-that's an ordinary three or four miles upriver from here. He'll
  stay there until late tonight."
  Lizzie could not wait until tomorrow: she had no patience when there was
  something like this on her mind. "I'll go to the Ferry House. I can't
  ride-I'll take the pony trap."
  Mack frowned. "Wouldn't it be better to have it out with him here, where
  you're the mistress of the house? He's a rough man."
  Lizzie felt a pang of fear. Mack was right. Lennox was dangerous. But she
  could not bear to postpone the confrontation. Mack could protect her.
  "Will you come with me?" she said. "I'd feel safe if you were there."
 "Of course."
 "You can drive the trap."
 "You'll have to teach me."
 "There's nothing to it."
  They walked up from the river to the house. The stable boy, Jimmy, was
  watering the horses. Mack and he got the trap out and put a pony in the
  traces while Lizzie went into the house to put on a hat.
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   307

  They drove out of the estate onto the riverside road and followed it
  upstream to the ferry crossing. The Ferry House was a wood-frame building
  not much bigger than the two-room houses lived in by Sowerby and Lennox.
  Lizzie let Mack help her down from the trap and hold open the door of the
  tavern for her.
  It was gloomy and smoky inside. Ten or twelve people sat on benches and
  wooden chairs drinking from tankards and pottery cups. Some were playing
  cards and dice, others smoking pipes. The click of billiard balls came from
  the back room.
 There were no women and no blacks.
  Mack followed her in but stood back, by the door, his face in shadow.
  A man came through a doorway from the back room, wiping his hands on a
  towel, and said: "What can I bring you, sir--Oh! A lady!"
  "Nothing, thank you," Lizzie said in a clear voice, and the room went
  quiet.
  She looked around at the upturned faces. Lennox was in the comer, bent over
  a shaker and a pair of dice. The little table in front of him had several
  piles of small coins. His face showed resentment at being interrupted.
  He carefully scooped up his coins, taking his time, before he stood up and
  took off his hat. "What are you doing here, Mrs. Jamisson?"
  "I didn't come to play dice, obviously," she said crisply. "Where is Mr.
  Sowerby?"
  She heard one or two approving murmurs, as if others in the place would
  like to know what had happened to Sowerby; and she saw a gray-haired man
  turn in his chair and look at her.
 "He's run off, it seems," Lennox answered.
 "Why haven't you reported this to me?"
  Lennox shrugged. "Because there's nothing you can do about it."
  "I want to know about such things, all the same. Don't do it again. Is that
  clear?"
 308      Ken Follett

 Lennox made no reply. "Why did Sowerby leave?" "How should I know?" The
 gray-haired man piped up: "He owed money." Lizzie turned to him. "Who
 to?" The man jerked a thumb. "Lennox, that's who." She turned back to
 Lennox. "Is this true?" "Yes.,, "For what?" "I don't know what you mean."
 "Why did he borrow money from you?" "He didn't, exactly. He lost it to
 me. "Gambling." "Yes.,,

 "And did you threaten him9' The gray-haired man gave a sarcastic laugh.
 "Did he? I'll swear." "I asked for my money," Lennox said coolly. "And
 that drove him away." "I tell you I don't know why he left." "I believe he
 was frightened of you." A nasty smile crossed Lennox's face. "Many people
 are," he said, and the threat in his voice was hardly veiled. Lizzie felt
 scared as well as angry. "Let's get something clear," she said. There was
 a tremor in her voice and she swallowed to get it under control. "I am the
 mistress of the plantation and you will do what I say. I shall now take
 charge of the place until my husband returns. Then he will decide how to
 replace Mr. Sowerby." Lennox shook his head. "Oh, no," he said. "I'm
 Sowerby's deputy. Mr. Jamisson has told me quite particularly that I'm in
 charge if Sowerby should fall ill or anything. Besides, what do you know
 about tobacco growing?" "As much as a London tavern keeper, at least."
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   309

  "Well, that's not how Mr. Jamisson sees it, and I take my orders from
  him."
  Lizzie could have screamed with frustration. She would not let this man
  give orders on her plantation! "I'm warning you, Lennox, you'd better
  obey me!"
  "And if I don't?" He took a step toward her, grinning, and she smelled
  his characteristic ripe odor. She was forced to step backward. The other
  customers in the tavern sat frozen to their seats. "What will you do,
  Mrs. Jamisson?" he said, still coming toward her. "Knock me down?" As he
  said this he lifted his hand over his head, in a gesture that might have
  been an illustration of what he was saying but could just as easily have
  been a threat.
  Lizzie gave a cry of fear and jumped back. Her legs came up against the
  seat of a chair and she sat down with a bump.
  Suddenly Mack was there. standing between Lennox and her. "You've raised
  your hand to a woman. Lennox," he said. "Now let's see you raise it to
  a man."
  "You!" Lennox said. "I didn't know it was you, standing in the comer like
  a nigger."
  "And now that you know, what are you going to do?"
  "You're a damn fool, McAsh. You always take the losing side."
  "You've just insulted the wife of the man who owns you-I don't call that
  clever."
  "I didn't come here to argue. I came to play dice." Lennox turned and
  went back to his table.
  Lizzie felt as angry and frustrated as she had when she arrived. She
  stood up. "Let's go." she said to Mack.
 He opened the door and she went out.

  She had to know more about tobacco growing, she decided when she had
  calmed down. Lennox was going to try to take over, and the only way she
  could defeat him was by persuading Jay that she would do a better
 310      Ken Follett

 job. She already knew a good deal about the running of the plantation but
 she did not really understand the plant itself.
  Next day she got out the pony and trap again and went over to Colonel
  Thumson's place, with Jimmy driving her.
  In the weeks since the party, the neighbors had been cool to Lizzie and
  Jay, particularly to Jay. They had been invited to big social occasions,
  a ball and a grand wedding reception, but no one had asked them to a
  small celebration or an intimate dinner. However, when Jay left for
  Williamsburg they seemed to know, for since then Mrs. Thumson had called
  and Suzy Delahaye had invited Lizzie to tea. It distressed her that they
  preferred her on her own, but Jay had offended everyone with his
  opinions.
  As she drove through the Thumson plantation she was struck by how
  prosperous it looked. There were rows of hogsheads on the jetty; the
  slaves looked active and fit; the sheds were painted and the fields were
  neat. She saw the colonel across a meadow, talking to a small group of
  hands, pointing to show them something. Jay never stood in the fields
  giving instructions.
  Mrs. Thumson was a fat and kindly woman past fifty. The Thumson children,
  two boys, were both grown-up and living elsewhere. She poured tea and
  asked about the pregnancy. Lizzie confessed that she had occasional
  backache and constant heartburn, and was relieved to hear that Mrs.
  Thumson had suffered exactly the same. She had also noticed slight
  bleeding once or twice, and Mrs. Thumson frowned and said that had not
  happened to her, but it was not uncommon, and she should rest more.
  But she had not come to talk about pregnancy, and she was glad when the
  colonel came in for tea. He was in his fifties, tall and white haired,
  and vigorous for his age. He shook her hand stiffly but she softened him
  with a smile and a compliment. "Why does your plan-
         A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    311

 tation look so much more impressive than anyone else's?"
  "Well, it's kind of you to say so," he replied. "I'd say the main factor
  is that I'm here. You see, Bill Delahaye is always going away to horse
  races and cockfights. John Armstead would rather drink than work, and his
  brother spends every afternoon playing billiards and throwing dice at the
  Ferry House." He said nothing about Mockjack Hall.
 "Why do your slaves look so energetic?"
  "Now, that depends what you feed them." He was obviously enjoying sharing
  his expertise with this attractive young woman. 'They can live on hominy
  and corn pone. but they'll work better if you give them salt fish every
  day and meat once a week. It's expensive, but not as bad as buying new
  slaves every few years."
  "Why have so many plantations gone bankrupt recently?"
  "You have to understand the tobacco plant. It exhausts the soil. After
  four or five years the quality deteriorates. You have to switch the field
  to wheat or Indian com and find new land for your tobacco."
 "Why, you must be constantly clearing ground."
  "Indeed. Every winter I clear woodland and open up new fields for
  cultivation."
 "But you're fortunate-you have so much land."
  "There's woodland aplenty on your place. And when that runs out you
  should buy or rent more. The only way to grow tobacco is to keep moving."
 "Does everyone do that?"
  "No. Some get credit from merchants, and hope the price of tobacco will
  go up to save them. Dick Richards, the previous owner of your place,
  followed that road, which is how come your father-in-law ended up owning
  the place."
  Lizzie did not tell him that Jay had gone to Williamsburg to borrow
  money. "We could clear Stafford Park in time for next spring." Stafford
  Park was a
 312      Ken Follett

 piece of rough land separate from the main estate, ten miles upriver.
 Because of the distance it was neglected, and Jay had tried to lease or
 sell it, but there had been no takers.
  "Why not start with Pond Copse?" said the colonel. "It's close to your
  curing sheds and the soil is right. Which reminds me." He glanced at the
  clock on the mantelpiece. "I have to visit my sheds before it gets dark."
  Lizzie stood up. "I must get back and speak to my overseer."
  Mrs. Thumson said: "Don't do too much, Mrs. Jamisson-remember your baby."
  Lizzie smiled. "I'm going to take plenty of rest too, I promise."
  Colonel Thumson kissed his wife then walked out with Lizzie. He helped
  her onto the seat of the trap, then rode with her as far as his sheds.
  "If you'll forgive my making a personal comment, you're a remarkable
  young lady, Mrs. Jamisson."
 "Why, thank you," she said.
  "I hope we'll see more of you." He smiled, and his blue eyes twinkled.
  He took her hand, and as he lifted it to kiss it his arm brushed her
  breast, as if by accident. "Please send for me any time I can help you
  in any way."
  She drove off. I do believe I have just received my first adulterous
  proposition, she thought. And me six months pregnant. The wicked old man!
  She supposed she ought to be outraged, but in fact she was pleased. Of
  course she would never take him up on his offer. Indeed, she would be
  careful to avoid the colonel from now on. But it was flattering to be
  thought desirable,
  "Let's go faster. Jimmy," she said. "I want my supper."

  Next morning she sent Jimmy to sumnion Lennox to her drawing room. She
  had not spoken to him since the
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   313

 incident in the Ferry House. She was more than a little afraid of him, and
 she considered sending for Mack as protection. But she refused to believe
 she needed a bodyguard in her own house.
  She sat in a big carved chair that must have been brought from Britain
  a century ago. Lennox arrived two hours later, with mud on his boots. She
  knew the delay was his way of showing he was not obliged to jump when she
  whistled. If she challenged him he was sure to have some excuse, so she
  decided to act as if he had come immediately.
  "We're going to clear Pond Copse ready for tobacco planting next spring,"
  she said. "I want you to begin today."
 For once he was taken by surprise. "Why?" he said.
  "Tobacco farmers must clear new land every winter. It's the only way to
  maintain high yields. I've looked around, and Pond Copse seems the most
  promising. Colonel Thumson agrees with me."
 "Bill Sowerby never did that."
 "Bill Sowerby never made any money."
 "There's nothing wrong with the old fields."
 "Tobacco cultivation exhausts the land."
 "Ali, yes," he said. "But we manure heavily."
  She frowned. Thurnson had not mentioned manuring. "I don't know. .. ."
  Her hesitation was fatal. "These things are best left to men," he said.
  "Never mind the homilies," she snapped. "Tell me about the manuring."
  "We pen the cattle in the tobacco fields at night, for the manure. It
  refreshes the land for the next season."
  "It can't be as good as new land," she said, but she was not sure.
  "It's just the same," he insisted. "But if you want to change you'll have
  to speak to Mr. Jamisson."
 She hated to let Lennox win, even temporarily, but
 314      Ken Follett

 she would have to wait until Jay returned. Feeling irritated, she said:
 "You can go now."
  He gave a little smile of victory and went out without another word.

  She forced herself to rest for the remainder of the day, but on the
  following morning she made her usual tour of the plantation.
  In the sheds, the bundles of drying tobacco plants were being taken down
  from their hooks so that the leaves could be separated from the stems and
  the heavy fibers stripped out. Next they would be bundled up again and
  covered with cloth to "sweat."
  Some of the hands were in the woods, cutting wood to make barrels. Others
  were sowing winter wheat in Stream Quarter. Lizzie spotted Mack there,
  working alongside a young black woman. They crossed the plowed field in
  a line, distributing the seed from heavy baskets. Lennox followed,
  hurrying the slower workers with a kick or a touch of the whip. It was
  a short whip with a hard handle and a lash two or three feet long made
  of some flexible wood. After he noticed Lizzie watching, he began to use
  it more freely, as if chaflenging her to try to stop him.
  She turned away and started back toward the house. But before she was out
  of earshot she heard a cry and turned back.
  The hand working next to Mack had collapsed. It was Bess, an adolescent
  girl about fifteen years old, tall and thin: Lizzie's mother would have
  said she had outgrown her strength.
  Lizzie hurried toward the prone figure, but Mack was nearer. He put down
  his basket and knelt beside Bess. He touched her forehead and her hands.
  "I think she's just fainted," he said.
  Lennox came up and kicked the girl in the ribs with a heavily booted
  foot.
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   315

  Her body jerked with the impact but her eyes did not open.
 Lizzie cried out: "Stop it, don't kick her!"
  "Lazy black bitch, I'll teach her a lesson," Lennox said, and he drew
  back the ann that held the whip.
 "Don't you dare!" Lizzie said furiously.
  He brought the whip down on the back of the unconscious girl.
 Mack sprang to his feet.
 "Stop!" Lizzie cried.
 Lennox lifted the whip again.
 Mack stood between Lennox and Bess.
 "Your mistress told you to stop," Mack said.
  Lennox changed his grip and slashed Mack across the face.
  Mack staggered sideways and his hand flew to his face. A purplish weal
  appeared immediately on his cheek and blood trickled between his lips.
  Lennox raised his whip hand again, but the blow never fell.
  Lizzie hardly saw what happened, it was so quick, but in a moment Lennox
  was flat on the ground, groaning, and Mack had the whip. He took it in
  both hands and snapped it over his knee, then contemptuously threw it at
  Lennox.
 Lizzie felt a surge of triumph. The bully was broken.
 Everyone stood around staring for a long moment.
  Then Lizzie said: "Get on with your work, everyone!"
  The hands turned away and recommenced sowing seed. Lennox got to his
  feet, staring at Mack evilly.
  "Can you carry Bess to the house?" Lizzie asked Mack.
 "Of course." He picked her up in his arms.
  They walked back across the fields to the house and took her into the
  kitchen, which was an outbuilding at the back. By the time Mack put her
  in a chair she had recovered consciousness.
 316      Ken Follett

  Sarah, the cook, was a middle-aged black woman always in a sweat. Lizzie
  sent her to fetch some of Jay's brandy. After a sip Bess declared she
  felt all right except for bruised ribs, and she could not understand why
  she had fainted. Lizzie told her to have something to eat and rest until
  tomorrow.
  Leaving the kitchen, she noticed that Mack looked solemn. "What is it?"
  she said.
 "I must have been mad," he said.
  "How can you say that?" she protested. "Lennox disobeyed a direct order
  from me!"
  "He's a vengeful man. I shouldn't have humiliated him."
 "How can he take revenge on you?"
 "Easily. He's the overseer."
 "I won't allow it," Lizzie said decisively.
 "You can't watch over me all day."
  "Curse it." She could not allow Mack to suffer for what he had done.
  "I'd run away if I knew where to go. Have you ever seen a map of
  Virginia?"
  "Don't run away." She frowned, thinking, then she was struck by an idea.
  "I know what to do-you can work in the house."
  He smiled. "I'd love to. I might not be much of a butler, though."
  "No, no-not a servant. You could be in charge of repairs. I have to have
  the nursery painted and fixed up.,,

 He looked suspicious. "Do you really mean it?"
 "Of course!"
  "It would be                  just wonderful to get away from
 Lennox."
 "Then you shall."
  "You can't possibly understand what good news this is."
  "For me, too-I'll feel safer with you close by. I'm frightened of
  Lennox."
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   317

 "With reason."
  "You'll have to have a new shirt and a waistcoat, and house shoes." She
  would enjoy dressing him in good clothes.
 "Such luxury," he said, grinning.
  "That's settled," she said decisively. "You can start right away."

  The house slaves were a little grumpy about the party at first. They looked
  down on the field hands. Sarah, in particular, resented having to cook for
  "trash that eats hominy and corn pone." But Lizzie mocked their snobbery
  and jollied them along, and in the end they entered into the spirit of it.
  At sundown on Saturday the kitchen staff were cooking up a banquet. Pepper
  Jones, the banjo player, had arrived drunk at midday. McAsh had made him
  drink gallons of tea then put him to sleep in an outhouse, and he was now
  sober again. His instrument had four catgut strings stretched over a gourd,
  and the sound as he tuned it was halfway between a piano and a drum.
  As she went around the yard checking on the preparations Lizzie felt
  excited. She was looking forward to the celebration. She would not join in
  the jollity, of course: she had to play Lady Bountiful, serene and aloof.
  But she would enjoy watching other people let their hair down.
  When darkness fell all was ready. A new barrel of cider had been tapped;
  several fat hams were sizzling over open fires; hundreds of sweet potatoes
  were cooking in cauldrons of boiling water; and long four-pound loaves of
  white bread stood waiting to be sliced.
  Lizzie paced up and down impatiently, waiting for the slaves to come in
  from the fields. She hoped they would sing. She had sometimes heard them
  from a distance, singing plaintive laments or rhythmic work songs, but they
  always stopped when one of the masters came near.
 318      Ken Follett

  As the moon rose, the old women came up from the quarters with the babies
  on their hips and the toddlers trailing behind. They did not know where
  the field hands were: they fed them in the morning then did not see them
  until the end of the day.
  The hands knew they were to come up to the house tonight. Lizzie had told
  Kobe to make sure everyone understood, and he was always reliable. She
  had been too busy to go out into the fields, but she supposed they must
  have been working at the farthermost reaches of the plantation, and so
  were taking a long time to return. She hoped the sweet potatoes would not
  overcook and turn to mush.
  Time went by and no one appeared. When it had been dark for an hour she
  admitted to herself that something had gone wrong. With anger mounting
  in her breast she summoned McAsh and said: "Get Lennox up here."
  It took almost an hour, but eventually McAsh returned with Lennox, who
  had obviously started his evening's drinking already. By this time Lizzie
  was furious. "Where are the field hands?" she demanded. "They should be
  here!"
  "Ah, yes," Lennox said, speaking slowly and deliberately. "That was not
  possible today."
  His insolence warned her that he had found some foolproof way to
  frustrate her plans. "What the devil do You mean, not possible?" she
  said.
  "They've been cutting wood for barrels on Stafford Park." Stafford Park
  was ten miles upriver. "There's a few days' work to be done so we made
  camp. The hands will stay there. with Kobe, until we finish."
 "You didn't have to cut wood today."
 "No time like the present."
  He had done it to defy her. It was enough to make her scream. But until
  Jay came home there was nothing she could do,
 Lennox looked at the food on the trestle tables. "Pity,
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    319

 really," he said, barely concealing his glee. He reached out with a dirty
 hand and tore a piece of ham off a joint.
  Without thinking, Lizzie picked up a long-handled carving fork and stabbed
  the back of his hand, saying: "Put that down!"
 He squealed in pain and dropped the meat.
 Lizzie pulled the prongs of the fork out of his hand.
  He roared with pain again. "You mad cow!" he yelled.
  "Get out of here, and stay out of my sight until my husband comes home,"
  Lizzie said.
  He stared furiously at her, as if he were about to attack her, for a long
  moment. Then he clamped his bleeding hand under his armpit and hurried
  away.
  Lizzie felt tears spring to her eyes. Not wanting the staff to see her cry,
  she turned and ran into the house. As soon as she was alone in the drawing
  room she began to sob with frustration. She felt wretched and alone.
  After a minute she heard the door open. Mack's voice said: "I'm sorry."
  His sympathy made her cry fresh tears. A moment later she felt his arms
  around her. It was deeply comforting. She laid her head on his shoulder and
  cried and cried. He stroked her hair and kissed her tears. Slowly her sobs
  became quieter and her grief eased. She wished he could hold her like this
  all night.
 Then she realized what she was doing.
  She pulled away from him in horror. She was a married woman, and six months
  pregnant, and she had let a servant kiss her! "What am I thinking about?"
  she said unbelievingly.
 "You're not thinking," he said.
 "I am now," she said. "Go away!"
 Looking sad, he turned and left the room.
             29

 ON THE DAY AFTER LiZZIE'S FAILED PARTY, MACK heard news of Cora.
  It was Sunday, and he went into Fredericksburg wearing his new clothes.
  He needed to free his mind of thoughts of Lizzie Jamisson, her springy
  black hair and her soft cheeks and her salt tears. Pepper Jones, who had
  stayed in the slave quarters overnight, went with him, carrying his
  banjo.
  Pepper was a thin, energetic man about fifty years old. His fluent
  English indicated he had been in America for many years. Mack asked him:
  "How did you come to be free?"
  "Born free," he replied. "My ma was white, although it don't show. My
  daddy was a runaway, recaptured before I was born-I never saw him."
  Whenever he got the chance Mack asked questions about running away. "Is
  it right what Kobe says, that all runaways get caught?"
  Pepper laughed. "Hell, no. Most get caught, but most are stupid--that's
  how come they were captured in the first place."
 "SO, if You're not stupid ... T'
  He shrugged. "It ain't easy. As soon as you run away, the master puts an
  advertisement in the newspaper, giving your description and the clothes
  you were wearing."
  Clothes were so costly that it would be difficult for runaways to change.
  "But you could keep out of sight." 320
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    321

  "Got to eat, though. That means you need a job, if you stay inside the
  colonies, and any man that's going to employ you has probably read about
  you in the newspaper."
 "These planters really have things worked out."
  "It's not surprising. All the plantations are worked by slaves, convicts
  and indentured servants. If they didn't have it system for catching
  runaways, the planters would have starved a long time ago."
  Mack was thoughtful. "But you said 'if you stay inside the colonies.' What
  do you mean by that?"
  "West of here is the mountains, and on the other side of the mountains, the
  wilderness. No newspapers there. No plantations either. No sheriffs, no
  judges, no hangmen."
 "How big is the territory?"
  "I don't know. Some say it stretches for hundreds of miles before you come
  to the sea again, but I never met anyone who's been there."
  Mack had talked about the wilderness with many people, but Pepper was the
  first he felt inclined to rely on. Others retailed what were obviously
  fantastic stories in place of hard facts: Pepper at least admitted that he
  did not know everything. As always, Mack found it exciting to talk about.
  "Surely a man could disappear over the mountains and never be found!"
  "That's the truth. Also, he could be scalped by Indians and killed by
  mountain lions. More likely he could starve to death."
 "How do you know?"
  "I've met pioneers who came back. They break their backs for a few years,
  turning a perfectly good piece of land into a useless patch of mud, then
  they quit."
 "But some succeed?"
  "Must do, I guess, otherwise there wouldn't be no such place as America."
  "West of here, you said," Mack mused. "How far are the mountains?"
 322      Ken Follett

 "About a hundred miles, they say."
 "So close!"
 "It's farther than you think."

  They were offered a ride by one of Colonel Thumson's slaves who was
  driving a cart into town. Slaves and convicts always gave one another
  rides on the roads of Virginia.
  The town was busy: Sunday was the day the field hands from the
  plantations round about came in to go to church or get drunk or both.
  Some of the convicts looked down on the slaves, but Mack considered he
  had no reason to feel superior. Consequently he had many friends and
  acquaintances, and people hailed him at every comer.
  They went to Whitey Jones's ordinary. Whitey was so called because of his
  coloring, a mixture of black and white; and he sold liquor to blacks even
  though it was against the law. He could converse equally well in the
  pidgin spoken by the majority of slaves or the Virginian dialect of the
  American born. His tavern was a low-ceilinged room smelling of wood
  smoke, full of blacks and poor whites playing cards and drinking. Mack
  had no money, but Pepper Jones had been paid by Lizzie and he bought Mack
  a quart of ale.
  Mack enjoyed the beer, a rare treat nowadays. While they were drinking
  Pepper said: "Hey, Whitey, have you ever run into anyone who crossed the
  mountains?"
  "Sure have," Whitey said. "There was a trapper in here one time, said it
  was the best hunting he ever saw, over there. Seems a whole gang of them
  goes over there every year, and comes back loaded down with pelts."
 Mack said: "Did he tell you what route he took?"
  "Seems to me he said there was a pass called the Cumberland Gap."
 "Cumberland Gap," Mack repeated.
  Whitey said: "Say, Mack, weren't you asking after a white girl called
  Cora?"
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    323

  Mack's heart leaped. "Yes-have you heard tell of her?"
  "Seen her-so I know why you're crazy for her." He rolled his eyes.
 "Is she a pretty girl, Mack?" Pepper teased.
  "Prettier than you, Pepper. Come on, Whitey, where did you see her?"
  "Down by the river. She was wearing a green coat and carrying a basket, and
  she was getting the ferry over to Falmouth."
  Mack smiled. The coat, and the fact that she was taking the ferry instead
  of wading across the ford, indicated that she had landed on her feet again.
  She must have been sold to someone kind. "How did you know who she was?"
 "The ferryman called her by name."
  "She must be living on the Falmouth side of the river-that's why I didn't
  hear of her when first I asked around Fredericksburg."
 "Well, you've heard of her now."
  Mack swallowed the rest of his beer. "And I'm going to find her. Whitey,
  you're a friend. Pepper, thanks for the beer."
 "Good luck!"
  Mack went out of town. Fredericksburg had been built just below the fall
  line of the Rappahannock River, at the limit of navigation. Oceangoing
  ships could come this far, but less than a mile away the river became
  rocky, and nothing but a flatboat could negotiate it. Mack walked to the
  point where the water was shallow enough to wade across.
  He was full of excitement. Who had bought Cora? How was she living? And did
  she know what had become of Peg? If only he could locate the two of them,
  and fulfill his promise, he could make serious plans to escape. He had been
  suppressing his yearning for freedom while he asked after Cora and Peg, but
  Pepper's talk of the wilderness beyond the mountains had
 324      Ken Follett

 brought it all back, and he longed to run away. He daydreamed about
 walking away from the plantation at nightfall, heading west, never again
 to work for an overseer with a whip.
  He looked forward eagerly to seeing Cora. She probably would not be
  working today: perhaps she could walk out with him, They might go
  somewhere secluded. As he thought about kissing her,. he suffered a pang
  of guilt. He had woken up this morning thinking about kissing Lizzie
  Jamisson, and now he was having the same thoughts about Cora. But he was
  foolish to feel guilty about Lizzie: she was another man's wife, and
  there was no future for him with her. All the same his excitement was
  tinged with discomfort.
  Falmouth was a smaller version of Fredericksburg: it had the same
  wharves, warehouses, taverns and painted wood-frame homes. Mack could
  probably have called at every residence in a couple of hours. But of
  course Cora might live out of town.
  He went into the first tavern he came across and spoke to the proprietor.
  "I'm looking for a young woman called Cora Higgins."
  "Cora? She lives in the white house on the next corner, you'll probably
  see three cats sleeping on the porch."
 Mack's hick was in today. "Thank you!"
  The man took a watch from his waistcoat pocket and glanced at it. "But
  she won't be there now, she'll be in church."
 "I've seen the church. I'll go there."
  Cora had never been a churchgoer, but perhaps her owner forced her to go,
  Mack thought as he went outside. He crossed the street and walked two
  blocks to the little wooden church.
  The service had ended and the congregation was coming out, all in their
  Sunday best, shaking hands and chattering.
 Mack saw Cora right away.
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   325

  He smiled broadly when he saw her. She certainly had been lucky. The
  starved, filthy woman he had left on the Rosebud might have been a
  different person. Cora was her old self. clear skin, glossy hair, rounded
  figure. She was as well dressed as ever, in a dark brown coat and a wool
  skirt, and she wore good boots. He was suddenly glad he had the new shirt
  and waistcoat Lizzie had given him.
  Cora was talking animatedly to an old woman with a cane. She broke off
  her conversation as he approached her. "Mack!" she said delightedly.
  "This is a miracle!"
  He opened his anns to embrace her but she held out a hand to shake, and
  he guessed she did not want to make an exhibition outside the church. He
  took her hand in both of his and said: "You look wonderful." She smelled
  good, too: not the spicy, woody perfume she had favored in London, but
  a lighter, floral smell that was more ladylike.
  "What happened to you?" she said, withdrawing her hand. "Who bought you?"
  "I'm on the Jamisson plantation-and Lennox is the overseer."
 "Did he hit your face?"
  Mack touched the sore place where Lennox had slashed him. "Yes. but I
  took his whip from him and broke it in half."
 She smiled. 'That's Mack-always in trouble."
 "It is. Have you any news of Peg?"
  "She was taken off by the soul drivers, Bates and Makepiece."
  Mack's heart sank. "Damn. It's going to be hard to find her."
  "I always ask after her but I've never heard anything.,,
  "And who bought you? Somebody kind, by the look of you!"
 As he spoke a plump, richly dressed man in his
 326      Ken Follett

 fifties came up. Cora said: "Here he is: Alexander Rowley, the tobacco
 broker."
 "He obviously treats you well!" Mack murmured.
  Rowley shook hands with the old woman and said a word to her, then turned
  to Mack.
  Cora said: "This is Malachi McAsh, an old friend of mine from London. Mack,
  this is Mr. Rowley-my husband."
 Mack stared, speechless.
  Rowley put a proprietorial arm around Cora's shoulders and at the same time
  shook Mack's hand. "How do you do, McAsh?" he said, and without another
  word he swept Cora away.

  Why not? Mack thought as he trudged along the road back to the Jamisson
  plantation. Cora had not known whether she would ever see him again. She
  had obviously been bought by Rowley and had made him fall in love with her.
  It must have been something of a scandal for a merchant to many a convict
  woman, even in a little colonial town such as Falmouth. However, sexual
  attraction was more powerful than social rules in the end, and Mack could
  easily imagine how Rowley had been seduced. It may have been difficult to
  persuade people like the old lady with the cane to accept Cora as a
  respectable wife, but Cora had the nerve for anything, and she had
  obviously carried it off. Good for her. She would probably have Rowley's
  babies.
  He found excuses for her, but all the same he was disappointed. In a moment
  of panic she had made him promise to search for her; but she had forgotten
  him as soon as she got the chance of an easy life.
  It was strange: he had had two lovers, Annie and Cora, and both had married
  someone else. Cora went to bed every night with a fat tobacco broker twice
  her age, and Annie was pregnant with Jimmy Lee's child. He wondered if he
  would ever have a normal family life with a wife and children.
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   327

  He gave himself a shake. He could have had that if he had really wanted
  it. But he had refused to settle down and accept what the world offered
  him. He wanted more.
 He wanted to be free.

             30

 JAY WENT TO WILLIAMSBURG WITH HIGH HOPES.
  He had been dismayed to learn of the sympathies of his neighbors-they were
  all liberal Whigs, not a conservative Tory among them-but he felt sure that
  in the colonial capital he would find men loyal to the king, men who would
  welcome him as a valuable ally and promote his political career.
  Williamsburg was small but grand. The main street, Duke of Gloucester
  Street, was a mile long and a hundred feet broad. The Capitol was at one
  end and the College of William and Mary at the other-two stately brick
  buildings whose English-style architecture gave Jay a reassuring feeling of
  the might of the monarchy. There was a theater and several shops, with
  craftsmen making silver candlesticks and mahogany dining tables. In Purdie
  & Dixon's printing office Jay bought the Virginia Gazette, a newspaper full
  of advertisements for runaway slaves.
  The wealthy planters who made up the colony's ruling elite resided on their
  estates, but they crowded into Williamsburg when the legislature was in
  session in the Capitol building, and consequently the town was full of inns
  with rooms to let. Jay moved into the Raleigh
 328      Ken Follett

 Tavern, a low white clapboard building with bedrooms in the attic.
  He left his card and a note at the palace, but he had to wait three days
  for an appointment with the new governor, the baron de Botetourt. When
  finally he got his invitation it was not for a personal audience, as he
  had expected, but for a reception with fifty other guests. Clearly the
  governor had yet to realize that Jay was an important ally in a hostile
  environment.
  The palace was at the end of a long drive that ran north from the
  midpoint of Duke of Gloucester Street. It was another English-looking
  brick building, with tall chimneys and dormer windows in the roof, like
  a country house. The imposing entrance hall was decorated with knives,
  pistols and muskets arranged in elaborate patterns, as if to emphasize
  the military might of the king.
  Unfortunately Botetourt was the very opposite of what Jay had hoped for.
  Virginia needed a tough, austere governor who would strike fear into the
  hearts of mutinous colonists, but Botetourt turned out to be a fat,
  friendly man with the air of a prosperous wine merchant welcoming his
  customers to a tasting.
  Jay watched him greeting his guests in the long ballroom. The man had no
  idea what subversive plots might be hatching in the minds of the
  planters.
  Bill Delahaye was there and shook hands with Jay. "What do you think of
  our new governor?"
  "I'm not sure he realizes what he's taken on," Jay said.
 Delahaye said: "He may be cleverer than he looks."
 "I hope so."
  "There's a big card game tomorrow night, Jamisson-would you like me to
  introduce you?"
  Jay had not spent an evening gambling since he had left London.
  "Certainly."
  In the supper room beyond the ballroom, wine and cakes were served.
  Delahaye introduced Jay to several
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    329

 other men. A stout, prosperous-looking man of about fifty said: "Jamisson?
 Of the Edinburgh Jamissons?" His tone was a little hostile.
  The face had a vaguely familiar cast, although Jay was sure he had never
  met the man before. "The family seat is Castle Jamisson in Fife," Jay
  replied.
  "The castle that used to belong to William McClyde?"
  "Indeed." Jay realized the man reminded him of Robert: he had the same
  light eyes and determined mouth. "I'm afraid I didn't hear your name. . .
  ."
  "I'm Hamish Drome. That castle should have been mine."
  Jay was startled. Drome was the family name of Robert's mother, Olive. "So
  you're the long-lost relative who went to Virginia!"
 "And you must be the son of George and Olive."
  "No, that's my half-brother, Robert. Olive died and my father remarried.
  I'm the younger son."
  "Ah. And Robert has pushed you out of the nest, just as his mother did me."
  There was an insolent undertone to Drome's remarks, but Jay was intrigued
  by what the man was implying. He recalled the drunken revelations made by
  Peter McKay at the wedding. "I've heard it said that Olive forged the
  will."
 "Aye-and she murdered Uncle William, too."
 "What?"
  "No question. William wasn't sick. He was a hypochondriac, he just loved to
  think he was ill. He should have lived to a ripe old age. But six weeks
  after Olive arrived he had changed his will and died. Evil woman."
  "Ha." Jay felt a strange kind of satisfaction. The sacrosanct Olive, whose
  portrait hung in the place of honor in the hall of Jamisson Castle, was a
  murderess who should have been hanged. Jay had always resented the way she
  was spoken of in reverent tones, and now he welcomed gleefully the news
  that she had been a
 330      Ken Follett

 blackhearted villain. "Didn't you get anything?" he asked Drome.
  "Not an acre. I came out here with six dozen pairs of Shetland wool
  stockings, and now I'm the biggest haberdasher in Virginia. But I never
  wrote home. I was afraid Olive would somehow take this from me too."
 "But how could she?"
  "I don't know. Just superstition, perhaps. I'm glad to hear she's dead.
  But it seems the son is like her."
  "I always thought of him as being like my father. He's insatiably greedy,
  whoever he takes after."
 "If I were you I wouldn't let him know my address."
  "He's going to inherit all of my father's business enterprises-I can't
  imagine he'll want my little plantation too."
  "Don't be too sure," Drome said; but Jay thought he was being
  overdramatic.
  Jay did not get Governor Botetourt to himself until the end of the party,
  when the guests were leaving by the garden entrance. He took the
  governor's sleeve and said in a low voice: "I want you to know that I'm
  completely loyal to you and to the Crown."
  "Splendid, splendid," Botetourt said loudly. "So good of you to say so."
  "I've recently arrived here, and I've been scandalized by the attitudes
  of the most prominent men in the colony-scandalized. Whenever you're
  ready to stamp out treachery and crush disloyal opposition, I'm on your
  side."
  Botetourt looked hard at him, taking him seriously at last, and Jay
  perceived that there was a shrewd politician behind the affable exterior.
  "How kind-but let's hope that not too much stamping and crushing will be
  required. I find that persuasion and negotiation are so much better-the
  effects last longer, don't you know. Major Wilkinson-good-bye! Mrs.
  Wilkinson-so good of you to come."
 Persuasion and negotiation, Jay thought as he passed
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    331

 out into the garden. Botetourt had fallen into a nest of vipers and he
 wanted to negotiate with them. Jay said to Delahaye: "I wonder how long it
 will take him to grasp the realities out here."
  "I think he understands already," Delahaye said. "He just doesn't believe
  in baring his teeth before he's ready to bite."
  Sure enough, next day the amiable new governor dissolved the general
  assembly.

  Matthew Murchman lived in a green-painted clapboard house next to the
  bookshop on Duke of Gloucester Street. He did business in the front parlor,
  surrounded by law books and papers. He was a small, nervous gray squirrel
  of a man, darting about the room to retrieve a paper from one pile and hide
  it in another.
  Jay signed the papers mortgaging the plantation. He was disappointed at the
  amount of the loan: only four hundred pounds sterling. "I was lucky to get
  so much," Murchman twittered. "With tobacco doing so badly I'm not sure the
  place could be sold for that."
 "Who is the lender?" Jay asked.
  "A syndicate, Captain Jamisson. That's how these things work nowadays. Are
  there any liabilities you would like me to settle immediately?"
  Jay had brought with him a sheaf of bills, all the debts he had run up
  since he had arrived in Virginia almost three months ago. He handed them
  over to Murchman, who glanced through them quickly and said: "About a
  hundred pounds here. I'll give you notes for all these before you leave
  town. And let me know if you buy anything while you're here."
  "I probably will," Jay said. "A Mr. Smythe is selling a carriage with a
  beautiful pair of gray horses. And I need two or three slaves."
 "I'll let it be known that you're in funds with me."
  Jay did not quite like the idea of borrowing so much money and leaving it
  all in the lawyer's hands. "Let me
 332      Ken Follett

 have a hundred pounds in gold," he said. "There's a card game at the Raleigh
 tonight."
 "Certainly, Captain Jamisson. It's your money!"

  There was not much left of the four hundred pounds when Jay arrived back at
  the plantation in his new equipage. He had lost at cards, he had bought
  four slave girls, and he had failed to beat down Mr. Smythe's price for the
  carriage and horses.
  However, he had cleared all his debts. He would simply get credit from
  local merchants as he had before. His first tobacco crop would be ready for
  sale soon after Christmas, and he would pay his bills from the proceeds.
  He was apprehensive of what Lizzie might say about the carriage, but to his
  relief she hardly mentioned it. She obviously had something else on her
  mind that she was bursting to tell him.
  As always, she was most attractive when animated: her dark eyes flashed and
  her skin glowed pink. However, he no longer felt a surge of desire every
  time he saw her. Since she had become pregnant he had felt diffident. He
  imagined it was bad for the baby if the mother had sexual intercourse
  during pregnancy. But that was not his real reason. Lizzie's being a mother
  somehow put him off. He did not like the thought of mothers having sexual
  lusts. Anyway, it was rapidly becoming impracticable: the bulge she carried
  in front of her was getting too big.
  As soon as he had kissed her she said: "Bill Sowerby has left."
  "Really?" Jay was surprised. The man had gone without his wages. "Good
  thing we've got Lennox to take over."
  "I think Lennox drove him away. Apparently Sowerby had lost a lot of money
  to him at cards."
 That made sense. "Lennox is a good card player."
 "Lennox wants to be overseer here."
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   333

  They were standing on the front portico, and at that moment Lennox came
  around the side of the house. With his usual lack of grace he did not
  welcome Jay back. Instead he said: "There's a consignment of salt cod in
  barrels just arrived."
 "I ordered it," Lizzie said. "It's for the field hands."
  Jay was annoyed. "Why do you want to feed them fish?"
  "Colonel Thumson says they work better. He gives his slaves salt fish every
  day and meat once a week."
  "Colonel Thumson is richer than I am. Send the stuff back, Lennox."
  "They're going to have to work hard this winter, Jay," Lizzie protested.
  "We have to clear all the woodland in Pond Copse ready for planting with
  tobacco next spring."
  Lennox said quickly: "That isn't necessary. There's plenty of life left in
  the fields, with good manuring."
  "You can't manure forever," Lizzie rejoined. "Colonel Thumson clears land
  every winter."
  Jay realized this was an argument the two of them had been through before.
  Lennox said: "We don't have enough hands. Even with the men from the
  Rosebud, we can only just manage to plant the fields we have. Colonel
  Thumson has more slaves than us."
  "That's because he makes more money--due to better methods," Lizzie said
  triumphantly.
  Lennox sneered: "Women just don't understand these things."
  Lizzie snapped: "Leave us, please, Mr. Lennoximmediately."
 Lennox looked angry but he went away.
 "You must get rid of him, Jay," she said.
 "I don't see why-,,
  "It's not just that he's brutal. Frightening people is the only thing he's
  good at. He can't understand
 334      Ken Follett

 farming and he doesn't know anything about tobaccoand the worst of it is
 he's not interested in leaming."
 "He knows how to get the hands working hard."
  "There's no point in driving them hard if they're doing the wrong work!"
 "You've suddenly become an expert on tobacco."
  "Jay, I grew up on a big estate and I saw it go bankrupt-not through the
  laziness of peasants, but because my father died and my mother couldn't
  cope with managing land. Now I see you making all the familiar
  errors-staying away too long, mistaking harshness for discipline, letting
  someone else make strategic decisions. You wouldn't run a regiment this
  way!"
  "You don't know anything about running a regiment."
  "And you don't know anything about running a farm! I I

  Jay was getting angry but he held it in. "So what are you asking me to do?"
 "Dismiss Lennox."
 "But who would take over?"
 "We could do it together."
 "I don't want to be a farmer!"
 "Then let me do it."
 Jay nodded. "I thought as much."
 "What do you mean by that?"
  "All this is just so that you can be in charge, isn't it?"
  He was afraid she would explode, but instead she went quiet. "Is that, what
  you really think?"
 "As a matter of fact, it is."
  "I'm trying to save you. You're headed for disaster, I'm fighting to
  prevent it, and you think I just want to order people around. If that's
  what you think of me, why the devil did you marry me?"
  He did not like her to use strong language: it was too masculine. "In those
  days you used to be pretty," he said.
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   335

  Her eyes flashed fire, but she did not speak. Instead she turned around and
  walked into the house.
  Jay breathed a sigh of relief. It was not often he got the better of her.
  After a moment he followed her in. He was surprised to see McAsh in the
  hall, dressed in a waistcoat and indoor shoes, putting a new pane of glass
  in a window. What the devil was he doing in the house?
  "Lizzie!" Jay called. He went into the drawing room and found her there.
  "Lizzie, I just saw McAsh in the hall."
  "I've put him in charge of maintenance. He's been painting the nursery."
 "I don't want that man in my house."
  Her reaction took him by surprise. "Then you'll just have to suffer it!"
  she blazed.
 "Well-"
  "I will not be alone here while Lennox is on the estate. I absolutely
  refuse, do you understand?"
 "All right-"
  "If McAsh goes. I go too!" She stormed out of the room.
  "All right!" he said to the door as it slammed. He was not going to fight
  a war over one damned convict. If she wanted the man to paint the nursery
  so be it.
  On the sideboard he saw an unopened letter addressed to him. He picked it
  up and recognized his mother's handwriting. He sat down by the window and
  opened it.

7, Grosvenor Square London
                    September 15, 1768

 A~y dear son,
  The new coal pit at High Glen has been restored
 after the accident, and coal mining has recom-
 menced.
 336      Ken Follett

 Jay smiled. His mother could be very businesslike.

  Robert has spent several weeks there, consolidating the two estates and
  arranging for them to be run as one property~
  I told your father that you should have a royalty on the coal, as the land
  is yours. His reply was that he is paying the interest on the mortgages.
  However I'm afraid the deciding factor was the way you took the best
  convicts from the Rosebud. Your father was furious and so was Robert.

  Jay felt foolish and angry. He had thought he could take those men with
  impunity. He should have known better than to underestimate his father.

  I will keep nagging yourfather over this. In time I'm sure he will give in.

  "Bless you, Mother," said Jay. She was still working hard in his interests
  even though he was so far away he might never see her again.
  Having dealt with important matters she went on to write about herself,
  relatives and friends, and London social life. Then at the end she returned
  to business.

  Robert has now gone to Barbados. I'm not sure why. My instincts tell me he
  is plotting against you I can't imagine how he could do You harm but he is
  resourceful and ruthless. Be always on your guard, my son.

                    Your loving mother
                      Alicia Jamisson

  Jay put the letter down thoughtfully. He had the deepest respect for his
  mother's intuition but all the same he thought she was being overly
  fearful. Barbados
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   337

 was a long way away. And even if Robert came to Virginia, there was
 nothing he could do to harm Jay now-was there?

             31

 IN THE OLD NURSERY WING, MACK FOUND A MAP.
  He had redecorated two of the three rooms and he was clearing out the
  schoolroom. It was the end of the afternoon and he would start work
  properly tomorrow. There was a chest full of moldy books and empty ink
  bottles, and he sorted through the contents, wondering what was worth
  saving. The map was there, folded carefully in a leather case. He opened it
  up and studied it.
 It was a map of Virginia.
  At first he wanted to jump for joy, but his elation faded as he realized he
  could not make head or tail of it.
  The names puzzled him until he understood they were in a foreign
  language-he guessed French. Virginia was spelled "Virginie," the territory
  to the northeast was labeled "Partie de New Jersey," and everything west of
  the mountains was called Louisiane, although that part of the map was
  otherwise blank.
  Slowly he began to understand it better. Thin lines were rivers, thicker
  lines were the borders between one colony and the next, and the very thick
  lines were mountain ranges. He pored over it, fascinated and thrilled: this
  was his passport to freedom.
 He discovered that the Rappahannock was one of
 338      Ken Follett

 several rivers running across Virginia from the mountains in the west to
 the Bay of Chesapeake in the east. He found Fredericksburg on the south
 bank of the Rappahannock. There was no way to tell distances, but Pepper
 Jones had said it was a hundred miles to the mountains. If the map was
 right, it was the same distance again to the other side of the range. But
 there was no indication of a route across.
  He felt a mixture of exhilaration and frustration. He knew where he was,
  at last. but the map seemed to say there was no escape.
  The mountain range narrowed to the south, and Mack studied that part,
  tracing rivers to their source, looking for a way through. Far to the
  south he came across what looked like a pass, where the Cumberland River
  rose.
  He remembered Whitey talking about the Cumberland Gap.
 That was it: that was the way out.
  It was a long journey. Mack guessed it must be four hundred miles, as far
  as from Edinburgh to London. That journey took two weeks by stagecoach,
  longer for a man with one horse. And it would take even longer on the
  rough roads and hunting trails of Virginia.
  But on the far side of those mountains a man could be free.
  He folded the map carefully and restored it to its case, then went on
  with his work. He would look at it again.
  If only he could find Peg, he thought as he swept the room. He had to
  know whether she was all right before he ran away. If she was happy he
  would leave her, but if she had a cruel owner he would have to take her
  with him.
 It became too dark to work.
  He left the nursery and went down the stairs. He took his old fur cloak
  off a hook by the back door and wrapped it around him; it was cold
  outside. As he went
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   339

 out a knot of excited slaves came toward him. In the n-fiddle of the group
 was Kobe, and he was carrying a woman: after a moment Mack recognized Bess,
 the young slave girl who had fainted in the field a few weeks ago. Her eyes
 were closed and there was blood on her smock. The girl was accident prone.
  Mack held the door open then followed Kobe inside. The Jamissons would be
  in the dining room, finishing their afternoon dinner. "Put her in the
  drawing room and I'll fetch Mrs. Jamisson," he said.
 "The drawing room?" Kobe said dubiously.
  It was the only room where the fire was lit, apart from the dining room.
  "Trust me-it's what Mrs. Jamisson would prefer," Mack said.
 Kobe nodded.
 Mack knocked on the dining room door and entered.
  Lizzie and Jay were sitting at a small round table, their faces lit by a
  candelabra in the center. Lizzie looked plump and beautiful in a low-necked
  gown that revealed the swell of her breasts then spread like a tent over
  her bulging abdomen. She was eating raisins while Jay cracked nuts.
  Mildred, a tall maid with perfect tobacco-colored skin, was pouring wine
  for Jay. A fire blazed in the hearth. It was a tranquil domestic scene and
  for a moment Mack was taken aback to be reminded so forcefully that they
  were man and wife.
  Then he looked again. Jay was sitting at an angle to the table, his body
  averted from Lizzie: he was looking out of the window, watching night fall
  over the river. Lizzie was turned the other way, looking at Mildred as she
  poured. Neither Jay nor Lizzie was smiling. They might have been strangers
  in a tavern, forced to share a table but having no interest in one another.
  Jay saw Mack and said: "What the devil do you want?"
  Mack addressed Lizzie. "Bess has had an accidentKobe's put her in the
  drawing room."
 340      Ken Follett

  "I'll corne at once," Lizzie said, pushing back her chair.
  Jay said: "Don't let her bleed on that yellow silk upholstery!"
 Mack held the door and followed Lizzie out.
  Kobe was lighting candles. Lizzie bent over the injured girl. Bess's dark
  skin had gone paler and her lips were bloodless. Her eyes were closed and
  her breathing seemed shallow. "What happened?" said Lizzie.
  "She cut herself," Kobe answered. He was still panting from the exertion of
  carrying her. "She was hacking at a rope with a machete. The blade slipped
  off the rope and sliced her belly."
  Mack winced. He watched as Lizzie enlarged the tear in Bess's smock and
  gazed at the wound beneath. It looked bad. There was a lot of blood and the
  cut seemed deep.
  "Go to the kitchen, one of vou, and get me some clean rags and a bowl of
  warm water."
 Mack admired her decisiveness. "I'll do it," he said.
  He hurried to the outhouse kitchen. Sarah and Mildred were washing up the
  dinner dishes. Sarah, sweating as always, said: "Is she all right?"
  "I don't know. Mrs. Jamisson asked for clean rags and warm water."
  Sarah passed him a bowl. "Here, take some water off the fire. I'll get you
  the rags."
  A few moments later he was back in the drawing room. Lizzie had cut away
  Bess's dress around the wound. Now she dipped a rag in the water and washed
  the skin. As the wound became more clearly visible it looked worse. Mack
  feared she might have damaged her internal organs.
  Lizzie felt the same. "I can't deal with this," she said. "She needs a
  doctor."
 Jay came into the room, took one look, and paled.
 Lizzie said to him: "I'll have to send for Dr. Finch."
        A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   341

  "As you wish," he said. "I'm going to the Ferry House-there's a
  cockfight." He went out.
 Good riddance, Mack thought contemptuously.
  Lizzie looked at Kobe and Mack. "One of you has to ride into
  Fredericksburg in the dark."
  Kobe said: "Mack ain't much of a horseman. I'll go."
  "He's right," Mack admitted. "I could drive the buggy, but it's slower."
  "That settles it," Lizzie said. "Don't be rash, Kobe, but go as fast as
  you can-this girl could die."

  Fredericksburg was ten miles away, but Kobe knew the road, and he was
  back two hours later.
  When he walked into the drawing room his face was like thunder. Mack had
  never seen him so angry.
 "Where's the doctor?' Lizzie said.
  "Dr. Finch won't come out at this time of night for no nigger girl," said
  Kobe in a shaky voice.
 "Curse the damn fool," Lizzie said furiously.
  They all looked at Bess. Her skin was beaded with perspiration and her
  breathing had become ragged. Now and again she moaned, but she did not
  open her eyes. The yellow silk sofa was red with her blood. She was
  obviously dying.
  "We can't stand here and do nothing," Lizzie said. "She could be saved!"
 Kobe said: "I don't think she has long to live."
  "If the doctor won't come, we'll just have to take her to him," Lizzie
  said. "We'll put her in the buggy."
 Mack said: "It's not good to move her."
 "If we don't she'll die anyway!" Lizzie shouted.
 "All fight, all right. I'll get the buggy out."
  "Kobe, take the mattress from my bed and put it in the back for her to
  lie on. And some blankets."
  Mack hurried to the stables. The stable boys had all gone to the quarters
  but it did not take him long to put Stripe, the pony, in the traces. He
  got a taper from the
 342      Ken Follett

 kitchen fire and lit the carriage lamps on the buggy. When he pulled around
 to the front Kobe was waiting.
  While Kobe arranged the bedding Mack went into the house. Lizzie was
  putting on her coat. "Are you coming?" Mack said.
 "Yes."
 "Do you think you should, in your condition?"
  "I'm afraid that damned doctor will refuse to treat her if I don't."
  Mack knew better than to argue with her in this mood. He picked Bess up
  gently and carried her outside. He laid her carefully on the mattress and
  Kobe covered her with the blankets. Lizzie climbed up and settled herself
  beside Bess, cradling the girl's head in her arms.
  Mack got up in front and picked up the reins. Three people was a lot for
  the pony to haul so Kobe gave the buggy a shove to get it started. Mack
  drove down to the road and turned toward Fredericksburg.
  There was no moon, but starlight enabled him to see where he was going. The
  trail was rocky and rutted, and the buggy bounced along. Mack was worried
  about jolting Bess, but Lizzie kept saying: "Go faster! Go faster!" The
  road wound along the riverbank, through rough woodland and the fringes of
  plantations just like the Jamisson place. They saw nobody: people did not
  travel after dark if they could help it.
  With Lizzie's urging Mack made good speed and they reached Fredericksburg
  around suppertime. There were people on the streets and lights in the
  houses. He drew up the buggy outside Dr. Finch's home. Lizzie went to the
  door while Mack wrapped Bess in the blankets and carefully lifted her up.
  She was unconscious but alive.
  The door was opened by Mrs. Finch, a mousy woman in her forties. She showed
  Lizzie into the parlor and Mack followed with Bess. The doctor, a thickset
  man with a bullying manner, looked distinctly guilty
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   343

 when he realized he had forced a pregnant woman to drive through the night
 to bring him a patient. He covered his embarrassment by bustling about and
 giving his wife abrupt orders.
  When he had looked at the wound he asked Lizzie to make herself comfortable
  in the other room. Mack went with her and Mrs. Finch stayed to help her
  husband.
  The remains of a supper were on the table. Lizzie eased herself gingerly
  into a chair. "What's the matter?" Mack said.
  "That ride has given me the most awful backache. Do you think Bess will be
  all right?"
 "I don't know. She's not very robust."
  A maid came in and offered Lizzie tea and cake, and Lizzie accepted. The
  maid looked Mack up and down, identified him as a servant, and said: "If
  you want some tea you can come in the kitchen."
 "I need to see to the horse first," he said.
  He went outside and led the pony around to Dr. Finch's stable, where he
  gave it water and some grain; then he waited in the kitchen. The house was
  small, and he could hear the doctor and his wife talking as they worked.
  The maid, a middle-aged black woman, cleared the dining room and brought
  out Lizzie's teacup. Mack decided it was stupid for him to sit in the
  kitchen and Lizzie in the dining room, so he went and sat with her, despite
  the frowns of the maid. Lizzie looked pale, and he resolved to get her home
  as soon as possible.
  At last Dr. Finch came in, drying his hands. "It's a nasty wound but I
  believe I have done everything possible," he said. "I've stopped the
  bleeding, sewn up the gash and given her a drink. She's young and she will
  heal."
 "Thank goodness," Lizzie said.
  The doctor nodded. "I'm sure she's a valuable slave. She shouldn't travel
  far tonight. She can stay here and sleep in my maid's quarters, and you can
  send for her tomorrow or the day after. When the wound closes I'll
 344      Ken Follett

 take out the stitches-she should do no heavy work until then."
 "Of course."
  "Have you had supper, Mrs. Jamisson? May I offer you something?"
  "No, thank you, I'd just like to get home and go to bed."
 Mack said: "I'll bring the buggy around to the front."
  A few minutes later they were on their way. Lizzie rode up front while
  they were in the town, but as soon as they passed the last house she lay
  down on the mattress.
  Mack drove slowly, and this time there were no impatient sounds from
  behind him. When they had been traveling for about half an hour he said:
  "Are you asleep?"
 There was no reply, and he assumed she was.
  He glanced behind him from time to time. She was restless, shifting her
  position and muttering in her sleep.
  They were driving along a deserted stretch two or three miles from the
  plantation when the stillness of the night was shattered by a scream.
 It was Lizzie.
  "What? What?" Mack called frantically as he hauled on the reins. Before
  the pony had stopped he was clambering into the back.
 "Oh, Mack, it hurts!" she cried.
  He put his arm around her shoulders and raised her a little. "What is it?
  Where does it hurt?"
 "Oh, God, I think the baby is coming."
 "But it's not due ......
 "Another two months."
  Mack knew little about such things but he guessed that the birth had been
  brought on by the stress of the medical emergency or the bumpy ride to
  Fredericksburg-or both.
 "How long have we got?"
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    345

  She groaned long and loud. then answered him. "Not long."
 I thought it took hours."
  "I don't know. I think the backache I had was labor pain. Maybe the baby
  has been on its way all this time."
  "Shall I drive on? We'll be there in a quarter of an hour."
 "Too long. Stay where you are and hold me."
  Mack realized the mattress was wet and sticky. "What's soaked tile
  mattress9"
  "My waters broke, I think. I wish my mother was here."
  Mack thought it was blood on the mattress but he did not say so.
  She groaned again. When the pain passed she shivered. Mack covered her with
  his fur. "You can have your cloak back," he said, and she smiled briefly
  before the next spasm took her.
  When she could speak again she said: "You must take the baby when it comes
  out."
  "All right," he said, but he was not sure what she meant.
 "Get down between my legs," she said.
  He knelt at her feet and pushed up her skirts. Her underdrawers were
  soaked. Mack had undressed only two women, Annie and Cora, and neither of
  them had owned a pair of underdrawers, so he was not sure how they
  fastened, but he fumbled them off somehow. Lizzie lifted her legs and put
  her feet up against his shoulders to brace herself.
  He stared at the patch of thick dark hair between her legs, and he was
  seized by a feeling of panic. How could a baby come through there? He had
  no idea how it happened. Then he told himself to be calm: this took place
  a thousand times a day A over the world. He did not need to understand it.
  The baby would come without his help.
 346      Ken Follett

 "I'm frightened," Lizzie said during a brief respite. "I'll look after you,"
 he said, and he stroked her legs, the only part of her lie could reach.
 The baby came very quickly.
  Mack could not see much in the starlight, but as Lizzie gave a mighty groan
  something began to emerge from inside her. Mack put two trembling hands
  down there and felt a warm, slippery object pushing its way out. A moment
  later the baby's head was in his hands. Lizzie seerned to rest for a few
  moments, then start again. He held the head with one hand and put the other
  under the tiny shoulders as they came into the world. A moment later the
  rest of the baby slid out.
  He held it and stared at it: the closed eyes, the dark hair of its head,
  the miniature limbs. "It's a girl," he said.
 "She must cry!" Lizzie said urgently.
  Mack had heard of smacking a newborn baby to make it breathe. It was hard
  to do, but he knew he must. He turned her over in his hand and gave her
  bottom a sharp slap.
 Nothing happened.
  As he held the tiny chest in the palm of his big hand he realized something
  was dreadfully wrong. He could not feel a heartbeat.
  Lizzie struggled to sit upright. "Give her to me!" she said.
 Mack handed the baby over.
  She took the baby and stared into her face. She put her lips to the baby's
  as if kissing her, and then she blew into her mouth.
  Mack willed the child to gasp air into her lungs and cry, but nothing
  happened.
  "She's dead," Lizzie said. She held the baby to her bosom and drew the fur
  cloak around the naked body. "My baby's dead." She began to weep.
  Mack put his arms around them both and held them while Lizzie cried her
  heart out.
          32

      AFrER HER BABY GIRL WAS BORN DEAD, UZZIE LIVED
      in a world of gray colors, silent people, rain and mist. She let
      the household staff do as they pleased, realizing vaguely after a
      while that Mack had taken charge of them. She no longer patrolled
      the plantation every day: she left the tobacco fields to Lennox.
      Sometimes she visited Mrs. Thumson or Suzy Delahaye, for they were
      willing to talk about the baby as long as she liked; but she did
      not go to parties or balls. Every Sunday she attended church in
      Fredericksburg, and after the service she spent an hour or two in
      the graveyard, standing and looking at the tiny tombstone,
      thinking about what might have been.
       She was quite sure it was all her fault. She had continued to
       tide horses until she was four or five months pregnant; she had
       not rested as much as people said she should; and she had ridden
       ten miles in the buggy, urging Mack to go faster and faster. on
       the night the baby was stillborn.
       She was angry with Jay for being away from home that night; with
       Dr. Finch for refusing to come out for a slave girl; and with
       Mack for doing her bidding and driving fast. But most of all she
       was angry with herself. She loathed and despised herself for
       being an inadequate mother-to-be, for her impulsiveness and impa-
       tience and inability to listen to advice. If I were not like
       this, she thought, if I were a normal person, sensible 347
 348      Ken Follett

 and reasonable and cautious, I would have a little baby girl now.
  She could not talk to Jay about it. At first he had been angry. He had
  railed at Lizzie, vowed to shoot Dr. Finch and threatened to have Mack
  flogged; but his rage had evaporated when he learned the baby had been
  a girl, and now he acted as if Lizzie had never been pregnant.
  For a while she talked to Mack. The birth had brought them very close.
  He had wrapped her in his cloak and held her knees and tenderly handled
  the poor baby. At first he was a great comfort to her, but after a few
  weeks she sensed him becoming impatient. It was not his baby, she
  thought, and he could not truly share her grief. Nobody could. So she
  withdrew into herself.
  One day three months after the birth she went to the nursery wing, still
  gleaming with fresh paint, and sat alone. She imagined a little girl
  there in a cradle, gurgling happily or crying to be fed, dressed in
  pretty white frocks and tiny knitted boots, suckling at her nipple or
  being bathed in a bowl. The vision was so intense that tears filled her
  eyes and rolled down her face, although she made no sound.
  Mack came in while she was like that. Some debris had fallen down the
  chimney during a storm and he knelt at the fireplace and began to clear
  it up. He did not comment on her tears.
 "I'm so unhappy," she said.
  He did not pause in his work. "This will not do you any good," he replied
  in a hard voice.
  "I expected more sympathy from you," she said miserably.
  "You can't spend your life sitting in the nursery crying. Everyone dies
  sooner or later. The rest have to live on.,,
 "I don't really want to. What have I got to live for?"
  "Don't be so damned pathetic, Lizzie-it's not your nature."
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   349

  She was shocked. No one had spoken unkindly to her since the stillbirth.
  What right did Mack have to make her even more unhappy? "You ought not to
  talk to me like that," she said.
  He surprised her by rounding on her. Dropping his brush, he grabbed her by
  both her arms and pulled her up out of her chair. "Don't tell me about my
  rights," he said.
  He was so angry she was afraid he would do violence to her. "Leave me
  alone!"
  "Too many people are leaving you alone," he said, but he put her down.
 "What am I supposed to do?" she said.
  "Anything you like. Get a ship back home and go and live with your mother
  in Aberdeen. Have a love affair with Colonel Thumson. Run away to the
  frontier with some ne'er-do-well." He paused and looked hard at her.
  "Or-make up your mind to be a wife to Jay, and have another baby."
 That surprised her. "I thought
 "What did you think?"
  "Nothing." She had known for some time that he was at least half in love
  with her. After the failed party for the field hands he had touched her
  tenderly and stroked her in a way that could only be loving. He had kissed
  the hot tears on her face. There was more than mere pity in his embrace.
  And there was more in her response than the need for sympathy. She had
  clung to his hard body and savored the touch of his lips on her skin, and
  that was not just because she felt sorry for herself
  But all those feelings had faded since the baby. Her heart was empty. She
  had no passions, just regrets.
  She felt ashamed and embarrassed to have had such desires. The lascivious
  wife who tried to seduce the bonny young footman was a stock character in
  comic novels.
 Mack was not just a bonny footman, of course. She
 350      Ken Follett

 had gradually come to realize that he was the most remarkable man she had
 ever met. He was arrogant and opinionated too, she knew. His idea of his own
 importance was ludicrously inflated, and it led him into mischief. But she
 could not help admiring the way he stood up to tyrannical authority, from
 the Scottish coal field to the plantations of Virginia. And when he got into
 trouble it was often because he stuck up for someone else.
  But Jay was her husband. He was weak and foolish. and he had lied to her,
  but she had married him and she had to be faithful to him.
  Mack was still staring at her. She wondered what was going through his
  mind. She thought he was referring to himself when he said "run away to the
  frontier with some ne'er-do-well."
  Mack reached out tentatively and stroked her cheek. Lizzie closed her eyes.
  If her mother could see this she would know exactly what to say. You
  married Jay and you promised to be loyal to him. Are you a woman or a
  child? A woman keeps her word when it's difficult, not just when it's easy.
  That's what promising is all about.
  And here she was letting another man stroke her cheek. She opened her eyes
  and looked at Mack for a long moment. There was yearning in his green eyes.
  She hardened her heart. A sudden impulse seized her and she slapped his
  face as hard as she could.
  It was like slapping a rock. He did not move. But his expression changed.
  She had not hurt his face but she had wounded his heart. He looked so
  shocked and dismayed that she felt an overpowering urge to apologize and
  embrace him. She resisted it with all her might. In a shaky voice she said:
  "Don't you dare touch me!"
  He said nothing, but stared at her, horrified and wounded. She could not
  look at his hurt expression any longer, so she stood up and walked out of
  the room.
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    351

  He had said, "Make up your mind to be a wife to Jay, and have another
  baby." She thought hard about that for a day. The idea of having Jay in her
  bed had become unpleasant to her, but it was her duty as a wife. If she
  refused that duty she did not deserve a husband.
  That afternoon she took a bath. This was a complicated business involving
  a tin tub in the bedroom and five or six strong girls running upstairs from
  the kitchen with pitchers of hot water. When that was done she put on fresh
  clothing before going downstairs for supper.
  It was a cold winter's evening and the fire roared in the hearth. Lizzie
  drank some wine and tried to chatter gaily to Jay the way she used to
  before they were married. He did not respond. However, that was to be ex-
  pected, she thought, when she had been poor company for so long.
  After the meal was over she said: "It's been three months since the baby.
  I'm all right now."
 "What do you mean?"
  "My body is back to normal." She was not going to give him the details. Her
  breasts had stopped leaking milk a few days after the stillbirth. She had
  bled a little every day for much longer, but that too had ended. "I mean,
  my tummy will never be quite as flat again, but ... in other ways I've
  healed."
  He still did not understand. "Why are you telling me this?"
  Trying to keep the exasperation out of her voice she said: "We can make
  love again, that's what I'm saying."
 He grunted and lit his pipe.
  It was not the reaction a woman might have hoped for.
 "Will you come to my room tonight?" she persisted.
  He looked annoyed. "It's the man that's supposed to make these
  suggestions," he said irritably.
  She stood up. "I just wanted you to know that I'm ready," she said. Feeling
  hurt, she went up to her room.
 352      Ken Follett

  Mildred came up to help her undress. As she took off her petticoats she
  said, in a voice as casual as she could manage: "Has Mr. Jamisson gone to
  bed?"
 "No, I don't believe he has."
 "Is he still downstairs?"
 "I think he went out."
  Lizzie looked at the maid's pretty face. There was something puzzling in
  her expression. "Mildred, are you hiding something from me?"
  Mildred was young-about eighteen-and she had no talent for deceit. She
  averted her eyes. "No, Mrs. Jamisson."
 Lizzie was sure she was lying. But why?
  Mildred began to brush Lizzie's hair. Lizzie thought about where Jay had
  gone. He often went out after supper. Sometimes he said he was going to a
  card game or a cockfight; sometimes he said nothing at all. She assumed
  vaguely he was going to drink rum in taverns with other men. But if that
  were all there was to it, Mildred would say so. Now Lizzie thought of an
  alternative.
 Did her husband have another woman?

 A week later he still had not come to her room.
  She became obsessed with the idea that he was having an affair. The only
  person she could think of was Suzy Delahaye. She was young and pretty, and
  her husband was always going away-like many Virginians he was obsessed with
  horse races and would travel two days to see one. Was Jay sneaking out of
  the house after supper and riding over to the Delahaye place and getting
  into bed with Suzy?
  She told herself she was being fanciful, but the thought would not go away.
  On the seventh night she looked out of her bedroom window and saw the
  flicker of a candle lamp moving across the dark lawn.
 She decided to follow.
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   353

  It was cold and dark, but she did not delay to dress. She picked up a shawl
  and drew it around her shoulders as she ran down the stairs.
  She slipped out of the house. The two deerhounds, who slept on the porch,
  looked up at her curiously. "Come, Roy, come, Rex!" she said. She ran
  across the grass, following the spark of the lantern, with the dogs at her
  heels. Soon the light disappeared into the woods, but by then she was close
  enough to discern that Jay-if it was he-had taken the path that led to the
  tobacco sheds and the overseer's quarters.
  Perhaps Lennox had a horse saddled ready for Jay to ride to the Delahaye
  place. Lennox was deep in this somehow, Lizzie felt: that man was involved
  whenever Jay went wrong.
  She did not see the lantern again, but she found the cottages easily. There
  were two. Lennox occupied one. The other had been Sowerby's and was now
  vacant.
 But there was someone inside it.
  The windows were shuttered against the cold, but light shone through the
  cracks.
  Lizzie paused, hoping that her heart would slow down, but it was fear, not
  exertion, that made it beat so fast. She was scared of what she would see
  inside. The idea of Jay taking Suzy Delahaye in his arms the way he had
  embraced Lizzie, and kissing her with the lips Lizzie had kissed, made her
  sick with rage. She even thought about turning back. But not knowing would
  be the worst of all.
  She tried the door. It was not locked. She opened it and went inside.
  The house had two rooms. The kitchen, at the front, was empty, but she
  could hear a low voice coming from the bedroom at the back. Were they in
  bed already? She tiptoed to the door, grasped the handle, took a deep
  breath, and flung it open.
 Suzy Delahaye was not in the room.
 354      Ken Follett

  Jay was. He lay on the bed in his shirt and breeches, barefoot and coadess.
 At the end of the bed stood a slave.
  Lizzie did not know the girl's name: she was one of the four Jay had bought
  in Williamsburg. She was about Lizzie's age, slim and very beautiful, with
  soft brown eyes. She was completely naked, and Lizzie could see her proud
  brown-tipped breasts and the tightly curled black hair at her groin.
  As Lizzie stared, the girl threw her a look that Lizzie would never forget:
  a haughty, contemptuous, triumphant look. You may be the mistress of the
  house, the look said, but he comes to my bed every night, not yours.
  Jay's voice came to her as if from a great distance: "Lizzie, ob my God!"
  She turned her face to him and saw him flinch at her look. But his fear
  gave her no satisfaction: she had known for a long time that he was weak.
  She found her voice. "Go to hell, Jay," she said quietly, and she turned
  and left the room.

  She went to her room, got her keys from the drawer, then went down to the
  gun room.
  Her Griffin rifles were in the rack with Jay's guns, but she left them and
  picked up a pair of pocket pistols in a leather case. Checking the contents
  of the case she found a full powder horn, plenty of linen wadding, and some
  spare flints, but no balls. She searched the room but there was no shot,
  just a small stack of lead ingots. She took one of the ingots and a bullet
  mold-a small tool like a pair of pincers-then she left the room, relocking
  the door.
  In the kitchen, Sarah and Mildred stared at her with big frightened eyes as
  she walked in carrying the pistol case under her arm. Without speaking she
  went to the cupboard and took out a stout knife and a small, heavy
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   355

 iron saucepan with a spout. Then she went to her bedroom and locked the
 door.
  She built up the fire until it blazed so hot she could not stay near it for
  more than a few seconds. Then she put the lead ingot in the pan and the pan
  on the fire.
  She remembered Jay coming home from Williamsburg with four young girl
  slaves. She had asked why he had not bought men, and he said girls were
  cheaper and more obedient. At the time she had thought no more about it:
  she had been more concerned about the extravagance of his new carriage.
  Now, bitterly, she understood.
  There was a knock at the door and Jay's voice said: "Lizzie?" The handle
  was turned and the door tried. Finding it locked he said: "Lizzie-will you
  let me in?"
  She ignored him. At the moment he was cowed and guilty. Later he would find
  a way to convince himself he had done nothing wrong, and then he would
  become angry, but for the moment he was harmless.
  He knocked and called for a minute or so then gave up and went away.
  When the lead was melted she took the pan off the fire. Moving quickly, she
  poured a little lead into the mold through a nozzle. Inside the head of the
  tool was a spherical cavity that now filled with molten lead. She plunged
  the mold into the bowl of water on her washstand, to cool and harden the
  lead. When she squeezed together the arms of the tool, the head came open
  and a neat round bullet fell out. She picked it up. It was perfect except
  for a little tail formed by the lead that had remained in the nozzle. She
  trimmed the tail with the kitchen knife.
  She carried on making shot until all the lead was used up. Then she loaded
  both pistols and placed them beside her bed. She checked the lock on the
  door.
 Then she went to bed.
              33

 MACK HATED UZZIE FOR THAT SLAP. EVERY TIME HE thought of it lie felt
 enraged. She gave him false signals then punished him when he responded. She
 was a bitch, he told himself; a heartless upper-class flirt who toyed with
 his feelings.
  But he knew it was not true, and after a while he changed his view.
  Reflection led him to realize that she was at the mercy of conflicting
  emotions. She was attracted to him, but she was married to someone else.
  She had a well-developed sense of duty, and she felt scared because it was
  being unden-nined. In desperation she tried to put an end to the dilemma by
  quarreling with him.
  He had longed to tell her that her loyalty to Jay was misplaced. All the
  slaves had known for months that Jay was spending his nights in a cottage
  with Felia, a beautiful and willing girl from Senegal. But he had felt sure
  Lizzie would find out for herself sooner or later, and sure enough she had,
  two nights ago. Her reaction had been characteristically extreme: she had
  locked her bedroom door and artned herself with pistols.
  How long would she keep that up? How would it all end? "Run away to the
  frontier with some ne'er-dowell," he had said, thinking of himself. But she
  had not responded to the suggestion. Of course it would never occur to her
  to spend her life with Mack. No doubt she liked him, he had been more than
  a servant to her; he had delivered her baby; and she enjoyed it when he em-
  356
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   357

 braced her. But all that was a long way from leaving her husband and running
 off with him.
  He was lying restlessly in his bed before daybreak, turning these things
  over in his mind, when he heard a horse whinny softly outside.
  Who could it be at this time of night? Frowning, he slipped off his bunk
  and went to the cabin door in his breeches and shirt.
  The air outside was cold and he shivered when he opened the door. It was a
  misty morning with a fine rain, but dawn was breaking and he could see, in
  the silver light, two women entering the compound, one leading a pony.
  A moment later lie recognized the taller woman as Cora. Why had she ridden
  through the night to come here? Bad news seemed likely.
 Then he recognized the other one.
 "Peg!" he cried delightedly.
  She saw him and came running to him. She had grown up, he thought: she was
  inches taller and a different shape.. But her face was the same and she
  threw herself into his arms. "Mack!" she said. "Oh, Mack. I've been so
  frightened!"
  "I thought I'd never see you again," he said. "What happened?"
  Cora answered his question. "Stie's in trouble. She was bought by a hill
  farmer called Burgo Marler. He tried to rape her and she stabbed him with
  a kitchen knife."
  "Poor Peg," said Mack, and he hugged her. "Is the man deadT'
 Peg nodded.
  Cora said: "The story has been in the Virginia Gazene and now every sheriff
  in the colony is looking for Peg.
  Mack was aghast. If Peg were caught she would certainly be hanged.
 The other slaves were woken by their conversation.
 358      Ken Follett

 Some of the convicts came out and recognized Peg and Cora, and there were
 happy reunions.
  Mack said to Peg: "How did you get to Fredericksburg?"
  "Walked," she said with a laconic touch of her old defiant personality. "I
  knew I had to go east and find the Rappahannock River. I traveled in the
  dark and got directions from people who are out at night-slaves, runaways,
  army deserters, Indians."
  Cora said: "I hid her in my house for a few days-my husband's in
  Williamsburg on business. But then I heard that the local sheriff was about
  to raid everyone who was on the Rosebud."
 "But that means he'll come here!" Mack said.
 "Yes-he's not far behind me."
 "What?"
  "I'm pretty sure he's on his way now-he was mustering a search party when
  I left town."
 "So why did you bring her here?"
  Cora's face hardened. "Because she's your problem. I've got a rich husband
  and a nice house and my own pew in the church, and I don't want the sheriff
  to find a murderer in my damn stable loft!"
  The other convicts muttered their disapproval. Mack stared at her in
  dismay. He had once thought of spending his life with this woman. "By God,
  you're hardhearted," he said angrily.
  "I saved her, didn't IT' Cora said indignantly. "Now I've got to save
  myself!"
  Peg said: "Thank you for everything, Cora. You did save me."
  Kobe had been watching the proceedings silently. Now Mack turned to him
  automatically to discuss the problem. "We could hide her over at the
  Thumson place," he said.
  "That's all right, so long as the sheriff doesn't search there too," Kobe
  said.
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    359

  "Damn. I never thought of that." Where could she hide? "They'll search
  every inch of the quarters, the stables, the tobacco sheds ......
 Cora said: "Have you fucked Lizzie Jamisson yet?"
  Mack was taken aback by the question. "What do you mean, 'yet'? Of course
  I haven't."
 "Don't act stupid. I bet she wants you to."
  Mack resented Cora's unromantic attitude but he could not act innocent.
  "What if she does?"
 "Would she hide Peg-for your sake?"
  Mack was not sure. How can I even ask the question? he thought. He could
  not love a woman who would refuse to protect a child in this situation. Yet
  there was a doubt in his mind as to whether Lizzie would agree to do it.
  For some reason this made him feel angry. "She might do it out of the
  kindness of her heart," he said pointedly.
  "She might. But selfish lust is a more reliable motive."
  Mack heard dogs barking. It sounded like the deerhounds on the porch of the
  big house. What had disquieted them? Then there was an answering bark from
  down by the river.
  "Strange dogs in the neighborhood," Kobe said. "That's what disturbed Roy
  and Rex."
  "Could it be the search party already?" Mack said with heightened anxiety.
 "I think so," said Kobe.
 "I was hoping for time to figure out a plan!"
  Cora turned away and mounted her pony. "I'm getting out of here before I'm
  seen." She walked the pony out of the compound. "Good luck," she called
  softly. Then she disappeared into the misty woods like a ghostly messenger.
  Mack turned to Peg. "We're running out of time. Come with me to the house.
  It's our best chance."
 She looked scared. "I'll do whatever you say."
 360      Ken Follett

  Kobe said: "I'll go and see who the visitors are. If it's the search
  party, I'll try to slow them down."
  Peg held Mack's hand as they hurried through the cold fields and across
  the damp lawns in the gray light. The dogs came loping down from the
  porch to meet them. Roy licked Mack's hand and Rex sniffed curiously at
  Peg, but they made no noise.
  Doors were never locked here, and Mack led Peg in through the back
  entrance. They crept up the stairs. Mack looked out of the landing window
  and saw, in the black-and-white tones of dawn, five or six men and some
  dogs coming up from the direction of the river. As he watched, the party
  split: two men headed for the house and the rest turned toward the slave
  quarters with the dogs.
  Mack went to Lizzie's bedroom door. Don't let me down now, he thought.
  He tried the door.
 It was locked.
  He tapped gently, fearful of waking Jay in the next room.
 Nothing happened.
 He tapped harder.
  He heard soft footsteps, then Lizzie's voice came clearly through the
  door: "Who's there?"
 "Hush! It's Mack!" he whispered.
 "What the devil are you doing?"
 "It's not what you think---open the door!"
  He heard a key turn, and the door opened. In the gloom he could hardly
  see her. She turned back into the room, and he stepped inside, drawing
  Peg behind him. The room was in darkness.
  Her footsteps crossed the room and a blind was raised. In the pale light
  he saw her, wearing some kind of dressing gown, looking deliciously
  tousled. "Explain yourself, fast," she said. "And it had better be good."
  Then she saw Peg, and her attitude changed. "You're not alone."
 "Peg Knapp," he said.
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    361

 "I remember," Lizzie said. "How are you, Peggy?" "I'm in trouble again," Peg
 said.
  Mack explained. "She was sold to a hill fanner who tried to rape her."
 "Oh, dear God."
 "She killed the man."
  "You poor child," Lizzie said. She put her arms around Peg. "You poor
  child."
  "The sheriff is looking for her. He's outside now, searching the slave
  quarters." Mack looked at Peg's thin face and saw in his mind the gallows
  in Fredericksburg. "We have to hide her!" he said.
 Lizzie said: "You just leave the sheriff to me."
  "What do you mean?" Mack said. He got nervous when she tried to take
  charge.
  "I'll explain to him that Peg was defending herself against rape."
  When Lizzie was sure of something she often imagined that no one could
  disagree with her. It was a vexing trait. Mack shook his head impatiently.
  "That's no good, Lizzie. The sheriff will say the court has to decide
  whether she's guilty, not you."
 "Then she can stay here until her trial."
  Lizzie's ideas were so maddeningly airy that Mack had to force himself to
  speak calmly and reasonably. "You can't stop a sheriff arresting someone
  accused of murder, no matter what you think of the rights and wrongs of the
  case."
  "Perhaps she should just stand trial. If she's innocent they can't convict
  her-"
  "Lizzie, be realistic!" Mack said in exasperation. "What Virginian court is
  going to acquit a convict who kills her owner? They're a terrified of being
  attacked by their slaves. Even if they believe her story they'll hang her,
  just to frighten the rest."
  She looked angry, and she was about to make some retort when Peg started to
  cry. That made Lizzie hesi-
   362      Ken Follett

 tate. She bit her lip then said: "What do you think we should do?"
  One of the dogs growled outside, and Mack heard the voice of a man talking
  to it and calming it. "I want you to hide Peg in here while they search the
  place," he said to Lizzie. "Will you do it?"
  He watched her face. If you say no, he thought, I'm in love with the wrong
  woman.
  "Of course I'll do it," she said. "What do you think I am?"
  He smiled happily, flooded with relief. He loved her so much he had to
  fight back tears. He swallowed hard. "I think you're wonderful," he said
  huskily.
  They had been talking in low voices, and now Mack heard a sound from Jay's
  bedroom on the other side of the wall. He had a lot more to do before Peg
  was safe. "I must get out of here," he said. "Good luck!" He left.
  He stepped across the landing and ran lightly down the stairs. As he
  reached the hall he thought he heard Jay's bedroom door open, but he did
  not look back.
  He stopped in the hall and took a deep breath. I'm a house servant here and
  I have no idea what the sheriff might want, he told himself. He pasted a
  polite smile to his face and opened the door.
  Two men were on the porch. They wore the dress of prosperous Virginians:
  riding boots, long waistcoats and three-cornered hats. Both carried pistols
  in leather cases with shoulder straps. They smelled of rum: they had been
  fortifying themselves against the cold night air.
  Mack stood squarely in the doorway, to discourage them from entering the
  house. "Good morning, gentlemen," he said. He found his heart was beating
  fast. He struggled to keep his voice relaxed and calm. "This looks like a
  search party."
  The taller of the two said: "I'm the sheriff of Spotsylvania County, and
  I'm looking for a girl by the name of Peggy Knapp."
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   363

  "I saw the dogs. Have you sent them down to the slave quarters?"
 'Yes.
  "Good thinking, Sheriff. That way you'll catch the niggers asleep and they
  won't be able to conceal the fugitive."
  "I'm glad you approve," the sheriff said with a touch of sarcasm. "We'll
  just step inside."
  A convict had no choice when given orders by a free man, and Mack had to
  stand aside and let them into the hall. He still hoped they would not think
  it necessary to search the house.
  "How come you're up?" the sheriff said with a hint of suspicion in his
  voice. "We expected to have to wake everyone."
 "I'm an early riser.9'
  The man grunted noncommittally. "Is your master at home?"
 "Yes.
 "Take us to him,"
  Mack did not want them to go upstairs-they would be uncomfortably close to
  Peg. "I believe I heard Mr. Jamisson moving around," he said. "Shall I ask
  him to come down?"
  "No-I don't want to put him to the trouble of getting dressed."
  Mack cursed under his breath. Evidently the sheriff was determined to take
  everyone by surprise if possible. But he could not argue. He said, "This
  way. please," and led them up the stairs.
  He knocked on Jay's door. A moment later Jay opened it, wearing a wrap over
  his nightshirt. "What the devil is all this?" he said irritably.
  "I'm Sheriff Abraham Barton. Mr. Jamisson. I apologize for disturbing you,
  but we're searching for the murderer of Burgo Marler. Does the name Peggy
  Knapp mean anything to you?"
 Jay looked hard at Mack. "It certainly does. The girl
 364      Ken Follett

 was always a thief and I'm not surprised she's turned into a killer. Have
 you asked McAsh here if he knows where she is?"
  Barton looked at Mack in surprise. "So you're McAsh! You didn't mention
  it."
 "You didn't ask," Mack said.
  Barton was not satisfied with that. "Did you know I was coming here this
  morning?"
 "No.,,

  Jay said suspiciously: "Then why are you up so early?"
  "When I worked in your father's coal mine I used to start at two o'clock
  in the morning. Now I always wake early."
 "I've never noticed."
 "You're never up."
 "Less of your damned insolence."
  Barton said to Mack: "When did you last see Peggy Knapp?"
  "When I disembarked from the Rosebud half a year ago."
  The sheriff turned back to Jay. "The niggers may be concealing hen We've
  brought dogs."
  Jay waved a generous hand. "Go ahead and do whatever you need to."
 "We should search the house, too."
  Mack caught his breath. He had been hoping they would not think that
  necessary.
 Jay frowned. "It's not likely the child is in here."
 "Still, for the sake of thoroughness . . ."
  Jay hesitated, and Mack hoped he would get on his high horse and tell the
  sheriff to go to hell. But after a moment he shrugged and said: "Of
  course."
 Mack's heart sank.
  Jay went on: "There's only my wife and me in residence. The rest of the
  place is empty. But search everywhere, by all means. I'll leave you to
  it." He closed his door.
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   365

  Barton said to Mack: "Which is Mrs. Jarnisson's room?"
  Mack swallowed. "Next door." He stepped along the landing and knocked
  gently. With his heart in his mouth he said: "Mrs. Jamisson? Are you
  awake?"
  There was a pause, then Lizzie opened the door. Feigning sleepiness, she
  said: "What on earth do you want at this hour?"
 "The sheriff is looking for a fugitive."
  Lizzie opened the door wide. "Well, I haven't got one in here."
  Mack looked into the room, wondering where Peg was hiding.
 Barton said: "May we step inside for a moment?"
  There was an almost imperceptible flash of fear in Lizzie's eyes, and Mack
  wondered whether Barton had seen it. Lizzie shrugged with a semblance of
  apathy and said: "Feel free."
  The two men stepped inside, looking awkward. Lizzie let her dressing gown
  sag open a little, as if by accident. Mack could not help looking at the
  way the nightdress draped her rounded breasts. The other two men reacted
  with the same reflex. Lizzie looked the sheriff in the eye and he turned
  away guiltily. She was deliberately making them feel uncomfortable so that
  they would search hastily.
  The sheriff lay on the floor and looked under the bed while his assistant
  opened the wardrobe. Lizzie sat on the bed. With a hasty gesture she picked
  up a comer of the bedspread and tugged it. Mack glimpsed a small, dirty
  foot for a split second before it was covered up.
 Peg was in the bed.
  She was so thin that she hardly made a bulge in the piled-up covers.
  The sheriff opened a blanket chest and the other man looked behind a
  screen. There were not many places to check. Would they pull the covers off
  the bed?
 The same thought must have gone through Lizzie's
 366      Ken Follett

 mind, for she said, "Now, if you're done, I'm going back to sleep," and
 she got into bed.
  Barton looked hard at Lizzie and the bed. Did he have the nerve to demand
  that Lizzie get out again? But lie did not really think the master and
  mistress of the house were concealing the murderess-he was searching the
  place only to be comfortable about eliminating the possibility. After a
  moment's hesitation he said: "Thank You, Mrs. Jamisson. We're sorry to
  have disturbed your rest. We'll carry on and search the slave quarters."
  Mack felt weak with relief. He held the door for them, hiding his
  jubilation.
  "Good luck," Lizzie said. "And, Sheriff-when you've finished your work,
  bring your men back here to the house and have some break-fast!"

             34

 UZZIE STAYED IN HER ROOM WHILE THE MEN AND dogs searched the plantation.
 She and Peg talked in low voices, and Peg told her the story of her life.
 Lizzie was horrified and shaken. Peg was just a girl, thin and pretty and
 cheeky. Lizzie's dead baby had been a girl.
  They exchanged dreams. Lizzie revealed that she wanted to live out of
  doors and wear men's clothing and spend all day on horseback with a gun.
  Peg took a folded and worn sheet of paper from inside her chemise. It was
  a hand-colored picture showing a father. a mother and a child standing
  outside a pretty cottage in the country. "I always wanted to be the
  little girl in the
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   367

 picture," she said. "But now sometimes I want to be the mother."
  At the usual time Sarah, the cook, came to the room with Lizzie's
  breakfast on a tray. Peg hid under the bedclothes at her knock, but the
  woman walked in and said to Lizzie: "I know all about Peggy, so don't you
  worry."
  Peg came out again and Lizzie said bemusedly: "Who doesn't know?"
 "Mr. Jamisson and Mr. Lennox."
  Lizzie shared her breakfast with Peg. The child shoveled down grilled
  harn and scrambled eggs as if she had not eaten for a month.
  The search party left as she was finishing. Lizzie and Peg went to the
  window and watched the men cross the lawn and make their way down to the
  river. They were disappointed and subdued, walking with slumped shoul-
  ders, and the dogs, picking up the mood, traded obediently behind.
  They watched the men out of sight, then Lizzie sighed with relief and
  said: "You're safe."
  They hugged happily. Peg was painfully bony, and Lizzie felt a surge of
  maternal feeling for the poor child.
 Peg said: "I'm always safe with Mack."
  "You'll have to stay in this room until we're sure Jay and Lennox are out
  of the way."
  "Aren't you worried that Mr. Jamisson will come in?" Peg asked.
 "No, he never comes in here."
  Peg looked puzzled but she did not ask any more questions. Instead she
  said: "When I'm older I'm going to marry Mack."
  Lizzie had the strangest feeling that she was being warned off.

  Mack sat in the old nursery-where he could be sure he would not be
  disturbed-going through his survival
 368      Ken Follett

 kit. He had a stolen ball of twine and six hooks, made for him by the
 blacksmith Cass, so that he could catch fish. He had a tin cup and plate of
 the kind given to slaves. There was a tinder box so he could light fires and
 an iron pan to cook his food. He had an ax and a heavy knife he had
 purloined while the slaves were felling trees and making barrels.
  At the bottom of the bag, wrapped in a scrap of linen, was a key to the gun
  room. His last act before leaving would be to steal a rifle and ammunition.
  Also in the canvas bag were his copy of Robinson Crusoe and the iron collar
  he had brought from Scotland. He picked up the collar, remembering how he
  had broken it in the smithy the night he had escaped from Heugh. He
  recalled how he had danced a jig of freedom in the moonlight. More than a
  year later he still was not free. But he had not given,up.
  Peg's return had removed the last obstacle preventing him running away from
  Mockjack Hall. She had moved into the slave quarters and slept in a hut of
  single girls. They would all keep her secret. They would always protect one
  of their own. It was not the first time a fugitive had been hidden in the
  quarters: any runaway could get a bowl of hominy and a hard bed for the
  night at every plantation in Virginia.
  During the day she roamed the woods, keeping out of sight until darkness
  fell. Then she returned to the quarters to eat with the hands. Mack knew
  this could not go on for long. Soon boredom would make her careless and she
  would be caught. But she would not have to live that way for many days.
  Mack's skin fingled with anticipation. Cora was married, Peg was saved, and
  the map had shown him where he had to go. Freedom was his heart's desire.
  As soon as they chose, he and Peg could simply walk away from the
  plantation at the end of the day's work. By dawn they could be thirty miles
  away. They would hide duri ~ the hours of daylight then go on at night.
  Like all
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    369

 runaways, they would beg food at the slave quarters of the nearest
 plantation every morning and evening.
  Unlike most runaways, Mack would not try to get a job as soon as he had
  gone a hundred miles. That was how they were always caught. He was going
  farther away. His destination was the wilderness beyond the mountains.
  There he would be free.
  But Peg had been back a week, and he was still at Mockjack Hall.
  He stared at his map and his fishhooks and his tinder box. He was a step
  away from freedom, but he could not take that step.
  He had fallen in love with Lizzie, and he could not bear to leave her.

  Lizzie stood naked in front of the cheval glass in her bedroom, looking at
  her body.
  She had told Jay she was back to normal after the pregnancy, but the truth
  was that she would never be quite the same. Her breasts had gone back to
  their previous size, but they were not as firm, and they seemed to hang a
  little lower on her chest. Her tummy would never return to normal, she now
  realized: the slight bulge and the slackness of the skin were with her for-
  ever. She had faint silvery lines where her skin had stretched. They had
  faded, but not completely, and she had a feeling they would always be
  there. Down below, the place where the baby came out was also different. It
  had once been so tight that she could hardly get her finger in. That, too,
  had stretched.
  She wondered if this was why Jay no longer wanted her. He had not seen her
  naked body since the birth but perhaps he knew what it was like, or
  guessed, and found it disgusting. Felia, his slave girl, had obviously
  never had a baby. Her body was still perfect. Jay would make her pregnant,
  sooner or later. But then he might drop her the way he had dropped Lizzie,
  and take up with yet another woman. Was that how he wanted to
 370      Ken Follett

 live his life? Were all men like that? Lizzie wished she could ask her
 mother.
  She was being treated as something used up, no good anymore, like a worn
  pair of shoes or a cracked plate. That made her angry. The baby who had
  grown inside her and made her belly bulge and stretched her vagina was
  Jay's child. He had no right to reject her afterward. She sighed. It was
  pointless to get angry with him. She had chosen him and she had been a
  fool.
  She wondered if anyone would ever find this body attractive again. She
  missed the feeling of a man's hands running over her flesh as if he could
  never get enough. She wanted someone to kiss her tenderly and squeeze her
  breasts and press his fingers into her. She could not bear the thought that
  it would never happen again.
  She took a deep breath, pulling in her stomach and sticking out her chest.
  There-that was almost how she had looked before the pregnancy. She weighed
  her breasts, then touched the hair between her legs, and toyed with the
  button of desire.
 The door opened.

  Mack had to repair a broken tile in the fireplace in Lizzie's room. He had
  said to Mildred: "Is Mrs. Jamisson up yet?"
  Mildred had replied: "Just gone over to the stables." She must have thought
  he said Mister Jamisson.
  All of that went through his mind in a split second. Then he thought of
  nothing but Lizzie.
  She was achingly beautiful. As she stood in front of the mirror he could
  see her body from both sides. Her back was to him, and his hands itched to
  stroke the curve of her hips. In the mirror he could see the swell of her
  round breasts and the soft pink nipples. The hair at her groin matched the
  wild dark curls of her head.
 He stood there speechless. He knew he should mutter
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    371

 an apology and get out fast, but his feet seemed clamped to the floor.
  She turned to him. Her face was troubled, and he wondered why. Unclothed,
  she seemed vulnerable, almost afraid.
  At last he found his voice. "Oh, but you're beautiful," he whispered.
  Her face changed, as if a question had been answered.
 "Close the door," she said.
  He pushed the door behind him and crossed the room in three strides. A
  moment later she was in his arms. He crushed her naked body to him, feeling
  her soft breasts against his chest. He kissed her lips and her mouth opened
  to him immediately. His tongue found hers and he gloried in the wetness and
  hunger of her kiss. As he got hard she pulled his hips to her and rubbed
  herself against him.
  He broke away, panting, afraid he would come right away. She tugged at his
  waistcoat and his shirt, trying to get beneath the clothes to his skin. He
  threw the waistcoat aside and pulled the shirt over his head. She bent her
  head and put her mouth to his nipple. Her lips closed over it in a kiss,
  then she licked it with the tip of her tongue, and finally she bit it
  lightly with her neat front teeth. The pain was exquisite and he gasped
  with pleasure.
  "Now do it to me," she said. She arched her back, offering her breast to
  his mouth. He lifted her breast in his hand and kissed the nipple. It was
  hard with desire. He savored the moment.
 "Not so gently," she whispered.
  He sucked fiercely, then bit her as she had bitten him. He heard her sharp
  intake of breath. He was afraid of hurting her soft body but she said:
  "Harder, I want it to hurt," and he bit down. "Yes," she said, and she
  pulled his head to her so that his face squashed her breast.
 372      Ken Follett

  He stopped because he was afraid he would draw blood. When he straightened
  up she bent to his waist, tugged on the string that held up his breeches,
  and pulled them down. His penis sprang free. She took it in both hands and
  rubbed it against her soft cheeks and kissed it. The pleasure was
  overwhelming and once again Mack broke away from her, not wanting it to end
  too soon.
 He looked at the bed.
  "Not there." Lizzie said. "Here." She lay back on the rug in front of the
  mirror.
 He knelt between her legs, feasting his eyes.
 "Now, quickly," she, said.
  He lay on top of her, resting his weight on his elbows, and she guided him
  inside. He gazed at her lovely face. Her cheeks were flushed and her mouth
  was slightly open, showing moist lips and small teeth. Her eyes were wide,
  staring at him as he moved above her. "Mack," she moaned. "Oh, Mack." Her
  body moved with his and her fingers dug hard into the muscles of his back.
  He kissed her and moved gently, but once again she wanted more. She took
  his lower lip between her teeth and bit down. He tasted blood. "Go faster!"
  she said frantically, and her desperation took him over and he moved
  faster, pushing inside her almost brutally, and she said: "Yes, like that!"
  She closed her eyes, giving herself up to the sensation, and then she cried
  out. He put his hand over her mouth to quiet her, and she bit his finger
  hard. She pulled his hips to hers as hard as she could and twisted beneath
  him, her cries muffled by his hand, her hips rising to his again and again
  until at last she stopped and sank back, exhausted.
  He kissed her eyes and her nose and her chin, still moving gently inside
  her. When her breathing eased and she opened her eyes she said: "Look in
  the mirror."
  He looked up at die cheval glass and saw another Mack on top of another
  Lizzie, their bodies joined at
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   373

 the hip. He watched his penis move in and out of her body. "It looks
 nice," she whispered.
  He looked at her. How dark her eyes were, almost black. "Do you love me?"
  he said.
  "Oh, Mack, how could you ask?" Tears came to her eyes. "Of course I do.
  I love you, I love you."
 And then, at last, he came.

  When the first of the tobacco crop was at last ready for sale, Lennox
  took four hogsheads into Fredericksburg on a flatboat. Jay waited
  impatiently for him to come back. He was eager to know what price the to-
  bacco would fetch.
  He would not get cash for it: that was not the way the market worked.
  Lennox would take the tobacco to a public warehouse where the official
  inspector would issue a certificate saying it was "merchantable." Such
  certificates, known as tobacco notes, were used as money throughout
  Virginia. In time the last holder of the note would redeem it by handing
  it to a ship's captain in exchange for money or, more likely, goods im-
  ported from Britain. The captain would then take the note to the public
  warehouse and exchange it for tobacco.
  Meanwhile Jay would use the note to pay his most pressing debts. The
  smithy had been quiet for a month because they had no iron to make tools
  and horseshoes.
  Fortunately Lizzie had not noticed that they were broke. After the baby
  was born dead she had lived in a daze for three months. Then, when she
  caught him with Felia, she had become furiously silent.
  Today she was different again. She looked happier and she seemed almost
  friendly. "What's the news?" she asked him at dinner.
  "Trouble in Massachusetts," he replied. "There's a group of hotheads
  called the Sons of Liberty-they've even had the nerve to send money to
  that damned fellow John Wilkes in London."
 374      Ken Follett

 "I'm surprised they even know who he is."
  "They think he stands for freedom. Meanwhile, the customs commissioners are
  afraid to set foot in Boston. They've taken refuge aboard HMS Romney."
 "It sounds as if the colonists are ready to rebel."
  Jay shook his head. "They just need a dose of the medicine we gave the coal
  heavers-a taste of rifle fire and a few good hangings."
 Lizzie shuddered and asked no more questions.
  They finished the meal in silence. While Jay was lighting his pipe, Lennox
  came in.
  Jay could see that he had been drinking, as well as doing business, in
  Fredericksburg. "Is all well, Lennox?"
  "Not exactly," Lennox said in his habitual insolent tone.
 Lizzie said impatiently: "What's happened?"
  Lennox answered without looking at her. "Our tobacco has been burned,
  that's what's happened."
 "Burned!" said Jay.
 "How?" said Lizzie.
  "By the inspector. Burned as trash. Not merchantable."
  Jay had a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach. He swallowed and
  said: "I didn't know they could do that."
 Lizzie said: "What was wrong with it?"
  Lennox looked uncharacteristically flustered. For a moment he said nothing.
 "Come on, out with it," Lizzie said angrily.
 "They say it's cowpen," Lennox said at last.
 "I knew it!" Lizzie said.
  Jay had no idea what they were talking about. "What do you mean, 'cowpen'?
  What's that?"
  Lizzie said coldly: "It means cattle have been penned on the land where the
  crop was grown. When land is overmanured the tobacco acquires a strong,
  unpleasant flavor."
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    375

  Jay said angrily: "Who are these inspectors who have the right to bum my
  crop?"
  "They're appointed by the House of Burgesses," Lizzie told him.
 "It's outrageous!"
  "They have to maintain the quality of Virginia tobacco."
 "I'll go to law over this."
  Lizzie said: "Jay, instead of going to law, why don't you just run your
  plantation properly? You can grow perfectly good tobacco here if only you
  take care."
  "I don't need a woman to tell me how to manage my affairs!" he shouted.
  Lizzie looked at Lennox. "You don't need a fool to do it, either," she
  said.
  A terTible thought struck Jay. "How much of our crop was grown this way?"
 Lennox said nothing.
 "Well?" Jay persisted.
 Lizzie said: "All of it."
 Then Jay understood that he was ruined.
  The plantation was mortgaged, he was in debt up to his ears, and the entire
  tobacco crop was valueless.
  Suddenly he found he could hardly breathe. His throat seemed constricted.
  He opened his mouth like a fish but he could get no air.
  At last he drew breath, like a drowning man coming to the surface for the
  last time.
  "God help me," he said, and he buried his face in his hands.

 That night he knocked on Lizzie's bedroom door.
  She was sitting by the fire in her nightdress, thinking about Mack. She was
  ecstatically happy. She loved him and he loved her. But what were they
  going to do? She stared into the flames. She tried to be practical, but all
  the time her mind drifted into remembering how they
 376      Ken Follett

 had made love here on the rug in front of the cheval glass. She wanted to do
 it again.
  The knock startled her. She jumped out of her chair and stared at the
  locked door.
  The handle rattled but she had locked the door every night since she had
  caught Jay with Felia. Jay's voice came: "Lizzie--open this door!"
 She said nothing.
  "I'm going to Williamsburg early in the morning to try to borrow more
  money," he said. "I want to see you before I go."
 Still she said nothing.
  "I know you're in there, now open up!" He sounded a little drunk.
  A moment later there was a thud as if he had thrown his shoulder against
  the door. She knew that would not achieve anything: the hinges were brass
  and the bolt was heavy.
  She heard his footsteps recede, but she guessed he had not yet given up,
  and she was right. Three or four minutes later he came back and said: "If
  you don't open the door I'm going to break it down."
  There was a bang as something crashed into the door. Lizzie guessed he had
  fetched an ax. Another crash split the woodwork and she saw the blade come
  through.
  Lizzie began to feel scared. She wished Mack were nearby, but he was down
  in the slave quarters, sleeping on a hard bunk. She had to take care of
  herself.
  Feeling shaky, she went to her bedside table and picked up her pistols.
  Jay continued to attack the door, his ax smashing into the woodwork with a
  series of deafening crashes, splintering the timber and causing the walls
  of the woodframe house to tremble. Lizzie checked the loading of the
  pistols. With an unsteady hand she poured a little gunpowder into the
  priming pan of each. She released
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   377

 the safety catches on the flintlocks and cocked them both.
  I don't care now, she thought fatalistically. What will be, will be.
  The door flew open and Jay burst in, red faced and panting. With the ax
  in his hand he stepped toward Lizzie.
  She stretched out her left arm and fired a shot over his head.
  In the confined space the bang was like a cannon. Jay stopped and held
  up his hands in a defensive gesture, looking scared.
  "You know how straight I can shoot," she said to him. "But I've only got
  one shot left, so the next will go into your heart." As she spoke she
  could hardly believe she was tough enough to say such violent words to
  the man whose body she had loved. She wanted to cry, but she gritted her
  teeth and stared unflinchingly at him.
 "You cold bitch," he said.
  It was a clever barb. Coldness was what she accused herself of. Slowly
  she lowered the pistol. Of course she would not shoot him. "What do you
  want?" she said.
  He dropped the ax. "To bed you one time before I leave," he said.
  She felt sick. The image of Mack came into her mind. No one but he could
  make love to her now. The thought of doing it with Jay was horrifying.
  Jay grasped her pistols by the barrels and she let him take them away.
  He uncocked the one she had not fired then dropped both.
  She stared at him in horror. She could not believe this was going to
  happen.
 He came close and punched her in the stomach.
 She let out a cry of shock and pain, and doubled up.
 "Never point a gun at me again!" he yelled.
 He punched her face and she fell to the floor.
 He kicked her head and she passed out.
             35

 ALL THE NEXT MORNING LizzlE LAY IN BED WITH A headache so severe she could
 barely speak.
  Sarah came in with breakfast, looking frightened. Lizzie sipped some tea
  then closed her eyes again.
  When the cook came to take the tray away Lizzie said: "Is Mr. Jamisson
  gone?"
  "Yes, madam. He left for Williamsburg at first light. Mr. Lennox gone
  with him."
 Lizzie felt a little better.
  A few minutes later Mack burst into the room. He stood beside her bed and
  stared at her, shaking with rage. He reached out and felt her face with
  trembling fingers. Although her bruises were tender, his touch was light,
  and he did not hurt her; in fact she found it comforting. She took his
  hand and kissed his palm. They sat together for a long time, not
  speaking. Lizzie's pain began to ease. After a while she fell asleep.
  When she woke up he had gone.
  In the afternoon Mildred came in and opened the blinds. Lizzie sat up
  while Mildred combed her hair. Then Mack came in with Dr. Finch.
 "I didn't send for you," Lizzie said.
 Mack said: "I fetched him."
  For some reason Lizzie felt ashamed of what had happened to her, and she
  wished Mack had not gone for the doctor. "What makes you think I'm sick?"
 "You spent the morning in bed."
 "I might just be lazy."
              378
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    379

 "And I might be the governor of Virginia."
  She relented and smiled. He cared for her, and that made her happy. "I'm
  grateful," she said.
 The doctor said: "I was told you had a headache."
  "I'm not ill, though," she replied. What the hell, she thought, why not
  tell the truth? "My head hurts because my husband kicked it."
  "Hmm." Finch looked embarrassed. "How's your vision-blurred?"
 "No. 11

  He put his hands on her temples and probed gently with his fingers. "Do
  you feel confused?"
  "Love and marriage confuse me, but not because my head's damaged. Ouch!"
 "Is that where the blow landed?"
 "Yes, damn it."
  "You're lucky to have so much curly hair. It cushioned the impact. Any
  nausea?"
  "Only when I think about my husband." She realized she was sounding
  brittle. "But that's no concern of yours, Doctor."
  "I'll give you a drug to ease the pain. Don't get too fond of it, it's
  habit-forming. Send for me again if you have any trouble with your
  eyesight."
  When he had gone Mack sat on the edge of the bed and held her hand. After
  a while he said: "If you don't want him to kick your head you should
  leave him."
  She tried to think of a reason why she should stay. Her husband did not
  love her. They had no children and it seemed they never would. Their home
  was almost certainly forfeit. There was nothing to keep her.
 "I wouldn't know where to go," she said.
  "I would." His face showed profound emotion. "I'm going to run away."
  Her heart missed a beat. She could not bear the thought of losing him.
 "Peg will go with me," he added.
 Lizzie stared at him, saying nothing.
 380      Ken Follett

 "Come with us," lie said.
  There-it was out. He had hinted at it before-"Run away with some
  ne'er-do-well," he had said-but now he was not hinting. She wanted to say
  "Yes, yes, today, now!" But she held back. She felt frightened. "Where will
  you go?" she said.
  He took from his pocket a leather case and unfolded a map. "About a hundred
  miles west of here is a long mountain range. It starts way up in
  Pennsylvania and goes farther south than anyone knows. It's high, too. But
  people say there's a pass, called the Cumberland Gap, down here, where the
  Cumberland River rises. Beyond the mountains is wilderness. They say there
  aren't even any Indians there, because the Sioux and the Cherokee have been
  fighting over it for generations and neither side can get the upper hand
  long enough to settle."
  She began to feet excited. "How would you get there?"
  "Peg and I would walk. I'd head west from here to the foothills. Pepper
  Jones says there's a trail that runs southwest, roughly parallel with the
  mountain range. I'd follow that to the Holston River, here on the map. Then
  strike out into the mountains."
 "And ... if you were not alone?"
  "If you come with me we can take a wagon and more supplies: tools, seed,
  and food. I won't be a runaway then, I'll be a servant, traveling with his
  mistress and her maid. In that case I'd go south to Richmond then west to
  Staunton. It's longer, but Pepper says the roads are better. Pepper could
  be wrong but it's the best information I've got."
  She felt scared and thrilled. "And once you reach the mountains?"
  He smiled. "We'll look for a valley with fish in the stream and deer in the
  woods, and perhaps a pair of eagles nesting in the highest trees. And there
  we'll build a house.".
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   381

  Lizzie packed blankets, woolen stockings, scissors, needles and thread. As
  she worked, her feelings seesawed from elation to terror. She was
  deliriously happy at the thought of running away with Mack. She imagined
  them riding through the wooded country side by side and sleeping together
  in a blanket under the trees. Then she thought of the hazards. They would
  have to kill their food day by day; build a house; plant com; doctor their
  horses. The Indians might be hostile. There could be desperadoes roaming
  the territory. What if they got snowed in? They could starve to death!
  Glancing out of her bedroom window she saw the buggy from MacLaine's tavern
  in Fredericksburg. There was luggage on the back and a single figure on the
  passenger seat. The driver, an old drunk called Simmins, had obviously come
  to the wrong plantation. She went down to redirect him.
  But when she stepped out onto the porch she recognized the passenger.
 It was Jay's mother, Alicia.
 She was wearing black.
  "Lady Jamisson!" Lizzie said in horror. "You should be in London!"
  "Hello, Lizzie," said her mother-in-law. "Sir George is dead."

  "Heart failure," she said a few minutes later, sitting in the drawing room
  with a cup of tea. "He collapsed at his place of business. They brought him
  to Grosvenor Square but he died on the way."
  There was no sob in her voice, no hint of tears in her eyes, as she spoke
  of the death of her husband.
  Lizzie remembered the young Alicia as pretty, rather than beautiful, and
  now there was little remaining of her youthful allure. She was just a
  middle-aged woman who had come to the end of a disappointing marriage.
  Lizzie pitied her. I'll never be like her, she vowed. "Do you miss him?"
  she said hesitantly.
 382      Ken Follett

  Alicia gave her a sharp look. "I married wealth and position, and that's
  what I got. Olive was the only woman he loved, and he never let me forget
  it. I don't ask for sympathy! I brought it on myself, and so I bore it for
  twenty-four years. But don't ask me to mourn him. All I feel is a sense of
  release.-
  "That's dreadful," Lizzie whispered. Such a fate had been in the cards for
  her, she thought with a shiver of dread. But she was not going to accept
  it. She was going to escape. However, she would have to be wary of Alicia.
 "Where's Jay?" said Alicia.
 "He's gone to Williamsburg to try to borrow money."
 "The plantation hasn't prospered, then."
 "Our tobacco crop was condemned."
  The shadow of sadness crossed Alicia's face. Lizzie realized that Jay was
  a disappointment to his mother. just as he was to his wife-though Alicia
  would never admit it.
  "I suppose you're wondering what's in Sir George's will," Alicia said.
  The will had not crossed Lizzie's mind. "Did he have much to bequeath? I
  thought the business was in trouble."
  "It was saved by the coal from High Glen. He died a very rich man."
  Lizzie wondered whether he had left anything to Alicia. If not she might
  expect to live with her son and daughter-in-law. "Did Sir George provide
  for you?"
  "Oh, yes-my portion was settled before we married, I'm happy to say."
 "And Robert has inherited everything else?"
  "That's what we all expected. But my husband left a quarter of his wealth
  to be divided among any legitimate grandchildren alive within a year of his
  death. So your little baby is rich. When am I going to see him, or her?
  Which did you have?"
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   383

  Alicia had obviously left London before Jay's letter arrived. "A little
  girl," Lizzie said.
 "How nice. She's going to be a rich woman."
 "She was bom dead."
  Alicia offered no sympathy. "Hell," she swore. "You must be sure to have
  another, quickly."

  Mack had loaded the wagon with seed, tools, rope, nails, cornmeal and salt.
  He had opened the gun room with Lizzie's key and taken all the rifles and
  ammunition. He had also loaded a plowshare. When they reached their
  destination he would convert the wagon into a plow.
  He would put four mares in the traces, he decided, and take two stallions
  in addition, so that they could breed. Jay Jamisson would be furious at the
  theft of his precious horses: he would mind that more than the loss of
  Lizzie, Mack felt sure.
  While he was roping down the supplies, Lizzie came out.
 "Who's your visitor?" he asked her.
 "Jay's mother, Alicia."
 "Good God! I didn't know she was coming."
 "Nor did L"
  Mack frowned. Alicia was no threat to his plans but her husband might be.
  "Is Sir George coming?"
 "He's dead."
  That was a relief. "Praise be. The world is well rid of him."
 "Can we still leave?"
 "I don't see why not. Alicia can't stop us."
  "What if she goes to the sheriff and says we've run away and stolen all
  this?" She indicated the pile of supplies on the wagon.
  "Remember our story. You're going to visit a cousin who has just started to
  farrn in North Carolina. You're taking gifts."
 "Even though we're bankrupt."
 384      Ken Follett

  "Virginians are famous for being generous when they can't afford it."
  Lizzie nodded. "I'll make sure Colonel Thumson and Suzy Delahaye hear of
  my plans."
  "Tell them that your mother-in-law disapproves and she may try to make
  trouble for you."
  "Good idea. The sheriff won't want to get involved in a family quarrel."
  She paused. The look on her face made his heart race. Hesitantly she
  said: "When ... when shall we leave?"
  He sn-Wed. "Before first light. I'll have the wagon taken down to the
  quarters tonight, so that we won't make much noise as we go. By the time
  Alicia wakes up we'll be gone."
  She squeezed his arm quickly then hurried back into the house.

 Mack came to Lizzie's bed that night.
  She was lying awake, full of fear and excitement, thinking of the
  adventure that would begin in the moming, when he came silently into the
  room. He kissed her lips, threw off his clothes, and slipped into bed
  beside her.
  They made love, then lay talking in low voices about tomorrow, then made
  love again. As dawn approached Mack drifted into a doze, but Lizzie
  stayed awake, looking at his features in the firelight, thinking of the
  journey in space and time that had brought them from High Glen all the
  way to this bed.
  Soon he stirred. They kissed again, a long, contented kiss, then they got
  up,
  Mack went to the stables while Lizzie got ready. Her heart raced as she
  dressed. She pinned up her hair and put on breeches, riding boots, a
  shirt and a waistcoat. She packed a dress she could quickly slip on if
  she needed to revert to being a wealthy woman. She was frightened of the
  journey they were about to take, but
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   335

 she had no qualms about Mack. She felt so close to him that she would trust
 him with her life.
  When he came for her she was sitting at the window in her coat and
  three-comered hat. He smiled to see her in her favorite clothes. They held
  hands and tiptoed down the stairs and out of the house.
  The wagon was waiting down by the road, out of sight. Peg was already
  sitting on the seat, wrapped in a blanket. Jimmy, the stable boy, had put
  four horses in harness and roped two more to the back. All the slaves were
  there to say good-bye. Lizzie kissed Mildred and Sarah, and Mack shook
  hands with Kobe and Cass. Bess, the field hand who had been injured on the
  night Lizzie lost her baby, threw her arms around Lizzie and sobbed. They
  all stood silent in the starlight and watched as Mack and Lizzie climbed on
  the wagon.
 Mack cracked the reins and said: "Hup! Walk on!"
  The horses took the strain, the wagon jerked and they moved off.
  At the road Mack turned the horses in the direction of Fredericksburg.
  Lizzie looked back. The field hands were standing in complete silence,
  waving.
 A moment later they were gone from sight.
  Lizzie looked ahead. In the distance, dawn was breaking.

             36

MATTHEW MURCHMAN WAS OUT OF TOWN WHEN JAY
and Lennox reached Williamsburg. He might be back
tomorrow, his servant said. Jay scribbled a note saying
                                      386      Ken Follett

 he needed to borrow more money and would like to see the lawyer at his
 earliest convenience. He left the office in a bad temper. His affairs were
 in a complete mess and he was impatient to do something about it.
  Next day, forced to kill time, he went along to the red-and-gray-brick
  Capitol building. Dissolved by the governor last year, the assembly had
  reconvened after an election. The Hall of Burgesses was a modest, dark
  room with rows of benches on either side and a kind of sentry box for the
  speaker in the middle. Jay and a handful of other observers stood at the
  back, behind a rail.
  He swiftly realized that the colony's politics were in turmoil. Virginia,
  the oldest English settlement on the continent, seemed ready to defy its
  rightful king.
  The burgesses were discussing the latest threat from Westminster: the
  British Parliament was claiming that anyone accused of treason could be
  forced to return to London to stand trial, under a statute that dated
  back to Henry VIII.
  Feelings ran high in the room. Jay watched in disgust as one respectable
  landowner after another stood up and attacked the king. In the end they
  passed a resolution saying that the treason statute went contrary to the
  British subject's right to trial by a jury of his peers.
  They went on to the usual gripes about paying taxes while having no voice
  in the Westminster Parliament. "No taxation without representation " was
  their parrot cry. This time, however, they went farther than usual, and
  affirmed their right to cooperate with other colonial assemblies in
  opposition to royal demands.
  Jay felt sure the governor could not let that pass, and he was right.
  Just before dinnertime, when the burgesses were discussing a lesser local
  topic, the sergeantat-arms interrupted the proceedings to call out: "Mr.
  Speaker, a message from the governor."
  He handed a sheet of paper to the clerk, who read it and said: "Mr.
  Speaker, the governor commands the im-
         A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   387

 mediate attendance of your House in the council chamber."
 Now they're in trouble, Jay thought with relish.
  He followed the burgesses as they trooped up the stairs and through the
  passage. The spectators stood in the hall outside the council chamber and
  looked through the open doors. Governor Botetourt, the living embodiment
  of the iron fist in the velvet glove, sat at the head of an oval table.
  He spoke very briefly. I have heard of your resolves," he said. "You have
  made it my duty to dissolve you. You are dissolved accordingly."
 There was a stunned silence.
 "That will be all," he said impatiently.
  Jay concealed his glee as the burgesses slowly filed out of the chamber.
  They collected their papers downstairs and drifted into the courtyard.
  Jay made his way to the Raleigh Tavern and sat in the bar. He ordered his
  midday meal and flirted with a barmaid who was falling in love with him.
  As he waited he was surprised to see many of the burgesses go past,
  heading for one of the larger rooms in the rear. He wondered if they were
  plotting further treason.
 When he had eaten he went to investigate.
  As he had guessed, the burgesses were holding a debate. They made no
  attempt to hide their sedition. They were blindly convinced of the
  rightness of their cause, and that gave them a kind of mad
  self-confidence. Don't they understand, Jay asked himself, that they're
  inviting the wrath of one of the world's great monarchies? Do they
  suppose they can get away with this in the end? Don't they realize that
  the might of the British army will sooner or later wipe them all out?
  They did not, evidently, and so arrogant were they that no one protested
  when Jay took a seat at the back of the room, although many there knew
  he was loyal to the Crown.
  One of the hotheads was speaking, and Jay recognized George Washington,
  a former army officer who
 388      Ken Follett

 had made a lot of money in land speculation. He was not much of an orator,
 but there was a steely determination about him that struck Jay forcibly.
  Washington had a plan. In the northern colonies, he said, leading men had
  formed associations whose members agreed not to import British goods. If
  Virginians really wanted to put pressure on the London government they
  should do the same.
  If ever I heard a treasonable speech, Jay thought angrily, that was it.
  His father's enterprise would suffer further if Washington got his way. As
  well as convicts, Sir George shipped cargoes of tea, furniture, rope,
  machinery and a host of luxuries and manufactures that the colonists could
  not produce themselves. His trade with the North was already down to a
  fraction of its former worththat was why the business had been in crisis a
  year ago.
  Not everyone agreed with Washington. Some burgesses pointed out that the
  northern colonies had more industry and could make many essentials for
  themselves, whereas the South depended more on imports. What will we do,
  they said, without sewing thread or cloth?
  Washington said there might be exceptions, and the assembly began to get
  down to details. Someone proposed a ban on slaughtering lambs, to increase
  the local production of wool. Before long Washington suggested a small
  committee to thrash out the technicalities. The proposal was passed and the
  committee members were chosen.
  Jay left the room in disgust. As he passed through the hall Lennox
  approached him with a message. It was from Murchman. He was back in town,
  he had read Mr. Jamisson's note, and lie would be honored to receive Mr.
  Jamisson at nine o'clock in the morning.

  '17he political crisis had distracted Jay briefly, but now his personal
  troubles came back to him and kept him
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   389

 awake all night. At times he blamed his father for giving him a plantation
 that could not make money. Then he would curse Lennox for overmanuring the
 fields instead of clearing new land. He wondered if his tobacco crop had
 in fact been perfectly all fight, and the Virginian inspectors had burned
 it just to punish him for his loyalty to the English king. As he tossed
 and turned in the narrow bed, he even began to think Lizzie might have
 willed the stillborn child to spite him.
  He got to Murchman's house early. This was his only chance. No matter
  where the fault lay, he had failed to make the plantation profitable. If
  he could not borrow more money his creditors would foreclose the mortgage
  and he would be homeless as well as penniless.
  Murchman seemed nervous. "I've arranged for your creditor to come and
  meet you," he said.
 "Creditor? You told me it was a syndicate."
  "Ali, yes-a minor deception, I'm sorry. The individual wanted to remain
  anonymous."
 "So why has he decided to reveal himself now?"
 "I ... I couldn't say."
  "Well, I suppose he must be planning to lend me the money I
  need--otherwise why bother to meet me?"
 "I daresay you're right-he hasn't confided in me."
  Jay heard a knock at the front door and low voices as someone was
  admitted.
 "Who is he, anyway?"
 "I think I'll let him introduce himself."
 The door opened and in walked Jay's brother, Robert.
  Jay leaped to his feet, astonished. "You!" he said. "When did you get
  here?"
 "A few days ago," Robert said.
  Jay held out his hand and Robert shook it briefly. It was almost a year
  since Jay had seen him last, and Robert was getting more and more like
  their father: beefy, scowling, curt. "So it was you who loaned me the
  money?" Jay said.
 "It was Father," Robert said.
 390      Ken Follett

  "Thank God! I was afraid I might not be able to borrow more from a
  stranger."
  "But Father's not your creditor anymore," Robert said. "He's dead."
  "Dead?" Jay sat down again abruptly. The shock was profound. Father was not
  yet fifty. "How ... T'
 "Heart failure."
  Jay felt as if a support had been pulled away from beneath him. His father
  had treated him badly, but he had always been there, consistent and
  seen-tingly indestructible. Suddenly the world had become a more insecure
  place. Although he was already sitting down Jay wanted to lean on
  something.
  He looked again at his brother. There was an expression of vindictive
  triumph on Robert's face. Why was he pleased? "There's something else," Jay
  said. "What are you looking so damned smug about?"
 "I'm your creditor now," Robert said.
  Jay saw what was coming. He felt as if he had been punched in the stomach.
  "You swine," he whispered.
  Robert nodded. "I'm foreclosing on your mortgage. The tobacco plantation is
  mine. I've done the same with High Glen: bought up the mortgages and fore-
  closed. That belongs to me now."
  Jay could hardly speak. "You must have planned this," he said with a
  struggle.
 Robert nodded.
 Jay fought back tears. "You and Father . .
 "Yes.,,

 "I've been ruined by my own family."
  "You've been ruined by yourself. You're lazy and foolish and weak."
  Jay ignored his insults. All he could think of was that his own father had
  plotted his downfall. He remembered how the letter from Murchman had come
  just a few days after his arrival in Virginia. Father must have written in
  advance, ordering the lawyer to offer a mortgage. He had anticipated that
  the plantation would get
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    391

 into difficulties and he had planned to take it back from Jay. His father
 was dead but had sent this message of rejection from beyond the grave.
  Jay stood up slowly, with a painful effort, like an old man. Robert stood
  silent, looking scornful and haughty. Murchman had the grace to act
  guilty. With an embarrassed look on his face he hurried to the door and
  held it for Jay. Slowly Jay walked through the hall and out into the
  muddy street.

 Jay was drunk by dinnertime.
  He was so drunk that even Mandy, the barmaid who was falling in love with
  him, appeared to lose interest. That evening he passed out in the bar of
  the Raleigh. Lennox must have put him to bed, for he woke up in his room
  the following morning.
  He thought of killing himself. He had nothing to live for: no home, no
  future, no children. He would never amount to anything in Virginia now
  that he had gone bankrupt, and he could not bear to go back to Britain.
  His wife hated him and even Felia now belonged to his brother. The only
  question was whether to put a bullet into his head or drink himself to
  death.
  He was drinking brandy again at eleven o'clock in the morning when his
  mother walked into the bar.
  When he saw her he thought perhaps he was already going mad. He stood up
  and stared at her, frightened. Reading his mind, as always, she said:
  "No, I'm not a ghost." She kissed him and sat down.
  When he recovered his composure he said: "How did you find me?"
  "I went to Fredericksburg and they told me you were here. Prepare
  yourself for a shock. Your father's dead."
 "I know."
 That surprised her. "How?"
 "Robert is here."
 "Why?"
 3 92     Ken Follett

  Jay told her the story and explained that Robert was now the owner of
  both the plantation and High Glen.
  "I was afraid the two of them were planning something like that," she
  said bitterly.
  "I'm ruined," he said. "I was thinking of killing myself."
  Her eyes widened. "Then Robert didn't tell you what was in your father's
  will."
  Suddenly Jay saw a gleam of hope. "Did he leave me something?"
 "Not you, no. Your child."
 Jay's heart sank again. "The child was stillborn."
  "A quarter of the estate goes to any grandchildren of your father born
  within a year of his death. If there are no grandchildren after a year,
  Robert gets everything."
 "A quarter? That's a fortune!"
 "All you have to do is make Lizzie pregnant again."
  Jay managed a grin. "Well, I know how to do that, anyway."
  "Don't be so sure. She's run away with that coal miner."
 "',Inat?"
 "She left, with McAsh."
  "Good God! She's left me? And gone off with a convict?" It was deeply
  humiliating. Jay looked away. "I'll never live this down. Good God."
  "That child is with them, Peg Knapp. They took a wagon and six of your
  horses and enough supplies to start several farms."
  "Damned thieves!" He felt outraged and helpless. "Couldn't you stop
  them?"
  "I tried the sheriff-but Lizzie had been clever. She gave out a story
  that she was taking gifts to a cousin in North Carolina. The neighbors
  told the sheriff I was just a cantankerous mother-in-law trying to stir
  up trouble,"
  "They all hate me because I'm loyal to the king." The seesaw of hope and
  despair became too much for
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   393

 Jay and he sank into lethargy. "It's no good," he said. "Fate is against
 me."
 "Don't give up yet!"
  Mandy, the barmaid, interrupted to ask Alicia what she would like. She
  ordered tea. Mandy smiled coquettishly at Jay.
  "I could have a child with another woman," he said as Mandy went away.
  Alicia looked scornfully at the barmaid's wiggling rear and said: "No
  good. The grandchild has to be legitimate."
 "Could I divorce Lizzie?"
  "No. It requires an act of Parliament and a fortune in money, and anyway
  we don't have the time. While Lizzie is alive it has to be her."
 "I've no idea where she's gone."
 "I do."
  Jay stared at his mother. Her cleverness never ceased to amaze him. "How
  do you know?"
 "I followed them."
  He shook his head in incredulous admiration. "How did you do thaff
  "It wasn't difficult. I kept asking people if they had seen a four-horse
  wagon with a man, a woman and a child. There's not so much traffic that
  people forget."
 "Where did they go?"
  "They came south to Richmond. There they took a road called Three Notch
  Trail and headed west, toward the mountains. I turned east and came here.
  If you leave this morning you'll be only three days behind them."
  Jay thought about it. He hated the idea of chasing after a runaway wife:
  it made him look such a fool. But it was his only chance of inheriting.
  And a quarter of Father's estate was a huge fortune.
  What would he do when he caught up with her? "What if Lizzie won't come
  back?" he said.
  His mother's face set in grim lines of determination. "There is one other
  possibility, of course," she said. She
 394      Ken Follett

 looked at Mandy then turned her cool gaze back on Jay. "You could make
 another woman pregnant, and marry her, and inherit-if Lizzie suddenly
 died."
 He stared at his mother for a long moment.
  She went on: "They're headed for the wilderness, beyond the law. Anything
  can happen out there: there are no sheriffs, no coroners. Sudden death
  is normal and no one questions it."
  Jay swallowed dryly and reached for his drink. His mother put her hand
  on the glass to prevent him. "No more," she said. "You have to get
  started."
 Reluctantly he withdrew his hand.
  "Take Lennox with you," she advised. "If worse comes to worst, and you
  can't persuade or force Lizzie to come back with you-he will know how to
  manage it."
 Jay nodded. "Very well," he said. "I'll do it."

             37

 THE ANCIENT BUFFALO-HUNTING TRACK KNOWN AS Three Notch Trail went due west
 for mile after mile across the rolling Virginia landscape. It ran parallel
 to the James River, as Lizzie could see from Mack's map. The road crossed
 an endless series of ridges and valleys formed by the hundreds of creeks
 that trickled south into the James. At first they passed many large
 estates like the ones around Fredericksburg, but as they went farther west
 the houses and fields became smaller and the tracts of undeveloped
 woodland larger.
 Lizzie was happy. She was scared and anxious and
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   395

 guilty, but she could not help smiling. She was out of doors, on a horse,
 beside the man she loved, beginning a great adventure. In her mind she
 worried about what might happen, but her heart sang.
  They pushed the horses hard, for they feared they might be followed.
  Alicia Jamisson would not sit quietly in Fredericksburg waiting for Jay
  to come home. She would have sent a message to Williamsburg, or gone
  there herself, to warn him of what had happened. Were it not for Alicia's
  news about Sir George's will, Jay might have shrugged his shoulders and
  let them go. But now he needed his wife to provide the necessary
  grandchild. He would almost certainly chase after Lizzie.
  They had several days' start on him, but he would travel faster, for he
  had no need of a wagonload of supplies. How would he follow the
  fugitives' trail? He would have to ask at houses and taverns along the
  way, and hope that people noticed who went by. There were few travelers
  on the road and the wagon might well be remembered.
  On the third day the countryside became more hilly. Cultivated fields
  gave way to grazing, and a blue mountain range appeared in the distant
  haze. As the miles went by the horses became overtired, stumbling on the
  rough road and stubbornly slowing down. On uphill stretches Mack, Lizzie
  and Peg got off the wagon and walked to lighten the load, but it was not
  enough. The beasts' heads drooped, their pace slowed further, and they
  became unresponsive to the whip.
  "What's the matter with them?" Mack asked anxiously.
  "We have to give them better food," she replied. "They're existing on
  what they can graze at night. For work like this, pulling a wagon all
  day, horses need oats."
 "I should have brought some," Mack said regretfully.
 396      Ken Follett

 "I never thought of it-I don't know much about horses."
  That afternoon they reached Charlottesville, a new settlement growing up
  where Three Notch Trail crossed the north-south Seminole Trail, an old
  Indian route. The town was laid out in parallel streets rising up the
  hill from the road, but most of the lots were undeveloped and there were
  only a dozen or so houses. Lizzie saw a courthouse with a whipping post
  outside and a tavern identified by an inn sign with a crude painting of
  a swan. "We could get oats here," she said.
  "Let's not stop," Mack said. "I don't want people to remember us."
  Lizzie understood his thinking. The crossroads would present Jay with a
  problem. He would have to find out whether the runaways had turned south
  or continued west. If they called attention to themselves by stopping at
  the tavern for supplies they would make his task easier. The horses would
  just have to suffer a little longer.
  A few miles beyond Charlottesville they stopped where the road was
  crossed by a barely visible track. Mack built a fire and Peg cooked
  hominy. There were undoubtedly fish in the streams and deer in the woods,
  but the fugitives had no time for hunting and fishing, so they ate mush.
  There was no taste to it, Lizzie found, and the glutinous texture was
  disgusting. She forced herself to eat a few spoonfuls, but she was
  nauseated and threw the rest away. She felt ashamed that her field hands
  had eaten this every day.
  While Mack washed their bowls in a stream Lizzie hobbled the horses so
  that they could graze at night but not run away. Then the three of them
  wrapped themselves in blankets and lay under the wagon, side by side.
  Lizzie winced as she lay down, and Mack said: "What's the matter?"
 "My back hurts," she said.
 "You're used to a feather bed."
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   397

  "I'd rather lie on the cold ground with you than sleep alone in a feather
  bed."
  They did not make love, with Peg beside them, but when they thought she was
  asleep they talked, in low murmurs, of all the things they had been through
  together.
  "When I pulled you out of that river, and rubbed you dry with my
  petticoat," Lizzie said. "You remember."
 "Of course. How could I forget?"
  "I dried your back, and then when you turned around . . ." She hesitated,
  suddenly shy. "You had got ... excited."
  "Very. I was so exhausted I could hardly stand, but even then I wanted to
  make love to you."
  "I'd never seen a man like that before. I found it so thrilling. I dreamed
  about it afterward. I'm embarrassed to remember how much I liked it."
  "You've changed so much. You used to be so arrogant."
 Lizzie laughed softly. "I think the same about you!"
 "I was arrogant?"
  "Of course! Standing up in church and reading a letter out to the laird!"
 "I suppose I was."
 "Perhaps we've both changed."
  "I'm glad we have." Mack touched her cheek. "I think that was when I fell
  in love with you--outside the church, when you told me off."
  "I loved you for a long time without knowing it. I remember the prizefight.
  Every blow that landed on you hurt me. I hated to see your beautiful body
  being damaged. Afterward, when you were still unconscious, I caressed you.
  I touched your chest. I must have wanted you even then, before I got
  married. But I didn't admit it to myself."
  "I'll tell you when it started for me. Down the pit, when you fell into my
  arms, and I accidentally felt your breast and realized who you were."
 398      Ken Follett

  She chuckled. "Did you bold me a bit longer than you really needed to?"
  He looked bashful in the firelight. "No. But afterward I wished I bad."
 "Now you can hold me as much as you like."
  "Yes." He put his arms around her and drew her to him. They lay silent
  for a long while, and in that position they went to sleep.

  Next day they crossed a mountain range by a pass then dropped down into
  the plain beyond. Lizzie and Peg rode the wagon downhill while Mack
  ranged ahead on one of the spare horses. Lizzie ached from sleeping on
  the ground, and she was beginning to feel the lack of good food, But she
  would have to get used to it: they had a long way to go. She gritted her
  teeth and thought of the future.
  She could tell that Peg had something on her mind. Lizzie was fond of
  Peg. Whenever she looked at the girl she thought of the baby who had
  died. Peg had once been a tiny baby, loved by her mother. For the sake
  of that mother, Lizzie would love and care for Peg.
 "What's troubling you?" Lizzie asked her.
  "These hill farms remind me of Burgo Marler's place."
  It must be dreadful, Lizzie thought, to have murdered someone; but she
  felt there was something else, and before long Peg came out with it. "Why
  did you decide to run away with us?"
  It was hard to find a simple answer to that question. Lizzie thought
  about it and eventually replied: "Mainly because my husband doesn't love
  me anymore, I suppose." Something in Peg's expression made her add: "You
  seem to wish I had stayed at home."
  "Well, you can't eat our food and you don't like sleeping on the ground,
  and if we didn't have you we wouldn't have the wagon and we could go
  faster."
 "I'll get used to the conditions. And the supplies on
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    399

 the wagon will make it a lot easier for us to set up home in the
 wilderness."
  Peg still looked sulky, and Lizzie guessed there was more to come. Sure
  enough, after a silence Peg said: "You're in love with Mack, aren't you?"
 "Of course!"
  "But you've only just got rid of your husband-isn't it a bit soon?"
  Lizzie winced. She herself felt this was true, in moments of self-doubt;
  but it was galling to hear the criticism from a child. "My husband hasn't
  touched me for six months-how long do you think I should wait?"
 "Mack loves me."
  This was becoming complicated. "He loves us both, I think," Lizzie said.
  "But in different ways."
 Peg shook her head. "He loves me. I know it."
  "He's been like a father to you. And I'll try to be like a mother, if
  you'll let me."
  "No!" Peg said angrily. "That's not how it's going to be!"
  Lizzie was at a loss to know what to say to her. Looking ahead, she saw a
  shallow river with a low wooden building beside it. Obviously the road
  crossed the river by a ford just here, and the building was a tavem used by
  travelers. Mack was tying his horse to a tree outside the building.
  She pulled up the wagon. A big, roughly dressed man came out wearing
  buckskin trousers, no shirt, and a battered three-cornered hat. "We need to
  buy oats for our horses," Mack said.
  The man replied with a question. "You folks going to rest your team and
  step inside and take a drink?"
  Suddenly Lizzie felt a tankard of beer was the most desirable thing on
  earth. She had brought money from Mockjack Hall-not much, but enough for
  essential purchases on the journey. "Yes," she said decisively, and she
  swung down from the wagon.
 "I'm Barney Tobold-they call me Baz," said the
 400      Ken Follett

 tavern keeper. He looked quizzically at Lizzie. She was wearing men's
 clothing, but she had not completed the disguise and her face was
 obviously female. However, he made no comment but led the way inside.
  When her eyes adjusted to the gloom Lizzie saw that the tavern was one
  bare earth-floored room with two benches and a counter, and a few wooden
  tankards on a shelf Baz reached for a rum barrel, but she forestalled
  him, saying: "No rum-just beer, please."
 "I'll take rum," Peg said eagerly.
  "Not if I'm paying, you won't," Lizzie contradicted her. "Beer for her,
  too, please, Baz."
  He poured beer from a cask into wooden mugs. Mack came in with his map
  in his hand and said: "What river is this?"
 "We call it South River."
 "Once you cross over, where does the road lead to?"
  "A town called Staunton, about twenty miles away. After that there's not
  much: a few trails. some frontier forts, then real mountains, that
  nobody's ever crossed. Where are you people headed, anyway?"
  Mack hesitated so Lizzie answered. "I'm on my way to visit a cousin."
 "In Staunton?"
  Lizzie was flustered by the question. "Uh ... near there."
 "Is that so? What name?"
  She said the first name that came into her head. "Angus ... Angus James."
  Baz frowned. "That's funny. I thought I knew everyone in Staunton, but
  I don't recognize that name."
  Lizzie improvised. "It may be that his farm is some way from town-I've
  never been there."
  The sound of hoofbeats came from outside. Lizzie thought of Jay. Could
  he have caught up with them so soon? The sound made Mack uneasy too, and
  he said: "If we want to make Staunton by nightfall . .."
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    401

  "We don't have time to linger," Lizzie finished. She emptied her tankard.
  "You've hardly wet your throats," Baz said. "Drink another cup."
  "No," Lizzie said decisively. She took out her pocketbook. "Let me pay
  you."
  Two men walked in, blinking in the dim light. They appeared to be local
  people: both were dressed in buckskin trousers and homemade boots. Out
  of the comer of her eye Lizzie saw Peg give a start, then turn her back
  on the newcomers, as if she did not want them to see her face.
  One of them spoke cheerily. "Hello, strangers!" He was an ugly man with
  a broken nose and one closed eye. "I'm Chris Dobbs, known as Deadeye
  Dobbo. A pleasure to meet you. What news from the East? Them burgesses
  still spending our taxes on new palaces and fancy dinners? Let me buy you
  a drink. Rum all round, please, Baz."
 "We're leaving," Lizzie said. "Thanks all the same."
  Dobbo looked more closely at her and said: "A woman in buckskin pants!"
  She ignored him and said: "Good-bye, Baz-and thanks for the
  inforniation."
  Mack went out and Lizzie and Peg moved to the door. Dobbs looked at Peg
  and registered surprise. "I know you," he said. "I've seen you with Burgo
  Marler, God rest his soul."
  "Never heard of him," Peg said boldly, and walked past.
  In the next second the man drew the logical conclusion. "Jesus Christ,
  you must be the little bitch that killed him!"
  "Wait a minute," Lizzie said. She wished Mack had not gone out so
  quickly. "I don't know what crazy idea you've got into your head, Mr.
  Dobbs, but Jenny has been a maid in my family since she was ten years old
 402      Ken Follett

 and she's never met anyone called Burgo Marler, let alone killed him."
  He was not to be put off so easily. "Her name isn't Jenny, though it's
  something like that: Betty, or Milly, or Peggy. That's it-she's Peggy
  Knapp."
 Lizzie felt sick with fear.
  Dobbs turned to his companion for support. "Ain't it her, now?"
  The other man shrugged. "I never saw Burgo's convict more than a time or
  two, and one little girl looks much the same as another," he said
  dubiously.
  Baz said: "She fits the description in the Virginia Gazette, though." He
  reached under the counter and came up with a musket.
  Lizzie's fear went away and she felt angry. "I hope you aren't thinking of
  threatening me, Barney Tobold,she said, and her voice surprised her by its
  strength.
  He replied: "Maybe you should all stay around while we get a message to the
  sheriff in Staunton. He feels bad about not catching Burgo's murderer. I
  know he'll want to check your story."
  "I'm not going to wait around while you find out you're mistaken."
  He leveled the gun at her. "I think you're going to have to."
  "Let me explain something to you. I'm walking out of here with this child,
  and there's only one thing you need to know: if you shoot the wife of a
  wealthy Virginian gentleman, no excuse on earth is going to keep you from
  the gallows." She put her hands on Peg's shoulders, stepped between her and
  the gun, and pushed her forward.
 Baz cocked the flintlock with a deafening click.
  Peg twitched under Lizzie's hands, and Lizzie tightened her grip, sensing
  the girl wanted to break into a run.
  It was three yards to the door but they seemed to take an hour to get
  there.
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   403

 No shot rang out.
 Lizzie felt sunshine on her face.
  She could contain herself no longer. Shoving Peg forward she began to
  run.
  Mack was already in the saddle. Peg jumped up on the seat of the wagon
  and Lizzie followed.
  "What happened?" Mack said. "You look as if you've seen a ghost."
  "Let's get out of here!" Lizzie said, snapping the reins. "That one-eyed
  fellow recognized Peg!" She turned the wagon to the east. If they headed
  for Staunton they would first have to ford the river, which would take
  too long, and then they would be riding into the sheriff's arrns. They
  had to go back the way they had come.
  Looking over her shoulder she saw the three men in the tavern doorway,
  Baz still holding the musket. She whipped the horses into a trot.
 Baz did not shoot.
 A few seconds later they were out of range.
  "By God," Lizzie said gratefully. "Mat was a nasty moment."
  The road turned a comer into the woods and they passed out of sight of
  the tavern. After a while Lizzie slowed the horses to a walk. Mack
  brought his horse alongside, "We forgot to buy oats," he said.

  Mack was relieved to escape but he regretted Lizzie's decision to turn
  back. They should have forded the river and gone on. Staunton was
  obviously where Burgo Marler's farm was, but they could have found a side
  trail around the town, or slipped through at night. However, he did not
  criticize her, for she had been forced to make an instant decision.
  They stopped where they had made camp the night before, at the place
  where Three Notch Trail was crossed by a side trail. They drove the wagon
  off the
 404      Ken Follett

 main road and concealed it in the woods: they were now fugitives from
 justice.
  Mack looked at his map and decided they would have to go back to
  Charlottesville and take the Seminole Trail south. They could turn west
  again after a day or two without coming within fifty miles of Staunton.
  However, in the morning it occurred to Mack that Dobbs might be heading for
  Charlottesville. He could have passed by their hidden campsite after dark
  and reached the town ahead of them. He told Lizzie of his worry, and
  proposed riding into Charlottesville alone to check that the coast was
  clear. She agreed.
  He rode hard and reached the town before sunrise. He slowed his horse to a
  walk as he approached the first house. The place was quiet: nothing was
  moving but an old dog scratching itself in the middle of the road. The door
  of the Swan tavern was open, and smoke came from its chimney. Mack
  dismounted and tied his horse to a bush, then cautiously approached the
  tavern.
 There was no one in the bar.
  Perhaps Dobbs and his sidekick had been heading the other way, toward
  Staunton.
  A mouthwatering smell was coming from somewhere. He went around to the back
  and saw a middleaged woman frying bacon. "I need to buy oats," he said.
  Without looking Lip from her work she said, "There's a store opposite the
  courthouse."
 "Manks. Have you seen Deadeye Dobbs?"
 "Who the hell is he?"
 "Never mind."
 "Would you like some break-fast before you go?"
 "No thanks-I wish I had time."
  Leaving his horse, he went up the hill to the wooden courthouse. Across the
  square was a smaller building with a roughly painted sign saying "Seed
  Merchant." It was locked up, but in an outhouse at the back he found
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   405

 a half-dressed man shaving. "I need to buy oats," he said again.
 "And I need a shave."
  "I'm not going to wait. Sell me two sacks of oats now or I'll get them
  at the South River ford."
  Grumbling, the man wiped his face and led Mack into the store.
 "Any strangers in town?" Mack asked him.
 "You." he replied.
 It seemed Dobbs had not come here last night.
  Mack paid with Lizzie's money and took the two big sacks on his back.
  When he went outside he heard hooves and looked up to see three horsemen
  riding in from the east, going fast.
 His heart skipped a beat.
 "Friends of yours?" said the seed merchant.
 "No.
  He hurried down the hill. The riders pulled up at the Swan. Mack slowed
  his pace as he approached and tipped his hat down over his eyes. As they
  dismounted he studied their faces.
 One of them was Jay Jamisson.
  Mack cursed under his breath. Jay had almost caught up, thanks to
  yesterday's trouble at South River.
  Luckily Mack had been cautious, and as a result he was forewarned. Now
  he had to reach his horse and get away without being seen.
  Suddenly he realized that "his" horse had been stolen from Jay, and it
  was roped to a bush not three yards away from where Jay now stood.
  Jay loved his horses. If he gave this one a glance he would recognize it
  as his own. And he would know in a flash that the runaways were nearby.
  Mack stepped over a broken fence into an overgrown lot and watched
  through a screen of bushes. Lennox was with Jay, and there was another
  man he did not recognize. Lennox tied up his mount next to Mack's, partly
  masking the stolen horse from Jay's view.
 406      Ken Follett

 Lennox had no love of horses and would not recognize the beast. Jay tied
 up next to Lennox. Go inside, go inside! Mack shouted in his head, but Jay
 turned and said something to Lennox. Lennox replied, and the other man
 laughed coarsely. A drop of sweat rolled down Mack's forehead and into his
 eye, and he blinked it away. When his vision cleared the three were
 walking into the Swan.
 He breathed a sigh of relief. But it was not over yet.
  He came out of the bushes, still bent under the weight of two sacks of
  oats, and walked quickly across the road to the tavern. He transferred
  the sacks to the horse.
 He heard someone behind him.
  He did not dare to look around. He put one foot in the stirrup, then a
  voice said: "Hey-you!"
  Slowly, Mack turned. The speaker was the stranger. He took a deep breath
  and said: "What?"
 "We want breakfast."
 "See the woman out back." Mack mounted his horse.
 "Hey.,,
 "What now?"
  "Has a four-horse wagon passed through here with a woman, a girl and a
  man?"
  Mack pretended to think. "Not lately," he said. He kicked his horse and
  rode off.
 He did not dare to look back.
 A minute later he had left the town behind.
  He was anxious to get back to Lizzie and Peg, but he was forced to go
  more slowly because of the weight of the oats, and the sun was warm by
  the time he reached the crossing. He turned off the road and down the
  side trail to the hidden campsite. "Jay is in Charlottesville," he said
  as soon as he saw Lizzie.
 She paled. "So close!"
  "He'll probably follow Three Notch Trail across the mountains later
  today. But as soon as he reaches the South River ford he'll find out that
  we turned back.
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   407

 That will put him only a day and a half behind us. We'll have to abandon
 the wagon."
 "And all our supplies!"
  "Most of them. We have three spare horses: we can take whatever they will
  carry." Mack looked along the narrow trail leading south from the camp.
  "Instead of going back to Charlottesville we could try taking this track
  south. It probably cuts a corner and meets up with the Seminole Trail a
  few miles out of town. And it looks passable for horses."
  Lizzie was not the type to whine. Her mouth set in a determined line.
  "All right," she said grimly. "Let's start unloading."
  They had to abandon the plowshare, Lizzie's trunk full of warm underwear,
  and some of the cornmeal, but they managed to keep the guns, the tools
  and the seed. They roped the pack horses together then mounted up.
 By midmorning they were on their way.

             38

 FOR THREE DAYS THEY FOLLOWED THE PRIMEVAL SEMinole Trail southwest,
 through a majestic series of valleys and passes that wound between lush
 forested mountains. They passed isolated farms, but they saw few people
 and no towns. They rode three abreast, the pack horses following in a
 line. Mack became saddlesore, but despite that he felt exhilarated. The
 mountains were magnificent, the sun was shining, and he was a free man.
 On the morning of the fourth day they breasted a rise
 408      Ken Follett

 and saw, in the valley below, a wide brown river with a series of midstream
 islands. On the far bank was a cluster of wooden buildings. A broad
 flat-bottomed ferry boat was tied up at a jetty.
  Mack reined in. "My guess is that this is the James River, and that
  settlement is a place called Lynch's Ferry.,,
  Lizzie guessed what he was thinking. "You want to turn west again."
  He nodded- "We've seen almost nobody for three days-Jay will have trouble
  picking up our scent. But if we cross that ferry we'll meet the ferryman,
  and it might be hard to avoid the tavern keeper, the storekeeper and all
  the local busybodies."
  "Good thinking," Lizzie said. "If we get off the road here he won't be able
  to figure out which way we've gone."
  Mack looked at his map. 'The valley climbs to the northwest and leads to a
  pass. Beyond the pass we should be able to join the trail that runs
  southwest from Staunton."
 "Good."
  Mack smiled at Peg, who was silent and indifferent. "Are you in agreement?"
  he said, trying to bring her into the decision.
 "Whatever you want," she said.
  She seemed unhappy, and Mack assumed it was because she was frightened of
  being caught. She must be tired, too: sometimes he forgot that she was so
  small. "Cheer up," he said. "We're escaping!" She looked away. He exchanged
  glances with Lizzie, who made a helpless gesture.
  They turned off the trail at an angle and went down through sloping
  woodland to reach the river half a mile or so upstream from the settlement.
  Mack thought they probably had not been observed.
  A flat track ran west along the bank for several miles. Then it turned away
  from the river, skirting a
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    409

 range of hills. The going was hard, and they frequently had to dismount
 and lead the horses up stony rises, but Mack never lost the intoxicating
 feeling of freedom.
  They ended the day beside a fast-running mountain stream. Lizzie shot a
  small deer that came to drink from a rocky pool. Mack butchered it and
  made a spit to roast a haunch. Leaving Peg to watch the fire he went to
  wash his bloodstained hands.
  He made his way downstream to where a small waterfall dropped into a deep
  pool. He knelt on a ledge and washed his hands in the falling water. Then
  he decided to bathe, and took off all his clothes. He stepped out of his
  breeches and looked up to see Lizzie.
  "Every time I take off my clothes and jump in a river-2'
 "You find me watching!"
 They both laughed.
 "Come and bathe with me," he said.
  His heart beat faster as she stripped. He gazed lovingly at her body. She
  stood naked in front of him with a what-the-hell expression on her face.
  They embraced and kissed.
  When they paused for breath he was struck by a foolish notion. He looked
  down at the deep pool ten feet below and said: "Let's jump."
 "No!" she said. Then she said: "All right!"
  They held hands, stood at the edge of the shelf, and jumped, laughing
  helplessly. They hit the water holding hands. Mack went under and let go
  of Lizzie. When he surfaced he saw her a few feet away, snorting and
  blowing and laughing at the same time. Together they swam toward the bank
  until they felt the riverbed below their feet, then they stopped to rest.
  Mack drew her to him. With a duill of excitement he felt her bare thighs
  against his. He did not want to kiss her now, he wanted to look at her
  face. He stroked her hips. Her hand closed around his stiff penis, and
  she
 410      Ken Follett

 looked into his eyes and smiled happily. He felt as if he would explode.
  She put her arms around his neck and lifted her legs so that her thighs
  squeezed his waist. He settled his feet firmly on the riverbed and took
  her weight. He lifted her a fraction. She wriggled a little and settled
  on him. He slid inside her as easily as if they had been practicing for
  years.
  After the cold water her flesh was like hot oil on his skin. Suddenly he
  felt as if he were in a dream. He was making love to Lady Hallim's
  daughter in a waterfall in Virginia: how could it be real?
  She put her tongue in his mouth and he sucked it. She giggled, then her
  face became serious again, and a look of concentration came over her. She
  pulled on his neck, lifting herself, then let her body sink down again,
  repeatedly. She groaned deep in her throat and half closed her eyes. He
  watched her face, mesmerized.
  Out of the comer of his eyes he saw something move on the bank. He turned
  his head and glimpsed a flash of color, then it was gone. Someone had
  been watching. Had Peg stumbled on them accidentally, or was it a
  stranger? He knew he should worry, but Lizzie moaned louder, and the
  thought left his mind. She began to cry out, her thighs squeezed him in
  a rhythm that went faster and faster, then she crushed her body to his
  and screamed, and he held her tight and shook with passion until he was
  drained.

 When they returned to the campsite Peg was gone.
  Mack had a bad feeling. "I thought I saw someone, down by the pool, when
  we were making love. It was just a glimpse, and I couldn't even tell
  whether it was a man, woman or child."
  "I'm sure it was Peg," Lizzie said. "I think she's run Off."
 Mack narrowed his eyes. "What makes you so sure?"
 "She's jealous of me because you love me."
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    411

 "What?"
  "She loves you, Mack. She told me she was going to many you. Of course
  it's just a girlish fantasy, but she doesn't know that. She's been
  miserable for days, and I think she saw us making love and ran away."
  Mack had a dreadful feeling this was true. He imagined how Peg felt and
  the thought was agonizing. Now that poor child was wandering alone in the
  mountains at night. "Oh. God, what are we going to do?" he said.
 "Look for her."
  "Aye." Mack shook himself. "At least she hasn't taken a horse. She can't
  have gone far. We'll search together. Let's make torches. She's probably
  gone back the way we came. We'll find her asleep under a bush, I'll bet."

 They searched all night.
  They backtracked for hours, shining their lights into the woods on either
  side of the winding trail. Then they returned to their carnp, made new
  torches, and followed the stream up the mountainside, scrambling over
  rocks. There was no sign of her.
  At dawn they ate some of the venison haunch. loaded their supplies on the
  horses, and went on.
  It was possible she had gone west, and Mack hoped they would stumble on
  her on the track, but all that morning they walked without finding her.
  At midday they came upon another trail. It was just a dirt road, but it
  was wider than a wagon and there were hoof marks in the mud. It ran from
  northeast to southwest, and in the distance beyond it they could see a
  range of majestic mountains rising into the blue sky.
  This was the road they had been searching for, the way to the Cumberland
  Gap.
 With heavy hearts, they turned southwest and rode on.
             39

 ON THE MORNING OF THE NEXT DAY, JAY JAMISSON walked his horse down the
 hill to the James River and looked across the water to the settlement
 called Lynch's Ferry.
  Jay was exhausted, aching and dispirited. He intensely disliked Binns,
  the ruffian Lennox had hired in Williamsburg. He was weary of bad food,
  filthy clothes, long days in the saddle and short nights on the hard
  ground. In the last few days his hopes had gone up and down like the
  endless hill tracks he was traveling on.
  He had been tremendously excited when he reached the South River ford and
  teamed that Lizzie and her partners in crime had been forced to turn
  back. However, he was puzzled about how they had passed him on the road.
  "They turned off the trail somewhere," Deadeye Dobbs had said confidently
  as they sat in the tavern beside the river. Dobbs had seen the three
  fugitives the previous day and had recognized Peg Knapp as the missing
  convict who had killed Burgo Marler.
  Jay supposed he must be fight. "But did they go north or south?" he said
  worriedly.
  "If you're running from the law, south is the direction you need-away
  from sheriffs and courthouses and magistrates."
  Jay was not so certain. There might be lots of places in the thirteen
  colonies where an apparently respectable family group-husband, wife and
  maidservant--could 412
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   413

 quietly settle down and effectively disappear. But Dobbs's guess seemed
 more likely.
  He told Dobbs, as he told everyone, that he would pay a reward of fifty
  English pounds to anyone who arrested the fugitives. The money--enough
  to buy a small farm out here-had come from his mother. When they parted,
  Dobbs crossed the ford and went west, toward Staunton. Jay hoped he would
  spread the word about the reward. If the fugitives managed somehow to
  give Jay the slip they might yet be caught by others.
  Jay returned to Charlottesville, expecting to find that Lizzie had passed
  through Charlottesville and turned south. However, the wagon had not been
  seen again. Jay could only guess they had somehow bypassed
  Charlottesville and found another route to the southbound Seminole Trail.
  Gambling on that assumption, he had led his gang along the trail. But the
  countryside was becoming lonelier, and they met no one who recalled
  seeing a man, a woman and a young girl on the road.
  However, he had high hopes of getting some information here at Lynch's
  Ferry.
  They reached the bank and shouted across the fastmoving river. A figure
  emerged from a building and got into a boat. A rope was stretched from
  one bank to the other, and the ferry was attached to the rope in an in-
  genious way so that the pressure of the river's flow drove the boat
  across the river. When it reached the near bank Jay and his companions
  led their horses aboard. The ferryman adjusted the ropes and the boat
  began to move back across.
  The man had the dark clothes and sober manner of a Quaker. Jay paid him
  and began to question him as they crossed the river. "We're looking for
  a group of three people: a young woman, a Scotsman of about the same age,
  and a young girl of fourteen. Have they been through here?"
 The man shook his head.
 414      Ken Follett

  Jay's heart sank. He wondered if he was on the wrong track entirely.
  "Could someone have passed through here without you seeing them?"
  The man took his time replying. Eventually he said: "He'd have to be a
  heck of a good swimmer."
 "Suppose they crossed the river somewhere else?"
  There was another pause, and he said: "Then they didn't pass through
  here."
  Binns snickered, and Lennox silenced him with a rn~levolent glare.
  Jay looked out over the river and cursed under his breath. She had not
  been seen for six days. She had slipped away from him somehow. She could
  be anywhere. She could be in Pennsylvania. She could have returned to the
  East and be on a ship heading for London. He had lost her. She had
  outwitted him and cheated him of his inheritance. If ever I see her
  again. by God I'll shoot her in the head, he thought.
  In fact he did not know what he would do if he caught her. He worried at
  the question constantly as he rode the uneven trails. He knew she would
  not willingly come back to him. He would have to bring her home bound
  hand and foot. She might not yield to him even after that: he would
  probably have to rape her. The thought excited him strangely. On the
  trail he was disturbed by lascivious memories: the two of them caressing
  in the attic of the empty Chapel Street house with their mothers outside;
  Lizzie bouncing on their bed, naked and shameless; making love with
  Lizzie on top, squirming and moaning. But when she was pregnant, how
  would he make her stay? Could he lock her away until she gave birth?
  Everything would be much simpler if she died. It was not unlikely: she
  and McAsh would surely put up a fight. Jay did not think he could murder
  his wife in cold blood. But he could hope she might get killed in a
  fight. Then he could marry a healthy barmaid, make her pregnant and take
  ship for London to claim his inheritance.
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   415

  But that was a happy dream. The reality was that when he finally confronted
  her he would have to make a decision. Either he took her home alive, giving
  her ample opportunity to frustrate his plans, or he had to kill her.
  How would he dispatch her? He had never killed anyone and had only once
  used his sword to injure people-at the coal yard riot when he had captured
  McAsh. Even when he hated Lizzie most he could not imagine plunging a sword
  into the body he had made love to. He had once trained his rifle on his
  brother and pulled the trigger. If he had to kill Lizzie it might be best
  to shoot her from a distance, like a deer. But he was not sure he could
  manage even that.
  The ferry reached the other side. Alongside the landing was a substantial
  wood-frame building with two stories and an attic. Several more well-built
  houses were neatly ranged on the slope that rose steeply from the river.
  The place seemed a prosperous small trading community. As they disembarked
  the ferryman said casually: "There's somebody waiting for you all in the
  tavern."
  "Waiting for us?" said Jay in astonishment. "How did anyone know we were
  coming?"
  The ferryman answered a different question. "Meanlooking fellow with one
  closed eye."
 "Dobbs! How did he get here ahead of us?"
 Lennox added: "And why?"
 "Ask him," said the ferryman.
  The news had lifted Jay's spirits and he was eager to solve the riddle.
  "You men deal with the horses," he ordered. "I'll go and see Dobbs."
  The tavern was the two-story building alongside the ferry dock. He stepped
  inside and saw Dobbs sitting at a table eating stew from a bowl.
 "Dobbs, what the devil are you doing here?"
  Dobbs raised his good eye and spoke with his mouth full. "I come to claim
  that reward, Captain Jamisson."
 416      Ken Follett

 "What are you talking about?"
 "Look over there." He nodded toward the comer.
 There, tied to a chair, was Peg Knapp.
  Jay stared at her. This was a piece of luck! "Where the hell did she come
  from?"
 "I found her on the road south of Staunton."
 Jay frowned. "Which way was she heading?"
  "North, toward the town. I was coming out of town, going to Miller's
  Mill."
 "I wonder how she got there."
 "I've asked her, but she won't talk."
  Jay looked again at the girl and saw bruises on her face. Dobbs had not
  been gentle with her.
  "I'll tell you what I think," Dobbs said. "They came almost this far but
  they never crossed the river. Instead they turned west. They must have
  abandoned their wagon somewhere. They went on horseback up the river
  valley to the Staunton road."
 "But you found Peg on her own."
 "Yes."
 "So you picked her up."
  "It wasn't that easy," Dobbs protested. "She ran like the wind, and every
  time I grabbed her she slipped through my fingers. But I was on a horse
  and she wasn't, and in the end she tired."
  A Quaker woman appeared and asked Jay if he wanted something to eat. He
  waved her away impatiently: he was too eager to question Dobbs. "But how
  did you get here ahead of us?"
 He grinned. "I came down the river on a raft."
  "There must have been a quarrel," Jay said excitedly. "This murdering
  little bitch left the others and turned north. So the others must have
  gone south." He frowned. "Where do they imagine they're going?"
  "The road leads to Fort Chiswell. Beyond that there's not much in the way
  of settled land. Farther south there's a place called Wolf Hills, and
  after that it's Cherokee country. They aren't going to become Chero-
         A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   417

 kee, so I'd guess they'll turn west at Wolf Hills and head up into the
 hills. Hunters talk about a pass called Cumberland Gap that leads across
 the mountains, but I've never been there."
 "What's on the other side?"
  "Wilderness, they say. Good hunting. Kind of a noman's-land between the
  Cherokee and the Sioux. They call it the bluegrass country."
  Jay saw it now. Lizzie was planning to start a new life in undiscovered
  country. But she would fail, he thought excitedly. He would catch her and
  bring her back--dead or alive.
  "The child is not worth much on her own," he said to Dobbs. "You have to
  help us catch the other two, if you want your fifty pounds."
 "You want me to be your guide?"
 'Yes.
  "They're a couple of days ahead of you now, and they can travel fast
  without the wagon. It's going to take you a week or more to catch up."
 "You get the whole fifty pounds if we succeed."
  "I hope we can make up the time before they leave the trail and go off
  into the wilderness."
 "Amen to that," said Jay.

             40

 TEN DAYS AFrER PEG RAN OFF, MACK AND LizZIE RODE across a wide, flat
 plain and reached the mighty Holston River.
 Mack was elated. They had crossed numerous
 418      Ken Follett

 streams and creeks but there was no doubt in his mind that this was the
 one they were looking for. It was much wider than the others, with a long
 midstream island. "This is it," he said to Lizzie. "This is the edge of
 civilization."
  For several days they had felt almost alone in the world. Yesterday they
  had seen one white man-a trapper-and three Indians on a distant hill;
  today, no white men and several groups of Indians. The Indians were
  neither friendly nor hostile: they kept a distance.
  Mack and Lizzie had not passed a cultivated field for a long time. As the
  farms became fewer, the game had increased: bison, deer, rabbits and
  millions of edible birds-turkeys, duck, woodcocks and quail. Lizzie shot
  more than the two of them could eat.
  The weather had been kind. Once it had rained, and they had trudged
  through mud all day and shivered, soaking wet, all night; but the next
  day the sun had dried them out. They were saddle-sore and bone-tired, but
  the horses were holding up, fortified by the lush grass that was
  everywhere and the oats Mack had bought in Charlottesville.
  They had seen no sign of Jay. but that did not mean much: Mack had to
  assume he was still following them.
  They watered the horses in the Holston and sat down to rest on the rocky
  shore. The trail had petered out as they crossed the plain, and beyond
  the river there was not the faintest sign of a track. To the north the
  ground rose steadily and in the far distance, perhaps ten miles away, a
  high ridge rose forbiddingly into the sky. That was where they were
  headed.
 Mack said: "There must be a pass."
 "I don't see it," said Lizzie.
 "Nor do L"
 "If it isn't there
 "We'll look for another one," he said resolutely.
  He spoke confidently but at heart he was fearful. They were going into
  unmapped country. They might
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   419

 be attacked by mountain lions or wild bears. The Indians could turn
 hostile. At present there was plenty of food for anyone with a rifle, but
 what would happen in the winter?
  He took out his map, though it was proving increasingly inaccurate.
  "I wish we'd met someone who knew the way," Lizzie fretted.
 "We've met several," he said.
 "And each told a different story."
  "They all painted the same picture, though," Mack said. "The river
  valleys slant from northeast to southwest, just as the map shows, and we
  have to go northwest, at right angles to the rivers, across a series of
  high ridges."
  "The problem will be to find the passes that cut through the mountain
  ranges."
  "We'll just have to zigzag. Wherever we see a pass that could take us
  north, we go that way. When we come up against a ridge that looks
  impassable, we turn west and follow the valley, all the time looking out
  for our next chance to turn north. The passes may not be where this map
  shows them to be, but they're in there somewhere."
 "Well, there's nothing to do now but try," she said.
  "If we get into trouble we'll have to retrace our steps and try a
  different route, that's all."
  She smiled. "I'd rather do this than pay calls in Berkeley Square."
  He grinned back. She was ready for anything: he loved that about her. "It
  beats digging for coal, too."
  Lizzie's face became solemn again. "I just wish Peg was here."
  Mack felt the same way. They had seen no trace of Peg after she had run
  off. They had hoped they would catch up with her that first day, but it
  had not happened.
  Lizzie had cried all that night: she felt she had lost two children,
  first her baby and then Peg. They had no
 420      Ken Follett

 idea where she might be or whether she was even alive. They had done all
 they could to look for her, but that thought was small consolation. After
 all he and Peg had been through together, he had lost her in the end.
 Tears came to his eyes whenever he thought about her.
  But now he and Lizzie could make love every night, under the stars. It
  was spring, and the weather was mild. Soon they would build their house
  and make love indoors. After that they had to store up salt meat and
  smoked fish for the winter. Meanwhile he would clear a field and plant
  their seeds....
 He got to his feet.
 "I"hat was a short rest," Lizzie said as she stood up.
  "I'll be happier when we're out of sight of this river," Mack said. "Jay
  might guess our route thus far-but this is where we shake him off."
  Reflexively they both looked back the way they had come. There was no one
  in sight. But Jay was on that road somewhere, Mack felt sure.
 Then he realized they were being watched.
  He had seen a movement out of the comer of his eye and now he saw it
  again. Tensing, he slowly turned his head.
 Two Indians were standing just a few yards away.
  This was the northern edge of Cherokee country, and they had been seeing
  the natives at a distance for three days, but none had approached them.
  These two were boys about seventeen years old. They had the straight
  black hair and reddish tan skin characteristic of the original Americans,
  and wore the deerskin tunic and trousers the new immigrants had copied.
  The taller of the two held out a large fish like a salmon. "I want a
  knife," he said.
  Mack guessed the two of them had been fishing in this river. "You want
  to trade?" Mack said.
 The boy smiled. "I want a knife."
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    421

  Lizzie said: "We don't need a fish, but we could use a guide. I'll bet he
  knows where the pass is."
  That was a good idea. It would be a tremendous relief to know where they
  were going. Mack said eagerly: "Will you guide us?"
  The boy smiled, but it was obvious he did not understand. His companion
  remained silent and still.
 Mack tried again. "Will you be our guide?"
  He began to look troubled. "No trade today," he said doubtfully.
  Mack sighed in frustration. He said to Lizzie: "He's an enterprising kid
  who's learned a few English phrases but can't really speak the language."
  It would be maddening to get lost here just because they could not com-
  municate with the local people.
 Lizzie said: "Let me try."
  She went to one of the pack horses, opened a leather satchel, and took out
  a long-bladed knife. It had been made at the forge on the plantation, and
  the letter "J," for Jamisson, was burned into the wood of the handle. It
  was crude by comparison with what you could buy in London, but no doubt it
  was superior to anything the Cherokee could make themselves. She showed it
  to the boy.
  He smiled broadly. "I'll buy that," he said, and reached for it.
 Lizzie withdrew it.
  The boy offered the fish and she pushed it away. He looked troubled again.
  "Look," Lizzie said. She bent over a large stone with a flat surface. Using
  the point of the knife she began to scratch a picture. First she drew a
  jagged line. She pointed at the distant mountains, then at the line. "This
  is the ridge." she said.
  Mack could not tell whether the boy understood or not.
  Below the ridge she drew two stick figures. then pointed at herself and
  Mack. "This is us," she said.
 422      Ken Follett

 "Now-watch carefully." She drew a second ridge, then a deep V-shape
 joining the two. "This is the pass," she said. Finally she put a stick
 figure in the V. "We need to find the pass," she said, and she looked
 expectantly at the boy.
 Mack held his breath.
  "I'll buy that," the boy said, and he offered Lizzie the fish.
 Mack groaned.
  "Don't lose hope," Lizzie snapped at him. She addressed the Indian again.
  "This is the ridge. This is us. Here's the pass. We need to find the
  pass." Then she pointed at him. "You take us to the pass-and you get the
  knife."
  He looked at the mountains, then at the drawing, then at Lizzie. "Pass,"
  he said.
 Lizzie pointed at the mountains.
  He drew a V-shape in the air, then pointed through it. "Pass," he said
  again.
 "I'll buy that," Lizzie said.
 The boy grinned broadly and nodded vigorously.
 Mack said: "Do you think he got the message?"
  "I don't know." She hesitated, then took her horse's bridle and began to
  walk on. "Shall we go?" she said to the boy with a gesture of invitation.
 He started to walk beside her.
 "Hallelujah!" said Mack.
 The other Indian came too.
  They struck out along the bank of a stream. The horses settled into the
  steady gait that had brought them five hundred miles in twenty-two days.
  Gradually the distant ridge loomed larger, but Mack saw no sign of a
  pass.
  The terrain rose remorselessly, but the ground seemed less rough, and the
  horses went a little faster. Mack realized the boys were following a
  trail only they could see. Letting the Indians take the lead, they
  continued to head straight for the ridge.
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   423

  They went all the way to the foot of the mountain and suddenly turned
  east then, to Mack's enormous relief, they saw the pass. "Well done, Fish
  Boy!" he said joyfully.
  They forded a river and curved around the mountain to emerge on the far
  side of the ridge. As the sun went down they found themselves in a narrow
  valley with a fast-flowing stream about twenty-five feet wide, running
  northeast. Ahead of them was another ridge. "Let's make camp," Mack said.
  "In the morning we'll go up the valley and look for another pass."
  Mack felt good. They had followed no obvious route, and the pass had been
  invisible from the riverbank: Jay could not possibly follow them here.
  He began to believe he had escaped at last.
  Lizzie gave the taller boy the knife. "Thank you, Fish Boy," she said.
  Mack hoped the Indians would stay with them. They could have all the
  knives they wanted if they would guide Mack and Lizzie through the
  mountains. But they turned and went back the way they had come, the
  taller of the two still carrying his fish.
  A few moments later they had disappeared into the twilight.

             41

 JAY WAS CONVINCED THEY WOULD CATCH LizziE Today. He kept up a fast
 pace, driving the horses hard. "They can't be far ahead," he kept
 saying.
 However, there was still no sign of the fugitives
 424      Ken Follett

 when he reached the Holston River at dusk. He was angry. "We can't go on in
 the dark," he said as his men watered their horses. "I thought we would have
 caught them by now."
  "We're not far behind, calm down," Lennox said testily. As the group
  traveled farther from civilization he became more insolent.
  Dobbs put in: "But we can't tell which way they went from here. There's no
  trail across the mountainsany fool that wants to go has to find his own
  route."
  They hobbled the horses and tied Peg to a tree while Lennox prepared hominy
  for supper. It had been four days since they had seen a tavern, and Jay was
  sick of eating the mush he fed his slaves, but it was now too dark to shoot
  game.
  They were all blistered and exhausted. Binns had dropped out at Fort
  Chiswell, and now Dobbs was losing heart. "I should give up and go back,"
  he said. "It ain't worth fifty pounds to get lost in the mountains and
  die."
  Jay did not want him to go: he was the only one with any local knowledge.
  "But we haven't caught up with my wife yet," Jay said.
 "I don't care about your wife."
  "Give it one more day. Everyone says the way across the mountains is north
  of here. Let's see if we can find the pass. We may catch her tomorrow."
 "And we may waste our damn time."
  Lennox spooned the lumpy porridge into bowls. Dobbs untied Peg's hands long
  enough for her to eat, then tied her up again and threw a blanket over her.
  No one cared much for her well-being, but Dobbs wanted to take her to the
  Staunton sheriff. he seemed to think he would be admired for capturing her.
  Lennox got out a bottle of rum. They wrapped themselves in their blankets
  and passed the bottle and made desultory conversation. The hours went by
  and the moon rose. Jay dozed fitfully. At some point he opened
       A PLACE CAULED FREEDOM    425

 his eyes and saw a strange face at the edge of the circle of firelight.
  He was so scared he could not make a sound. It was a peculiar face, young
  but alien, and he realized after a few moments that it belonged to an
  Indian.
  ne face was smiling, but not at Jay. Jay followed the gaze and saw that it
  was focused on Peg. She was making faces at the Indian, and after a minute
  Jay figured that she was trying to get him to untie her.
 Jay lay dead still and watched.
  There were two Indians, he saw. They were young boys.
  One of them stepped silently into the circle. He was carrying a big fish.
  He put it gently down on the ground, then drew a knife and bent over Peg.
  Lennox was as quick as a snake. Jay hardly saw what happened. There was a
  blur of movement and Lennox had the boy in an armlock. The knife fell to
  the ground. Peg gave a cry of disappointment.
 The second Indian vanished.
 Jay stood up. "What have we here?"
  Dobbs rubbed his eyes and stared. "Just an Indian boy, trying to rob us. We
  should hang him as a lesson to the others."
  "Not yet," said Lennox. "He may have seen the people we're after."
  That thought lifted Jay's hopes. He stood in front of the boy. "Say
  something, savage."
  Lennox twisted the boy's arm harder. He cried out and protested in his own
  language. "Speak English," Lennox barked.
  "Listen to me," Jay said loudly. "Have you seen two people, a man and a
  woman, on this road?"
 "No trade today," the boy said.
 "He does speak English!" Dobbs said.
  "I don't think he can tell us anything, though," Jay said dispiritedly.
 "Oh, yes he can," Lennox said. "Hold him for me,
 426      Ken Follett

 Dobbo." Dobbs took over and Lennox picked up the knife the Indian had
 dropped. "Look at this. It's one of ours-it has the letter 'J' burned into
 the handle."
  Jay looked. It was true. The knife had been made at his plantation! "Why,
  then he must have met Lizzie!"
 Lennox said: "Exactly."
 Jay felt hopeful again.
  Lennox held the knife in front of the Indian's eyes and said: "Which way
  did they go, boy?"
  He struggled, but Dobbs held him tight. "No trade today," he said in a
  terrified voice.
  Lennox took the boy's left hand. He hooked the point of the knife under
  the nail of the index finger. "Which way?" he said, and he pulled out the
  nail.
 The boy and Peg screamed at the same time.
 "Stop it!" Peg yelled. "Leave him alone!"
  Lennox pulled out another fingernail. The boy began to sob.
 "Which way to the pass?" Lennox said.
  "Pass," the boy said, and with a bleeding hand he pointed north.
  Jay gave a sigh of satisfaction. "You can take us there," he said.

             42

MACK DREAMED HE WAS WADING ACROSS A RIVER TO A
place called Freedom. The water was cold, the river
bottom was uneven and there was a strong current. He
kept striding forward but the bank never got any closer,
and the river became deeper with every stride. All the
                                           A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    427

 same he knew that if he could just keep going he would eventually get there.
 But the water got deeper and deeper, and eventually it closed over his head.
 Gasping for breath, he woke up.
 He heard one of the horses whinny.
  "Something's disturbed them," he said. There was no reply. He turned over
  and saw that Lizzie was not beside him.
  Perhaps she had gone to answer a call of nature behind a bush, but he had
  a bad feeling. He rolled quickly out of his blanket and stood up.
  The sky was streaked with gray and he could see the four mares and two
  stallions, all standing still, as if they had heard other horses in the
  distance. Someone was coming.
 "Lizzie!" he called.
  Then Jay stepped from behind a tree with a rifle pointed at Mack's heart.
 Mack froze.
  A moment later Sidney Lennox appeared with a pistolin each hand.
  Mack stood there helpless. Despair engulfed him like the river in his
  dream. He had not escaped after all: they had caught him.
 But where was Lizzie?
  The one-eyed man from South River ford, Deadeye Dobbs, rode up, also
  carrying a rifle, with Peg on another horse beside him, her feet tied
  together under the horse's belly so she could not get off. She did not seem
  to be injured, but she looked suicidally miserable and Mack knew she blamed
  herself for this. Fish Boy was walking alongside Dobbs's horse, tied by a
  long rope to Dobbs's saddle. He must have led them here. His hands were
  covered with blood. For a moment Mack was mystified: the boy had shown no
  sign of injury before. Then he realized that he had been tortured. He felt
  a wave of disgust for Jay and Lennox.
 Jay was staring at the blankets on the ground. It was
 428      Ken Follett

 obvious that Mack and Lizzie had been sleeping together. "You filthy pig,"
 he said, his face working with rage. "Where's my wife?" He reversed his
 rifle and swung the butt at Mack's head, hitting him a bonecrunching blow
 to the side of the face. Mack staggered and fell. "Where is she, you
 coal-mining animal, where's my wife?"
 Mack tasted blood. "I don't know."
  "If you don't know I might as well have the satisfaction of shooting you
  through the head!"
  Mack realized Jay meant it. Sweat broke out all over him. He felt the
  impulse to beg for his life but he clamped his teeth together.
 Peg screamed: "No-don't shoot-please!"
  Jay pointed the rifle at Mack's head. His voice rose to a hysterical
  pitch. "This is for all the times you've defied me!" he screamed.
  Mack looked into his face and saw murder in his eyes.

  Lizzie lay belly down on a grassy tuft behind a rock, with her rifle in
  her hand, waiting.
  She had picked her spot the night before, after inspecting the riverbank
  and seeing the footprints and droppings of deer. As the light
  strengthened she watched, lying dead still, waiting for the animals to
  come to drink.
  Her skill with a rifle was going to keep them alive, she reckoned. Mack
  could build a house and clear fields and sow seed, but it would be at
  least a year before they could grow enough to last them through a winter.
  However, there were three big sacks of salt among their supplies. Lizzie
  had often sat in the kitchen of High Glen House watching Jeannie, the
  cook, salting hams and haunches of venison in big barrels. She knew how
  to smoke fish, too. They would need plenty: the way she and Mack were
  behaving, there would be three to feed before a year passed. She smiled
  happily.
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   429

  There was a movement in the trees. A moment later a young deer came out
  of the woods and stepped daintily to the water's edge. Bending its head,
  it stuck out its tongue and began to drink.
 Lizzie cocked the flintlock of her rifle silently.
  Before she could aim, another deer followed the first, and within a few
  moments there were twelve or fifteen of them. If all the wilderness is
  like this, Lizzie thought, we'll grow fat!
  She did not want a big deer. The horses were fully loaded and could not
  carry spare meat, and anyway the younger animals were more tender. She
  picked her target and took aim, pointing the rifle at its shoulder just
  over the heart. She breathed evenly and made herself still, the way she
  had learned back in Scotland.
  As always, she suffered a moment of regret for the beautiful animal she
  was about to destroy.
 Then she pulled the trigger.

  The shot came from farther up the valley, two or three hundred yards
  away.
 Jay froze, his gun still pointed at Mack.
  The horses started, but the shot was too distant to give them a serious
  scare.
  Dobbs brought his mount under control then drawled: "If you shoot now,
  Jamisson, you'll warn her and she could get away."
 Jay hesitated, then slowly lowered his gun.
 Mack sagged with relief
 Jay said: "I'll go after her. The rest of you stay here."
  Mack realized that if only he could warn her, she might yet escape. He
  almost wished Jay had shot him. It might have saved Lizzie.
  Jay left the clearing and headed upstream, gun held ready.
 I have to make one of them fire, Mack realized.
 There was an easy way to do that: run away.
 But what if I'm hit?
 430      Ken Follett

 I don't care, I'd rather die than be recaptured.
  Before caution could weaken his resolve he broke into a run.
  There was a moment of stunned silence before anyone realized what was
  happening.
 Then Peg screamed.
  Mack ran for the trees, expecting a bullet to slam into his back.
 There was a bang, followed by another.
 He felt nothing. The shots had missed him.
  Before more shots came he stopped in his tracks and raised his hands in the
  air.
 He had done it. He had given Lizzie her warning.
  He turned slowly, keeping his hands up. It's up to you now, Lizzie, he
  thought. Good luck, my love.

  Jay stopped when he heard shooting. It had come from behind him. It was not
  Lizzie who had fired, but someone back in the clearing. He waited, but
  there was no more gunfire.
  What did it mean? McAsh could hardly have got hold of a weapon and loaded
  it. Anyway, the man was a coal miner: he knew nothing of guns. Jay guessed
  that Lennox or Dobbs had shot McAsh.
  Whatever the truth, the all-important task was to capture Lizzie.
 Unfortunately, the shooting had warned her.
 He knew his wife. What would she do?
  Patience and caution were foreign to her. She rarely hesitated. She reacted
  quickly and decisively. By now she would be running this way. She would be
  almost back in the clearing before she thought to slow down and look ahead
  and make a plan.
  He found a spot where he could see clearly for thirty or forty yards along
  the bank of the stream. He hid himself in the bushes. Then he cocked the
  flintlock of his rifle.
 Indecision struck him like a sudden pain. What
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   431

 would he do when she came into his sights? If he shot her all his troubles
 would be over. He tried to pretend he was hunting deer. He would aim for
 the heart, just below the shoulder, for a clean kill.
 She came into view.
  She was half walking and half running, stumbling along the uneven
  riverbank. She was wearing men's clothing again, but he could see her
  bosom heaving with exertion. She carried two rifles under her arm.
  He aimed at her heart, but he saw her naked, straddling him on the bed
  in the Chapel Street house, her breasts quivering as they made love; and
  he could not shoot.
  When she was ten yards away he stepped out of the undergrowth.
 She stopped in her tracks and gave a cry of horror.
 "Hello, darling," he said.
  She gave him a look of hatred. "Why couldn't you just let me go?" she
  said. "You don't love me!"
 "No, but I need a grandchild," he said.
 She looked scornful. "I'd rather die."
 "That's the alternative," he said.

  There was a moment of chaos after Lennox fired his pistols at Mack.
  The horses were frightened by the close-range shooting. Peg's ran away.
  She stayed on, tied as she was, and hauled on the reins with her bound
  hands, but she could not stop it and they disappeared into the trees.
  Dobbs's horse was bucking and he fought to bring it under control. Lennox
  began hastily to reload his weapons.
 That was when Fish Boy made his move.
  He ran at Dobbs's horse, jumped on behind him, and wrestled Dobbs out of
  the saddle.
  With a burst of exhilaration Mack realized he was not yet beaten.
 Lennox dropped his pistols and ran to the rescue.
 Mack stuck out a foot and tripped Lennox.
 432      Ken Follett

  Dobbs fell off his horse, but one ankle got tangled in the rope by which
  Fish Boy was tied to the saddle. The horse, now terrified, bolted. Fish
  Boy clung to its neck for dear life. It ran out of sight, dragging Dobbs
  along the ground after it.
  With savage glee Mack turned to face Lennox. Only the two of them were
  left in the clearing. At last it had come to a fistfight between them.
  I'll kill him, Mack thought.
  Lennox rolled over and came up with a knife in his hand.
  He lunged at Mack. Mack dodged, then kicked Lennox's kneecap and danced
  out of range.
  Limping, Lennox came at him, This time he feinted with the knife, let
  Mack dodge the wrong way, then struck again. Mack felt a sharp pain in
  his left side. He swung with his right fist and hit Lennox a mighty blow
  to the side of the head. Lennox blinked and raised the knife.
  Mack backed away. He was younger and stronger than Lennox, but Lennox
  probably had much experience of knife fights. With a stab of panic he
  realized that close combat was not the way to defeat a man with a knife.
  He had to change his tactics.
  Mack turned and ran a few yards, looking for a weapon. His eye lit on a
  rock about the size of his fist, He stooped and picked it up and turned.
 Lennox rushed him.
  Mack threw the rock. It hit Lennox squarely in the center of the
  forehead, and Mack gave a shout of triumph. Lennox stumbled, dazed. Mack
  had to make the most of his advantage. Now was the moment to disarrn
  Lennox. Mack kicked out and connected with Lennox's right elbow.
 Lennox dropped the knife and gave a cry of dismay.
 Mack had him.
  He hit Lennox on the chin with all his might. The blow hurt his hand but
  gave him deep satisfaction.
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM    433

 Lennox backed away, fear in his eyes, but Mack was after him fast. He
 punched Lennox in the belly, then hit him on each side of the head. Dazed
 and terrified, Lennox staggered. He was finished, but Mack could not stop.
 He wanted to kill the man. He grabbed Lennox by the hair, pulled his head
 down, and kneed him in the face. Lennox screamed and blood spurted from his
 nose. He fell to his knees, coughed, and vomited. Mack was about to hit him
 again when he heard Jay's voice say: "Stop or I'll kill her."
  Lizzie walked into the clearing and Jay followed, holding his rifle to the
  back of her head.
  Mack stared, paralyzed. He could see that Jay's rifle was cocked. If Jay
  even stumbled, the gun would blow her head off. Mack turned away from
  Lennox and moved toward Jay. He was still possessed by savagery. "You've
  only got one shot," he snarled at Jay. "If you shoot Lizzie, I'll kill
  you."
 "Then perhaps I should shoot you," Jay said.
  "Yes," Mack said madly, moving toward him. "Shoot me. 11
 Jay swung the rifle.
  Mack felt a wild jubilation: the gun was no longer pointed at Lizzie. He
  walked steadily toward Jay.
 Jay took careful aim at Mack.
  There was a strange noise, and suddenly a narrow cylinder of wood was
  sticking out of Jay's cheek.
  Jay screamed in pain and dropped the rifle. It went off with a bang and the
  ball flew past Mack's head.
 Jay had been shot in the face with an arrow.
 Mack felt his knees go weak.
  The noise came again, and a second arrow pierced Jay's neck.
 He fell to the ground.
  Into the clearing came Fish Boy, his friend, and Peg, followed by five or
  six Indian men, all carrying bows.
  Mack began to shake with relief. He guessed that when Jay captured Fish
  Boy, the other Indian had gone
 434      Ken Follett

 for help. The rescue party must have met up with the runaway horses. He did
 not know what had happened to Dobbs, but one of the Indians was wearing
 Dobbs's boots.
  Lizzie stood over Jay, staring at him, her hand covering her mouth. Mack
  went over and put his arms around her. He looked down at the man on the
  ground. Blood was pouring from his mouth. The arrow had opened a vein in
  his neck.
 "He's dying," Lizzie said shakily.
 Mack nodded.
  Fish Boy pointed at Lennox, who was still kneeling. The other Indians
  seized him, threw him flat and held him down. There was some conversation
  between Fish Boy and the oldest of the others. Fish Boy kept showing his
  fingers. They looked as if the nails had been pulled out, and Mack guessed
  that was how Lennox had tortured the boy.
  The older Indian drew a hatchet from his belt. With a swift, powerful
  motion he cut off Lennox's right hand at the wrist.
 Mack said: "By Jesus."
 Blood gushed from the stump and Lennox fainted.
  The man picked up the severed hand and, with a formal air, presented it to
  Fish Boy.
  He took it solemnly. Then he turned around and hurled it away. It flew up
  into the air and over the trees, to fall somewhere in the woods.
 There was a murmur of approval from the Indians.
 "A hand for a hand," Mack said quietly.
 "God forgive them," said Lizzie.
  But they had not finished. They picked up the bleeding Lennox and placed
  him under a tree. They tied a rope to his ankle, looped the rope over a
  bough of the tree, and raised him until he was hanging upside-down. Blood
  pumped from his severed wrist and pooled on the ground beneath him. The
  Indians stood around, looking at the grisly sight. It seemed they were
  going to
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   435

 watch Lennox die. They reminded Mack of the crowd at a London hanging.
  Peg came up to them and said: "We ought to do something about the Indian
  boy's fingers."
 Lizzie looked away from her dying husband.
  Peg said: "Have you got something to bandage his hand?"
  Lizzie blinked and nodded. "I've got some ointment, and a handkerchief we
  can use for a bandage. I'll see to it."
 "No," Peg said firmly. "Let me do it."
  "If you wish." Lizzie found a jar of ointment and a silk handkerchief and
  gave them to Peg.
  Peg detached Fish Boy from the group around the tree. Although she did not
  speak his language, she seemed to be able to communicate with him. She led
  him down to the stream and began to bathe his wounds.
 "Mack," said Lizzie.
 He turned to her. She was crying.
 "Jay is dead," she said.
  Mack looked at him. He was completely white. The bleeding had stopped and
  he was motionless. Mack bent and felt for a heartbeat. There was none.
 "I loved him once," Lizzie said.
 "I know."
 "I want to bury him."
  Mack got a spade from their kit. While the Indians watched Lennox bleed to
  death, Mack dug a shallow grave. He and Lizzie lifted Jay's body and placed
  it in the hole. Lizzie bent down and gingerly withdrew the arrows from the
  corpse. Mack shoveled soil over the body and Lizzie began to cover the
  grave with stones.
  Suddenly Mack wanted to get away from this place of blood.
  He rounded up the horses. There were now ten: the six from the plantation,
  plus the four Jay and his gang had brought. Mack was struck by the peculiar
  thought
 436      Ken Follett
 that he was rich. He owned ten horses. He began to load the supplies.
  The Indians stiffed. Lennox seemed to be dead. They left the tree and came
  over to where Mack was loading the horses. The oldest man spoke to Mack.
  Mack did not understand a word, but the tone was formal. He guessed the man
  was saying that justice had been done.
 They were ready to go.
  Fish Boy and Peg came up from the waterside together. Mack looked at the
  boy's hand: Peg had made a nice job of the bandage.
  Fish Boy said something, and there followed an exchange in the Indian
  language that sounded quite angry. At last all the Indians but Fish Boy
  walked away.
 "Is he staying?" Mack asked Peg.
 She shrugged.
  The other Indians went eastward, along the river valley toward the setting
  sun, and soon disappeared into the woods.
  Mack got on his horse. Fish Boy unroped a spare horse from the line and
  mounted it. He went ahead. Peg rode beside him. Mack and Lizzie followed.
  "Do you think Fish Boy is going to guide us?" Mack said to Lizzie.
 "It looks like it."
 "But he hasn't asked a price of any kind."
 "No. "
 "I wonder what he wants."
  Lizzie looked at the two young people riding side by side. "Can't you
  guess?" she said.
 "Oh!" said Mack. "You think he's in love with her?"
  "I think he wants to spend a little more time with her."
 "Well, well." Mack became thoughtful.
  As they headed west, along the river valley, the sun came up behind them,
  throwing their shadows on the land ahead.
       A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM   437

  It was a broad valley, beyond the highest range but still in the mountains.
  There was a fast-moving stream of pure cold water bubbling along the valley
  floor, teeming with fish. The hillsides were densely forested and alive
  with game. On the highest ridge, a pair of golden eagles came and went,
  bringing food to the nest for their young.
 "It reminds me of home," said Lizzie.
 "Then we'll call it High Glen," Mack replied.
  They unloaded the horses in the flattest part of the valley bottom. where
  they would build a house and clear a field. They camped on a patch of dry
  turf beneath a wide-spreading tree.
  Peg and Fish Boy were rummaging through a sack, looking for a saw, when Peg
  found the broken iron collar. She pulled it out and stared quizzically at
  it. She looked uncomprehendingly at the letters: she had never learned to
  read. "Why did you bring this?" she. said.
  Mack exchanged glances with Lizzie. They were both recalling the scene by
  the river in the old High Glen, back in Scotland, when Lizzie had asked
  Mack the same question.
  Now he gave Peg the same answer. but this time there was no bitterness in
  his voice, only hope. "Never to forget," he said with a smile. "Never."
      Acknowledgments

 For invaluable help with this book I thank the following:

My editors, Suzanne Baboneau and Ann Patty;
Researchers Nicholas Courtney and Daniel Starer;
Historians Anne Goldgar and Thad Tate;
Ramsey Dow and John Brown-Wright of
Longannet Colliery;
Lawrence Lambert of the Scottish Mining Museum;
Gordon and Dorothy Grant of Glen Lyon;
Scottish MPs Gordon Brown, Martin O'Neill, and the
late John Smith;
Ann Duncombe;
Colin Tett;
Barbara Follett, Emanuele Follett, Katya Follett and
Kim Turner;
And, as always, Al Zuckerman.
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