Mark Chadbourn - The Silver Skull Страница 28

A knock at the door was followed by the arrival of the seventh duke of Medina Sidonia, Don Alonso Perez de Guzman el Bueno, a quiet, unassuming man with a greying beard, whose obsession with money had led to repeated claims of poverty despite his great wealth. It was his very retiring nature that had encouraged Philip to place him in charge of the Armada; among the many competing arrogant and cunning personalities in the Spanish nobility, Medina Sidonia had made the least enemies. His appointment-at Malantha's request, he had to admit-had offended no one and had cleared all obstacles among his own people to a successful invasion.

"How goes it?" Philip asked.

"Well. Our preparations are almost complete and we will be ready to sail by the end of April."

"Parma's forces are not as great as we once hoped, but he still has a good seventeen thousand men," Philip said, "comprising eight thousand Germans and Walloons, four thousand of our own men, three thousand Italians, one thousand Burgundians, and even a thousand English exiles, ready to heap disaster upon their own land. Parma has made plans to protect our flanks in Flanders, and he will be ready to lead his men onto English soil as soon as you have done your work."

"I have made arrangements for the blessing of the standard in Lisbon on the twenty-fifth of April, the Feast of Saint Mark the Evangelist," Medina Sidonia said. "Will you come to oversee the launch of this magnificent enterprise?"

Philip felt a sudden pang of panic. He could not leave El Escorial, and the secret pleasures it held, not even for a night. "My viceroy, the cardinal archduke, will represent me on that day."

Medina Sidonia was unhappy with this response, but he bowed and said, "As you wish. My men would have taken some pleasure in seeing you, but they will understand there is much to do at this momentous time."

Philip gave a reassuring smile. "La Invencible is all you need. Once Elizabeth sees the mighty fleet you have amassed, she will surrender without a shot being fired."

Philip was eager to return to his private quarters and barely noticed the unease in Medina Sidonia's face. "There are many across Europe who question the wisdom of the coming battle," the duke began hesitantly. When Philip didn't respond unfavourably, he took strength and continued, "Our Catholic allies in the Vatican, and Venice, and Prague all fear an emboldened Spain. They believe we are too strong already."

"One can never be too strong."

"True, true," Medina Sidonia responded hastily. "However, I have heard word that Henri in France is afraid that he will be the next to be crushed. Once England is ours, we can starve the Dutch rebels into submission and then move on his country. And once Western Europe is ours, he says angrily to anyone who will listen, Spain will sweep away the Protestant rule in the German states, in Switzerland, and across Scandinavia."

"Henri is very wise." Philip smiled, but when he saw Medina Sidonia become more troubled he added, "We are strong, too strong for any of them to attempt to throw obstacles in our way, whatever their fears. Wherever we travel-here or in the New World-we see victory. We have a brilliant military commander in Parma with a great force, filled with fury. And the fleet you have amassed will tear through England's sad band of pirates and adventurers. There is no doubt here."

Medina Sidonia would not be deterred. Now the dam had broken, longheld anxieties were rushing out. "In thirty years, all our fortune and our might have not subdued the Netherlands. How, then, can we hold England? Even if we take London and remove Elizabeth's head from her shoulders in revenge for what she did to Mary, the rest of that damned country is near lawless. We could be fighting in the North, and the Fens, and Wales, and Cornwall forever." He caught himself, afraid he had overstepped the boundary. "And there is the prophecy of Cyprianus Leovitius," he added quietly.

Philip sighed. "A prophecy that is in our favour."

"Based on the numerology hidden in the Revelation of Saint John-"

"It speaks of the year of wonders. The beginning of the final cycle. Upheavals for all. The end of empires. The end of England."

Medina Sidonia was not convinced. "Some say-"

"I say!" Philip shouted. "The end of England! Do not question me!" Steadying himself, he studied the weakness in Medina Sidonia's face before trying to bolster his commander. "God is on our side. He will not allow us to be defeated. There is much you do not know, much that must be kept secret from you if our plans are to succeed. We have a secret ally, and a weapon of great power that will be at your disposal. England will fall, and such destruction will be wreaked on that country and its people that there will be no doubt to whom the prophecy refers."

Curtly, he waved his hand to dismiss Medina Sidonia, and then hurried from the reception room as quickly as his gout-ridden feet would carry him. By the time he reached his quarters he had already forgotten the duke, the Armada, and the invasion.

Malantha waited for him, naked, sprawled on the divan, so brazen in her sexuality that he could barely look at her, yet could not look away. As much as he desired her, he was unsettled by the way she watched him; and sometimes, when she fell into the corner of his vision, he was convinced he saw something white and cold and predatory, not Malantha at all.

"I have good news," she said, without warmth. "I have spoken with my brother Cavillex, and our plans proceed accordingly. Don Alanzo brings the Silver Skull to Spain." A brief narrowing of her eyes was replaced by a seductive smile. "As you acquiesced to his request."

"He deserves that at least for all his sacrifices."

"And after that brief respite," she continued, "the Skull will be readied to travel with the Armada."

"And the Shield?"

"Not yet under our control, but that is a trifling matter. It is unnecessary, in the end. England will still be devastated by disease."

"I worry about so many deaths upon my conscience." Trembling, he collapsed onto the divan and covered his face.

Sliding next to him, Malantha breathed into his ear, "God will forgive that, for the great works you do in His name." Gently, she pressed her breasts against his arm. The heat rose in Philip rapidly. "The High Family will ensure no other country stands in your way."

"You are sure?" He slipped a hand onto her thigh, his remorse already evaporated.

"My brothers have the ears of the greatest in Europe."

"You spin your web well."

"All for you, my love. All for Spain."

Another flash of chalky skin and red-rimmed eyes that held no compassion. He screwed his eyes shut and drove the image out, allowing himself to be pushed back as she climbed astride him. Within seconds he was lost in her lips and her perfume, like honeysuckle, and all his troubles and doubts and fears were washed away.

CHAPTER 29

ilthy from the road and exhausted after nearly two weeks' hard riding, Nathaniel guided his foaming, sweat-flecked horse through the dirty, crowded streets of London. It was not long after noon, the sun unseasonably hot for early April. He had found the city abuzz, as always, but for the first time there was a pervading uncertainty in the faces of the people he passed. In the time he had been away, the fear of the Spanish invasion had magnified, visiting merchants from the European ports spreading dark rumours and gossip as quickly as they distributed their wares.

At the gates of the Palace of Whitehall, Nathaniel could barely believe he had reached his destination. Since he had left Edinburgh as dawn broke all those long days and nights ago, he felt his life had hung by a thread many times. Within hours of his journey beginning, five hooded raiders had swept down from the hills to pursue him along the valley between the high summits that stretched south along Scotland's lowlands, and he was only saved by a small group of the king's men who had been sent to accompany him to the border. The fighting had been ferocious and many of James's men had died; Nathaniel had heard their death-screams echoing among the hillsides, and when he glanced back he had seen flashes of mysterious fire.

Once he had crossed the border into England, the attacks were not so overt, but he had been shadowed by riders near the moors as he passed Carlisle, and again as he made his way through the high peaks that formed the spine of the country. Someone had attempted to break into his room during a terrifying night in an inn, when every time he locked the door it would mysteriously open whenever he was distracted.

A pack of wolves appeared to track him across most of the country, and strangers waited at crossroads, threatening him as he rode by, or urging him to stop for food or drink. On the first occasion, he had brought his mount to a halt, thinking the stranger needed directions. Soon he had found himself listening to a long, involved story that quickly made him drowsy, and only when he realised the stranger was attempting to search his saddlebag did he ride on. Just as unnerving was that within a mile he couldn't recall the stranger's face.

He had always considered himself a man of reason, but as he passed Oxford the sticky weight of superstition had finally begun to lie upon him. However much he attempted to dismiss the chance occurrences, they piled around him to such a degree that he saw supernatural danger in every shadow, and felt the Devil was at his heels. To save his sanity, he knew he would have to question Will when he returned to London, however much he dreaded the answers.

Within the palace walls, activity was beginning to build towards lunch after another lazy morning of discourse, sewing, business with visitors from the shires, or walks among the perfumed gardens. Nathaniel guided his horse directly to the Black Gallery, and on weary, shaking legs sought out Walsingham who had been in conference with a man recently returned from France. Whatever he had heard in that meeting had left him in a dark mood.

Nathaniel quickly outlined the events in Edinburgh, as far as he had been told, and related Will's desperate plea for Grace to be protected.

"I do not know this woman, but I will send men to bring her here now," Walsingham said. "If she requires protection, we can offer her the best in the land." He paused. "If she is still here."

Nathaniel felt a pang of fear. He had ridden as hard as he was able, but could their enemies have beaten him to the palace and still found the opportunity to capture Grace?

"And the reason you travelled to Edinburgh?" Walsingham pressed.

From his pack, Nathaniel withdrew the folded cloth and revealed the amulet. "The enemy fought hard to retrieve this, and pursued me all the way from Scotland. It must be vital to their plans."

Walsingham's eyes gleamed, but he would not touch the amulet. He called loudly for Dee, who hurried in a few moments later as Walsingham paced the room.

"You must tell no one that the doctor is here in England," Walsingham cautioned Nathaniel. He left Nathaniel in no doubt that the punishment for disobedience would be severe. But then he and Dee huddled over the amulet with barely restrained triumph.

"Is this the object we sought?" Walsingham asked.

"See here? The filigree? This symbol here? It is the language of angels," Dee said. "This is a true object of power."

"Then you will study it? Unlock its secrets?"

Dee nodded excitedly. "The Enemy will be eager to reclaim this. It must be kept in a place of formidable protection. The Tower?"

"No. Its defences have already been breached," Walsingham said. "We keep it close. Here, at the palace." He fixed an eye on Dee. "The Lantern Tower."

Dee agreed this was the best option and hurried out with the amulet, but Nathaniel was left puzzled. He had heard much talk of the Lantern Tower, a unique, solitary tower constructed by Elizabeth at the heart of the palace complex, yet no one appeared to know its use, and few were ever seen entering it.

Eager to return to his business, Walsingham dismissed Nathaniel to the suite of rooms on the third floor of the western wing overlooking the tiltyard built by Henry for his jousting competitions.

As he stood at the window looking out over the smoky city, Nathaniel felt the tension of his long ride dissipate and a grey mood creep in its place. Though the view was drenched in sunlight, he could see only shadows. The world had changed, or he had, and where there had been joy there was now only incipient threat, and a sense of everything he knew careering off-kilter. Fear rumbled on the edge of his consciousness for no obvious reason.

The door closed quietly, and he started, but when he turned it was only Grace. With relief, he rushed to her and held her in his arms.

"Why, Nat," she said, surprised. "What is wrong?" She placed her hands on his cheeks to study his face, and became concerned by what she saw there. "What troubles you? Is it Will?"

"No, he is well. He recovers from a few injuries, but no worse than he has endured before."

She was relieved by his news, but her concern for him did not diminish. "There is a shadow over you. It is not good to keep such things locked away. Talk to me."

Shaking his head, he forced a smile. "Another time. For now, I am happy to see you well."

"And why would I not be?" She stepped away from him, before casting a suspicious glance back at him. "What business occupies Will?" she asked, as if making polite conversation.

"You must ask him that yourself, when he is back in London." He maintained a bright tone, not wanting her to realise she was in danger. But then the door opened and John Carpenter marched in. He nodded to Nat and waited.

"What is this?" Grace asked suspiciously.

"This is John Carpenter, an associate of Will's. You saw him in Alsatia?"

"Yes, I remember. Why is he here?"

"Lord Walsingham has sent him. He is to keep you from harm."

"Harm? I live and work in the Palace of Whitehall. Harm cannot reach me here. And who would ever seek to harm me?"

Nathaniel's laugh eased her concerns. "Why, no one, Grace! But Will-"

"Will! He would keep me locked away in a tower if he could," she said with bitterness.

"Indulge him," Nathaniel said quietly. "You would not wish him consumed with worry."

Knowing she had little choice, she glanced back at Carpenter and said acidly, "I never tire of witty conversation with one of Lord Walsingham's men."

"Do not tease him," Nathaniel whispered. "His humour is not good."

Quietly seething, Grace shook her head wearily and marched towards the door.

Once she had gone, Nathaniel felt relieved that she was in safe hands, but in the silence of the room, his uneasy mood descended once more. He returned to the window to study the booming city, the source of one of the greatest powers in the world, yet in the face of what he now feared existed beyond the walls, he wondered how secure it truly was.

CHAPTER 30