Sir Basil found it hard to meet his own eyes in his reflection in the mirror as he cleaned the ink his fingertips with a dampened cloth. Even the sad-faced Madonna staring down at him from the painting hanging above his bed seemed to be accusing him of some heinous crime. Rather than remain in his room any longer, which was his custom as well as that of the other occupants of the casa at this time of the day, he decided to seek a diversion from his guilty thoughts. Giving a last cursory glance at his appearance, he left the room, pausing for a moment to admire the brilliance of the exotic flowers in the courtyard. As he stood there staring down, he became aware of a child's voice raised in conversation. He searched the courtyard and was rewarded by a movement near a tall potted palm. Lily Christian was sitting cross-legged in front of a large wooden cage filled with brightly colored birds. The larger parrots and macaws with their scarlet, yellow, and azure plumage and strident cries caught and held the child's attention. Sir Basil smiled, wishing for a moment that he could join Lily in her childish amusements. It was then that he heard the commotion below, little realizing that his life was about to change drastically because of it.
Don Pedro Enrique de Villasandro, captain of the Estrella D'Alba, which had just docked, and former captain of the Maria Concepción, which was now on the bottom of the sea courtesy of Geoffrey Christian, looked around the entrance hall of Casa del Montevares with annoyance.
"¿Qué es esto?" he demanded in growing anger as he continued to stare at the empty entrance hall. "¿Como está? ¿Como està?" he called out but received no response. "¡Madre de Dios!" he muttered, not having missed the amused glances that passed between the two gentlemen standing just behind him.
"Pedro, por favor!" Catalina pleaded, not wishing for their arrival to be marred by an unpleasant meeting between her husband and her father, both of whom could be so unreasonable at times.
"You would think we were English raiders come to dine the way those servants ran and hid when they saw us," Don Pedro exclaimed, aware that his scornful words carried to the two gentlemen behind him, but unaware of how close to the mark his words really were.
"No me siento bien, Madre," the little boy holding on to Catalina's hand whined. "Me siento mareado."
"¡Dios mio! If you get sick on my gown again, Francisco . . ." his harassed mother complained, thinking that was all she needed with Pedro fuming, one daughter sulking while the other two traded pinches, her mother ill, her father disappeared, and, now, Magdalena coming down the stairs-
"Aaaah!" Catalina cried out, scaring poor Francisco into a fit of hiccups, her daughters into high-pitched squeals, and causing Don Pedro to spin around, his sword drawn and at the ready only to have its tip caught and pulled out of his grasp in the stiff folds of Catalina's gown as she hurried past him.
"¿Qué?" she said, spinning around just as Don Pedro made a futile reach to recapture his elusive sword. The laughter of the two gentlemen, not to mention the strangely muffled sounds coming from the deeply cowled priest standing just behind them, did not help to lessen Don Pedro's growing frustrations.
"¡Sangre de Dios!" he swore, then glanced apologetically at the priest. "Will you stand still, Catalina?" he pleaded as he pulled his dangling sword free of the silken folds just before his wife and his recently freed sword were encompassed in yet another entangling swirl of silk.
Don Pedro finally realized who was embracing his wife, and glancing over his shoulder at the laughing gentlemen, he spat, "You fools! That is my wife's sister. Geoffrey Christian's wife! Unless you want her to recognize you, and then, God forbid, have him come swaggering down the stairs next, then go into the courtyard before you are seen. Quickly!" he urged the two now serious-faced gentlemen, who quickly followed his bidding. The priest, whose dark robes whispered of his silent passing, was not far behind.
"Magdalena! Mi hermana," Catalina cried, hugging her long-lost sister to her.
"Catalina! Oh, it has been so long!" Magdalena said tearfully.
Catalina, half-crying, half-laughing, held her younger sister at arm's length for a moment while she looked her up and down. "More beautiful than ever! Always, you were the pretty one," she said, but not jealously. "A good thing Pedro saw me first and that you were so much younger, or..." She let her words trail away as she hugged her sister close again. "Pedro!" she cried out, suddenly seeming to remember her husband standing at her side.
"It is Magdalena, Pedro! It is unbelievable, si?" she demanded, far more delighted about the strange turn of events than her husband seemed to be.
"Indeed. I am surprised to see you in Don Rodrigo's home, Doña Magdalena, remembering as I do his bitterness at her betrayal," Don Pedro greeted his sister-in-law. "I find it difficult to believe that he has forgiven you. Or has that fine Englishman you wed left you for another woman, or, perhaps, even left you a widow?" he asked, hopeful of such a circumstance.
Magdalena raised her chin proudly. "Mi padre wrote to me and asked me to come home. He, Don Pedro, made the first gesture at reconciliation. Mi madre is very ill. I came to be at her side. I am also still very happily married to Geoffrey Christian, who is still very much alive," Magdalena said, taking great pleasure in saying the name she knew would cause her brother-in-law such irritation.
"A pity," Don Pedro murmured. "I did not see his ship anchored in the harbor. He did not accompany you to Santo Domingo?" he inquired. "Perhaps he has grown tired of going to sea and no longer captains a ship? Has he become one of those fat and lazy inglés surrounded by yapping hounds, and who cannot bear to leave his hearth and home? Lost his courage, eh? It has been known to happen," Don Pedro added sadly, hoping to bait Magdalena into telling him the exact whereabouts of the captain of the Arion.
"Should you wish to see how fat my husband has become, then please, you may see for yourself, for a pair of his breeches lies on my bed upstairs. I was darning a small rip when I heard your voices," Magdalena informed a rather startled Don Pedro, for even he had not expected that Geoffrey Christian was actually staying at Casa del Mantevares. "Yes, mi padre has graciously accepted my husband as a guest in his home."
"Your husband sailed here with you? He is in Santo Domingo now?" Don Pedro demanded, his expression of concern causing Magdalena to smile.
"No, he has sailed, but we expect his return any day. Contrary to what you may believe, Don Pedro, the Arion sailed into Santo Domingo without a shot being fired. And nothing, thus far, has been looted. Unless, of course, you count the fluttering hearts lost to many a crew member aboard the Arion. It has happened before, if you remember the last time you met my husband," Magdalena reminded him, though she needn't have, for that was memory that ate at Don Pedro every day of his life. The last time he had crossed bows with Geoffrey Christian had cost him his ship. That he would never forget.
"Magdalena, por favor!" Catalina requested nervously, for she herself would never have dared to speak to Pedro in so challenging a manner. Whatever had become of her sweet little sister? "You haven't met Francisco. Here, Francisco, come and kiss your tia Magdalena hello," she said, pulling her son between Magdalena and the glowering Pedro. "And I must know about Madre. She hasn't..."
"No."
"Ah, that is good then, for we could not sail until several unexpected passengers came aboard and delayed our departure from Seville. Had anything happened to Madre before I could arrive, and all because of those men," she confided, glancing around to give them a scathing look, but they had disappeared. "Where did they go?"
"Who?" Magdalena asked, glancing around curiously and setting Don Pedro's mind at ease, for it was apparent that she had not seen anyone but Catalina when she had come rushing down the stairs to greet them.
"Well, I could never forgive Pedro for insisting we wait for their arrival. For me, I have had enough of the sea. I intend to stay here with Francisco and the girls when Pedro sails with them for-"
"Silencio, Catalina," Don Pedro silenced his wife's prattle mid-sentence. "You do not know what you are saying," he warned her
. "Magdalena is not interested in hearing about where next the Estreall D'Alba sails and what business my passengers are about. Merchants," he said, shrugging, as if he need say no more.
"We sail to France and Padre says that I will sail with them, and one day I will be a great captain like he is," Francisco told them proudly. "Only I don't think I want to be a captain. I get sick."
Don Pedro looked as if he were about to burst a blood vessel as he glared down at his son, but already Magdalena and Catalina were talking about everything under the sun, and his three excitable daughters were giggling and twirling around as they presented themselves to their aunt, each vying for her attention.
"¡Dios!" Don Rodrigo cried out as he came hurrying down the stairs and was engulfed by the new arrivals. In the confusion, Don Pedro took the opportunity of slipping away, one thought in his mind: getting his passengers safely back aboard ship before Magdalena recognized them as Englishmen.
But Don Pedro was to receive another shock. When he entered the courtyard, he found his passengers being confronted by a small, red-headed child of not more than five or six years of age. Were the surprises of this day never to end? The impertinent creature, he thought as he overheard her conversation and realized that his worst fears were confirmed-this could only be Geoffrey Christian's daughter.
"I've never seen anyone with one blue and one brown eye. Do you see different things out of each eye?" Lily asked the young gentleman standing so uncomfortably before her. "There's a man in our village, near Highcross, that is where I live in England, who has pink-colored eyes and white hair. He doesn't have very many friends, but Fathers says we should be kind to him. Did you know that they sometimes hang people or burn them at the stake for having one blue and one brown eye? They say they are witches," Lily told the gentleman, who found himself blinking uncontrollably. "Father says the officials are frightened fools. Are you a priest?" Lily demanded of the robed figure, turning her attention away from the other two gentlemen, much to their relief.
"We do not have many in England anymore. There used to be an abbey near Highcross, but it got burned to the ground and the priests fled to France. Hello!" Lily said as Don Pedro approached, his expression horrified. "I'm Lily Christian. Who are you? Are you sick?"
Don Pedro glanced at the two Englishmen, but the one who had caught Lily's attention was still staring in fascination at the child, and the other, his hat pulled low across his forehead, stood in the shadows. As Don Pedro drew closer, the priest beckoned him to his side and they began to talk in low tones, the Spanish words incomprehensible to the Englishmen.
Lily continued to stand nearby, staring at the strangers in growing curiosity.
"¡Vàyase! ¡Vàyase!" Don Pedro told her, those green eyes making him uneasy even if she couldn't understand what was being said. “¡Vàyase!" he repeated again, never thinking twice about the fact that she immediately walked away, a hurt expression in those green eyes, for she had indeed understood his Spanish
"Don Pedro." One of the nervous Englishmen now drew his attention, but spoke to the priest, who interpreted for him. "As you so timely brought to our attention, that woman was Geoffrey Christian's wife. She would remember my friend and, perhaps, me. What do we do now? What did she say? Do you not think it would be wise if we left before we have yet another encounter, and this time with Geoffrey Christian himself? Our cause may be lost, but at least we are still alive. And I have no desire to cross swords with Geoffrey Christian."
"You needn't worry about that. He is not in Santo Domingo. But you are mistaken. Our cause is not lost. Doña Magdalena did not notice you, but I do not intend to give her another chance to see you. Come, we will leave through the back passage."
"I don't suppose you would find us lodgings in town. I dread the thought of going back on board," the Englishman with the one blue and one brown eye said. "I've come to abhor the smell of the sea. I dare say I'll not eat fish again."
Don Pedro eyed the elegantly dressed Englishman with a look of distaste. Had the man not been on board the Estrella D'Alba at His Majesty’s order, Don Pedro would have sent the man overboard long ago. "Come. You will at least be safe there. And getting you back to England without incident, señor, is far more important to me than your immediate comfort. I am surprised I need remind you of the importance of your task," Don Pedro told him.
"What of the child? She saw us."
"What of her? Did you speak to her?"
"No, but she spoke to us in English. She must have known we were not Spaniards."
"That was Geoffrey Christian's brat. Of course she would speak to you in English. Besides, you look English," Don Pedro added, for one of the Englishmen had silvery blond hair and very pale skin.
"She may say something about seeing us," the other Englishman said, speaking for the first time.
"And if she does?" Don Pedro said with a shrug of dismissal. "She saw two gentlemen and a priest. Guests of Don Rodrigo, nothing more. Does she know you are Englishmen? Do not concern yourself with her. She is but a child and can do no harm to you or to the ultimate success of our mission. Now, come before all is lost. We have delayed long enough."
The Englishman who had held Lily's rapt attention glanced around uneasily. "I wish I had your peace of mind, but as you may have noticed, I am a man not easily forgotten. I hope to God the brat doesn't speak of me"
Don Pedro tried not to catch the man's eyes, for they were indeed unnatural. He resisted the impulse to cross himself as he walked past the man. "I will hear of it if she should, and I will take the necessary steps to ensure your anonymity."
As they disappeared through the narrow passageway leading toward the back entrance to Casa del Montevares, Sir Basil Whitelaw moved for the first time since the two gentlemen and the priest had rushed into the courtyard.
He shook his head in disbelief, for he had recognized one of the gentlemen. Unfortunately, the other man had kept his face averted, and the brim of his hat had hidden his features. He had also seemed of a more cautious nature than the other gentleman, preferring to stand in the shadows. But his style of dress marked him as an Englishman. The man who had entered last, a Spaniard, Sir Basil hadn't known, but there was no doubting the profession of the robed figure, the heavy cross dangling from his neck and glinting in the sun.
Sir Basil frowned, wondering why two Englishmen, a priest, and a Spaniard were meeting in Santo Domingo. Francis Walsingham would have been proud of him, for he was actually beginning to think like a spy.
For courage mounteth with occasion.
SHAKESPEARE
Chapter Four
THE FISHERMAN, gold weighing heavily in his pocket, rowed as close to the Estrella D'Alba as he could without drawing the guards' attention. It was an overcast night, with no stars or moon to reveal the shallow-hulled craft's progress as it closed the distance between the shore and the looming bulk of the deep-drafted galleon riding at anchor in the bay. The fisherman smiled to himself. These fancy hidalgos were a greedy lot. But, he reminded himself, their greed had made him a wealthy man. He had often rowed one or two of them out to a galleon under cover of darkness so they could retrieve the contraband that had been so costly to smuggle in under the customs officials' long noses.
And this fine gentleman had been no different--except perhaps more nervous. Half hiding his face behind a scented lace handkerchief held to his high-bridged nose, his speech muffled yet elegantly spoken, he had certainly played the grandee until the first wave had lifted the boat's prow high into the sea spray. And without all of the finery, the simple fisherman imagined, he looked the same as any other man, and maybe not even as fine, for the gent was as rawboned and spindle-shanked as he'd ever seen.
Stripped down to his linen undergarments, Sir Basil slipped over the side of the boat and let the gentle swells carry him toward the galleon's curving hull. A block and tackle still hung from the stern where cargo had been loaded through an after port earlier in the day. A rope dangled from the pulley block, the frayed e
nd conveniently close to the water and in reach of Sir Basil's outstretched hand. He pulled himself out of the water and began to shinny up the rope, his destination the carved balustrade, part of the gilded ornamentation gracing the stern that guarded the small balcony outside the captain's cabin.
Climbing over the railing, he edged closer into the concealing blackness of the shadows beside the lattice windows, where a golden glow spread from the lantern-lit interior of the great cabin. His heart pounding more from anticipation than physical effort, Sir Basil risked a glance inside.
Three gentlemen and a priest were sitting around a table cluttered with silver plate and the remnants of what appeared to have been a sumptuous feast. Through a small, diamond-shaped pane of glass, he watched Don Pedro, whom he had been formally introduced to the night before at Casa del Montevares, raise a silver goblet in response to whatever toast had been made by one of his guests.
Sir Basil's gaze narrowed thoughtfully, for he had not been mistaken in his earlier recognition of a certain gentleman he had seen in the courtyard. Now, as the Englishman sat back down, Sir Basil saw for the first time the face of the other man. His identity was now fully revealed to Sir Basil's disbelieving gaze; it was a face he knew well. Not more than a year past, when he had dined with the court at Whitehall in celebration of the queen's accession to the throne, he and that very same gentleman, now dining on board a Spanish galleon, had toasted the good health of Elizabeth Tudor.
Turning his head, so his ear nearly touched the pane, Sir Basil listened intently.
" 'Twould be so easy to kill her. I have stood as close to her as I am now to you. Her palaces are not well guarded, and daily she takes the air, walking through St. James's Park and the streets of the City like some strutting courtesan. So very easy," the Englishman said, his pale blue eye glowing brighter, while the dark brown eye seemed to darken into blackness. "Should Elizabeth die, our true and rightful queen, Mary Stuart, would wear the crown that was stolen from her by that whore's daughter. A pity the king did not send her to the block when he sent the adulteress."
Wild Bells to the Wild Sky Page 5