“But…” Really, at that point I was so lost I didn’t know what to say. “Please just give me the short version, senhor.”
He chuckled. “Let me try. Come, Ms. McCabe, I will show you something.”
I followed him over to a bookstand where he tapped his finger on a large dictionary-size book that lay open to photographic plates of King Philip of Spain opposite his firstborn son, Don Carlos. “The Divine Right of Kings is a concept as old as time itself. Emperor Charles believed in it, as did his son, King Philip, seen here, and all the rulers going back far through recorded time, including the ancient Egyptians. Believing that the king was a manifestation of God on earth is not new.”
“Pardon me for interrupting but the short version, please,” I urged. “I understand all that. Who are the Divinios and what do they have to do with the stolen skull that may have once worn a crown?”
“Very well, then, the story in a nutshell: the Divinios believe that a king will lead the world back to a holier earth free of dissidents and dangerous individualism unified under one God and one religion. They believe that such a king will herald the Second Coming, Christ’s corporal chief-in-arms to His spiritual being, as it were, and that all sacrifices made in his name are justified.”
A chill ran down my spine. “Are you saying that these Divinios hope to start another ‘holy war’?” I put the term in air quotes.
“They believe they already have. The proof to them is in all the catastrophes occurring on earth at this very moment, some of which they believe themselves directly responsible for, though I suspect they are taking credit for much of what has occurred naturally.”
“But that’s crazy!”
“Is it? Does what we consider to be reality make more sense?” My host was studying me; grooves of fatigue dug deeply around his face, yet the eyes remained vividly alive.
“Okay,” I whispered. “I get your point: one person’s crazy is another person’s ideology.”
“Precisely so. Bred deep into the psyche by centuries of ritual, patterns of belief become accepted truth and are potent enough to drive seemingly sane individuals to do what might be otherwise considered bizarre. Religion is the proof. Catholicism, my religion, believes that a saint’s bones hold powerful magic while another religion believes it sacrilege to kill a cow. Religion and ritual have nothing to do with rational thought.”
“And these Divinios believe in what rituals exactly?”
“We don’t know the details. They certainly consider themselves Catholic Christians. We know that the brotherhood began during the rule of Emperor Charles and continued forming during the reign of his son, Philip. The Spanish Inquisition played a part. Whether Philip knew of the cult’s existence is not known but I hardly think he could remain unaware. Unfortunately, he was never at court for very long at one time. Furthermore, it seems that the cult has been holding secret ceremonies in Sintra and in other locations in Spain ever since. We also know that a crown was created for the sole purpose of anointing their chosen king, a secret crown.”
“The stolen crown?”
“Yes, the stolen crown, reportedly an object of great beauty containing ancient talismanic stones and probably commissioned by King Philip’s adviser, Antonio Pérez.”
“And this Pérez was the original Divinio?”
“He worked to build power within Philip’s court and by all accounts was most successful, so yes, I would say so. Closely tied to power and monarchy in Spain at the time was religion itself. Much as in Britain today where Queen Elizabeth is also head of the Church of England, in Spain the kings were also deeply connected to church politics.”
“And Pérez was involved in crowning Don Carlos?”
“That is our belief. He had access, being King Philip’s close friend and right-hand man, and would have been involved on the perimeters of the Inquisition. Much evidence exists that indicates that he both did King Philip’s bidding and worked against him for his own ends.”
“So he arranged to crown poor Prince Carlos.”
“While presumably acting on the king’s request to put an end to the unfortunate prince’s life. By then Prince Carlos was locked away at Arévalo Castle, attempting to throw himself out of windows and otherwise end his own miserable life. There was ample evidence that he had attempted to commit treason against his father, though in all probability that was at Pérez’s instigation. Whatever the case, he died under mysterious circumstances in 1568.”
“But what good is a crown for the Divinios if the king wearing it is dead?” I was only taking a stab in the dark.
“A living king is not necessary. They only need his skull and the crown to make their king live again, symbolically speaking. It all harkens back to the intense belief in the relics of faith.”
Suddenly I felt ill. “So the crowned skull becomes the symbol—the saint’s bones, as it were—for the rituals this brotherhood performs. If they have the complete set, so to speak, they believe they have everything they need.”
“Now you are grasping the seriousness of the situation. Yes, the Divinios believe they need both skull and crown. They have been seeking those two components for centuries. Once those elements are again united, presumably they will feel empowered to enact their final deed.”
“Which is?”
“We don’t know what is planned, but since they apparently claim responsibility for everything from Chernobyl to Covid, we must assume it will be something catastrophic.”
“Catastrophic how?”
“We can only guess. To their way of thinking the world needs what my son, Ricardo, used to call a ‘major reset.’ It was he who convinced me of the gravity of this situation. Before then, it was too easy for me to believe that the brotherhood was merely an archaic and tiresome cult. His research proved otherwise.” He paused for a moment. “And they killed him for it.”
I swallowed hard. “I’m so very sorry. How exactly?”
“They threw him down an ancient subterranean well on this property. His body was never recovered. His lamp was located nearby along with footprints we have been unable to identify. We tried for weeks to retrieve his body but the earth is too unstable, quarantine was in full affect, and I could not risk more lives.”
I swallowed. “Are you sure that this wasn’t a tragic accident?”
“Positive. It was no accident, it was murder.” His eyes misted but he soldiered on. “My son was a professional archaeologist and amateur historian, all studies he undertook in his drive to…learn more about Portugal and Sintra’s history. Excuse me, but I must sit.” He lowered himself heavily into a nearby chair.
“Senhor, if you need to rest—”
“There is no time to rest. As I was saying, it was Ricardo who uncovered an ancient site he believed still in use for ritualistic purposes on this very property—an inverted tower or a well. The two terms are used interchangeably. There are other sites, too, many as yet uncovered. Sintra is riddled with them. Some are Templar remains, others older still. It seems the Divinios will borrow anything they believe hold ancient power.”
By now I had my fist pressed to my mouth and my eyes were moist—from fear or sorrow, I didn’t know which.
“Ricardo would take too many chances—roaming the land around here until well into the evening, excavating, always excavating. And I would beg him to stop but he was like a dog with a bone, my boy. He had a friend, Jose Balboa, who would help, plus he trained many men on the estate.”
“Markus’s colleague, the one that was killed the night the skull as stolen?”
“Yes. When the Divinios killed Ricardo, Jose vowed to help bring these beasts to justice, at his peril obviously. That was a little over a year ago and Jose worked with me to trace the existence of the skull and the crown ever since…until they murdered him, too, that is.”
“But they used him to track the skull, which he did. That’s why he told you about the X-rays. He was working to find the skull and crown all along?”
“Correct, bu
t we had no idea that Prince Carlos was in any way connected to the Divinios before that find, and Jose was following a hunch. Once he told me what those X-rays revealed, I knew we had found our king.”
“And after he’d served his purpose, they killed him for it.”
“As they will kill us all once we serve ours. We know too much but the crown has yet to be retrieved. I’d wanted only to warn Senhor Collins away from further investigation when I asked him to meet me today, but instead he has dragged you all into the fray.”
“For the record, I don’t feel dragged anywhere. We must stop these crazies but are you safe here?”
“They need us for cover. As long as the Carvalhos remain here, a mantle of normalcy shields their actions. You must leave. I would have had you escape Lisbon today but had no way of doing so and was forced to use my own escape hatch already arranged.”
“I’m not leaving, I said. We’re going to find that crown and stop the madness.”
“At first that is what I wanted, too. Now I desire only to protect my family. Ms. McCabe, you are all in grave danger. I will attempt to help you and your friends escape the country as soon as possible.”
“No. This madness affects us all worldwide, which makes it my battle, too. I don’t want to escape, I want to win,” I said, pulling myself straight. “As soon as my team arrives, we’ll formulate a plan.”
It is always a question whether one is brave or simply mad. In my case, it was probably more the latter.
“You might want to ask them first,” he said wearily. “My resources are at your disposal, whatever you decide, but first understand what you are getting into.”
“I am beginning to.”
“I strongly advise you to leave now while you still have the opportunity, but if you refuse, let me say that I am both heartened and dismayed. I want no more deaths on my hands. The Divinios will soon regroup and strike again. I have long suspected that many are among my staff.”
“Do you know who exactly?”
“Unfortunately, no. I wait and watch. For now we are safe because they need us, but finding the skull has emboldened them. I have security guards patrolling the grounds day and night and we use state-of-the-art electronic security, all of which is no help if the enemy lies within.”
I shook my head as if that might dislodge what I couldn’t immediately absorb. Taking a deep breath, I stared down at the portrait of Prince Carlos. “But tell me, why this poor physically and mentally challenged young man?”
“According to Ricardo’s research, the brotherhood had recruited Prince Carlos under Pérez when he was in his early twenties and secretly groomed him for the role he was to play.”
“Under his father’s nose?”
“Philip II was never around. When you rule multiple lands on multiple continents while waging war on one nation after another, you are always in the saddle or aboard a ship.”
“Okay, so Carlos was more or less alone with his entourage.”
“Yes, there were those who attempted to shield him—Queen Elizabeth of Valois and her mostly female entourage, but the power circle were mostly men, many of whom worked with his father in the name of the Inquisition. Pérez and his men were a powerful group…continually strategizing for more…in a court run by a deep current of religious fanaticism. They were the…core of the Divinios’ brotherhood and they included a band of renegade monks. Excuse me, it is time for my puffer.” He pulled out an air chamber and inhalant from his pocket and took two deep puffs.
“Maybe you should rest, senhor?”
“Now, don’t you start. One women admonishing me constantly is quite enough. As I was saying, Philip II and his father, Charles, before him believed that Catholicism was the one true religion and that all others were heretical.”
“Yes, and bloodshed, martyrdom, the Inquisition, the Spanish Armada, and general persecution followed—all in the name of Jesus. Where’s the irony in that? But why would this Pérez take a mentally ill young royal and crown him as this particular holy warrior?”
“Because,” Senhor Carvalho said, sighing heavily, “his mental instability made him ripe for the picking, as you say in English.”
“They used him, in other words.”
“Just so. All they needed was a man of royal blood who would submit to their rituals and embrace the fervent belief that he would be made God on earth. Neither Charles nor his son, Philip, took that bait for they already considered themselves agents of God. Prince Carlos, on the other hand, was always being sidestepped by his father, who recognized the boy’s instability at an early age. Pérez had only to wait in the wings playing the treason game.”
“So it really was all about power.”
“It is always all about power, Phoebe. The brotherhood formed by Pérez wanted it all. Though they believed in the Divine Right of Kings, in their view neither Charles nor Philip carried persecution far enough. For example, they wanted women even more subjugated than they historically were and would never have tolerated a queen like Isabella being made regent in her husband’s absence. Philip’s queen, Elizabeth of Valois, on the other hand, knew her place.”
My gaze swerved to the Titian portrait. “How the beginnings of this brotherhood must have rankled during the years of Isabella’s regencies.”
“How they must have, that fury continuing as the group further strengthened during Philip’s reign. All they needed was an agent at court like Pérez to spur it on and then Don Carlos develops into a very disturbed young man. They sought a male of royal blood to be their chosen king and there he was.”
“But then Carlos died or they killed him. How could a dead prince serve them?”
“Because, Phoebe, it does not matter whether the king is alive or dead as long as he has been anointed during his lifetime. Prince Carlos was crowned while he was still alive and it is only his skull and crown that matters now.”
I thought of the X-rayed skull with the rivets in the cranium and sat beside him in a nearby chair, my stomach churning. “The brutal bastards. And now they have located the skull.”
“Yes, but presumably not the crown. That went missing centuries before and we must locate it before the brotherhood.”
A phone jingled from my host’s pocket. He pulled it out and peered at the screen. “Your friends have arrived.
9
Seeing Peaches, Rupert, and Evan trudging up the tower stairs at that moment rated right up there as the best thing that had happened to me all year. Senhors Abreu and Afonso and another employee I didn’t recognize arrived behind them carrying some of our luggage. I waited until Peaches reached the landing before I lunged at her in a hug.
“Whoa, Phoebe! Glad to see you, too, girl! What’s with the dress?”
The fact that hugging Peaches always placed my face more or less at her chest was another matter. I pulled away. “It’s borrowed. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, sure, I’m okay, though I just had the most interesting transportation experience in ages—beats the jeep-with-snorkel-and-crate-of-chickens thing I had going in Jamaica.”
The three employees arrived on the landing with Markus, Rupert, and Evan. Markus greeted me at the top of the stairs with a weary wave. “Nice dress,” he commented as he followed the men down the hall.
Rupert arrived at the top of the stairs, puffing, and demanded: “Do I receive a hug also? I daresay I’m overdue.”
I waited until he reached the hallway before I heartily embraced him. “There, there, Phoebe,” he said, patting me on the back. “Not so tightly, if you don’t mind. I have no breath left after that interesting train ride we just took…in a cargo carriage keeping company with canned goods and crates, if you don’t mind. Nevertheless, I am very happy to see you, too.”
I stepped away, practically ramming into Evan. He set down the bags he had been lugging and readied himself for his hug. Never did a man with a mask dangling from one ear and day-old stubble look so attractive. “Where’s mine?” he asked.
“I’m guessi
ng your room is that way. Follow those guys.” I indicated the three employees leading Rupert down the hall.
“I wasn’t referring to the room, Phoebe.”
“No? But you’d better hurry before Rupert claims the only other turret.”
Senhor Afonso called: “This way.”
Evan cocked an eyebrow at me, quirked a smile, picked up the luggage, and followed after.
Peaches leaned down and hissed: “Coward.”
But I had already launched into tour guide mode and beckoned her into the room next to mine. “Look, luxury accommodations after your harrowing day.” And it was amazingly luxurious with a fire in the grate and supper awaiting on a table by the window.
She dropped her bags onto the bed and checked under the chafing dishes. “Ah, soup and a sandwich, wine and bread. You have no idea how starved I am.”
Dashing into the adjoining bathroom, she washed her face and hands and emerged to nab the sandwich. “Okay, start talking while I eat. Tell me everything that happened from the time you left for the museum until now and don’t leave out a thing. Security locked me up, by the way. I totally forgot about not taking a gun into a museum but they gave it back. No hard feelings. Is Covid not a thing around here? Nobody is wearing masks.”
“Did you have your temperature taken?”
“Yeah, sure."
“Well, I guess we’ve all been cleared, then. All I can say is that it’s alarming how easily I’ve slipped back into my pre-Covid ease. Anyway, let me fill you in.” I perched on one of the chairs and recounted the day sequentially, right down to Senhor Carvalho’s startling admission about the Divinios.
She paused halfway through spooning up the last of the rice pudding. “You mean we’re dealing with some kind of nutsy religious sect?”
The Crown that Lost its Head: A Historical Mystery Thriller (An Agency of the Ancient Lost & Found Mystery Thriller Book 2) Page 10