Vendetta in Spain ddr-2

by Dennis Wheatley

  The young Prince nodded. 'I understand; just as you wish. You are right, of course, to take up soldiering again. It's in your blood, and with the wars and revolutions that are always going on out there you will have no difficulty in obtaining a senior rank in the army of one of the Republics.'

  But Fate had other plans for de Quesnoy. When the post arrived there was a letter for him from de Cordoba. A passage in it ran:

  Frangois wrote to me from Seville that although you were well, and as cheerful as could be expected in the circumstances, he felt sure that our plan to distract your mind by a tour of Southern Spain was doomed to failure, and that you would not fully recover until you had something definite to occupy it.

  Yesterday I spoke of the matter to Don Alfonso. He is greatly concerned for you and he has in mind a mission which he believes may appeal to you. In consequence, S. M. el Rey has commanded me to request you to wait upon him with as little delay as possible at his Palace at Aranjuez, where he is now residing.

  3

  A Dangerous Mission

  De quesnoy had refused to interest himself in the oily mysteries of the Hispano Suiza's engine, but had soon mastered the art of driving the machine. His long-acquired feel for the mouths of horses stood him in good stead when taking the wheel, and every day for the past three weeks he had spent an hour or more at it; so, now that he could take turns with de Vendome in driving, they hoped to do the journey back to Aranjuez in four days.

  In that, luck was against them. Between Linares and Valdepenas they had their first breakdown. Fortunately it occurred within a few miles of the latter place and they were able to hire a team of mules that towed the car into it in something under two hours. But as yet this old market town had no garage and it was only after a prolonged struggle with a telephone system still in its teething stage that the Prince succeeded in getting through to Madrid and arranging for a spare part to be sent off by passenger train that evening. In consequence it was not until July the 3rd that they arrived in Aranjuez.

  For the best part of two hundred years the Spanish Royal Family had made a practice of spending some of the hottest months there instead of remaining to swelter in Madrid, and the Infanta Maria Alfonsine had been given a life tenancy of the villa in the Royal Domain, in which they had slept on their outward journey. She and her husband, the Conde Ruiz, were now installed there, and at this time of the year it was also home to de Vendome; so they drove straight to it.

  The villa was, in fact, a miniature palace, playing the rdle that Le Petit Trianon played to Versailles. In the past, Spanish Kings had often kept their mistresses there, but under the Regency of Queen Maria Cristina it had been given a new respectability. It faced on to a pretty little courtyard, was surrounded by woods and contained much beautiful furniture, including a remarkable collection of clocks.

  Soon after their arrival a message was sent to the Palace asking when it would be convenient for de Quesnoy to wait upon the King. A reply in Don Alfonso's own hand was delivered that evening. In it he said he thought it preferable that the Count should not come to the Palace; so he would ride over to the villa the following morning.

  At eleven o'clock, a fine boyish figure unattended except for a groom, he clattered into the courtyard. Having kissed his aunt and given vigorous handshakes to Conde Ruiz, the Prince and the Count, who had assembled to receive him, with a light, quick step he led the way up to the drawing-room. Refreshments had been set out there and while they drank a glass of champagne he asked de Vendome and de Quesnoy about their journey; then, after ten minutes, he said to the Infanta:

  'Aunt, I have a private matter to discuss with M. le Comte de Quesnoy. You will, I am sure, allow us to make use of your drawing-room.'

  E>e Quesnoy had already met the King a score of times - in England with the Londonderrys and at Eaton Hall, where he had stayed as a guest of the Duke and Duchess of Westminster while courting Queen Ena; in Madrid, when installed as a Knight of the Golden Fleece, at numerous functions there and he had played polo with him - but when the King stood up to acknowledge his aunt's curtsey, as the others smilingly withdrew, the Count could not help being again impressed that one so young should already have acquired such a regal presence.

  He was only twenty and looked still younger, but he held himself splendidly upright and this, coupled with his very slender figure, made him appear taller than his medium height. His hair and eyes were dark, his thin face, still cleanshaven, was bronzed, his every movement had springiness and verve, and his mobile mouth broke into frequent smiles. He was wearing a white stock, a long waistcoat, a loose coat and beautifully-cut riding breeches, and his long legs were encased in top-boots polished to the brightness of a mirror.

  With amusement and respect the Count recalled hearing about the shock he had given to his ministers when, at the age of sixteen, he had assumed power as a Sovereign. To the surprise and dismay of those elderly gentlemen, after the long and tiring ceremony of taking the oath to observe the Constitution he had declared that he would immediately hold his first Cabinet meeting. At it he had vigorously opposed certain changes that it was planned to make in the army, then laid it down in no uncertain terms that now he was of age the Cabinet's power to bestow rewards was revoked, and that henceforth he alone would decide who was to receive honours and decorations.

  When the others had left the room he said at once to de Quesnoy, 'Count, after the tragedy that occurred on the day of my wedding I wrote to you expressing my sympathy in your great loss. I wish to assure you now that my letter was no mere formal condolence. Both the Queen and I felt most deeply for you.'

  'Your Majesty is very gracious to concern yourself . . .' murmured the Count.

  'But,' the King brushed aside the acknowledgement and hurried on, 'it would be another tragedy if a man of your abilities allowed his grief to turn him into a misanthrope; and that, I was distressed to learn from de Cordoba, there seems some danger of your doing.'

  De Quesnoy nodded. 'It is true, Sir. During the past five weeks I've been no fit companion for anyone. But when your summons reached me in Algeciras I had just decided to go to South America and take up soldiering again. A break with the past and new activities will, I hope, in time restore my zest for life.'

  'It would be some months at least before you could get there and take up responsibilities weighty enough to distract your mind, whereas I could offer you immediate employment; although I must add that it would be of a very unorthodox nature for a gentleman.'

  'Even so, I'd be interested to hear your idea, Sir.'

  'De Cordoba also told me that on several occasions you had lamented the fact that there was no way in which you could help to stamp out these accursed anarchists.'

  'Nothing, Sir, would give me greater satisfaction.'

  'Well, I can give you the chafice. But it would entail your assuming a new identity and living for a while in considerable discomfort.'

  'From that, I assume your Majesty is suggesting that I should undertake to spy upon these people in collaboration with your police?'

  'Spy upon them, yes; but without official assistance of any kind -other than that which I can give you. The very essence of my proposal lies in your having no connection with the police.'

  The Count raised his 'devil's eyebrows'. 'I must confess, Sir, I fail to understand. I have no experience in such matters and . . .'

  'Oh yes you have. Frangois told me how, after your secret return to Paris, you passed yourself off as a Russian revolutionary, ferreted out the secrets of the Masons, and provided the material that brought about the fall of the Government of that atheist Emile Combes.'

  'True;' de Quesnoy gave a faint smile. 'I meant only that I know nothing whatever about Spanish anarchists, and unless your secret police collaborate with me . . .'

  'Have I not made myself clear?' the King cut in, a shade impatiently. 'If you agree to undertake this venture I wish you to work entirely independently. I will, of course, furnish you with a certain amount of data wit
h which to begin your investigation, but I intend that the police should be kept in ignorance of your activities.'

  T accept what you say, Sir, but permit me to remark that I fail to see what you can possibly hope to gain by keeping me in a watertight compartment. It stands to reason that my chances of success would be far greater if I were to have the help of the department of your police that specializes in following up the activities of anarchists.'

  'Ha!' exclaimed the King. 'That is just where you are wrong. But since you are a foreigner it is not surprising that you should be puzzled by my attitude. The great majority of my people would be, too, for very few of them have sufficient knowledge of what goes °n behind the scenes to realize the difficulties of my situation.'

  After a moment's pause, he continued, 'To accept this mission will be to court considerable danger, Count; so it is only right that I should disclose to you in confidence my reasons for distrusting my own police. That means going back a long way. I assume that, as an educated man, you know the main outlines of Spanish history; but even at the risk of boring you I must recall some of the events of the past in order to make clear to you the effect they have had on the present.'

  Standing up, the King began to pace up and down while reeling off facts and dates that had been familiar to him from his earliest boyhood. 'In the past hundred years the only period in which the Spanish people have enjoyed peace and contentment under a King was the ten years' reign of my father, Don Alfonso XII of blessed memory. I said "under a King", mark you; that is important.

  'Let us go back to the era of Napoleon. Charles IV was then King of Spain. He was a weak and foolish man. It is common knowledge that from the time of the French Revolution Queen Maria Louisa's lover, the upstart Godoy, was the real ruler of the country. So weak was the King that his elder son, Ferdinand, conspired to force his abdication, and more or less succeeded. That was in 1808 and Napoleon took advantage of their quarrel to intervene. Like the wily blackguard he was, he pretended to give both his support, tricked them both into coming to France to confer with him, then compelled both to abdicate and put his brother, Joseph Bonaparte, on the throne.

  'Joseph proved a much better King than might have been expected. He did his best for the Spanish people and eventually quarrelled with his brother through placing their interests before those of France. But his reign was a terrible period for Spain, because the country became for years the battleground between the French and the Duke of Wellington aided by the Spanish patriots who had risen against their conquerors. You know the end. One after the other Napoleon's Marshals were defeated and by 1814 the French had been driven from the country.

  'By then King Charles was dead; so it was Ferdinand who returned from exile to mount the throne. But meanwhile in 1812 the Cortes had met in Cadiz and given Spain a new Constitution. Abroad there seems to be a myth that Spanish sovereigns are absolute; but that is far from being the case. From mediaeval times there have always been Parliaments here that have to some extent restricted the powers of the monarchy. But the Constitution of 1812 went much further than any preceding one, because it was made by men who had been influenced by the democratic principles that emerged from the

  French Revolution. That Constitution, with only slight modifications, is still in force and binding upon Spanish sovereigns today. Under it no decree that I may issue is valid unless it is countersigned by one of my Ministers.

  'However, Ferdinand VII accepted and swore to observe it. He did nothing of the kind, and proved the worst type of autocrat. You must have seen his portrait by Goya many times. It would be hard to find a more cunning, shifty face, and that was the nature of the man. He had no sooner assumed power than he arrested all the leading Liberals, threw them into prison and confiscated their property. That was the root from which our worst trouble springs. It divided the Spanish people into two camps: those who supported the monarchy - they were in the majority, because, even under bad rulers, Spain has always been monarchist at heart - and a hard core of democrats made bitter by the persecution and determined sooner or later to get control of the Government.

  4In 1823, driven to desperation by Ferdinand's arbitrary measures and oppressive taxation, the people revolted and made him a prisoner. But Louis XVIII of France sent an army that crushed the revolution and set him at liberty. One way and another, through trickery, treachery and the support of the Church and foreign troops, he succeeded in ruling as a despot for a quarter of a century. Then, on his very deathbed, this evil genius of my country left Spain another terrible legacy.'

  Pausing in his stride for a moment, the King took a drink from his glass, then went on, 'You will, of course, know that in France the Salic law operated, by which no female could ascend the throne; and that with the ending of the Hapsburg dynasty in 1700 Louis XIV's grandson, the Due d'Anjou, became the first Bourbon King of Spain as Philip V. It was this French Prince who introduced the Salic law, which previously had not applied here. Ninety years later King Charles IV approved a resolution of the Cortes to revoke this law and revert to the old order of succession but, most unfortunately, the decree was never promulgated. Thus, the question whether a female could legally ascend the throne remained debatable.

  'Ferdinand VII had no son; so two persons were Heirs Apparent: under the Salic law, his brother, Don Carlos, and under the old law, his daughter by his fourth wife, Queen Maria Cristina. In spite of the most vigorous protests from Don Carlos and many of the highest nobility, on his deathbed he designated as his successor his daughter, the Infanta Isabella, who was then only a child of two.

  'Ferdinand had often said with cynical humour that Spain was a bottle of beer of which he was the cork, and that on his death it would blow up. By his malicious decision he ensured that it should. Don Carlos was in many ways a good man, and that he should become King was obviously preferable to saddling the country with the uncertainties of a long minority. Don Carlos decided to fight for what he considered to be his rights, and Spain was plunged into a hideous civil war. Behind him he had the Church, most of the aristocracy and all those best elements in Spain who treasured the old traditions of the country handed down from the time when Spain was a mighty Empire. Yet the forces of the Queen Regent emerged victorious. How, you may well ask? To keep her infant daughter on the throne she took the only course open to her and threw herself into the hands of the Liberals.

  'At the date of Ferdinand's death she was still only twenty-six, and an exceptionally lovely woman. She had not long been a widow when she secretly married a Captain in her Guards named Munoz. Incredible as it may sound, still in secret she had nine children by him. The strain of keeping up appearances while leading this double life hardly bears thinking about, and naturally the affairs of the country suffered in consequence; she became a puppet in the hands of factions and military adventurers.

  'In 1846 the young Queen, Isabella II, although only thirteen, was declared of age and married to her cousin, the Duke of Cadiz. He was a spineless creature, so the power emanating from the throne continued to be the plaything of unscrupulous intriguers. To worsen matters it soon became evident that she had inherited even more than the normal share of the Bourbon appetites.'

  The King paused to smile, took another drink from his glass, which de Quesnoy had refilled, then added, 'Perhaps I should say "appetite" for in this case I have not so much in mind the gastronomic feats of Louis XIV or of Louis XVI, who frequently ate a whole chicken as a single course in a meal, but the amorous endurance which caused Henry of Navarre to be nicknamed Le Vert Galant, and led to Louis XV keeping a harem busy in his "Pare au Cerfs". Every handsome guardsman Queen Isabella set eyes on became grist to her mill, and her immoralities were so flagrant that after years of misrule by her favourites the people rebelled and threw her out.

  'With her to exile in France she took her young son, my father, and in 1870 she abdicated in his favour, but he became King Alfonso XII only in name. Meanwhile, under the Provisional Government of Serrano and General Prim, ther
e ensued two years of semi-anarchy here while the Spanish people demanded a King, and half the Royal Houses in Europe wrangled over who should supply one. Feeling was so intense that it started the Franco-Prussian war, but Prim eventually decided upon Amadeo of Savoy, the second son of King Victor Emanuel II.

  'Poor fellow, he was no match for such an imbroglio. Generals, Carlists, Liberals and Cardinals all combined to make his life hell. In a little under three years he threw in his hand and returned to Italy.

  'The distracted Cortes then proclaimed a Republic, but the great bulk of the people was bitterly opposed to it and the Government lost all control of them. On any. excuse armed mobs surged through the cities looting and murdering, bands of peasants turned themselves into bandits robbing travellers and holding them to ransom. To save Spain, Don Carlos, son of the first Don Carlos, raised his standard in the north and launched the second Carlist war. That only made matters worse, as thousands more Spaniards set about cutting one another's throats.

  'In desperation a General named Martinez Campos made a pronunciamiento calling on my father to return and ascend the throne. He had just completed his first term as an officer-cadet at Sandhurst. Immediately, he set out for Spain. He was received with tremendous acclamation, but the first task thrust upon him was to defeat the Carlist army. He did so, but at a price. History repeated itself. Once again the Church and the traditionalists - those elements which in any country are the natural supporters of monarchy - had rallied round Don Carlos. To bring peace and keep his throne my father was compelled to become dependent on the Liberals.

  'He was a good man and would have made a fine King; but he was unlucky. When he was about my present age he married for love the beautiful Mercedes, daughter of the Duke de Montpensier. They adored one another, but after being Queen for only six months she died. With her death the spirit went out of him. He succeeded in keeping the peace, but only by persuading the Conservatives to make great concessions, and an era of two-party government set in. The Conservative leader, Canovas, made a dubious pact with the Liberal leader, Sagasta. They rigged the elections and played box and cox, so that when the people became dissatisfied with one party the other went in. That system, which makes a mockery of the People's rights, has now continued here for many years.