“You have stolen from this world something wonderful. Yes, we have noticed you. And your crime against all there is must be punished.”
“This is never going to end,” Will replied. “You prey upon us, we shut you out. You attack us, we attack you. You kill one of ours, we kill one back. What is there to gain?”
“It will end, and soon,” Cavillex said. “And your corruption upon the face of this world will be wiped away, and you will be forgotten.”
The window burst inwards, showering glass all around Cavillex, but he didn’t flinch. His attention was fixed solely on Will as if there was nothing else in the world that mattered.
“You have gained our attention,” he repeated in a quiet voice that was filled with such emotion it carried above the roar of the crowd. “You have someone you love?” He let the final word roll around his mouth with contempt. “Not the one we spoke of earlier. Someone close to you now. A friend, perhaps, someone you hold in affection.” His gaze was heavy upon Will.
Grace.
Cavillex nodded. “I see now. A woman. When we leave this place we will find her.”
“No,” Will said.
“We will take her. We will show her the heights of our skills. We will make the fibre of her being ring out with unimagined agonies. But she will live. Until we bring you back to us, and then we will slowly slaughter you in front of her, so that everything in her heart that she felt for you is corrupted by her final memory of your suffering. And then we will set her free to live with her misery. A life lived in that manner is usually short.”
“No!” Will raged.
Cavillex’s cold smile was the cruellest tool he had used that night.
“No!” Will roared until his throat burned, and tore at his bonds until his already bloody wrists were numb, and he threw himself against the chair in a futile attempt to break free. He thought of Grace, and he thought of Jenny, and his anger consumed him. If he could have freed himself, he would have torn Cavillex limb from limb. All the pain he had suffered in his life, and the agony that so many around him had suffered, was to be magnified.
It will never end.
When the fury finally cleared, Cavillex was gone.
Within minutes, the door to the street burst in and the mob raced through the building, smashing doors and windows, but they found no sign that the Unseelie Court had been there—just an old, deserted house left to its ghosts.
Calling for help above the tumult, Will was finally answered by Nathaniel and another man. When they paused briefly in front of him, concern lit their faces and he realised how he must look, covered in blood, with too many wounds to count.
“They are all small things,” he croaked. “A physician will stitch them in no time. Help me.” The biggest wound lay inside him.
The other man rejoined the mob, and as Nathaniel fumbled to untie Will’s bonds, he said, “I returned to the carriage and when I did not find you there, I knew you must have been brought to this foul place.”
“You disobeyed me, Nat. You put at risk everything for which we fight.”
“You would never have left me behind, were I in need,” Nathaniel responded defiantly. The bonds fell to the floor, and he helped Will to his feet. Though he struggled to stand unaided, he was too weak.
“Thank you,” Will said. Though only two words, the depth of his gratitude was clear.
“I would be a poor assistant if I let my master die when it was in my power to prevent it.”
“You have undreamed-of abilities, Nat. You raised a mob.”
“Not an easy task. The people here lived in fear of … your enemy.”
Will winced when he heard the beginnings of understanding in Nathaniel’s words.
“But I convinced them that together they had a power they did not have alone,” Nathaniel continued, before adding quietly, “That, and a promise of some small reward if they saved your life.”
“Small reward?”
“Quite a large one, truth be told.”
“You are giving away the queen’s money, Nat. Walsingham will not be pleased that you have bought such a poor thing with her fortune. Help me out of here, quickly. There is much to do—”
“Not for you. If you lose more blood you will die, Will.”
“I cannot rest. Grace is in danger.” Will swayed, close to fainting.
“You must see a physician first.”
Resting against the doorjamb, Will said weakly, “Then I must ask more of you. Leave Edinburgh now. Take whatever money you can from Reidheid’s house, and a horse, and ride for London. Find Walsingham and tell him Grace is in danger from the Enemy. She must be protected at all costs.”
“And the amulet?”
Will hesitated. “I would not wish this upon you if it were not an emergency, Nat.”
“And if you did not call upon me in a time of crisis, I would not forgive you, Will.”
“The amulet must be delivered to Walsingham. It is not safe here. You will be safer once you cross the border into England, but you will still be a target. Your life will be at risk. Keep to the highways. Avoid the moors and the hills and the lakes. If you can, find someone to travel with you at all times. Do you understand me?” Will caught Nathaniel’s arm with a desperation that troubled his friend.
“You can count on me, Will.”
As Nathaniel helped Will slowly out of the house, Will dwelt on the cold passion in Cavillex’s words and wondered if it was already too late.
HAPTER 28
n the cold, stone reception room at his sombre palace of El Escorial, Philip of Spain sat in silent contemplation of the heat of passion waiting for him in his private quarters. Increasingly, his daily life felt like a troubling distraction from the only thing he truly valued, at times almost an unpleasant dream. Yet every wave of desire was accompanied by an equal pang of self-loathing. Now Malantha had started to infect his prayers, looking down at him in the depths of his head where before there had only been God. He had so much to concern him, not least the invasion of England, but he didn’t have the strength or the urge to resist. Only Malantha mattered.
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.
HAPTER 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.
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