The Silver Skull

CHAPTER 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.