The Historical Nights' Entertainment by Rafael Sabatini (most important books to read .txt) 📖
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But that letter of his to Philip made the task a difficult one.
Philip showed it to me.
“If that man,” he said, “had uttered to my face what he has dared
to write, I do not think I should have been able to contain myself
without visible change of countenance. It is a sanguinary letter.”
I set myself to calm him as best I could.
“The man is indiscreet, which has its advantage, for we always know
whither an indiscreet man is heading. His zeal for his master
blinds him and makes him rash. It is better, perhaps, than if he
were secretive and crafty.”
With such arguments I appeased his wrath against the secretary. But
I knew that his hatred of Escovedo, his thirst for Escovedo’s blood,
dated from that moment in which Escovedo had forgotten the reverence
due to majesty. I was glad when at last he took himself off to
Flanders to rejoin Don John. But that was very far from setting a
term to his pestering. The Flanders affair was going so badly that
the hopes of an English throne to follow were dwindling fast.
Something else must be devised against the worst, and now Don John
and Escovedo began to consider the acquisition of power in Spain
itself. Their ambition aimed at giving Don John the standing of an
Infante. Both of them wrote to me to advance this fresh project of
theirs, to work for their recall, so that they could ally themselves
with my party - the Archbishop’s party - and ensure its continuing
supreme. Escovedo wrote me a letter that was little better than an
attempt to bribe me. The King was ageing, and the Prince was too
young to relieve him of the heavy duties of State. Don John should
shoulder these, and in so doing Escovedo and myself should be
hoisted into greater power.
I carried all those letters to the King, and at his suggestion I
even pretended to lend an ear to these proposals that we might draw
from Escovedo a fuller betrayal of his real ultimate aims. It was
dangerous, and I enjoined the King to move carefully.
“Be discreet,” I warned him, “for if my artifice were discovered,
I should not be of any further use to you at all. In my conscience
I am satisfied that in acting as I do I am performing no more than
my duty. I require no theology other than my own to understand
that much.”
“My theology,” he answered me, “takes much the same view. You would
have failed in your duty to God and me had you failed to enlighten
me on the score of this deception. These things,” he added in a
dull voice, “appal me.”
So I wrote to Don John, urging him as one who counselled him for
his good, who had no interest but his own at heart, to remain in
Flanders until the work there should be satisfactorily completed.
He did so, since he was left no choice in the matter, but the
intrigues continued. Later we saw how far he was from having
forsaken his dreams of England, when I discovered that he had
engaged the Pope to assist him with six thousand men and one
hundred and fifty thousand ducats when the time for that adventure
should be ripe.
And then, quite suddenly, entirely unheralded, Escovedo reappeared
in Madrid, having come to press Philip in person for reinforcements
that should enable Don John to finish the campaign. He brought
news that there had been a fresh rupture of the patched-up peace,
that Don John had taken the field once more, and had forcibly made
himself master of Namur. This was contrary to all the orders we
had sent, a direct overriding of Philip’s wishes. The King desired
peace in the Low Countries because he was in no case just then to
renew the war, and Escovedo’s impudently couched demands completed
his exasperation.
“My will,” he said, “is as naught before the ambitions of these two.
You sent my clear instructions to Escovedo, who was placed with Don
John that he might render him pliant to my wishes. Instead, he
stiffens him in rebellion. There must be an end to this man.”
“Sire,” I cried, “it may be they think to advance your interests.”
“Heaven help me!” he cried. “Did ever villain wear so transparent
a mask as this dog Escovedo? To advance my interests - that will
be his tale, no doubt. He will advance them where I do not wish
them advanced; he will advance them to my ruin; he will stake all
on a success in Flanders that shall be the preliminary to a descent
upon England in the interests of Don John. I say there must be an
end to this man before he works more mischief.”
Again I set myself to calm him, as I had so often done before, and
again I was the shield between Escovedo and the royal lightnings,
of whose menace to blot him out the fool had no suspicion. For
months things hung there, until, in January of ‘78, when war had
been forced in earnest upon Spain by Elizabeth’s support of the
Low Countries, Don John won the great victory of Gemblours. This
somewhat raised the King’s depression, somewhat dissipated his
overgrowing mistrust of his half-brother, and gave him patience to
read the letters in which Don John urged him to send money - to
throw wood on the fire whilst it was alight, or else resign himself
to the loss of Flanders for all time. As it meant also resigning
himself to the loss of all hope of England for all time, Escovedo’s
activities were just then increased a hundredfold.
“Send me money and Escovedo,” was the burden of the almost daily
letters from Don John to me, and at my elbow was Escovedo,
perpetually pressing me to bend the King to his master’s will.
Another matter on which he pressed me then was that I should obtain
for himself the governorship of the Castle of Mogro, which commands
the port of Santander, an ambition this which intrigued me deeply,
for I confess I could not fathom what it had to do with all the rest.
And then something else happened. From the Spanish Ambassador at
the Louvre we learnt one day of a secret federation entered into
between Don John and the Guises, known as the Defence of the Two
Crowns. Its object was as obscure as its title. But it afforded
the last drop to the cup of Philip’s mistrust. This time it was
directly against Don John that he inveighed to me. And to defend
Don John, in the interests of common justice, I was forced to place
the blame where it belonged.
“Nay, Sire,” I assured him, “these ambitions are not Don John’s.
With all his fevered dreams of greatness, Don John has ever been,
will ever be, loyal to his King.”
“If you know anything of temptation,” he answered me, “you should
know that there is a breaking-point to every man’s resistance of
it. How long will Don John remain loyal while Escovedo feeds his
disloyalty, adds daily to the weight of temptation the burden of
a fresh ambition? I tell you, man, I feel safe no longer.” He
rose up before me, a blotch on his sallow face, his fingers tugging
nervously at the tuft of straw-coloured beard. “I tell you some
blow is about to fall unless we avert it. This man this fellow
Escovedo - must be dispatched before he can kill us.”
I shrugged and affected carelessness to soothe him.
“A contemptible dreamer,” I said. “Pity him, Sire. He has his uses.
To remove him would be to remove a channel through which we can
always obtain knowledge precisely of what is doing.”
Again I prevailed, and there the matter hung a while. But the King
was right, his fears were well inspired. Escovedo, always impatient,
was becoming desperate under persistent frustration. I reasoned
with him - was he not still my friend? - I held him off, urged
prudence and patience upon him, and generally sought to temporize.
I was as intent upon saving him from leaving his skin in this
business as I was, on the other hand, intent upon doing my duty
without pause or scruple to my King. But the fool forced my hand.
A Court is a foul place always, even so attenuated a Court as that
which Philip of Spain encouraged. Rumour thrives in it, scandal
blossoms luxuriantly in its fetid atmosphere. And rumour and
scandal had been busy with the Princess of Eboli and me, though I
did not dream it.
We had been indiscreet, no doubt. We had been seen together in
public too often. We had gone to the play together more than once;
she had been present with me at a bull-fight on one occasion, and
it was matter of common gossip, as I was to learn, that I was a too
frequent visitor at her house.
Another visitor there was Escovedo when in Madrid. Have I not said
that in his early days he had been one of Eboli’s secretaries? On
that account the house of Eboli remained open to him at all times.
The Princess liked him, was kindly disposed towards him, and
encouraged his visits. We met there more than once. One day we
left together, and that day the fool set spark to a train that led
straight to the mine on which, all unconsciously, he stood.
“A word of advice in season, Don Antonio,” he said as we stepped
forth together. “Do not go so often to visit the Princess.”
I sought to pull my arm from his, but he dung to it and pinned it
to his side.
“Nay, now - nay, now!” he soothed me. “Not so hot, my friend.
What the devil have I said to provoke resentment? I advise you as
your friend.”
“In future advise that other friend of yours, the devil,” I answered
angrily, and pulled my arm away at last. “Don Juan, you have
presumed, I think. I did not seek your advice. It is yourself that
stands in need of advice this moment more than any man in Spain.”
“Lord of the World,” he exclaimed in amiable protest, “listen to
him! I speak because I owe friendship to the Princess. Men whisper
of your comings and goings, I tell you. And the King, you know
well, should he hear of this I am in danger of losing my only friend
at Court, and so - “
“Another word of this,” I broke in fiercely, “now or at any other
time, and I’ll skewer you like a rabbit!”
I had stopped. My face was thrust within a hand’s-breadth of his
own; I had tossed back my cloak, and my fingers clutched the hilt
of my sword. He became grave. His fine eyes - he had great,
sombre, liquid eyes, such as you’ll scarcely ever see outside of
Spain - considered me thoughtfully a moment. Then he laughed
lightly and fell back a pace.
“Pish!” said he. “Saint James! I am no rabbit for your skewering.
If it comes to skewers, I am a useful man of my hands, Antonio.
Come, man” - and again he took my arm - “if I presume, forgive it
out of the assurance that I am moved solely by interest and concern
for you. We have been friends too long that I should be denied.”
I had grown cool again, and I realized that perhaps my show of anger
had been imprudent. So I relented now, and we went our ways
together without further show of
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