Wild Bells to the Wild Sky (5 page)

Magdalena raised her chin proudly. "
Mi padre
wrote to me and asked me to come home. He, Don Pedro, made the first gesture at reconciliation.
Mi madre
is very ill. I came to be at her side. I am also still very happily married to Geoffrey Christian, who is still very much alive," Magdalena said, taking great pleasure in saying the name she knew would cause her brother-in-law such irritation.

"A pity," Don Pedro murmured. "I did not see his
ship
anchored in the harbor. He did not accompany you to Santo Domingo?" he inquired. "Perhaps he has grown tired of going to sea and no longer captains a ship? Has he become one of those fat and lazy
inglés
surrounded by yapping hounds, and who cannot bear to leave his hearth and home? Lost his courage, eh? It has been known to happen," Don Pedro added sadly, hoping to bait Magdalena into telling him the exact whereabouts of the captain of the
Arion
.

"Should you wish to see how fat my husband has become, then please, you may see for yourself, for a pair of his breeches lies on my bed upstairs. I was darning a small rip when I heard your voices," Magdalena informed a rather startled Don Pedro, for even he had not expected that Geoffrey Christian was actually staying at Casa del Mantevares. "Yes,
mi padre
has graciously accepted my husband as a guest in his home."

"Your husband sailed here with you? He is in Santo Domingo now?" Don Pedro demanded, his expression of concern causing Magdalena to smile.

"No, he has sailed, but we expect his return any day. Contrary to what you may believe, Don Pedro, the
Arion
sailed into Santo Domingo without a shot being fired. And nothing, thus far, has been looted. Unless, of course, you count the fluttering hearts lost to many a crew member aboard the
Arion
. It has happened before, if you remember the last time you met my husband," Magdalena reminded him, though she needn't have, for that was memory that ate at Don Pedro every day of his life. The last time he had crossed bows with Geoffrey Christian had cost him his ship. That he would never forget.

"Magdalena,
por favor!
" Catalina requested nervously, for she herself would never have dared to speak to Pedro in so challenging a manner. Whatever had become of her sweet little sister? "You haven't met Francisco. Here, Francisco, come and kiss your
tia
Magdalena hello," she said, pulling her son between Magdalena and the glowering Pedro. "And I must know about
Madre
. She hasn't..."

"No."

"Ah, that is good then, for we could not sail until several unexpected passengers came aboard and delayed our departure from Seville. Had anything happened to
Madre
before I could arrive, and all because of those men," she confided, glancing around to give them a scathing look, but they had disappeared. "Where did they go?"

"Who?" Magdalena asked, glancing around curiously and sett
ing Don Pedro's mind at ease, fo
r it was apparent that she had not seen anyone but Catalina when she had come rushing down the stairs to greet them.

"Well, I could never forgive Pedro for insisting we wait for their arrival. For me, I have had enough of the sea. I intend to stay here with Francisco and the girls when Pedro sails with them for-"

"
Silencio
, Catalina," Don Pedro silenced his wife's prattle mid-sentence. "You do not know what you are saying," he warned her. "Magdalena is not interested in hearing about where next the
Estreall D'Alba
sails and what business my passengers are about. Merchants," he said, shrugging, as if he need say no more.

"We sail to France and
Padre
says that I will sail with them, and one day I will be a great captain like he is," Francisco told them proudly. "Only I don't think I want to be a captain. I get sick."

Don Pedro looked as if he were about to burst a blood vessel as he glared down at his son, but already Magdalena and Catalina were talking about everything under the sun, and his three excitable daughters were giggling and twirling around as they presented themselves to their aunt, each vying for her attention.

"¡Dios!"
Don Rodrigo cried out as he came
hurrying
down the stairs and was engulfed by the new arrivals. In the confusion, Don Pedro took the opportunity of slipping away, one thought in his mind: getting his passengers safely back aboard ship before Magdalena recognized them as Englishmen.

But Don Pedro was to
receive
another shock. When he entered the courtyard, he found his passengers being confronted by a small, red-headed child of not more than five or six years of age. Were the surprises of this day never to end? The impertinent creature, he thought as he overheard her conversation and realized that his worst fears were confirmed-this could only be Geoffrey Christian's daughter.

"I've never seen anyone with one blue and one brown eye. Do you see different things out of each eye?" Lily asked the young gentleman standing so uncomfortably before her. "There's a man in our village, near Highcross, that is where I live in England, who has pink-colored eyes and white hair. He doesn't have very many friends, but Fathers says we should be kind to him. Did you know that they sometimes hang people or burn them at the stake for having one blue and one brown eye? They say they are witches," Lily told the gentleman, who found himself blinking uncontrollably. "Father says the officials are frightened fools. Are you a priest?" Lily demanded of the robed figure, turning her attention away from the other two gentlemen, much to their relief.

"We do not have many in England anymore. There used to be an abbey near Highcross, but it got burned to the ground and the priests fled to France. Hello!" Lily said as Don Pedro approached, his expression horrified. "I'm Lily Christian. Who are you? Are you sick?"

Don Pedro glanced at the two Englishmen, but the one who had caught Lily's attention was still staring in fascination at the child, and the other, his hat pulled low across his forehead, stood in the shadows. As Don Pedro drew closer, the priest beckoned him to his side and they began to talk in low tones, the Spanish words incomprehensible to the Englishmen.

Lily continued to stand nearby, staring at the strangers in growing curiosity.

"¡
Vàyase! ¡Vàyase!"
Don Pedro told her, those green eyes making him uneasy even if she couldn't understand what was being said.
“
¡Vàyase!"
he repeated again, never thinking twice about the fact that she immediately walked away, a hurt expression in those green eyes, for she had indeed understood his Spanish

"Don Pedro." One of the nervous Englishmen now drew his attention, but spoke to the priest, who interpreted for him. "As you so timely brought to our attention, that woman was Geoffrey Christian's wife. She would remember my friend and, perhaps, me. What do we do now? What did she say?
Do
you not think it would be wise if we left before we have yet another encounter, and this time with Geoffrey Christian himself? Our cause may be lost, but at least we are still alive. And I have no desire to cross swords with Geoffrey Christian."

"You nee
d
n't worry about that. He is not in Santo Domingo. But you are mistaken. Our cause is not lost. Doña Magdalena did not notice you, but I do not intend to give her another chance to see you. Come, we will leave through the back passage."

"I don't suppose you would find us lodgings in town. I dread the thought of going back on board," the Englishman with the one blue and one brown eye said. "I've come to abhor the smell of the sea. I dare say I'll not eat fish again."

Don Pedro eyed the elegantly dressed Englishman with a look of distaste. Had the man not been on board the
Estrella D'Alba
at His
Majesty’s
order, Don Pedro would have sent the man overboard long ago. "Come. You will at least be safe there. And getting you back to England without incident,
señor
, is far more important to me than your immediate comfort. I am surprised I need remind you of the imp
ortance of your task," Don Pedr
o told him.

"What of the child? She saw us."

"What of her? Did you speak to her?"

"No, but she spoke to us in English. She must have known we were not Spaniards."

"That was Geoffrey Christian's brat. Of course she would speak to you in English. Besides, you look English," Don Pedro added, for one of the Englishmen had silvery blond hair and very pale skin.

"She may say something about seeing us," the other Englishman said, speaking for the first time.

"And if she does?" Don Pedro said with a shrug of dismissal. "She saw two gentlemen and a priest. Guests of Don Rodrigo, nothing more. Does she know you are Englishmen? Do not concern yourself with her. She is but a child and can do no harm to you or to the ultimate success of our
mission. Now, come before all is lost. We have delayed long enough."

The Englishman who had held Lily's rapt attention glanced around
uneasily. "I wish I had your
peace of mind, but as you may have noticed, I am a man not easily forgotten. I hope to God the brat doesn't speak of me"

Don Pedro tried not to catch the man's eyes, for they were indeed unnatural. He resisted the impulse to cross himself as he walked past the man. "I will hear of it if she should, and I will take the necessary steps to ensure your anonymity."

As they disappeared through the narrow passageway leading toward the back entrance to Casa del Montevares, Sir Basil Whitelaw moved for the first time since the two gentlemen and the priest had rushed into the courtyard.

He shook his head in disbelief, for he had recognized one of the gentlemen. Unfortunately, the other man had kept his face averted, and the brim of his hat had hidden his features. He had also seemed of a more cautious nature than the other gentleman, preferring to stand in the shadows. B
ut his style of dress marked hi
m as an Englishman. The man who had entered last, a Spaniard, Sir Basil hadn't known, but there was no doubting the profession of the robed figure, the heavy cross dangling from his neck and glinting in the sun.

Sir Basil frowned, wondering why two Englishmen, a priest, and a Spaniard were meeting in Santo Domingo. Francis Walsingham would have been proud of him, for he was actually beginning to think like a spy.

For courage mounteth with occasion.

S
hakespeare

Chapter Four

T
he
fisherman
, gold weighing heavily in his pocket, rowed as close to the
Estrella D'Alba
as he could without drawing the guards' attention. It was an overcast night, with no stars or moon to reveal the shallow-hulled craft's progress as it closed the distance between the shore and the looming bulk of the deep-drafted galleon riding at anchor in the bay. The fisherman smiled to himself. These fancy hidalgos were a greedy lot. But, he reminded himself, their greed had made him a wealthy man. He had often rowed one or two of them out to a galleon under cover of darkness so they could retrieve the contraband that had been so costly to smuggle in under the customs officials' long noses.

And this fine gentleman had been no different-
-
except perhaps more nervous. Half hiding his face behind a scented lace handkerchief held to his high-bridged nose, his speech muffled yet elegantly spoken, he had certainly played the grandee until the first wave had lifted the boat's prow high into the sea spray. And without all of the finery, the simple fisherman imagined, he looked the same as any other man, and maybe not even as fine, for the gent was as rawboned and spindle-shanked as he'd ever seen.

Stripped down to his linen undergarments, Sir Basil slipped over the side of the boat and let the gentle swells carry him toward the galleon's curving hull. A block and tackle still hung from the stern where cargo had been loaded through an
after port
earlier in the day. A rope dangled from the pulley block, the frayed end conveniently close to the water and in reach of Sir Basil's outstretched hand. He pulled himself out of the water and began to shinny up the rope, his destination the carved balustrade, part of the gilded ornamentation gracing the
stern that
guarded the small balcony outside the captain's cabin.

Climbing over the railing, he edged closer into the concealing blackness of the shadows beside the lattice windows, where a golden glow spread from the lantern-lit interior of the great cabin. His heart pounding more from anticipation than physical effort, Sir Basil risked a glance inside.

Three gentlemen and a priest were sitting around a table cluttered with silver plate and the remnants of what appeared to have been a sumptuous feast. Through a small, diamond-shaped pane of glass, he watched Don Pedro, whom he had been formally introduced to the night before at Casa del Montevares, raise a silver goblet in response to whatever toast had been made by one of his guests.

Sir Basil's gaze narrowed thoughtfully, for he had not been mistaken in his earlier recognition of a certain gentleman he had seen in the courtyard. Now, as the Englishman sat back down, Sir Basil saw for the first time the face of the other man. His identity was now fully revealed to Sir Basil's disbelieving gaze; it was a face he knew well. Not more than a year past, when he had dined with the court at Whitehall in celebration of the queen's accession to the throne, he and that very same gentleman, now dining on board a Spanish galleon, had toasted the good health of Elizabeth Tudor.

Turning his head, so his ear nearly touched the pane, Sir Basil listened intently.

" 'Twould be so easy to kill her. I have stood as close to her as I am now to you. Her palaces are not well guarded, and daily she takes the air, walking through St. James's Park and the streets of the City like some strutting courtesan. So very easy," the Englishman said, his pale blue eye glowing brighter, while the dark brown eye seemed to darken into blackness. "Should Elizabeth die, our true and rightful queen, Mary Stuart, would wear the crown that was stolen from her by that whore's daughter. A pity the king did not send her to the block when he sent the
adulteress
."

"You must learn patience, my son," the priest advised. "The day will dawn when the true faith is restored to England. Until the glory of that day, you must spread our word to the devoted. You must make contact with others who
still hold
true to our beliefs and owe allegiance only to the pope. We must know of those we can trust to lend us aid when the time comes. By God's will we shall restore the faith. Until then, let the fires burn brighter and the blood stain the earth, and England will become an island of martyrs, and the heretics, spawned of Luther, will face eternal damnation," the Jesuit vowed, and the fanaticism in his voice sent a chill down Sir Basil's spine.

"By God's grace, Father, I will gladly sacrifice my life," the Englishman said, tears in his eyes. "I will tell the true believers of my audience with His Holiness, and of my meeting with His Most Catholic Majesty. Of His Majesty's promise to protect and defend our faith. And never to abandon our holy cause until England has been rid of the heretics and the harlot who wears the crown."

"Your ardor, my son, will bring us victory, but, for now, you must remain cautious. There are others who wait for a moment to strike. Even as we sit here, there are those in England who plan for the freedom of Mary Stuart. I have seen her letters, smuggled out of England at great risk, and know that she has the unyielding support of His Majesty. Unless you bring suspicion upon that dear lady, and upon yourself, you must remain the queen's loyal subject. You must play the game well, my son. Bide your time and the glorious day will come by your hand if others fail, for you are in a position of trust that we must protect. But take heart, my son, for I have spoken with those who are prepared to invade England upon the assassination of Elizabeth. They stand resolute. That will be our ultimate glory. And you must be prepared to meet that day. Guard yourself against reckless actions and thoughtless
speech
, and you will know the rewards of your loyalty to Philip and the true faith. Remember that well."

"I will, Father," he promised.

And I too will remember,
Sir Basil vowed as he drew away from the stern window, the darkness engulfing him as he lowered himself into the warm waters gently lapping against the galleon's hull.

Doña Amparo died peacefully in her sleep. Her family and friends grieved deeply, for she had been a beloved wife and mother, and a true daughter of the Church. With death so close, Sir Basil's melancholy increased. Each day he nervously paced his room, his eyes anxiously searching the harbor for the familiar shape of the
Arion
sailing into port. But each morning he was disappointed. It was the feeling of helplessness that irked him the most. He had finally found the courage to act, to do what he had been sent here to do, and now he was powerless to do anything about his valuable information until Geoffrey Christian returned to Santo Domingo.

Of course, even had Geoffrey Christian returned several weeks ago, they still could have done nothing. To have left Santo Domingo so suddenly, when it had been obvious Doña Amparo had little time left, would only have caused suspicion in the already suspicious mind of Don Pedro.

However, Sir Basil speculated, if he felt frustrated in having to remain in Santo Domingo, so must Don Pedro and his passengers aboard the
Estrella D'Alba
. Don Pedro could no more have left Santo Domingo without causing comment than could Geoffrey Christian, were he here, Sir Basil thought in glum reflection of his predicament.

Although Don Pedro's presence at Casa del Montevares made Sir Basil nervous, he was thankful that the Spaniard remained. As long as the
Estrella D'Alba
rode at anchor in the bay, her passengers would be unable to implement their plot against Elizabeth. But Sir Basil was concerned, for now that Doña Amparo had died there would be no reason for Don Pedro to delay his departure from Santo Domingo. He would be surprised if Don Pedro did not announce plans for leaving Santo Domingo any day now.
Catalina
had already announced her intentions of remaining in Santo Domingo with her children while Don Pedro continued the rest of the journey without her.

Sir Basil was beginning to lose sleep worrying about what harm the two English traitors might cause before he could return to England and warn the queen. He was almost grateful to the priest for his words of caution to that young fanatic. The advantage, at least for now, was his, Sir Basil thought with a grim smile of satisfaction. Don Pedro did not know that his passengers had been seen and recognized, and when they returned to England, thinking themselves safe, they would be arrested. And that day would come soon, for if fortune were smiling on him, Sir Basil prayed, then Geoffrey Christian could not be far away, nor their return to England long off.

As it so happened, the
Arion
was one day's journey west of Santo Domingo when Sir Basil came down to dine that evening. Sir Basil was not looking forward to yet another meeting with Don Pedro, whose arrogance and rudeness were becoming exasperatingly difficult to accept without some response in kind. But as Don Rodrigo's guest, Sir Basil had been constrained to swallow many a cutting rejoinder about Don Pedro's own heritage. Should he, however, insult Geoffrey Christian's wife again, without Don Rodrigo coming to his daughter's defense, then he would not remain silent, Sir Basil promised himself as he took his seat at the long banqueting table.

Prepared to do battle, Sir Basil eyed the captain of the
Estrella D'Alba
as if taking sight
along
a
cannon. But Sir Basil, even in his most satisfying imaginings, could not have foreseen the unexpected broadside that exploded in Don Pedro's lap as he sat sipping his wine.

"And how is Lily Francisa?" Catalina inquired with genuine concern. "I think she has
taken
t
he death of
Madre
very hard
, si
. I have not seen the child in the courtyard since the funeral. Always she would sit there by the parrots and talk to them. I could hear her laughter, and I am afraid so could my daughters. They wondered why their cousin was not napping or working her embroidery. I do not think they understand her."

"Lily does not enjoy so
-
-so docile an occupation, I am afraid. Although she does know how to tie a reef knot and mend a sail," Magdalena admitted with a sigh. "I am concerned, however, for she has not said anything about what has happened to her grandmother. Lily is such an inquisitive child. I am constantly at a loss to answer her many questions. And yet, not a word about
Madre
."

"Your daughter, Doña Magdalena, would do well to remember not to speak until spoken to. She is impertinent, but precisely what I would expect from a child sired of an English father," Don Pedro remarked. "Since the
inglés
do not teach their offspring to have proper respect for either the Church or the Crown, it is not surprising that they show little respect for their elders. Should the child have come under my guidance, I would
k
now how to curb her insolence quickly enough," Don Pedro predicted.

"Don Pedro, you are a guest in my home, please remember that," Don Rodrigo said harshly, for it was one thing to speak ill of his English son-in-law, but to criticize his granddaughter, a child he found to be quite charming, was quite another matter all together. "If you remember, she is my
granddaughter
, and the Montevares blood that runs through her veins also runs through your children's. In future, when you insult Francisca, or Magdalena, you also insult a Montevares," the old gentleman said proudly, his defense surprising his daughter as much as it had Don Pedro.

"My apologies, Don Rodrigo," Don Pedro said smoothly, "but I had forgotten for a moment that Magdalena was, after all, Spanish. She has adopted so many English mannerisms."

" 'Tis strange, then, that Her Majesty should still think Doña Magdalena so Spanish in appearance," Sir Basil remarked. "Of course, Her Majesty was complimenting Doña Magdalena on her graciousness of manner, attributing it to her Spanish upbringing. Quite naturally, she assumed that all Spaniards of good birth must be so refined. And, having enjoyed Don Rodrigo's hospitality, I have, until recently, seen no reason to disbelieve that assumption."

Catalina coughed and dabbed at her lips as she watched her husband's lips tightening ominously. Catching Magdalena's eye, she spoke quickly, "I thought I heard a scream and cries last night. Was it Lily Francisca? I know it was not one of my children, for I was up with Francisco half of the night. He does not like the dark, and he ate too much at dinner," she explained.

"If you would not baby him so, Catalina, he would act like a man and not a frightened mouse!" Don Pedro told her, despairing of ever weaning his only son from Catalina's
excessive
mothering. "He will never learn to stand on his own two feet if he is constantly clinging to your skirts, Catalina. I have decided that when I sail, Francisco will accompany me. He will learn
-
-"

"It was Lily," Magdalena interrupted Don Pedro's threatened diatribe. "Ever since
Madre
died, she has been having nightmares about floating bodies and ships set aflame. She has even had the strangest dream about a witch with one blue eye and one brown eye who is
-
-"

"¡Madre de Dios!"
Don Pedro exclaimed as he choked on the sip of wine he had just swallowed. Coughing, he tried to catch his breath. Glancing around the table, his dark eyes didn't miss Sir Basil's relaxed and politely curious expression.