"Your Mercy, who do you think is most disturbed by the idea of this marriage?"
Between bites, Guadalmedina looked up. "Oof. Many people." He set the empanada on the plate and began to count on fingers shiny with grease.
"In Spain, the Church and the Inquisition are soundly against it. To them you would have to add that the pope, France, Savoy, and Venice are still open to anything that would impede an alliance between England and Spain. Can you imagine what would have happened if you had succeeded in killing the prince and Buckingham?"
"War with England, I suppose."
Again the count attacked his food. "You suppose correctly." He nodded somberly. "At the moment there is general agreement that the incident should be kept quiet. The prince and Buckingham maintain that they were the object of an attack by common footpads, and the king and Olivares are acting as if they believe them. Afterward, when they were alone, the king asked the prime minister to conduct an investigation, and he promised to see to it immediately." Guadalmedina paused to take a long swallow of wine, then dried his mustache and goatee with an enormous napkin rustling with starch. "Knowing Olivares, I am sure that he himself was capable of setting up an ambush, although I do not think he would go that far. The truce with Holland is falling through, and it would be absurd to distract from the war effort by taking on an unnecessary conflict with England."
The count finished off the empanada, staring distractedly at the Flemish tapestry on the wall behind the captain: horsemen attacking a castle, and hostile individuals in turbans aiming arrows and stones at them from the merlons. The tapestry had been hanging there for more than thirty years, ever since the old general, Don Fernando de la Marca, took it as booty during the last sacking of Antwerp, in the glorious days of the great King Philip. Now Don Fernando's son was slowly chewing and staring at it reflectively. He turned to look at Alatriste.
"Those masked men who hired your services could be paid agents for Venice, Savoy, France, or who knows where. . . . Are you sure they were Spanish?"
"As Spanish as you or I. And men of breeding."
"Do not put your faith in breeding. Here everyone claims to be from an old Christian family, a gentleman, someone of stature. Yesterday I had to dismiss my barber, who had the brass to try to shave me while his sword hung at his waist. Even servants carry them. And as work degrades honor, not even Christ lifts a hand."
"But these I speak of were gentlemen. And Spanish."
"Very well. Spanish or not, it is all the same. As if a foreigner could not pay someone to carry out his underhanded schemes." The aristocrat laughed a bitter little laugh. "In this Hapsburg Spain, my dear fellow, the gold of nobleman and villain alike is equally welcome. Everything is for sale, except the nation's honor; and even that we secretly barter at the first opportunity As for the rest, what can I tell you? Our conscience ..." He looked at the captain over the silver jug. "Our swords ..."
"And our souls," Alatriste finished with a flourish.
Guadalmedina took another sip, never removing his eyes from the captain.
"Yes," he said. "Your masked men could even be in the pay of our good pontiff, Gregory. Our Holy Father cannot abide the sight of a Spaniard."
The fire in the great stone-and-marble hearth had burned down, and the sun shining through the windows was barely warm, but that mention of the Church was enough to make Diego Alatriste feel uncomfortably flushed. The sinister image of Fray Emilio Bocanegra floated through his mind like a specter. He had spent the night seeing him materialize on the dark ceiling of the room, in the shadows of the trees outside the window, in the dark corridor, and the light of day was not bright enough to make him fade completely. Guadalmedina's words brought him back again, like a bad omen.
"Whoever they may be," the count continued, "their objective is clear: to avert the marriage, to teach a terrible lesson to England, and to see war explode between the two nations. And you, by changing your mind, poleaxed everything. You earned your degree in the art of making enemies, so, were I you, I would take good care to guard my back. The problem is that I cannot protect you any longer. With you here, I myself could become implicated. Again, if I were in your shoes, I would take a long journey ... a very long journey. . . . And whatever it is you know, do not tell anyone, even in confession. If a priest learned anything of this, he would hang up his habit, sell the secret, and live life as a wealthy man."
"And what about the Englishman? Is he safe now?"
Guadalmedina assured Alatriste that he was. With all Europe knowing where he was, the Englishman could consider himself as safe as if he were in his foul Tower of London. It was one thing for Olivares and the king to keep dragging their feet, to lionize the prince and make promise after promise, until he got bored and followed a fair wind home. It was altogether different to claim that they could not guarantee his safety.
"Besides," the count went on, "Olivares is wily, and he knows how to improvise. He can easily change his plan, and the king with him. Do you know what he told the prince this morning in my presence? That if they did not obtain dispensation from Rome and could not give him the infanta as a wife, they would give her to him as a lover. A fine one, that Olivares! A whoreson to end all whoresons— clever and dangerous, and sharper than the pangs of hunger. And Charles, completely content now, is sure that he will hold dona Maria in his arms."
"Does anyone know how she feels about the matter?"
"She is young, so use your imagination. She is not averse to love. That a young, handsome heretic of royal blood would do what he did for her both repels and fascinates her. But she is an infanta of Castile, so protocol is to be observed. I doubt that they will let them anywhere near each other, even to pray an Ave Maria. And by the way, just as I was coming home, I composed the first lines of a little sonnet.
"Wales came to seek his infanta fair
And a bridal bed, but if truth be told,
The coveted prize, the Lion learned,
Goes to the patient, not the bold."
"What do you think?" Alvaro de la Marca looked at Alatriste, who was smiling lightly, amused but prudently abstaining from comment.
"I am not Lope, forsooth! And I imagine that your friend Quevedo would make some serious objections, but for something of mine, it is not at all bad. If you come across it on one of those anonymous broadsheets, you will know whose it is.... Well, then."
The count downed the rest of his wine and stood, tossing his napkin on the table. "Getting back to serious questions, one thing is true: An alliance with England would put us in a better position regarding France. After the Protestants—I would say even more than those dissenters— that is our principal threat in Europe. We must hope that over time Olivares and the king will change their minds and the wedding will take place, although from the comments I heard from them in private, that would surprise me greatly."
The count walked aimlessly around the room, again examined the tapestry his father had stolen in Antwerp, and stopped, thoughtful, at the window.