"And your brother asked you to recommend him to this priest?"

  She nodded. "He met him at the cathedral. I do not know what they discussed, but later that night my brother left for Seville in a great hurry."

  "Then I would wish to meet with this Father Celino."

  Her face fell, and Will knew that if she recommended him to the priest she would be accused of aiding a foreign spy, and that would likely mean her death.

  He held her for a moment longer and then guided her back to the front room where Launceston still watched the street. The door crashed open as they entered, and Carpenter burst in dragging Mayhew, who threw himself free and stalked to the corner of the room, shifting sheepishly.

  "Do not accuse me!" Mayhew jabbed his finger at each of them in turn. "I needed air and some time to gather my thoughts!"

  Carpenter toyed with his knife, his eyes flickering between Will and Launceston, who also had his hand on his hidden dagger.

  Will stepped before Mayhew to calm the situation. "We need to know you will not drag us down to hell, Master Mayhew," Will said calmly. "Your absolute support is required in this work. We cannot afford your personal weaknesses to lead us to disaster."

  "Or what? What will you do?" Mayhew raged. "Kill me? Do it! Nothing can be worse than this life!"

  Without hesitation, Sister Adelita stepped by Will and took Mayhew's hand. He was surprised and unbalanced by her touch, his anger dying in his throat. "You have troubles," she said. "I have spoken to your friend here, and I understand what you do. It is God's work, and that is never easy, but the rewards are shared by all."

  Tears sprang to Mayhew's eyes, and he blinked them away quickly before the others saw it as a sign of weakness. "I do not do God's work," he replied quietly. "I am weak, and I am not up to this."

  Sister Adelita looked to Will and said, "Let me speak with him in private while you make your arrangements. If you wish me to make recommendations to Father Celino, I will."

  Will agreed, but he had already started to formulate a plan. Once Mayhew had been led away, Carpenter said vehemently, "He will be the death of us, I tell you now."

  "Then let him stand in line. There are more pressing matters that could lead us to the grave," Will said.

  "How long are you going to keep protecting him?" Carpenter snapped.

  "Till I am certain he is a danger to us. I am not so quick in taking the life of a fellow as you, Master Carpenter."

  "No, but you are quick to abandon them."

  "You know I thought you dead."

  Bristling, Carpenter made to confront Will until Launceston stepped between them. "Is this how it will be? We do the work of the Enemy and the Spaniards ourselves?"

  "Listen to the voice of reason, Master Carpenter," Will said.

  "Besides, I can slit Mayhew's throat in an instant if he truly becomes a problem," Launceston continued.

  Will sighed. "Enough talk of slitting and cutting and stabbing the people we know. Let us direct our attention to the matter at hand."

  Sister Adelita emerged with Mayhew shortly after. Whatever she had said to him, he had calmed considerably and was contrite. Offering his apologies, he promised not to give in to his weaknesses. "It was a momentary lapse," he said.

  After Will had ordered de Groot to make arrangements for their urgent departure from Cadiz, Sister Adelita guided them along a circuitous route to the cathedral that avoided all the busy areas and the plaza in front where they guessed the foot soldiers would still be watching. A side door used by the cathedral staff was open. Sister Adelita ushered them inside.

  The cathedral was cool after the heat of the day, and at that time was still and quiet. Soon, Will knew, it would be bustling with merchants arranging business and the local people at their devotions or lighting candles for loved ones at sea. The stained-glass windows cast jewels across the flagstones, and the great vaulted roof high overhead caught and magnified every sound with the perfect acoustics of the medieval builders. Will silently cautioned the others to move with extreme quiet.

  Like all the Catholic cathedrals Will had seen, the chapels were filled with paintings and relics, gold chalices, crosses, and other iconography that showed the great wealth of the Church.

  Mayhew, Carpenter, and Launceston slipped into hiding places along the nave, while Will waited in a small chapel close to the high altar. Nodding to Will, Sister Adelita stood in the nave and called loudly for Father Celino. He emerged with a lazy gait, a tall man with a Roman nose, heavily tanned, and with jet black hair despite being in his fifties.

  "Sister Adelita, is there a problem?" he asked with a note of concern. "I did not expect to see you here."

  "Yes, Father. It is about my brother," she replied, her head bowed.

  "Don Alanzo? Is he well?"

  "I am worried about him, Father. I have not heard from him and I would know where he is so I can seek him out."

  "Your brother is in Seville, Sister," Celino said with an aloof manner. "As always, he is engaged in important matters. He would not wish to have his affairs intruded upon by one such as you."

  "Then you cannot tell me who he sees?"

  "Of course not!" Celino snapped.

  Will caught Launceston's eye, who waited like a spectre in the shadows behind a stone column, and he passed on the sign. Instantly, Carpenter, Mayhew, and Launceston darted from their hiding places and grabbed Sister Adelita, who screamed as she attempted to fight them off.

  "What is this?" Celino raged. "Leave her alone! Help! Help us now!"

  Drawing his knife, Will glided silently to Celino's side and whispered, "Silence, Father, or it will not only be her blood that stains the flags."

  Celino fell silent. "Who are you?" he asked gravely.

  "English cutthroats who think nothing of spilling Spanish blood."

  Celino blanched.

  "Kill her," Will said.

  "No!" Celino cried, but Launceston and Carpenter were already dragging Sister Adelita into one of the chapels. Her screams rang off the walls, until a moment later there was only silence.

  "Lock the doors," Will instructed Mayhew, "so we are not disturbed."

  Grabbing the priest roughly by his cassock, Will threw him across the altar. His head bounced off the table and his eyes grew wide with fear as he began to intone a prayer.

  "Do not waste your breath, Father," Will said. "No higher power will save you, and none on Earth either."

  Blood pumped through Will's head as he stared into Celino's face. All his repressed fears about Grace rushed up, and his rage at the suffering heaped on an innocent person, and his frustration that he could not move faster and harder to find her.

  "You would dare harm a servant of God in His very house?" Celino uttered.

  "There is a woman under my protection whose life is at risk. I would dare anything, Father."

  "What about your eternal soul?"

  "My soul was lost long ago."

  "But God-"

  "I care not for God!" Will snapped. "The things I have seen ... the pain that has been heaped on the people I know ... If there was a God, would he allow such things to exist? This religion tears us apart when we should be joining together to fight greater threats."

  "The word of the Lord brings comfort-"

  "And pain and suffering to many who have suffered the whip of the Catholics, or the persecution of King Henry's church. This world will be consumed by the flames of hell and you will still be arguing over whose Bible is stronger."

  Celino saw something in Will's face that made him even more terrified. He began to intone another prayer until Will cuffed him forcefully across the face.

  "I have questions, Father, and I am not in the mood to be resisted." Will moved the tip of his knife slowly across Celino's cheek to touch his lower eyelid. The priest's breath caught in his throat. "If the answers I receive are not to my liking, I will cut out this eye," Will continued. "And if you continue to live out your fantasy of being a martyr, I will cut out your other eye. And then I will whittle you down little by little until there is nothing left. We shall see whose will is stronger."

  Celino began to whimper and struggle in the panic that consumed him. Slipping the tip of his knife into the priest's nostril, Will ripped up through the flesh. Celino howled as blood spurted across his cassock and onto the altar.

  "Pay heed to that pain," Will said. "It is nothing compared to what is to come. Are you ready to answer my questions?"

  Trembling, the priest nodded.

  "Don Alanzo de las Posadas visited you here at the cathedral this very week. What did he want?"

  Celino swallowed, his eyes darting towards the chapel where Sister Adelita had been killed.

  "Yes, we forced her to ask you these questions. You could have saved her life if you had answered them then," Will said. "Her death is on your conscience. Now ... what did lion Alanzo want?"

  Blinking away tears, Celino replied, "To find the most knowledgeable man in all of Spain on matters of the occult, and ancient mysteries, and the secrets of the past."

  "And you helped him?"

  "Yes-there is such a man in Seville, a great philosopher and alchemist who knows the languages of the ancient Greeks and the Moors and the Arabs, and who owns the most extensive library of occult volumes in existence. His reputation is known only to a few, but I have consulted with him on more than one occasion."

  Why would lion Alanzo want to contact such a man so urgently? Will wondered. The Spanish had all the knowledge they needed to use the Silver Skull in the invasion, if not the Shield that allowed protection from it. "Who is he and where do I find him?" Will drew a bubble of blood from Celino's eyelid with the tip of his knife.

  "He is of mixed Moorish descent and he has taken the name Abd alRahman after the emir and caliph of Cordoba, a prince of the Umayyad dynasty in the Moorish occupation of our land. His true name is not known." Celino tried to swallow, but his throat was too dry. "You will find his shop in the Barrio de Santa Cruz, the Jewish quarter, on Susona Street, just north of Real Alcazar, the royal palace," he croaked.

  As Will withdrew the knife, Celino was convulsed by a shudder of relief. "Very good, Father. You live to pray another day."

  At his command, Launceston and Carpenter emerged from the chapel dragging a still-living Sister Adelita. They threw her onto the flags before the altar. Gaping in shock, Celino stumbled down to put his arms around her.

  "They held a hand over my mouth so I would not call out," she gasped. "I wanted to, Father. Oh, I did ..."

  She was a good actress, Will noted.

  "You are the Devil himself," Celino growled.

  Shrugging, Will returned his knife to its sheath and indicated to Mayhew to begin scouring the rooms along the nave as they had agreed earlier.

  "Do you think four Englishman can attack the heart of Spain with impunity?" Celino continued angrily. "We are the most powerful nation in this world and you ... you are nothing but dogs. Your deaths will be upon you before you know it."

  "My invasion of Spain is built on more solid foundations than your attack upon England," Will replied, "and I will not be turned away by prayers or curses or all the swords you can muster."

  When Mayhew returned, Will gave the signal and Launceston and Carpenter roughly dragged Celino to a small, dark room near the altar that contained the tabernacle. Will and Mayhew accompanied Sister Adelita. As they walked, she kept her eyes ahead and her chin raised defiantly, but she secretly felt for Will's hand and gave it a brief squeeze of support. He returned her touch.

  Once Celino and Sister Adelita were in the room, and Will had the large iron key to lock it, he said, "Take heed, Father. No lives have been lost here this day. But if you raise the alarm before we leave Cadiz, I will make it my last act on this Earth to return here and slay you both."

  As he closed the door, the last thing he saw was Sister Adelita's face, pale in the growing gloom, and filled with a look of such yearning, it caught him by surprise. He held her gaze for a moment before locking the door.

  Slipping the key into his pocket, he led the way to the side door through which they had entered. "We must move fast," Will said. "Celino will be discovered in no time, and he will have the authorities on our heels before the sun has started to move down to the horizon. We must be into Seville and out in a flash. Are you ready for the flight, and the fight, of your lives? Then let us depart!"

  CHAPTER 34

  lizabeth's incandescent fury terrified the greying men gathered around the meeting room. "One man!" the queen raged. "All our futures are dependent upon one man!"

  All eyes looked down. The queen turned her powdered white face from one to another of her circle of closest advisors, waiting for a response.

  Walsingham understood their reluctance. Elizabeth was like a storm at sea, as quick to turn from coquettish flirtation to volcanic anger without the slightest warning. But who would tell her that her own indecisiveness had led the country into the desperate strait in which it now found itself?

  "Will Swyfe is-" he began.

  "Yes, yes! I know all about Master Swyfte's abilities!" she roared. "Now where are the bearers of good news?" The whip-crack in Elizabeth's voice kept all heads bowed. "Lord Walsingham," she pressed. "You still say the Armada will sail shortly?"

  "That is the information I have, Your Majesty. There are conflicting reports-some say five hundred ships, some fewer, manned by a good eighty thousand men, perhaps fewer-but ships and men there are, in Lisbon, ready for the off."

  Walsingham saw the blood drain from faces at the numbers he had presented. A fleet that large would destroy the English navy in no time.

  "Why can you not get good intelligence?" snapped Lord Burghley, the queen's principal advisor. Though a master of statecraft, he was a grey man in both appearance and manner. Too weak by far, Walsingham felt.

  "Good intelligence costs money," Walsingham replied sharply. He didn't need to mention that the Treasury was drained after years of slow-bubbling war with Spain. "How go the peace negotiations?"

  "Your sarcasm is unwarranted," Burghley responded.

  Lord Howard, a fierce but thoughtful man, commanded the English navy. His eyes flickered briefly towards Walsingham before he spoke. "When we received reports last month of Santa Cruz's death, you made the wise decision not to put our fleet to sea," he began.

  Liar, Walsingham thought.

  "But now Philip will have filled his vacancy and the Armada will have direction again," Howard continued. "More urgency is required in the defence of the realm, I feel."

  Walsingham could see Elizabeth evaluating the potential cost.

  "Drake calls for the fleet to be based at Plymouth," Howard continued. "From there, it will be better able to guard the full length of the south coast and to prevent any Spanish landing. And he argues most strongly for us to attack the Spanish first. He is a great strategist, as you know, Your Majesty, and he feels this is the best defence."

  After a moment's thought, Elizabeth said, "Let us wait for more intelligence."

  "If the prince of Parma lands his fierce troops upon England's shores, the battle is lost," Walsingham began cautiously. "We have no army save for the garrison at Berwick and the Yeoman of the Guard. Our fighting men are mainly raw and will be crushed by Parma's warriors. And those of ours who have been hardened by battle can scarcely be trusted. Many are Catholics, many Irish."

  Elizabeth's anger drained away at his words. She knew the truth when she heard it.

  "We are short of weapons and gunpowder supplies are dangerously low," Walsingham continued, gathering force. "The coastal defences are rudimentary, and in some places construction has not even begun. Once the invasion begins, there is a danger the Catholics within will rise up in force. That James, who lives in mortal fear of the Enemy, will invade from Scotland to gain control of Dee's defences. These are our most desperate times."

  "And you work to rally good Englishmen behind us?" Elizabeth demanded.

  "Of course. The pamphleteers publish the stories we require-that the Spanish ships are filled with instruments of torture to inflict torment upon all good people, and pox-ridden doxies to be loosed upon our men and kill them with disease. That Philip has ordered his men to put children to the pike and bash in the brains of babies. Others will be branded on the face so they know they have been conquered. They will have the fear of God in them if the Spanish land, but that will not be enough."

  "So we must rely upon our warships," Elizabeth said quietly, "and they may not be enough either. And the part the Enemy will play with this Silver Skull?"

  "Their plans are still lost in the fog that they draw around them so well." Walsingham was careful not to leave Elizabeth despairing; it would not help the cause. Bad enough the Spanish had an overwhelming force, but that they also had a weapon that could unleash plague across the land? That was too crushing to consider. "Will Swyfte leads three of my best men. They will not shirk the task ahead of them."

  "And if they are caught?" Burghley enquired. "They will give Philip the reason he needs to invade."

  He needs no reason! Walsingham kept his face calm. "If William Swyfte is captured, we will deny all knowledge of his mission. He has been driven half mad by grief over the loss of his close friend, Grace Seldon, and holds a personal grudge against Spain."

  "You will abandon him?" Burghley said. "He will be tortured and executed."

  "That is the price we must pay."

  "If Swyfte does not reclaim the Skull, all is truly lost!" Elizabeth raged. Even with his caution, Walsingham could see that Elizabeth understood the true situation. "He cannot fail. He cannot!"

  Without another word, she flounced from the chamber so her senior advisors could not see her tears of fear. Burghley made to take up the queen's words, but Walsingham cut him short. "William Swyfte will do whatever is necessary to retrieve the Skull, even at the cost of his own life," he said. He left the room before Burghley could question him further. The less he knew, the less he could bend information to underpin his own feeble prevarication when advising the queen.

 

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