Beatrice and Benedick (26 page)

Nobles and princes were called up from the floor to give their opinions or information from their provinces, but I had nothing to contribute. I daydreamed through the collation of all these facts that were being gathered in preparation for the arrival of the king at dusk.

I was seated far from my prince and Claudio, for we were arranged in rank; and those that were highest born were nearest the empty throne. But I did not resent my position; in my backwater by the garden doors I could doze unseen. The sunrays gilded the glass, and the livery of my order was hot. I dreamed and drifted in that honeyed, stuffy chamber, fancying in my half-aware state that the glass had become molten and surrounded me, trapping me like a bee in seeping amber. I was woken only at sundown by a chamberlain barking the presence of the king.

I had seen Philip II before, of course, at the Naumachia at the antique theatre in Taormina. Then, he had been in scarlet, crusted with jewels, with black hair and ruddy skin. But as we stood and the king entered, I saw that from that day to this he had changed so much as to become unrecognisable. Now his complexion was sallow, his cheek sunken, and most of his teeth were gone. His pate was balding and his remaining hair was almost completely white. I wondered what tribulations had come to him in this month or two's space. I had heard many tales of the king in the short time I had been at El Escorial. I knew he had lost many royal children, and as many wars. Maybe these troubles had taken a toll upon his face, or perhaps it was his hatred of the English queen that had corroded his person.

Now, as he sat unsteadily in his gilded chair, he cut a dour figure. He was dressed from tip to toe in black, his Habsburg lip even more prominent than in the portraits that gazed down upon us. He was a king of contrasts. He was a greybeard, but he looked like a pouting child who could not get his own way. He was a great king, but insisted to all who spoke that he be addressed as
Señor.
He was engaged on the most serious business, and yet crouched at his feet sat a comic and grotesque figure.

She was a female dwarf; dressed, down to the last particular, as Elizabeth of England. Her damascene gown was the colour of flame, cross-embroidered with silver thread and studded with topaz. A rebato of filigree and pearl stood stiff behind her oversized head, and she was greedily consuming strawberries from a bowl. As the tiny hands crammed the fruits into the misshapen mouth, the pulp carmined her lips as if she devoured flesh. I had to look away.

The king dandled his long fingers on the dwarf's wiry red curls. The perspective must have pleased him; Elizabeth, diminutive and dwarfed at his feet like a lapdog. But he was agitated, and the fingers drummed on the dwarf's wig impatiently. Then Philip began to speak in reedy, sibilant accents; the Castilian he spoke was near enough to Italian for me to understand his words.

At long last I was to hear the meaning of those words ‘The King's Great Enterprise'. I had heard them the whole summer long, but even on the road to Madrid was never told explicitly what they meant. Secrecy, it seemed, was uppermost in the king's mind too, as it was the first word that he uttered. ‘Secrecy,' he began. ‘Speed and secrecy.' The snaky S's hissed though his missing teeth. ‘We must be quick, so that between tomorrow and Saturday we can reach the decision which I asked for the other day. Time is passing us by very fast; and time lost is never regained.' He glanced through the windows at the
setting sun, then down at his buffoon. ‘Magdalena is impatient too, aren't you, Magdalena?'

The dwarf, strawberry faced, nodded. The king patted the creature on the head. ‘And be
secret
,' he continued. ‘For danger may result from any slight carelessness, even by those who keep secrets well.' He spoke as if to his dwarf, but addressed the room. ‘Begin,' he commanded, waving his beringed hand at his councillors. ‘Tell me where we are. For I give you all notice, that I am so keen to achieve the consummation of this enterprise – I am so attached to it in my heart – that I cannot be dissuaded from putting it into operation. We will take England, from the sea, with a great armada.'

So now I knew; and all fell into place. The last time I'd seen the king the play we'd performed for him in the antique theatre had been a statement of his intent. And now, the play was to become a reality. The king's chief councillors, who sat before him around a long polished table, now had to make it happen.

Each gentleman introduced himself before he spoke. Don this, Don that, Don the other; they had the same names, the same clothes, the same voices. I could not differentiate between them, grouped as they were around the table, as if posing for a Dutchman's paintbrush. A black-clad murder of crows, brokering death for the simple sailors of England. They all talked over each other, and numbers were all I heard.

‘… one million ducats …'

‘… seventeen thousand veteran troops …'

‘… five hundred and sixty ships and ninety-four thousand men …'

‘… one hundred and thirty ships and thirty-three thousand men …'

The king silenced them with a wave. ‘But we have the fruits of the Americas,' he protested. ‘Over a million ducats annually from Peru alone.'

‘Yes, Señor,' agreed one of the councillors. ‘Gold we have
aplenty. But ships and men are another matter. I say again: we cannot proceed at this juncture.'

At this the king actually got up from his seat, and the dwarf dropped her bowl of strawberries with a clatter. ‘Am I to be made a motley by the whore of England? Her creature Drake has spent the summer sailing up and down the Azores, harrying my ships and stealing my gold. They say he singed my beard.' He tugged furiously at his scanty whiskers.

There was a terrible silence, broken only by the dwarf Magdalena, who grubbed about on the floor for her strawberries, her silks whispering on the pavings, the bowl spinning and clattering to a stop. The king, breathing heavily, took his seat again, and the dwarf settled herself at his feet, eating the dirty strawberries she'd recovered with the same relish as before.

‘Don Pedro of Aragon,' called the king into the silence, satisfied that no one would have the temerity to speak first. ‘What of your summer in Sicily?'

I swallowed. In truth I never wished to think of Sicily again, let alone set foot on that poisonous island. I wondered whether the lady Beatrice had wed her poet yet. The notion of her as a wedded dame hurt so much that I pushed the thought away and I exerted myself to mark Don Pedro's answer. War thoughts must drive all memories of Beatrice from my mind. I was in the service of a prince, who was in the service of a king, and I had pledged my allegiance. I owed him that.

‘How many ships?' asked the king.

Don Pedro stood, and the lowering light struck his medal of St James. He looked, in his livery, like the very flower of Spanish nobility ‘Two hundred, Señor,' he said, to an audible gasp of admiration from the collective, ‘from the Governor of Messina, the viceroy in Palermo and Duke Egeon of Syracuse.' He went on to itemise the men and guns in the muster and I listened proudly to his strong, articulate tones, suddenly sure I had been right to follow his banner. ‘May I also present my young friend
Count Claudio Casadei, who has assured us an additional fleet from the Grand Duke of Tuscany.'

Claudio stood now, blushing, prominent among the crows in his Florentine purple. He looked as anxious as a man giving his neck verse. ‘It is so, Sacred Catholic Majesty,' he concurred, his voice breaking slightly with nerves. ‘I mean,
S-Señor.
' He stammered to a standstill.

Don Pedro came to his rescue. ‘Claudio's worthy uncle has the honour to offer you three score of puissant ships from the city of Florence, well appointed with cannon, culverin and other great pieces of brass ordnance. The flagship the
Florencia,
which I will have the honour to command, is a marvel of modern shipping,' he added smoothly. I admired the prince greatly at that moment, and pondered the difference between those bred to nobility and those ennobled by trade. Claudio was a count, yet he was from merchant stock, a banking family. But Don Pedro seemed to have nobility bred into the very sinew of him; hundreds of years of the purest breeding.

‘We thank you most graciously,' said the king. ‘There, Medina Sidonia, do you care to adjust your judgement?'

The man he addressed stood, his ruff working at his scrawny neck as he swallowed nervously. ‘I am sorry, Señor, but even with these most valuable additions my answer has to be no.'

There was another gasp in the room, this time in wonder at a fellow who would defy a king. ‘In order for your Great Enterprise to be successful,' Medina Sidonia went on, ‘the numbers have to be so much in our favour as to make us invincible. I am sensible of the contribution of our Prince of Aragon and Count Claudio, but even these fleets assembled, although they are a remarkable demonstration of Spanish power, are not sufficient to
guarantee
success.'

The king glowered and bit at his fingers as his councillors began to argue amongst themselves. He spoke suddenly, and they were silent at once. ‘What if …' he mused aloud, ‘we do
not
directly
attack England. We have above seventeen thousand veteran troops in the Netherlands, under the command of the Duke of Parma. They are already recruited and trained and equipped. If our armada can reach the coast of Flanders, it can escort the veterans across the channel. If our two forces can but
meet
,' he brought his two hands together and clasped them as if in prayer, ‘we
will
be invincible.'

The councillors exchanged glances. The brave one, Medina Sidonia, spoke up. ‘And what then, Señor?'

‘
Then
the redoubtable Parma will strike up though Kent and take London, with Elizabeth and her ministers in it. You take the apple and the worm comes too.' He paused for the sycophantic laughter. ‘Then her enemies in the north and west and Ireland will rise against her. Our agents are already at work in those regions.'

I admired the king for the first time since I had seen him in the theatre. He might no longer have the outward show of majesty, but his intelligence was formidable, and such a scheme had every chance of success. I caught Don Pedro's eye across the room. He smiled and nodded very slightly.
You see
? he seemed to say. I did see.

Medina Sidonia spoke again. ‘We will have to employ extremely precise navigation, Señor,' he said, ‘and to that end, I have brought someone to meet you.' He looked into the collective, over our heads, and beckoned. ‘This is Martín Cortés de Albacar, one of our foremost astronomers.'

A man in long dark robes and the square felt hat of a scholar stumbled forward hurriedly, bearing a book that was almost as big as he. The astronomer knelt before the king and proffered the enormous tome. Its shadow completely enshrouded the dwarf and she began to complain until the king smartly slapped her face. He perused the pages. ‘What is this?'

‘The
Arte de Navigar,
Señor, a book of my own making; astronomical charts to guide your ships.'

I craned around the beruffed nobleman in front of me in an attempt to see the charts – I could vaguely make out the fine black lines, the gilded constellations, the spidery annotations. The thing was a work of art.

‘Señor, these are representations of the stars in the northern hemisphere.' The astronomer pointed. ‘Here you can see the principal stars that will be visible after the spring equinox in the
Mare Brittanicus.
With the correct instruments, your ships will find the coast of Flanders and then the coast of England with ease.'

‘But what is its
purpose
?'

The astronomer, confused, began to bluster. ‘Such navigation frees you from the coasts. Large ships such as Your Majesty has at his disposal can run into trouble in the shallows – there is a risk of grounding. But with astronomical navigation, there is no necessity to hug the coasts and follow terrestrial maps.'

‘Let me see.' The king raised the book to his face as if to study the charts more closely. Then, with utter calm, he tore a page out of the book. It seemed that no one in the room breathed. The king tore the next page, and the next. The dwarf giggled and clapped, catching the beautiful charts as they fell and balling them up between her tiny fists. The astronomer stood, mouth agape, as he saw his life's work crumpled before his eyes.

When the king was done, and just the spine and cover of the book remained, Philip spoke pleasantly to the devastated scientist. ‘I thank you for your pains,' he said courteously. ‘But, you see, I already have a navigator.' He pointed skywards. ‘
God
.'

He kicked the dwarf with his finely shod foot; and, taking her cue, she knelt. The astronomer, bemused and devastated, knelt too. Then every knight and prince in the place fell to his knees, with a great scraping and clattering of chair legs upon the floor.

‘I have had a divine revelation that I am charged to regain England for the Faith,' proclaimed the king in ringing tones, ‘and I am so convinced that God the Saviour must embrace it as
his own cause, that he alone will lead the way.' He looked down at his kneeling councillors. ‘Get on, then, and do your part. I must away to mass.' He stepped over the sea charts that he had let fall on the floor. ‘Oh,
Magdalena
,' he said to his dwarf, with an admonitory shake of the head, as if it were she who had rent the book. He took her hand and the odd pair walked from the room.

I felt a sudden misgiving as I got to my feet. I had been from one edge of the map to the other on shipboard, and navigation by the stars was now becoming commonplace. What good was a commendable plan without the science to achieve it?

With the king gone I thought I could now go too, and discreetly let myself out through one of the crystal-paned doors leading to the garden. It was entirely dark outside, so, whatever they said, the sun had set upon Spain.