When the Heavens Fall

by Gilbert, Morris

  Brandon walked in the other direction. He went to his room, gathered what few things he had, stuffed them into a bag, then went to the stable for his horse. He paid the bill, watched as the hostler saddled his mount, and then rode out

  As he left Dover, the snow began to fall again. He rode along the road that led to London for a time. Needing a break, he got off his horse, tied him to a tree and walked over to gaze down upon a wide river covered with ice and snow. Brandon had never felt so utterly devastated in his life. He had been ready to leave Lupa, say good-bye. But knowing he had let her down, had failed to protect her, chafed him. Brandon stood on the river bank, motionless misery flooding him, and he looked up into the sky and cried out, “God, I didn’t love her, but you could have allowed me to save her, as she saved me.”

  There was no answer from the silent heavens, and the falling snow blotted out the heavens themselves

  Brandon felt tears gather in his eyes. He was not a man who cried, but now he began to weep. Not in neat little tears but in great sobs, he cried out, “God—God, where are you? Is she with you now? Have mercy on Lupa, God! Have mercy on her!”

  How long he stood by the river he didn’t know, but in the midst of the swirling snow, Brandon Winslow realized that God was there. He had never felt God this close before, and it frightened him. He crumpled to his knees. The knowledge of what he was—and the sudden thought of an eternity looming before him—brought him to his feet. He stumbled, then began to run, all the time dimly recognizing that he couldn’t run faster than God

  PART THREE

  The Rescue

  13

  The harbor at Southampton blossomed with what seemed to be hundreds of sails. The cold weather had broken, and a hint of spring was in the air. Brandon stood on the deck of the Cloud, and for a moment took in the beauty of it before turning to face Lord Fairfax, who had come down to give him funds and last-minute instructions. Fairfax’s face was pale, and the March wind ruffled his silver hair. He seemed to be at a loss for words

  Brandon said, “I understand the task before me, Lord Fairfax. I know that I carry your hopes with me, as well as your funds.”

  “I believe you can do it, my boy. I’ve heard stories about your courage from your commanding officers and even from Queen Mary herself.”

  Fairfax produced a bulging leather bag. “Here are more funds for you. I don’t know how much you’ll need, but this should cover all of it.”

  Taking the bag in his hands, Brandon seemed to weigh it. For a moment he was silent, then he looked up and asked, “Are you certain that my uncle is safe?”

  “For the time being.”

  “What does that mean?” Brandon saw that Lord Fairfax was nervous, and it troubled him

  “Nobody is really safe in this country unless they swear to abide by Catholic tradition,” Lord Fairfax said flatly. “It’s bad, and it’s going to get worse, but I’ll do the best I can for your uncle. I understand your father is very close to the queen. He will appeal to the queen too.”

  A breeze stirred the harbor, bringing a wave that tilted the Cloud to one side. Then the ship settled. Putting the bag into his inner pocket, Brandon said, “It’s going to be difficult, but I’ll do my best, sir.”

  “It’s going to be more than difficult. You’ll be killed by Mendoza if he suspects anything. Here are the documents that prove you are interested in buying fine horses in Spain—in my name, of course. That will lead you to Jaspar Mendoza’s business. At least, one of his businesses, I should say, fine horses. This should give you access to him and to my daughter.” He pulled out another paper and said, “Here is a letter from Queen Mary to the emperor. She introduces you and asks that he accept you as a friend of Spain.”

  “How in the world did you get this?”

  “Well, the queen has a warm spot in her heart for you. She remembers that you came with the troops when it was in doubt whether she would ever be crowned or not. She’s never forgotten that. She’s a puzzling woman.”

  “Yes, she is, and a troublesome one.”

  “Well, get our daughter back, my boy. Do anything you have to do.” Suddenly a thin smile turned the corners of Lord Fairfax’s lips upward. “If you have to, court her and make her fall in love with you. Then elope to England to get her safely home.”

  “I doubt if that would work, but I’ll tell her what she’s missing over here. As for any other method, I hope it doesn’t come to that.”

  “So do I. God bless your efforts, Brandon. My wife and I will pray for you every day.”

  The harbor of San Sebastián was not nearly as large as Southampton’s. There were ships there, but most of them small. Brandon stood at the rail, desperately racking his brain, as he had for most of the past three days, for some way to extract Eden Fairfax and transform her from Dolores Mendoza into an Englishwoman

  A voice made him turn to see that Captain Bailey had come to stand beside him. Bailey, a short, barrel-shaped individual with frosty blue eyes and a shock of white hair, was studying him carefully

  “Well, it’s been an easy voyage, but I tell you, Master Brandon, I’m glad you’re getting off the ship.”

  “Not very considerate of you, Captain. I thought I behaved rather well.”

  “Other than winning too much money from my passengers.”

  “I’m sorry. Voyages are boring, and gambling is one way to break it. But I think I did outdo myself.”

  The two men stood together as the Cloud was hauled into the harbor by two long boats, each with twenty sailors at the oars. As the ship nosed its way in, Bailey asked, “What brings you to Spain, Winslow?”

  “I’m on a quest to buy horses. But I’ve heard that Spanish women are quite beautiful too.”

  “Better be careful. Spanish men are jealous of their women. They’ll slit your throat.”

  “I’ll try to avoid that.”

  “Farewell, Winslow. Have a good visit.”

  “Thank you, Captain.”

  The Cloud continued to edge forward. When a gangplank was thrown down, Brandon marched down it. He had his bags carried by one of the sailors. When the man put the baggage down on the dock, Brandon gave him a coin, saying, “Thanks for your help.”

  “Yes, sir. Anytime.”

  “Do you know anything about getting about in this country?”

  The sailor smiled. He had a big gap between his teeth and a scar that ran from the corner of his cheek all the way down to his neck. “It bloody irregular, but easy enough to navigate once you get the way of it they say.”

  Brandon looked about and made his way to a building that seemed to be an office of some kind. There he found a tall, thin man wearing a white shirt and a red sash around his thin middle

  “I’ve just arrived in the Cloud. How does one get from here to Madrid?” Even as he spoke, he remembered Lupa teaching him Spanish, and, as always, felt a sharp regret for her death

  “With great difficulty, I’m afraid.” The clerk shrugged. “There is no regular service. You can hire a carriage or a horse. It’s a little dangerous though. The highwaymen have been pretty busy of late.”

  It was already late in the day, so Brandon knew he would be going nowhere until the next day at the earliest. “Where can a man get a good lodging, a clean place with good food?”

  “Try the White Dove Inn down the street there. Just follow the street and you’ll see it on your right. Tell them Manuel sent you. The owner is my brother-in-law. He’ll give you a good price and good food.”

  “Thank you very much, Manuel.”

  Brandon hired two men to carry his luggage. The White Dove proved indeed to be a clean, attractive place. He tipped the men when they had put his luggage in his room and went to stare out the window. He could see the ocean. The March winds were making whitecaps on the teal sea. He went downstairs and ate a good meal of veal and fresh vegetables washed down by a Spanish wine that was surprisingly good. It was too early to go to bed, so he walked the streets of San Sebastián for an hour an
d then made his way to the harbor and sat on a sea wall watching the ships as daylight faded. Some of the ships had lanterns on their mast that reminded him of fireflies as they bobbed erratically. At length he made his way toward the inn

  He was almost there when a dark shape came out of a side street, and said threateningly, “Give me your money or I’ll kill you!”

  The man was very close. Brandon stepped to one side, at the same time throwing a hard punch. It caught the man in the face, and he staggered backward. Quickly Brandon was on him and struck two blows that laid him out. He was still. Brandon leaned forward. “I hope I haven’t killed him.” He could see by the pale silver light of the moon that he was a small pale-faced man. Looks English, Brandon thought. He stood up and waited uncertainly, and when his victim finally began to stir, he demanded, “What’s your name?”

  “I—my name is Smith. Philemon Smith.”

  “You’re a highwayman, are you?”

  “I tried to be, but you’re the second man I’ve tried. The first took my pistol away and beat me with it.”

  Brandon smiled. “I think you’ve mistaken your vocation. You’re English by your speech.”

  “Yes, sir, I am.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “I was a servant, sir, to Lord Watson. I was afraid I’d be burned if I stayed.”

  “Burned? For what?”

  “Well, I’m not a Catholic, sir. I was a deacon in a small church in Kent. My pastor and two of the leaders of the church were arrested by the queen’s forces. They were coming for me, but I got away. I stowed away on the first ship out of England. When the master found out I had no money, he beat me and put me ashore here.”

  An idea suddenly came to Brandon. He pulled the man up. “You’re accustomed to looking out for gentlemen?”

  “Oh, yes, sir. I was with Lord Kenneth Watson for eight years.”

  “Well, come along. Where did you get a name like Philemon?”

  “My mother picked it out from the Bible, she did.”

  “A good place to find a name.”

  The two walked down the street lit by a pale moon. When they got to the inn, Brandon called the innkeeper over and said, “Bring up some good food and wine to my room for my friend.”

  “Is he staying with you, sir?”

  “Yes, he is.”

  “Then that will be extra, I’m afraid.”

  “That is fine. Put it on my bill. And please hurry with the food. Come along, Philemon.”

  He led the way upstairs. When they got to his room, he looked the man over. Philemon Smith was a slight man of medium height with sandy hair and light-blue eyes. His cheeks were gaunt, probably from hunger, and his cheek and his eye were swelling from Brandon’s punches

  “Sit over here.”

  Philemon obediently did as he was bid. Brandon dipped a cloth into a bowl of water and said, “Put that on your eye to stop it from swelling.” He sat down and questioned Philemon carefully. As far as he could determine, the man was telling the truth. His speech was better than that of most servants

  Finally the meal came

  “Are you hungry?”

  “I haven’t eaten in nearly three days, sir.”

  “Well, don’t gobble too much.”

  For a time he watched as Philemon ate. Then he said, “Smith, I want you to serve me.”

  Smith looked up and blinked with surprise. “How can I do that, sir?”

  “My name is Brandon Winslow. I’ll be in Spain for some time, and I’ll need somebody to take care of my clothes and do the things that you probably did for Sir Watson.”

  “Oh, indeed, sir, I can do that!”

  “Very well. You’ll sleep in this room. I’ll have them rig up some sort of bed. Tomorrow we’ll fit you out with new clothes, and we’ll see how it works out. I’ll pay you well for your time.”

  “How long will you be here in Spain, Mr. Winslow?”

  “That’s uncertain. I’m going to Madrid tomorrow. You’ll go with me.”

  “Oh, thank you, sir. I’ll serve you well!”

  “Why, you look much better, Philemon,” Brandon said. He stepped back and looked at his new servant, who had been fitted out with new clothes and had had his hair trimmed. His eye was still swollen, but he looked well in the brown suit that the tailor had provided. “Now, come along. I need to get to Madrid, and the safest way is to buy my own carriage. Can you drive?”

  “Not as well as you, I would think, sir.”

  “Well, you’ll do well enough.”

  The morning was spent finding transportation. Brandon bought two bays, perfectly matched, and a fine carriage. The carriage had belonged to a Spanish don who had lost it gambling. It was just what Brandon needed. He also bought a pistol for Philemon and an extra one for himself. By noon they were ready to go. Philemon loaded the carriage, climbed into the driver’s seat, and Brandon said, “Well, we’re off to Madrid.”

  “I thank the good Lord that you found me, Mr. Winslow. Or that I found you.”

  Brandon shared a smile with him. For a moment, he was tempted to say something about his dangerous mission, but he dared not trust the man. He spoke to the horses, and they started out at an eager trot. “A beautiful team, aren’t they?”

  “Yes, sir. May I ask, sir, are you a Christian?”

  “I was baptized. Why do you ask?”

  “Well, things are so bad in England now that if a person is a Christian, he’d better be a Catholic or his life may be forfeit.”

  “That’ll change some day.”

  “I hope so, sir. I purely hope so!”

  The trip from San Sebastián to Madrid took three days of hard driving. Brandon chose to spend the second night at a small inn. He was pleased with Philemon, who cared for him as if he were royal. The man knew how to arrange clothes, how to dress him, and he shaved Brandon as neatly as any barber. Not since his days at Stoneybrook had Brandon been so well cared for

  At midday, Brandon pulled the carriage up in front of an inn in Madrid. “That looks like a good place to stay. I’ll see if they have a room.”

  Philemon took the reins. Brandon found the innkeeper, arranged to have the horses cared for, got a room, and added an extra mattress for Philemon. Then he went outside and said, “Philemon, I want you to do something. There’s a man here in Madrid called Jaspar Mendoza. He has a daughter named Dolores. I want you to make some friends here and find out what you can.” He pulled some money out of his pocket. “Find some woman that gossips and romance her a little. I wish you spoke Spanish.”

  “Why, I do speak Spanish, sir. I spent two years with my master while he was an ambassador in Madrid. Exactly what did you want to know about this Mendoza?”

  “Everything you can find out about his family. Who their friends are. If there’s any gossip about the girl. And keep your mouth shut. You understand?”

  “Of course, sir. That’s understood.”

  Brandon went at once to the royal palace, an ornate building with many spires. The palace swarmed with crowds of people. He was directed to a gate, where he was halted by six sentries. “I have a letter here for the emperor,” he said in Spanish

  “And your name is?”

  “Brandon Winslow.”

  “I will see if the emperor will see you, but it may be a long wait.”

  “That’ll be fine.”

  “Please sit down over there. I’ll have some wine sent if you’d like, sir.”

  “That would be excellent.”

  Indeed, it proved to be a long wait, at least two hours. Finally the guard he had spoken with returned and said, “The emperor will see you, but his time is very short.”

  “I will be very brief.”

  Brandon followed the guard into the palace, which seemed to be an intricate maze of hallways. Beautiful pictures were on the wall, many of them of the Virgin and of Jesus on the cross. Eventually they came to another guard

  “What is your name, sir?”

  “Brandon Winslow. I have a le
tter for the emperor.”

  The guard disappeared through an impressive door and was back almost at once. “You may come in.”

  Brandon was somewhat surprised to find a rather ordinary-looking, aged man in fine clothes—the emperor, the most powerful man in the world—sitting at a desk, just as his father might. His hands were unsteady. He had an aquiline nose and aristocratic features

  “I thank you for seeing me, Your Majesty,” Brandon said, stopping ten paces away. “I have a letter here from Queen Mary.”

  “Ah, very good!” The emperor beckoned him forward, took the letter, opened it, and scanned it. “It is good to hear from my fellow monarch. She speaks well of you, sir.”

  “She’s been very kind to me and to my family.”

  “You’ve known Queen Mary for a long time?”

  “Oh, yes, Your Majesty. My father, Stuart Winslow, is one of her favorites.”

  “Well, I want to hear much more, but I have no time just now, Mr. Winslow.” He paused, considering him. “We’re having a ball tonight. Please join us and afterward we’ll have time to talk.”

  “Thank you. That’s very gracious of you.” Brandon saw that he was dismissed

  He made his way back to the inn and sat down for a meal. While he was eating, Philemon Smith came in and said, “Well, sir, I’ve heard a few things.”

  “Sit down. Order something.” He waited until Smith had ordered his food and said, “Now, what did you find out?”

  “Well, I found out that Mendoza is a cutthroat. He was a pirate in his younger days until middle age. Bad reputation, sir. Not a good man to cross.”

  “What does he do now?”

  “He breeds horses, and he does a few other things that are not quite so respectable. He owns three ships, and they have been known to raid others and bring the booty into San Sebastián.”

  “What about his daughter?”

  “Why, the lady I was talking to says she’s a beautiful creature. She had a friend who was a maid to Miss Dolores, and this friend of hers said that the lady is unhappy.”

  “Why is she unhappy?”