The Silver Skull

by Mark Chadbourn

  “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 al-Rahman 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!”

  HAPTER 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 Swyfte 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.

  Dee waited outside, his hood pulled up to hide his identity from unwelcome eyes.

  “Any news?” Walsingham asked.

  Dee shook his head. “The Enemy’s true plans remain hidden. They move pieces here and there to distract us, but I can find no guiding principle.”

  “Except our destruction.”

  “Except that.”

  “You have heard all the prophecies circulating in Europe?”

  “Of course. Things do not look well for any of us.” Dee took a deep breath. Walsingham could see the strain in his features. “I have cast Elizabeth’s horoscope,” he continued. “The second eclipse of the moon this year arrives when her ruling sign is in the ascendant, twelve days before her birthday. That is a powerful portent. Momentous events lie ahead, and all that stands is at risk. The Enemy may finally destroy our defences and achieve their goal.”

  “Do not tell Elizabeth this.”

  “Why, I planned to tell her this very moment,” Dee said tartly. “I cannot wait to have my head on a pole above the gates of London Bridge for such high treason. So we put our faith in Swyfte?”

  “We do. Unless you have another plan?”

  Dee said nothing.

  Walsingham left him studying his astrological charts, and Walsingham made his way to the gardens to be alone with his thoughts. Deep in conversation on the bench beside the lavender were Marlowe and Nathaniel. Walsingham read the concern etched in the face of Will’s assistant and recognised the cause immediately. It brought back a rush of memories and feelings still raw after all the years.

  His mother telling him the circumstances of his father’s death. “They haunted him until his heart failed him. They had noticed him, you see.”

  His dreams of following his father into the legal profession when he enrolled as a student at Gray’s Inn, dashed by the thing that sat in the corner of his room and told him cruelly that his mother would be next.

  At her graveside near thirty years ago, watching the figures hiding among the yews, sensing their jubilation at his mother’s final suffering, at his own suffering.

  We have long memories, and our punishment reaches down the years, down the generations.

  His mounting sense of injustice, tempered always by the hope that soon the misery would stop. His wedding to Anne. Her funeral just two years later. The coils of the Enemy drawing tighter and tighter around him.

  His two stepsons, dying in a conflagration when a barrel of gunpowder blew up in the gatehouse where he had sent them to be safe.

  So many deaths, so many tears, and all because of an act committed before he was even born. His father’s crime? To help a young boy the Enemy were tormenting.

  Over the years, through all the pain, they had driven him to be the man he was. And they would pay the price.

  At Walsingham’s curt summons, Marlowe came over, trying to hide his sheepish expression. Walsingham would have preferred him to stay out of sight—he had too many weaknesses, too many cracks for the Enemy to prise open—but more important matters pressed.

  “He has been touched by the Enemy?” Walsingham said, nodding towards Nathaniel.

  “Lightly.” Marlowe was pleased Walsingham did not have stern words for him. “He still has many doubts, and searches for ways to dismiss what his heart knows to be true.”

  “Then help him in that task. Do not let him onto the path we walk. He deserves a better life.”

  “I will lead him down a garden path filled with sunshine and flowers.”

  “Good. We must never forget why we fight.” He fixed an eye on Marlowe. “And why are you here?”

  “Will has charged us both with keeping watch upon the Lantern Tower. The Enemy have shown how badly they require the Shield, and he fears they will attempt to steal it.”

  “The Lantern Tower has many, many defences. But still … you do good work.”

  Marlowe beamed. It was a small act of kindness, but Walsingham felt pleased that he had done it; he was allowed little opportunity to be kind these days.

  But as he moved away, the shadow fell over him quickly once again. He could see the Enemy’s hand everywhere. No one was wholly trustworthy, not even those closest to him. He had made so many sacrifices, and it was all on the brink of being for naught. On any given day, Swyfte was the best man he had, but he was afraid the Enemy had found Will’s weakness—the girl, Grace—and would use that to destroy him.

  HAPTER 35

  ow long do we have?” Mayhew asked.

  “An hour. Perhaps two,” Will replied. In the garb of Levantine sailors, he led the others away from the crack of rope and the slap of billowing sails at Seville’s harbour. De Groot’s carriage had dropped them off at the waterside after the two-day journey across the dusty tracks of Andalusia, in the shade of undulating hills awash with olive trees and vines. With the loop of cloth from their headdress pulled over their lower faces to disguise their identities, they quickly merged into the thick flow of people milling along the dockside, merchants barking orders or haggling over prices, swarthy workers unloading bales and urns, sailors lounging in the shade, drinking and playing cards as they waited for their ships to sail.

  “That does not give us much time,” Carpenter growled.

  “Time enough to cut off the Spaniard’s ears if he is still here, and to encourage him to tell us the whereabouts of the Silver Skull and the girl,” Launceston mused.

  “Any more talk of the removal of body parts and I will start to think you consider it more entertainment than encouragement,” Will murmured.

  “One cannot escape the fact that it is entertaining,” Launceston replied, “and has been since I was a child, cutting up cats and dogs to see how they work.”

  No one spoke for several minutes.

  Beneath an azure sky, Seville carried its age with great dignity and sophistication. Gleaming white walls and spicy Moorish domes of orange and brown and gold, straight lines from the Romans and horseshoe arches from the Visigoths, faded Phoenician carvings on the old stones torn out during the rebuilding of the busy port along the slow-moving Rio Guadalquivir, where the ships backed up for miles laden with produce bought with New World riches. On the streets, under the swaying palms, people moved at a lazy pace, their faces betraying the heritage of two thousand years of invaders. Though the Christian rulers had tried to drive out the Moors and the Jews, they could not eradicate the subtle influences of North Africa and the Holy Land that had burrowed into the features of the residents over the centuries.

  It was a city where anything could be found: silver and gold from the Spanish Main, silk and spices from the distant East, rare books and telescopes from Constantinople, secrets from the four corners and the answers to age-old mysteries.

  They headed east through the sweltering stores a
nd clattering shipyards of El Arenal towards their destination. Mayhew appeared to have regained much of his equilibrium since they had left Cadiz, although his face still showed the stress of surviving in the heart of enemy territory.

  Continuing east, they soon spied the soaring bulk of the Gothic cathedral. It was dominated by La Giralda, the Moorish bell tower, its geometric stone patterns lining the tier of arched windows that revealed its origins as a minaret where the muezzin called the faithful to prayer during the long occupation. The cathedral stood just beyond the solid walls of the Barrio de Santa Cruz, erected, according to the city fathers, to protect the Jewish inhabitants, but which made the quarter seem more like a sprawling prison.

  Passing through the arched gates into the warren of whitewashed alleys and patios, they saw that New World wealth had already flowed into the redevelopment of the ghettos. The architecture here had a different flavour, with tiny grilled windows on tall, plain-fronted buildings, simple next to the ornate designs of the Moorish structures that dominated the rest of the city.

  In the Barrio the streets were quieter, and they could move faster towards the Real Alcazar. Its spacious gardens soon came into view, lush rows of palms, terraces, fountains, and pavilions. The sprawling, ornate complex of buildings with the Palacio Pedro I at its heart was like a jewel box with its blend of Islamic and Christian styles on a soothing geometric design of patios and halls. It had a grandeur that dwarfed the more stoic and shadowy Palace of Whitehall.

  They avoided the guards at the gates and headed north until they found Susona Street, a narrow route between larger thoroughfares with tiny, dark shops like caves, goods and produce piled high on tables beneath awnings gleaming brassware, pots and pans, fruit and spices—and an inn where old men with long, white moustaches and snowy beards drank wine and talked quietly about the old days.

  Their destination stood out from the other stores with a simple painted sign of yellow stars and a crescent moon on a deep blue background. The window was filled with chalices, swords, and other items of dubious use but clear ritual intent. The door stood open and the heavy, spicy scent of incense drifted out. It was too dark inside to see much, but Will could make out strange objects hanging from the rafters and piles of large books.