Quintessence Sky (31 page)

"That seems likely," Barrosa said.

"What do you think she'll do?"

Barrosa shook his head. He cracked the door
and looked out—no one there—and then beckoned Ramos over to the
window. "Mary hates Elizabeth," he whispered. "Loves her and hates
her at the same time. I was here, in England, when Elizabeth was
born." Barrosa had been the son of one of the ladies-in-waiting to
Queen Katerina, and had grown up in England.

"That must have been a frightening time,"
Ramos said. Mary's father, Henry VIII, had thrown the Holy Church
out of England, and Mary's mother out of the palace, so he could
marry Elizabeth's mother, Anne Boleyn.

"The worst," Barrosa said. "Mary was
seventeen years old. There she was, stripped of her titles, forced
to acknowledge—after twenty-four years—that her parents had never
been truly married. Her father forced her to leave her mother and
live in Hatfield House with beautiful little Princess Elizabeth,
and to act as her servant. She had to watch her father and his
lover—and the whole court, really—fuss and praise and lavish every
possible rich gift on Elizabeth while she stood by."

"And through all that, she remained faithful
to the Church," Ramos said.

"That's just it. If not for this baby son,
Elizabeth would be next in line for the throne, and she's a
Protestant. At some level, Mary loves Elizabeth as a sister, but at
the same time, she's fiercely jealous of her, and she fears England
slipping back into the heresy that took her father away from her.
Just by being alive, Elizabeth is a threat to Mary's son. If Mary
sees this as treachery, then both Dee and Elizabeth are in grave
danger."

Ramos unlatched the window and swung it open.
He was finding it hard to breathe. They were on the third floor
looking down, so no one from outside would overhear them. "She's
going to execute Dee, isn't she?"

"It's quite possible. This may even be the
final straw that tips her over into executing Elizabeth. Most of
her council advises her to do it. She's refused so far, out of
loyalty to family and a respect for what she considers royal blood,
but if it looks like Elizabeth is complicit in a plot to kill her
baby . . ."

"And what about us? The soldiers came looking
for Dee, and found me sitting on the front step. If they didn't
know of a connection between us before, they do now."

"We work for the king, though. We're not
under the queen's authority."

"If the king finds out we were telling his
secrets—"

"Why should he find out? The queen doesn't
care about quintessence or know anything about it. Besides, we're
useful to the king. We make discoveries that will be useful to his
war effort."

"That's true," Ramos said. He thought of the
king's veiled threat against Antonia. "He wants us submissive, but
still working."

"So what do we do?" Barrosa said.

"We stay in Richmond and act like good king's
men. Stand with his courtiers, attend functions, write his letters,
tell him what the stars portend. Give him no reason to be
displeased with us."

"And Dee?"

"We watch for our chance," Ramos said. "Speak
on his behalf, if we can. Find out how much the king knows, and how
much he suspects."

THE PRINCESS Elizabeth was called to a
hearing before the queen, the king, the Lord Chancellor, and the
Archbishop of Canterbury, and sentenced to death by beheading if
she would not recant and confess her crimes. After they brought her
back to her cell in the Tower, Ramos visited her. She sat on the
floor in a corner, away from the window, looking small and
helpless.

"I know I am mortal," she said. She sat very
still, and her voice was quiet. "I cannot live forever. I should be
ready for death, whensoever God pleases to send it."

"Will you not recant?" Ramos said. "Mary
would give you your life, if you would convert. Is it not better to
work within the Church to reform it, rather than set yourself
against it?"

Elizabeth shook her head, and her voice took
on a little more of the steel he was used to. "I will never be
constrained by violence to do anything I would not do of my own
free will. If the threat of harm could make me bend, what kind of
queen would I be?"

Ramos took a step closer and kneeled next to
her. The stones were hard and cold. He wanted to put a hand on her
shoulder, but he knew she would never allow it. She was a royal
personage, her body sacred. "This is stubbornness," he said. "Even
a queen must compromise. The greatest commander must sound the
retreat when the battle is lost."

She raised her eyes to look at him around a
lock of red hair, a hint of a smile playing about her lips. "Do you
care for me, then, Ramos de Tavera?"

He was taken aback. "Of course I do, your
Grace."

"Then listen: There is more at stake than my
life or my pride. Do you not understand this? I care not about the
divisions and quarrels of Christendom. There is only one Christ
Jesus, one faith. All else is a dispute over trifles."

"Then why take this stand? Swear your
allegiance to Rome, and live another day."

She held his gaze. "Because it is truth that
hangs in the balance. Not the truth of a single doctrine or fact of
history, but Truth itself, the very meaning of the word. There are
those who believe only what makes them feel good or important or
worthwhile. They cling to it, lest they see themselves for the
petty and immoral people they are. Truth does not hide or cover up.
It stares at the ugliness without shrinking back. It asks not, what
would I
like
to be true, but what actually is?"

Her gaze drifted to the window. "To love
Truth is to risk everything. There are many who seek to suppress it
at all costs, because it would reveal them. To others, and
especially to themselves. But I have to believe that Truth is worth
the risk, and that, even if I die, it will win in the end."

She spoke with a quiet ferocity, and Ramos
didn't answer at first. He knew she wasn't talking about him, not
directly, but she had drawn a line in the sand, and he wasn't
certain which side of it he stood on. Did he have the courage to
seek out truth at any cost? Or did he prefer to tell himself those
lies which made his place in the world easy and secure?

"What would you do if you took the throne?"
he said. "If Mary died today, and you were freed from this tower
and crowned queen?"

She gave a deep sigh, as if all her strength
was gone. "I have thought all my life that God had called me to
rule. I have prepared for it, considered the glory and the cost,
and been in constant danger of my life from those who wish me ill.
I have learned how to play this game of thrones."

She sat up straighter, tossing her hair over
her shoulder and looking out into the distance. "If I were queen, I
would chart England her own course, free from Rome and all the
nations who wish to turn her sails. She would be my consort, and I
her bride. We would allow no lies in our presence, no deceit, no
flattery. We would surround ourselves with men who loved truth
above greatness, and honesty above power. Who loved God more than
Protestantism, and England more than their own political gain."

She leaned back against the wall. "But now,
Mary will have a son, and if God wills it, I will die. Perhaps I
was never destined for the throne, after all."

"Do not lose heart, your Grace," Ramos said.
"If anyone was destined to rule, it is you."

It was out of his mouth before he realized
what it meant. He had already been sneaking around behind his
king's back, doing secret experiments, and questioning the actions
of the Inquisition. But this was something more. Treason. He owed
allegiance to Spain, not England, and to the Roman Church, not the
English one. But Elizabeth spoke of a Truth that transcended
religious and political lines, and he was loyal to that truth above
all.

He realized he had crossed the line. He had
seen the differences between Philip and Elizabeth, and he knew whom
he would rather serve. What was the Church, if it tortured the
innocent? What was Spain, if it was ruled by a selfish despot? He
wanted Rome and Spain brought to the truth, but it was the truth he
was loyal to above all.

Ramos remembered the horoscope he had cast
for himself on the floor of the Spanish prison. There had been
figures for treason and heresy, for the love of a woman, for the
crossing of an ocean. Those predictions, so bizarre at the time,
seemed much more likely now.

He had told Barrosa that they should lie low
and not call attention to themselves, but now he had no intention
of taking that advice himself. He had crossed the line, and there
was no going back. He knew what he had to do. It didn't matter that
Elizabeth was English and a Protestant. He wasn't going to let her
die.

CHAPTER 20

BY THE NEXT nightfall, the colonists reached
the caves. It had been another long day, mostly traveling uphill,
and everyone was exhausted. Even so, there was work to be done,
gathering wood for fires, making sleeping arrangements, digging a
pit in the woods for a latrine. Quintessence could make these jobs
faster and easier, but many of them were spent from their journey,
and almost all of the salt had been lost to the miasma.

Ferguson was the only one who didn't seem
tired. He walked from group to group, listening to complaints about
the size of their sleeping area or how much of the remaining food
ration they were receiving. Matthew knew his father should stand up
and make an encouraging speech of some kind, but he also knew he
wouldn't do it. His father was a preacher, able to rouse passions
when he put his mind to it, but he wasn't connected to how the
people around him felt.

These caves were the same ones Catherine and
her father and others from the Quintessence Society had hidden in
to escape Diego de Tavera after the first Spanish ship had come.
Tavera had found them then, and he had no doubt the new Spanish
arrivals would find them again, in time. For tonight, however, they
should be safe enough.

The caves were complex and jagged, full of
twisting fissures that concealed deeper passages. Some of the
openings were large enough to march an army through; some too small
for a child. No one knew how far back they led. The sound of
running water suggested the existence of an underground river, but
if one existed, it was out of reach. There weren't many comfortable
spots to sleep on the rocky floor, but the night was dry, and there
was plenty of room outside under the stars.

He was just about to fall asleep when the
voice of Ramos de Tavera came again through the piece of wood. He
told Matthew that Princess Elizabeth was sentenced to die. Matthew,
in turn, told Ramos about their situation, but he seemed
distracted.

"Elizabeth needs help," Ramos said.

It was big news, and would be upsetting to
many in the colony, but Matthew was exhausted, and England seemed
so far away. "I hope she gets it," he said, yawning. "I'm sure my
father will pray for her."

"I mean, she needs help from us. You and
me."

"How could I possibly help her?"

"I have an idea," Ramos said. He went on to
explain it: a mad, impossible idea that—if they were desperate
enough to try it—just might work. Though if it didn't, it might
just kill her instead.