Alquezar swallowed four times and again cleared his throat, this time noisily. 'I am always at the service of Your Eminence.' His skin went from an extreme pallor to a sudden flush, as though he were suffering attacks of cold and heat. 'What I can imagine of that second conspiracy . . .'
'Try to imagine every detail, I beg you.'
'Of course, Your Eminence.' Alquezar's eyes were still futilely scrutinizing the minister's papers; his instinct as a functionary impelled him to seek in them the explanation of what was happening to him. 'As I was saying, all I can imagine, or suppose, is that certain interests crossed paths along the way. The Church, for example?'
'The word 'church' is very broad. Were you referring to someone in particular?'
'Very well. There are some who have secular, as well as ecclesiastic, power. And they fervently disapprove of a heretic's—'
'I see,' the minister interrupted. 'You were referring to saintly men like Fray Emilio Bocanegra, for example.'
Alatriste saw the king's secretary repress a sudden start.
'I have not named the holy father,' said Alquezar, regaining his composure. 'But now that Your Eminence has seen fit to mention him, I would say yes. By that I mean that, in fact, Fray Emilio may be one of those who does not look kindly upon an alliance with England.'
'I am surprised that you did not come to consult me, if you were harboring such suspicions.'
The secretary sighed, venturing a discreet conciliatory smile. The longer the conversation continued, and he tested which tack to take, the more artful and sure of himself he seemed to be.
'Your Eminence is aware of how it is at court. It is difficult to survive—walking the line between Tynans and Trojans, you know. There are influences. Pressures. Besides, it is well known that Your Eminence is not among those who favor an alliance with England. It was, actually, all in your best interests.'
'By His wounds, Alquezar! I swear to you that for such 'services' I have had more than one man hanged.' Olivares's glare bored through the royal secretary like a lethal musket ball. 'Although I imagine that the gold of Richelieu, of Savoy and Venice, would not have persuaded anyone otherwise.'
The royal secretary's complicit and servile smile vanished as if by magic. 'I cannot know to what Your Eminence is referring.'
'You do not know? How curious. My spies have confirmed the delivery of an important sum of money to some person at court, but without identifying the recipient. All this makes things a little clearer for me.'
Alquezar placed a hand on the embroidered cross of Calatrava. 'I pray that Your Eminence does not believe that I...'
'You?' Olivares gave a dismissive wave, as if to brush away a fly, causing Alquezar to smile with relief. 'I do know what you have to gain in this business. After all, everyone knows that I myself named you private secretary to His Majesty. You enjoy my trust. And although recently you have obtained a certain power, I doubt that you were sufficiently bold to think of conspiring to effect your own reward. Is that not true?'
The confident smile was no longer as firm on the secretary's lips. 'Naturally, Your Eminence,' he said in a low voice.
'And especially,' Olivares continued, 'not in matters involving foreign powers. Fray Emilio Bocanegra can emerge from this unscathed, since he is a man of the Church with influence at court. But it may cost others their heads.'
As he spoke these words he threw a terrible and meaningful glance toward Alquezar.
'Your Eminence knows'—the royal secretary was nearly stuttering, and was again turning pale—'that I am completely loyal.'
The minister's expression was one of profound irony. 'Completely?'
'Yes, Your Eminence, that is what I said. Loyal. And useful.'
'But let me remind you, Don Luis, that I have cemeteries filled with 'completely' faithful and useful collaborators.'
In his mouth, that pronouncement sounded even more dark and threatening. The Conde de Olivares picked up his quill with a distracted air, holding it as though preparing to sign a death sentence. Alatriste saw Alquezar follow the movement of the pen with agonized eyes.
'And now that we are speaking of cemeteries,' the minister interjected suddenly, 'I want you to meet Diego Alatriste, better known as Captain Alatriste. Have you met him?'
'No. I mean to say-that, ahem . . . That I am not acquainted with him.'
'That is the good thing about dealing with discreet parties. No one knows anyone.'
Again Olivares seemed about to smile. Instead he pointed his quill toward the captain.
'Don Diego Alatriste,' he said, 'is an honorable man with an excellent military record—although a recent wound and bad fortunes have placed him in a delicate situation. He seems brave and trustworthy. . . . 'Solid' would be the proper term. There are not many men like him, and I am sure that with a little luck he will know better times. It would be a shame to find ourselves forever deprived of his potential services.' He sent a penetrating glance toward the secretary to the king. 'Do you not find that true, Alquezar?'
'Very true,' the secretary hastened to confirm. 'But with the kind of life that I imagine he leads, this Senor Alatriste exposes himself to many dangers. An accident, or something of the kind. No one can be responsible for that.'
Having spoken, Alquezar directed an angry look at the captain.
'Oh, I can. I will be responsible,' said the king's favorite, who seemed to be very comfortable with the direction the interview was taking. 'And it would be well if on our parts we do nothing to precipitate such an unpleasant outcome. You do share my opinion, do you not, Senor Royal Secretary?'
