'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.
CHAPTER 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 and 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.
He ordered Launceston to keep watch and slipped inside. Carpenter and Mayhew pretended to browse the books near the door while he pushed his way into the gloomy depths through a series of heavy drapes, where the only light came from intermittent candles. Here were stored items of a more obvious occult nature-balls of crystal, scrying mirrors, human skulls, knives with obsidian handles, jewels, wall coverings marked with arcane symbols, and books so big they looked impossible to lift. Shadows swooped with every flicker of the flames so that the jumble of treasures appeared to move of their own accord. The breeze from the open door shifted hanging columns of colourful beads glistening in the faint illumination and stirred wind chimes, so the senses were continually stimulated and the thoughts distracted.
A whiff of sweat beneath the disguising incense. Whirling, Will saw white eyes in the corner next to the drapes through which he had entered; he had passed within a foot of the watcher without even knowing he was there.
'You are Abd al-Rahman?' Will asked, in Spanish.
A North African man stepped into the candlelight. His shaven head was covered with swirling tattoos made by a needle with ashes rubbed into the wounds. One tooth was missing. Will noticed his fingernails were excessively long and filed like an animal's claws.
'I am Abd al-Rahman,' he replied in English, noting Will's slight accent, and added with a faint sibilance, 'You search for something in particular?' He was a big man, strong and muscular. One hand rested on the hilt of a curved knife at his belt.
'I hear you are a wise man, and knowledgeable in the ways of the ancients.'
Al-Rahman brought his hands together slowly and gave a faint bow, although he showed no pleasure. 'You honour me.'
'I am surprised the Christian leaders of Seville allow a practitioner of the Devil's arts in their midst.'
'They drive out only those who are not useful to them.'
'You help them?'
'I help all, for the right fee.'
'Then you may come to my aid, for I am a weary traveller in search of information. And I can provide all the gold you need.'
Al-Rahman wryly indicated a table for Will to make his payment, but it was clear he knew Will had no gold.
