The Quality of Mercy. Faye Kellerman
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in heaven, the ass had had the perfect opportunity. Damn his incompetence! If only he’d been of stabler and stronger character. The conversos would have had one of their own on the throne. Now it seemed that the bastard had taken refuge in Eton, under Essex’s protection, and both of them hated his guts.
Martino finished his duties and left the chamber.
Roderigo said, “Don’t mention Don Antonio in my presence again. The monster still plagues us. He’s under Essex’s wing, and de Andrada has told me that he and Essex will stop at nothing to ruin us.”
“Uncle, de Andrada is Don Antonio’s former spy,” Dunstan said. “He is also a perjurer, a noted liar, and a traitor. And before you unharness your anger against me, realize that you’ve said those very words many times in the past.”
Roderigo said nothing.
“Why do you continue to shelter de Andrada in your home?” Dunstan asked.
Roderigo sat back down. “Dunstan, my nephew, you are indeed an idiot. De Andrada is a poisonous snake. He knows too much and is dangerous out of my watch … And yes, I admit he’s dangerous inside my house as well. He is a damnable nuisance.”
The room fell quiet. Damn them all, Roderigo thought, Don Antonio, de Andrada, Essex, Philip, Elizabeth. If he had the power and guts, he’d poison them all with a healthy dose of Indian acacia.
Roderigo said to Dunstan, “You’ve asked to speak with me, to discuss the mission, express your worries about our safety. I contend we are safe—for now. But that doesn’t mean we haven’t become careless. Who knows how Raphael was exposed? We must use extreme caution in the future.”
“Uncle,” Dunstan said. “I ask you if it’s worth it to continue at the expense of our own lives.”
Roderigo said, “As long as we keep the monarchs happy with gold, the mission is on safe grounds … provided that Miguel is not caught, of course.”
The comment reverberated in the quiet of the room. Thomas pulled a dagger from his belt and examined its fine-honed edge. Roderigo took a sip of port, smoothed his beard, then flicked a speck of imaginary dust off his round hose. Dunstan adjusted the cuff on his sleeve and glanced at Miguel, who finally spoke up.
“I’m not worried,” he said. “Things are proceeding smoothly. Just a week ago I was able to carry out my first assignment and present papers to six stowaways. They’re now residing safely in the Low Countries.”
“How did you contact them?” Thomas asked.
Miguel explained how Esteban Ferreira de Gama had sneaked out the stowaways from a Spanish cutter late at night. It had been pouring rain and all of them were soaked and chilled, but no one could dare utter a sound, even a sneeze. The Almighty was merciful, Miguel said. The ship docked safely at Portsmouth. De Gama was the first to venture off the boat, and was elated to see England shrouded in mist. Good cover! He found some empty crates, packed the stowaways inside, then loaded them on an inbound ship as supplies. Miguel described how he was able to board the local ship, docked at the wharf on the Thames, and hand the stowaways their citizen’s papers.
“They left the same night for Spanish Brussels,” Miguel said. “Father received word that they were successfully met by ‘David,’ who escorted them into Amsterdam.”
“Well executed!” Roderigo cried with pride.
“I thank you,” Miguel said. His eyes shifted back and forth between Dunstan and Thomas. “My friends, my brothers, if you could have seen the look of gratitude etched upon their faces, you would know that we’ve no choice but to continue our efforts—increase them if necessary. We’re saving lives!”
Roderigo said, “And how do Sir Thomas and Sir Dunstan respond to that?”
Thomas was the first to speak.
“So be it,” he said.
Dunstan didn’t answer.
Miguel said, “Dunstan, my good man. There’s more to life than life itself.”
“Miguel,” Roderigo said. “I’ve just received word from de Gama that another ship could be due in Plymouth a month from now. Do you feel able to meet the challenge?”
“Aye.”
“Good man!” Roderigo said. “Any comment from the knighted ones?”
Thomas’s hand went to his dagger, then slipped by his side. He shook his head no. Dunstan rolled his eyes backward. Roderigo caught the gesture of contempt but said nothing. The boy knew he had been outvoted. No sense in pushing his nose into his failure.
Roderigo rose from his chair—a signal for the others to stand as well. “Let us say our evening prayers. Lord knows how much we need guidance and forebearance.”
After the men had finished the “Shemona Esreh,” the eighteen verses of Hebraic silent meditation, Miguel said,
“If you have no more need of me, I shall be off. Thomas, be so good as to sport with me this week. Much of the art of fence I have yet to learn.”
Thomas answered, “I have time now, if it is convenient for you.”
“Good,” Miguel replied.
“I shall take my leave as well,” Dunstan said.
“Good day, Uncle,” Thomas said.
“The three of you shall sup with us tonight,” Roderigo announced magnanimously.
“If it pleases you,” Dunstan answered for the group.
“I as well?” Miguel asked Roderigo.
The doctor walked over to Miguel and hugged him tightly.
“Yes,” he said. “You as well … my son.”
With Miguel in the lead, the three young men left Lopez’s private cell and descended the spiral stairway. Miguel ran down the long hallway, into Lopez’s library, and threw open the doors to the formal gardens. The Ames brothers followed at a slower pace. Miguel took a deep breath and let it out slowly. An iron bar had been lifted from his shoulders. He had been forgiven! He felt as swift as a hawk, as bold as a lion. Invincible. He saw Rebecca resting on a stone bench in the almond orchard and called out to her.
Thomas caught up with Miguel and glared at him.
“Do you want to gossip or sport,” he asked irritatedly.
“Shall I ignore the bereaved?” Miguel was just as irritated.
“Bereaved?” Dunstan whispered to his brother. “Never has she been more joyous.”
Rebecca waved to the men, and Miguel ran ahead to her. She stood, held out her arms, and they embraced.
“He has made amends?” she asked, but did not wait for the reply. “I knew he would. Father is a sheep in wolf’s clothing.” She mussed his hair. “And you’re continuing the intrigue?”
“Dunstan has told you his doubts about the mission?”
“No, Miguel,” Rebecca said. “I disclosed to him my doubts.”
“His words were your idea, then,” Miguel said.
She pulled away from him.
Miguel said, “Becca, I must continue the work of Raphael—”
“No!”
“We’re saving lives.”
“It isn’t enough that I mourn for Raphael?” she asked. “Must I mourn for you, also?”
“I’m cautious—”
“Your brother used caution. He’s dead.”
Thomas and Dunstan approached, greeting their cousin with a customary kiss.
“You’re