"Truly? That is what he said?"
"Yes, his very words."
Olivares's penetrating pupils were pointed at the captain like the bore of a harquebus. "And who was that principal?" he asked with dangerous softness.
Alatriste did not blink. "I have no idea, Excellency. He wore a mask."
Now Olivares observed the captain with renewed interest. "And if those were your orders, how is it that your companion dared go further?"
"I do not know what companion you are referring to, Excellency. But in any case, other gentlemen who accompanied that pre-eminent senor later gave different instructions."
"Others?" The minister seemed very interested in that plural. '"Sblood! I would like to have their names. Or their descriptions."
"I am afraid that is impossible. You will already have noticed, Excellency, that I have great problems with my memory. And the masks ..."
He watched as Olivares struck the table, venting his impatience. The look that he gave Alatriste, though, was more evaluating than menacing. He seemed to be weighing something in his mind.
"I am beginning to have my fill of your bad memory. And I warn you that there are executioners capable of making the strongest man sing a tune."
"I beg of Your Excellency, look at me. Carefully."
Olivares, who had done nothing else, frowned, both irritated and surprised. From his expression, Alatriste believed that he was going to call the guard and have him removed and hanged at that moment. But he did nothing. He did not comment or speak, but only stared at the captain's face, as requested. Finally, something in the firm chin or the cold, gray-green eyes, which had not blinked once during the examination, seemed to persuade him.
"Perhaps you are right," he nodded. "I would be willing to swear that you are the sort who forgets. Or does not talk." He stared pensively at the papers on the table. "I have matters to attend to," he said. "I hope you will not mind waiting here a while more."
He got up then, and went to a bell-pull near a wall and tugged it once. Then he sat down again, and paid no further attention to the captain. Alatriste's sense that he knew the individual who answered the bell increased as soon as he heard his voice. By my life . . . ! This, he mused, was beginning to resemble a reunion of old friends. The only ones needed to complete the crew were Fray Emilio Bocanegra and the Italian swordsman. The man before him had a round head, on which floated a few graying brown hairs. All his hair was sparse: the sideburns halfway down his face, the thinly trimmed beard from lower lip to chin, and the scraggly mustache curling over cheeks streaked with red veins, like the ones on his fat nose. He was wearing black, and the embroidered cross of Calatrava on his chest did nothing to improve the vulgarity of his appearance. His wilted ruff was far from clean, as were the ink-stained hands that resembled those of an amanuensis who had hit a run of good fortune; only the heavy gold ring on the little finger of his left hand spoke to his privileged state. The eyes, though, were sharp and intelligent, and the knowing, critical arch of the left eyebrow lent a crafty, dangerous tone to the expression—first surprised and then cold and scornful— that crossed his face when he saw Diego Alatriste.
It was none other than Luis de Alquezar, private secretary to king Philip the Fourth. And this time he was wearing no mask.
"To sum up," said Olivares. "We are dealing here with two conspiracies. One intended to give a lesson to certain English travelers and to relieve them of a bundle of secret documents. And another intended simply to assassinate them. Of the first I had some knowledge, I seem to remember. . . . But the second is practically new to me. Perhaps you, Don Luis, as secretary to His Majesty and an expert observer in certain ministerial offices at court, may have heard something?"
The favorite of the king had spoken very slowly, taking his time and leaving long pauses between his sentences, and never taking his eyes off the man he had summoned. The secretary stood before Olivares, wary, occasionally sneaking a glance at Diego Alatriste. The captain had stepped to one side, wondering where the devil all this was going to end. A gathering of shepherds, and one dead sheep? Or about to be.
Olivares had stopped talking and was waiting. Luis de Alquezar cleared his throat.
"I fear I will be of very little help to Your Eminence," he said, and in his meticulously cautious tone showed his discomfort at Alatriste's presence. "I, too, had heard something about the first conspiracy. As for the second ..." He looked at the captain and his left eyebrow rose in a sinister arch, like an upraised Turkish scimitar. "I do not know what this, ahem, person, may have told you."
Olivares's fingers drummed impatiently on the table. "This, ahem, person, has said nothing. He is waiting here for me to deal with another matter."
Luis de Alquezar was slow to speak, processing what he had just heard. Once it was digested, he looked toward Alatriste, and then Olivares again.
"But. . ." he began.
"There are no buts."
Alquezar again cleared his throat. "As Your Eminence has set forth such a delicate subject in the presence of a third party, I thought that. . ." "You thought wrongly."
"Forgive me." The secretary looked at the papers on the table with an uneasy expression, as if expecting to find something alarming in them. He had paled noticeably. "But I do not know whether before a stranger I should . .."
The favorite of the king lifted an authoritative hand. Alatriste, who was watching closely, would have sworn that Olivares was enjoying himself.
"You should."
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."