The Virgin's War (Tudor Legacy #3)(93)
I have been lucky, I know that. So few children lost…
I do not feel lucky.
But it is Kit I truly fear for now.
24 June 1586
Pontefract Castle
Public danger makes no concessions to private grief. We woke this morning—those of us who managed to sleep a little—to urgent riders from both north and south. From Brandon Dudley, Dominic’s chief lieutenant, came word that the Spanish Armada has left Lisbon and is sailing for England.
Even as Dominic and I made plans to make all haste south, an outrider came from the northeast coast. Almost twenty ships are rapidly approaching Berwick. Those missing ships from Ireland—including the three sent away from Hull by the Earl of Arundel. The Spanish intend to land along the northern border, threatening Scotland so as to pressure King James to keep his men at home.
Stephen has already ridden out with his men for Carlisle to ensure that Lord Scrope can hold the West, for almost certainly the remaining Spanish in Ireland will try to land there as well. Lucette returns to Kenilworth to keep the information passing quickly, while Julien will fight with Dominic. Anabel and Kit will go with all haste to Berwick, to rally the forces of the East and Middle March…and to use whatever means necessary to persuade King James to lend England his army.
But first the Princess of Wales will pass judgment.
The trial of Tomás Navarro lasted less than thirty minutes. There had been a brief discussion about the propriety of Anabel presiding, but the princess had watched her mother for many years and knew how and when to exploit her authority.
“I preside over the Council of the North,” she said sharply. “It is my prerogative to conduct this trial.”
A military trial was swift and efficient. As Stephen Courtenay had already left for Carlisle, his sworn statement was read into the record. It was an accurate and damning eyewitness account of Navarro’s cold-blooded attack. As my company was already sweeping down upon him and he must have known he had been defeated, Navarro’s act can only be seen as the most cowardly spitefulness.
Pippa’s public denunciation as a witch and subsequent whipping at Hull Castle was testified to by Matthew Harrington. A man who valued privacy and control, perhaps only those who knew him well could see the anguish beneath the newly made widower’s surface.
There was no jury, only Anabel with the governor of Pontefract Castle to offer the appearance of counsel. She had taken care to prepare her verdict in the most damning language.
“Tomás Navarro, you stand accused of unlawful murder. As a foreign agent, you came to England to stir up violence and divide the loyalties of our faithful subjects. When balked of your intent, you most maliciously targeted an innocent woman to bear your displeasure. Your crimes are worthy of death. You will be taken from this hall to the place of execution, where your sentence will be carried out immediately. Have you anything to say?”
The priest had held his tongue thus far, not bothering to conceal his loathing for the princess he had so zealously tried to convert. Now, speaking in English so that everyone present might understand, Navarro declaimed, “Daughter or not, King Philip will punish you for destroying a man of God. He will curse your name for what you do here today.”
Anabel contemplated him as she would an unsavory species of insect life. “No,” she said finally. “It is you my father will curse. In your arrogance and viciousness, you have lost him his war. The fire of resistance has been kindled—and I will see that it burns every Spanish soldier who sets foot on England’s shores.”
The guards took Navarro to the courtyard, where the executioner awaited with his axe. When the governor had pointed out that hanging was the usual method, Anabel answered, “Hanging is not enough. I want his head.”
In their haste, they did not even bother with a platform for better viewing, simply a wooden block set atop a layer of straw.
Anabel insisted on being there, as did the remaining members of the Courtenay family. Whatever else might have been said of Navarro, his faith lent him strength. He removed the cassock of his calling and repeated the Lord’s Prayer. Then he crossed himself and knelt. He had declined a blindfold, and did not even close his eyes as he laid his head sideways on the block. Faintly, Anabel could hear him reciting.
“Hail Mary, full of grace…pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death. Amen.”
The axe fell as the “amen” ended. Navarro’s head, eyes open and fixed, mouth twitching for several ghastly seconds, landed with a subdued thunk on the straw. Anabel felt a sharp pain in her hands, and realized her fingernails had dug themselves into her palms.
She looked at the captain of Pontefract’s guards. “Bury him where no one will ever find him again.”
When she turned away, it was to speak to Dominic Courtenay. “It is justice,” she acknowledged. “But justice is rather hollow. There can never be compensation for Pippa’s death.”
“No. But there can be meaning to it. Pippa’s life and death—make it count, Your Highness.”
“I will.”
And when every last Spanish ship and Spanish soldier has been routed from our seas and coasts, she vowed silently, I will lay the wreath of victory at Pippa’s tomb.
Elizabeth had never allowed personal concerns to interfere with matters of state. She had faced down assassination threats without retreating behind closed doors, had dared the scorn of her advisors to marry Philip and flirt with France, and had always put England’s welfare before that of her own or anyone else.