Chapter XL: Sudden Death
December 23, 1582
Alvaro stood over the second figure with his breath held in a bubble somewhere in his throat. The dawn was encroaching over the pond’s embankment just enough so that both laying figures were now shrouded in a regal gold despite their morbid positions on the bare dirt closest to the cold water.
“Another one…” Alvaro whispered to himself as he stepped even closer to the second figure half shrouded in a cloud of scarlet folds.
The young boy held onto the two makeshift stick and rope fishing poles with his left hand while his right reached forward with a trembling curiosity. His small digits made a careful grasp of the clothing. Slowly his hand traversed downwards pulling the shroud away from the man’s face. Curly hair and curly beard marked this one, unlike the straight and clean look of the previous dead man.
Alvaro couldn’t stop a tickle run up his spine. On the way to the pond to catch what remained of the winter fish, it seemed like an ordinary day for a young village boy, but he never expected to come upon two still bodies as he stepped over the embankment. The first closest to him that he looked at was covered in black plate armour and he nearly fell back at the sight of a broken splinter lodged into the man’s neck. He wanted to see the face of the second man…
The horse he noticed that was tied to the nearby tree startled him with a sudden fit of displeasure and forced him to turn his head to the old withered tree. Despite being only seven, he would need to take that horse back to his village, he thought, lest some bandits take advantage of the poor animal. Kneading his bottom lip with is top lip; he thought about giving the animal a nod of reassurance but instead tore himself back to the morbid sight underneath him. He was quite surprised to see live eyes staring back at him.
Letting out the pocket of nervous air that had been lodged in his throat, Alvaro leapt backward with so much force that he fell backwards against the grassy embankment. Shivering uncontrollably, he saw the huge figure begin to bring its upper body upward with a hand on its head. Pressing his small frame against the cold morning dirt and holding his fishing poles against his chest, Alvaro watched as that man stagger his way to his feet.
“Y..You’re alive!” Alvaro managed to stutter.
The man attempted to place unadjusted eyes onto the boy but was blocked by the blinding yet comfortably warm greeting of the sun.
“Yes I’m alive,” was the gruff response, “and who are you?”
Alvaro stopped his dread as he began to pull himself away from the sloped side of the pond’s surrounding crater.
“I… I’m Alvaro de Guzman from the local village… who are you?” was both the answer and the curious question. Indeed, the boy’s inquisitiveness overrode any compunction to avoid this stranger that seemed to have risen from the dead.
As the man attempted to balance himself on his feet, Alvaro’s young eyes noticed that through the slightly tattered clothes fell onto the ground a round object. To the young child, the object that thudded against the earth was like something he had seen on a rare trip to the capital to the north. In the markets, marble or glass spheres were sold as toys and it was this memory that entered his mind as he watched this larger version roll towards the pond.
It was a captivating sight; unlike its smaller facsimiles, the sphere was almost the size of his head and was as dark as pitch in its colour. He could see some strange discolouration along its latitudes, however, like purple curved clouds swirled along this small planet. He took a few steps toward it as it rolled to a halt near some pond grass. His childish hands reached out for it unable to hide the amazement reflecting off his eyes.
“Don’t touch that!” the man suddenly called out making the young one startled enough to turn in attention but Alvaro continued to stand just a few inches from it.
“What is it?” he immediately asked hoping to at least satisfy his curiosity indirectly.
As the man came closer, Alvaro did not flinch but bravely held onto his fishing rods with a sincere stare of his eyes upward to that approaching tower.
“This is a very important but dangerous relic,” the old man explained with some hesitance as he scooped it up unsteadily and once it again hid it in the folds of his clothing. Alvaro could tell something was amiss since the tone the man took reminded him all too well of how he would explain where he’s been to his mother—there was a lie or half truth in there somewhere.
Alvaro watched the man turn away from him and begin to stagger up the slope towards the horse that was tied near the tree above.
“You still haven’t told me your name!” Alvaro reminded the man nearly jumping forward to say it to the stranger’s back.
The taller individual seemed to groan a tired and hurt breath although he tried to hide it. He turned around with a fatigued magnanimity and smiled at the boy.
“I’m Cardinal James DeWitt, son, and I’m on very important business at the moment so why don’t you run along and…” there was a pause as the man inspected the poles in Alvaro’s left hand, “catch some breakfast, hm?”
“I don’t think it would be proper for me to do that here, sir,” Alvaro quickly interjected before the man could turn back around to the horse.
“Why is that?” the man asked smiling once more to the boy’s face.
Alvaro replied only with a gesture of his hand. His finger was pointing to Zio’s dirt covered head touching the edge of the far embankment. The man seemed to blink in surprise at the corpse before letting out a sigh and staring with an understanding gaze at the boy.
“Who was he?” Alvaro asked sincerely while the other attempted to find a solution to the young one’s predicament. “Was he a bandit?” Alvaro added to press the question.
The boy watched as the older man began to untie the horse from the tree and shake his head. “He was a madman,” was the answer.
“And you say you’re a Cardinal?” was the next question almost as soon as the first was answered.
“Yes,” he responded while bringing the horse over to near where Zio lay. “I will take the body with me to your village,” he added with a bit of a reluctant sigh, “and you can fish in peace.”
Alvaro smiled with that resolution and watched as the stranger begin to heave the heavily armoured man up the slope.
“Mr. Cardinal,” the boy began innocently, “even with your horse, it would take an hour or so to get back to my village and you look very hungry. Would you like to catch some breakfast with me?”
The boy stepped forward gingerly with a silly little smile. ‘Mr. Cardinal’ shook his head with a kind smile as he heaved the body further upward but Alvaro could distinctly hear the man’s stomach rumbling like an earthquake at the mention of breakfast.
“I’m afraid I don’t have the time or a pole of my own to fish with, young Alvaro.”
Alvaro frowned but immediately brightened up again as he leapt forward towards the top of the embankment where the Cardinal was casting off some of the heavier pieces of armour from the fallen one’s body.
“You can borrow one of mine,” Alvaro said beaming and holding out one of his poles.
Mr. Cardinal stood up for a moment and once again gave the young boy a comforting look, but this time with a bit more humility and gratitude. “I really appreciate it, son, but—”
That’s when another roll of thunder emanated from the Cardinal’s gut interrupting him with a sharp wanting pain like a lead weight pulling his abdomen inwards. Alvaro let out a peal of laughter before nodding victoriously. “I’ll start finding a spot, you should start the breakfast fire,” the boy said before sprinting down the grass towards the pond. The Cardinal couldn’t help but oblige.
---
Whenever the boy would ask him how he was doing with his line, he would turn his head with a contrived grin and say that he was doing alright. Turning back into the solitude of his huge shoulders he’d frown with such intense dissatisfaction that it was no wonder no fish were biting on his end of the line.
It had been twenty minutes and while his young seven year old companion had already caught two specimens, the only thing the Cardinal could boast of was that his worm was still alive at the end of his hook.
“If you don’t catch any, I’ll share with you some of mine!” he heard the boy call out and his frown once again inverted into a smile enough to shake his head as he looked at the boy before returning to its embarrassed and morose expression. Why aren’t any biting?!
“I’ve got another one!” the boy exclaimed as he struggled to get the third onto land.
Once again, Cardinal DeWitt flashed a wondrous smile to the boy before staring back at the cool depths of the pond water. He could see them alright, those lousy fish swimming around like pompous courtiers. None had come close to his line, however. Perhaps it was the fact that his figure overshadowed nearly a whole fifth of the pond and he was reduced to a ridiculous crouch. Luckily no one was around to see him—even the pole that the young boy lent him was only as long as both of his fists lined up. What a silly sight he must look like.
With the hour getting late, the Cardinal stood up. Despite the kindness of the boy, he would not come to the breakfast fire empty handed. Pulling back the rope and disconnecting his hook; he instead lodged the sharp object into the soft wooden portion of the opposite end of the rod. Looming over the side of the pond, he thrust the rod itself into the water and a split second later pulled back on the rope. Retrieving his ballista, there was none other than a flapping fish on the other end. Suddenly happy with his familiar method of achieving his objectives, he gave his young companion a smile whilst that boy could only stare at him in amazement.
---
Alvaro seemed to munch loudly on the roasted fish and the Cardinal couldn’t help but nibble on his own particular catch. He would leave some of his catch to the child, he thought, as a thank you for his charity.
“What is a Cardinal anyway?” the boy suddenly asked with still a mouthful of food. In the chilly dawn on this plain of Spain, the Cardinal nearly let out a chuckle at how he had taken for granted the ubiquity of his rank in the capitals of the world.
“It means… that I’m a helper to the Pope and a prince of the Church,” he replied trying to explain it in the best way a country boy would know.
“A prince? You’re too old to be a prince!” the boy said with another peal of laughter. “Princes are supposed to be young like me!” he said astonishingly without a hint of pride.
“Perhaps you’re right,” the Cardinal relented with a refreshed smile on his weary face. “Perhaps one day you too can be a Little Prince.”
“Of course!” the young boy seemed to say proudly as he stood up still with a stick of fish in one hand. “And I’ll earn my nobility by assisting lost travelers just like you even in the deserts of the Sahara!”
The Cardinal couldn’t help but laugh at the charity and naïveté of the boy. He took another bite of his meal with a lightened heart. Ever since the ghastly encounter last night with Zio, it seemed as if the world was finally becoming less dark.
“You have a good heart, son,” the Cardinal commended him eagerly. “You remind me of an old saying that my mom used to read me as a child. They say Saint Exuperius of Toulouse once said: ‘l'essentiel est invisible pour les yeux. That is… what is essential is invisible to the eyes.’”
When the Cardinal looked back to the boy, he was sitting down in awe at the kernel of wisdom.
“You mean like Jesus hidden in the Eucharist?” the boy made the simple connection.
It was the Cardinal’s turn to be amazed. The child had better wisdom than learned men four times his age. The Cardinal couldn’t help but give an approving smile as the coldness of the morn was being mitigated by the ascending sunrise. The boy gave him a smile in return but then lowered his eyes to the young fire that had procured their food.
“I wish I could visit Jesus again,” the boy said quietly.
“What do you mean? You can see him every day at the church in your village,” the Cardinal pointed out with some concern.
Alvaro looked at the prelate’s face and shook his head sadly before saying, “our local priest was killed the other week…” the boy voiced out with a slight chill approaching him, “the villagers say he died suddenly of some disease… but my father says that someone killed him… He says someone named Zio killed him because he was going to uncover some bad things that were happening in Toledo…”
Cardinal DeWitt froze on his stony seat as he stared at the boy’s sad eyes. He resisted the urge to look back towards where he had transferred Zio’s corpse.
“My father went north to Madrid—even though the mayor kept threatening him not to interfere—to ask the bishop to send another priest but he hasn’t returned… Now the mayor says that my father’s a fugitive and that he’s sent out patrols in the country to stop anyone from crossing north towards Madrid.”
Cardinal DeWitt couldn’t help but feel his heart sink back at this revelation. If Zio’s cult had been found out, then there was only a small chance that Alvaro’s father was still alive. Added to that, the mayor might be one of Zio’s henchmen and would be patrolling the plains for him. Although he would be fully capable of trying to run the patrols, he had a different plan.
“Do you think you can introduce me to your mother and some of the other people who thought your priest was murdered, Alvaro?” the Cardinal asked carefully.
The boy seemed to be slightly confused by the request but nodded nonetheless. That was it then, the Cardinal thought, he would pass through the enemy nets through their very headquarters. He once again beamed at the boy with a smile. With the Little Prince on his side, he might just make it.
---
“Fleet status,” Grubby barked out in the center of the open air office that he and his colleagues had occupied all those days prior when news first reached them about the disappearance of the Panzerkardinal.
Having received a parchment, General Grubby gave another nod as he returned the paper; all was well on the sea-front—nothing but merchant ships going to and from the harbors. He personally knew from his staff that the lines were holding on both beachheads and that reinforcements would be arriving in the coming months as was planned. It seems as if the Tercios were holding up to their name as far as defending these two new provinces for the Spanish Empire.
“As I was saying, General,” a shrouded man in the room resumed after having been interrupted by Grubby’s attention to the military details. “Our espionage network is below critical to accomplish the goals originally set up by Duke Jimenez. Especially with most of our senior men missing, the department simply cannot hold up against the swarms and nets that Beijing is projecting out towards us.”
Grubby leaned forward on his desk in serious contemplation. This was true, with Isabella missing, Sweet off to the homeland and many of the top operatives who went with Isabella to retrieve Antonio either dead or similarly lost, he had no means of carrying out an offensive intelligence agenda.
“Retreat our agents to the provinces and concentrate on counter-intelligence,” Grubby instructed and the man nodded, but did not leave the room. “Is there more?” Grubby asked rudely. Being a general did not exactly make him the most kind to his cloak and dagger rivals.
“There is another way,” the man stated simply.
“Explain.”
“We can use dissenting factions already in the country to our advantage.”
There was a short pause while Grubby sat back in the office chair while more papers were being piled onto his desk. There was certainly merit to this idea.
“Find me a cell we can use,” was the order from the General, “preferably an old one so that we know it’s not some Ming ruse.”
“I already have one in mind,” was the quick reply of the proud spy. Grubby did not bother to ask who they were so he continued. “Fifty years ago some European merchants formed a guild to protect trade interests in the Far East and were based not too far north from here. They evolved into an information agency and thieves den paid for by wealthy merchants to keep the Ming off their back. We can use them to run operations for us since a Spanish dominated economic situation here will mean greater profits for them.”
Grubby was astonished at the amount of resource gathering, but narrowed his eyes to the shrouded man. “You guys were wrong about the location of the House of the Rose, how reliable is this information?” There was a small edge of bitterness in Grubby’s tone.
The hooded figure bent his head forward until not even his chin escaped the shadow of his cowl. Properly chastised he added: “This information is different; our agency has been gathering and cross checking this information since three decades ago. Unlike the frantic search for the House, this is more thorough. We also know that they’ve been mostly successful because for the past ten and a half years they’ve been lead by an English spymaster named Jesca. Reportedly she’s an English princess who escaped during the war.”
Another pause and Grubby muddled through the situation. Decisive action was his forté and he gave a resolute nod to his subordinate. “Contact this Jesca and begin negotiations immediately.”
With a bow, the cloaked individual left the presence of the pondering General. Grubby took a moment to think about the situation before scurrying back to his papers—if this plan works they might finally open a road to Beijing and end the war.
Hayato bounced up and down against the floor as the bass pumped that hot underground club with its rhythmic counting. It was these ends of every week when the faceless masses of youth assembled and surrendered their muscles to the slave master’s beating of the synthetic drum. Already, the sweat drops were condensing on the roof.
As Special D continued to excite wave after wave of Osaka’s weekend splurgers of dance and song, Hayato’s rear pocket signaled an unusual occurrence—his phone was vibrating. Deciding at first to desert the call being stuck in the middle of dozens of dimly lit figures caught in snapshot poses from the strobe lights and bursts of illumination from the stage, he was surprised to find that the tactile reminder would not go away.
With a sigh, he slid past smiling faces and entranced bodies before finding the quieter areas near the restrooms and bar. Looking at his now procured device, he could see the flashing emblem parading across his screen: it was the double headed eagle.
“Moshi Moshi?” he answered quickly.
There was a pause as he listened carefully despite the deafening noise behind him.
“Hai… Hai… dekimashita!” Hayato replied before slapping the phone onto itself close.
Taking a moment to compose himself, he exited the surreal sight of the club into the cold wintry air of downtown Osaka. Immediately following him were two gentlemen from the club and two more joined him who were waiting outside as he stepped away from the building. A car rolled forward and one of the men opened the door courteously. The other three entered the car after Hayato made his way in. As the door closed, the driver sped into the lane. The airport would only be fifteen minutes away.
---
“What did he say?” Carlos asked while fiddling with some of his packed things on that cushioned jet seat.
“He said it’s finished. All the preparations will be ready when we arrive to begin investigations.” Rodrigo answered setting down the jet phone onto the table next to him.
“And who is this Hayato again that’s supposed to show us around?” Tom asked from near the rear end of the small chartered cabin. Lara was sitting across from him and similarly looked to the front in curiosity.
At first, Carlos did not answer and turned his head upward and away. With a stifled chuckle, Rodrigo informed his companion: “Ichihara Mokomichi Hayato—the Crown Prince of Japan.”
Chapter XLI: Princes and Princesses (coming soon)