Free Quintessence Sky by David Walton Page A

Philip's gentlemen, the vast retinue of Spaniards who had
traveled with him from home.
    Queen Mary sat at one end of the room in a
high-backed chair. She was a small, plain woman with red eyes and
deep frown lines at the sides of her mouth. She was noticeably with
child. Her dress was purple, embroidered with silver, and bulged
forward over her abdomen. This pregnancy was crucial to the future
of Philip and Mary's new dynasty, and the whole point of their
marriage. A son would inherit the kingdoms of both Spain and
England. Mary's eyes locked on Ramos, waiting to hear what he would
say. Ramos swallowed, wishing for his quiet home in Valladolid.
    Not far from Ramos stood a quiet man in his
mid-thirties, tall and slender, with a long, pointed white beard
draped over a gown like an artist might wear, with long hanging
sleeves, and a black cap. Ramos recognized him as John Dee, the
queen's astrologer and mathematician, essentially the same post
that Ramos himself held under Philip. Why hadn't Dee been asked to
cast this horoscope? Ramos had met him once, years before, in
Paris. He had delivered a brilliant lecture about the use of new
trigonometric ideas to calculate the distance to the stars. Why
such a learned man would want to return to such a backward country
as England, Ramos had no idea, but the man was certainly competent.
Why was he overlooked in favor of Ramos? Didn't the king trust
him?
    Ramos was just stalling, and he knew it. He
completed his calculations, and Mary's horoscope lay spread before
him, as accurate as Dee or anyone in Europe could calculate it. The
problem was, it held nothing but bad news. It made him wonder if
Dee had somehow slyly avoided the job, for just this reason.
    Barrosa's warning came back to him, and he
had to admit he was tempted. He could say that all was well, that
this pregnancy would end in joy and celebration. Who would know the
difference? But Ramos was no flattering courtier, to tell the king
and queen only what they wanted to hear. Philip had brought him all
the way from Spain to cast this horoscope, so he would tell him and
the queen exactly what he saw.
    He looked down at his paper, took a deep
breath, and spoke confidently. "I see no child. Not now or ever. I
see two lines cut short, two pregnancies, but no children. Only
sickness and sorrow. There will be no heir."
    Queen Mary barely reacted. Her eyes grew
distant and looked past him to some distant horizon. She was no
stranger to grief, having spent most of her childhood abandoned and
disgraced by her father and pushed to renounce her faith. She had
endured those years, had held fast to the Church, had regained her
rightful throne, had married Philip, all for this purpose: to bear
a son who would rule in the name of the Church, as her father had
not. Only there would be no son.
    Ramos looked to King Philip, standing
silently beside her, and tried to gauge his reaction. Philip was
not tall, but he dominated the room, resplendent in a black cloak
lined with leopard fur and a silvered doublet that reflected the
light. His pale blue eyes missed nothing. This was the most
powerful man in the world, the champion of Christendom, his armies
devoted to driving out the Musselman threat in the south and the
cancer of Protestantism eating its way through France, the
Netherlands, and the Germanic states. His rage was fearsome, and
Ramos had seen him punish messengers for bringing bad news.
    But Philip did not look furious, or even
surprised. He clapped his hands and waved his fingers in dismissal.
The courtiers who jammed the room began to file out, Ramos along
with them, but Philip stopped him. "Not you," he said in Spanish.
"You stay."
    Ramos waited, worried, while the room
emptied. He noticed a finely-worked leather pouch around Philip's
neck, black as night. Barrosa had worn an identical pouch. It
looked out of place on both men: too elegant for Barrosa's dress
and too plain for Philip's.
    "Do not fear," Philip said to Mary in Latin.
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