1635_ Cannon Law - Eric Flint [208]
"However many there are," the king of Spain continued—there was a snarl coming into his voice now—"I want each and every one of them dispatched to Rome immediately. With firm and clear instructions to bring me back the head of Cardinal Gaspar Borja y Velasco. Note carefully—make sure to pass this along to the assassins—that I used the title Cardinal."
The explosion finally came. The king unclasped his hands and slammed the palm of the right hand against one of the window panes. Fortunately, the glass was thick and well made. "We'll see how much that bastard likes the title 'pope' when he stares down at his severed neck impaled on a pike!"
"Better if we could have him brought back alive," said Don Jerónimo de Villanueva.
Olivares gave him a warning glance, but the Protonotario of the Crown of Aragon was too furious to notice. His own words had been said in a snarl.
"We could then entertain ourselves at leisure, with his torture," he finished.
Fortunately, the other two members of the hastily assembled council present, José González and Antonio de Contreras, were more phlegmatic by temperament—and, unlike Villanueva, had been keeping an eye on their patron's reaction. They knew the count-duke of Olivares quite well, and interpreted the expression on his face correctly.
"I think we need to be cautious here," said González.
He said it cautiously, of course. Granted that Philip IV was not generally a hot-tempered man; granted also, he normally left matters of governance to the count-duke while the king entertained himself with his patronage of art and literature. Still, he was the king of Spain, and he was in an obvious rage.
The king turned away from the window, bringing his heavy-boned face to bear on that of his advisor. The sweeping royal mustachios were practically quivering, below the prominent nose and above the classic Habsburg chin and lower lip.
"Why?" he bellowed. He pointed a rigid finger at the window. "That—that—"
"Traitor," Villanueva unhelpfully supplied. "Madman, also."
"Yes! That madman—that traitor—has just managed to bring down into ruins Our entire foreign policy! Every bit of it!"
"Ah—not quite, Your Majesty," said Olivares.
The king brought the glare to bear on him. "Indeed? Please explain to me, Count-Duke, which aspect of Our policy the creature Borja has not destroyed."
Philip didn't wait for an answer. Although he didn't concern himself with the day-to-day business of ruling the Spanish empire, the king was neither stupid nor ill informed. Most times, Olivares found that a blessing. On some occasions, however—this certainly being one of them—it was something of a curse.
The king brought up his thumb. "Shall We begin with a recitation of the casualties suffered by Our armies in the north? We recall them quite well, Gaspar, even if you seem to have mysteriously forgotten. How, We can't imagine—since those dismal figures were the principal subject of your report to Our council not so very long ago."
The forefinger came up. It was a large finger, and very stiff. Olivares had to restrain a momentary and quite insane urge to giggle. He had no difficulty imagining Borja impaled on that royal digit.
"Let's move on to a consideration of our military situation. We were all agreed that we faced an unavoidable period of retrenchment, did we not? While we scraped up the money—We shall get to that subject in a moment!—in order to recruit more troops and arm them with the new weapons that the cursed Swede and his American witches have inflicted on the world.
"Did we not?" he shouted.
A nod of hasty obeisance was called for here, and Olivares—hastily—provided it.
"Splendid," continued the king. The middle finger came up. "Let us now consider Our financial position—which is perilous, as always. The last thing we needed was to have a madman—no, a traitor!—produce a situation in Italy which will—unavoidably, Olivares, deny it if you can!—force us to pour bullion into that miserable peninsula."
Olivares tried to