The Story of Don John of Austria by Luis Coloma (macos ebook reader .txt) 📕

Martinez was to hide in the passage room, with the poisoned water all ready, and as Enriquez passed carrying Escovedo's full cup, Martinez was to throw in quickly and secretly enough poison to fill a nutshell, which was the prescribed quantity.

This plan was carried out, and twice during the dinner Antonio Enriquez administered the poisoned drink to Escovedo. There were eight guests that day, all great and important personages, some of them officers of the Court. Antonio Pérez sat next to Escovedo, watching the coming and going of the page Enriquez, when he served his confiding victim with wine, even to the number of cupfuls the latter drank. But this man made of stone did not watch these sinister movements with the unrest and trepidation usual in a criminal, or with the anticipation of remorse at seeing the dagger sharpened which is to be plunged into the breast of a friend; but seemingly calm, quiet, merry, and joking with his victim, and keeping up animation among his guests with that charm, wit, and eloquence and gaiety which made the wicked secretary so attractive and delightful. At last the horrible feast came to an end, and they rose from the table to begin to play, all except Escovedo, who, saying that he had important business, at once returned to Madrid. He rode on a mule with no other escort than a groom on foot, and he leant over the mule's neck like a man either very ill or very much preoccupied. Pérez thought that the poison was already taking effect, and, full of impatience, Antonio Enriquez says in his declaration, "he made an excuse and joined the witness and his steward in one of the chambers near the courtyard, where he learnt the amount of water that had been given to the secretary Escovedo, and then went back to play."

The next morning Diego Martinez went as if by chance to prowl about the lane of St. Mary, where Escovedo lived in a house which he had bought from the Prince de Évoli, in proximity to whose dwelling it was. It was called "of the lions" from two at the door. The steward waited for some sign of alarm or unusual movement in the house, to manifest the grave illness, at least, which he anticipated for Escovedo by this time. The most absolute calm, however, reigned in the street and house. In the wide, dark, paved courtyard Escovedo's mule was being cleaned by the groom; a servant was hanging a child's white clothes out of a window, and at the bend of the narrow lane three men, with great labour, were putting two casks through the narrow grating of the cellar. The spy drew nearer stealthily, and saw with surprise and terror that at the bottom of the cellar Escovedo himself, in doublet and breeches, and his son Pedro, were assisting by their orders, and even by their efforts, the difficult passage of the casks. There was no doubt that the poison had not taken effect, either because the patient was too strong or the dose too light.

The failure of this, his first attempt, annoyed Pérez very much; but he was not the least discouraged, because men like him, cold, artful and wicked, never are. He at once began to think of another ambush to which to attract his victim, and this was another dinner, this time at his house in Madrid, that of the Conde de Puñonrostro, behind the church of St. Justin. He had furnished this historical house with a luxury and magnificence much greater even than the vaunted "Casilla," and the parties given there had something courtly and serious about them, very different from the country jaunts and merry suppers of the other. The wife of Pérez, Doña Juana de Coello, who always presided over them, gave the parties this character; she was a highly gifted lady, whose heroic conjugal affection has passed into history. At the dinner, where a second attempt on the life of Escovedo was made, Doña Juana was present, and besides Antonio Pérez and Escovedo there were five guests, of whom two were ecclesiastics. In the declaration of the page Antonio Enriquez, he relates how the poisoning was carried out this time. He says that some porringers were served full of either cream or milk, he did not remember which. There was a porringer for each guest, and they were placed before using them in a row in a great cupboard. Diego Martinez came and threw some white powder like flour into one of the porringers. He told Enriquez to give this one to Escovedo, as it contained the poison, and not to get it mixed with the others, making him hold it, while the other pages came to fetch the rest. They all entered the dining-room together to serve the porringers, and Enriquez placed the poisoned one in front of Escovedo. Antonio Pérez, who knew where the poison was, never took his eyes off it. Moreover, Antonio Enriquez relates that he himself several times served Escovedo at this dinner with wine mixed with the poisoned water which had been used before.

The violent and terrible effects of the poison this time did not delay in showing themselves. That same night Escovedo was seized with sharp internal pain, sickness, and putrid fever which for many days kept him between life and death. The doctors saved him without suspecting poison, and Escovedo began to get steadily better. Antonio Pérez watched all the symptoms of the illness, and seeing that his wounded quarry was again escaping him, once more let his pack of furious hounds loose on the unlucky victim, that the crime should be perpetrated in his own honoured home.

At that time there was a scullion, "racals," as they were called, in the King's kitchen, Juan Rubio by name. He was the son of the agent of the estate of the Prince de Mélito (father of the Princess de Évoli), who having killed a priest in Cuenca, had fled to Madrid, and taken refuge in the royal kitchens, where, disguised as a scullion, he was unrecognised. Juan Rubio was a friend of Escovedo's cook, from seeing him each day at the market, and also of Antonio Enriquez, by the mysterious sympathy which always unites villains. By this simple means Enriquez learnt about Escovedo's kitchen, and knew that during his convalescence a special stew was prepared for him, but from the caprice of an invalid inspired by certain fancies this stew was not prepared by the cook, but by an old female slave there was in the house, who was a great adept at making mince and other simple dishes.

Antonio Pérez took advantage of all these circumstances, and ordered his followers to deal a third blow, which would destroy the life which defended itself so tenaciously. So Antonio Enriquez spoke to the scullion Juan Rubio, and with flattering promises, based on the credit of Antonio Pérez, decided Rubio to force his way by some excuse into the kitchen of Escovedo, and throw the poison into the stew which was daily prepared for him. Enriquez gave him the poison, a white powder of a different kind from that used before. The task was not so easy as the two ruffians thought it would be, because the slave never left her fire while she was cooking the stew, and the cook was always coming to the oven. Three times Juan Rubio went in vain to the kitchen, but the fourth time he achieved his object. Early one morning he watched for the cook to go out, and then went in on an excuse of bringing some live rabbits from the Prado. The slave was by the fire-place, having just put on the stew. Juan Rubio gave her the rabbits, and as they were alive and tried to escape, the poor old woman went to shut them up in a kind of cage there was in the yard hard by. Then Juan Rubio lifted the cover of the pot and threw in the thimbleful of the white powder, which was the quantity ordered by Enriquez.

At eleven o'clock Escovedo's wife and his son Pedro, who nursed him tenderly, gave him his meal; but on tasting the first mouthful the secretary pushed the porringer from him, saying that it tasted of broom juice. The poison, no doubt decomposed by the action of the fire, gave an unbearably bitter taste to the dish, on which the poisoners had not reckoned. Everyone was amazed. They made a search, and hunting carefully through the stew at the bottom, they came on unmistakable signs of poison.

Suspicion at once fell on the unlucky slave, who in vain protested her innocence. She was taken and loaded with chains and tortured, confessing in her weakness the crime she had not committed. She afterwards retracted this confession, torn from her in her pain; but it was too late, and she was condemned to be hanged, and the sentence was carried out a few days later in the public square.

CHAPTER XXI

At the same time that Escovedo was escaping so wonderfully from these three attempts on his life, tidings arrived at Madrid, which had been always feared and expected, and which came to change entirely Philip II's plans and policy. War, more cruel and gory than ever, had broken out in Flanders, provoked by the rebels. D. John, having received a handful of money to animate his German troops, and joining them to some Spanish soldiers who had returned to France, and who, knowing his danger, spontaneously flew to his aid, at Gembleux gloriously picked up the glove that the rebels threw down, and gained over them that marvellous victory which placed his personal courage in as much relief as it did his talent as a leader, his prophetic political sagacity, and his real faith as a Christian. "With this sign I vanquished the Turks; with this sign I will vanquish the heretics," he had written round the cross on his standard; and to his friends D. Diego de Mendoza and the Conde de Orgaz he communicated the great news that his losses only consisted of four killed and fifteen wounded, the enemy having been 5000, adding humbly, "God did it, and His only was the day, at a time, when if it had not been done, we should have died of hunger, surrounded by a hundred thousand other dangers."

The Baron de Willy, dispatched by D. John after the battle which was fought on the 31st of January, 1578, brought the news to Philip. He also informed him of the dreadful state of unrest in these provinces, all in open rebellion, where religion was not respected, nor the King obeyed, nor any Catholic law venerated. The fortresses gave their troops, the cities, towns and even the miserable villages armed their militia, and all joined in pursuing D. John, then deprived of all aid, surrounding him, pressing him, destroying and overthrowing at the same time the strong leader and the hated Spanish yoke. The victory of Gembleux, gained by D. John, made them retire and widen the circle, like cowardly hounds who see the lion they imagined done for suddenly rise, with bristling mane and outstretched claws. Many of them never stopped until they reached Brussels, and from there some fled to Antwerp, where they imagined themselves safe. But, once they had recovered from their surprise and fright, and knew that there was abundance of nothing except valour in D. John's camp, they would return to reunite, and once again narrow the circle, advancing slowly and with great caution, until at last they would fall on D. John and annihilate him by their numbers, if the help asked for in his letters were not sent. In these letters, which the Baron de Willy gave to Philip, D. John paints a vivid picture of his situation, and asks more urgently than ever for soldiers and plenty of money. He also begs that his secretary Escovedo may be sent, in the utmost good faith and ignorance of what was happening, recommending him warmly to his brother D. Philip for certain favours, which D. John averred he very well deserved.

All these facts and circumstances brought two things, distinct but much connected with each other, to the knowledge of Philip; one, that it was high time to give up his exaggerated peace policy in Flanders and take refuge in that of force, as his brother had been urging him for months. The other, that once the war had been lighted in Flanders by the rebels the danger of Escovedo doing so had ceased, and consequently also the political reason which made Philip condemn him to death. It was hard for Philip to make practical use of these two convictions, because by the first he had to retract an opinion he had held long and tenaciously; and by the second he had to smother grudges, dislikes and petty spites, which, united, made up what he, wrongly but sincerely, conceived to be political reasons, and which had undeniably influenced him in sentencing Escovedo to death. But the iron will of