gion. But it had
been abandoned under the dissuasions of Alva, who accounted that it
would be too costly even if successful. Here it was again, emanating now
directly from the Holy See, but in a slightly altered form.

"Why Don John of Austria?" I asked him.

"A great soldier of the faith. And the Queen of Scots must have a
husband."

"I should have thought that she had had husbands enough by now," said I.

"His Holiness does not appear to share that view," he answered tartly.

"I wonder will the King," said I.

"The Catholic King is ever an obedient child of Mother Church," the oily
Nuncio reminded me, to reprove my doubt.

But I knew better--that the King's own policy was the measure of his
obedience. This the Nuncio should learn for himself; for if I knew
anything of Philip's mind, I knew precisely how he would welcome this
proposal.

"Will you see the King now?" I suggested maliciously, anxious to witness
the humbling of his priestly arrogance.

"Not yet. It is upon that I came to see you. I am instructed first to
consult with one Escoda as to the manner in which this matter shall be
presented to His Majesty. Who is Escoda?"

"I never heard of him," said I. "Perhaps he comes from Rome."

"No, no. Strange!" he muttered, frowning, and plucked a parchment from
his sleeve. "It is here." He peered slowly at the writing, and slowly
spelled out the name: "Juan de Escoda."

In a flash it came to me.

"Escovedo you mean," I cried,

"Yes, yes--Escovedo, to be sure," he agreed, having consulted the
writing once more. "Where is he?"

"On his way to Madrid with Don John," I informed him. "He is Don John's
secretary."

"I will do nothing, then, until he arrives," he said, and took his
leave.

Oh, monstrous indiscretion! That dispatch from Rome so cunningly
and secretly contrived in cipher had yet contained no warning that
Escovedo's share in this should be concealed. There are none so
imprudent as the sly. I sought the King at once, and told him all that
I had learnt. He was aghast. Indeed, I never saw him more near to anger.
For Philip of Spain was not the man to show wrath or any other emotion.
He had a fish-like, cold, impenetrable inscrutability. True, his yellow
skin grew yellower, his gaping mouth gaped wider, his goggle eyes
goggled more than usual. Left to himself, I think he would have
disgraced Don John and banished Escovedo there and then, as he did,
indeed, suggest. And I have since had cause en