l
me."

So I wrote to Don John, urging him as one who counselled him for his
good, who had no interest but his own at heart, to remain in Flanders
until the work there should be satisfactorily completed. He did so,
since he was left no choice in the matter, but the intrigues continued.
Later we saw how far he was from having forsaken his dreams of England,
when I discovered that he had engaged the Pope to assist him with six
thousand men and one hundred and fifty thousand ducats when the time for
that adventure should be ripe.

And then, quite suddenly, entirely unheralded, Escovedo reappeared in
Madrid, having come to press Philip in person for reinforcements that
should enable Don John to finish the campaign. He brought news that
there had been a fresh rupture of the patched-up peace, that Don John
had taken the field once more, and had forcibly made himself master
of Namur. This was contrary to all the orders we had sent, a direct
overriding of Philip's wishes. The King desired peace in the Low
Countries because he was in no case just then to renew the war, and
Escovedo's impudently couched demands completed his exasperation.

"My will," he said, "is as naught before the ambitions of these two.
You sent my clear instructions to Escovedo, who was placed with Don John
that he might render him pliant to my wishes. Instead, he stiffens him
in rebellion. There must be an end to this man."

"Sire," I cried, "it may be they think to advance your interests."

"Heaven help me!" he cried. "Did ever villain wear so transparent a mask
as this dog Escovedo? To advance my interests--that will be his tale, no
doubt. He will advance them where I do not wish them advanced; he will
advance them to my ruin; he will stake all on a success in Flanders that
shall be the preliminary to a descent upon England in the interests of
Don John. I say there must be an end to this man before he works more
mischief."

Again I set myself to calm him, as I had so often done before, and again
I was the shield between Escovedo and the royal lightnings, of whose
menace to blot him out the fool had no suspicion. For months things hung
there, until, in January of '78, when war had been forced in earnest
upon Spain by Elizabeth's support of the Low Countries, Don John won the
great victory of Gemblours. This somewhat raised the King's depression,
somewhat dissipated his overgrowing mistrust of his half-brother, and
gave him patience to read the lette