King Phillip sat at the head of the council table in his private quarters rapping his boney fingers on the mahogany wood. The last person he expected the see in the banquet hall at the Alhambra was Lord Steppingstone, one of his key operatives in the court of Queen Elizabeth of England. He had given firm orders to his English connection never to come to Spain. The consequences of his secret liaison with his queen’s sworn enemy would jeopardize the outcome of the invasion by the Armada. He looked up when he heard the door creak open.

Steppingstone slithered in; his shoulders were hunched over in complete abeyance, and he slowly approached the king.

“What are you doing here?” Phillip demanded as he stood, slamming his hand on the table. He winched when he realized the impact sent shock waves from his fingers all the way up to his shoulder.

(Author’s note: Historical records do now show that Lord Steppingstone crossed the English Channel in the time frame immediately before the invasion of the Spanish Armada. However, some genealogists point out Steppingstone had a second cousin on his mother’s side who left English under mysterious circumstances in the early years of Elizabeth’s reign. He changed his English given name of Frederick to Fredo when he established a shop in Northern Portugal where he unsuccessfully tried to sell bagpipes to the local musical arts community. Fredo then turned to fishing as his vocation. It is possible Steppingstone entered Spain by way of his second cousin’s fishing boat.)

“Elizabeth suspects a spy in the court, and has sent someone to Spain to discover the spy’s identity.” Steppingstone kept his eyes down.

“See!” The king shook his aching fingers at his English agent. “I told you Elizabeth couldn’t be trusted!”

Steppingstone bowed deeply. “Yes, Sire. I agree.”

“You would, you toad,” Phillip replied with a sneer. “What have I promised you for betraying your own country?”

“Only Wales, your Majesty.” He bowed again.

The Spanish ruler snorted. “You sold out cheap, if you ask me.”

“I have simple needs, Sire.”

Steppingstone bowed again, which was getting on Phillip’s last nerve. The king overcame an urge to slap him, only because he needed further information from the toad. “Who is this spy Elizabeth has sent to my court to discover the identity of my spy?”

“I don’t know.”

He was in mid-bow when the King erupted, “Stop all that bowing, you idiot!”

“Yes, Sire.”

“Do you think it could be Maria de Horenhausen?”

“I doubt it.”

Phillip scratched his wispy beard. “I don’t know. She actually had something nice to say about that Englishwoman.”

“Being polite is not necessarily a sign of treason, your Majesty.”

Raising an eyebrow, he replied, “It can be in Spain.”

***

At that very moment Maria, with Clarence under her dress, entered the Alhambra kitchen. It was a dark, dank space, lit only by the flames in the huge fireplace. The cooks and the servers were too busy sneezing on the food and wiping their noses on their rancid sleeves to notice the beautiful senorita lingering around the table with stacks of breads and rolls.

In her English accent, she whispered, “We’re here.”

“Good. I’m famished,” came from under the folds of her elegant gown.

“Hurry.” She furrowed her beautiful brow. “It will look suspicious if I’m caught lingering in the kitchen.”

“I’ll grab a loaf of bread and be right back,” he assured her as he scampered from beneath her hems, crawling like a frightened cockroach around the table.

“Not a long loaf!” she admonished him with very proper English concerns for her personal comfort. She jumped when she felt a heavy tap on her shoulder. When she turned, Maria saw four grim-looking guards carrying nasty long spears glare at her.

“Miss de Horenhausen, his Majesty King Phillip commands your presence immediately.” Though the commander of the small corps spoke perfect Castilian, he did have a stern German air about him.

“But I—“

“Now, Mis de Horenhausen,” he snapped.

Maria bowed deeply and compliantly replied in her best Spanish, “Si.”

She stepped into the middle of her escorts and they marched out of the kitchen just as Clarence crawled back around the table. He stopped to watch them disappear in the darkness.

“Oh drat,” Clarence muttered as he nibbled on the loaf. He frowned at it. “Stale.”

***

The full moon streamed broad beams through the tall windows of the Great Hall, filling the cavernous cheek bones of King Phillip as he languidly lounged on his throne as two guards escorted Maria through the massive wooden doors. After positioning her before the King, the guards bowed and exited, their books clicking on the marble floor. Silence engulfed the huge room, creating a sense of eerie anxiety.

“Come closer!” Phillip commanded, his thin thrill voice ringing through the rafters.

“Si, your Majesty.” Maria curtsied but only took one or two steps.

“Closer!”

With a determined sigh, she walked so near to the king she saw how sallow his complexion and her impulse was to step back but her better judgment advised against it. “As you wish,” she replied in perfection Spanish compliance.

“I have a few questions for you.” A silky intimidation clouded his tone.

“I shall try to be helpful.”

Phillip clasped his hands in front of his thin lips. “I’ve just received some disturbing news.”

“Really?” Maria felt her heart begin to throb.

“There’s a spy in my court.” He paused to allow the implications of this information to sink into her mind. “And this spy is from England.”

“Really?” Inquisition phobia limited her vocabulary.

The king leaned forward. “Are you that spy?”

“Nein, mein herr!” Maria was so scared she slipped into her German accent without losing a goose step.

“What!?”

Her female instincts told her to begin a delaying tactic while her brain frantically tried to think of a defense. She fluttered her dark brown eyes.

“Oh, Your Majesty!” Her perfect Spanish dialect snapped back. “You’re making me nervous!”

He shook a boney finger at her. “I’ll make you more than nervous if I don’t get some answers!”

Crossing herself, Maria declared, “I swear I’m not a spy!”

“And why don’t I believe you?”

“Because you don’t trust anyone?” Her Spanish voice became very small and shy.

“No!” he barked. “Because you think that Englishwoman is gracious!”

“Gracious me. I was just being polite.” Maria’s right hand went to her bosom.

“Then who do you think the spy is?” His follow-up question was so quick and on-topic that any law professor would give him high marks for harassment.

“What makes you think I’d know something like that?” Her eyes began to flutter again. “I’m the ward of an ambassador.”

Phillip narrowed his beady little eyes. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Her heart thumped like a bunny’s foot. “Would you trust the ward of the English ambassador with such important information?”

“Of course not!” He waved his hand to dismiss the thought.

“See?”

(Author’s note: This part of the conversation confused Phillip very much because he didn’t know if she was saying yes in Spanish or the word see, meaning to understand, in English spoken with a Spanish accent. Eventually he decided to jump ahead to the next point he wanted to make in his interrogation.)

“But I don’t trust anyone!”

Maria smiled slightly, appreciating the fact she had befuddled her inquisitor. “So you’ve said.”

“You still haven’t given me a yes or no answer to my question.” Clearly not accustomed to not being in firm control of the conversation, the King stood and stretched to the full extent of his puny height.

“And which question was that, Sire?” she tried to extend her advantage.

“You know very well what question! Do you know who the spy is?”

“Do you mean know in the Biblical sense?” Maria was getting way too filled with herself.

“I’m getting tired of your evasions. You have until tomorrow morning to reflect on your answer.”

“Si, Sire.”

“You may leave now.”

“Gracias.” Maria began to back up.

“And as you’re reflecting, think of one word, Senorita.”

She stopped. “And what word is that?”

“Inquisition.”

Maria forgot protocol, turned and ran for the door, muttering in proper English, “Egad.”