monarch

The corridor of Eustace Abbey was full of anxious crowds. They gathered together in groups of three and five, looking at the closed door of the bedroom of the former emperor Charles V with anxiety. When the doctor opened the door to go in and out, their eyes were fixed on the doctor's face, as if they wanted to infer the emperor's condition in the room from the subtle changes in the muscle lines.

The news that the emperor was dying had reached the Madrid court a week ago.Since January of this year, the former emperor's health has been poor. He was in a comatose state most of the time every day. Half a month ago, he suffered from severe malaria again.And it seemed that there was an invisible big hand manipulating everything in the dark. On the same day, news came from France that the Armada had failed in the first battle and had retreated into the French port.Although the news from France was extremely simple and did not mention the losses of both sides, judging from the fact that the fleet has retreated to the French port to avoid the front, the loss of the Spanish fleet must be not small.

Regarding the expedition of the Armada, most people, including the king's close courtiers, were pessimistic. Even the Duke of Alva, who originally made the plan, had reservations about this missed opportunity.The expedition was carried out only at the insistence of Philip II, so the news of the failure of the expedition was indeed breaking news to most people, but it was not a shocker.

It seems that in the entire Spanish royal palace, only Philip II was steadfast in the victory of the invasion. He added blessings to the fleet in his daily prayers, hoping that the sword of God would be victorious and sweep away the British Isles. The heresy haze above.Therefore, when the news of the defeat in the first battle came, he refused to believe it at first, and then wishfully believed that the Armada Fleet had only suffered a small setback, and that retreating into the French port was a clever strategic move by the fleet commander. The Britons invaded French territorial waters to drag France into the war.For this reason, despite the objections of his ministers, he wrote a passionate letter to King Henry II of Paris, inviting the French king to join the great Catholic alliance and participate in the war against the old enemy, the Britons. What ridicule and sarcasm such a letter would provoke in Paris.

After hastily concluded the affairs related to the invasion, Philip II led the entire court and immediately set off for the Monastery of Eustace, where the former emperor lived temporarily. Everyone knew that this time he would bid farewell to the old monarch who had ruled Spain for 40 years it's time.

At this moment, Philip II was sitting in the reception room of the emperor's suite, and the busy voices of the doctors came from the next bedroom through the wall to this room.Compared to a few months ago, the King of Spain was much thinner, his complexion was worse, and his eye sockets were sunken deeper. The blue-black under his eyes were in the shape of a first-quarter moon before, and now it has a tendency to develop toward a full moon.

The King of Spain stared blankly at the center of the room, where the tea table used to be, but now there was a dark coffin.The emperor ordered the coffin six months ago and lay in it to witness the rehearsal of his funeral.When the rehearsal was over, he refused the support of others and returned to his bedroom without saying a word, just like an elephant who does not want his companions to see its dying scene before it dies. The coming of death.

His father was going to die, and as soon as this idea took root in the Spanish king's heart, it quickly grew into a towering tree.He will die too!The king heard a voice in his heart say, that the ruler who ever ruled the greatest realm, the chief monarch of Christendom, the pope and the king bowed his head before him, and such a man should die!

But why doesn't he die?Another voice sounded at the right time, everyone will die, the poor will die, the rich will die too; the beggar will die, and the emperor will die too. In this world, the only fair god is probably the god of death. He does not accept sacrifices , and cannot be bribed, let alone deceived, everyone will be born when he should be born, and everyone will die when he should die. One day, even he himself will die.

Philip shivered at the thought of him, death was next door!It is almost within reach.Philip was supposed to stay in the next room, but he retreated to the next door because he didn't want to disturb the doctor's work, and perhaps the real reason was that he didn't dare to step into that room, in that dark bedroom, The furniture, the decorations, and the paintings of Titian hanging on the walls all have the face of death on them.If he were not bound by etiquette and public opinion, he would not even be willing to stay in this monastery, for fear that the footsteps of the god of death would pass through the partition between the rooms and come to him.

As the sun gradually set, the servants lit up the lamps in the entire monastery and brought dinner to the king. The king did not move the plate in front of him, but Prince Don Carlos, who came with him, ate with relish.

At about ten o'clock in the evening, the door of the bedroom was opened, and the former emperor's attending physician respectfully walked up to the king, with just the right amount of sadness on his face.

"Your Majesty is dying," he announced. "I think you should call for your Majesty's confessor. My colleagues and I are helpless."

"However, we are here to wait for your Majesty's orders at any time." He added.

Philip II stared at the doctor's face and was silent for a moment.

"Go and call the priest." When the king finally spoke, his tone was at least twice as slow as usual, "This is more appropriate... Tell him to prepare for the confession, as well as the anointing ceremony."

He stood up and took a deep breath, as if to cheer himself up. When he felt that he had enough courage, he took a step and walked towards the bedroom.

There was a strong smell of medicine in the bedroom. The vapor of countless medicines had penetrated into the cracks of the furniture, and even the paintings of Titian on the wall were also contaminated with this smell. This smell is as sticky as pitch. Thick, even open the windows every day to ventilate the lingering.

Emperor Charles V was lying on the bed, and when he saw his son coming in, he gently raised his hand.

"Father." Philip II held the hand of the former emperor, "How do you feel today?"

The Emperor made no answer to his son's question, but pointed with one finger to the armchair by the bed, and beckoned Philip to sit down.

The emperor's turbid gaze moved away from Philip, and moved to his grandson, Prince Don Carlos, who was following up in the room. His gaze was harsh at first, then weak, and finally disheartened.

He looked at the door again. His illegitimate son, Don Juan of Austria, was standing timidly at the door. This child is only 11 years old this year, and he is now being raised by his brother. The emperor has not seen him for a long time.

Charles V lowered his head and waved his hands lightly, "Everyone except Philip should go out."

Prince Don Carlos turned his head and left without hesitation, while Don Juan of Austria glanced timidly at his father on the bed, and left the room with some reluctance after getting his unquestionable gaze.

"I'm very grateful that you are willing to visit me." After the rest of the people had left and the door was closed again, the emperor's withered lips moved slightly, "Especially at this time."

Philip's shoulders tightened. "This time is no different from any other time."

The emperor leaned weakly on the pillow, his thin chest heaving slightly under the sweat-soaked pajamas, "I've heard about the fleet."

"That was just the first battle." Philip II squeezed out an ugly smile, "Admiral Doria and the Marquis of Santa Cruz have their plans. God bless, everything will go according to plan."

The emperor looked at Philip II with complicated eyes, "I will be buried under six feet... Would you like to listen to what I have to say for the last time?"

Philip bit his lip, but finally nodded.

"Make peace with the Britons." Charles V said intermittently, "the most rare ability in this world... is knowing when to stop. We have lost too much, don't bet on the remaining chips go up."

"We can't invade Britain, and King Edward is not capable of invading Spain. There's no need for us to fight to the death. If he wants colonies, then give him some; the Dutch want independence, then let them go, even Give the South Netherlands to Orange too, and since we lose the Netherlands, let her be a power between England and France. We cannot keep these properties, so throw them in the street, Let those robbers fight each other, and then... who will care about us? This is Spain's chance to escape!"

The emperor was trembling with a fever, and he grabbed Philip's hand nervously, "This is the last chance... Please don't miss it, or I won't be safe even in the grave!"

"Do you want me to sit back and watch Spain become an insignificant second-class country?" Philip gently but firmly opened his father's fingers that were tightly grasping his wrist, "It is my responsibility to plant the banner of God all over the world." The sacred mission... Maybe I have encountered some difficulties now, but this is just God's test! I have God's blessing, I must win, I will definitely win!"

"I'm also passionate about religion," the emperor said again after half a minute, "but sometimes we need to consider more than just religion..."

"For a devout Christian, this is enough." Philip II's voice was as cold and hard as a steel plate.

The room fell into silence, a silence mixed with pain, embarrassment, and despair. The ceiling seemed to be pressing down on the heads of the two people from above, and the surrounding walls also shrank toward the center of the room. Philip felt out of breath.

He looked at the paintings of Titian on the wall. The people in the paintings peeked out from the shadows. The black paint was as dark as an insoluble sin, but the red paint was more red than blood.

"If you don't want to listen, then forget it." The emperor sighed softly from the corner of his dry and thin mouth, his hands were tightly clutching the bed sheet under his body, a sudden pain made his face look immature purple as a plum.

Philip II stood up, "I'll call the doctor."

"That's not necessary." The emperor gasped, and Philip inexplicably thought of a fish washed up on the beach by the waves, "They don't even know what they are doing, if Vesalius is still there..."

Hearing Vesalius' name, the muscles on Philip II's face suddenly collapsed, and the corners of his mouth drooped, looking very dissatisfied.

"He is a heretic," said King Philip. "I gave him the chance to go on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem to atone for his sins, but he ignored my good intentions and fled to the apostate in Britain." There! He's a wizard, he's a heretic, and he's going to hell!"

"But what if I say that only this wizard, this heretic, this heretic can save my life?" Emperor Charles V stared at his son with piercing eyes.

Philip II avoided his father's gaze uncomfortably.

"I understand." Charles V nodded dejectedly, and closed his eyes in disappointment.

"Then I'll call you a doctor." King Philip stood up and was about to walk out the door.

"Let's call the priest." The emperor's voice became muffled.

Philip II nodded.

He went back to the adjoining parlour, where the emperor's confessor was already waiting.

"Your Majesty told you to go in." He pointed to the door, and suddenly felt tired. A voice deep in his heart seemed to tell him that what his father said was right.

"What did grandpa tell you?" Prince Don Carlos didn't seem to notice his father's dark complexion at all, and his grandfather's dying life didn't make him feel so sad. His tone of question was full of curiosity.

A burst of anger ignited from the heart of Philip II, "Be quiet!" He yelled at Prince Don Carlos.

Prince Don Carlos seldom received such rough treatment. As a father, it was hard to say how much affection Philip II had for this son. The two were usually not close. As for the others, they all behaved servilely in front of the crown prince.

He bounced off his chair with an ugly face, not sure if he was startled or angry at his father's attitude.

But Philip II was not in the mood to pay attention to Don Carlos's mood anymore. He was motionless on the armchair like a statue, with his two hands clasped together, supporting his forehead, so he did not see Don Carlos. The undisguised resentment brewing in Prince Rose's eyes.

After about 10 minutes, the priest came out of the bedroom, his face pale.

"Please go in quickly, it seems that soon..."

Before he finished speaking, he rushed out of the room to call the doctor.

Taking a deep breath, Philip focused on his legs and forced himself to stand up.

When he returned to the bedroom, the smell of medicine was still lingering.On the bed, Emperor Charles V stared at the ceiling motionless, the only part of his body that was still moving were the fingers that were still grabbing the sheet.

Philip II stared blankly at his father's eyes. The light in those eyes was gradually disappearing, like a pair of oil lamps that had burned out their oil. White foam flowed down from the corners of his mouth, leaving two spots on his chin. There are traces.

The emperor's lips moved slightly, as if he wanted to say something, but it was too late.

Doctors flooded into the room, and they swarmed in front of the emperor's bed, looking at each other.

Finally, the leading doctor mustered up his courage and walked up to King Philip.

"Your Majesty, the Emperor Charles V... is dead."

Philip's muscles twitched as if he had just woken up. From the doctor's perspective, he could see the blood vessels on his temples writhing violently like a group of sea snakes in heat.

He mechanically made the sign of the cross on his chest, took a few steps back, and sat down on an armchair at the foot of the bed.

There was a burst of crying from the bedside, it was from the emperor's sisters and daughters who had just entered the room, the emperor's illegitimate daughter, the former female governor of the Netherlands buried her face in the bed her father had just tightened with her fingers. Clinging to the sheets.

The doctors left the emperor's bedside and drafted the emperor's death certificate together at the small table opposite, and then they handed over the signed certificate to the court clerk for preservation.

Now, it's time to deal with the remains. According to the tradition of the Habsburg family, the emperor's heart will be taken out of his chest and buried separately from the body. To great excitement, the doctors politely asked His Majesty, and the princes and princesses went back to the living room next door to wait again, where they held vigil for His Majesty the late emperor.

A wake was prepared in the drawing-room, with two new candles burning on the table, and between them a silver dish filled with water in which a sprig of boxwood was dipped.

A courier was waiting in the drawing room, who had evidently come in just as they were gathered in the bedroom. He looked disheveled, his boots were dusty, and he had left a trail of brown footprints on the carpet behind him.

Philip II looked at the messenger, and then at the minister of state who was supposed to be responsible for court etiquette standing beside him.

"What's going on here?" His voice became more and more confused, "Who is this gentleman?"

"It's a messenger from Madrid, Your Majesty, with the latest news about the Armada." The Minister of the Palace looked as if he had been punched in the face, and the fat on his face trembled like it was hanging outside to dry. The sheets seemed to be blown by the wind, and his voice became shriller than usual.

The messenger walked up to the king and respectfully handed the envelope in his hand to the king.

Philip II looked at the envelope in horror, as if it would bite his hand.He took a deep breath, carefully took the urgent report, and tore open the envelope.

There was a thin sheet of paper behind the envelope. The king unfolded the letter and read the few lines on it at a glance.

Under the gaze of everyone, King Philip's fingers left a few cracks on the letter paper. His eyes were wide open, and the expression on his face was really indescribable. Every letter on the letter paper was like a star. The hot buckshot shot into his body, tearing his sanity to pieces.

The King of Spain let out a hysterical laugh, which caused everyone in the room to retreat involuntarily, even the usually generous Prince Don Carlos retreated all the way to the corner.

"Your Majesty... Your Majesty..." The Minister of the Palace extended a hand towards the king, but he didn't dare to go forward after all. The king looked like he was possessed by a demon.

Philip II passed out on the ground.

When everyone was busy looking at the king's situation, Prince Don Carlos gently picked up the letter paper that his father almost tore from the ground.

"The Armada was attacked by fire in the port of Le Havre and suffered heavy losses. Some of the remaining warships were stranded, or a very small number of warships broke out of the port. The aftermath of the repatriation of the crew is negotiating with the French side."

Below is the signature and seal of the Spanish Ambassador to France.

Don Carlos looked at the crowd surrounding his father with dim eyes, he stuffed the letter into his pocket, and left the room alone while no one was paying attention to him.