"I think we need to be cautious here," said González.
He said it cautiously, of course. Granted that Philip IV was not generally a hot-tempered man; granted also, he normally left matters of governance to the count-duke while the king entertained himself with his patronage of art and literature. Still, he was the king of Spain, and he was in an obvious rage.
The king turned away from the window, bringing his heavy-boned face to bear on that of his advisor. The sweeping royal mustachios were practically quivering, below the prominent nose and above the classic Habsburg chin and lower lip.
"Why?" he bellowed. He pointed a rigid finger at the window. "That—that—"
"Traitor," Villanueva unhelpfully supplied. "Madman, also."
"Yes! That madman—that traitor—has just managed to bring down into ruins Our entire foreign policy! Every bit of it!"
"Ah—not quite, Your Majesty," said Olivares.
The king brought the glare to bear on him. "Indeed? Please explain to me, Count-Duke, which aspect of Our policy the creature Borja has not destroyed."
Philip didn't wait for an answer. Although he didn't concern himself with the day-to-day business of ruling the Spanish empire, the king was neither stupid nor ill informed. Most times, Olivares found that a blessing. On some occasions, however—this certainly being one of them—it was something of a curse.
The king brought up his thumb. "Shall We begin with a recitation of the casualties suffered by Our armies in the north? We recall them quite well, Gaspar, even if you seem to have mysteriously forgotten. How, We can't imagine—since those dismal figures were the principal subject of your report to Our council not so very long ago."
The forefinger came up. It was a large finger, and very stiff. Olivares had to restrain a momentary and quite insane urge to giggle. He had no difficulty imagining Borja impaled on that royal digit.
"Let's move on to a consideration of our military situation. We were all agreed that we faced an unavoidable period of retrenchment, did we not? While we scraped up the money—We shall get to that subject in a moment!—in order to recruit more troops and arm them with the new weapons that the cursed Swede and his American witches have inflicted on the world.
"Did we not?" he shouted.
A nod of hasty obeisance was called for here, and Olivares—hastily—provided it.
"Splendid," continued the king. The middle finger came up. "Let us now consider Our financial position—which is perilous, as always. The last thing we needed was to have a madman—no, a traitor!—produce a situation in Italy which will—unavoidably, Olivares, deny it if you can!—force us to pour bullion into that miserable peninsula."
Olivares tried to say something, but Philip would have none of it. "Deny it if you can! With the troops that madman—no, that traitor!—pulled out of Naples to carry through his adventure, tell me—if you can, Olivares!—that we will not face a rebellion in southern Italy."
"I agree that the financial damage will be extensive, Your Majesty," Olivares said smoothly. He needed to divert the king from too much thought on the subject of Italian rebellions. At least for the moment, when he was in such a fury.
In point of fact, Olivares was quite sure they faced something considerably worse than the usual rebelliousness of Neapolitans. He had not mentioned in his report—and now thanked God that he hadn't—the last item of information. That Borja had not only overthrown the existing pope, but that he had also managed to let Urban escape. And to do so, to make the disaster complete, with the assistance of the USE embassy to Rome!
Was it really too much to ask, that a madman not be a complete incompetent as well?
Thankfully, Villanueva was finally coming to his senses. Realizing the precipice that the royal anger might plunge them over, the protonotario hurried to add: "My reports are that the latest bullion fleet from the New World will be bringing more silver than usual, Your Majesty. I think—combined with some tax levies, no way now to avoid them—that we will manage well enough."
That caused the first break in Philip's escalating temper.
"Really?" he asked.
Villanueva gave the king a nod of such assured confidence that Olivares forgave him his recent sins. For all the world, you'd think Don Jerónimo actually knew what he was talking about.
Which, he didn't. Villanueva knew just as well as Olivares did that there was no way, this early, to be sure what amounts of bullion would be coming over from the New World. Even leaving aside the ever-present danger of piracy, which was especially acute now with the remnants of the Dutch fleet still at large in the Caribbean.