Elizabeth I (7 page)

It was three full days before the details could reach us in London. The Armada had first been sighted on July 29 by the captain of the
Golden Hind
, guarding and scouting the entrance to the Channel. He spotted some fifty Spanish sails near the Scilly Isles and made straightway to Plymouth a hundred miles away to warn Drake.

The next day, July 30, the Armada had entered the Channel.

It was now August 1. “Tell me exactly what has happened,” I said to the messenger. My tone was cool, though my heart raced.

“I do not know. I think the Spanish caught our western squadron in harbor at Plymouth, bottled up by the wind so they could not get out. They made an easy target for the Spanish to attack, if they sighted them.”

“And then?”

“I was dispatched before we knew what happened,” he said.

My heart sank. This was only partial news. Had our fleet been disabled by the wind and then destroyed by the Spaniards? Did all of England now lie open before them?

No one knew. We waited at Richmond as the days ticked by—August 2, 3, 4. The guards never left me, and all the entrances to the palace were sealed. We kept our trunks packed and slept little.

We feared the worst—that the Spaniards were even now marching toward London. “But,” I told Marjorie, “we can comfort ourselves that all of England will not be conquered, no matter if they capture us and overrun London. There is more to the realm than the south counties and London. In Wales and in the north, the terrain is rough and the people rougher. The east is full of marshes and fens. If the Spanish cannot subdue the Netherlands after thirty years, they could never pacify us. New leaders would rise if I and my entire government disappeared.”

“We breed fierce fighters,” she said. “We would make their lives hell if they occupied us.”

“And if they tried to station enough soldiers here to quiet us, they would leave the Netherlands empty and lose them,” said Catherine.

I looked at them. They did not even pretend to be calm. Both their husbands were out fighting the invaders, and they had no word of them.

“Ah, ladies,” I said. “We stand and fall as one.”

But what
was
happening?

Late that night, Lord Hunsdon came to Richmond. I welcomed him with both dread—to hear what he had to say—and relief—to know the worst, if worst it was.

Although over sixty now, he was still a towering commander. I bade him rise. He drew himself up and said, “Your Majesty, I am here to convey you to a place of safety. You must leave London.”

“Why?” I said. “I do not move an inch unless I know what is happening.”

Catherine could not help herself; she stepped forward and embraced her father, murmuring, “Oh, thank God you are uninjured.”

He patted her shoulder but talked over her head to me. “Even my news is old, though I have been kept abreast of it. But this I know: The Armada has reached the area of the Solent and the Isle of Wight. There have been two clashes already, the first at Plymouth—where we managed to escape being trapped at anchor and got the wind gauge on them—the next at Portland Bill. Neither was conclusive. Drake captured
Nuestra Señora del Rosario
, laden with treasure. It did not even put up a fight. When the Spanish captain heard who confronted him, he immediately surrendered, saying that Drake was one ‘whose valor and felicity was so great that Mars and Neptune seemed to attend him.’ ”

Drake. It did seem that, at sea at least, he was unconquerable. “Then what?” I asked.

Hunsdon ran his hands through his thick hair. “The Armada kept going, and the English kept pursuing. So far the enemy have not been able to land. But the Isle of Wight will offer ideal conditions to do so.”

“We have strengthened it,” I said. “There’s a huge defensive ditch, and Governor George Carew has three thousand men at the ready. We have another nine thousand militia guarding Southampton.”

“Our navy will do all in its power to keep them from getting into the Solent waters and thus gaining access to Wight. It will depend on whether they can thwart the Spanish from using the flood tide to their advantage.”

“And all this is happening—now?”

“I would guess at dawn. That is why it is crucial that you come with me and my soldiers to a place where the enemy cannot find you.”

“What are you trying to say? That you are certain the Spanish will land, that we are helpless to prevent them?”

“I am only saying that
if
they land, the road to London is easy from there.”

“But they have not landed. Not yet.”

“For the love of God, Ma’am, by the time we know they have landed you will look out your window and see Spanish helmets! I beg you, protect yourself. Do not let your soldiers and sailors risk their lives to protect yours, if you have so little care for it yourself.”

How dare he make such an accusation? “I have more care for England than for my own life,” I retorted. “I will lay that down if it stirs up the courage of the people to resist.” I could not sit on the sidelines, removed from action. “I want to see the naval action,” I insisted. “I want to go to the south coast, where I can look out and see what is happening, rather than cower in a bunker in the Midlands!” Yes, I would go see it all for myself. This waiting, this second- and thirdhand news, was unbearable.

“That is not bravery but recklessness.”

“I can be there in a day.”

“No, no! The council will never permit it.” He looked anguished. “You cannot, you must not, hazard your person. What a prize for the Spanish! If they killed you, they could display your head to all the troops. If they captured you, off to the Vatican you would go, in chains. How does this help your people?”

“William Wallace’s dismemberment seems to have had no ill effect on his legacy in Scotland. Quite the opposite.” I sighed. “I go nowhere tonight, in the dark. I send you back to your troops at Windsor—without me.”

He could not order me or force me. No one had it in his or her power to command me. He set his mouth in a hard line of frustration and bowed.

“Dear cousin, I trust you,” I said. “Keep vigilant at Windsor. And it is time the Earl of Leicester’s army assembled itself at Tilbury. I shall give the orders.”

7

A
fter he had left, Catherine all but wrung her hands. “If he was this grim, it is worse than he told us. My father does not like to cause undue alarm.”

“I know that,” I said. “I knew it when he didn’t resort to his usual oaths and curses.” Hunsdon liked to sprinkle his speech with rough soldiers’ words and didn’t care what the rest of the company thought of it. But today he had been too shocked to speak in his normal coarse fashion. “Who can know what is really happening? That is the cruel part.” Thirty years a queen, and in this hour of supreme test, I was in the dark and could not lead. I looked out the window. The beacons had burned out. They had done their job.

The next morning a strange sight greeted us: Sir Francis Walsingham in armor. He clanked into the privy chamber, walking stiffly. He carried the helmet under his arm. Approaching us, he attempted to bow but could only bend halfway. “Your Majesty,” he said, “you must transfer to St. James’s in London. It can be guarded better than Richmond. Hunsdon told us of your refusal to take refuge in the countryside. But it is imperative that you move to St. James’s. Hunsdon’s army of thirty thousand can secure the city.”

“My Moor, why are you got up like this?” I asked.

“I am prepared to fight,” he said.

It was all I could do not to laugh. “Have you ever fought in armor?”

“No. But there are many things we have not done before that we must be prepared to do now,” he said.

I was touched that he would even attempt such a thing—he, the consummate indoor councillor.

Behind him Burghley and his son Robert Cecil came into the chamber.

“So, my good Cecils, where is your armor?” I asked.

“My gout won’t let me into armor,” said Burghley.

“And my back—” Robert Cecil demurred.

Of course. How thoughtless of me. Young Cecil had a twisted back, although he was not hunchbacked, as his political enemies claimed. The story was that he had been dropped on his head as a baby. But that was manifestly untrue, for his head not only was uninjured but contained a brilliant mind.

Suddenly I had an idea. “Can a breastplate and helmet be made for me, quickly?”

“Why—I suppose so,” said Robert Cecil. “The Greenwich armory can turn things out fast.”

“Good. I want them by tomorrow evening. And a sword, the right length for me.”

“What are you thinking of?” Burghley’s voice rose in worry.

“I want to go to the south coast, head up the levies there, and see for myself what is happening on the water.”

Walsingham sighed. “Hunsdon has already explained why that is not feasible.”

“I insist I go out among my troops. If not the southern levies, then at Tilbury when the main army assembles.”

“In the meantime, Ma’am, you must remove to St. James’s,” Burghley said. “Please!”

“I brought you a white horse,” said Robert Cecil.

“A bribe?” I laughed. How odd that I could find anything to laugh about now. “You know I cannot resist a white horse. Very well. Is he—or she—ready?”

“Indeed. And with a new silver-ornamented bridle and saddle.”

“Like the ones that the Duke of Parma ordered for his ceremonial entry into London?” Walsingham’s agents had discovered that fact.

“Better,” said Cecil.

Across the river in small boats, then the ten-mile ride into London. Along the road crowds of bewildered, frightened people clustered. I rode as calmly as I could, waving, smiling, to reassure them. If only I could reassure myself as easily. I saw no disturbances other than the milling people. The sky was overcast and it was chilly for mid-July. As we approached London, I did not see any smoke rising or hear any artillery fire.

St. James’s was a redbrick palace used as a hunting lodge by my father. In its woodland park, it was far enough back from the river to be safer than Whitehall or Greenwich or Richmond. But as we approached, I saw that the meadows of the park, formerly home to pheasants, deer, and fox, had become a military campground. Tents spread across the grounds and columns of soldiers were drilling.

Hunsdon met us at the gates of the palace. Relief showed on his face. He had counted on my doing the right thing. “Thank God you have arrived safely,” he said.

I dismounted, and patted my horse’s neck. “Young Cecil here knows how to bribe me,” I said. “For a queen, better a gift than a threat.”