Legacy: The Acclaimed Novel of Elizabeth, England's Most Passionate Queen -- and the Three Men Who Loved Her (92 page)

messages to the Duke of Parma, begging for ammunition and flyboats

to outmanoeuvre the English ships, who were running circles around

the clumsy galleons and “plucking our feathers little by little.” But he

had no idea at what port he could expect to find Parma’s army waiting.

Blindly the Spanish fleet groped its way out of the English Channel and

rode anchor at Calais Roads, repairing damages, while Medina Sidonia

waited anxiously for news of relief—ammunition, food and water. Their

stores were almost exhausted. What was Parma doing to leave them so

shamefully in the lurch like this? Was it possible he had not received

Philip’s command to rendezvous at sea?

A mile and a half away the English fleet watched a hundred and fifty

sea monsters bobbing on the quiet waves. A council of war was held

aboard the
Ark Royal
and at midnight on the 28th of July, eight English

fireships filled with explosives sailed into the Spanish fleet on a rising

wind. Spanish pinnaces, working under a constant barrage of English

shot, had just manoeuvred two of the fireships out of line when they

exploded. The pinnaces fled for cover and the remaining six fireships bore

into the great Armada which lay in impeccable formation, like a flock of

sitting ducks.

In the mêlée that ensued the Spanish captains panicked and cut

their cables. Several galleons, caught in the grips of the current, crashed

together and the careful formation disintegrated into chaos, with ships

drifting as far as six miles apart, some to sink, some to be captured by the

English, others to be driven ashore. Sick at heart, Medina Sidonia sailed

towards the Flemish coast in search of reinforcements, but the coastline

remained empty. Parma had played them false. There was nothing for it

but to turn and engage the enemy alone.

For five hours Howard’s ships pounded the crippled fleet, until lack of

ammunition forced him to ease off. The scenes of carnage were without

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Susan Kay

precedent. Priests groped their way across the splintered decks, miring

their robes in blood, to minister to the dying. The Spanish troops were

packed so tightly in the holds of the ships that when one galleon keeled

over, blood was seen to pour from the scuppers and stain the sea around.

At noon the wind changed and, to Howard’s fury, the remaining

vessels were able to slip away through the mist and blinding rain into

the North Sea. The fleets broke off direct contact, but no one yet knew

whether the depleted Armada would return—or whether Parma would

seize his advantage, now that the English fleet was virtually disarmed, to

sweep across the Channel and invade in the Armada’s wake.

t t t

The troops were taut with anticipation and excitement that hot afternoon

when Leicester rode across Tilbury plain with his stepson at his side, to

welcome the Queen and her escort of two thousand horsemen to his

camp. Seeing her sitting bareheaded on her beautiful gelding, dressed in

virgin white and wearing a silver breastplate in mock concession to her

advisers’ fears, he was suddenly starkly aware that Burghley had been

right; this was madness. To let her venture out unguarded on a field

of armed men—thousands of unknown, unvetted ruffians, any one of

whom might easily be a fanatic or a Spanish agent, ready, waiting— And

nothing could have made a more perfect target of her than that dazzling

white gown. How had he ever let her talk him into this?

It was too late now; there was no way he could hustle her into his

chequered and particoloured pavilion and forbid this appearance. Even

if he could change her mind—a forlorn hope—he knew he could not

answer for the ten thousand men assembled under his command if they

were thwarted of this chance to see and hear the woman in whose defence

they were prepared to die. A loss of discipline—a riot—at this stage could

be disastrous. And so he took her horse’s bridle with a trembling hand

and led her forward, unguarded, before the dense sea of waving pikes and

caps and banners. From the corner of his eye he caught sight of Essex’s

face, flushed, excited, admiring, his eyes on the Queen solemn with

open adoration; and for the first time Leicester felt a sharp pang of envy

for youth in its first handsome flush. The quick, intimate smile which

had passed between Elizabeth and the young Robert Devereux was like

a sudden knife thrust in his heart. Such warmth and tenderness in her

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Legacy

eyes now when they rested on Essex’s blazing red head, such a strangely

familiar expression. He had seen Lettice look at the boy in that same

doting way. What did the Queen see when she looked at him to make

her smile like that? A son? The son she had never borne? Was that
all
it

was? He, who had so deliberately thrown the two of them together, felt

his first moment of real unease. There was something wrong, something

just a shade unnatural in the passionate companionship which had sprung

up since the previous spring, through all those long nights when they had

sat together playing cards because she dared not sleep. He had thought

her safe enough with such a young man, he had been glad to see Essex’s

boyish high spirits pull her back from the brink of a nervous breakdown;

but now he had a horrible, indecent thought; was Essex her lover?

He clung to the gelding’s bridle with a convulsive grip, torn between

terror that he would see her assassinated before his eyes and the fierce,

jealous desire to stab her in the heart himself if his dreadful fancy should

be true, if she had really so debased herself as to take a man more than

thirty years her junior to her bed. She couldn’t, she surely wouldn’t! But

she was Elizabeth, a law unto herself; and she just might.

A silence had fallen over the swaying multitude as the Queen raised

her white hand and now her voice was throbbing in his ears, speaking

words which would live for ever in the memory of Englishmen. He had

forgotten how beautifully she could speak, the strength and depth of her

voice reaching out across the fields—it would breathe life into a stone.

And how low and unworthy it made him feel to stand here, entertaining

dark suspicions about her honour.

The sun beat down mercilessly into his eyes like white hot daggers,

making his senses swim. The words began to rush past him and he tried

to clutch on to them, but it was no use. The world was dark around him

and he no longer knew what she was saying.

The next he knew the crowds were waving and cheering in a hyster-

ical frenzy and it was all over. For a moment he was afraid the seething

masses would surge forward, but under the control of her daunting

majesty the lines held. He felt his throat close. Perhaps in every thousand

years the world produced one man or woman to live in incandescence,

enshrined within their span of time. What else would men call this era

but
Elizabethan
?

The magnitude of his thoughts had left him dog-tired, but now he

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Susan Kay

must lift her down from the white horse and watch her walk among the

ragged ranks. The sun flashed fire from the silver breastplate. Men wept

unashamedly as they fell to their knees and swore to die for her.

Gulls were screaming overhead, circling the rows of huts which had

been hastily erected, made of poles twined with green leaves which curled

and lost their sap steadily in the fierce heat. The hem of her white gown

trailed in the rusty earth. He remembered thinking it was a shame—that

gown would never be fit to wear again. And then the sun was lower in

the sky and at last he was leading her into his tent, followed by her ladies.

He unfastened the breastplate with his own hands and saw where the

sun had caught her neck, leaving red places that reminded him of another

time, another place.

He bent with reverence to kiss both her hands.

“You were magnificent,” he said quietly.

But she did not seem interested. Her attention was riveted on his

sweating face, scanning him with anxiety.

“You are not well.”

He laughed. “I’m hot—as you must be. It was like Hell’s valley out

there. Come—let me get you something to drink.”

He held a fine banquet that night in his pavilion and while they were

all still seated at the table, there was a great shout outside. A moment later

the Earl of Cumberland came striding through the entrance to fall on his

knees at the Queen’s feet. A tense silence fell as she gave him her hand to

kiss and asked for his news.

“Madam, Howard engaged the Spanish fleet a week ago at the

Gravelines and dispersed its main body.”

“Dispersed?” she frowned.

“Destroyed in all but name, madam. Howard drove them through

storms up the east coast of Scotland where we can safely leave the

winds and rocks to finish those who have not sunk already. It was a

great naval victory.”

“But—?” said the Queen, staring steadily at Cumberland’s grim face,

and nipping off the excited cheer around the table with a flick of her hand.

“But—” Cumberland twisted his flat cap uneasily between his huge

hands. “The rumour is now that Parma with six thousand horse and fifty

thousand foot will come out on the highest tide to make a landing.”

Leicester rose in his chair and sank back again, his anxious eyes meeting

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Legacy

the Queen’s. They both knew that, if Parma came now, there would

be wholesale slaughter among that inexperienced English force outside,

presently yelling with delight, and lighting bonfires all over the camp to

celebrate the news of victory.

She had sworn to live and die among her soldiers, and would not listen

now to those who urged her to return to London and the safety of the

Tower. She resumed the dinner calmly and it was very late that night

before Leicester finally got her to himself for a few moments.

“They’re right,” he said slowly, “you should get away from here. It’s

madness for you to remain.”

She shook her head. “If Parma comes, he’ll find me waiting.”

“You know I can’t defend you here. If Parma takes you—”

He stopped and she laid a hand on his arm. “If England falls to

Philip there’s no place for me in this world. I would be proud to die

with my soldiers.”

“You won’t die in Parma’s hands. When he’s satisfied that you have

suffered every degradation his twisted mind can devise then he’ll deliver

you to Philip—who will have you burnt!”

“As a
heretic
?”

Her smile mocked him, made him wonder anew whether she had

heard his question the day he left court for Tilbury.

He frowned. “Must it come to that?”

Elizabeth leaned back against the central post which supported the

canvas weight of the tent.

“Walsingham’s spies assured me that Parma was not equipped for such

a mission, that he has only a dozen flyboats and a few flat-bottomed canal

boats. I suppose it’s possible we were fed false information.”

“And if that’s so?”

“Then I pray he comes at once. I want this settled by the end of

August at the latest.”

He stared at her blankly. “August? Why August?”

She sighed patiently and looked out at the burning orange lights of

the camp fires.

“So I can demobilise, my love, and get all those men back where they

belong, at their trades and in the fields. There’s a crop to be harvested if

we’re not to have a famine in the winter—victory is a poor substitute for

food to a child with an empty belly.”

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Susan Kay

t t t

Parma’s army never moved. Her original assessment of the commander’s

half-hearted commitment to the “Enterprise” proved correct and the

integrity of Walsingham’s famous intelligence service remained unques-

tioned, the most efficient system in the whole of Europe.

Howard’s fleet chased the surviving Spanish vessels round the east

coast, without firing another shot from their empty arsenal. Behind the

crippled ships floated a long trail of mules and horses, discarded by the

Spanish in their haste to get away. The body of the young Prince of

Ascolo, commonly reputed to be Philip’s bastard son, was seen floating,

face down, in doublet and breeches of fine white satin, still sporting

stockings of russet silk.

What was left of the glorious Armada made for the north of Scotland

through a rising storm. Winds, cruel rocks, and savage inhabitants claimed

many more victims, for the shipwrecked Spaniards who struggled ashore

on the west coast of Ireland were slaughtered in their hundreds by fero-

cious clans. Of the thirty thousand men who had set out from Spain, less

than ten thousand straggled back to tell their wretched tale.

Dressed in sackcloth and deepest mourning black, fearful messen-