Elizabeth I Page 5

  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

  After 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.”

  I passed the afternoon watching the men marching and writing to my commanders, stressing my demand to be out with the troops, confronting Parma, rather than hidden away. Hunsdon was immovable, but the commanders of the main army, Leicester and Norris, might feel differently. While I was writing the letters, Walter Raleigh arrived.

  Never had a visitor been more welcome. “Tell me, tell me!” I commanded him before he was fully through the door.

  His fine riding clothes were covered in dust and his boots mud-caked. There was even dust in his beard. I could not read his expression, but he did not look desperate. “It is safe in the West Counties,” he said. “The Spanish were prevented from landing at Wight. Our fleet
divided itself into four squadrons, led by Frobisher in Triumph, Drake in Revenge, Howard in Ark, and Hawkins in Victory, and forced them to sail past it, edging them toward the sandbars and shallows, which they barely escaped. Now they are heading toward Calais.”

  “Thanks, thanks be to God!” I almost fell on my knees in gratitude. God noted such appreciation. But I restrained myself. “But when they reach Calais ...?”

  “Presumably there, or at Dunkirk on the Flanders coast, they will attempt to coordinate with Parma. But is he aware of the whereabouts of the Armada, and is he prepared to embark his troops immediately? Such a thing takes weeks of preparation.”

  “Parma is known for his preparation,” I reminded him.

  “When he has all the facts, yes,” said Raleigh. “But does he?”

  “If God is on our side, no,” I said.

  “The West County militias are traveling east to help the other counties,” said Raleigh.

  “It would seem your task is done, and done well,” I said. “I release you to do what you have wanted to do all along—join the fleet. If you can catch them at this point.”

  He grinned. “I will catch them, if I have to mortgage my soul to hell to do it.”

  “Beware what you promise, Walter,” I said. “Remember the old saying ‘He who sups with the devil must use a long spoon.’ ”

  He bowed. “I hear,” he said.

  That night my newly fashioned breastplate, helmet, and sword were delivered to me. I fancied I could still feel the heat in them from the forge. I ran my hands over the exquisitely designed pieces, then gingerly tried them on. If something of metal did not fit, there was no help for it. But they did. They fit perfectly.

  “You look like an Amazon,” said Marjorie in admiration.

  “That was my intent,” I said. I felt different with them on—not braver, but more invincible.

  The next morning I got my response from Leicester at Tilbury. The fort was some twenty miles downstream on the Thames, where Parma’s ships were sure to pass en route to the conquest of London. By massing the main army there, we meant to block his access to London, and we had put up a blockade of boats across the river as well.

  I ripped it open, sending the seal flying.

  “My most dear and gracious Lady, I rejoice to find, in your letter, your most noble disposition, in gathering your forces and in venturing your own person in dangerous action.”

  There. He understood better than old Hunsdon!

  “And because it pleased Your Majesty to ask my advice concerning your army, and to tell me of your secret determination, I will plainly and according to my knowledge give you my opinion.”

  Yes, yes.

  “As to your proposal to join the troops drawn up at Dover, I cannot, most dear Queen, consent to that. But instead I ask that you come to Tilbury, to comfort your army there, as goodly, as loyal, and as able men as any prince could command. I myself will vouchsafe the safety of your person, the most dainty and sacred thing we have in this world to care for, so that a man must tremble when he thinks of it.”

  Oh. But the way he put it ... Perhaps it was best to let the main army see me. My presence should be used to strengthen others, rather than to satisfy my own curiosity about seeing the battle.

  The Privy Councillors were aghast. Burghley all but stamped his gouted foot, Cecil tut-tutted and stroked his beard, Walsingham rolled his eyes. The others—Archbishop Whitgift and Francis Knollys—murmured and shook their heads. “This is a foolish, dangerous fixation you have,” said Burghley. “And how like my Lord Leicester to encourage it!”

  “It is too close to the expected invasion,” said Walsingham. “And worse than that—the danger of going out among the people. Have you forgotten that the Papal Bull says anyone who kills you is performing a noble deed? How do we know who is hidden in the troops? It only takes one!”

  “I am not a Roman emperor, to fear assassination by my subjects,” I said. “So far the Catholics have proven themselves loyal. I do not want to start mistrusting them now.”

  “Even good emperors and kings get assassinated,” he said.

  “God has brought me this far, and it is up to him to protect me.” I turned to them. “Gentlemen, I am going. I honor your care for me, but I must go. I cannot miss the highest moment of crisis of my reign. I must be there.”

  I wrote Leicester that I accepted his invitation, and he replied, “Good, sweet Queen, alter not your purpose if God give you good health.” I did not intend to alter my purpose.

  That night I ordered the Spanish riding whip, long since put away, to be brought to me. I would use it now, and the very feel of it in my hand would harden my resolve. We would not lose!

  I stepped onto the state barge from the water steps of Whitehall at dawn to travel to Tilbury. This time the red hangings, the velvet cushions, and the gilded interior of the cabin seemed to be mocking me. I was surrounded by the trappings of majesty, but I was on my way to defend my realm. As we slid past the London waterfront, then on past Greenwich, and finally toward the sea, I sent out blessings on these places and upon all the people dwelling there, even though I could not see them.

  Preceding me was a boat of trumpeters playing loudly, calling the curious out to watch from the riverbanks. Behind us came barges with my Gentlemen Pensioners and Queen’s Guard, bravely attired in armor and plumes, and councillors and courtiers.

  We arrived at midday, pulling up to the blockhouse of the fort. Lining the banks were rows of soldiers standing smartly, the sun glinting off their helmets. As the barge tied up at the dock, a blast of trumpets welcomed me, and then the captain general of the land army, my Earl of Leicester, flanked by Army Lord Marshal “Black Jack” Norris, walked solemnly to the end of the pier to receive me.

  Seeing Leicester, dear Robert, so handsomely attired and waiting made me catch my breath. Just so he had waited at all the crucial junctures of my life; just so he had always been my chief supporter.

  “Your Majesty.” He bowed.

  “All hail and welcome,” said Norris, lowering his head.

  I looked at the formidable rows of soldiers stretching in ceremonial lines up the hill.

  “We have over twenty thousand here,” said Leicester. He gestured up the lines. “I have arranged for you to inspect the camp and the river blockade first. Then, after dinner, you can review the troops and address them.”

  “I am pleased to do so,” I said. I gestured to the next barge after mine, bringing my horse. He was being led down the ramp.

  Leicester’s eyebrow lifted. “A fine gelding,” he said. “New?” Leicester prided himself on providing me with the showiest and best horses.

  “A gift from Robert Cecil,” I said.

  He made the slightest of faces before saying, “Very good taste. Now, my most precious Queen, shall it please you to come with me to the camp?” He indicated the raised causeway we should walk up.

  I was already attired in the white velvet gown I wished to be seen in, and would put on the armor before mounting my horse. This was such a momentous, almost a sacred, occasion that no ordinary costume was worthy. But white velvet, with all its evocation of virginity and majesty, came closest.

  As we passed, each soldier bowed and the officers dipped their pikes and ensigns in respect. I looked into their faces, broad, sunburned, and frightened, and felt their courage in having left their farms and homes to come here and take their stand.

  As we reached the crest of the hill, the camp spread out before us. Hundreds of tents, some of the finest workmanship, others of rough canvas, were pitched in tidy rows. There were large pavilions for the officers and green-painted booths for the lower-rank soldiers. Bright pennants and flags fluttered over them. Upon seeing us, pipers and drummers struck up their welcoming tunes. Then a royal salute was fired from the blockhouse cannons.

  “Behold your legions!” said Leicester, sweeping his hand over them. “Stout Englishmen ready to defend our shores.”

  For one awful momen
t I felt that I might cry. So brave and so fragile, these men: the most precious gift my people had ever offered up to me.

  “Yes,” I murmured.

  I walked up and down the companies of soldiers standing at attention, speaking a word to some, giving a smile to another, thinking how like a tall fence they were, or a line of saplings planted alongside a road.

  “God bless you all!” I cried, and in response they fell, to a man, to their knees, calling, “Lord preserve our Queen!”

  I also inspected the ranks of the cavalry, some two thousand strong. One company, decked out in tawny livery, was headed by Leicester’s young stepson, Robert Devereux, Earl of Essex. He grinned as I approached and waited an instant too long to lower his head.

  “Your Majesty,” said Leicester, “young Essex here has raised a fine company of two hundred horsemen at his own expense.” He tilted his chin toward the young man, proudly.

  I looked at the richly attired company and mentally computed the cost. Young Essex had spared no expense. But the overall effect, rather than being stunning, was surfeit. “Umm,” I said, nodding shortly, and passed on to the next.

  We retired to Leicester’s pavilion for the midday dinner. Only a select few were to join us; therefore the table did not stretch very far down the length of the room. For myself, I had included Marjorie and Catherine, as well as Walsingham, as guests. Leicester sat down with a flourish and said, “Your Majesty, all this is yours to command.”