If only we could get there, we would stand a fighting chance. But if a Spanish force that size appeared in England, they could overrun my country in a week, inviting the Scots in from the north to take what they pleased. My worry only increased as the storm Owaine had predicted overtook us, delaying us by another day as we hunkered down in an abandoned hovel.
It was a small and ragged group that reached Calais four days later. The stable lads who appeared to help me down from my horse could not help the looks of shock on their faces – mud stained my red cloak and Charles had lost his cap, resulting in his hair sticking straight up in different directions. We had barely eaten in three days, food and time being scarce, so the three pages who had ridden along with us fell upon a container of apples as wild dogs might.
The fear that had entered me upon receiving Cromwell’s letter had stayed my appetite. Instead of eating, I strode immediately toward the fortifications where I was assured I would find Lord Lisle, who must have more knowledge on the situation in England.
I could hear Charles following along behind me, Owaine accompanying us after ordering his men to get some food and then rest.
We approached the large wooden doors that would lead us to Lord Lisle’s personal chambers. One of his servants quickly awakened from where he had been slumbering by the window and threw the doors open, calling out quickly.
“The King, His Majesty!”
It was obvious this boy had never before been in the presence of royalty, much less announced a king. As soon as the words were out of his mouth he turned bright red, and hit the floor in a bow so deep his nose brushed the sticky rushes upon the floor.
Lord Lisle, to his credit, did not reprimand the boy nor acknowledge him at all. Instead, the man leapt to his feet and swept into an elegant bow, removing his cap to show a bald head ringed by a few spare grey hairs. I motioned for him to stand.
“What news?” I asked immediately.
Lord Lisle motioned to a page as he answered.
“I have heard nothing as of yet,” Lord Lisle said. “The rain that has finally come brought a mighty storm and we have had no word from London in two days.”
Behind me, Charles swore under his breath. I closed my eyes, letting this news sink in. I had been so consumed with the travel and had naturally assumed that I would have news once I reached Calais. Now I must deal with a different truth.
I took a deep breath and turned to Owaine.
“See to it that a ship is found that will take us to London at once,” I commanded.
“Yes Your Majesty,” Owaine responded with a smart bow before leaving the room. I had confidence that we would be prepared to leave as soon as the tide allowed.
Just then, a far door opened and two pages appeared with trays laden with food, and another kitchen boy behind them carefully carrying a pitcher of ale.
“Might I offer food and drink?” Lord Lisle asked with a slight bow. I nodded, and the three of us sank down around a small wooden table that sat by a large window, which gave us a view of the channel. As we were served small bits of meat and a pastry I gazed out the window. I could see now the damage of which Lord Lisle had spoken. My eye caught two ships that had obviously been badly damaged by the storm, and a dock that had been completely destroyed. Driftwood beat against the walls that lined the docks relentlessly as two small boats tried to clear debris out of the water.
I ate without tasting, knowing that part of the exhaustion overtaking me was due to lack of food. For the first time in my life I found myself forcing the food down my throat, which had constricted with worry as I gazed across the channel, desperately looking for signs of the Dover cliffs.
“I regret Your Majesty is unable to see the beautiful cliffs,” Lord Lisle said, following my gaze out the window. “Though I know the peasants will appreciate the rain, it does not do anything for the view.”
I nodded a response, not trusting myself to answer. To my left Charles reached out for another plate of meats; I could see that worry was not affecting his appetite. The sauce, which I could not taste but was no doubt delicious, ran down into his beard, and the normally polite Charles was too hungry to notice. Lord Lisle eyed him with slight disdain but would not say anything to a duke, and especially not in front of the king.
“Are we sure that no ships have come in today?” I asked, glancing down at the dock, where despite the destruction, there still seemed to be activity.
“I have heard of none,” Lord Lisle assured me. “And I have ordered that I am to be the first to know if any ships from London appear.”
It was then that the same two heavy doors were thrown open and Owaine appeared, his pants soaked up to the knees. The page who had opened the doors for us before followed Owaine in as if in a stupor.
“Your Majesty!” Owaine cried, running to my side before dropping to one knee. “A ship appeared in the docks not twenty minutes ago from London. These letters were onboard.”
I snatched the three letters from his hand and quickly found the one with Cromwell’s seal on the back. As I broke the wax another sailor appeared by the door and motioned toward Lord Lisle, who stood and went to talk with him.
“Eat,” I ordered Owaine, gesturing to Lord Lisle’s seat. The man hesitated for only a moment, then fell into the heavy wooden chair, taking a large bite out of the chicken that sat before him.
As I began to read the letter, I could feel the muscles in my back give way until I at last sank into my chair. There was no sound beyond Owaine’s chewing as I read carefully through the letter, absorbing everything Cromwell has to say.
“It is good news,” I said to Charles, a smile overtaking my face. He had not moved as I read, instead gripping the sides of his chair, staring at the paper as if he would divine what Cromwell had written.
It was then that Lord Lisle finished speaking with the young sailor, sending him away without a word. He turned to the table and, with a start, realized that Owaine was sitting in his chair and eating his food.
“Have another chair brought,” I ordered Lord Lisle, who turned to see that my will was done.
“There has been no invasion of London,” I continued, turning my attention to Charles. The relief on his face was evident immediately, and he released the edges of his chair to collapse into it.
“What good fortune has befallen us?” he asked.
“The storm that has blown so fiercely here blew our enemies off course,” I explained. “The Spanish sailed directly into the storm.”
“Fools,” Charles declared, but the grin behind his beard betrayed his glee.
“It is estimated that two-thirds of their fleet has been destroyed,” I continued as a young boy brought another chair to the table. I waved, allowing Lord Lisle to sink into the chair before relaying the rest of the letter.
“Those Spanish ships that could have traveled to Scotland, but reports show that no ship arrived fully crewed or without some damage.”
“That will be a bad blow,” Owaine said thoughtfully, still holding a slice of bread. “The Scots have no love for us. With men, weapons, and ships from the Spanish they could be a threat.”
“But not an immediate threat,” I countered. Handing the letter to Charles, I reached out for another plate of food, my appetite returning with my relief.
“Their numbers will be too small to attack,” Charles confirmed. “And they will be in the hills of Scotland. Their wounded will not be prepared to move over those lands, nor will they have the correct guns to attack the small towns that litter the border.”
“Nonetheless, we must send some troops to the northern border,” I said. “Not the entire force, half should do. And there will be no need for us to accompany them or sail for London. The other half can come here and help us protect Guînes. It will not be all that we hoped for, but it will have to do. Lord Lisle, do you believe that more troops could be raised here in Calais?”
“A small number,” he answered with a frown. “Most men here are already with the garriso
n or are merchants and would not be suited to the soldier’s life.”
“We could take a number from the garrison,” Charles suggested.
“That would be most helpful if this battle turns to a siege,” Owaine agreed.
“Very well,” I said, turning to a disappointed looking Lord Lisle. “Owaine here will speak with the captain at Calais and determine which men would be best suited to join us for Guînes. We will travel there as soon as the force from London can sail here. Notice will be sent to Cromwell immediately, ordering the force to be split. They can be sent to the Earl of Hertford, who is currently monitoring the border.”
Confident with our plan of action, I opened the seal on the second letter, and immediately recognized the level hand of Anne’s secretary.
Her letter bore much of the same news as Cromwell’s, but went into more detail about how she and her ladies had taken to the Tower to prepare for a siege from the Spanish. We were not prepared to give up London without a stand. I believe it almost unfortunate the men were deprived of the chance to fight for England, and show their loyalty to Your Majesty. But there are many men, Lord Cromwell among them, who are pleased at this turn of events.
I chuckled at Anne’s words, imagining her calling for Spaniard blood in her halting English. What would Emperor Charles have made of Anne, so passionate for a country she knew nothing about?
I have worked with Archbishop Cranmer and a prayer of Thanksgiving has been created for services on Sunday, thanking our Lord for the deliverance of our Kingdom from invaders.
I raised my eyebrows at this, wondering what the Archbishop and Anne would have concocted. I glanced down at the last letter waiting for me and saw that it was from Bishop Gardiner, no doubt complaining about the language used by what he considered a heretical archbishop and a Lutheran queen.
Bishop Gardiner has read and approved the prayer. I have asked that he write to you with the document enclosed so that it may be approved by Your Majesty before Sunday.
With surprise I dropped Anne’s letter, letting it land on my plate of food. I picked up Gardiner’s letter and wrest the seal open, scanning the document quickly.
It was a short prayer, properly worded, and perfect. It would be said in English but had a rhythm to it that Gardiner approved of, and used conservative language throughout. I could not have written a better prayer myself and gawked at the page, baffled.
How had Anne, with her halting English and limited knowledge, gotten these two men to agree?
Chapter Seven
September, 1540
Our luck had held and the Spanish force that had been so depleted by the fierce storm had limped to Scotland. There they had been welcomed with open arms, but what little was left of the army was in no position to attack or even sail out of harbor. In the four months since they had landed, the Spanish had outstayed their welcome. Reports came in that fights between Spanish sailors and men of the Scottish court had broken out, the two different cultures finding little common ground beyond their hatred of me.
After hearing about the safety of London, my men and I had all rejoined with the army at Guînes. With us had traveled half of the garrison of Calais; tough veterans who gave my army cheer. They were also better prepared for the siege that began two weeks after our arrival, when Francis’ army appeared in my lands. Fortunately he had not moved as quickly as we had. With our extra two weeks we had prepared solid fortifications and stripped the surrounding countryside bare of any food. Though the summer proved to be slightly more fruitful than the spring had, these men were still at a greater risk for starvation than we were, which was unusual for a siege. I estimated that we could hold out for another two months in Guînes and wait for our final soldiers who were currently finishing training in Calais. Then we would hold superior numbers and be prepared to fight.
It had at first been amusing to watch the French attempt to crawl past the fortifications and consider charging the walls before our archers appeared along the outer castle wall. From there it was easy; our men were in a superior position and well hidden, and they could pick off the French scouts as they appeared.
The only disheartening part – no ground had been gained. We had fewer numbers in the field, and after our last disaster I would not risk defeat without greater odds. And in the past weeks sickness had run through our ranks. I was sure that the French would find the same afflictions at their door; such was the life of a standstill army.
Sitting at my makeshift desk, I ran my fingers through my thinning hair, my sharp nails scratching the scalp but finding no bugs. Before me were three new letters from London, the usual two from Cromwell and Gardiner and a third from Anne. With so little to say to one another, we rarely wrote more than once a month, and usually of only trivial matters. There was no need to take the risks that came from running letters through a siege line without cause.
Silently my secretary waited, sitting at a smaller desk directly across from mine. Guînes had few rooms, and none fit for a king. I had been forced to conduct all business from two small chambers, and use an even smaller room for my large bed and trunk. Currently the largest of these three chambers was being used by Owaine to meet with the rest of my guard. Two new members had recently been promoted into their ranks, and it seemed that these men needed more talking to than training.
This left me in the small room, which was no more than ten feet across and bare. The flat stone walls offered no amount of insulation. This meant that the room was stifling, with only two narrow windows cracked open. Across from me I could see the sweat pouring down the neck of my secretary, pooling into his dark over-shirt.
With an eye to escape the afternoon heat by traveling down into the cooler great hall, I opened Cromwell’s letter first.
As all of Cromwell’s letters had been lately, it was disheartening. The May storm had been the only source of water in England for the entire summer and drought was becoming a significant problem. The regency council was doing all it could to assist local farmers, but the plague was too wide and too severe to help everyone.
Your Majesty, we have received word that the Spanish have recovered and are being called together in Scotland. The Scottish Lords have built three new ships for the soldiers and I have word that they plan to sail at the end of the month. Their destination, be it Dover or Spain, is unknown.
I cursed under my breath at this turn of events. To his credit, my secretary did not look up from where he copied a scroll except to dip his quill into the well of dark ink by his hand.
Considering what a danger this could be to London, I have ordered the court to be moved to Hever Castle in Kent. Queen Anne and her ladies, including the Lady Mary and Lady Elizabeth, have already ridden out and arrived at this location yesterday. The rest of the regency council and I will leave London on the morrow, with aim to reach the rest of the court by the end of the week. Hever should provide protection if London is to be invaded.
Closing my eyes, I pinched the bridge of my nose in an effort to ward off the inevitable headache that was to come. My regency council, the men that were to represent me to my people while I was in France, had abandoned London on the possibility that the Spanish planned to attack with inadequate numbers.
Looking down, I saw that Cromwell had written little else and I turned to Bishop Gardiner’s letter, breaking the seal with such force that the thin parchment ripped. Piecing the small slice back into place, I looked down to the Bishop’s carefully crafted words, my eyes scanning past the opening pleasantries until I arrived at the heart of the matter.
Lord Cromwell has suggested that the court retire to Hever Castle until the Spanish fleet has passed and is well out of London. Taking into account the low numbers of soldiers that remained in London, I fully condone this plan and will accompany both Lord Cromwell and Archbishop Cranmer tomorrow. I regret to inform you that Archbishop Cranmer had some reservations about leaving London, but together Cromwell and I convinced him that the preservation of the seat of government was nece
ssary.
This was no better. The only time I could recall Cromwell and Gardiner agreeing on something and it was to abandon the capital. I continued reading the letter but there was little else, merely complaints about Cranmer and a blessing at the end. I tossed the letter aside and picked up the last note from Anne.
The first thing I noticed was the lack of greeting, my formal title barely written out. Anne, who was often so careful in her letters, seemed to have dictated and sent this one off in the greatest haste.
Your Majesty, it is with profound sadness that I tell you of Lord Cromwell and Bishop Gardiner’s retreat from London. They have ruled that the court will abandon the city without a fight and move to Hever Castle, which I am told is in Kent.
I looked down at the letter in shock. In my mind I could almost see Anne, as she had appeared to me that last night before the start of Lent, anxiously telling me what England needed for defense. I was sure she ordered this letter in the same agitated state, leaning over the shoulder of her secretary, talking to him in broken sentences, and lapsing into German when she got overly excited. It made me smile to think at least one person in England understood the foolishness of this.
I have been escorted, against my will, to Hever Castle along with the Ladies Mary and Elizabeth. Both girls seem upset to leave London, but I have shielded them from the knowledge of a possible Spanish invasion. I know the war with Spain has distressed the Lady Mary and I have made sure no talk of it has reached my chambers. Prince Edward is safe at Richmond, but I have ordered that his guard be doubled and have issued a false statement that he is to join me here in Kent. It is my hope that any mainland attacks will first come here, using the port of Bristol to march across the southern lands to us.
Anne the Warrior Page 6
