The Grove of Eagles

by Winston Graham

  “Why did we not leave, then?”

  “They want to be sure. And you and your sort don’t help. There’s rumour flying through the fleet quicker than fever. Back and forth it go and multiplying all the while. So the Adelantado, to calm them, agrees to wait his next despatch from the Azores, due tomorrow. Meantime he’s sent word to the King and waits that also.”

  “So when do we sail now?”

  “Tomorrow or the next day. We can’t afford to wait longer. De Soto and Brochero are fuming. Twas de Soto sent me here to see you today; he’s too busy himself. He said I was to see you and tell him what I think. What am I to take back, eh? Are you just craven or a turncoat?”

  “I spoke out of turn. But I only answered the questions put to me.”

  Captain Burley rubbed his boot which he had crossed on his knee. Hair fell over his forehead. “ Well, if you’ll take the advice of a fellow countryman, answer no more. Else you’ll be on that yard-arm. Understand? I’ll string you up meself.”

  He got awkwardly to his feet. He was a big man and seemed to occupy the room. “Right. I’ll be going. See you in England—if you’re still alive by then. Adios, captain.”

  We saw him over the side. The sun was sinking into a smear of white cloud. The heat had gone from the day, Captain. Quesada grimaced at me.

  “Ill-mannered and a knave. What was his business?”

  I gave him an altered account, aware that I should have been the knave in Quesada’s eyes and not Burley. But sometimes I suspected that, with a Spaniard such as this captain, even treachery could be borne before ill-manners.

  The next two days were fine and warm; there was a strong breeze from the east but that would not have prevented our sailing. On the second day the expected despatch came from the Azores. Ralegh had rejoined the rest of the fleet, which had reached Flares and was making in full strength towards Fayal. So they were some 1,200 miles from Spain. There could be no doubt about this; the commander of the flyboat was a Spanish officer of the greatest reliability: he had seen the squadron himself. At Admiral Brochero’s suggestion all the captains in the fleet were assembled on San Pablo and heard the despatch read by the officer himself. While they were assembled there a communication came to the Adelantado from the King, now fully recovered.

  This also Don Martin read out to the assembled company. It promised that Admiral Don Marcos de Aruraburu would leave Lisbon at once and sail with his Andalusian squadron for England. The Adelantado, though commanding the entire fleet, was not to wait for Arumburu but was to sail without any further delay. The King added that any captain who created difficulties in the way of sailing at once, whether of supply, navigation or command, was to be summarily hanged from his own yard-arm.

  Nothing could be said, no more objections could be raised now, but on San Bartolomeo I knew that the delays had consumed a substantial part of the supplies, some of the rest—as always—had gone rotten, and we had no more than three weeks’ food and water to begin this voyage.

  That night when at last we got to bed I lay awake thinking of home and listening to the wind. Enrico Caldes was asleep in the next hamaca; beyond him two young officers and then the Irish priest, Father Donald. The creak and groan of the timbers, the whisper of the water, the whine of the wind, these had all once again become part of every moment and as such were accepted and almost unheard. But there was still the thud of feet overhead as some of the sailors worked on. It would soon be dawn, for we had not retired until four.

  Last evening at dusk every member of the ship’s complement had assembled on deck and we had celebrated a solemn mass. Afterwards the company of 356 sang a plain chant together. The blessing of Almighty God was humbly asked for the success of this great mission, and my lips had moved with the rest in saying ‘Amen’. Months now in the company of these men had given me a respect for them. Their friendship and generosity towards me was at odds with their behaviour in battle, the fury and cruelty of their reputation. Storm and shipwreck were the only hope now. The only hope, said the creak and groan of the ship’s timbers, the only hope. Delay, delay, autumn was coming. Equinox and the high tides and gales. And perhaps in another week or so the English fleet would turn for home. Delay, delay …

  The gun woke us at dawn. The first squadron, I thought, under Don Martin de Padilla was already moving off. Still half asleep, I dragged on my clothes and went on deck. The sky was grey and the sea heaving; clouds scurried before a howling westerly wind. It was true that two of the smaller galleons had beaten their way out of the bay, but their frantic pitching and lurching, the small area of sail they could safely carry, was proof enough that, whatever King Philip said, we could not sail today.

  It was a week before the gale abated. Twice in that time attempts were made to leave, but on the fourth day the wind veered north-west and that, blowing directly into the mouth of the bay, made exit impossible. Every attempt was made to keep the fleet at readiness to leave at an hour’s notice. Efforts were even bent towards improving our depleted supplies. Transports which had stood by in readiness with the rest were sent back into Coruña and Ferrol to pick up more biscuits from the ovens of Neda, and supplies requisitioned from Santiago, Lugo, and the surrounding countryside. Soldiers and sailors, who were still going down in numbers with sickness and fever, were taken ashore and six new companies embarked. The strictest discipline was maintained aboard, not an easy task amid great numbers of idle men; no day passed without a hanging, and floggings were the commonplace. Perhaps the large number of priests helped to maintain order. I had by chance been present at the Council aboard Ark Royal when Essex had laid down orders for prayers on the Cadiz expedition and emphasised that ours was in essence a religious undertaking; but that was a light dedication compared to the holy crusade on which this Armada was bent. This was truly a following of the fiery cross, as fervent as those to recapture Jerusalem from the infidel.

  Seven days to the day the wind dropped. It dropped in mid-morning, and within the hour San Pablo, dressed over all and with its swallow-tailed green pendant fluttering, weighed anchor and left the bay, one ship after another of its squadron following in line. By dusk we were all away.

  Chapter Thirteen

  So began my journey home.

  As we came out of the bay and took a nor’-easterly course the whole great Armada spread out around us. Don Martin led the first squadron flying his green pennant. Close behind him on his larboard quarter—always closer than need be, as if pressing him on—was Don Diego Brochero—flying a yellow flag. Admiral Bertendona with a red pennant commanded the third.

  At sunset all the ships of the fleet were ordered to pass before the Admiral’s galleon. As they did so the crew of each ship shouted three times and sounded their trumpets. Then the master asked the watchword for the night and the course he must steer. This done, each vessel fell behind the flagship into its appointed line, and was informed it must not pass ahead of San Pablo again until morning.

  It was a wild sunset, and the sea was still rough with the remnants of the storm. I remember looking out and seeing all the galleons about us plunging and tossing to the swell of the sea: their high-coloured hulls and ornamental bows lit and flushed by the sunset, while each wave as it lifted them showed their streaming sides and white underbellies. As the light faded an iron cresset with a flaming combustible inside was lit on the high poop of San Pablo so that all might know the admiral’s ship and follow. Then on each ship the crews assembled and sang a hymn to the Virgin before a painted image of her amidships.

  All lights were put out except in the cabins of the officers and gentlemen who were allowed small lamps—trimmed with water covered with oil to combat the lurching of the ship; but no candles were permitted for fear of fire.

  So I slept wondering if the morrow would bring a return of storm. It did not. and the dawn was kindly and clear. Sunrise brought a fanfare of trumpets, and the whole Armada again came up to salute the Adelantado, San Pablo keeping under easy sail until this was done. Then o
n every vessel was said a Missa Sicca or dry Mass, with no consecration. The day passed easily and without incident.

  But the sealed orders had at last been opened and their message communicated to the rest of the fleet. Destination was Falmouth. If bad weather or battle should separate them, each vessel was to rendezvous in Falmouth Bay. Strict instructions were issued to the soldiers that when they landed, all people in Falmouth Haven must be used well, in all other places the inhabitants would be put to the sword. Caldes told me San Bartolomeo alone carried 100,000 ducats in treasure, much of it for use in England for bribery and reward.

  A second night at sea, and we had made great progress. All day yesterday we had sighted no vessel. I knew this weather from boyhood; often after the storms of September, October would bring in two or three weeks of golden autumn, light westerly breezes, quiet seas, drifting golden leaves, cows lowing and the smell of wood smoke. From a Spanish point of view all the delays had been worth while.

  And my father in his castle must be daily expecting this fleet. Dunned by creditors, cheated by his daughter-in-law, surrounded by a young and numerous family, a renegade and a traitor … what would others in the house do? What would Foster think as deputy keeper of the fort when this fleet began to anchor in the bay? What would Carminow the gunner do when commanded not to fire? On how many people would my father be able to rely to obey his orders? Henry Knyvett of course. And my grandmother, if still alive, would be in this. If the fleet arrived flying English flags and my father pretended to know all about them, his commands to welcome the landing parties would be obeyed out of habit until too late. No one really would have the initiative and the courage to defy him. Hannibal Vyvyan in the other castle might open fire, but he too might be deceived by some false message from Pendennis, and in any event the St Mawes fort could not alone dispute a landing.

  I could speculate as to what might happen in a few days from now off the Cornish coast. I could not know and did not know what was happening at that time outside the narrow circle of the invading fleet. I did not know that failure all the way had attended the English adventure to the Azores, so that Essex, disappointed and disheartened, had turned his fleet homewards on the same day as the Adelantado set sail for England and that the two fleets were now on converging courses, though by the nature of the distance involved the English fleet was a week behind. Nor, perhaps, if I had known all this, would I have realised the difference in the conditions of the two fleets: the Spanish for all its many shortcomings fresh in manpower and sea-worthiness, eager and alert and ready to fight; the English disappointed and losing discipline, full of sickness after two months at sea, unprepared for battle and only anxious to get home.

  I remember my great uncle Henry saying that on one occasion a journey from Dover to Dieppe had taken him eight days.

  By the morning of the third day the whole Armada undamaged and unscattered was off Blavat, in Brittany, which meant that in that time we had sailed a full 300 miles. And the weather continued fine and favourable. It had been hoped that Arumburu might have arrived ahead of us, but there was no sign of him.

  But conscious that all other things were favourable and that time must be seized, the Adelantado would allow no close communication with the shore. Five pinnaces were sent off, one to summon Admiral Zubiaur with his eight galleys and his 2,000 infantry, the others to bring fresh water and such extra stores as had been gathered against our arrival.

  That evening the sun set into a puckered brown scar of cloud. The wind was freshening offshore and the sun was swollen to near double its size. An easterly sky. More often than not it signified continuing fine weather. After prayers Captain Quesada sent for me. With him was Captain Diego Bonifaz, and it was he who addressed me. Now at last the cat was out of the bag.

  “All orders are issued, Killigrew. San Bartolomeo supported by San Marcos and twelve lesser ships, will make the initial landing. This should occur on the morning of Thursday next at dawn, if the winds still favour us. Captain Elliot will go ahead of us and should drop anchor off your house in the night of Wednesday after the moon has set. Thus the castle will know when to expect us. Details of the landing will be governed by the state of the wind; but if it continue fair both galleons will anchor in the bay under the castle and I shall land with 600 arquebusiers and musketeers on the sand beach there. To begin, only flyboats will enter the harbour because I gather there is another castle which may resist. That is correct?”

  Captain Bonifaz was a tight-upped soldier whose manner was formal and his discipline harsh. I felt some other military man would better have been chosen to lead the invasion if diplomacy must come before conquest.

  “St Mawes fort could hardly do more than throw an occasional shot at a landing inside the river-mouth, but it could make entry up the river difficult. What action will you take against it?”

  “A second force guided by your Captain Burley will land on the sand beach to the east of the river-mouth and cross the isthmus to silence this other castle. If it is done by surprise it will soon be over.”

  “And my part?”

  “Your part will be to go in the first landing boat launched from this ship. With you will go a sergeant and twenty soldiers. Your business will be to establish contact with your father and to arrange that he should formally surrender the castle to me.”

  “And then?”

  Captain Bonifaz looked me over contemptuously. “Then when the first operation is complete, your part and the part of your father will be over. But I understand you will both be employed in pacifying the country after its conquest.”

  “What is your plan for the conquest?”

  “It is not my plan, Killigrew; I accept and obey orders, and I would advise you to do the same. That is what you are here for. That is what I presume you have been preserved and cherished for.”

  Bonifaz got up and went to the looking-glass to put on his muffler, for him the interview was ended. But Captain Quesada said: “As soon as all military and equipment are landed and the landing consolidated, a screen of flyboats will be thrown out to give warning in case the English fleet should return. It is an axiom of conquest by sea, which Don Martin well grasps, that an enemy fleet must not be left undestroyed. As soon therefore as we have news, our fleet under Admiral Brochero will sail from Falmouth to intercept and defeat it. In the meantime the Adelantado will advance on Plymouth overland.”

  When I got back to the cabin Enrico Caldes was strumming on his lute, and for the first time for weeks my mind went back to Victor Hardwicke, his body long since rotten in its prison grave.

  Enrico clearly wanted to talk about what he had heard. “ What do you feel, Maugan, to be so near your home again?”

  “I persuade myself against it, but some inner knowledge tells me the air smells different.”

  “I find it hard to understand what you feel, looking forward, to being home but yet coming in company with a conqueror.”

  I bent to untie my shoes; the Irish priest, Father Donald, was listening, but I was glad he could not understand.

  “I think I know you moderate well by now,” Enrico said, “ and I would have said you are not of the stuff of which traitors are made.”

  I kicked off a shoe. “It depends how you define a traitor.”

  “Oh, yes, that’s true. I ask your pardon if I have offended by using that name. I mean that it is hard to envisage myself as leading in an English force against Spain. I have hard things to say of my own country—you have heard me say them; against the obstinacy of the King, against the corruption of the army and navy commissioners, against the tyranny of the Holy Office—all complaints it is not safe to air as I air them. But when it comes to the point, I would sooner die than fight against my own country. And, knowing you, I should have thought you were much the same.”

  I put my shoes in a corner. The ship was lurching more tonight.

  “A hundred years ago,” I said, “that or a little more, a king of England had usurped the throne in place of his ow
n nephews, and later he murdered them. His rule when established was an enlightened one, but men’s hearts were against him. They could not forget. So another man with a much poorer claim, our present Queen’s grandfather, landed at Milford Haven to dethrone the other. Men flocked to his standard and the King was killed in battle and Henry was crowned in his place. I feel maybe no better and no worse than those who landed with Henry. They did not look on it as treason for they believed their cause just.”

  “Ah yes,” said Enrico. “No doubt in Spain’s history there would be something the same, but I am no historian and judge only by the day before yesterday.” He sighed and stretched. “ Now we are all taking part in history—does that weigh heavy with you? On the success of this Armada will depend the future of generations.”

  Father Donald crossed himself and began to intone a prayer in Latin for the preservation and success of the soldiers of Christ. He was a hairy man, hair sprouting from his nostrils and ears and sitting like a black halo around his tonsure. He hated the English passionately and utterly, and only spoke to me when forced by occasion. Yet I had seen him joking with his own men and kind and fatherly to the sick. There was something in his attitude towards England that I had only seen in a Dutchman towards Spain.

  Enrico’s talk of treason had disturbed me, for though I had long since fought all this out, now it was in the open and there was no going back. I still had no plan to meet the situation. Co-operation such as I had accepted so far was like boarding a coach that did not stop when one wanted to get out. There was nothing to do until we landed, and by then I was stamped for ever before my own people as a traitor—along with my father. To throw away my life in a gesture would benefit no one. Yet to die usefully would need enterprise and resource.