His Last Letter

by Jeane Westin

  “My loving people?” she said in disbelief. “Send at once to Lord Leicester to tell him his queen—” Before the words were fully spoken, Rob appeared at the door, filled it, his helmeted head coming near the top of the frame.

  He stepped swiftly to her and knelt, removing his helm, his hair damp and sticking to his forehead as it had at the tourneys in the tiltyards of earlier years. Though his dark hair was now shot through with silver, the face that looked up at her was still her young Robin’s in her eyes. “We meet in this place, my lord, and go together to fight for England. Is all in readiness?”

  “Aye, Your Grace, now that you are here. I came to you as soon as I heard you had arrived.”

  She laughed, whirling about, her face animated with pleasure. “These days apart have passed too slowly. But you are in good time, my lord. Let us away to Tilbury!”

  “You want no guard, Majesty.” It was not a question. Rob knew her too well.

  “Only those necessary to my dignity. I will have Lord Ormonde walk ahead with the sword of state, a page to bear my helmet on a velvet cushion and my captain-general to ride by my side.” She held out her hand to him.

  He rose, took the hand and whispered, “You have your captain-general by your side always.”

  She tightened her grip to let him know she had heard.

  He led her to the hillock outside and stopped at a large gray gelding, which he helped her to mount. “Though gelded he is still spirited, Bess.”

  She laughed. “I would have no other mount than one with potency . . . unmanned or no.”

  He grinned and sprang into his saddle.

  She wondered what that show of youth cost him in pain, but knew his pretense was for her love. Ah, Robin, we are both growing older, but will make no admission of it. If we were like the man of this manor and his goodwife, we would be sitting by our fire tonight warming our cold bones and lying to each other that we looked no different from on our marriage night.

  Their small band was quickly formed and they rode the two miles to Tilbury, topping a hill above the camp.

  Elizabeth showed her pleasure at the orderly scene below her, although her attention was held by the roar of ships’ cannon shooting fifty-pound balls carried on the wind. “Rob,” she said quietly, “would that I could see the battle.”

  “Bess, you cannot put yourself in danger.”

  Pup! Pup! “I have been in danger all my life.”

  They rode slowly down the hill and were met by the Earl of Essex, who took his place near the queen as her new Master of Horse. As they reached the sprawling camp near the fort, a great cry went up from the solid ranks of men confronting her. Elizabeth trotted her horse to the front of her entourage and raised her arm, shouting: “My loving people.”

  Men broke ranks and crowded closer to hear. Leicester reached for her bridle, but she removed his hand. “We are not afraid of our soldiers, Rob.”

  Elizabeth raised her voice. By Jesu and all His saints, she would speak with so great a voice that her sailors fighting at sea could hear her. She sat very straight in the saddle and knew her gown shimmered and her crown gleamed. She meant to show these men that she was every inch her father’s daughter and if needs be could lead them into battle. “I am come amongst you, as you see, at this time, not for my recreation and disport, but being resolved, in the midst and heat of the battle, to live and die amongst you all; to lay down for my God, and for my kingdom, and my people, my honor and my blood, even in the dust.”

  Cheers rang in her ears, the men dipping their standards or raising their pikes in salute, but she spoke over them, acknowledging, perhaps, what they all thought, had always thought of a woman ruler. “I know I have the body but of a weak and feeble woman,” she shouted, her fist on her breastplate, “but I have the heart and stomach of a king, and of a king of England too. . . .” I am your rightful queen, the great Henry’s heir. It is his strength I carry by birth in my heart and in my bones!

  “I know already, for your forwardness you have deserved rewards and crowns; and we do assure you in the word of a prince, they shall be duly paid you. In the meantime, my lieutenant general shall be in my stead,” she said, gesturing toward Leicester, “than whom never prince commanded a more noble or worthy subject. . . .” More cheering erupted and Leicester’s name was shouted with hers. She held her hand up for silence and the message quickly traveled back to the rear ranks. “Your obedience to him and your valor will shortly”—her voice rose to reach to the last rank—“give us a famous victory over those enemies of my God, of my kingdom and of my people!”

  If any soldier did not hear her words, they were soon repeated to the least man, and as she rode down the ranks opening for her, she felt their love sweep over her like a warm wind, as she had not felt it since the day of her ascension to the throne of England nearly thirty years earlier. She had forsaken any marriage but to England and any children of her womb. Her people . . . these men . . . were all the children she had desired. For all but a few of her nights.

  Later in Leicester’s tent, though the cheering still erupted outside as her words were repeated again among the men, Elizabeth and Leicester had a supper together, this time Rob eating little, while the sea air blowing up the Thames had sharpened her appetite.

  “I am sorry, Bess, for this rude meal, but this is an armed camp of soldiers—”

  She laughed. “Rob, if I am ready to die as a soldier, then I am surely ready to eat as one. I will have nothing that they do not have.” She dipped a piece of bread into the cold mutton pie and sopped up congealed gravy. “Delicious,” she said, chewing it with an imitation of soldierly gusto. Jokingly, she wiped the back of her hand across her mouth.

  Rob reached across the trestle desk now become a dining table and, turning a branched candelabra toward her, dabbed at her chin with a fine lace-edged handkerchief he took from his sleeve.

  Elizabeth caught his hand when he would have removed it and held her bread sop to his mouth. He turned his head away.

  The words quivered in her mouth. “Are you ailing, Rob? Tell me. I demand it!”

  “Nothing of concern. My old ailment.”

  “And fever?” she asked.

  He shrugged.

  “And fever?” she demanded.

  “Yea, a little.”

  She felt his face. “More than a little. Are you taking the herbal potion I had made for you?”

  He nodded and removed it from his pocket. “Every day, but sparingly. I must keep my head clear for the attack. The armada’s first duty is to escort Parma’s barges full of troops to the Thames and on toward London. My duty is to stop them here.”

  “Your chiefest duty is always to your queen,” she commanded, using her softest voice, her private voice that only he had ever heard. “I demand you take greater care of my general. I will not be robbed of all happiness now. Do you not understand me at last? Without you, my days would be all pretense.”

  Essex appeared at the tent opening and entered hastily, bowing. “My pardon, Your Grace, but there is news from Drake. A fast pinnace has just come up from Gravelines north of Calais.”

  She rose, tense, her voice hurried. “What news?”

  “There is a great battle being fought at this moment. The captain of the pinnace is waiting outside.”

  “Summon him, my lord Essex.”

  The man, his face drawn from sleeplessness, entered and knelt before her. He grasped at the table to steady himself.

  “My lord Leicester, give this man some wine.”

  The captain emptied the cup in three gulps. “Thank you, Majesty . . . my lords.”

  “Tell us about the battle. Leave out no detail. Do you come from Admiral Drake?”

  “Aye. He sent me.”

  “Then deliver your message, Captain,” the queen demanded. “How does my fleet fare?” She stood abruptly, motioned the captain to his feet and began to pace, the man’s eyes following her.

  “First, Majesty, our fleet caught the armada in Calai
s harbor and sent in eight large fire ships, their guns packed with powder exploding as they came. None of the Spaniards caught fire, but they panicked, broke their crescent formation, cut their anchors and came out, where we fell upon them one by one. The Spaniards have taken great damage. The battle lasted nine hours, until our shot was almost gone and we were fighting with musket and harquebus. We were always to windward and had the advantage, and”—he stopped to breathe deeply—“our gunners were superior, our rate of fire much faster.”

  “My good sailors!” Elizabeth shouted, picking up her pace. “Continue!”

  “Their admiral the Duke of Medina-Sedonia was in the San Martin with the San Mateo, San Felipe, all large galleons and galleasses, their holds full of galley slaves at the oars. The Maria Juan, a galleass, came up and sailed right into our fire. It went down with all hands. We heard their wounded screaming.” The captain sagged with fatigue.

  The queen pointed to her chair. “Sit, man . . . there.”

  He sat, leaning against the back to rest, heaving in breath. “Majesty, the wind began to blow to the north and the enemy could not slow themselves against it because they had cut their anchors and had no drag. Then they were trapped against the Flemish shoals while our ships blocked their way to open water.”

  Leicester poured the man’s cup full again. It was gulped down as fast as the first and he continued: “Then a gale blew up and scattered them north. All their hulls were shot full of holes, but . . .” He stopped for breath.

  “Yes, yes, go on,” Elizabeth said, ceasing her pacing to stand in front of him, her hands on her hips.

  “A miracle, Your Majesty. Drake’s ship Revenge took some damage in her fight with San Martin, but hardly another English hull was damaged. If their shot hit us, the stone balls were so poorly made they broke into little pieces.”

  “Aye,” she said, her eyes shining, “a miracle indeed, and just what we prayed for. God has answered us, sending His wind.”

  Essex bowed. “Majesty, if the gale dies, they could put into a Danish or Norwegian harbor and refit. And there are yet stragglers coming up from the Dover Strait. Drake is waiting to engage them.”

  Elizabeth raised the tent flap. “Look at the pennants and flags. The wind is blowing a gale to the north. Yea, this is God’s wind. Nothing can stop it. Not Philip, nor the pope.”

  Leicester, who had been standing all through the captain’s report, frowned. “Madam, we must prepare for all possibilities. Drake will need more shot if a Spanish straggler comes up with shot and powder unspent. Captain, I will give you every shot that I can spare.”

  Elizabeth nodded. “You must haste your return to Drake and tell him his queen is well pleased.”

  “Aye, Majesty, as soon as my crew has a hot meal in their empty bellies, we sail on the outgoing tide.” He bowed and was gone.

  Leicester spoke to Essex. “See that the captain has all he needs.”

  Elizabeth waited until Essex had left and guards outside the tent were deep in camp gossip, then went to Leicester and took his hands. “Rob,” she said, her voice low and passionate.

  “Yes, Bess, what is it?” He showed some alarm at her intensity.

  “I would see the last of this battle. Henry’s daughter cannot sit ashore while others fight for England. My father would have been in the prow of the lead ship. And do not remind me that I am but a woman. I know that better than you.”

  “But . . . but, Bess, this is madness. You must not . . .”

  “Must not are words never to be used to a sovereign.” She gripped his hands as tight as she could. “Rob . . . Sweet Robin, I would have this adventure as we once would have in our young days. Though no one will ever know it, we will. Let us go down the Thames with the pinnace and back again before we are missed.”

  “Bess, that is not possible! You would be missed by your guards, your ladies. . . .”

  “Send for Anne of Warwick. She will wear my dress and rest in your tent with orders to your guards to not disturb, as the queen ails. We could return before daylight.”

  “Bess, once we’re in the channel the wind is against us. The captain will have to tack again and again to reach Drake. And you risk being taken by the black beards, giving them the victory that your navy has already won for you.”

  “I have the heart of a man, not a woman, and I am not afraid of anything!”

  He knelt, his hands still in hers. “I beg you . . . on our love, do not do this.”

  “Get up! Are you a player at the Rose? This is your queen requesting your aid, as you have sworn to give it to us.” Her expression was not pleading or demanding, just so sure of her right that any man living could not but agree. “God is on our side. He will protect me.”

  Her words did not erase the worry from his face.

  Her hands were on her hips again, her legs in a wide stance. “Where is my adventurous Robin? Did I lose him in one of the years we have passed together?” She was out of breath, so slowed herself and spoke evenly. “I must do this. . . . It is what my father . . . what all my ancestors would have done . . . and did. I can do no less. Placate me in this, Rob, and I will ask nothing more as long as I live.”

  He rose, his face amused though a muscle jumped in his cheek. “Bess, you may always ask of me what you will, but now I wish you would listen to your general. . . .”

  “In all things, but not in this. No one will ever know.” Her eyes demanded his obedience. “You were not always so opposed to night adventures,” she said, knowing he would understand her meaning.

  He smiled, a memory plain on his face. “I will send for Anne and tell the captain of the pinnace that I will be coming aboard with a servant, though I doubt you will make a very good one.”

  She laughed. “I have played a servant before. Remember the maid at the archery match?”

  “I remember her well . . . and the kiss I didn’t win.”

  She drew near and he bent to her as if he could read her intention, and perhaps it was clear. She rose up on her toes and kissed his lips, quickly and sweetly, her deep blue eyes open on his dark black ones. “Remember when we used to hide from my brother, Edward, and Princess Mary at Greenwich, holding each other as they called for us?”

  He smiled. “We were children then.”

  “Let this be our last adventure together, before we grow too old for games.”

  “You never will, Bess. You are eternal.”

  Elizabeth threw back her head, the diamonds in her crown flashing in the candlelight. “That is close to blasphemy. God decides such things.”

  He caught her to him, a wistful smile on his mouth. “No, Bess, the people have decided on your immortality before now.”

  “Jesu and the bones of all His saints! If the Spaniards heard you speak thus, they would burn you in Smithfield.”

  “They will never hear it and you would never allow my harm.” He grinned. “Remember, we will retreat to the Welsh mountains and fight on from there, side by side.”

  “It will now not come to that, thanks to Drake, Hawkins, Frobisher and my lord Howard. With you as my general on land and such men at sea, England will never be conquered. Now, enough. Quickly, call for Anne to take my place and get me a groom’s clothes before the fight is over and I have missed it!”

  It was done swiftly over the protests of the Countess of Warwick, but Elizabeth would not be denied. With her hair covered by a stocking cap and her face scrubbed clean, she swaggered after Leicester at a servant’s distance to the Thames pier. The pinnace, under full sail, was just disappearing around the first bend.

  “Jesu Christo! Am I to be denied my dearest wish? Send a swifter boat after and recall them, Rob.”

  Leicester’s face was stern. “The captain was forced to take the tide.” His face softened as he saw her disappointment. “Boy, would you deny Drake his cannon shot? Do you not want him ready to fight if a Spanish galleon comes upon him? He has two hundred and fifty good English sailors aboard who would needs fight the black beards’ cann
on with swords and pikes.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Bess, think what is best for your loyal seamen and the army here gathered to serve you.”

  Elizabeth wanted to argue against his advice. As wise as she knew it to be, she was not used to being denied what she so dearly wanted. Her shoulders sagged within the too-large doublet. “I did say that I would lay down my blood. . . .”

  “Now, Bess, you are asked for something far more difficult than fighting. . . . As any commander knows, making a right decision that does not allow you glory is often hardest of all.”

  She walked at his side up the hill to the encampment. “You learned that in Holland, didn’t you?”

  Leicester did not answer her and she knew he thought it unnecessary.

  Elizabeth was quickly dressed as queen again and a relieved Anne was escorted back to the manor by Essex. The queen sat once more across from Leicester, taking a cup of wine with him. “Rob, how long will you maintain this camp at Tilbury?”

  “Until I have good news that the armada is not returning.”

  “The channel storms of fall are early this year.”

  He pushed the candelabra toward her so that he could see her face in the darkening tent.

  She spoke, her eyes shining. “We shall have a procession to St. Paul’s to thank God for our victory, grander even than our first entry into the city.”

  He nodded, but she could see his sagging shoulders and his eyes puffy from lack of sleep.

  “You must rest, sleep if you can.”

  “Majesty, I must wait for more news.”

  “You must take my herbal potion and sleep. I command you!” She pointed to his narrow camp bed and, as she knew, he was too tired to dispute with her.

  He removed his boots, unbuckled his sword and dagger, placing them at the bottom of the bed. With a tired groan, he slipped beneath his cloak.

  Elizabeth looked down at him, knowing every feature of his face, having seen it change over time from a boy’s to a man’s. “Rob, you will ride on a white horse beside my carriage to St. Paul’s so that the people may know you are ever my trusted captain-general.”