When she reached Temple-Bar she was presented with a jewel containing a lodestone set in gold and she was welcomed to her City by the Lord Mayor and Aldermen. The streets were hung with blue cloth and when she reached the great Cathedral she found it draped with the banners from the conquered galleons of the Armada. She knelt and silently prayed thanking God for the deliverance of her people.
While she dined at the Palace of the Bishop of London the citizens gorged themselves on the free food and wine that had been provided for them. The Spaniard would not come again for the spider of the Escurial was slowly dying and with him the glory and the greatness that was Spain was crumbling.
Fifteen
New faces were appearing at Court, amongst them that of Sir Walter Raleigh. Although Raleigh was but the younger son of a Cornish squire he rapidly became a great favourite of the Queen and at thirty-five she had bestowed upon him vast lands in both England and Ireland. He had also been appointed Warden of the Stannaries, Lord-Lieutenant of Cornwall, Vice Admiral of the Fleet and Captain of the Guard.
He was tall with dark, curly hair. Dark, passionate eyes, a ready wit and exquisite Court manners. Beneath the foppish exterior was a far-sighted, ambitious man. A man with a dream of founding an empire in the New World. A man with strong Puritan ideals.
Other young courtiers included Lord Mountjoy and Sir Philip Sidney but a new star was in the ascent—a star which was to eclipse all others.
Robert Devereux, Earl of Essex, the step-son of the deceased Earl of Leicester. Essex's star was to rise to the highest point in the heavens before crashing ignominiously to the very depths of hell.
In the veins of Essex ran the blood of the Huntingdons, Dorsets, Bohouns, Bourchiers and Plantagenets. Through Thomas of Woodstock he claimed descent from King Edward III. From his mother he claimed descent from the Howards, the Dukes of Norfolk.
His father had died when the boy was but nine and he had been brought up by Lord Burghley. At ten he had attended Trinity College, Cambridge, proving an able scholar having gained his Master of Arts degree at the age of fourteen. His great love of sporting pursuits, of tilting and jousting, developed during the years he spent at Chartley but these pursuits did not totally absorb him for he loved also to read and compose verses as the mood took him.
He had shown great courage and gallantry when he took part with his step-father in the heroic but wild charge at Zutphen. That fateful charge in which the last true knight of chivalry—Sir Philip Sidney—died as he insisted that the water offered to him to quench the death-thirst be given instead to a humble yeoman.
Robert Devereux came to Court aged nineteen and from the first moment Elizabeth set eyes upon him his fortune was made. With his charming, open manner, his athletic bearing and youthful adoration he won her heart.
She was no longer young and the men around her, too, were growing old and she willingly showered upon this young Adonis every token of affection.
They spent long hours together walking, riding or playing at cards and tables. She abandoned herself to the pleasure of his company as her affection grew, until one day she heard an evil whisper that troubled her.
They were walking one summer evening along a quiet path in the great park at Windsor. The sun was a huge, red ball sinking slowly and its dying rays filtered through the trees casting long shadows about them and the sweet smell of wild flowers drifted to their nostrils.
They had been discussing the old myths and legends of Wales—he having estates in Pembrokeshire and she being of Welsh descent—her arm resting lightly upon his. His head was slightly bent as he listened with amusement to a fable she was relating.
At length they came into a small copse thick with green ferns and springy moss. An old, fallen tree lay across their path and here they decided to rest before returning to the castle.
He spread his rich cloak upon the rough bark and she sat down, carefully arranging the folds of her emerald velvet gown. Essex reclined at her feet.
She breathed deeply of the balmy air and sighed.
He gazed up at her. “Your heart is heavy, madam, I have sensed it all evening.”
She nodded slowly.
“Have I done something to wound you?”
“No. 'Tis but the fancies of an old woman.”
“Dearest madam, you are not old! The sun’s glory does not dim with age. Each day it rises from the heavens more glorious than before. So, too, does 'Gloriana'.”
“Sweet words, my youthful flatterer,” she replied as somewhere a voice whispered again “A Goddess does not grow old.” She shivered, wondering for just an instant whether the copse was haunted. “There are some who whisper that it is unseemly, undignified for so youthful a companion to be so greatly honoured and loved by one old enough to be his mother.”
His languor vanished and he sat up. “Who says these wicked words? Who dares to slander his Queen?”
She shook her head. “They are but words blown about upon the wind.”
“The words of envious and wicked men.” He knelt before her, his face earnest and sincere. “Madam, I do love thee, but I worship from afar. There is not one man within this realm that would not lay down his life for you—so great is the affection of your subjects—but the devotion I have for thee, surpasses all else.”
How sweet were those words to her ears. What comfort they brought to her empty heart but they did not completely erase the memory of the evil rumours.
“Tell me, Robert, tell me truly, am I a foolish old woman who seeks to regain youth in the warmth of a young man’s heart?”
He seized her hands and kissed them. “You will forever hold my heart within these hands. Time has no meaning. Tell me who has uttered such foul words and I will cut his tongue from his head!”
She withdrew her hands and placed them either side of his head, gently raising his face. She looked intently into his eyes. There she found what she was seeking—reassurance, adoration and deep affection.
The lengthening shadows hid her face from him so he could not see the tears that clouded her vision. The rumours were forgotten; pushed to the back of her mind until such times that his arrogance and ambition would force her to search her heart and would finally remove the mists that obscured her vision until she saw clearly and with infinite bitterness how false were his protestations of affection, how right the rumours had been.
Riding high on the triumph of the Armada the English Fleet made a daring and brilliantly successful raid on the Spanish port of Cadiz and Englishmen laughed and slapped each other upon the back declaring that that would teach His Catholic Majesty a lesson for daring to sail against them.
The raid on Cadiz had been Edward Allgrave’s final expedition for he conceded to advancing age and resigned himself to spending the future more peacefully employed in the service of his Queen as a member of the Privy Council. For his youngest son, Paul, however, the fettered existence at Court or the peaceful but stagnant life on a country estate held no charms and once again he took his leave of his parents to join his ship at Plymouth.
This time his Commander was neither Frobisher nor Drake—but Raleigh. His ship was the Warspite and their destination the Azores.
The fleet lay at anchor in the Sound. Three English squadrons under the overall command of the Earl of Essex, the dashing, handsome and reckless favourite of the aging Queen. Lord Thomas Howard was the Earl’s Vice-Admiral and Raleigh his Rear-Admiral. There was also one Dutch squadron attached to the fleet.
At last the provisioning was complete and on the 10th July, 1597 they set sail. Their first objective was Ferrol on the mainland of Spain where they were to attack and destroy the Spanish fleet. They were then to sail on and intercept the treasure convoy on its return from the New World. The possibility of rich rewards had brought a great many gentlemen volunteers to swell the crews of the Repulse, the Warspite and the two galleons captured at Cadiz—the St. Andrew and the St. Phillip. The Earls of Southampton and Rutland, Lords Riche and Audley to name but a few, ha
stened to join Essex.
Their initial enthusiasm was dampened a little when the weather turned foul and the whole of Raleigh’s squadron was forced back into Plymouth.
Lord Howard—a tough, experienced seaman—rode out the storm and reached Spain only to find that the Spaniards refused to fight and so he, too, returned home.
On the 17th August, they set sail once more but again the weather was against them. They were tossed in seas whipped into white-peaked mountains by gale force winds and very soon the squadrons were scattered.
With an ominous splintering and creaking the Warspite’s main yard snapped and she reeled and foundered helplessly as Raleigh realised that he had no hope of reaching Finnistere—the place appointed for the fire rendezvous. He therefore decided to head for the second point—Lisbon. Lord Howard and the Dutch followed.
Unknown to them both, Essex’s own ship had sprung a leak and he, too, was slowly labouring towards Lisbon. His temper not having been improved upon finding that after reaching Ferrol he had no fleet with which to attack and it was a furious, thwarted man who came aboard the Warspite off the coast of Lisbon.
He immediately commenced to berate Raleigh for his lack of support and Paul’s hand tightened upon the hilt of his short-sword for he cordially detested Essex while Raleigh was a clear-sighted, experienced seaman in the mould of Drake and Frobisher.
Raleigh’s dark eyes snapped fire but his voice with its faint West Country burr was controlled and calm and not a little contemptuous.
“It was unavoidable. I would have thought it would have been clear to Your Lordship that it is impossible to seek battle with a shattered yard!”
Essex’s face turned sepia as his temper rose but Lord Howard intervened.
“There is nothing that can be done about it now, it is past. It would be more advantageous to formulate our future plans than to quarrel amongst ourselves.”
Tempers cooled as both Essex and Raleigh saw the reasoning in Howard’s words and it was decided that the fleet would sail on to the Azores, destroy the Spanish escort and seize the convoy. With his ruffled feathers slightly smoothed Essex returned to his flagship and the fleet sailed on towards its destination.
* * *
Early in September they anchored off Flores to take on supplies. Raleigh was standing upon deck watching the final casks being brought aboard when a message was received from Essex. His eyes quickly scanned the words and with an oath he turned sharply around.
“By God’s Wounds! He is a veritable fool!” he swore as he watched Essex’s squadron making its way out to sea under full sail. His orders were to follow and to meet Essex at Fayal and then for the whole force to attack the town.
As soon as the last cask had been brought aboard, the Warspite’s sails were unfurled and she set sail with the rest of Raleigh’s squadron following.
When he reached the rendezvous there was no sign of Essex or Lord Howard and his anger at the incompetence of his Commander grew. Her Majesty must be growing senile, he thought, to have given this command to such a fool. She would expect a handsome return upon the money she had spent in financing this expedition and unless Essex stopped his idiotic caperings there would be very little to show for their endeavours. Indeed this expedition had all the signs of becoming a Fool’s Errand!
After three days of waiting he decided that the time had come for some constructive action. During those three days he had watched the inhabitants of Fayal working like feverish ants, frantically increasing their fortifications and preparing their defences. If he waited for very much longer the town would be a fortress.
He landed his men four miles from the town, thereby gaining the advantage of some surprise for the inhabitants had expected him to attack from the seaward side. With his characteristic valour he led the attack himself and was surprised at the lack of dogged resistance that he had fully expected. It was all over within a very short time and with small losses and a great deal of plunder.
As the sun broke through on the morning of the 22nd September Paul Allgrave, who was standing watch, saw the sails of the remainder of the fleet as it finally made its appearance.
He hastened to Raleigh and found him finishing his breakfast.
“What brings you here in such haste?” Raleigh asked, draining his goblet of the last drops of fine Spanish wine.
“My Lord Essex and the fleet!”
Raleigh put down the goblet and a sardonic grin spread slowly across his face. “So, at last My Lord Essex deigns to put in an appearance. Ah, but he is too late!” His eyes shone with amusement.
“Very late, sir!” Paul replied.
Raleigh rose. “There will be hell to pay now!” he grinned.
Paul grinned back for it amused him to think of Essex’s anger when he realised that Raleigh had stolen his glory.
The gleam of sardonic triumph still lingered in Raleigh’s eyes as he was rowed out to the Repulse in answer to a furious summons from Essex. Excited anticipation filled Paul as he accompanied his Captain for now he would have the pleasure of seeing the high and mighty Essex taken down a peg or two.
He followed Raleigh aboard and into the richly furnished cabin where Essex sat—furiously stabbing at a clove-spiked orange with a small, jewelled dagger. Lord Howard stood behind him anxiously fingering the gold fob which hung from his doublet.
Upon catching sight of Raleigh in the doorway, Essex sprang to his feet.
“What account have you to render, sir, of your conduct?” he stormed. “Who is Commander of this expedition, Rear-Admiral?” he cried stressing the words “Commander” and “Rear-Admiral”. Without waiting for a reply he furiously continued. “Your orders were to await the fleet at Fayal, not to attack alone!” His eyes glittered with fury, envy and frustration. “You deliberately disobeyed my orders so as to claim the victory for yourself alone!”
Raleigh eyed him coldly. “I waited for three days, My Lord. Was I supposed to wait forever? The Spaniards were fortifying the town, was I supposed to wait until it became impregnable?” he asked scathingly.
Essex’s hand tightened upon the dagger he still held, the knuckles of his elegant fingers showing white while temper left him bereft of speech.
The atmosphere in the cabin was as highly charged as a powder magazine and only one tiny spark would have been needed to set it alight. Lord Howard made sure that that spark was not kindled.
“My Lords! Cease this bickering!” he cried. “Sir Walter is correct, it would have been imprudent to have waited longer. It was the only possible thing to do for we were delayed.” He appealed to Raleigh. “Apologise to My Lord Essex, sir, for although your actions are justifiable they were contrary to the orders given to you by your Commander.” He turned from Raleigh to Essex who was still seething. “My Lord, I would ask you to agree to take no further action. We are commissioned by Her Majesty to fight the Spaniards, not to fight amongst ourselves!”
After a little more persuasion upon Lord Howard’s part Raleigh agreed to apologise and Essex promised not to pursue the matter further, albeit with a very bad grace. They also agreed to remain off the Azores until October and to seize any Spanish vessel which come into those waters. Unfortunately there were very few and it was with acute disappointment and underlying animosity that they agreed to sail for home.
Raleigh’s conviction that the whole expedition had been a Fool’s Errand was strengthened when it was learnt that they had missed the treasure fleet by the space of three short hours sailing time. It was sighted by four stragglers from the English fleet as it sailed serenely into the port of Angra on the island of Terceira under the protective guns of its escorting eight galleons and of the greatest castle which guarded the entrance to the harbour.
He groaned when he heard this news. He knew what sort of home-coming they could expect for Her Majesty was notoriously parsimonious concerning her finances. He took small comfort from the fact that most of her wrath would descend upon the head of Essex.
There was worse to come
for a frantic message was received as they made their way home. A message which demanded their immediate and speedy return for King Philip had taken advantage of the fleet being in distant waters and had sent out his last Armada with orders to seize Falmouth and to land an invading army there. The West Coast was in a state of panic and Elizabeth had called out the Train Bands and the Militia.
Fortunately the weather came once more to Elizabeth’s aid and the Spaniards were driven back to Ferrol. The fierce storms that drove them back were encountered by the English fleet as it struggled back to Plymouth where the commanders found an ominous summons from Her Majesty awaiting them.
As for Philip he lay unconscious in the vast, monastic palace of the Escurial. He gained consciousness only to be informed that Adelantado had been forced to run for home. With this last bitter defeat His Most Catholic Majesty expired.
* * *
Elizabeth and the Court were at Whitehall and it was three very subdued and apprehensive men who waited in the Presence Chamber pending the arrival of their Sovereign.
Essex paced the chamber gnawing at his fingernails while Raleigh fiddled nervously with the hilt of his sword. Only Lord Howard—who had experienced his Queen’s wrath upon previous occasions—waited patiently.
At last the great doors were thrown open and Elizabeth appeared. She was the embodiment of Majesty, magnificently clad in violet taffety heavy with gold purle, her wired ruff edged with pearls and with gems winking from the net tracery of the cap that confined her tightly curled hair. One look at her heavily painted face was enough to quench even the smallest spark of hope that lingered in the hearts of the men who stood before her. Even more forbidding was the fact that she remained silent as she seated herself in the Chair of State beneath the canopy emblazoned with the Royal Arms.
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