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I had appointed Lord Howard of Effingham to command the fleet, assisted by Drake, Frobisher and Hawkins—the finest seamen in the world. And we had a navy too—not as grand as that of Spain, but does one need grandeur in war? It is men who make ships what they are.
I had the men and it was part of my special talent to have the right men in the places where they could serve me best. I believed that we would defeat the Spaniards even though I was fully aware of their might. They had the largest armada in the world; they were practiced seamen; but the largest did not mean the best and I would stake Englishmen against Spaniards at any time.
Philip was putting up an absurd claim to the throne of England with himself as the legitimate heir through the House of Lancaster because John of Gaunt's daughters had married into Portugal and Castile. I was always uneasy when people laid claim to the throne; my own claim was not founded on such a rock-like foundation that I could lightly dismiss them. It proved to be rather a rash act on the part of Philip for it alienated the Scots who were certainly not going to help Philip come to the throne when in their opinion their own James, son of Mary Stuart, was the true heir.
The Pope had put himself beside Philip. His aim was to destroy me and he was trying to raise the whole of Papal Europe against me. There was a suggestion from some members of the Council that we should massacre all the leading Catholics in the country to avoid an uprising—a kind of repeat performance of the Massacre of Saint Bartholomew's Eve in Paris.
I rejected that immediately. I hoped I had brought a certain tolerance to the country. I know that open Catholic worship was forbidden, but in all other ways those Catholics were good subjects. I was right in this, for many of them proved of considerable value in our stand against the invader.
Rumors were rife and there was a mood of tension throughout the country. I believed that the sooner the battle began, the more relieved we should all feel, but I was horrified when I heard whispers that I had sent an agent to Rome to come to terms with the Pope, for that I would never do. I was head of the Church of England and I would have no foreigner take my place. I ordered the Bishop of London to anathematize the Pope from the pulpit at St Paul's.
Ships! That was what we needed. Thanks to our foresight over the years we had a considerable navy, but Drake had said that we needed more ships and he was right.
I asked my people for ships and how heartening it was when the City of London, being asked for five thousand men and fifteen ships, immediately offered ten thousand men and thirty ships. That was the spirit of the people when we went out to face the armada.
The Spaniards were boastful. They said there would be one battle at sea and one on land and England would be theirs. I did not boast. I had a feeling that it was dangerous to do so, tempting the fates; but I was supremely confident. Walsingham's men were indefatigable in secret places and I was elated when I heard of the death of the Marquis de Santa Cruz, the Spanish admiral in charge of operations against England, for he was also one of the ablest seamen living. But for him the attack would have been launched earlier, but he, having been greatly impressed by the daring and reputation of El Draque, advised caution. He wanted his armada to be invincible and he needed time to assure himself that it was so.
Philip had upbraided him for sloth, which deeply wounded Santa Cruz, for his zeal was as keen as that of his master, but he was a wiser man. Then suddenly he became ill—no doubt through acute anxiety—and died. It was a great loss to Spain but a benefit to us.
I wanted to say: God is on our side. But I did not. I would not be boastful before victory was won and, whatever good fortune came our way in the end, no one was more conscious than I of the bitter battle which lay ahead.
Philip showed then that he was out of touch with reality when he appointed the Duke of Medina Sidonia as commander of his armada, not because of his skill and experience—he had little of either—but because he belonged to one of the noblest houses in Spain.
It was true that I had chosen Howard of Effingham, scion of one of our noblest families, but he was an able man who had been brought up in a naval tradition. His father, Lord William, and his grandfather Thomas, Duke of Norfolk, had held the post of Lord High Admiral with distinction; and my Vice Admiral was the bold Sir Francis, whose very name struck terror into the Spaniards.
I believed I was better served than Philip, and my men were defending their country which always gives an added zeal and often triumphs over the lust for conquest.
Not only were we preparing our navy but our land defenses also. Vulnerable places like Gravesend were fortified, and we put out barges to block the mouths of rivers to prevent a hostile fleet getting through. All over the country we were preparing for invasion should the gallant sailors fail to hold back the enemy at sea. It was a great joy to me to see the spirit of the people and to know that they were with me.
I was Commander-in-Chief of my army and under me was Robert as Lieutenant-General of the two armies—Lord Hunsdon in command of the second. Robert wrote to me from Tilbury—a letter which I have always preserved for it seemed to me to have been written not only by a soldier but by a lover. In it he set down his views as to how we should proceed if the Spaniards succeeded in setting foot on English soil, but through it all came his great concern for me. After setting out details of how we should march if we had to without much warning, he wrote of me.
“Now for your person, being the most dainty and sacred thing we have in this world to care for, much more for advice to be given in the direction of it, a man must tremble when he thinks of it, specially finding Your Majesty to have that princely courage to transport yourself to your utmost confines of your realm to meet your enemies and to defend your subjects. I ca
“Lastly for myself, most gracious lady, you know what will most comfort a faithful servant; for there is nothing in the world I take that joy in, that I do in your good favor…”
I read and reread that letter. I kissed it; I folded it and put it away.
And I prepared to leave for Tilbury.
SO I INSPECTED MY troops at Tilbury. Beside me rode Robert, as fine and handsome a figure as ever was, and before me the Earl of Ormond, carrying the sword of state, while a page followed holding my plumed helmet. I was bare-headed and wore a polished steel corselet and a voluminous farthingale. When they saw me my troops broke into prolonged cheering and I was so moved that I was near to tears. I knew that since my accession I had enjoyed a love from my people rarely experienced by a monarch. I had worked hard to preserve it and to appear well in their eyes. They forgave me my faults and remembered my virtues—and that, of course, is the meaning of true love.
They waited for me to address them, which I did in loud ringing tones.