by G Lawrence
The next day we were disturbed to see ships sailing into the port, but fortune held, as they were friends not foes. One was an English bark, captained by James Raunse, once a shipmate of mine. He brought with him two captured Spanish ships. Raunse offered to join his men to mine, increasing our English force to over one hundred men, and since I had Nombre de Dios in my mind, I welcomed his offer.
We quit Port Pheasant and sailed about the coast, capturing two Spanish ships carrying timber. Amongst their supplies I found African slaves, and they were merry to betray their former masters. To my dismay, they bore bad tidings. Nombre de Dios lives in fear of attack from my old friends the Cimarrones, and had increased her defences. They were expecting a garrison from Panama, and this would make taking the town and her treasure harder, perhaps impossible. My men were cast down, but I cheered them, saying the garrison were not yet there, and we had the same chance as we had before. In recognition of their help, I released the slaves on Isla de Pinos, and we set ourselves to the task of Nombre de Dios.
We agreed Raunse would stay behind with his ship and three others, as I took men to Nombre de Dios. One night at the end of July, we rowed silently onward, stealing upon the slumberous town.
Planning to take the town by surprise, we came to a point flanking its walls where we waited for first light. But as men started to mutter and grumble, I could see their courage waning. Between two and three of the morning, we emerged, racing in the half-light of the moon and stars. The assault did not begin perfectly; a ship anchored in the bay saw our dim shadows in the darkness and lowered a boat to send to shore and unmask our plot. But we had anticipated this, and one of the pinnaces headed off the boat, sending her scurrying across the bay where she was rendered impotent. We landed, seized a battery of guns from a single defender, and made quickly for the town.
I understood the success or failure of our assault lay in the element of surprise. If the Spanish learned how few of us there were, they might grow enough courage to defeat us. We moved swift as hawks, deploying men to guard our ships and make good our escape route, and at the edge of the settlement we split our forces to storm the town. My brother John and John Oxenham took one party to the market place, and I advanced down the main street. The town was awakening to our presence. In the distance, carried on the wings of darkness, were shouts and cries of alarm. The bells of the church began to peal, and drums beat, as a heartbeat of God, in the empty streets.
Holding firepikes aloft, so they cast eerie light upon the darkness, we marched forth, sounding our own drums and trumpets, making it sound as though we were a great and mighty army; impossible to overcome. At the south-east of the market, a body of militia had assembled and as we charged into the square, we were met by a volley of shot. Their aim was generally poor, as most bullets hit street rather than flesh, but one entered my leg and another killed one of our trumpeters. We responded, and charged into the fray, brandishing pike and sword. At this moment, my brother’s company burst into the market. It was too much for the Spaniards to bear, and they ran, some throwing weapons back to us as they fled.
The town was ours, but we had little time. When they found how few we were, they would muster. I told my men to regroup. We expected the bulk of the Spanish treasure would be kept at the governor’s house, and we were right. There we found bars of silver seventy foot in length and ten wide. Piled against a wall, each weighed thirty to forty pounds.
The sight was magnificent, but the bars were heavy and it would take us more time than we had to carry them away. Instead, I instructed my men to break into the waterfront stronghold, where I thought jewels, gold and other riches might lie. Returning some men to the ships, I took more to the treasure house, but a sudden storm of thunder and lightning hit the island, and when we reached the waterfront our gunpowder was sodden and useless. Cursing the weather, for it meant we had to take time, so precious a commodity then, to restore our weapons, we waited beneath a shore house whilst the storm subsided. Each moment was as torture.
When the rain eased, my brother broke down the door of the treasure house as I held the market. But as I stood there, poised for danger, faintness slipped over me. It was then both I and my men noted that my leg was awash with blood. The bullet I had taken, which, due to excitement I had little noticed, was causing blood to seep from my leg. I had not wanted my men to see the injury, fearing it would upset their courage, but could no more conceal it. I fell, and was brought to my senses with vinegar. Binding my leg with a scarf, they carried me back to the ship, enduring my constant protests to leave me where I was. For loyalty to me, madam, they abandoned the treasure.
Bitterly disappointed, we withdrew to the Bastimentos Islands. Hearing my men complain that we might be already headed home with more treasure than any man could spend, I told them to take heart. God had not willed us to victory that day; He was saving us for a greater reward.
Whilst repairing our ships, we received an emissary from the town. The governor was worried for his injured men, and had sent a man to check if the arrows we had unleashed had been tipped with poison. Saying that he had heard of my reputation for mercy, he believed me when I told him Englishmen use no poison.
Whilst this affair went well, we heard that Nombre de Dios was being reinforced, and defences were being thrown up swiftly. Upon this bad news, Captain Raunse decided to depart, taking with him his ships, and it is to his hands I entrust this letter. Whilst my fellow man of Devon’s heart waneth in courage, madam, fear not. Trust in us, for we have taken on a new plan, to attack Cartagena, which is badly defended and not expecting an assault. The town itself will be too large for us to take, but ships in its port will provide rich reward for those with the heart and spirit to dare.
Your servant, always,
Francis Drake.
I sipped my ale, tasting herbs as they slipped over my tongue. My gentlemen server had done well, for this brew was almost the same as that I had enjoyed recently at Oatlands. Kate Carey poured me a fresh cup as my eyes went back to the start of the letter. Drake’s determination was sweet to my soul. Many men may succeed when they stride into the path of destiny, but true success comes from experiencing and admitting failure, and in accepting that, rising to stand and try again.
“Godspeed, Master Drake,” I said, lifting my cup to bless his venture. “Keep the eyes of my enemies occupied, so they will stare in horror at you, and have no time to covet my throne.”
If Drake brought me riches, I would be pleased, but what I really wanted was Phillip and his allies kept busy. Enough trouble had we experienced in the past with their plotting. If Drake could keep Phillip looking the other way, I would be free to do as I pleased.
Chapter Six
Windsor Castle
Autumn 1572
“Alba has told Phillip that princes must, at times, do what displeases them,” said Cecil.
“The general is correct,” I said, passing my hot hand over a forehead raging with fire. Rubies on my sleeve caught the candlelight, glimmering like droplets of blood. I could not think what was wrong with me. Running hot and cold, as though about to encounter another fever, I was unwilling to heed the warnings of my body. I had been ill enough. There was work to be done.
Alba had written to Phillip, telling his King that the trade embargo, put in place three years ago after de Spes’ meddling, should be lifted. Alba saw, as his Prince failed to, that lifting the ban would benefit both England and Spain. Phillip was not so sure; his temper was resentful. Given my merchants’ and pirates’ activities in the Caribbean and New Spain, this was, perhaps, understandable, but the seas were not his to command. The time of Spain’s dominion over the oceans was done. The sooner Phillip realised that, the better it would be for all of us.
“Let us hope the general’s pragmatism will infect his master,” Cecil said.
“Let us hope,” I echoed. “What of other news?”
“The court is afire with gossip about Hatton,” said Cecil, his voice dropping into its ha
bitual tone of disapproval about my intimates.
I scowled. Lately, I had sent Hatton from my presence. He had turned sulky and mordant about the Earl of Oxford and the favour that man held with me. I was grateful for all the support Hatton had offered me, but the man seemed to think he should receive all favours I had to offer, leaving none for others. Repeated requests for more money and offices had made me turn cold. Favours were for me to decide, not for any man to demand. I thought him ungrateful and had told him so. I understood where his requests originated; Hatton was perpetually short of money. It was a common complaint at court, but it was not up to me to finance every man’s ambition. I was careful with my income, managing to make a fine show whilst spending only a fraction of my coin. I expected men, well-trained in finance since childhood, to do the same.
Seeing him skulking about court wearing an expression more at home on a discontented cat, I had become displeased. No one man should ever become complacent about my affection.
“I suspect those fires of gossip were fanned by you, Cecil.” Spirit did not like my habit of playing intimates against each other. He thought it perilous, because he could not see the benefits. But Cecil was, like all courtiers, merely concerned for his own interests. He wanted me for himself, not in a romantic sense, but a political one, and failed to see this made him the same type of creature as my favourites.
Robin was my counterweight to Cecil. Although often allied in thought and deed, more so at this time than any previous, Cecil and Robin resented each other. Each thought he should be my primary confidant, and feared the other. To keep them balanced, I favoured Robin one week and Cecil another. Naturally, I did not tell either man that his rival was there to balance him out. That would have defeated my purpose.
Hatton had been unwell, and so his removal from court was not solely to do with my annoyance. Whilst absent, however, he had sent a series of impassioned letters extolling his love for me, the contents of which had leaked into court. This, some said, was evidence I had surrendered my virginity. It was all nonsense, but some men find the thought of a woman wishing to remain a maid impossible to comprehend. They are too enamoured with the overwhelming notion of their irresistibility.
“I swear to you, madam, I have done nothing of the sort,” Cecil said.
I made a hawing sound in my throat, but allowed the matter to drop. As Cecil left, I stood, and almost swooned. Fire raged within my blood. As I swayed, dizzy as a stalk of wheat, Blanche caught my arm.
“To bed,” she said, assuming a tone that made her sound like Kat. “Dorothy Stafford will sleep in your bed, to keep you warm.”
“Little do I need more warmth, and I am fine, Blanche,” I protested. “The days have been long and I am weary, that is all.”
But it was not. Within an hour the flames of my blood had risen to claim my flesh, and blotches of red had broken out across my throat and breasts. Fearing smallpox, Blanche chased me to bed and called my doctors. They bled me, and stuffed noxious potions down my throat, but that night I became delirious, crying out in restless slumber as ghosts of the past haunted me in tortured dreams.
Robin sat with me all night. Sage burned, coating the air with a thick pall of blue, scented smoke. A bowl sat under my arm, blood dripping into it, to restore my humours. As the morning of the second day of my illness dawned, however, it seemed the doctors’ physick had done its task. I was no more with fever, but the blotches still remained.
“Is it smallpox?” I asked. “Will it mark me?”
The doctor shook his head, although if he was saying it was not smallpox, or would not mark me, he did not explain. No doubt he thought me foolish to fear for looks when life was at risk, but he could not understand. No man could. How can a sex who are judged for mind first, and looks second, understand the value of appearance to those who are judged only, and ever, as creatures of the body? Were I to be marked by the dreaded pox, people would see it as a sign of my mortality, and morality. The rumours about Hatton would be upheld, and my enemies would claim he had given me the grand pox. All men would be aware I could not live forever, and start to speak of my death.
This happened, in any case. Through Robin I learned that as I lay ill, my Councillors were busy discussing who would claim my throne if I departed for Heaven. To my horror, they had spoken of naming one of Katherine Grey’s sons as my successor.
Upon recovery, I made it plain I would accept no such successor, and scolded them for attempting to place a child on my throne. I also wrote to Shrewsbury, who upon hearing I was ill had written in terror to Cecil. He feared that if I died men would come for his royal prisoner.
Wanting to allay his fears, I wrote personally, explaining my illness, and assuring him I was well. I wanted no support for Mary of Scots to seed in the fertile soil of fear.
Recovery came with speed, and after a week I was up and about court once again, much to the relief of everyone… Everyone, I imagined, besides my cousin of Scots. My untimely death would have made her my immediate heir and if she ever had any love for me it was long gone by that time. Had Mary had any sense, she would have understood there was no occasion which would see my men supporting her succession. They would place the crown on the head of James of Scotland, or one of the Grey boys. In truth, if I died, it was likely Mary would too... done away with by men who feared a Catholic Queen.
As I recovered, I could almost hear England sighing with relief. Special services of thanksgiving went ahead. The world was in turmoil, what would come of St Bartholomew’s remained unclear, and war raged in all countries but ours. If I died now, there was no knowing what would happen to England.
*
As I recovered, a sight came to the dying skies of autumn which caused many a tongue to wag. It was a blazing star, in the constellation of Cassiopeia, and as men in various countries rushed to claim they had discovered it, still more hastened to declare what it might mean.
“We think it a new star,” the astrologer and mathematician Thomas Allen said when he arrived at court to counsel me, “and this appearance, Majesty, challenges the works of Aristotle, who claimed the realm of stars unchangeable.”
“This is interesting indeed,” I said. “The birth of a new star… what might it mean for us?”
Allen considered for a moment. Robin had sent for him as Allen was his personal astrologer, and I trusted his wisdom. Like Dee, he cast horoscopes for nobles, and was renowned for accuracy. Some called him a sorcerer, but that was a common accusation levelled at any man who investigated natural sciences. He was also a known Catholic sympathiser, most likely a secret Catholic himself, but he, like others I admired, made no issue of it and lived in peace with the laws of my country, keeping faith in his heart, where it belonged.
“Other men may disagree, Majesty,” Allen said, “but I think, in essence, this is the birth of something new both in the skies and on earth. I take personal inspiration from it too; it also demonstrates we should not believe we know all, or that the ancient masters did. God wishes us to understand there is much as yet undiscovered for us to find.”
Dee concurred with Allen. “The new star heralds the death of the old, decaying world,” he told me, “and the birth of the new. I think we must see it as the worm rising from the ash of the phoenix nest.”
Dee went further. Since the star had been born into the constellation of Venus, he said it increased that angel’s influence. “Anael is the angel of Venus, Your Majesty,” he explained. “And he is responsible for the profusion of female rulers who have known power in these last one hundred years.”
“I see… And think you this new star is a sign more female rulers will follow, or fewer?”
“Perhaps it is a sign that one, the most glorious of all, will continue to rule with the power of angelic magic, and the discovery of the philosopher’s stone.”
“You think this a sign of my immortality?”
“I think it a sign that it is possible, Majesty,” said Dee.
I ordered further investi
gation. All my scientists seemed to think this new star was the herald of change, and if Dee was right, of life everlasting to be bestowed upon me. I understood, however, that Dee’s version of the portents was based on his desire to find the philosopher’s stone. He wanted more money to be put into his project of alchemy and the discovery of the fabled stone. Dee’s desire to keep working on that project had led to his ambitions and wishes influencing his assessment.
By the eleventh of November the star had grown brighter than Jupiter, and some were claiming it was an angel, or the spirit of God. A week later, it was brighter than Venus, and men grew afraid, lest it should grow and grow, incinerating our world.
But then, the star dimmed. It did not go out, but its brilliance reduced. “God heard the fear of His people,” I said to Robin. “And muted His wondrous creation to allay their terrors.
Chapter Seven
Hampton Court
Winter 1572 - 1573
We made for Hampton Court for Christmas, and passed a merry season rejoicing for the birth of our Lord, and for my good health. But as my court celebrated, I had a hard letter to write.