John Stack - Armada

Forewarned by the lighted beacons along the entire length of the southern coastline, the lord lieutenants of each county had gathered their trained bands of militia to oppose any Spanish landing. The Armada had sailed past Cornwall, Devon and now Dorset, and while the militia from each county had been ordered to proceed along the coast to fight in the inevitable battle, many of the laymen had simply decided to return to their homes and farms, knowing they were no longer under any direct threat.

Cross had been appalled by the self-centred attitude of the militiamen but in reality he knew their actions were to be expected. As an agent of the Crown he had travelled the length and breadth of southern England, but most ordinary people had never been beyond the bounds of their parish. London was as distant to them as any of the major cities on the continent, and their lives were only impacted by the Crown in matters of law and administration.

In any case, the untrained militia would be no match for the soldiers sailing with the Armada. Nine thousand men had been gathered in Southampton to defend the port while the governor of the Isle of Wight had a further three thousand men at his disposal. Their numbers were in no way a reflection of their strength and they would quickly be routed by a Spanish force equal to a fraction of their ranks.

Cross was weary to the bone. Every muscle in his legs ached, but he was finally ahead of the battle. Tomorrow the Spanish might try to take the Solent, but whether they did or not mattered little to Cross. His fight was not with the Spaniards, it was with an Englishman. He needed to secure a boat to take him out to the English fleet and the Retribution . His goal had never been closer. Before the battle was over he would have Young in his custody. The only question was whether he would pre-empt Young’s act of treachery, or punish him for it.

Nathaniel knocked on the door of the great cabin and waited for the call to enter. He went inside. Commander Morales and Captain de Córdoba were seated at the table eating a meal of rice and charcoaled fish.

‘Your grace, please,’ Evardo said, indicating the chair opposite him.

Nathaniel sat down and Evardo offered him a goblet of Candia wine. He drank deeply.

‘You fought well yesterday, your grace,’ Evardo said. ‘I have heard many reports of how you took command of the fo’c’sle after Capitán Alvarado was killed.’

‘Thank you, Comandante ,’ Nathaniel replied, shifting slightly in his chair.

Evardo stood up and walked around to refill Nathaniel’s goblet.

‘I want you to take temporary command of his men for the remainder of the voyage.’

Nathaniel froze. After yesterday’s action, when the fighting had ceased and the blood lust in his veins had cooled, Nathaniel had been assailed by further thoughts of uncertainty. His hatred for Elizabeth and his desire to see her overthrown had been with him for over twenty years. It was the driving force behind everything he did. In the Northern Rebellion he had led his fellow Catholics in defiance of her rule, but they had been his countrymen, they were Englishmen, fighting to save England. Now however he was being asked to lead foreign troops against his own country.

‘Alvarado’s men followed my orders in the heat of battle, immediately after their captain had been struck down. Now that that moment has passed, surely they will not submit to the commands of an Englishman.’

‘They will,’ Evardo replied confidently. ‘They follow social rank and they follow courage. You have both, your grace.’

Nathaniel nodded with feigned courtesy.

‘You will retain command of the fo’c’sle while Capitán de Córdoba will hold the aft castle.’

‘May I offer one piece of advice, your grace,’ de Córdoba said. ‘While the English persist in their tactics of laying off you must continue to return fire with the light deck guns and muskets. But make sure your arquebusiers hold their fire. They will need their ammunition for the close quarter fighting to come.’

‘You believe the English will eventually close?’ Nathaniel asked.

‘Yes,’ Evardo said, frustration in his tone. ‘Their ships might be more nimble, and their cannonry more accomplished but they must know they will never take a Spanish ship without boarding her, and the moment they clap sides, we will have them on our terms.’

Nathaniel nodded, thinking back to the action earlier that day. ‘I thought they might have attempted to take El Gran Grifón this morning,’ he said.

‘They would have,’ de Córdoba replied. ‘Had El Gran Grifón been a little further adrift of the main fleet.’

Nathaniel made to reply but Evardo silenced him with his hand, his brow creasing in thought. He turned on his heel and left the cabin without another word, making his way aloft. He called for the nearest zabra to be hailed and boarded her as she came alongside.

‘The San Martín , quick as you can.’

The zabra spun around and began to weave through the larger capital ships and transports while Evardo anxiously paced the deck, his head bowed in thought.

‘The San Martín , Comandante .’

Evardo called up for permission to board and went directly to Medina Sidonia’s cabin. The duke was inside with many of his senior officers, including de Recalde and de Leiva, standing around a large chart table.

‘Your grace,’ Evardo said. ‘I need to speak with you.’

Medina Sidonia looked up. He was a short, stocky man, and was one of the youngest in the room. He was heavily bearded and though his face was drawn with lines of fatigue his eyes were alert.

‘ Comandante Morales,’ he said. ‘This is a closed meeting. Might I trust that what you have to say can wait until afterwards?’

‘What I have to suggest is of vital import, your grace.’

Medina Sidonia lightly fingered the insignia of the Golden Fleece that hung around his neck. ‘Very well, Comandante .’

Evardo stepped up to the table. ‘This morning, as you all know, El Gran Grifón was set upon by a pack of English warships because she was adrift of the fleet. Only the courageous actions of others saved her from capture. But what if the ships that extracted El Gran Grifón had not been able to reach her? What if she had been completely isolated?’

‘Then the English would have taken her as they did the San Salvador and the Rosario ,’ de Recalde said.

‘But they could not because the fighting ships of the Armada were within reach,’ Evardo said.

‘So you believe if El Gran Grifón had been out of our reach she would have been boarded by the English?’ Medina Sidonia asked.

‘Or if the English had perceived she was out of our reach,’ Evardo said.

‘Bait,’ de Recalde said with a smile. ‘ Comandante Morales is suggesting that we lure the English into a close quarter action with bait.’

‘But the King has said we must not delay our advance with a general engagement,’ de Moncada said to Medina Sidonia.

‘We only need to bloody their nose, your grace,’ de Recalde countered. ‘The English are sure to take the bait and try to board the straggler. If we swoop down and capture some of their capital ships they might become less daring in their attacks.’

‘Over sixty of my crew on El Gran Grifón were killed in this morning’s action,’ Juan Gómez de Medina cautioned. ‘Any ship adrift of the fleet for longer would pay a heavy coin for the prize of capturing some English warships.’

‘I believe it is a price worth paying,’ Evardo said. ‘I volunteer the Santa Clara as bait. She is a warship and therefore better suited to the task. Once grappled we could defend her upper decks until reinforcements arrived.’