The Grove of Eagles by Winston Graham
“When is the attack planned?”
“If this weather holds we should double Cape St Vincent tomorrow and be off Cadiz by Thursday. I hope the attack will begin on Friday morning, though with caution so much prevailing one can never be certain.”
“Is Lord Essex cautious?”
“Oh, by no means: he is more forward than I. But while we are at sea Lord Admiral Howard’s word is the final one; and I know it is the Queen’s express wish that Lord Essex should not put himself into danger. So the Lord Admiral has a dual and difficult responsibility, to bring off a victory without losing his ships and at the same time to see that his second in command and near equal runs no personal risk.”
One of the lanterns had blown out and another had smoked its glass, so the room was now in semi-shadow. On the table with my cup was Sir Walter’s pipe and a small Guiana idol made of copper and gold which he usually carried in his pocket and which he had been showing to Wingfield. He seldom missed an opportunity of advancing his ideas of Empire.
He said abruptly: “ Time was, and not so long since, when the Queen was concerned for my safety, when I was called back to Court each time I adventured away. There were times when I was beside her in all things and this headstrong stripling kept at a distance or disregarded. I confess they are times I look back on with pleasure and regret. They were times … of comradeship with Her Majesty—and inwardness with her such as few men have ever known. She is one of the greatest women who have ever lived—and at the same time one of the most exacting.”
I said nothing.
“This talk, this scandal, this poison breath that goes about telling of inwardness of person between a woman of 62 and a boy of 29; these late nights together: they are nothing. I know the Queen. I know her well … Of course she permits liberties; I know that—even intimacies—but never the final intimacy, nor never would. She is the bride of England …”
He walked to one of the lattice windows. His back was bent to look out. The green and gold satin of the cloak drooped like a flag.
“The Court is a cesspool of intrigue and vice. Brother is against brother, friend will cut down friend. But she rides above it in a delicate equipoise. To the outsider it may seem insecure; yet she is firmly held and preserved there by the admiration and trust of five million people. Nor will she ever be dethroned—except by …” He paused.
“Except by?”
“Except by Him who can never be denied. She will be 63 this September. Her father died at 57, her grandfather was 53. May the Living God preserve her for many years yet.”
“Amen.”
“D’you know,” he turned from the window, “the intrigue rages about her and grows with each year. Since I came upon this voyage I have been approached by two … gentlemen—I’ll not otherwise name them—to discover my opinions and whom I will support if the Queen should die. I said thank God Her Majesty still lives, and while she has breath in her body I am no other’s servant. She lives, I said, and enjoys health and still dazzles the day so brightly that all rivals look sick beside her! And so they do … James of Scotland, Arabella Stuart, Lord Beauchamp, even the Infanta is suggested, even Henry of Navarre! Faugh, I’d as soon see England a commonwealth without a king as have any of them!”
His shadow flickered across the table as he moved to his bookshelves and began venomously thrusting back the books. After a while I thought he had forgotten me so I quietly put down my cup and went to the door.
He said sharply, without turning: “ The Court is rotten, Maugan, but I would return to it for all its rottenness. Someday you shall go with me.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Though you’ve great-uncles there securer placed than I ever was … I wonder they never take you. It will be my first care to place young Wat at Court when he is of age and if I live to see that day.”
“Even despite the rottenness.”
“Even despite that. For once tasted there is no other flavour. I serve the Queen, if she will have me. But over and above that, even though it may be evil, there is at Court the flavour of power, the smell of government; once having been at the centre of the wheel, life on any outer part is empty and void. If this venture goes well I shall resume my old place and perhaps move into a better. God grant us a good fight! …”
On the Tuesday morning we rounded Cape St Vincent, standing close into the land to make the most of the light easterly airs which were stirring there. In Lagos Bay the wind quite dropped and we were hard put to it to make any way at all. Much of the afternoon Sir Walter spent scanning the distant shore for sign of life, for ours was the squadron closest in; but he detected none.
Unknown to us, however, we had at last been seen. At some moment late that forenoon, two families living in caves in the cliff had sent their men into Albúfiera with news. From that village officials came to the cliff edge and counted eighty sail moving slowly south towards Faro. Then, on donkeys and mules, over the rough tracks, they sent messengers east, north and west: to Faro and Cadiz, to Lagos and Portimao, to the Duke of Medina Sidonia at Castilnova, to Seville and Xeres and all the towns of Andalusia.
In the meantime we made scarcely measurable progress, creeping towards Cape Santa Maria, the last landward point before the bay of Cadiz. The weather had set in too fair.
On Wednesday the sea was glassy; tiny white clouds gathered about the sun and were sucked up in the heat. Warspite’s water was rancid by now, the beer salt and foul smelling, much of the butter had putrefied and three hundredweight of cheese had to be thrown overboard. More than thirty men were already down with febrile and stomach ailments. In the morning and evening a mist haze gathered and was thick in patches, so that sometimes another ship would appear near us, its hull invisible and its great spread of dead sail like a mirage floating on still air. Sounds carried far and echoed and were distorted. A gentleman soldier playing a lute on a transport two furlongs away might have been beside us. After dark, for safety’s sake; an instruction against music and singing was issued, and even shouting was discouraged except for the issue of orders.
This edict bore fruit just after dawn on Friday when, the mist clearing suddenly, a strange ship was discovered among us, between Swiftsure and Alcedo. She was as unaware of us as we had been of her, and instantly tried to acquit herself out of it. However, two shots caused her to change her mind, and her captain was taken aboard Swiftsure and later Ark Royal. This was an Irish ship from Waterford, but one day out of Cadiz, and they were able to assure us that the fleet in the harbour was still as the Flemings had described it.
But the Waterford captain had one other item of news—that a rich argosy of ten ships had left Cadiz at the same time as himself, bound for Lisbon. Ralegh came back from the next council in a doubtful temper having been commanded to take Warspite, with Mary Rose, Quittance, Lioness, Truelove, and twelve smaller ships towards the coast in the hope of cutting off this argosy. It was not hard to see how his feelings turned. Here was a chance of early and rich plunder which might be as good as anything to be found later; but, with the wind now picking up again, we had just come round Cape Santa Maria and should be off Cadiz by nightfall. The attack might even be at dawn tomorrow, and in that event we should miss it.
However, nothing offered but to obey. All that day, in fitful easterly breezes catching the great sails and then letting them hang again, we tacked and luffed towards the coast, towards Huelva and the long sandy stretches of the Playa de Castilla. With the wind thus fitful, visibility not above a mile and all crews on the alert for instant action, the dominant sound through the rest of that day and the following night was the creak of timber, the living movements of seasoned oak under varying stress, the plash of water rippling and lapping at the bows, the flap of a sail as it partly filled, the thin whisper of the wind in the shrouds.
Saturday dawn broke much as Friday had darkened, though the wind was a trifle more steady. Then at 9, when we must have been almost at the mouth of the Guadalquivir, Lioness signalled she had si
We knew we were close inshore but the coast was not visible. About midday we saw a handsome ship some two miles ahead of us—a carrack of five decks and a sitting target for a powerful vessel like Warspite if ever we got within range. But this was almost the last break in an overcast sky and a choppy sea, and only Lioness, fitfully seen ahead of us, reported she was keeping the quarry in view.
About three Sir George Carew came aboard from Mary Rose, with Captain Gyfford of Quittance, and Gyfford said he felt it his duty to report, from his knowledge of this coast, that we were hazarding our ships by sailing so close inshore. Sir Walter replied that where the Portuguese led we could follow, but it was clear that Gyfford’s words weighed with him. As commander of this squadron he would be held responsible for any loss or damage. Capturing a convoy of rich prizes in normal weather was one thing; risking shipwreck in a fog to catch them was another. After some little while longer he called off the chase.
The two officers were leaving in Sir Walter’s hoy when the curtain of cloud and mist briefly lifted and five foreign vessels were to be seen barely a league away. One was the carrack, the others were all sizeable vessels. We stared at the ships: they were clearly outlined; but before Ralegh could issue an order, the cloud came down and blotted them out. We stood and peered and Sir Walter paced and muttered, but there was no second view. The fog grew thicker every minute. Sir George Carew made a move to leave Warspite, but Sir Walter stayed them hoping for a clearance.
None came. Carew said: “If I do not leave now I shall be here until dawn, Walter. Mary Rose is lost to sight, and I shall only regain her by good fortune.”
“Stay willingly,” Ralegh said. “I’d not have you go. This may lift around sunset. What d’you think, Gyfford?”
“I doubt we shall see more today, sir. These fogs come up and cling around the foot of Spain: I believe it is something to do with the Straits and the nearness of Africa. If it thicken more, no one will dare move, so we shall be no worse off when dawn comes.”
“I’m not so sure. Fear is a great spur. They’ve seen us as surely as we’ve seen them.”
Our nearest neighbour was Gyfford’s Quittance, a sister ship of Crane which Belemus had visited in Falmouth Haven; she was scarcely more than a cable’s length astern but by now she could only be seen fitfully as the fog swirled round.
“I’m not for giving up,” Sir Walter said sharply. “Go back to your ships—if you can still find them. We’ll ride it out here until dark. If there’s no improvement by then I have a mind to go and seek out this carrack. She if any will be loth to hazard herself upon the rocks.”
“How seek her out without greater risk at night?” Gyfford asked.
“I’ll take a few men and look for her in my hoy. Daylight fog defeats us all. In the night lights show.”
Sir George glanced at his kinsman. “ I don’t at all like that. It is no advantage to preserve the ships and hazard the Admiral. Besides if you found her, what could you do?”
“Your hoy won’t carry much upwards of a dozen men. You’d be slaughtered, sir,” said Gyfford.
“That I’d try to avert. You, Captain Gyfford, must keep in sight of Warspite till dark. We’ll signal you when we start and we’ll show a double lantern on the hoy. You shall follow. Quittance has a shallow draught and is unlikely to run on the rocks if she keeps close to our light. Lioness shall follow Quittance in a like manner, and Truelove can come after. Warspite will remain here with Mary Rose and the rest of the fleet.”
“Ah, now—”
“No, George, we risk no galleons. Three lighter vessels can accomplish all we need.”
My friendship with Victor Hardwicke had become a singularly affectionate one, but we came near to blows over this adventure. In the end Ralegh, staring coldly at us both and telling us this was no childish game, said we might both go with him.
It was a small party. Ourselves, a ship’s bosun called Warnett, Gunner Johns, and four of a crew. Captain Oakes did his best to prevent the expedition, but Sir Walter would have no truck with objections.
When we left the breeze had steadied from the south-east. We had to rely on it for direction and hope it did not change, for otherwise we should fall far off course.
We went slow for fear of losing our followers. We could not see Quittance, only her light winking like a widow’s lantern behind a curtain. Ahead all was dark.
And it stayed dark. Our course we reckoned was almost due north, following the line of the land. Sir Walter sat in the bows of the tiny boat, his velvet cloak wrapped round him; he spoke little and we followed his example, only staring. The sea was slight but occasionally choppy as if disturbed by shallows. Behind us, we knew, Quittance and the others were taking soundings. Once or twice sea-birds fluttered across our path.
It grew cold. The sea mist cloyed and clung. We began to lose touch with the fight behind and took another reef in our sail. About four Victor opened a bag he had brought and passed round food and ale. Then we saw a light ahead. Food and drink were forgotten.
Gunner Johns made the agreed signal to the ship behind, but in the thick conditions it seemed unlikely they had seen it. The light ahead blinked and wavered and became two. Warnett put the helm over. We were closing rapidly, but then it seemed the look-out on the other ships must have seen us, for we heard distant cries, and both lights went out.
“Keep her steady as she goes.”
Victor fidgeted with the hilt of his sword.
“We’re a sitting target with this light.”
Now for some minutes there was no more talk. For all we knew we were passing between the vessels we had sighted; or we might be leading Quittance and the others into a trap.
Sir Walter signalled Warnett to have the sail lowered. We coasted gently along and lost way and began to wallow in the lightly lapping waves. Behind us Quittance’s misty light flickered and disappeared.
The fog thinned, and with eyes long accustomed to the dark we saw a vessel on our lee. She was high pooped and foreign, a darker shape in a grey wilderness of water.
Almost at once a shot was fired at us. It was from a light gun, and the splash of the ball was not above 20 yards short. At the same time the vessel turned away and began to disappear into the mist.
Warnett put over his helm to follow, and there was a scramble to raise the sail. Victor waved into the darkness behind him, but there was nothing there.
“We’ve lost touch with Quittance.”
“Hark!” said Ralegh.
We listened in silence.
“I can hear the breaking of waves,” he said.
“Aye, that’s true,” said a sailor. “ Over there.”
We listened again. There was silence for a minute or two and then out of the drab waste ahead came a strange sound like a tree crashing to the ground, like a load of slate being tipped.
Warnett said: “She’s struck, sir.” Without being instructed he told the sailor to lower sail.
Victor said again: “ We’ve lost touch with Quittance.”
Out of the darkness ahead we now heard clearly the breaking waves. And then the cries and shouts of men. They sounded like sea birds circling a cliff face.
“Go about,” said Sir Walter, “or we shall be ashore ourselves.”
Till dawn we stayed in the vicinity, cold and blind. Then as day came we made out through the lifting mists a dark, tall coast and a ship fast upon the rocks near the mouth of an inlet. As the sun broke through the fog we descried Quittance standing far out. Captain Gyfford told us he had followed until the lead showed 3 fathoms under his keel. Lioness and True-love had lost contact and were nowhere to be seen. There were three dark blurs to the north, but they were others of the Portuguese fleet. By the time we had been picked up they were out of sight.
On the deck of Quittance there was a hurried council of war. If we followed we might catch them, but a single crompster had hardly the mettle to take on three or
We gained contact about nine, and the whole squadron turned south. That day we made slow progress and through the night. At six the following morning we sighted Cadiz floating like a white ghost city in a pool of blue mist. As we drew nearer the white domes and turrets solidified, the high Moorish walls rooted themselves in shelving rock and sea. And we saw that the attack on the great port had just begun.
Chapter Five
The city of Cadiz is situated on a long thin strip of land like a tongue in the mouth of a dog. It lolls a little out of the mouth as if panting in the sun.
Before this tongue our fleet was assembled, a hundred odd ships from galleons down to caravels, a sight not to be forgotten, tall ship behind tall ship; a first line of them, interspersed with the transports, from which soldiers in full armour were being loaded into boats to make a landing on the beach at the tip of the tongue, opposite a heavily guarded fort, San Sebastian. Drawn up in the shallow water beneath the fort were six Spanish galleys waiting to dispute the landing.
As the sun climbed the wind was freshening from the southwest, and I think Ralegh could not quite believe his eyes at what he saw.
“This—this is madness!” he shouted vehemently to Carew, who had rejoined him from Mary Rose. “If it had been begun at four, before dawn broke, it might have had a prospect of success. But this is not a surprise attack! They have been warned, they’re ready! A frontal assault in this sea … Do they relish sending troops to certain death?”
Carew seemed surprised at the outburst and frowned shore-wards. “It will be a hard fight, but no doubt we shall prevail.”