Elizabeth I by Margaret George

of?” Burghley’s voice rose in worry.
    “I want to go to the south coast, head up the levies there, and see for myself what is happening on the water.”
    Walsingham sighed. “Hunsdon has already explained why that is not feasible.”
    “I insist I go out among my troops. If not the southern levies, then at Tilbury when the main army assembles.”
    “In the meantime, Ma’am, you must remove to St. James’s,” Burghley said. “Please!”
    “I brought you a white horse,” said Robert Cecil.
    “A bribe?” I laughed. How odd that I could find anything to laugh about now. “You know I cannot resist a white horse. Very well. Is he—or she—ready?”
    “Indeed. And with a new silver-ornamented bridle and saddle.”
    “Like the ones that the Duke of Parma ordered for his ceremonial entry into London?” Walsingham’s agents had discovered that fact.
    “Better,” said Cecil.
    Across the river in small boats, then the ten-mile ride into London. Along the road crowds of bewildered, frightened people clustered. I rode as calmly as I could, waving, smiling, to reassure them. If only I could reassure myself as easily. I saw no disturbances other than the milling people. The sky was overcast and it was chilly for mid-July. As we approached London, I did not see any smoke rising or hear any artillery fire.
    St. James’s was a redbrick palace used as a hunting lodge by my father. In its woodland park, it was far enough back from the river to be safer than Whitehall or Greenwich or Richmond. But as we approached, I saw that the meadows of the park, formerly home to pheasants, deer, and fox, had become a military campground. Tents spread across the grounds and columns of soldiers were drilling.
    Hunsdon met us at the gates of the palace. Relief showed on his face. He had counted on my doing the right thing. “Thank God you have arrived safely,” he said.
    I dismounted, and patted my horse’s neck. “Young Cecil here knows how to bribe me,” I said. “For a queen, better a gift than a threat.”

    I passed the afternoon watching the men marching and writing to my commanders, stressing my demand to be out with the troops, confronting Parma, rather than hidden away. Hunsdon was immovable, but the commanders of the main army, Leicester and Norris, might feel differently. While I was writing the letters, Walter Raleigh arrived.
    Never had a visitor been more welcome. “Tell me, tell me!” I commanded him before he was fully through the door.
    His fine riding clothes were covered in dust and his boots mud-caked. There was even dust in his beard. I could not read his expression, but he did not look desperate. “It is safe in the West Counties,” he said. “The Spanish were prevented from landing at Wight. Our fleet divided itself into four squadrons, led by Frobisher in Triumph , Drake in Revenge , Howard in Ark , and Hawkins in Victory , and forced them to sail past it, edging them toward the sandbars and shallows, which they barely escaped. Now they are heading toward Calais.”
    “Thanks, thanks be to God!” I almost fell on my knees in gratitude. God noted such appreciation. But I restrained myself. “But when they reach Calais ...?”
    “Presumably there, or at Dunkirk on the Flanders coast, they will attempt to coordinate with Parma. But is he aware of the whereabouts of the Armada, and is he prepared to embark his troops immediately? Such a thing takes weeks of preparation.”
    “Parma is known for his preparation,” I reminded him.
    “When he has all the facts, yes,” said Raleigh. “But does he?”
    “If God is on our side, no,” I said.
    “The West County militias are traveling east to help the other counties,” said Raleigh.
    “It would seem your task is done, and done well,” I said. “I release you to do what you have wanted to do all along—join the fleet. If you can catch them at this point.”
    He grinned. “I will catch them, if I have to mortgage my soul to hell to do