upon all the people dwelling there, even though I could not see them.
Preceding me was a boat of trumpeters playing loudly, calling the curious out to watch from the riverbanks. Behind us came barges with my Gentlemen Pensioners and Queen’s Guard, bravely attired in armor and plumes, and councillors and courtiers.
We arrived at midday, pulling up to the blockhouse of the fort. Lining the banks were rows of soldiers standing smartly, the sun glinting off their helmets. As the barge tied up at the dock, a blast of trumpets welcomed me, and then the captain general of the land army, my Earl of Leicester, flanked by Army Lord Marshal “Black Jack” Norris, walked solemnly to the end of the pier to receive me.
Seeing Leicester, dear Robert, so handsomely attired and waiting made me catch my breath. Just so he had waited at all the crucial junctures of my life; just so he had always been my chief supporter.
“Your Majesty.” He bowed.
“All hail and welcome,” said Norris, lowering his head.
I looked at the formidable rows of soldiers stretching in ceremonial lines up the hill.
“We have over twenty thousand here,” said Leicester. He gestured up the lines. “I have arranged for you to inspect the camp and the river blockade first. Then, after dinner, you can review the troops and address them.”
“I am pleased to do so,” I said. I gestured to the next barge after mine, bringing my horse. He was being led down the ramp.
Leicester’s eyebrow lifted. “A fine gelding,” he said. “New?” Leicester prided himself on providing me with the showiest and best horses.
“A gift from Robert Cecil,” I said.
He made the slightest of faces before saying, “Very good taste. Now, my most precious Queen, shall it please you to come with me to the camp?” He indicated the raised causeway we should walk up.
I was already attired in the white velvet gown I wished to be seen in, and would put on the armor before mounting my horse. This was such a momentous, almost a sacred, occasion that no ordinary costume was worthy. But white velvet, with all its evocation of virginity and majesty, came closest.
As we passed, each soldier bowed and the officers dipped their pikes and ensigns in respect. I looked into their faces, broad, sunburned, and frightened, and felt their courage in having left their farms and homes to come here and take their stand.
As we reached the crest of the hill, the camp spread out before us. Hundreds of tents, some of the finest workmanship, others of rough canvas, were pitched in tidy rows. There were large pavilions for the officers and green-painted booths for the lower-rank soldiers. Bright pennants and flags fluttered over them. Upon seeing us, pipers and drummers struck up their welcoming tunes. Then a royal salute was fired from the blockhouse cannons.
“Behold your legions!” said Leicester, sweeping his hand over them. “Stout Englishmen ready to defend our shores.”
For one awful moment I felt that I might cry. So brave and so fragile, these men: the most precious gift my people had ever offered up to me.
“Yes,” I murmured.
I walked up and down the companies of soldiers standing at attention, speaking a word to some, giving a smile to another, thinking how like a tall fence they were, or a line of saplings planted alongside a road.
“God bless you all!” I cried, and in response they fell, to a man, to their knees, calling, “Lord preserve our Queen!”
I also inspected the ranks of the cavalry, some two thousand strong. One company, decked out in tawny livery, was headed by Leicester’s young stepson, Robert Devereux, Earl of Essex. He grinned as I approached and waited an instant too long to lower his head.
“Your Majesty,” said Leicester, “young Essex here has raised a fine company of two hundred horsemen at his own expense.” He tilted his chin toward the young man, proudly.
I looked at the richly attired company and mentally computed the cost. Young Essex
Preceding me was a boat of trumpeters playing loudly, calling the curious out to watch from the riverbanks. Behind us came barges with my Gentlemen Pensioners and Queen’s Guard, bravely attired in armor and plumes, and councillors and courtiers.
We arrived at midday, pulling up to the blockhouse of the fort. Lining the banks were rows of soldiers standing smartly, the sun glinting off their helmets. As the barge tied up at the dock, a blast of trumpets welcomed me, and then the captain general of the land army, my Earl of Leicester, flanked by Army Lord Marshal “Black Jack” Norris, walked solemnly to the end of the pier to receive me.
Seeing Leicester, dear Robert, so handsomely attired and waiting made me catch my breath. Just so he had waited at all the crucial junctures of my life; just so he had always been my chief supporter.
“Your Majesty.” He bowed.
“All hail and welcome,” said Norris, lowering his head.
I looked at the formidable rows of soldiers stretching in ceremonial lines up the hill.
“We have over twenty thousand here,” said Leicester. He gestured up the lines. “I have arranged for you to inspect the camp and the river blockade first. Then, after dinner, you can review the troops and address them.”
“I am pleased to do so,” I said. I gestured to the next barge after mine, bringing my horse. He was being led down the ramp.
Leicester’s eyebrow lifted. “A fine gelding,” he said. “New?” Leicester prided himself on providing me with the showiest and best horses.
“A gift from Robert Cecil,” I said.
He made the slightest of faces before saying, “Very good taste. Now, my most precious Queen, shall it please you to come with me to the camp?” He indicated the raised causeway we should walk up.
I was already attired in the white velvet gown I wished to be seen in, and would put on the armor before mounting my horse. This was such a momentous, almost a sacred, occasion that no ordinary costume was worthy. But white velvet, with all its evocation of virginity and majesty, came closest.
As we passed, each soldier bowed and the officers dipped their pikes and ensigns in respect. I looked into their faces, broad, sunburned, and frightened, and felt their courage in having left their farms and homes to come here and take their stand.
As we reached the crest of the hill, the camp spread out before us. Hundreds of tents, some of the finest workmanship, others of rough canvas, were pitched in tidy rows. There were large pavilions for the officers and green-painted booths for the lower-rank soldiers. Bright pennants and flags fluttered over them. Upon seeing us, pipers and drummers struck up their welcoming tunes. Then a royal salute was fired from the blockhouse cannons.
“Behold your legions!” said Leicester, sweeping his hand over them. “Stout Englishmen ready to defend our shores.”
For one awful moment I felt that I might cry. So brave and so fragile, these men: the most precious gift my people had ever offered up to me.
“Yes,” I murmured.
I walked up and down the companies of soldiers standing at attention, speaking a word to some, giving a smile to another, thinking how like a tall fence they were, or a line of saplings planted alongside a road.
“God bless you all!” I cried, and in response they fell, to a man, to their knees, calling, “Lord preserve our Queen!”
I also inspected the ranks of the cavalry, some two thousand strong. One company, decked out in tawny livery, was headed by Leicester’s young stepson, Robert Devereux, Earl of Essex. He grinned as I approached and waited an instant too long to lower his head.
“Your Majesty,” said Leicester, “young Essex here has raised a fine company of two hundred horsemen at his own expense.” He tilted his chin toward the young man, proudly.
I looked at the richly attired company and mentally computed the cost. Young Essex
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