“No, it is not.”
“So when the time comes you too will help. You speak our language. You will be a sign of our own good will towards those of your kinsfolk who do not oppose us. In all this, when all this is finished, you will not be the loser.”
I moistened my lips.
He said: “But there is one great danger. The essence of naval or military success is surprise. As our Armada grows here, its presence cannot be concealed from English spies. What can be concealed is its objective.”
“Yes, I understand.”
“So far in all Spain only four people, apart from the King, know of the destination of this fleet. None of our senior admirals yet knows it. You will readily see that if this secret were to be allowed to leak out, preparations to meet it in England would at once be made.”
“Yes.”
“When your father replied favourably to our invitation, it was first intended to keep you in prison. However, you can be useful, and you cannot fail to see that if this information which you possess leaks away to England before we are ready, it will sign your father’s death warrant. That must be clear to you.”
“It is.”
“You are fond of your father?”
“Yes.”
“I thought so. Then we will leave it at that. Remember, a single unguarded word may ensure his death.”
“I understand.”
“Good-bye, and may we some day meet again.”
I had spent a week at Coruna when storm-bound two years ago, but had never crossed to E1 Ferrol, which is twelve miles away by sea and perhaps forty by road. Now we sailed in through a long and well guarded and narrow channel, and saw the town and dockyard sheltering behind the shoulder of rock which made the harbour, in such a way that they were not to be seen from the sea. It was a perfect natural harbour, far better protected than Cadiz, and one could understand the reluctance of English admirals to attack it.
Eighty-four sail were there when we arrived, about a quarter of them galleons but clearly not yet in a state of preparedness to sail. San Pedro, San Pablo and San Juan were three more of the ‘Apostles’ of which we had destroyed four at.Cadiz. San Pablo was the largest galleon of them all, being of 1,200 tons burden.
I was housed with Enrico Caldes, and shared a room with him and two other men in a hostellerie in the middle of the town where officers of the fleet had taken rooms. I was allowed to wander about the little town at will, though there was nothing to it except what had grown from the demands of the dockyard. A big fleet had in fact set sail for England last autumn but had been driven back with much damage by foul weather.
One night Captain Lopez de Soto arrived aboard the Espiritu Santo, a smaller galleon which he was to command in the Armada, and the next morning I was summoned to see him.
He was sitting in his cabin in a loose shirt under a green silk morning gown, the remnants of his breakfast on the table, a servant combing his coppery hair. He dismissed the servant.
“So, Killigrew, you are well housed? Caldes is looking after you?” He did not wait for an answer. “His Excellency Don Martin de Padilla is in Madrid, so I am dealing with all the administration while he is away.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Caldes is to be specially responsible for you, but both of you will come under my supervision. I understand you are to sail with us when the time comes.”
“Yes, sir.”
“No doubt on duties which will later be assigned to you … ?”
He waited. There was a faint questioning note in his voice which I did not respond to.
“All orders come in their proper time,” he went on. “We shall not, of course, sail yet. There is much still to do here, as you can see. It will be August. I think, before we leave.”
“Sir,” I said, “I am a good penman and speak both languages. Whatever duties may be assigned to me later, can I not be given something in the meantime? Could I not be of assistance to you or to some other officer?”
“That might be. I will give it some thought.”
As I got to the door he said: “Killigrew.”
“Yes.”
“You sailed from England on a great project with a great fleet, bent on the destruction of Cadiz.”
“Yes.”
“It will be a strange turn of fate to return to England with another fleet but larger, bent on another project but larger.”
I said: “May it have the same success.”
I do not think it was a wise remark for I noticed a glint in his eyes; I had seen the double edge only as I spoke. But that is the risk of hypocrisy; one must watch one’s tongue at every word.
For a month I worked as an under-secretary in the Naval Commissariat adjoining the dockyard. The hours were seven to twelve and three to eight; yet sometimes all I did if better organised could have been concentrated into two hours a day. There were twenty clerks and a like number of secretaries and a dozen senior officials dealing with the commissioning of the fleet, but delay and duplication and lack of system set much of their effort at nought. Underneath the high efficiency and devotion to duty of men like de Soto there was laxness and confusion. Every directive had had for so long to be referred to the top almost always to Madrid that underlings had become incapable of decision.
And El Ferrol, though supremely secure against outside attack, lacked much for the preparation of a great Armada. It was too far from the centres of Spanish power. The road from Madrid was mountainous and, one gathered, in places scarcely existent; the sea communications were long; the chief centres of population were far away. Small attempt had been made to equip the little town for so great an undertaking. The army lived in tents on the bare hillside, too many of the navy lived aboard ship too soon, consuming naval supplies and falling sick of disease while still in harbour. Streets were unpaved so that no vehicle could move without sending up clouds of dust, and many of the lanes were impassable because of the deep ruts. Ditches were clogged with refuse and alive with flies. At almost every corner cookshops had been set up with great kettles on trivets to supply the needs of the shipworkers and the sailors and the clerks. Often at midday I would have a leek broth at one of them and listen to the chatter of the men standing around. There were Portuguese, Italians, French and Germans among them, for many of the ships were foreign.
After midday some of the narrow shady streets would be impassable for sleeping men, and others diced in groups or gambled cross-legged over greasy cards. At nights there were noisy scenes and much crime and vice. Militia patrolled the main streets at certain hours, but their times were known and they were easily avoided. Priests were everywhere and kept the churches open for constant masses.
Over all and above everything was the white dust. It covered the world with a fine film; one’s hands were coarse with it, one’s teeth gritted, one’s hair was powdered. It lay on food and wine and book and seat and bed.
During the month I came to know by sight many of the Spanish admirals and captains who were to command the fleet. Don Diego Brochero, who was to be Vice-Admiral of the expedition, a fiery and vivid man; Bertendona, who had borne the brunt of the great fight with Revenge when Sir Richard Grenville died; Oliste, Urquiola and Villaviciosa were all men of great sea-going experience, none of them amateurs elevated to command because of their birth. The Spanish, as Ralegh often pointed out, did not make the same mistake twice.
The Adelantado himself was a tall and austere man of fifty or so with a concern for detail, and one could imagine him having little patience with inefficiency; but it was Brochero who had the passion and the fire. Whenever he came through the Commissariat it was as if a vitalising wind had blown. He it was who was in charge of discipline, and every day a new body would dangle from the gallows on the quay. A soldier had deserted, a sailor had been guilty of indiscipline, a dockyard worker had been caught stealing. Yet no punishment seemed to stop the abuses.