We waited until the 18th. Instead of the great Sevillian fleet, attended by Prince Andrea Doria’s galleys, came a single frigate. It reported that only ten days ago an English fleet under Sir Walter Ralegh had appeared off the Tagus and appeared likely to attempt to capture Lisbon. In the circumstances Admiral de Arumburu had been commanded to remain patrolling the river above Lisbon in case of such a raid. Doria’s galleys also, which had in face of severe weather made their way round from Genoa, had been instructed to await the English attack. There was also some danger from the Turks with whom it was rumoured Elizabeth was negotiating an alliance.
I could picture de Soto’s fury. The splendid situation of an England stripped of her fleet and open to the most powerful attack the most powerful nation in the world could muster was slipping away from lack of courage and lack of a single directive mind. It could not be Philip II who had faltered; but in some way during his recent illness his authority had been usurped, and weakness and indecision had crept in.
There were many conferences aboard San Pablo. To the last of these Captain Quesada was summoned, and when he returned he announced that the fleet was to sail without its Sevillian reinforcements. It would weigh anchor at dawn on the 20th, being still equal in force to the Armada of ‘88, and still a fleet bigger than any other in the world. No more time must be wasted except one day in which to take on fresh water and supplies and to deposit the sick ashore.
The 19th was a fine day. It seemed that the westerly winds had blown themselves out and we should have a period of quiet autumnal weather exactly suited to the expedition. That evening Captain Quesada invited two Italian captains and a Portuguese and a Biscayan to sup with him and Captain Bonifaz. The Frenchman and one of the Italians spoke no Spanish but could understand English, so I was commanded to be present.
All day I had been restless, full of a sensation of impotence and defeat. Though I knew all it was necessary to know of the Spanish plans, I had been completely unable to do anything to thwart them. One pictured this fleet reaching England and, remembering the destruction wrought by only four galleys two summers ago, multiplied that by 200 to bring this invasion into comparison. In ‘95 the Cornish had been in panic, a few good men like Godolphin standing firm and some hundreds of reinforcements arriving from Plymouth to support the local musters at a time when the Spanish had already re-embarked. What of the result now a great invasion force permitted to land at Falmouth without opposition? Half Cornwall would be theirs in a night. Plymouth, unguarded now by Drake and Hawkins, would fall within two or three days. With the English fleet far away the command of the Channel would be in Spanish hands without a fight. Troops could be ferried across from Brittany at will. When Essex and Ralegh and their fleet returned they would be faced with a strongly entrenched invasion force operating from occupied ports in England and more able than the returning English fleet to re-victual and call in fresh ammunition.
For a time at supper they talked of music: one of the Italians played the viol and cornet, and he and Quesada carried the conversation. But presently the other Italian motioned to me that he wished to ask Quesada a question. Did the Spanish naval command know that French Protestant forces had invaded Catalonia? If so, in what way would it affect their own plans?
Quesada, recalled from pleasanter fancies, frowned and said he had heard nothing of this; rumours were always rampant, they meant little. Whatever was happening in France, it could not affect the major strategy of the war. Once England had collapsed, the main centre of Calvinistic and godless resistance would be gone and all other resistance would collapse too.
“Yes,” said the Portuguese, spreading his hands. “Once England has collapsed. But how long will she resist and with what bloodshed win our victory be bought? Her raid upon Spain last year was not the act of a weak and divided country.”
“She is not weak,” interrupted Bonifaz, “but she is divided. All our spies say so. This is our great chance while she is without her fleet. We sail tomorrow.”
A silence fell. They were all in their different ways considering what lay ahead. Then Conti looked at me and said:
“You are English. You must know your country wed. How do you see the prospects of this great expedition?”
I stared back at him, hypnotised by the opportunities his question offered. These responsible captains might pay no heed to what I had to say in reply. And yet …
“I hope sir, that we shall triumph on this expedition. But there is one matter which concerns me …”
I paused and said no more, groping for the right words, praying for cunning and judgment and subtlety.
“And that is?”
“As you know, sir, I was a junior secretary under Sir Walter Ralegh in the Cadiz expedition of last year...”
“No, I did not know.”
This conversation was in English, and Quesada and two of the others listened uncomprehending.
“Well, there was a thing much spoken of at the time of Cadiz, and that was that our fleet must be back in England before the equinox. At that time every year great gales and seas lash our coasts. It is the expected thing. It was the argument much used against our remaining in occupation of Cadiz. There was bound to be a month when no supplies could get through.”
“The equinox?” said Conti. “That is it begins on the 22nd or 23rd of this month, sir. In two days’ time. That is why I do not believe the English fleet has gone on to the Azores. It is too late in the year. I believe they have turned away from this coast and returned home. I think they are safe in port again; though no doubt they will come out when we reach the English coast if the weather permits.” Conti turned to the Biscayan captain.
The Frenchman shrugged. “I am used to stormy seas: they come at any time. Equinox, yes more and stronger tides. But seas are always treacherous, even your Mediterranean, capitaine.”
Conti said to me: “Have you told Captain Quesada what you have just said?”
“He has never asked.”
“Then kindly tell him.”
I told him.
Quesada said: “Tell Captain Conti that we are not children to be afraid of every shadow.”
Conti said: “Tell Captain Quesada that it was not a shadow which struck us last year and wrecked seven galleons and cost the lives of 2,000 men.”
Quesada said: “Tell Captain Conti that was November: we sailed unsound and unready at the command of a King who does not understand these things. This is September: we are well prepared and this boy is no judge of what we may expect. I have sailed off Ushant in September seas as calm as a lake.”
“Well prepared! ” said Conti. “I have complained to the Adelantado that my provisions are faulty and inadequate and my crew brought up to strength with raw youths. He pays no heed. We sail tomorrow it may be to victory but it may be to destruction!”
The Frenchman leaned across the table. “Do you not know, boy, that a flyboat reported this English fleet six days ago already approaching the Azores?”
“Then I am wrong.”
“Then what makes you say it?”
“Only Sir Walter Ralegh’s words last year when conferring with my Lord of Essex.”
“Which were?”
“The plan was talked of then, before the Cadiz expedition was mounted that a fleet should sail from England late in the year and then turn away for the Azores in order to lure an Armada to attack England while she was seemingly undefended. Then the English were to return in secret to England and wait for the weather to disable or damage your ships before they attacked …”
I concluded lamely: “Of course, it may not be so now. It may be true that England is undefended and that we can take her easily. But it makes me uneasy, that this should all be falling out according to a plan the English were discussing last year.”