Armada

they might refit and restock in a Scandinavian or Scottish port. Their fate and course was unknown. Howard had been forced to keep the fleet on alert in the waters off Dover.

The first cases of pestilence surfaced within days. Crowded together, with shortened rations, the flux had spread rapidly throughout the fleet. On the Retribution alone nearly half the crew were struck down by the terrible disease. Few had survived. As one of the more heavily engaged ships in the battles against the Armada, the Retribution had suffered twelve killed in combat. The flux took more than six times that number, nearly a third of the crew. Little or nothing had been done to relieve their plight and every entreaty from the fleet commanders to the Privy Council had been all but ignored.

After four weeks the fleet was finally given leave to stand down, but by then it was too late for many. Through eyes closed against the sun Robert pictured the faces of those who had died – his old comrade and master’s mate Miller, the boatswain Shaw, the master gunner Larkin, and dozens more who would remain with him forever.

He turned and began to pick his way through the ruins, looking for signs of where the ground had been disturbed. He thought of Thomas Seeley and their parting earlier that morning.

‘Home to recuperate,’ Seeley had answered when asked by Robert what he would do next.

They had been standing on the main deck of the Retribution, at the head of the gangplank onto Plymouth docks.

‘And what then, Thomas? We sail in two weeks to Dover for refit, and the Retribution needs a Master.’

Seeley had nodded, looking past Robert to the range over the galleon. He had turned to leave but Robert had stopped him, offering his hand.

‘Thank you, Thomas. For everything. I hope I’ll see you again.’

For a heartbeat Seeley had hesitated, a shadow passing over his face. He had taken Robert’s hand, but only briefly. ‘You will, Captain.’

Seeley had then taken a small cloth parcel from his pocket and handed it to Robert before walking down the gangplank and away along the docks without a backward glance.

Robert stopped as he spotted a mound in the centre of a small clearing in the ruins. It was covered by dense undergrowth, a sign that the earth had been recently turned over and richer soil had been uncovered. He walked over to it and looked down at the grave, his thoughts returning to the night Father Blackthorne had died, and of his father and how they had fought, sword against sword in the darkness.

Robert knelt down. He reached into his pocket and took out the cloth parcel Seeley had given him, opened it and took out the silver crucifix and marble statuette of the Blessed Virgin Mary. They felt light in his hand. They were all that remained of his father. His body had been cast into the sea, along with the other Englishmen who had died in battle.

He pulled out a clump of weeds from the mound and dug a small hole in the loose soil, placing the crucifix within it. He closed his eyes and prayed, for Father Blackthorne and for Nathaniel Young. He buried the icon, hoping that its presence would sanctify the ground that held the body of his confessor. He stood up and examined the statuette in his hand. He looked at its base, his finger tracing the inscription, Young. It was the only physical link that remained to his real name and he slipped the statuette into his pocket.

Robert returned to where his horse was tethered. He mounted and looked up one last time at the summit of the motte, wondering if another Catholic priest would one day take responsibility for Father Blackthorne’s flock and recite mass amidst the ruins. Robert would never know. Although his faith remained strong, he would never again return to the motte. That part of his life was behind him, not forgotten but gone forever. He kicked his horse into a canter. He was Sir Robert Varian, knight of the realm, a loyal recusant and captain of the Retribution. As he passed Saint Michael’s, he turned his mount towards Brixham, and home.

HISTORICAL NOTE

As the Armada sailed north from the Banks of Flanders on the 9th August 1588 few considered the battle to be over. The Spanish fleet had reformed into their defensive formation and in a council of war held on board the San Martin the senior commanders voted unanimously to turn around, if conditions allowed, and make a second attempt to link up with Parma. But in many ways it was a hollow resolution. They had been badly mauled. Many ships were struggling to keep up with the fleet and few believed they could force their way through an enemy fleet that had already defeated them in pitched battle.

What they did not know however was that the English pursuing them to windward were no longer capable of continuing the fight. They were sailing in good order. Their warships had sustained only minimal damage and they now knew that the key to victory was to close to within arquebus shot before discharging their heavy guns. But at that moment such knowledge was worthless for their shot lockers were empty and they were desperately short of victuals.

The English commanders were equally concerned as to what the enemy might attempt next. They had sunk one Spanish warship and driven two more onto the shoals but against such a large fleet these were mere scratches and the Armada as a whole remained intact. The enemy seemed far from beaten. Ahead of them lay Scottish and Scandinavian ports where they could regroup before returning south to renew their campaign. To the rear of the English fleet Parma was continuing to embark his invasion army.

In the end, however, Gravelines proved to be the last encounter of the campaign. On the 10th August Medina Sidonia ordered the fleet to return to Spain via a route around Scotland and Ireland and into the north Atlantic. The English fleet, as Howard described, ‘put on a brag countenance and gave chase,’ shadowing the Armada until the Firth of Forth while Seymour returned to the Channel with his squadron to guard against a crossing by Parma. Over a week later the Privy Council deemed it safe enough for Elizabeth to travel to her army massed at Tilbury where she delivered her famous speech.

From the moment of its conception, few in Spain doubted the enormity of the challenges facing any attempt to invade the shores of England. Many strategies were advanced by senior advisors and commanders but ultimately King Philip chose a plan that would require two forces, a naval Armada and the Duke of Parma’s Army of Flanders, to link up and bridge the English Channel. From the beginning Philip was deeply involved with every aspect of the campaign and communication between Santa Cruz in Lisbon and Parma in Holland was channelled through the King’s office, ensuring that Philip was privy to every decision.

The seafarers of the Spanish Empire were masters of their craft but the more experienced naval officers of the Armada knew the English navy would be difficult to defeat. The speed and nimbleness of the English ships was already renowned, as was their superior prowess in gunnery, and Spanish concerns were reinforced by the panic and delays caused by Drake’s attack on Cadiz in 1587.

Despite these reservations King Philip contended that the English would either have to engage in ship-to-ship combat or flee before the Armada. For a time it seemed his words were prophetic. Spanish military discipline was second to none and apart from one incident on the first day of battle, when ships of de Recalde’s wing retreated, the Armada remained in strict formation while under English guns, allowing it to sail the entire length of the English Channel without the loss of a single ship to enemy fire.

Faith also played a large part in the planning of the Armada enterprise and its power should not be underestimated. Philip was a devout Catholic and any shortcomings that were recognized were confidently excused in the knowledge that God would assist their every endeavour. This depth of faith was prevalent on both sides and is evident in much of the correspondence between commanders and their superiors.

Don Alonso Perez de Guzman (‘el Bueno’), Duke of Medina Sidonia, was one of the most senior nobles in Spain and his administrative skills made him an ideal choice to replace Santa Cruz who, though a highly experienced military commander, had few. Medina Sidonia was faced with a mammoth task when he arrived in Lisbon to take charge in February 1588. His reluctance to accept the post is well documented but his subsequent actions bear witness to his determination once his position was confirmed and he swiftly brought order to anarchy in Lisbon.

Many historians have directed a large portion of the blame for the Armada’s ultimate failure at Medina Sidonia, citing his limited naval combat experience and his lack of initiative. The duke however knew his limits and he continually sought and followed the guidance of his highly competent military advisors. The Armada might have