Armada полностью

For a moment Evardo did not reply although he knew the reason, or at least suspected. It now seemed probable that Medina Sidonia had yet to receive any response from Parma and was halting the Armada for fear of going to leeward of the disembarkation port, whichever one that might be. It was a disturbing development. Evardo’s unease showed in his expression.

‘You suspect something’s wrong?’ de Córdoba asked.

Evardo looked around and leaned forward. He lowered his voice, fearful that one of the crew might overhear, and explained his assessment of the situation.

‘And what of Calais?’ de Córdoba asked. ‘Maybe Medina Sidonia has received news that Parma is waiting there?’

Evardo shook his head. ‘Calais is controlled by French Catholics. They might be sympathetic to our cause, but they would never open their gates to the Army of Flanders, no more than a Spanish city would allow a French army to enter. No, Parma has certainly commandeered one of the ports he already holds in Flanders to embark his army.’

‘Then we will soon know which one,’ de Córdoba said with confidence.

Evardo nodded, although he did not share his captain’s certainty. He turned his attention to the lie of his ship and Mendez’s commands as the sailing captain brought the Santa Clara in closer to the shore.

While still a half mile from the port Mendez called for the sails to be furled and, soon after, for the bow anchor to be released. The bow of the Santa Clara swung around on the anchor cable as the flukes took hold in the sandy bottom. As the prow came up to the wind Mendez called for a smaller stern anchor to be released, securing the galleon amidst her sister warships in the rearguard. Evardo immediately looked to the four points of his galleon and the surrounding seascape.

Calais was situated on a near featureless coastline, with neither a headland or sea stack to mitigate the strong cross currents fed by the local tidal streams. The Armada had halted in a very exposed anchorage and the deck of the Santa Clara heaved aggressively as the wind clawed at her fore and aft castles.

Evardo turned his attention to the English who were still in formation three miles to windward. Given their position, and the disadvantageous conditions, Calais roads was one of the worst possible anchorages for the Armada, but there was no better anchorage further east, certainly none that could accommodate the larger ships. Also along the coast, beginning not a mile off shore, were the dreaded Banks of Flanders, a hazard that had claimed innumerable ships over the centuries. Medina Sidonia had to communicate with Parma before proceeding. There was no other option but to wait.

Perhaps it was true that the English fleet could not be defeated in battle, not when their more nimble ships had the advantage of the weather gauge and they were intent on using only their cannon to fight. It mattered little. The Armada had weathered every attack and while the crew of the Santa Clara and many other vessels had endured severe casualties, not one ship had been lost to enemy fire. The Armada had reached the Flemish coast intact. They had fulfilled the divine orders of the King.

Contact with Parma had yet to be made but de Córdoba was right, they would soon know which port the army had chosen. Then the anticipated rendezvous could take place and the Armada would escort the invasion fleet across the Channel. Parma’s troop ships would sail unmolested in a cocoon of warships, a defensive formation that the enemy could not break. The Army of Flanders would land in England and the heretic Queen would be cast down to Hell.

Here, now, in the waters off Calais, God’s will was being done and Evardo lifted his eyes to the heavens as he uttered a prayer of contrition for ever having doubted the success of His enterprise. On this day there could be no doubt. After years of planning, months of preparation, weeks of sailing and days of battle, victory was indeed within the grasp of the Spanish Armada.

CHAPTER 19

5 p.m. 7th August 1588. Calais, France.

‘Six days,’ one of the comandantes repeated with horror, his words hanging in the silence that engulfed the spacious aft-cabin of La Rata Encoronada. Evardo stood amongst the group of two dozen men, his mind reeling from the news just delivered by Don Alonso de Leiva and the inevitable dire consequences such a delay would precipitate.

‘Yes,’ de Leiva repeated. ‘The Army of Flanders will not be ready to sally out for another six days. The Duke of Parma has already begun the process of loading the men and equipment onto their transports in Dunkirk but before now he had been waiting for news of our arrival.’

‘But what of the pataches sent to warn him?’ someone asked.