The Virgin's War (Tudor Legacy #3)(78)
All true enough, Elizabeth granted when forced to listen to it later that week in council. But along with her understanding of hard political realities, she also possessed in large measure her father’s gift for public relations. She knew how to choose information, how to highlight what she wished and shadow what she didn’t, how to inspire a population to devotion and pride and ferocity.
It proved the perfect opportunity to expel Ambassador de Mendoza from England. She had a final, stormy interview with the man, then told him to go back to Philip and assure the Spanish king that, just as Ireland had been freed, so England would never be enslaved. After Mendoza left London, Elizabeth convened her council with a clear message: make all the arguments you like in this chamber, but when you leave it is my message that you carry. Ireland is our first victory. The first victory, but not the last.
And to set her seal upon it, a special service was held at St. Paul’s in celebration and gratitude. Elizabeth loved such occasions, and this was no exception. Dressed in heavy and elaborate cloth-of-gold studded with pearls and moonstones, a six-inch cartridge pleated ruff, and a fall of stiff gauze from her shoulders that elevated her from queen to legend. Her appearance was as important a part of her reign as her policies—the people wanted a fairy queen, a Gloriana of more than earthly beauty and intelligence. She was heartened by the thunderous cheers of the crowds lining the streets, a reminder that her people loved her. That her people would fight for her.
Further evidence of that was provided in the next two weeks. As the bulk of the Spanish fleet continued its frantic preparations in Lisbon, a small number took to sea to test the English navy and scout what weaknesses might be revealed.
There were not many, save for the fact that England’s best sailors were not yet at sea but still preparing their commands. Drake and Raleigh could have easily turned the Spanish feints, but it was more important that they and their men and ships be prepared for the critical encounters to come. And so the Spanish effected a surprise attack on Penzance. It was a lightning strike, for they could never hope to hold a position with only fifty men, and certainly not with the bulk of the English fleet less than eighty miles away. But they pillaged and burned, rather in the manner of the northern border reivers, and left an uneasy film of fear behind when they fled. And, most devastating of all, Calais fell to the French eager to exploit England’s crisis.
In the aftermath, there were those of the queen’s advisors who pressed for the arrest of anyone who showed even the slightest attachment to the old religion. Walsingham, as always, warned of sinister conspiracies, and even the sensible Lord Burghley fretted about the “secret treasons of the mind and heart.” Elizabeth would not be moved. Jesuits and seminary priests might be treated as agents of an enemy power. And the queen conceded the necessity of placing the leading, most powerful, Catholic recusants under protective custody, sequestering their arms and horses. Further, she would not go.
Dominic Courtenay came to court after surveying the damage done by the Spanish raids, riding fast and hard and without his wife. Once the necessities of business were concluded—quickly and efficiently, as Dominic handled all things—Elizabeth indulged a more personal curiosity.
“Where is Minuette?” Her friend could often be persuaded to come to court without her husband, but rarely the other way around.
“At Tiverton, raising both troops and morale. Military leadership is thin on the ground, Your Majesty. She might be our best choice for the west country. With Kit in the North and Stephen in Scotland?” He shrugged. “There aren’t a lot of Courtenays to go around my family lands.”
“There is no need for Stephen to continue to sulk in Scotland. I have written to tell him so. He is needed here, wherever you think he should command.”
“With his company of mercenaries in tow?”
“I certainly hope so. This marriage of his should bring some reward.”
She waited for Dominic to protest that cynical statement, but he could stick to the point when necessary. “I am sure Stephen will serve. Whether he brings the mercenaries with him is a matter for his wife and the Scottish king.”
“As James Stuart does not seem in any hurry to provide more than token assistance to us at this point, he had damned well better release those mercenaries. Or I may tear up the marriage treaty myself.”
“For now,” Dominic said, “I have asked Julien to take a command with my men. The central counties are not in immediate danger—and if the Spanish get as far as Oxford, we have greater problems than who is commanding where. Lucette intends to go to Kenilworth and keep Nora Dudley company. Also, it’s a convenient spot from which to gather and send out information between North and South.”
“And your wife?”
“She insists on returning to the south coast,” he said wryly. “I have tried to persuade her to stay with you, but she is…stubborn. She insists on coming to Dover.”
“Just as well, for I intend to make a tour of the coast later this month. I’ll take Minuette with me, if you want greater security for her.”
“By traveling with the heretic queen who has been the target of Catholic assassins as long as she’s been on the throne? That is very secure, Your Majesty.” But his lips turned up at one corner as he spoke. “I suppose your council has already tried to persuade you from going about in public?”
“They have, so don’t bother. I have never been afraid of my people—I will not begin now.”