Armada

The Rosario too had been left to her own fate. Her foremast had finally snapped and become entangled with the mainmast, a cataclysmic repercussion of the collision from which there could be no recovery. Evardo had watched from the Santa Clara as a patache was dispatched by Don Pedro de Valdés, the comandante of the Rosario, to Medina Sidonia’s flagship, no doubt requesting that the duke halt the Armada’s progress to allow for the Rosario to be repaired. The answer had come in a general order to all ships to retire to their positions.

Evardo suspected that his patron, Diego Flores de Valdés, who sailed on the San Martín, had had a hand in the decision to abandon the Rosario. His enmity for his cousin Don Pedro was well known, but Evardo also knew that Medina Sidonia was ruthlessly determined to carry out the orders of the King. The Armada’s objective could not be delayed. Evardo shuddered as he thought of the fate that awaited any ship that could not keep pace with the fleet.

The pre-dawn light slowly gave way to the rising sun. Evardo checked the line of his galleon with those surrounding him in the vanguard wing. The night had passed without incident. Mendez and the other sailing captains had kept their charges neatly in position and with the defensive crescent still firm Evardo’s thoughts went to the enemy. He looked aft, expecting to see the English fleet arrayed in battle formation behind the Armada, still holding doggedly to the weather gauge. The sea however was almost empty. Only in the far distance could he see the outlines of their masts and sails, and even these were scattered across the horizon.

‘Quarterdeck! Enemy ships off the larboard beam.’

Evardo spun around in disbelief, expecting subterfuge but instead he was greeted by the sight of three English ships close to the centre of the crescent, turning rapidly to escape. Evardo recognized the masthead standards on the lead ship. It was the English flagship; the Ark Royal, Admiral Howard’s galleon. The Spanish ships of the centre were not turning to engage, they were allowing the English admiral to escape unhindered. It was an appropriate response, Evardo conceded.

The abandonment of the San Salvador and the Rosario was an ignominious act brought about by necessity, but Medina Sidonia, being a Spanish duke and commander of the Armada, was still a man of honour. As such he would never deign to allow an enemy flagship to be overwhelmed in an unfair fight. It was a chivalrous decision. Evardo began to turn his attention away when suddenly he recognized the banners of one of the other ships. The Retribution.

He was immediately struck by an overwhelming urge to defy all convention and order his ship to attack. The English galleon was vulnerable. In the trailing vanguard wing the Santa Clara was still slightly upwind. Evardo had the weather gauge. There might never be another time.

With an enormous effort of will, Evardo fought his desire for revenge. He could not attack. He was bound both by duty and honour to hold fast, and he balled his hand into a trembling fist as he watched the nimble English galleon sail beyond his reach. It was a bitter concession to gallantry, particularly as the dishonourable nature of the English surprise attack on Cadiz had precipitated his disgrace. Evardo turned his back on the Retribution, consoling himself that there would be another time.

Robert called for the sails to be shortened as the Retribution, the Ark Royal and the Mary Rose came in contact with a flotilla of a dozen English warships and a handful of pinnaces. The Armada was over three miles to leeward. The Ark Royal turned and took the lead but with such a small number of ships to command there was little Howard could do beyond shadowing the enemy’s progress, so he dispatched the pinnaces to round up the rest of the fleet. Robert stood his crew down from battle stations and gave command of the watch over to Seeley.

The westerly wind was holding steady. It was a fair breeze, a perfect foil for the fearsome weapon Robert commanded and he looked in frustration at the enemy sailing unmolested along the coastline of England.

‘We were fortunate to escape,’ Robert heard, turning to find Seeley standing beside him.

‘We were more than fortunate. For Christ’s sake, Thomas, we spent the night following a Spanish stern light. Where in God’s holy name did the Revenge go?’

Seeley ignored the captain’s blasphemy and thought back.

‘When Drake’s light disappeared he must have changed course.’

‘And with the fleet scattered all to hell, we haven’t a chance of regrouping before the end of the day.’