She had appointed Robert Lieutenant and General of her Armies and Companies. That would show everyone what she thought of him. That would make it clear that in adversity they stood together, as they had stood when Amy Robsart had died and he had been accused of her murder.

She trusted him; he was her beloved; he was again her Eyes; he was the only man she would have married if she had decided to take a husband.

Robert had divided his forces into two armies—one of which he had stationed at St. James’s, the other at Tilbury. They would be ready, those soldiers of his, to defend their country if the dons dared to land. But Howard and Drake and their men were determined they should never land. Would English seamen give the victory to English soldiers? Never! England owed her prosperity to her seamen—so said Drake—and he was bent on capturing the credit for himself.

Elizabeth wished to be with her armies at such a time—and was not Robert at the head of those armies? She sent a dispatch to him, telling him of her determination to see and talk with her soldiers.

His answer came back.

“Your person,” he wrote, “is the most sacred and dainty thing that we have in the world to care for, and a man must tremble when he thinks of it …”

He would have preferred her, he said, to have stayed in the safest place in England.

“Yet I will not that in some sort so princely and so rare a magnanimity should not appear to your people and the world as it is …”

She read the letter through many times; she kept it with her; she kissed it often, as she used to kiss his letters in the early days.

When she reached Tilbury, gay with flags, Robert met the barge to the sound of thundering cannon, and rode with her in a coach decorated with diamonds, emeralds, and rubies.

She was truly noble as she went among her soldiers. This she knew to be the greatest moment of her country’s history; therefore it was Elizabeth’s greatest moment. Her fear had left her; she no longer believed in the possibility of defeat. The odds might seem against the English. The Spaniards had the ships; they had the ammunition; but they had not Elizabeth; they had not Drake; they had not—and this was their greatest lack—the calm knowledge that they could not fail.

There at Tilbury she mounted a great horse and, holding a truncheon in her hand, she sat more like a soldier than a woman; and thus she addressed them:

“My loving people, we have been persuaded by some that are careful of our safety to take heed how we commit ourself to armed multitudes for fear of treachery. But I assure you, I do not desire to live to distrust my faithful and my loving people. Let tyrants fear. I have always so behaved myself that, under God, I have placed my chiefest strength and safeguard in the loyal hearts and goodwill of my subjects; and therefore I am come amongst you, as you see, at this time, not for my recreation and disport, but being resolved, in the midst of the heat and battle, to live or die amongst you all, to lay down for my God, and for my kingdom, and for my people, my honor and my blood, even in the dust. I know I have the body of a weak and feeble woman, but I have the heart and stomach of a king, and a king of England too, and think foul scorn that Parma or Spain, or any prince of Europe, should dare to invade the borders of my realm; to which, rather than any dishonor shall grow by me, I myself will take up arms, I myself will be your general, judge, and rewarder of every one of your virtues in the field. I know, already for your forwardness, you have deserved rewards and crowns; and we do assure you, in the word of a prince, they shall be duly paid you.”

This speech of the Queen’s put courage into the hearts of all those who heard it. She was invincible, as she had always known she would be, for, foolish though she might be, vain, coquettish, ill-tempered, selfish—when the occasion arose, she had the gift of greatness.

And the Armada sailed into the English Channel.

It was Spain’s tragedy that, with the finest ships in the world, with the best ammunition and equipment, she was doomed to failure. Her commander had no wish for the task which he had implored the King to give to another. His seamen were afraid of El Draque, the Dragon, that Englishman whom they believed to be no ordinary man, but one possessed of superhuman power, and destined to destroy them. They had seen him in action, and no ordinary man was ever so fearless as El Draque. He had sailed calmly into Cadiz Harbor and burned and pillaged the ships which lay at anchor there; he had delicately referred to this operation as “Singeing the Beard of the King of Spain.” He had sailed the high seas, and he had come back with Spanish treasure rich enough to fortify his country against Spain. The Devil was at work here, and Spaniards feared the Devil.

It was England’s glory that, with her little ships, ill-equipped, her sailors short of food, with sickness aboard and a tragic lack of shot and powder, she was invincible. She believed in victory. She had not the hope that she would win; she had the knowledge that she could not fail.

The fight was not of long duration.

The Spaniards were outclassed in courage and the genius of seamanship which the world had already seen displayed by Drake.

The battle raged. The fire-ships were sent among the Spaniards who were beaten before a storm arose to make their disaster complete.

England was saved. The might of Spain was broken.

The Inquisition would never come to the Queen’s England.

It was the greatest hour of a proud reign.

The Queen of half an island had set herself against the mightiest monarch in the world; and a small, courageous nation had beaten and broken the power of mighty Spain.

All through the towns and villages there was rejoicing such as had never before been known. The church bells rang out. With the appearance of the first stars the bonfires were lighted. Revelry was heard throughout the land.

Robert wrote to the Queen that he longed to be with her, but the fever which had troubled him so often had returned and he was going to Kenilworth, and thence to Leamington to take the baths, that he might not present himself until he felt well enough to enjoy that which gave him more delight than anything in the world—the company of his beloved and gracious mistress.

In the course of his journey he paused at a mansion in Rycott, and there he wrote to her again.

“I most humbly beseech Your Majesty to pardon an old servant who is so bold as to write and ask how my gracious lady doth. The chiefest thing in the world I do pray for is for her to have good health and a long life. I hope to find a perfect cure at the bath and with the continuance of my wonted prayer for Your Majesty’s most happy preservation, I humbly kiss your foot.”

She read this through several times and tenderly put it into the box where she kept his letters.

Then she went forth to the rejoicing.

It was September, less than a month after she had talked to her soldiers at Tilbury, when Kat brought the news to her.

Kat came and knelt before her and, lifting her face to that of her mistress, could find no words. Elizabeth looked into this dear friend’s face and, seeing the tears flow slowly down her cheeks, she herself was afraid to speak.

She feared this news. She wanted to run from it; but she was calm as she would always be in the important moments of her life, whatever sorrow they might bring her.

“What is it, sweet Kat? Do not be afraid.”

Still Kat could not speak.

“Mayhap I know,” said Elizabeth. “He looked so sick when I last saw him.”

“It was at Cornbury near Oxford, Your Majesty. It was the continual fever. It returned more violently and … he did not rise from his bed.”

The Queen did not speak. She sat very still. She was thinking: So he died near Oxford—near Cumnor Place. It is twenty-eight years since they found her at the foot of the stairs. Oh, Robert, Robert … never to see your face again! But we have been so near, so close in all things. Dearest Eyes, why have I lost you? How can I be aught but blind to the joy in life without you?

“Dearest …” said Kat; and she threw her arms about the Queen and sobbed wildly.

Elizabeth was quiet while the tears flowed down her cheeks. Suddenly she spoke: “In the streets they are still shouting Victory, Kat. I have a warm place in their hearts. They love me—their Queen—as they never loved King or Queen before me. Once I thought that was my dearest wish … so to be loved, Kat, by my own people. Our country is safe from danger; and I, who should be the happiest woman in the world, am the most wretched.”

“Dearest, do not speak,” implored Kat. “It hurts you so, sweetest Majesty.”

“I will speak,” she said. “I will speak through my tears and my torment. I loved him. I always loved him; and I shall love him till I die. Philip has lost his Armada, but mayhap he is not less happy this night than I. For I have lost Robert, sweet Robin, my love, my Eyes.”

Now she began to give way to her grief, and her sobs were so violent that they frightened Kat, who threw her arms about the Queen once more and comforted her.

“Dearest, remember your life lies before you. You are a Queen, my darling. My dearest, there is much left for you. You are no ordinary woman to cry for a lost lover. You are a Queen—and Queen of England.”

Then Elizabeth looked at Kat and, laying her hands gently on her shoulders, kissed her. “You are right, Kat. You are right, dear friend. I am the Queen.”

Then she went to the box wherein she kept his letters. She took out the one she had received but a few days before, and calmly she wrote upon it: “His last letter.”