Armada

Armada
John Stack

The author of the Masters of the Sea series, is back with a standalone battle book that will blow all others out of the water.1587. Two nations are locked in bitter conflict. One strives for dominance, the other for survival.After decades of religious strife, Elizabeth sits on the throne of England. The reformation continues. Catholic revolts have been ruthlessly quashed, and Elizabeth has ordered the execution of her cousin, Mary Queen of Scots. On the continent bloody religious wars rage, but England stands apart, her surrounding seas keeping her safe from the land armies of her would-be enemies. Only at sea do the English show their teeth. Sea captains and adventurers, hungry for the spoils of trade from the Spanish Main, regularly attack the gold-laden galleons of Catholic Spain. They are terriers nipping at the feet of war-horses but their victories disrupt the treasury of Spain, England's greatest threat, and Elizabeth's refusal to rein in her sea-captains further antagonises Philip II.Thomas Varian is a captain in Drake's formidable navy, rising quickly through the ranks. But he guards a secret – one for which he would pay with his life if discovered: he is a Catholic. He is about to find his conflicting loyalty to his religion, to his Queen, and to his country tested under the most formidable of circumstances: facing the mighty Armada. Unknown to Varian, he will also be facing his long-estranged father, who is fighting on the side of the Spanish enemy…

Armada

JOHN STACK

For Richard John Moran

&

Frances Moran nee Varian

Table of Contents

Cover (#ud7b2056a-9ca7-5902-95e5-d68c84704e8a)

Title Page (#u9d6b1ba2-fee3-5e4d-ae91-995ca21916f4)

Dedication (#u33bc8579-2663-539f-b590-948a39816d63)

Prologue (#ued7bf858-060e-5250-942e-c9f9ea2c12a1)

Chapter 1 (#u4643afa8-f3d4-5771-b3a2-3a9301f0cf5f)

Chapter 2 (#uded248e5-7891-54d2-a7b5-b1af5143d3d6)

Chapter 3 (#u579e12a2-c5f2-5955-916b-615b4bd886f8)

Chapter 4 (#udf45ae7a-ce21-5dfd-8b66-69b159ec4028)

Chapter 5 (#u1c044276-6b16-5ea5-9696-d71b8e1f21b1)

Chapter 6 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 20 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 21 (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Historical Note (#litres_trial_promo)

Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo)

Also by John Stack (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)

PROLOGUE

18th February 1587. Fotheringhay, England.

Dawn arrived slowly, the dull winter sunlight moving stealthily through the single window into the candle lit chamber, its soulless grey rays drawing all colour from the room. The lady knelt in prayer seemed almost like a statue, her pale skin and white veil stark against a black satin dress. The castle was finally quiet after hours of constant noise and the servants kneeling behind their sovereign listened intently to her murmured words of prayer, catching only snippets of the words spoken in a mix of languages.

Footsteps echoed from the hallway and the servants’ eyes darted towards the door. The lady remained motionless, a brief pause in her incantations the only outward sign that she was aware of the outside world. The knock reverberated through the still air.

‘It is time,’ a voice shouted through the door. ‘The lords are waiting.’

‘Let them wait,’ the lady replied, turning her head slightly, ‘I have not yet finished my prayers.’

Her tone was one of command, steadfast and firm, and the voice outside did not protest. The servants looked once more to their charge, drawing courage from her composure. They bowed their heads as she continued her prayers, stifling their tears in a bid to preserve the solemnity of these final moments.

Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots, rose and turned to her faithful retainers. They had been with her for many years, some throughout her nineteen years of captivity. She spoke to each in turn, handing them tokens of her affection, keepsakes and purses that contained all that was left of her meagre wealth, before motioning to her personal groom. It was time.

The groom took down the crucifix from the altar and, holding it aloft before him, escorted his Queen from the room and along the corridor towards the great hall of the castle. The servants followed. As they neared the entrance the Queen turned to them one last time to bid them farewell. Her emissary fell to his knees and wept but she drew him up and embraced him.

‘Tell my friends I died a true woman to my religion,’ she said and again her retinue took strength from her, her lady- in-waiting adjusting the folds of the Queen’s dress one last time on the threshold of the great hall.

The vast room was in silence, save for the spark and crack of a fire in the huge hearth, but the eyes of three hundred spectators were turned to the Queen as she made her entrance. Steps led up to the black-velvet-draped scaffold in the centre. They watched her in awe, her grace and calm preserving the significance of the moment. A slight smile played across her face as she fingered the small crucifix and prayer book in her hands.