Chapter One: The Great Anglo-Crusade
Part Five: The Italian Devil
Duke Alessandro Farnese of Parma and Piacenza grinned with pleasure. He had been waiting for this moment for years: the day he would invade England. After their constant meddling in his affairs against the rebellious Dutch, and the long struggle to get to this point, he was finally at the head of an army of 30,000 men [1] on its way to meet the English heathens. He had waited six days in Dunkirk for de Guzman to show, thus driving off those damned Dutch rebels. And then it took even longer to load all that they needed onto those blasted ships. Farnese was certain the English would attack, but they didn’t. De Guzman said he drove them off at Calais, and after more than a week without any sign of the English, he had no choice but to be suspicious. It was unlike them to sulk away in defeat.
But he would not let his suspicions ruin this moment for him. Now was his moment, the time of reckoning for the heretics.
It was a foggy morning on the 1st of August, 1588. Only by lantern could the Spanish ships sail. But any minute now, they would hear the call from the bird’s nest: “Inglatierra! Inglatierra!” and they would sail up the Thames estuary, and take London, cutting the head off the serpent. But instead of that, he heard a faint popping sound, soon followed by a thunderous boom. His suspicions had been correct—the English were attacking!
In the fog and chaos, Farnese was not sure what exactly was going on, but he barked orders for defensive positions and to ready the cannons. Blasts were heard all around, and the screams of men filled the air. Beneath it all was the steady sound of the ocean, calmly sighing with the sound of dying men. An hour passes before the fog broke, and the English ships were revealed, sailing away in a tattered ruin.
Farnese looked around. The Spanish ships were scattered, but there didn’t appear to be too much damage. Indeed, Christ was on their side.
After regrouping, the Armada continued into the estuary. Over the horizon, he could see smoke. Surely, this was where the English defense had gathered. Farnese licked his teeth as he grinned. The wrath of God would tear through these heretics, and soon England would be reclaimed for God and His Holiness Pope Sixtus V.
As the Spanish sailed up-river, they found the English encampment. Farnese’s army landed, and soon the meager defense of 4,000 at West Tibury was defeated, Sir Robert Dudley captured and beheaded.
The Spanish forces continued, both on foot and by ship down the Thames, sacking and burning as they moved. It would not be long before London was in their sights!
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[1] The Duke of Parma’s army at the time was around 16,000 but with the addition of forces from the Armada, the numbers grew.