“No, Your Majesty,” replies Guy with sudden inspiration, “I do not appeal for succor for the Gueux. Don’t give them any!”
“Why not?” asks Queen Elizabeth, who is unaccustomed to being advised so freely outside of her Privy Council.
“For these reasons: If you give them provisions and drink, they will stay here, and be your guests and pensioners as long as your hospitality holds out.”
“Out on the lazy rascals they would eat me out of castle and kingdom,” grumbles Her Majesty.
“Twenty-five vessels are a fleet. They have left the Netherlands, that leaves Alva’s hands so much more free to deal with you.”
“Then you would refuse them food?”
“Yes,” replies Guy. “Not a barrel of provisions.”
“But they have no water.”
“Not a barrel of water. Provision them and water their ships, and, though they be ordered from England, they will not go back to the Netherlands. The Spanish Main, where booty is thick for bold hands like theirs, will perchance be more to their liking than Alva’s hard knocks. Give them nothing but powder and ball. Then they must sail to near-by port. They dare not go to France, they must go back straight at Alva’s throat, and twenty-five vessels of them are a power that may change the whole course of military events. They have been weak before because they were never banded together. Now there is unity. Give them powder, Your Majesty, give them powder and ball for him of Alva!”
“Ho! ho! Make ’em fight for their dinners! Gadzooks!” cries Her Majesty. “My Sir Guy Chester, uses not only his sword, but his head. What say you, Burleigh?”