All of which bought us time. Elizabeth was furious, but she would not give up. With Essex gone she would send another, this one more versed in military strategy and less awed by stories of Irish devils with flashing swords and flying steeds. This time it would be a man less moved by emotion and unlikely to ride into London in the middle of a snowstorm and surprise Her Majesty in her private chambers. My stomach turned to imagine such a scene, for Essex was ten years my junior and Elizabeth was old enough to be my grandmother. My father sent Rory to Spain to once again appeal to Philip for help. The loss of his three armadas and the treatment of the Spanish survivors by the O’Flahertys of Galway four years before did not bode well for my husband’s journey. A thousand men died in those waters off the western coast of Ireland and too many on shore after surviving the shipwreck. Because of a blood feud Liam O’Flaherty of the isles aided the storm-tossed Spaniards while Cormack O’Flaherty of Galway butchered their comrades as they struggled to shore.
