Even Prince Edward, deep in papers of state (his father had taken this opportunity to pass some of the burden of government over to his heir), heard it. Prince Peter, inspecting the shipyards of Lisbon at his father’s side, felt the strange glamour of war. North in Porto, shouldering his burden alone, Prince Henry learned for the first time something of the splendors and miseries of high command.

Before long the ambassadors began to arrive. They came from Castile first; then from Aragon; and then from the Moors of Granada. To the first two countries King John gave every assurance of his friendship and good will. He had no intention of attacking them, he said, and they might be sure that he would always respect his pledges to them. With the Moors he was less inclined to waste fair words. Beyond assuring them that he had no intentions on Granada, he left them with the uncomfortable feeling that he might well be lying. Accordingly, they tried to secure the Queen’s good graces by offering gifts to her young daughter Isabel. The suggestion that her interest might be secured behind her husband’s back was enough to incense Queen Philippa. She was English, and in the words of the chronicler Azurara, “England is one of those nations that hate all infidels.” So the ambassadors from Granada went back with their report. They said they had been told officially that nothing was contemplated against their kingdom, but that in private they suspected the Portuguese preparations boded them no good. Granada began to garrison her coastline.

Attracted by the news of an impending war, knights, men-at-arms, and mercenaries from many countries began to flock to Portugal. It was an era when the professional soldier, like the later condottieri of Italy, would fight under any standard, provided that it was made worth his while. Many of them could have taken as their motto the cry of the Spanish Foreign Legion, “Viva la Muerte!”■—“Long Live Death!”—for it was only on the battlefield, or in the smoke of burning cities, that such men could earn a living. Among them, we learn, were “a puissant Baron from Germany and three great lords from France.” Also, among the ships that sailed in the armada were four provided “by a rich citizen of London.” His name was Mundy, and the ships were manned by English archers, the dreaded longbowmen.

It was while inquiry, supposition, and conjecture as to the fleet’s destination were at their height, that King John evolved a further stratagem. In order to silence the curious, and allay the suspicions of other nations, he would openly declare an enemy. The direction in which he made his feint was Holland.

Dispatching ambassadors to the court of Count William of Holland, King John instructed them to complain in public audience of piracy carried out against Portuguese merchants by Dutch ships. In public the ambassadors declared war on Holland, and in public Count William accepted the challenge. In private, however, he alone among the European monarchs was let into the secret. There was an exchange of gifts and good wishes between the two rulers, and the Portuguese ambassadors returned to Lisbon. A sigh of relief seemed to echo through the courts of Europe, and the news was quickly passed by the Moors of Granada to their brothers in North Africa.

At the age of fifty-eight King John was at the peak of his career. Neither the victory of Aljubarrota, nor even the great reforms of law and custom that distinguished his reign, show him at a higher level of ability. It was at this moment that personal tragedy struck him in the sickness and death of his wife. Had it not been for her last words, it is possible, even at that late hour, that he would have countermanded the expedition. But the Queen herself had said—had prophesied—that the fleet would sail by the feast of St. James. Besides, in action he might forget his sorrow.

“Will the fleet need long preparation?” he asked Prince Henry.

“You may embark now, Sire. Give the order to sail when you will. The only thing that needs be done is weigh anchor and set sail.”

“We shall leave then on Wednesday.