The opportunity he had been seeking arose when several northern lords allied themselves with Scotland to usurp Elizabeth's throne. The Queen hastily convened the War Council.
Inside the packed Council Chamber, Burghley addressed the assembled lords, arguing that an army be dispatched north to the border country with all speed.
-:-:-
As usual on security matters, Elizabeth was quick to see the wisdom of Burghley's advice. With her nodding approval, he quickly appointed Lord Sussex head of the army and ordered him to smash the rebels so hard that they would never again threaten England.
As the Council meeting ended, Elizabeth spoke to Burghley privately.
"Are you aware that Sussex's own brother has joined the rebel forces?"
"Yes, Majesty."
"Is it wise to appoint Sussex our Commander-in-Chief when his brother fights against us?"
"Indeed it is, your Majesty. Sussex's appointment assures us a speedy victory."
"Why?"
"He'll fight like a barbarian, intent on atoning for his brother's disloyalty to your Majesty as quickly as possible."
"I see. Thank you, Burghley." The Queen turned to leave the empty Council Chamber.
"If your most gracious Majesty would kindly grant me a moment of your time, there is another pressing matter that I would like to discuss."
"What is it, Burghley?"
"Walsingham's spies have reported that Mary, Queen of Scots, is fomenting this rebellion, Majesty."
"Damn that interfering hussy's eyes!"
"'Tis said that young Thomas Howard, the Duke of Norfolk, is favorable to her cause, your Grace."
"Does he even know her?"
"They may have met secretly at Carlisle last May, Majesty. I am awaiting confirmation of that rumor. My men tell me that he is highly vulnerable to the Scottish Queen's charms..."
"But she has none, Burghley!" snapped Elizabeth in a sudden rage.
"Of course not, Majesty," Burghley agreed. With a polite bow, he began backing away towards the door.
"Wait. What do you counsel?"
"I see no reason for Norfolk not to be called into your Majesty's service in these latest troubles..."
"And die fighting?"
"Or fall prey to some battle camp sickness. We can have Sussex keep a careful eye on him."
"See that he is involved in the hottest part of the fighting, Burghley."
"Of course, Majesty. One final thought, if I may..."
"Yes?"
"His cousin, Oxford..."
Elizabeth nodded. "I met the Earl, years ago, an exceedingly learned lad. He's one of your wards, isn't he Burghley?"
"Oxford was the first boy kindly entrusted into my care by your most gracious Majesty. He and Norfolk are very close. Like his cousin, Oxford's only nominally a Protestant."
"You suspect him of aiding Norfolk?"
"I do," Burghley replied, nodding gravely. "Despite all my efforts, I fear that he is misusing his great learning in defense of the Old Faith."
"How long must we endure such heresies?"
"You may recall that we had the same problem with his father."
"Yes, of course. Does Oxford have a suit of armor?"
"Not yet, Majesty, although the lad is fully grown."
"See that he is fitted with one at once. Then send Oxford to aid his cousin on the battlefield."
"As you wish, Majesty."
-:-:-
In 1570, Edward rode through Aldersgate, the City of London's North gate, and turned his horse's head towards Scotland. His cousin, Thomas Howard, now the third Duke of Norfolk, accompanied him. They rode at the head of 80 gentlemen in livery and 100 yeomen. Each soldier wore Edward's crest, a silver five-pointed star, embroidered onto his tunic. Lumbering wagons loaded with supplies followed behind.
The cousins joined Lord Sussex in the border country between England and Scotland. They found his army camped on a rain-swept moorland preparing for imminent battle.
An aide escorted them to Sussex's tent. Inside, the red-faced commander paced angrily, full of barely restrained war lust. In place of a welcome, Edward and Thomas were given a quick briefing on the battle calls. With a hasty bow, the aide ushered them out of Sussex's tent.
As Edward and Thomas moved their soldiers into position, drums sounded and bagpipes wailed. Then, the booming of artillery began as cannon fire swept the open battlefield. Ear-splitting blasts filled the air, peppering thousands with shot.
Unfortunate warriors tumbled writhing to the ground, as if felled by an invisible ax. Then, the dead and dying were left behind as the two armies charged forward, yelling their battle cries. They clashed together like wild bears set on each other. Roaring, desperate, hand-to-hand fighting raged across the blood-soaked heather.
Deployed in the English vanguard, Edward and Thomas galloped forward stirrup to stirrup. They smashed into the Scottish ranks, methodically hacking their way through the press of men and armor.
When their horses were brought down, the cousins stood back to back, swinging their heavy broadswords as men fell all around them. Before the battle was over, each had saved the other's life some dozen times.
As darkness fell, Scotland's flags and banners hung in tatters. Elizabeth's forces had won the day. Retreating in confusion back across the border, her foes were massacred along with scores of innocent townspeople caught fleeing the fighting.
Early the next morning, Sussex, mindful of Elizabeth's instructions, launched a revenge campaign across the River Tweed into Scotland. His forces laid much of the land to waste. They burned towns, raped women, and strung up more than 800 rebels on gibbets.
-:-:-
Edward found this ugly bloodletting a far cry from his father's noble training with its emphasis on honor and chivalry. The savage killings he witnessed took a terrible toll on the young man. Night after night he hung between waking and sleeping, tossing and turning restlessly in his tall tent. Beads of sweat sprang from his forehead as grisly memories paraded behind closed eyes. Battle alarms and wild oaths mixed with slashing blades and the screams of victims trampled underfoot. Thundering cannons and pounding war drums startled him from sleep.
One night, as hard-riding, wide-eyed soldiers galloped headlong through his dreams, Edward's pounding heart woke him in a cold sweat, the stench of saltpeter clogging his nostrils. With a wild cry, he stumbled out of bed and grabbed up a pen, the cannon blasts still ringing in his ears.
Soon Edward was scratching out warnings against the dogs of civil war:
"Tell the traitor - for yonder methinks he stands -
That every stride he makes upon my land
Is dangerous treason. He is come to open
The purple Testament of bleeding war;
But ere the crown he looks for lives in peace,
Ten thousand bloody crowns of mother's sons
Shall ill become the flower of England's face,
Change the complexion of her maid-pale peace
To scarlet indignation and bedew
Her pastures' grass with faithful English blood."
Once again, Edward's pen grounded his fears; the words worked their healing magic.