Текст книги "Portuguese Affair"
Автор книги: Ann Swinfen
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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 18 страниц)
Chapter Fourteen
As my horse thundered up the hill, back the way we had come, his head was lowered and his ears back, and his gasping breath beat time to the drumming of his hooves on the hard ground. My own heart pounded in my ears to the same relentless rhythm. If we did not escape this evil man, I would be betrayed to the Inquisition. I was no longer a child, no longer under the protection of a mother who would do anything, anything, to protect me. I would be stripped and tortured and endure all that she had endured. No confession, no penance would save me now. Everything that she had suffered to ensure that I lived would all go for nothing. I would be for the fire. I crouched low over the horse’s neck, my fingers entangled in the reins and the harsh hair of his mane, which lashed against my face. My eyes closed, I could smell the stench of burning flesh.
I was only conscious of entering the forest when the heat of the sun on my back was suddenly replaced by a flood of cool air. I opened my eyes. The arms of the trees embraced me, welcoming. A soft green had replaced the harsh glare and the stony ground of the farm, beneficent as a blessing. I drew a long, shuddering breath. The horse was almost beyond control, terrified by the baying of the dog at his heels and his instinctive sense of my own terror. The dog had been left behind, but only after he had managed to sink his teeth briefly into the horse’s leg. I had been barely aware of that, and of the horse kicking out to free himself of the vicious animal.
I must get the horse under control.
I straightened in the saddle and slowly, slowly, eased the horse back from his panic-stricken gallop to a slow canter. He was still gasping and his neck was dark with sweat. I thought of how the piebald Hector could gallop effortlessly on and on, but then I had never ridden him when he was as frightened as this horse was. Slower. Slower. Down to a nervous, broken trot, then a walk. He was shivering now, partly from nerves, partly from the cool forest air on his sweat-drenched coat.
We had come to the place where I had stopped before, beside the stream. I drew back on the reins. There was no longer any sound of pursuit. The man had no chance of catching us and the dog had disappeared after the horse had kicked him away. I slid down off the horse and my legs buckled under me, so that I collapsed on the ground, the reins still in my hands pulling the horse’s head down with me. The ground was cushioned with the accumulation, year upon year, of leaf litter and pine needles, and for a few minutes I did not even try to get up or release the horse. We both needed time for our hearts to steady and our breathing to return to normal.
At last I clambered to my feet. My legs were still shaking and I leaned against the horse’s shoulder. He blew anxiously into my ear, leaving a trail of foam on my cheek.
‘Poor fellow,’ I said, as calmly as I could, running my hand reassuringly down his neck. ‘That was a bad moment, wasn’t it?’
I unbuckled the cheek strap and slipped the bit out of his mouth, then led him to the stream. He was anxious to drink, but I would let him take only a little at first, in case he did himself harm. Strong and enduring as they may appear, horses can be delicate creatures. When he had taken the edge off his thirst, I led him back a little way from the stream, where there was a patch of grass between the trees. As he relaxed and began to graze, I opened my satchel and found a salve for the dog bite. Fortunately it was not deep. The creature had drawn blood but had not been able to clamp his great jaws too tightly, so there was no serious harm. The horse’s skin twitched as I spread the salve over the wound, and he raised his head briefly from the grass, then returned to it.
Once I had seen to the injury, I tore up a handful of grass and set to, rubbing the sweat off his coat. He still shivered from time to time, but there was some warmth in this open glade between the tall trunks, where westering sunlight fell slantwise, helping to dry his skin. When I felt he was at ease again, I allowed him another drink, kneeling beside him on the bank and scooping up water in my cupped hands to drink myself, for I was aware that my mouth was dry and my throat sore, as if I had been weeping for hours, yet I was dry-eyed now, though my cheeks were stiff with salt. I was aware only of a terrible emptiness where there had once been hope. I knew I ought to eat something before my strength failed me, but my stomach heaved at the thought.
I got to my feet, eased the bridle back into place, and mounted again. The only way to go at first was back through my grandfather’s estate, but I would not call at the house again. The horse was calm and seemed to have totally forgotten his fright as I urged him to a slow but steady canter that he should be able to sustain for a long while. When the manor house came into sight, I turned my back on its white walls, as they flushed a soft pink in the setting sun, and rode away, my mind in turmoil, shying away from the joyous thoughts which had filled it when I had approached only that morning.
Darkness was falling when we reached the bridge over the river Montego and there was no one about, not even a shepherd with a flock of sheep. Although he had crossed it quite willingly before, the horse baulked now. Perhaps he had not quite forgotten his earlier terror after all. Or perhaps the unchancy light of a rising full yellow moon, glancing off the water like fire, alarmed him. He would only consent to cross when I dismounted and led him over, encouraging him with soft words.
I knew I could not go much further that day, nor could the horse. Wearily we climbed up to the belt of woodland where we had spent the previous night, though I could hardly believe that only a day had passed since then. I found the stream again, but lower down. It was an adequate place to spend the night. The countryside was empty all around, no light shining from cottage or farm. Once again I removed the horse’s saddle and bridle and fixed the hobble so that he could graze, but not wander too far. In fact, he was well trained. He knew to stay near his rider.
The previous night I had given little thought to any dangers here in this woodland, far from human habitation, but it occurred to me now that there were likely to be wild boar in the forest, and possibly wolves as well. A boar was unlikely to trouble me unless first attacked, but I was less sure about wolves. The smell of a horse and a human would reach them from some distance and a horse is a natural prey. He could do little to protect himself. I wished I had my dog Rikki with me. He had shown himself courageous once before in protecting me from an attack – human not vulpine. I shivered. Whatever the thoughts eating into my mind, I must keep up my vigilance and my strength, and to sustain both, I must eat.
The thought of food still revolted me, but I forced myself to eat almost the last of my supplies – a little dried meat and some bread so stale I had to soak it in water from the stream before I could chew it. Despite the heat of the day, it grew chilly under the trees as darkness fell. I had no blanket, but I unrolled the cloak I had brought strapped behind my saddle and huddled into that for warmth. Even with the cloak I began to shiver uncontrollably, so that with the detached, analytical part of my brain I knew I was suffering from the delayed effects of shock. As a physician I had observed it in patients who had survived a near fatal accident. After such an experience, overpowering cold would seize the body. It could also happen to soldiers. Sustained by courage and excitement and violence throughout a battle, they would often begin this shaking after it was over. I had heard of it many times, and witnessed it for myself at Coruña. It was not fear. Somehow the body needed to restore the balance of humours after great physical effort or mental shock. I tried to regard myself dispassionately as a physician examining a patient. It did little good.
My mind recoiled from those scenes on the farm. Though I shrank from the thought of them, I must try to decide what to do. Was Isabel truly damaged in her mind? At times it had seemed so, when she looked as me with those vacant eyes. But then at other times she had clearly recognised me and at the end she had said, rationally enough, that she could not leave the children. Any mother would have done the same. And she had begged me to leave, to save myself, for I could do nothing to help her. Nay, I did not believe her mind was gone. I was sure, however, that she lived in perpetual terror of that man. I realised I did not even know his name. He must be the son of the older tenants of my grandfather, so he was a da Roca, but his first name had never been mentioned.
If our expedition was successful and Dom Antonio gained his throne, it might be possible for me to gain his help in wresting Isabel from the power of that man. If it could be proved that he was not married to her, he could have no claim to own her. It might be possible. I must cling to that hope. We had still to make our way to Lisbon and seize the capital, but the Dom was confident the people would rise in his favour. So much depended on so many imponderables, but I began to feel a small glimmer of hope. I lay back on the rough grass and watched the stars, brilliant in the dark sky, growing more intense as the moon sailed over to the west and began to sink toward the horizon. At some time in the dark hours, despite my intention to keep watch, I fell finally to sleep.
The following day I continued to retrace my route back toward Peniche, but I did not seek out the inn where I had stayed on my first night. Instead, I slept again in the open. The horse seemed fully recovered now, though it was clear he was growing weary. I still found it difficult to eat anything. Although there remained an end of cheese and some dried figs and apricots in my satchel, the very sight of food turned me dizzy with nausea, so I left them untouched. As I headed along the coast, I avoided the fishing villages, shying away from the kind woman and the children, riding now with an aching head and dogged purpose to reach the expedition again. I was light-headed from lack of food and exhaustion, but there was nothing else to do but simply ride on. Once more I avoided the towns, until I came at last to the isthmus leading to the peninsula of Peniche.
Less than a week after I had left, I was back at the royal camp. I returned my good horse to the garrison stables just inside the town gate with thanks to the master of cavalry, and bought the gallant animal a feed of bran mash and the best oats, for without him I could not have regained the safety of this small kingdom of Dom Antonio’s. Before leaving, I checked that the wound inflicted by the farmer’s dog was healing cleanly. I parted with the horse somewhat sadly, for we had endured much together. He had provided unquestioning companionship, but I dreaded what I might be asked about my private expedition when I rejoined the English force.
The town seemed strangely deserted. When I had left, the English soldiers and sailors had been in evidence everywhere in the streets, visiting the ale-houses and brothels, buying trinkets from market stalls, eating in the Portuguese equivalent of a London ordinary and enjoying the change from ship’s biscuit and salt cod. Here they would be able to eat fresh food, especially the sardines for which the area was famous. And no doubt they had been enjoying the local wine. Now hardly anyone was to be seen, not even the local inhabitants. Some children, playing in the street, looked up as I came away from the stable, sucking their thumbs and watching me in silence, wide-eyed. A young woman, carrying a baby, nodded to me, but did not smile, while an old crone, sitting on a stool before her doorway, turned on me a look that was almost malevolent. As I neared our quarters, I began to dread that our soldiers had once again gone on the rampage. It was only when I walked down to the harbour that I understood why the town, so crowded when I left, seemed half deserted now. The harbour was empty, save for a few fishing boats and a dozen or so skiffs. The entire English fleet had gone.
Had I been abandoned while I had been absent? What would I do if I found myself now alone in Peniche, with little money and no means of making my way home to England? I walked as fast as I could to the citadel, almost running in my panic. As I came within the walls of the fortress, I was relieved to see that I had not, after all, been abandoned. The whole central court was filled with our ragbag army, rounded up and milling about aimlessly. Some of Norreys’s officers were shouting orders, which were mostly ignored. The soldiers were all carrying knapsacks and wearing full or half armour. A few officers were mounted, also in armour, and there were more horses tethered outside the sleeping quarters.
When I reached the rooms which had been allocated to our Portuguese party, I found Dr Nuñez sitting on a bed in his shirt sleeves, attended by his servant, who was strapping the doctor’s few possessions into a knapsack.
‘Good,’ said Dr Nuñez, with a smile. ‘I was afraid you would not reach us in time.’
‘What has become of the fleet?’ I asked, flinging myself down on one of the other beds and prising off my boots to ease my feet, for I had not taken them off, day or night, since I had left Peniche. My feet stank like rotting meat. Although I had been riding, not walking, the heat had caused my feet to swell and the stiff leather had rubbed blisters on my heels.
‘We have divided our forces.’ His expression was grim and it was clear that he was unhappy with the strategy. ‘Drake has gone in pursuit of that treasure ship, the one which stopped briefly here at Peniche and which is now said to be moored some way up the Tejo, but down river from Lisbon.’
‘But why is the army left behind?’
‘Ruy Lopez and Dom Antonio – and indeed Sir John Norreys himself – think it is best for us to remain on land with the army, so that we may gather up as many of the Dom’s supporters as possible while we march overland to Lisbon. That may be right. It is possible.’
He shrugged. ‘But we would have travelled faster had we gone by ship. And this amateur army has no experience of long marches, certainly not across difficult terrain and in such heat. There are not provisions enough here in Peniche to carry with us for an army. We cannot strip a Portuguese town as we stripped Coruña, so we will have to march some sixty-five miles on empty stomachs and the hope that the peasants can feed us, for we cannot pillage.’
‘Drake has not abandoned us?’ I asked, nervously, for I could never quite trust Drake.
‘He is to meet us at Cascais, on the Tejo,’ Dr Nuñez said. ‘The gold from the treasure ship will help us reprovision there.’
‘And help Drake buy his way back into the Queen’s favour?’ I shook my head. ‘Will he even agree to spend some of the treasure on food for the soldiers?’
His only reply was a grunt.
‘And the army must march all that way in this heat? An untrained English army? They will never survive it.’
‘They must, if ever they wish to see their homes again.’ He got up and struggled into his doublet. ‘At least Norreys does not intend any fighting, at any rate not until we reach Lisbon. It is almost certain Philip will have strengthened the garrison there.’
‘We may not intend to fight,’ I said, ‘but should we encounter any Spanish troops, they may not see it in the same way. We will need to defend ourselves if we are attacked.’
‘That is very true.’ He sounded tired and I realised that this trek of more than sixty miles across the barren Portuguese terrain would be very hard on him – a man as old as my lost grandfather – even if he was on horseback.
‘When do we leave?’ I asked. I realised I would have to stuff my feet back into my boots, if they had not swollen too much. It would be painful.
‘At once. Or as soon as Black Jack Norreys can muster that rabble into some kind of marching order.’
He nodded to his servant to carry away his belongings and turned to me.
‘You had best pack your own knapsack. Did you not leave it here when you rode off? And have you eaten?’ He peered at me. ‘I think your mission has brought you no happiness, but we will not speak of it now. Fetch your knapsack and I will send for some food. You look as if you have not eaten for days.’
I did not admit that he was right, and I knew that somehow I must force down some food or I would be unfit for the journey. When I had collected my few belongings and returned to his room, there was a plate of cold meats and bread waiting for me, and a tankard of thin local wine, which I drank gratefully. I managed to eat the food, washing it down with the wine. Although I could barely taste it, I knew that it would sustain me. With a great deal of difficulty and considerable pain, I managed to force my feet into the unyielding leather of my boots, muttering curses under my breath.
When I was ready, we made our way out to the main courtyard, where I was relieved to learn that there were horses enough for the gentlemen and officers. Since I was exhausted from riding most of the nights as well as the days since leaving the farm, stopping only long enough to rest my gallant horse, I certainly did not think my own legs would have carried me to Lisbon. The common soldiers, however, would have to walk, and at the same time they would have to carry every piece of armour, every item of weaponry, for there were no pack mules or donkeys or carts to be had. All beasts of burden seemed mysteriously to have disappeared, spirited away by the people of Peniche. The soldiers would not, however, be burdened with food. There was none. In the short time Dom Antonio had housed his court at Peniche, our army had stripped the town of everything edible. I understood now why the few people I had seen in the streets had given me a chilly reception. The inhabitants of the town had welcomed us rapturously, indeed with cries of joy, but I am sure they waved us off with even greater rapture.
During the last week while I had made my journey to the solar the weather had turned from merely hot to a blistering heat. A few hours out of Peniche and across the isthmus, our makeshift army quickly began to fail, for they had never yet marched further than the distance between the taverns in Plymouth, Coruña, and Peniche (apart from their scavenging forays into the countryside around Coruña). Some men complained unnecessarily, but within the first few hours there were cases of real need. I found that I was constantly dismounting to tend to one who had fainted with heatstroke or another whose bare feet were lacerated by the stony ground. There were, of course, no spare boots.
‘Cover your head against the sun,’ I would say to one man. ‘Not with your metal helmet. Carry that. Contrive something cool, with a handkerchief.’
However, there were few handkerchiefs amongst the men, who thought them an unnecessary item, fit only for women, when any fool could blow his nose between his finger and thumb, so I showed them how to fastened three or four palm leaves together to make a comical kind of hat, as we had done as children. There was a good deal of ribaldry at this, when they looked at one another, but they soon appreciated the protection from the sun.
To another man, I would say, ‘You are not on ship-board now, to go barefoot. All the way from here to Lisbon the ground will be stony. If you do not have shoes, bind your feet with cloth.’
This presented more of a problem, as did the continued lack of handkerchiefs. Palm leaves could not provide protection for the men’s feet. I wished I had some of that shirt cloth I had used in the citadel of Coruña. In the end, some of the barefoot men resorted to tearing the bottoms off their shirts and binding their feet with these, while others continued to go barefoot, as they had been accustomed to do at home in England. But this was not England.
Late in the afternoon of the first day, I heard a piercing shriek from amongst the plodding soldiers behind me, and looking over my shoulder I could see a knot of men milling about, and all the column of soldiers behind them halted.
‘Doctor!’ The cry was passed along the line. ‘Dr Alvarez, come quick!’
I wheeled my horse about and cantered back to where I could see a man writhing on the path, his face contorted with terror and pain. I slid to the ground, unbuckling my satchel.
‘What is it?’ I demanded. ‘What has happened?’
‘A snake.’ They were all talking at once. ‘A great long snake, six feet at least. He’s bitten on the leg.’
‘Describe the snake,’ I said, as I knelt in the dirt beside the man and turned back his ragged breeches. He was one of those who wore no shoes, and the puncture marks were easy to see, just above the ankle.
But no one had seen the snake clearly, or if they had, lacked the language to describe it. Not that it would have helped, for I knew little about the snakes of my native land, except that some could kill a man. I cupped my hand beneath the man’s heel and raised his filthy foot to my mouth. However disgusting it was, I must not waste any time. I pressed my mouth against his ankle and sucked. Something foul filled my mouth and I spat it into the withered weeds beside the path. Again I sucked and spat, until it seemed there was no more venom to be drawn out. My lips and tongue tingled, as if I had bitten on a wasp.
The other soldiers had fallen silent, watching me with mouths agape. I heard one man mutter a hasty prayer. Several crossed themselves, in the old way. They stared at me with something like awe. I lowered the foot to the ground and sat back on my heels, feeling dizzy. The man moaned.
‘There is no reason to be afraid,’ I said as briskly as I could manage. When a patient has received such a shock, his very terror may stop his heart. ‘I have removed all the poison.’ I hoped I spoke the truth.
I salved the bite with echium vulgare, borago officinalis, and eupatorium cannabium, and gave the soldier an infusion to drink, of avena sativa, which strengthens the heart, and achillea millefolium, which is antispasmodic. I drank some myself, in case I had inadvertently swallowed some of the poison. This treatment was usually efficacious in the case of a viper’s bite, but I was uncertain whether it would prove powerful enough to counter the poison of this Portuguese serpent. The other men watched me with increasing respect. The injured soldier left off his moaning and hysterical cries and I told two of his companions to get him to his feet and keep him walking between them. The leg was showing some signs of swelling, but he had no other pain, his heart had steadied, and he did not lose consciousness.
‘You saved my life, doctor,’ he said pathetically. He was not much older than I, and tears had made channels through the dirt on his cheeks. I patted him on the shoulder.
‘Keep moving, and look where you put your feet in future. I will keep a watch on you, to see that you take no harm.
Most of the straggling column had overtaken and passed us while I worked, so that we were now nearly at the rear of the army. I remounted my horse and stayed near the group. Although the man was pale with shock and stumbled as he walked, two of his companions helped him along. He seemed likely to take no permanent hurt. I could not be sure, of course. Sometimes a snake’s venom acts so quickly that there is no time to take any action to help a patient. Sometimes it is slow and insidious. A patient will appear to have taken no harm and then, little by little, his limbs are paralysed, and then his heart and lungs. His tongue may turn black and his eyes roll back in his head as the deadly poison seizes his whole body. I would need to keep an eye on the man, in case he suffered any of these slow-burning symptoms.
The only food the people of Peniche had been able to give us was bread and a small supply of salted fish, which was all consumed by the morning of the second day, and little wonder, for the men were sorely tried by the blazing sun and their heavy loads. The salted fish was almost worse than no food, for it increased the terrible thirst brought on by the sun and the weary marching. Those of us in the group of Portuguese gentlemen ate no better than the men did. I felt myself growing giddy in the saddle by mid-day. However, I observed that the group surrounding the Earl of Essex, who kept themselves apart from the rest of us, appeared to have a supply of both food and wine.
Sir John Norreys rode up to Dom Antonio and put to him a blunt choice.
‘You must provide food for the soldiers, or I will not be able to stop them looting. Men will not willingly starve when they can see farms around them in the countryside.’
Dom Antonio conferred with Dr Lopez. It seemed they had no funds left with which to buy provisions. They had expected by now that the nobles and peasants rushing to join our army would bring food with them. In the end they decided that the Dom would have to beg the peasants to provide us with food on credit. Once Lisbon was seized, he would pay them back, and generously too.
Our whole Portuguese party accompanied him as he rode up to the largest house in the next village we approached. We had just crossed an area of barren, tussocky ground and reached a small valley watered by a stream – nearly dried up now, in the heat. It was a farming village, with fields and olive orchards surrounding the clustered houses. We Portuguese went in a body to show that this was not a foreign invasion, but a mission to restore to Portugal her ancient freedoms.
‘So you understand, Senhor,’ the Dom said, in a somewhat patronising tone, ‘by supplying our army, you will be contributing to the success of our campaign to expel the hated Spanish from our land.’
He was addressing the man who seemed to be some kind of village leader, but most of the men of the village were grouped around him, listening intently. From their expressions I fancied that they were calculating, not how soon the Spanish would be driven out, but what profit they could make from selling food to the army. When it became clear that supplies would be bought not for cash but for promissory notes, they drew apart in whispering groups. In the end they agreed to supply what they could, though it was hardly an abundance. As I watched the promissory notes signed with a flourish by Dom Antonio, I wondered when these people would ever be able to convert them to coin.
This brought us a supply of the kind of food which forms the diet of peasants in the southern part of Portugal: salted fish, dried peppers and figs, strips of dried mutton, a kind of cold porridge made of rice, flat disks of unleavened rye bread, and wine so rough it stripped the lining from the roof of your mouth. I ate cautiously – some figs and dried mutton, but mostly bread, and clear spring water when I could find it. The men ate ravenously, complaining all the while and demanding hot beef and onions, pies and pottage.
Dysentery broke out.
I do not believe – as some of the soldiers believed – that the villagers had sold us tainted food. The outbreak of the bloody flux was due to a number of causes: an unfamiliar diet, polluted drinking water, unauthorised food stolen along the march, and the weakness of the untrained, ramshackle soldiers who had never been strengthened by regular army service. For on the whole it was the first-time recruits, not the regular soldiers who had served in the Low Countries, who gave way to illness and exhaustion.
All the way from Peniche, men fell by the roadside and died. Some had wounds from Coruña or from the landing at Peniche or from their own drunken brawls. With the heat and the lack of food, their wounds festered and carried them off. Some grew so weak with dysentery they could march no further. They sat down beside the road and refused to go any further. Some died. Others, I suspect, simply melted away into the countryside. Whether they were taken in by local people and survived, or died alone and unmourned, no one will ever know.
At the three first deaths, the column of march halted, while the leaders consulted over what to do. We could not carry the dead with us. Nor could we leave them lying unburied on the barren ground, prey to scavenging animals and birds. So we halted in the unforgiving heat, while a resentful burial party was named and set to digging a grave to accommodate all three. At that point we still carried spades and mattocks, intended for simple mining under the walls of Lisbon, if the garrison should attempt to hold the city against us.
The men dug a pit of reasonable size and the men were laid to rest, with the burial service spoken reverently over them by one of the army’s padres, as we stood, sweating and bareheaded, at the side of the grave.
Later, attitudes hardened. A shallow groove would be scratched out, the body rolled into it, and a few handfuls of dirt scattered over, to the accompaniment of a few a hastily gabbled words. One of the padres had died by then. Finally no one even bothered to look round at the dying, for each man struggled to put one foot in front of the other and had nothing left to spare for the dead. As for those who simply sat or lay at the roadside, refusing to go further, I do not know what became of them.
Never had the land of my birth seemed so alien to me. As I rode on, light-headed under that merciless sun, I was haunted by thoughts of my sister, trapped, perhaps forever, in a cruel servitude of body and soul. Until now I had kept at bay the thought of my grandmother, dead in a prison of the Inquisition, and my grandfather, who would be alive today but for this ill-conceived and disastrous expedition.
In my state of dumb misery and feverish imagination, I found my mind dwelling on London. Despite the secrecy and danger of my life there, it seemed a cool green haven, compared with the hellish land over which we crawled, as insignificant as a column of ants, awaiting the annihilation of some gigantic boot. What would my father be doing now? Was he well enough to minister to his patients in the hospital? I wondered whether my dog Rikki still accompanied him there every morning, and whether Joan was yet reconciled to him. What would the players be performing now, in the summer season at the playhouses? Their light-hearted companionship seemed a world away from this dark company moving forward across a foreign land in shared misery. Would Simon come to visit my father in my absence? Did he ever think of me? Or would he be too preoccupied with some new drama in the playhouse and his friendship with his new companion Marlowe? I dashed stupid tears from my eyes, making a pretence of wiping the sweat from my forehead. It was useless to think of London, for I might never see it again. I might not even survive the march to Lisbon.
