Текст книги "Portuguese Affair"

Автор книги: Ann Swinfen

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Chapter Nine

As the fruitless siege continued unchecked, I grew restless with impatience. I would never be able to carry out my plan, my own private reason for coming on the expedition. I even thought of going ashore here at Coruña and riding south through Spain, but it was much too far. Besides, I needed to wait until my ankle healed. It was not a bad sprain, but I had not improved it by all the climbing and walking I had done that same night, as Titus Allanby and I escaped from the citadel.

Whatever it cost, I would have to wait until we reached Portugal. At night, I fretted sleepless in my cramped quarters, kept awake by worry and by the pain in my ankle and in my burned shoulder, which grew fiercer at night. The kind of cupboard, leading from his cabin, that Dr Nuñez had arranged for me to occupy was airless and dark, and increasingly hot as we drew nearer to summer, but I was thankful that I had not been forced to lodge with the men, for it would have been near impossible to maintain my disguise. At first I worried about living in such close proximity to Dr Nuñez, but I managed to keep to my cupboard, using the pisspot in privacy. He never troubled me there.

Intermittently, I slept during those nights moored off Coruña, a sleep troubled by dreams that remained with me by day only as dark and troubling shadows, in which I seemed to be hunting through the squalid alleys of London for someone . . . Was it Simon? I thought I caught glimpses of him, always turning a corner far ahead, always out of reach. I could not understand why I should be haunted by such a persistent yet meaningless dream.

Titus Allanby was accommodated aboard the Victory, sharing a cabin with two of the junior officers. He was accepted by all on board as an Englishman trapped in Coruña and anxious to go home. No mention was made of his assumed occupation as a tailor, nor of his true position as an agent of Walsingham’s secret service. Instead he let it be understood that he was a merchant, and I backed up this impression whenever I had the opportunity. For the most part no one was interested, having more important matters on their minds. Dr Nuñez, of course, realised Titus’s real identity, but he would not reveal the truth. Norreys knew as well. The day after Titus came aboard, Norreys sent for him to be rowed over to the Nonpareil, where he questioned him closely about the dispositions of the garrison in the citadel, the strength of their troops, and the supply of arms.

‘I answered him honestly,’ Titus told me when he returned. ‘Any information I could give him that would help his endeavour to take the upper town, but of course he will not succeed.’

We had been granted the use of Dr Nuñez’s cabin for a game of chess, which we were setting out on the table as he spoke.

‘As for any other matters?’ I asked, lining up the chessmen. It was a beautiful set given to Dr Nuñez by one of his grateful patients. Delicately carved from whalebone, the white pieces had been left the natural creamy colour of the bone, the red pieces had been stained with madder. The board was inlaid with matching squares of plain and dyed whalebone. I coveted it.

‘As for matters intended for Walsingham alone,’ Titus said, ‘he did not press me and I did not volunteer them.’

I nodded. ‘Sir John is aware that I work for Walsingham,’ I said, ‘as is Dr Nuñez. No doubt they will have guessed that you are also in his employ, but unless it should have some bearing on this expedition, I doubt if they will question you further.’

He poured out two tankards of ale and sat down opposite me, looking grave.

‘It is ill-conceived, this expedition, Kit.’

‘I’m well aware of that.’ I shrugged. ‘I have known it from the start, but you will not convince men to abandon their dreams.’

‘And now this attempt to capture Coruña. For what purpose?’

‘None, as far as I can see. For loot? For a brief triumph against Spain? Even if we were to capture it, we could not hold it. We have no means to leave an occupying force here.’

‘And in the meantime, the expedition falters.’

‘Exactly so.’ I sighed, and took a swig of my ale. ‘The problem lies in the divided aims of the leaders. The Portuguese exiles want to drive the Spanish out of Portugal and put Dom Antonio on the throne. On the other hand, Drake wants to inflict the greatest possible damage on the Spanish, especially the Spanish navy, so he can seize their treasure from the Americas. He cares not a farthing what happens to the Portuguese crown. I think Norreys set out with the intention of promoting the Portuguese mission, but he is easily diverted and has fallen in with Drake’s plans.’

‘All of which is very damaging.’ He set down his tankard. ‘It is you to move first.’

I moved one of my pawns.

‘We are here not only to play chess,’ I said, ‘but to discuss in private what you mentioned to me, the night before last. Before I left London, I was told by Sir Francis that you thought you had fallen under suspicion, and you said you thought you had been betrayed.’

He moved a pawn and I moved another. I had only half my mind on the game, but I did not wish to make any careless moves. In the past I had often played with my mathematics tutor Thomas Harriot, though there had been very few opportunities in recent years. Sometimes I played with my father, though his increasing inattention had meant it was no longer enjoyable.

‘You said,’ I reminded him, ‘that you did not believe you had been discovered or betrayed locally, but that something might have occurred at Seething Lane.’ I shook my head. ‘I do not see how that could be. I would trust them all – Sir Francis himself would never endanger one of his agents. Nor would Thomas Phelippes or Arthur Gregory or Francis Mylles, none of those who work at Seething Lane. I am sure of it.’

‘I put it badly.’ He grinned. ‘We were somewhat distracted at the time, you will recall. When I said Seething Lane, I did not mean at the centre of the service itself. The whole organisation has many branches, many agents, many – like your Dr Nuñez – who provide occasional assistance or information. That is partly the danger. Too many people, some of whom may have divided loyalties.’

My heart gave a sudden lurch, divided loyalties, and I hesitated, my hand holding one of my knights over the board.

‘When did you first begin to think you were under suspicion?’

‘It must have been in March.’ I had placed my knight carelessly and he captured it with his queen. ‘It was then that the commander of the garrison summoned me to the fortress, the new fortress on the island, the Castillo de San Antón. At that time the garrison was still quartered there.’

‘You were interrogated?’

‘Nothing so obvious. I was told I would be commissioned to make a number of new uniforms for the soldiers of the garrison. It was a valuable order, so I must understand how important it was that they should know more about me. It was all done in a most friendly, jovial way.’

‘And?’

‘All the time I have been in Spain, I have passed myself off as half Irish, half Spanish, and a Catholic. In truth my mother was herself half Irish, and her mother was Spanish. I simply skipped a generation. I called myself Mendes, my grandmother’s name. She had much of my early rearing, after my mother died, so I am fluent in Spanish. She also started my training as a tailor. My father, of course, was English and I lived with him in Winchester from the age of seven. He felt that tailoring was a useful trade, and had me apprenticed, though I have never earned my living as a tailor at home, having abandoned it to become a merchant’s clerk. I regard myself as English, but my mixed background made me useful to Walsingham.’

‘Yes, it would. Like mine.’ I studied the board, planning my strategy, and set out to lay a trap for Titus’s queen. I moved my remaining knight more carefully and decided how I would deploy my bishops and one of my castles.

Titus had not seen through my intentions and moved a bishop in a way that would not threaten them.

‘March,’ I said. ‘I know of one man who gained his freedom in December from the Tower. A man I would not trust. There has always been a kind of mist obscuring the true nature of his loyalty. Walsingham still continues to use him, though I am not sure how far he trusts him. I know Thomas Phelippes is deeply suspicious of him. I have my own reasons for knowing that he is a liar and a dangerous man.’

His head had jerked up when I mentioned the Tower, and his next move, after my careful one, was made while hardly looking at the board.

‘The Tower? You mean Robert Poley? He has been released?’

‘He was released just before Christmas.’

He let out his breath on a long sigh. ‘Do you know where he is?’

‘I have only seen him once since his release. That would have been early in March, I think. Yes, also March. He had been in the Low Countries and was about to leave for Denmark, carrying despatches.’

‘You are thinking what I am thinking?’

‘Aye.’

‘If he was in the Low Countries early this year, he could have made contact with the Duke of Parma.’

‘It would not be difficult, for a man with Poley’s experience. Besides, many people still believe Poley was really part of the Babington conspiracy, though he pretended to have been infiltrated into their company on Walsingham’s behalf, to spy on them. I know that he lied about that.’

He looked at me inquiringly. We had stopped playing.

‘I had seen him, quite by chance,’ I said, ‘months before, on intimate terms with Anthony Babington, though he claimed to Walsingham that he did not know him.’

‘So he may still be working for the enemy, though for the Spanish now instead of the French.’

‘The French are too much weakened at the moment,’ I said, ‘by the struggles between the Guise faction and the Huguenots led by Henri of Navarre.’

I seized his queen with my knight, and he clicked his tongue in annoyance at himself for leaving her unguarded.

‘Spain has been weakened too,’ he said, ‘by the failure of the Armada.’

‘Aye, but Spain has two great advantages over France – a strong and ruthless leader in King Philip and all the riches of their New World conquests to put money in their pockets. Plenty to buy ships and armaments. Plenty to maintain a large standing army.’

‘I agree,’ he said, moving a pawn carelessly. I captured it.

‘But I still do not understand.’ He drummed his fingers on the table. ‘Poley has a good position with Walsingham. I am sure he is well rewarded. He is an Englishman, and England will suffer if he betrays her secrets. What has he to gain?’

‘Money,’ I said grimly. ‘Power. He enjoys power over other people, and through betrayal he gains power.’

I narrowed my eyes, thinking of Poley and all I knew of him. ‘Revenge.’

‘Revenge?’

‘Revenge. He has been shut up in the Tower for more than two years. However comfortably he lived there, however politic it was to maintain a fiction, he cannot have taken it kindly. He might well want to take revenge on Walsingham by damaging his service, provided he can conceal his own involvement, acting by stealth. He will want to stay privy to its secrets. Do not underestimate his talents and his cunning.’

‘You hate him.’

‘I have my reasons. I think you will find – if ever the truth can be laid bare – that Robert Poley passed word to Parma, who in turn passed word to Coruña as to your identity.’

‘You are probably right,’ he said. ‘But in that case, why merely have me watched? Why not arrest and torture me?’

I smiled. ‘Well, you can be thankful for that.’ I moved a bishop to a strategic position.

‘Perhaps they trust Poley no more than we do,’ I said. ‘They had you watched, hoping to catch you out, but wisely you sent no more despatches after warning Walsingham.’

He nodded. ‘I stayed quiet and plied my trade. That kept me safe. Then the English fleet arrived and you sprang me from the trap.’

He moved one of his castles. A mistake.

I made my final move and smiled at him. ‘Checkmate,’ I said.

We had no proof of Poley’s involvement, of course, and probably never would have, but we agreed that when Titus got back to London he would give Walsingham an account of our suspicions. He did not intend to travel on to Portugal with the expedition but would return to England whenever the next ship was sent home with despatches. In the meantime he stayed on board the Victory and we had a few more games of chess. When we were not distracted, we found we were pretty evenly matched.

Although I was still troubled and in pain from my burn, which was gradually growing less, and somewhat hampered by my sprained ankle, it was nothing to what was taking place on land. During the following days more and more of our skilled soldiers died needlessly during the fruitless attacks on the citadel. Norreys’s own brother, Sir Edward Norreys, was desperately wounded, not as a result of enemy fire, but because, in the confusion and exhaustion of the siege, he tripped over his own pike and injured himself very severely, the blade burying itself deep in his skull. It was an injury likely to prove fatal. He was one of the most senior officers on the expedition, in command of one of the five squadrons, led by his galleon ironically called Foresight.

The first we knew of what had happened that day under the ramparts of the citadel was when we caught sight of a party of men proceeding slowly along the harbour road which led down from our army camp, located on the highest ground of the lower town.

Dr Nuñez called me over. ‘It looks as though someone is seriously injured, Kit.’

I shaded my eyes against the glare of the sun.

‘That is Sir John himself in the party,’ I said. ‘He is carrying someone. But – I can’t see very well – there are so many of them.’

The group of men all seemed to be moving together, step by step. As they reached the water’s edge, it became clearer why. Sir John was carrying the wounded man in his arms, but two other men walking close beside him also seemed to be holding something. More men were right behind them. The men with the injured soldier had great difficulty, clustered together, climbing down into the skiff. Even from a distance it was obvious that there was something seriously wrong. The skiff began to row slowly toward Sir John’s Nonpareil.

‘Someone is certainly badly hurt,’ I said. ‘Should we row over and offer our services?’

‘Aye,’ Dr Nuñez said. ‘Fetch our satchels.’

I limped to our cabin. With firm strapping around my ankle, I could now manage without a stick.

We reached the Nonpareil while they were still lifting the wounded man on board, and I could see now why the burden was so awkward. The blade of a pike was embedded in his skull and the two soldiers helping Sir John had been taking the weight of the shaft, to try to prevent its doing further damage. At least they had shown the sense not to try to drag it out until there was a physician at hand to stem the bleeding. And I saw now that the man was Sir John’s younger brother, Sir Edward Norreys.

Sir Edward was carried at once to the main cabin, and we followed closely behind. Sir John was wide-eyed with shock, for the wound looked mortal, but his brother was not dead yet. His eyelids fluttered and he moaned. He seemed barely conscious as he was laid carefully on Norreys’s own bed so we could examine him.

The next hour was a desperate time.

‘You will need to hold the patient’s head rigid for me, Kit,’ Dr Nuñez said, in the calm, impersonal tone he used when dealing with a medical crisis. There was no hint in his voice that this was a friend and a valued officer, as well as being Norreys’s much loved younger brother.

Two of the soldiers who were not supporting the handle of the pike lifted the bed and its occupant out into the middle of the cabin, so that there was room for me to stand at the top of the bed and grip Sir Edward’s head tightly on either side. It was difficult to hold it rigid as Dr Nuñez required, for on the side with the injury his hair was soaked with blood and more blood poured over my hand as I held him. Everything was slippery. I bit down on my lip, trying to keep my hands firm.

‘Now,’ Dr Nuñez said to the two soldiers holding the pike handle, ‘I want you, you nearest the patient’s head, to release the handle when I tell you – very gently, careful! – and take hold of the back of the blade. Whatever you do, you must not move it back and forth. That will enlarge the wound. And you,’ to the other man, ‘you must take all the weight of the pike as he moves his hands.’

The first man did as he was told, but he was sweating with the fear that he might cause further injury. The other soldier’s eyes bulged with the strain of holding the pike steady.

‘Good.’ Dr Nuñez took a deep breath.

‘Now you must both pull the pike blade straight out, along the same angle at which it entered. Do you understand? Not yet! I will count to three. On three you will do it. Straight and careful. Understood?’

They nodded. I am not sure which of us in that confined space was the most worried. Certainly I feared I would lose my grip as they pulled.

‘One. Steady now. Two. Three.’

They pulled the blade out of the skull. I managed to hold it firmly, but the blade did not come out easily, for it was buried deep in the bone. As soon as it came free, I laid Sir Edward’s head gently down and seized a handful of dried moss and the bandage cloth we had set ready and pressed it against the wound, for the blood spurted out like a fountain. If we did not act quickly, the man would bleed to death. Then Dr Nuñez took over with fresh cloths as I dug in my satchel for the salve of agrimonia eupatoria and achillea millefolium. These are the most efficacious coagulants. Even our troops call achillea ‘soldier’s woundwort’, for it has been used to staunch wounds since ancient times. Achilles was said to have used it during the Trojan War, which gave it the name of achillea. Country folk call it ‘yarrow’.

Still, despite the known properties of the two herbs, I wondered whether anything could possibly stop the bleeding from this terrible head wound. There was a great loss of blood. Examining the injury I could see that the skull bone itself had been cleft. It was a clean cut, without the shattering and fragments of bone that occur from shot, but it went deep and there might be damage to the brain itself. It was a fearful sight.

The soldiers were thanked and dismissed and went away in gloomy silence, for Sir Edward was a popular man with the troops, less severe in discipline than his brother. Sir John himself stayed, handing us what we asked for like an assistant apothecary, saying never a word until we had done all we could – salved and bound the injury and laid the patient down on his bed. The gash could not be stitched, for there is little enough skin and flesh on that part of the skull and that little had been torn and damaged.

‘Will he live?’ Norreys’s voice was harsh and I realised that he cared deeply for this younger brother of his, despite the rigid control of his face.

Dr Nuñez was washing the blood from his hands in a basin that a servant had brought. We were both blood-bespattered.

‘At this stage, I cannot tell,’ he said gravely. ‘The wound has been treated as soon as possible, that is in his favour. But it is very deep. He may live, but still suffer from its effects.’

It was his way of avoiding the issue. Sir John was not misled.

‘You mean he may be mad or childish hereafter? His mind affected?’

Dr Nuñez winced. ‘We will pray not, Sir John. The next few days will be crucial. If he does not take a fever . . . he is a strong healthy man.’

Norreys did not look reassured, but he thanked us both warmly and saw us on to his private pinnace to be taken back to the Victory.

We visited Sir Edward several times a day after this. He regained consciousness on the second day and gradually began to recover, although he suffered acute pain. It was so severe we could only partially relieve it with poppy juice. Had we given him enough to defeat the pain, it would have ended all his pain for ever. He was very weak, but his brain did not appear to be impaired. However, he had no memory of how the accident had happened. It was only from those who had been nearby that we heard how, in scrambling amongst the rocks and fallen masonry below the citadel walls, he had tripped over the pike he was carrying. Like Sir John he did not order his men to go where he would not go himself. He faced the same dangers and had suffered for it. Perhaps now, I thought, Norreys would abandon this pointless siege.

‘It seems a kind of emblem of our whole venture,’ I said to Dr Nuñez. ‘It is descending into disaster and farce. Sir Edward’s injury came not from the enemy but from his own weapon.’

He shrugged. There was no need to answer. More and more, events spoke for themselves. As matters had become more catastrophic, he had begun to spend more time in my company and to avoid Dr Lopez and the Dom.

‘We can do nothing but endure in patience, Kit,’ he said.

Another tragedy soon followed. Our troops had finally succeeded in making a major breach in the walls of the citadel, and continued to throw themselves at it with immense courage, in the face of the defenders’ cannon fire. During one of these charges a mass of loosened masonry fell outwards, crushing Captain Sydenham. He was not killed outright, but was pinned to the ground by four huge boulders lying on top of his legs and lower body.

I heard the story later from one of the soldiers on our ship. Originally, he had been amongst the new recruits, but, different from so many of the others, he was a responsible man, prepared to do his duty as a soldier, as faithfully as the regular troops from the Low Countries. Unlike some of the men who were present at the disaster, he had survived, although he had been shot through the shoulder with a crossbow and I dressed it.

Afterwards he sat wearily on the deck, too exhausted even to drink the ale which stood in a tankard at his side.

‘He was a decent man,’ he said, ‘Captain Sydenham. He knew it was hopeless, what we was trying to do, up there, take their damned citadel. Still he had his orders. And he always led the lads from the front.’

‘Drink your ale,’ I said. ‘You’ve had a bad time.’

He looked at the ale as if he had not seen it before, swallowed a mouthful, then put it down again.

‘We went in where there’s a partial breach, see. Getting bigger. The wall is broken. God’s bones, I don’t know how we done it without cannon. Torn half the stones down with out own bleeding hands.’

I could see that he meant this literally.

‘Anyways, the wall was beginning to collapse, see, then suddenly a whole section came away when we wasn’t expecting it. Came down like a landslide, and there was Captain Syndenham underneath it. All of him, from the waist down, pinned under these b’yer lady great rocks.’

He wiped his face with both hands.

‘We wasn’t going to desert him. Most of the lads there was the troops who fought the Spanish under him in the Low Countries and they wasn’t going to leave him to die under the rocks and that sun like a firebrand, on some stinking Spanish hillside. Nor was I. He treated me decent, even if I wasn’t one of his regular lads.’

He looked vaguely at the ale, then drank the rest of it down.

‘Over and over we made sorties under cannon shot and crossbow fire to try to rescue him. The Spanish just sat up there and picked us off. Would they stop long enough for us to rescue an injured man? Like Hell they would. Over and over they picked us off, them filthy misbegotten Spaniards. Before he died this morning, a dozen more of the lads was killed trying to save him. Dunno how many was injured like me. Jesu, I hate the bastards!’

Alone in my dark cubbyhole that night I wept for Captain Sydenham and a dozen other men and all the useless slaughter of this terrible futile siege of Coruña.