Текст книги "Portuguese Affair"

Автор книги: Ann Swinfen

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Chapter Ten

At last, after two weeks of unnecessary death and injury, it became clear even to the leaders of the expedition that we had not the means to overpower the citadel with our puny artillery. Their minds were further persuaded by a fortunate change in the wind, which began to blow in our favour from the northeast, the very wind to carry us down the coast of Portugal. The soldiers were ordered back to the ships, loading what provisions they could and destroying what little was left in the town. It would be a long time before Coruña recovered. There were a good many wounded men amongst those who had served in the attacks against the citadel, including even some of the recruits who had finally been forced into service. Along with the provisions, the injured were loaded on to the ships, to survive or die while we sailed south, as Fate should decree.

Before we left, I paid a final visit to Teresa and her family, and to Paolo, whom I had kept supplied with food all the while we had remained in the harbour.

‘You are leaving, Dr Kit?’ Teresa asked. She was a different child now from the terrified creature I had first seen. The cottage was kept as clean and neat as anyone could contrive, given its dirt floor and the sand that blew in from the foreshore. Probably Teresa had been hard at work. I had persuaded one of the ship’s carpenters to replace the door and to make some repairs to Paolo’s house.

‘Aye, we are leaving,’ I said, ‘and you will be glad to see us go.’

‘Nay,’ she protested, ‘you have been kind. Without you the baby would have died, and Mama too. And we would have had nothing to eat.’

Her mother was still weak, but she was growing stronger. Nevertheless, it was always Teresa who was in charge and who did most of the talking.

‘I shall be sorry to say goodbye to you all, Teresa, but you will be better off when we are gone. Paolo will be recovered soon and says he will fish for you.’

I had learned from Paolo that Teresa’s father had been lost at sea just two months before our arrival at Coruña. The little family would have been destitute but for the kindness of neighbours, for the mother had never been strong and the little boy was simple-minded.

‘I will look after them,’ Paolo had said to me in his gruff voice, giving nothing away. It would not surprise me if he moved in with them and they became one family.

‘May I see the baby?’ I asked now.

Teresa’s mother smiled and held the baby out to me. She rarely spoke, but on my second or third visit she had asked me if I would give the child a name, so that I should always be remembered. I was embarrassed and could say nothing at first.

‘Caterina,’ I suggested at last, ‘if that pleases you.’

‘Caterina.’ She tried it on her tongue. ‘She will be baptised Caterina, as soon as we can hold a service.’

As soon, in other words, as the priests who had abandoned their flock returned. Well, although Caterina Alvarez was no longer, this little Caterina should take her place. She promised to be a fine healthy child like her sister. She was warm and soft in my arms, long eyelashes lying quietly on plump cheeks. She, at least, would have no memory of what had happened here.

When I bade them farewell, Teresa hugged me about the waist, pressing her face against my doublet, and I kissed the top of her head. I would not let them see the tears in my eyes, for their suffering at our hands far outweighed any good I had done them.

Paolo was standing in his doorway, leaning on his stick, as I went out into the street.

‘So you are leaving, then.’

‘Aye.’

He spat juicily, but had the grace to turn to one side.

‘I wish you well, Paolo. The town will recover, in the end. I have nothing but sorrow and regret for what has happened here.’

He grunted.

‘They will be glad of your help.’ I nodded toward the other house.

‘Aye, well, there will be none from them.’ As once before, he jerked his head up, indicating the upper town.

‘You’ll be glad to see us leave,’ I said.

‘We will.’

There was nothing else to say, but as I was starting to move away, he cleared his throat and, surprisingly, looked slightly ashamed.

‘This is for you.’

He thrust a grubby fist toward me and something small dropped into my outstretched hand. Then he turned his back on me and limped back into the house, slamming the door behind him.

It was a model of a seal, about four inches long, beautifully carved from some glossy wood. The eyes were filled with a look of innocent curiosity. Even the whiskers betrayed inquisitiveness. I closed my fingers over it, then I too turned my back and walked away.

Drake and Norreys sent despatches home to London, and with them I sent a coded report to Walsingham on all that had happened, including such information as I had been able to glean about Coruña and the surrounding countryside. It was carried by Titus Allanby, returning to London on one of the fast pinnaces, who would make his own report in person. Before he left, he shook my hand, and thanked me again for extricating him from the besieged town.

‘You would probably have contrived an escape yourself,’ I said, ‘even without my help.’

He shook his head. ‘I was too closely watched. And even had I done so, the English fleet might already have left. I owe you a good deal, Kit.’

Awkwardly, I tried to brush aside his thanks, but did ask that he would take my greetings to my father.

‘Tell him I am well,’ I said, ‘and please do not mention the burn or the ankle. Both are nearly recovered now.’

‘Very well, but I shall mention them to Sir Francis. Those who sit comfortably in Seething Lane do not always understand what we endure, who are out in the world, following their orders. I will also tell him all that we have discussed concerning Robert Poley.’

‘Aye, do that,’ I said. ‘Though we have no proof.’

‘It may plant a seed of doubt.’

He grinned and stretched, as he shouldered his pack before climbing down the rope ladder to the pinnace.

‘I am growing too old for this game,’ he called up to me, from where he stood on the deck of the smaller ship. ‘I think I shall buy a small farm and grow pigs and cabbages.’

I laughed, and raised my hand as the pinnace rowed clear of us and hoisted her sails. Part of me – nay, much of me – longed to be going home with her.

The next morning we set sail on that strong north-easterly, which carried us round the rest of Cape Finisterre and on towards Portugal at last. Away from Spain and Coruña, I began to breathe more easily. Looking around, however, I saw that the fleet seemed to have shrunk. I stopped one of the sailors.

‘Where are the rest of the ships?’ I said. ‘Have they fallen behind?’

He grimaced. ‘Not they. Most of the sixty Dutch vlieboten have abandoned the expedition and turned for home. And taken some three thousand men with them.’

I caught my breath. The vlieboten were small ships, like the pinnaces, not great warships, and they carried only light-weight armaments, but they were very useful, moving between the larger ships and able to navigate the shallower waters along parts of the Portuguese shore or in river estuaries. The three thousand men were also a substantial cost to the expedition, on top of the hundreds left buried in Spanish soil at Coruña.

Despite the loss of the Dutch ships and all those men, it was good to be on the move at last. The weather was hot, but tempered by the wind, and the rest of the fleet sailed smartly out round Finisterre and then south along the coast, although on the second day the wind dropped somewhat, so that although it continued to blow from a favourable quarter, it was not strong enough for us to make much speed. The soldiers, however, welcomed the respite as the fleet sailed on slowly. The provisions which had finally been procured meant that food and drink were in plentiful supply, although the ship’s officers ensured that there should be no gorging and no drunkenness. There had been far too much of that already. For the most part the injured soldiers made good progress toward recovery, so my duties as physician were light.

Four days out from Coruña, on the thirteenth day of May, I was standing once again with Dr Nuñez in the bow of the ship.

‘Is that a galleon, Kit?’ he said. ‘Further out to sea but heading on a slanting course to intercept us? Your eyes are keener than mine.’

I shaded my eyes with my hand and looked where he pointed.

‘Aye. It seems to be one ship on its own, not a Spanish fleet.’

A man on the masthead was calling something down to the captain, and pointing.

‘Is it English?’ Dr Nuñez asked.

‘Too far away to tell.’

I kept my eye on the approaching ship, so I did not at first notice the brightly painted fishing boat which had come alongside the Victory. Then, just before it dropped astern, I saw that Ruy Lopez was leaning over the rail and talking to the fishermen. Dr Nuñez went aft to see what news it had brought, for a fishing boat in these waters must be Portuguese. We were not far now from Ilhavo, where I had once hidden long ago amongst the fishnets.

As the fishing boat turned away, I saw that Dr Nuñez and Ruy Lopez were talking to Norreys, who had joined our ship that morning to discuss our strategy when we reached Portugal. It seemed they were reluctant to impart whatever news the fisherman had brought.

‘Has something happened?’ I asked Dr Nuñez when he returned to the foredeck, looking gloomy.

‘A treasure ship has put in to the harbour at Peniche.’

I was puzzled. Why was this such bad news? A single treasure ship, laden with spoils from Mexico and Peru, would not trouble our fleet of warships.

‘Why does that worry you?’ I said.

‘They are signalling the news now to Drake,’ he said, pointing up towards the string of flags that a sailor was hoisting. ‘And as soon as Drake hears of a treasure ship, to Peniche we will go.’ He banged a fist against his forehead.

‘Peniche cannot be much more than sixty miles from Lisbon,’ he said, ‘but it might as well be a thousand. By the time we come there, King Philip will have had warning enough to move his entire army from Spain to garrison Lisbon!’

I had taken my eye off the approaching ship while we had been talking, but now I saw that it was much nearer.

‘That’s an English ship,’ I said. ‘There is the flag, clear enough now, and another standard. I’m not sure . . . ‘

‘Can you see her name?’

I screwed up my eyes. ‘Swiftsure.’

‘Essex,’ said Dr Nuñez. ‘The Queen’s errant golden boy. That rash idiot. He will want to go galloping about the countryside, imagining himself one of King Arthur’s knights, and lose us the war in the process.’

He stamped off below decks and shut himself in his cabin.

Our commanders did not exactly welcome Essex, for they were carrying furious letters from the Queen demanding that he should be sent home at once. If they allowed him to join the expedition – and it would be difficult to say him nay – they would themselves incur a share of her wrath. On the other hand, he had a sound ship, provisions and arms, and well-trained regular soldiers. It was not difficult to foresee what decision they would make after our severe losses at Coruña.

Essex did join us, and demanded that he be put in charge of the next landing party. Dr Nuñez, as so often before, had been right.

I had never encountered Essex myself, but all that I had heard about him made me dread his addition to the leaders of the expedition. The spoiled and indulged favourite of the Queen – arrogant, wilful, accustomed always to grabbing whatever he wanted no matter at what cost to others – he was the last person to be given a part in the councils of the expedition. The Queen had forbidden him to come, yet he had defied even the Queen herself, no doubt envisaging some glorious heroic role for himself. He seemed to have no grasp of reality, but to live in an imaginary world of chivalry which bore no relationship to the nature of war as I had experienced it, both at first hand and through the suffering of men I had cared for. It was this mindless, hare-brained glory-seeking which had brought about such disasters when he had served in the Low Countries. I was full of dread at what further blight might be cast on our affairs by his presence.

Although it was not yet full summer, the southern sun soon became much stronger than Englishmen are accustomed to, particularly as in recent years our summers had been cold and wet, the winters bitter. The makeshift army, which had nothing to do while the seamen handled the ship, took to hanging about on deck, instead of staying cooped up below in the suffocating quarters they had been allocated. Most of the soldiers had overcome their seasickness by now, and they lay about, getting under the feet of the sailors, who tripped over them and kicked them and swore at them to move. Now that the food supplies had been augmented at Coruña, the soldiers were less apt to break out in open riot, but the quarrels between soldiers and sailors never ceased.

The soldiers stripped to the waist in the heat and – unlike the sailors, whose skin was permanently darkened by years at sea – their white English shoulders and noses turned the red of London bricks, then began to blister and peel. I found myself with some serious cases of sunburn to treat, and one or two of sunstroke. The worst of the raw red patches of skin I bathed with a cool infusion of urtica dioica and stellaria media, then I applied a salve of made from a strong decoction of calendula officinalis, stellaria media, and coriandrum sativum, blended with purified lard.

However much I advised them to keep to the shade, within an hour they would be back, lying in the sun, so I left them to suffer from their own folly.

A week after departing from Coruña, we were nearing Peniche. Another fishing boat had been sighted and detained, its crew apparently less ready than the first to pass information to the English fleet, despite the Dom’s huge standard at our masthead. I lingered nearby.

‘Aye,’ said the older man, while his boy glowered at us where he squatted, gutting sardines. ‘There was a treasure ship from the Spanish Main in Peniche.’

‘And?’ said Dr Lopez, giving a worried sideways glance at the Dom.

‘Well,’ said the fisherman, and spat over the side of his boat, ‘word got around that she was loaded with a million crowns in gold. If you believe what they say. Not that we’ll see one real of it in Portugal. But she isn’t still here.’ He laughed grimly. ‘Once they heard El Dracque was coming, they cleared out, heading south.’

On learning what the fisherman had said, Drake decided to put in to Peniche anyway, instead of proceeding to Lisbon. Why, I am not certain. Perhaps he believed that some of the treasure had been off-loaded there. Since the treasure ship had left, I would have expected him to follow it, even deserting the rest of the fleet, the way he had abandoned the English fleet during the early encounters with the ships of the Spanish Armada. However, Drake was in command of the fleet, and to Peniche the fleet would go. The agreed goal of our mission seemed to be retreating further and further from us.

Ruy Lopez and the Dom were asked to explain the lie of the land at Peniche to Norreys, who once again had come on board our ship. His brother was making a good recovery, which he partly attributed to the skill of Portuguese doctors, so Norreys was readier to take into account the advice and wishes of the Portuguese party

‘The town is loyal to me,’ the Dom asserted. ‘So this should prove an excellent landfall. There will be a small Spanish garrison, but the remainder of the inhabitants will be Portuguese, and loyal. There is opportunity here, at last, to begin rallying my people. We must move in swiftly, take the fortress, and plant my standard. As soon as word goes forth, my supporters will rush to my side and defeat the Spanish.’

‘Aye, aye,’ said Norreys, impatient with all this airy talk. He wanted hard information. ‘What is the position of the fortress, and where can we best land?’

‘The easiest place is the sheltered quay beside the fortress itself,’ said Ruy Lopez eagerly. I could see his eyes light up at the prospect of his moment of triumph. ‘The only other place is about a mile away, the Praia da Consolação, further to the east.’

‘Is there deep water there?’ said Norreys. ‘How close can we bring in the ships?’

Lopez and the Dom exchanged glances. They had planned for Lisbon. They had no real knowledge of Peniche, nor were they men of the sea.

Norreys watched them and sighed. ‘Very well, if you do not know the depth of the water, we will need to send the soldiers ashore in longboats. The loss of the Dutch vlieboten will cause us some difficulties here. We will try for the quay; failing that, we will make for this Praia da Consolação.’ He went off to signal to Drake and to Essex, who was to lead the landing party.

Before long we caught sight of the remarkable Nau dos Corvos, the Ship of the Crows, a strange rock formation which lies off the tip of the peninsula on which Peniche is built. From a slight distance it looks like a ship heeling over in the wind and I suppose crows may perch there, though as we approached it was a flock of gulls and terns I saw diving for fish. A pretty scene but a dangerous one, for more rocks lie hidden about it below the surface, stirring up whorls and spouts of spume, and it is a notorious wrecker of ships.

After days of heat and strong but steady winds, the weather was shifting. Clouds were building up out to sea, and there was the crackle of lightning in the air. The wind was gaining in strength, and we had to fight our way round the south side of the peninsula through heavy surf. The fort stood guarding the inner curve of the harbour, so our fleet kept well off shore, out of cannon-range, while the officers of the army decided how to deploy their men. The wind continued to rise, so that once we had dropped anchor at the far eastern end of the harbour, the Victory tugged and jerked at the chain like an impatient dog. Some of the lubberly soldiers began to look green again, but when they were told to arm themselves for landing, their cheer increased. Perhaps Peniche would offer as many picking as Coruña had done.

A fleet of longboats was launched, rowed by sailors and crammed with two thousand soldiers. Before they were halfway across the bay, we saw a contingent of Spanish soldiers, in their distinctive armour and carrying the Spanish flag, emerge from the fortress and deploy around the safe landing place just below it. Dr Nuñez had come from his cabin and stood watching beside me, his knuckles shining where he gripped the rail.

‘Pray God our men have the sense to attack the Spanish soldiers and leave the Portuguese alone,’ he said. ‘Though after Coruña I put little faith in them.’

‘I think Sir John has given clear orders to his officers,’ I said, though without much conviction.

‘Let us hope you are right. What are they doing now?’

For the oarsmen had back-watered and most of the boats were changing direction.

‘I think Essex has seen the Spaniards. He’s making for the Praia da Consolação.’

The boats rowed off across the choppy waters, some of them becoming entangled with each other and rocking perilously as the great breakers rolled in from the Atlantic, driven by the rising storm. The boats were dangerously overfull. At last they sorted themselves and began to head towards Consolação. The Spaniards made no move to head them off. They must have thought a landing there was impossible. The boats pressed on, however, the one bearing Essex’s standard in the lead. As they neared the shore, we saw Essex get to his feet and stand in the bow, his tall figure impressive, despite the bobbing and dipping of his craft. Then suddenly he was gone.

‘What’s happened!’ cried Dr Nuñez.

‘He’s jumped overboard!’ I said, ‘Dear God, he’s up to his neck in the waves. It must be near six feet deep there.’

We could see Essex’s head, all that was visible, bobbing across the water towards the shore, like a pig’s bladder from a boys’ game of football floating on the surface.

‘Oh, look, the fools!’ I cried.

‘It’s too far away,’ he said. ‘I cannot see.’

Bravely, the men following Essex had jumped in after him, taking no account of the fact that he was exceptionally tall. Most of them disappeared from sight, too short and too burdened by their armour to follow his magnificent stride as he rose from the waves like some travesty of an ancient sea god, streaming with water from every joint of his armour, his helmet encircled with seaweed. A few men scrambled out of the sea behind him, but the rest never reappeared. I felt sick

In the confusion the seamen were shouting to the soldiers to stay aboard until they had beached the boats, the soldiers were standing up, uncertain whether to follow their commander or obey the sailors, the boats were rocking perilously and ramming into one another. Only Essex and a few of his followers had gained the shore when one of the other boats capsized, overloaded as it was with a cargo of landsmen who knew nothing of how to behave at sea, tipping soldiers and sailors alike into the bay, well off shore. We watched helplessly as they were swept away to the ocean by a powerful undertow.

Eventually, the remnant of the soldiers reached the shore, and we noticed then that Norreys had kept to the fortress side of the bay and was landing his disciplined men. Whether alarmed more by the mad heroics of Essex or by the calm determination of Norreys, the small group of Spaniards immediately took to their heels. We learned later that they had retreated across the isthmus to the hills opposite the peninsula.

Then to our joy and relief we saw Dom Antonio’s standard climbing above the ramparts of the fortress and the gates being thrown open, spilling out a riot of civilians – women and children amongst them. Standing in the prow of the ship, the Dom had out his handkerchief and was wiping his eyes. Ruy Lopez was ablaze with triumph. Dr Nuñez turned to me with a smile that was wry and affectionate at the same time.

‘Well, it appears, Kit, that not even Essex has been able to ruin our return to Portuguese soil. I wish your father could have been here.’

I nodded. Despite all my doubts about the expedition, I had to hold back my tears. I am not quite sure why I was weeping. Was it because we had reached Portuguese soil without being met by armed force? Was it because the dreams of these old men were about to be realised? But what of the men who had just died, needlessly, before our very eyes? Yet again the poor leadership of the expedition had cost the lives of the common soldiers and sailors. The senseless folly of Essex in leaping out into deep water had brought the deaths of his loyal followers. Overloaded boats had cost more lives. The failure to teach the soldiers how to behave in a boat had led to still more death. While those on shore were cheering and the Dom was weeping for joy, men’s bodies were being sucked away irredeemably by the ocean, while others, weighed down by armour, were even now sinking into the mud and sand at the bottom of the harbour.

There seemed to be some little flurry on the shore. A man of commanding figure was in conference with Norreys and both were gesturing emphatically. Within a few minutes, a longboat put off from the quay and rowed out to the Victory.

One of Norreys’s officers called out to us as they came alongside.

‘The Portuguese garrison is commanded by one Captain Aruajo, who is Dom Antonio’s man. He says that he will surrender to no one but the Dom himself. I am to take you all ashore.’

With some difficulty the three elderly men scrambled down into the heaving boat, and I scrambled after them, with hardly more dignity. At the quay Dom Antonio was helped ashore, and the rest of us behind him. As one, the people of Peniche knelt down, on the wave-washed quay and the sodden sand, and raised their hands and their tearful faces to their king. The tall man, Captain Aruajo, drew his sword. Holding it flat across his two palms, he offered it to Dom Antonio who took it, murmured something I could not hear, then handed it back, The captain sheathed his sword again, then took his king’s hand and kissed it.

After Plymouth, after Coruña, Peniche seemed like a paradise. A throne stood ready for the returning king. The rooms were luxuriously furnished, the fortress amply supplied with food and drink. The storm rolled in over the town soon after we landed, turning the evening skies to midday with flashes of sheet lightning and making the very buildings vibrate with the reverberations of thunder. Despite the lashing wind-borne rain, we felt we had reached a safe haven. That evening we sat down to a Portuguese feast such as I had not seen since the last night in our own home in Coimbra. The tables were laid with elegant Turkey carpets and heavy silver. There were rich tapestries on the walls and braziers scented the air with regal frankincense and sweet lavender. We drank the finest wine from Venetian glass. They had killed and roasted a whole ox, and I was reminded suddenly of a story I had heard, at the church of St Bartholomew, about a long-lost son returning to his father’s house. The noise and laughter were overwhelming.

Although the taste of the food was real enough, as was the slight dizziness I experienced after three glass of exceptionally strong wine, yet the whole evening had about it the quality of a dream. After the horrors of Coruña, this eager, joyous reception seemed unreal. When I went to bed that night, in a proper bed with two feather mattresses below and sheets of the finest linen, I thought with wonder that all our misgivings since leaving Plymouth had been groundless. The people of Portugal were, after all, eager to welcome Dom Antonio back and to drive the Spanish out of the country. For the first time in many days, I dreamt peacefully. I thought I was at home again in Duck Lane, in the parlour with my father and Thomas Harriot, who had come to play music with us. As is the odd way with dreams, Harriot had brought his virginals – I know not how – and I was playing. When Harriot picked up my lute and my father raised his recorder to his lips, my dog Rikki began to howl, quite melodiously, in tune with the music. I woke up laughing.

The next day, success did not look quite so easy. I was invited to join the party of English Portuguese, if I may call us that, at breakfast. At once I noticed that although they were relaxed and cheerful, their conversation was not as optimistic as it had been last night.

‘Captain Aruajo,’ said Dom Antonio, ‘had one piece of bad news for me. Because we put in to Coruña for provisions, and stayed there two weeks, King Philip received word of our arrival before ever we sailed from there.’

We exchanged glances. We knew that Drake and Norreys had made serious mistakes over the Coruña affair. We knew all chance of surprise had been lost.

‘Because of this–’ The Dom hesitated, and I realised that something concerned him deeply. ‘Because of this, the Spanish king has ordered the execution, without trial, of every noble who is suspected to be of my party. Merely suspected.’

Dr Nuñez groaned in horror and Ruy Lopez covered his face briefly with his hands. I felt myself go cold. How many? Dear Lord, how many?

‘The nobles King Philip has managed to arrest and execute,’ said the Dom, ‘will not now be able to raise their own followers and bring them to join us.’

I felt a sudden swift stab of anger and gasped aloud at his calculating tone. Dom Antonio was indifferent to the deaths of these men, who had risked so much to remain faithful to him. He cared only for his lack of troops. It was the previous day all over again, a single-minded self-interest which set aside and ignored the tragedy of other lives, except as it affected his chances of claiming the throne.

Ruy sat up. As always he tried to persuade the Dom that all would be well.

‘Yet see how you are welcomed here in Peniche!’ he exclaimed. ‘We may lack the nobles, but the common people and the merchant classes only await your coming to rise up and follow you.’

At this the Dom looked more cheerful, and nodded his head. All those undeserved deaths, deaths brought about by our ill-conceived and ill-managed expedition, were forgotten at once.

I soon left them to their deliberations and set out to explore the town. It was a strange feeling to be speaking Portuguese, not amongst an exiled community, but here in the country itself. The place seemed prosperous enough, not as though it was suffering under Spanish rule. There were fishing boats in the harbour and some larger merchant vessels. I found a market where there was abundant food and other goods for sale – cooking pots and dishes, lengths of cheap fabric, even children’s simple toys. In a way this made it seem all the more surprising that the people had seemed so eager to welcome Dom Antonio.

The leaders of the expedition decided to remain for a short time in Peniche before advancing on Lisbon. They would wait for the Portuguese people to come in, to swell the ranks of our army, which was now heavily depleted by desertion before we left Plymouth (and since), by injury and death at Coruña, by the withdrawal of the Dutch vlieboten, and by the drownings here at Peniche. While King Antonio sat in state, blessing his people and settling disputes they brought before him, I sought out Dr Nuñez, whom I found at an apothecary’s shop in the town, replenishing his supplies. I took the opportunity to buy healing herbs myself – febrifuge herbs, and those for the treatment of sunburn, since most of mine had been exhausted, and a small amount of poppy syrup, which was inordinately expensive, in country where the poppies grew abundantly, as I knew very well. Perhaps the local people had begun to realise that they might do some very profitable trade with this sudden influx of strangers. Dr Nuñez and I walked back to the royal residence together.

‘Dom Antonio,’ I said, ‘I mean, King Antonio – he means to stay here at least a week, does he not?’