Free The Portuguese Affair by Ann Swinfen Page A

Brittany, and began to head south across the Bay of Biscay, keeping well offshore, so that we should not be spied from the French coast and word sent to warn Spain. As the sun came out, the whole ship began to steam, as canvas, ropes and planks dried in the heat. The sailors were kept on the run, adjusting the set of the sails and the tensions on the rigging as the ship started to recover from the strains of the previous days. All of us on board responded to the passing of the storm and the return of the sun. After so much wet misery, the outlook began to seem more hopeful.
    Although we wanted to avoid encountering any French ships, clearly our leaders were also reluctant to veer too far west into the wider Atlantic, so as we sailed south I was able to watch the French coast in the distance. My eyes had always been sharp, so from time to time I could make out a cluster of cottages in a village, or a small group of fishing boats. The rocky coast of Brittany held dangers, clearly marked by huge waves that crashed on to the shore, sending fountains of spume as high in the air as the tower of St Paul’s. Further south the coast looked more tranquil, with here and there a small harbour.
    One of the sailors explained why we were keeping out from the coast. The Victory was furthest inshore of the fleet, most of which stood more to the west of us.
    ‘An’t no danger of attack along here,’ he said. ‘The froggies are so busy cutting each other’s throats, they won’t bother us. Protestant against Catholic. Fighting for the crown, I heard.’
    I nodded. ‘So I’ve heard too.’ I would not admit how many despatches on the subject I had decoded. ‘So why keep away?’
    ‘Captains don’t want the froggies passing word to Spain that we’re coming.’
    ‘The French and the Spanish are not the best of friends,’ I objected.
    ‘Aye, but Philip of Spain will have spies along the coast.’ He was shrewder than I realised.
    ‘Then surely we should move still further out. If we can see their villages, they must be able to see that.’ I jerked my chin up, indicating Dom Antonio’s banner at our masthead, with its golden castles on a crimson border and its five blue shields forming a central cross. It was as large as a wall covering.
    ‘Not our job to point that out,’ he said.
    For the whole of the fifth day we made steady progress southwards, but the wind was not the most favourable. Although strong enough to fill the sails, it kept veering round from the northeast to the north and then to the northwest, which would tend to push us in toward the coast of France, and also toward the shallower waters where the southeast corner of the Bay lay. The whistles of the officers were forever sending the sailors to trim the sails to keep the ship on course. That night we had to heave to, until daylight should show us our best route.
    By the sixth day we could make out the line of Cape Finisterre dimly on the horizon, the westernmost tip of Spain. Beyond, not many miles further south, the coast of Portugal began.
    I recalled the map Walsingham had shown me, when he had explained the three goals of the expedition. Our first, to destroy Spain’s Atlantic fleet, would mean attacking Santander, where the damaged ships from last year’s Armada fleet were being repaired and refitted. As we sailed further south that morning Dr Nuñez came to stand beside me on the forecastle, where I leaned on the rail, watching the lands of Iberia draw perceptibly nearer.
    ‘I saw you sleeping on deck this morning, Kit. Have you not been given any accommodation?’
    I avoided his glance. ‘I was told I could have a hammock on the gundeck. But–’ I hesitated, ‘I did not like the idea.’
    With an angry snort he said, ‘That is no place for one of the ship’s physicians. I will see whether I can find you somewhere more suitable.’ He looked at me sideways, a curiously knowing look.
    I gave him a grateful smile. ‘Thank you.’
    ‘Don’t worry.