When Peter returned, we struggled to lift William on to the clean pallet. The servants had retreated as soon as they had deposited him on the floor and there was very little room to move. In the end we managed to shift the men on either side a little way, so that we could lay the fresh pallet next to him. Then I took his shoulders and Peter – with nervous hesitation – took his remaining leg. We managed to lift him across. Then Peter removed the old pallet, which was so sodden it dripped blood along the floor as he carried it away. I tucked the two blankets around the soldier, taking care to avoid the stump, which had been cauterised and bound tightly to stop any further bleeding. Peter had even managed to find a small cushion, which I eased under William’s head. He moaned as I did so, and his eyelids fluttered, but did not open.

When I stood up, I saw that my father had returned with Peter and stood talking quietly to him near the door, so I went to join them.

‘Dr Stephens has gone home,’ my father said. ‘One of us at least should get some sleep.’

‘I’ve told Peter to do the same,’ I said. I turned to him. ‘You have a room in the hospital, don’t you?’

Peter was an orphan, with no family that he knew of. When he had come to St Bartholomew’s as a young servant, one of the licensed apothecaries, James Weatherby, had noticed his skill and intelligence, and took him on as an apprentice. I knew he had a room somewhere up in the attics.

‘Aye,’ he said, ‘but will I not be needed here?’

My father shook his head. ‘Master Weatherby is still here. He has said you may go.’

With that, Peter nodded to us and went off toward the staircase which led to the attics. Instead of his usual brisk step he plodded like an old man, hardly able to put one foot in front of another.

‘You should go home as well, Kit,’ my father said.

I shook my head. ‘I am so tired that I’m no longer tired. I feel like a swimmer come up for air.’

Even as I said it, I had a sudden flash of memory. My sister Isabel and my brother Felipe and I, swimming in the stream that ran beside the meadow at my grandfather’s solar, his estate in the foothills some miles above Coimbra. We used to dare each other to stay under water as long as we could, but we would pop up at last, breaking the surface like corks, gasping and laughing.

‘Caterina?’ My father was looking at me oddly, for I must have seemed far away.

‘Ssh!’ I said, glancing over my shoulder. There was no one near but the sleeping soldiers. That was twice tonight he had risked giving me away. Fatigue was making him incautious. ‘Be careful, Father.’

He passed a tired hand over his face. ‘I am sorry, Kit. It has been a long and weary night.’

‘It has. If anyone should go home, it is you.’

‘No, no. We will both stay on until Dr Stephens returns in the morning. Though I don’t think we will be needed. They are mostly asleep. Thomas Derby will be back in the morning.’

Thomas was Dr Stephens’s assistant, as I was my father’s. He had been away for three days, fetching a shipment of supplies from Dover.

‘I am going to watch over William Baker,’ I said.

‘Who?’ My father had not caught the name before.

‘The amputee. And there was that one soldier with the high fever, up at the top end of the ward. He may need more febrifuge tincture.’

‘Aye, you are right. I will sit up there, in case he wakes.’

Although the first fading of the night had shown in the window, the rest of the time seemed to drag sluggishly on to dawn. I found a stool which I could fit between the rows of men beside William Baker and sat there, willing myself to stay awake. I knew if I sat where I could lean against the wall, I would fall asleep again. Even so, several times my head fell forward till my chin hit my chest and a sharp stab in my spine woke me just as I drifted into sleep. I could make out my father dimly at the far end of the ward, seated, as I had been before, with his back propped against the wall. I hoped he would be able to doze a little, for he was showing his age, and was a little frail these days, however he tried to put on a brave face.

At last the long rectangles of the windows grew a paler grey, then gradually took on a tinge of pink, about the same time as I heard some of the town roosters beginning to greet the day. I wasn’t often awake as early as this. I could see, in the growing light, that my father was asleep. I was stiff with sitting so long on the hard stool, so I stood up and stretched, then slipped out of the ward and out of the hospital itself. In the courtyard the air smelled wonderfully fresh after the stench of so many sick and wounded bodies crowded together, and I drew in deep lungfuls of it. One of the hospital cats, kept to chase away any rats and mice from the storerooms, was washing himself in a pale yellow patch of morning sun, licking first one hind leg and then the other with meticulous care. Catching sight of me, he strolled over with the nonchalant benevolence of a monarch and rubbed against my leg. I tickled him behind the ears and was rewarded with a throaty rumble. When he stalked off on business of his own, I returned to the hospital, where the nursing sisters were just coming to take up their duties. Tonight we must make sure that some stayed in the wards over night, for the extra numbers we had taken in were going to need care and feeding.

When I reached the ward, I saw that my father was awake and so were some of the patients. Together, we got Goodman Watson out of his bed and dressed, and told him firmly that he was quite well enough to go home, despite his peevish protests. Then we sent for some of the men servants to lift William Baker into the vacated bed. He was still unconscious, but there was no bleeding from the stump of his leg. We could only pray that the surgeon had operated in time and that the gangrene would not spread any further.

The serving women brought porridge and small ale for the patients and we went round the ward, deciding whether any of the men were able to leave. Very few were well enough. Even those with less serious injuries were so weak from starvation that their recovery would be slow, so in the end we only sent three away, all of them with homes in London. When I came to Andrew, I saw that his fever had abated somewhat, but his skin was still dry and hot.

‘How do you find yourself this morning?’ I asked.

‘Better,’ he said. ‘Last night it felt as though a blacksmith was hammering on the inside of my skull. Now it’s just a tinsmith.’

He grinned at me and I smiled back. This was more like the old Andrew.

‘Well, once there’s only a sparrow pecking there, we’ll let you go home and try to grow your hair over that groove in your skull.’

‘Aye, I noticed you chopped away my locks last night.’

‘You wouldn’t want them sticking to the wound, I promise you. Where is your home?’

‘Gloucestershire. But I won’t go home, I’ll go back to my barracks in Dover.’

‘You won’t be fit for duty yet awhile.’

‘Tell my commander that.’

‘If it is the same commander as last year, he seemed a sensible man.’

‘No, he has been transferred to the Low Countries. We have a regular Tartar of a fellow now.’

‘Then we will send a letter with you, saying that you are not fit for work for another three weeks. Three weeks after we release you.’

‘You make the hospital sound like prison.’

‘You’d not be fed so well in any prison I’ve heard of. It is one of the provisions of Barts, to feed the patients well. Make the most of it. Here is your breakfast coming. I’m off home myself soon, but I will see you later today.’

He looked at me seriously for the first time. ‘I thank you for your care, Kit. You had a terrible night of it last night. How is that poor lad, William?’

I didn’t realise he had been aware of what had happened.