‘Master Winterly? I am Christoval Alvarez, a physician at St Bartholomew’s. I have brought word of your brother-in-law.’

He bowed his head, then moved swiftly to his wife’s side and laid his hand on her shoulder.

‘He’s one of the men from Sluys?’ he said. ‘I saw them being carried off the ship yesterday. How bad is William?’

I swallowed. ‘His leg had been smashed by a Spanish cannon ball several weeks ago. I don’t suppose they had much medical care in the garrison. When I saw him last night, he had developed gangrene.’

The woman pressed both hands to her mouth and tears welled up in her eyes.

‘Is he dead?’ The man’s tone was not abrupt. I could see that he just needed to know the worst, without any more hesitation.

‘We had to amputate,’ I said. ‘We fetched the best surgeon in London. Master Hawkins. He thinks it is clean now, and when I left the hospital early this morning, William was sleeping peacefully. But I am sure you understand. Until the leg has healed, we cannot be sure the gangrene will not return.’

The woman was weeping openly now, but silently, covering her face with her apron. I saw her husband tighten his grip on her shoulder. The child had slipped behind her and was looking first at his father and then at me.

The man cleared his throat. ‘So he will be crippled. The army will throw him out.’

‘Aye.’ I wasn’t prepared to lie to these people. I could see that they wanted the truth. ‘Otherwise, he is unharmed. If he recovers, as I hope he will, he will be able to get about on crutches, but certainly he can no longer be a soldier.’

I left it hanging in the air. The woman lifted her tear stained face from her apron and looked up at her husband. Neither said anything, but he gave a small nod.

‘William will come here,’ he said, ‘once he is able to leave the hospital. There is plenty of work that he can do. The navy is needing ale jacks and scabbards and quivers and the Saints only know what else.’

‘Uncle William can share your room, Will,’ the woman said, ‘and he can tell you all about his adventures. Won’t that be grand?’

The child nodded solemnly, then suddenly grinned. I realised that the family probably lived in the cramped quarters above the shop, but their warmth warmed me and I suddenly felt a flood of relief. This had not been quite the ordeal I had dreaded. I stood up.

‘If you would like to visit, William,’ I said, ‘I think it would do him good.’ I was sure the knowledge that he would have a home and an occupation, to come to when he left the hospital, would help him recover as much as anything I could do.

‘I’ll come now!’ The woman sprang to her feet and rubbed her face dry on her apron. ‘Will, you must mind the shop for Mama – can you so that?’

The child, flushed with pride, nodded.

‘Are you going back to the hospital now, Doctor? May I walk with you?’

‘Certainly.’

As she took off her apron and fetched her hat from a hook at the back of the shop, I turned to her husband. ‘Thank you, Master Winterly,’ I said, barely above a whisper. ‘That is the best medicine I can bring him. He is near despair.’

‘He need not despair.’ His voice was as soft as mine. ‘There will always be a home for him here.’

Mistress Winterly and I crossed the city together, saying little. In her anxiety to see her brother she walked hurriedly, almost breaking into a run from time to time, then, recalling herself, slowed down again.

‘Forgive me, Doctor,’ she said. ‘I am afraid that, if I don’t hurry . . .’

‘Nothing to forgive,’ I said. ‘But do not be afraid. There was no sign of the gangrene this morning. I am sure he will be alive when we get there.’

I hoped I was speaking the truth. Sometimes it can happen, after a very severe injury, or an amputation, that a patient may simply die of shock. It is as if the heart cannot endure any more. But William was young and, apart from his injury and the privations of the siege, he was probably strong enough. Yet sometimes, too, a mind full of despair can end a man’s life, if he no longer wants to live.

The ward was not much changed from last night, though several of the regular patients had been sent home and the most badly injured of the soldiers moved into their beds. There was a little more space between the pallets on the floor. Clearly the mistress of the nursing sisters had stood firm against any women of the neighbourhood being allowed near the patients, but some of the sewing women were assisting and the women servants were just clearing away the midday meal.

I led Mistress Winterly over to William’s bed. To my relief, he was still there. I had feared we might find him dead already. He lay quite still, his eyes closed, his face very pale. When I laid my hand on his brow I could find no trace of fever, which augured well. I fetched a stool and placed it beside the bed.

‘Sit here,’ I said. ‘Take care not to lean on the bed. He will still be feeling much pain.’

Dr Stephens’s assistant, Thomas Derby, came across to us.

‘How is he faring, Thomas?’ I asked.

‘Quiet. No sign of fever yet.’ He glanced at Mistress Winterly and raised his eyebrows in question.

‘This is his sister, come to see him.’

‘I doubt if he will wake.’

At that moment William stirred and gave a soft moan. I leaned over him. His breathing was regular, but a look of agony passed over his face like a wave and his eyes opened. He stared at me until his eyes focused.

‘Doctor?’

‘You are doing well, William. And see, I have brought your sister to see you. She has much to tell you.’

As we had walked, I had warned her not to weep over him, if she could forebear. I saw now with what courage she smiled cheerfully.

‘Well, William, how good it is to see you at last! You are to come to us when you leave the hospital. Jake needs your help, for we are quite overwhelmed with business. So you see, you must get well, for our sake. I do not know how we can manage without you.’

I saw an incredulous look come over William’s face and he reached out to take his sister’s hand. I jerked my head at Thomas and we retreated.

‘That is one fellow who is likely to recover,’ he said. ‘That’s a brave woman. Does she know?’

‘Aye, she knows.’

I went the rounds of my more seriously injured patients. The young boy with the crushed hand was in a high fever, but I managed to dribble some of the febrifuge tincture into his mouth, although he thrashed about and spilt much of it. The hand was still very inflamed, so I salved it again, but did not remove the splints I had fixed the night before. They were still in place and were best not disturbed. He had been moved to a bed and next to him was Andrew.

‘And how do you find yourself today?’ I said, perched on the edge of his bed and unwinding the dressing on his head. It was a relief not to have to kneel on the floor to do it.

‘Still the tinsmiths in here,’ he said, tapping the uninjured side of his head. ‘Ouch, Kit, don’t tear my scalp off as well!’

‘Don’t squall like an infant,’ I said. I leaned over and sniffed the long gouge that ran above his ear. ‘No nasty smells, you’ll be glad to know. The ear is healing already. And the rest is beginning to dry up. It looks better than it did yesterday, even in this bright sunlight. You’ll live.’

‘That’s good to know. So I’ll soon be fit to be sent back to the Low Countries.’

I looked at him soberly as I rebandaged his head. ‘Is that what will happen, do you think?’

He shrugged, and winced at the pain in his shoulder. ‘Either that or fighting the Spanish at sea. Everything depends on what King Philip intends.’

‘Aye. Well, Drake has bought us some time.’

‘They will come some time next year,’ he said with conviction. ‘That is why they wanted to take Sluys. Parma is establishing his bases all along the coast of the Low Countries, facing us across the Channel. I believe they will send their army across from there, while the Spanish navy comes up from the west. Snipping us like a pair of shears.’