‘As long as we have this following wind,’ he went on, as if he had not noticed the movement of the ship, ‘we should reach the coast of the Low Countries before dark, but I will not sail up the canal at night. Too risky, both for the sake of the ship and in case the Spanish forces have moved closer.’

‘Are they that close?’ I asked. ‘I thought they were back near Sluys.’

He shrugged. ‘Who knows what Parma will do? But it is wise to be cautious.’

He called an order to the steersman to head further out to sea and turned back to us. ‘Dangerous sandbanks off the coast of Kent, the Goodwin Sands. Many a ship has been lost there.’

I shivered. The thought of going aground in this bitter weather, out of sight of any help by land or sea, was the very stuff of nightmares. The captain took my shiver for cold.

‘Come,’ he said,  ‘there is no need for you to stand on deck in this wind. Come into my cabin.’

The stern of the ship held the captain’s cabin and two other smaller ones for his officers, while the men slept below decks. Not that there would be much sleep for anyone, I imagined, on this journey. Thoms led us into a comfortable room which – had it not leapt up and down and side to side – could have been any gentleman’s study on land. It was panelled in polished wood and had a wide window at the far end, looking out over the stern of the ship. On the right a bunk was neatly made up with colourful blankets, in the centre a table was screwed down to the floor, as were the four chairs around it. The rolled up papers stored in racks on the wall were probably charts.

‘Will you take a glass of wine?’ Thoms said, and without waiting for an answer took a flagon and three glasses from a cupboard.

We sat round the table like any civilised company on shore, except that both the flagon and the glasses had heavy bases for stability, and when I raised the glass to my lips, the motion of the ship knocked it against my teeth. Mercifully I felt no seasickness. On my only other journey by sea, from Portugal to England, I had also been spared that pernicious affliction. Berden looked a little queasy. I was glad that in this, at least, I would not be the weaker of the two of us.

‘Do you make this crossing often?’ Berden asked. ‘Over to the Low Countries?’

‘Aye,’ said Thoms. ‘Ever since we have been helping the Dutchmen against the Spanish we have been back and forth, carrying supplies and men. And bringing the casualties home. I was second officer on the warship that brought Sidney’s body home.’ He shook his head. ‘Less than a year ago now, though it seems like a lifetime. Poor Lady Sidney, she was wild with grief, and her not much more than a girl herself.’

‘And carrying a child,’ I said. ‘I saw her at her father’s house not long afterwards.’

‘They say the child was born delicate,’ Berden said.

‘It is not to be wondered at,’ I said. ‘And the other little girl fatherless now.’ I had a sudden vivid picture in my head of the child being led into St Paul’s for the funeral.

‘Were you on one of the ships that evacuated the survivors of Sluys in the summer?’ I looked at Thoms, whose calm demeanour was reassuring on this storm-driven ship. I could imagine Andrew and the others in his care.

‘I was. By then I was in command of the Silver Swan and we carried thirty of them back from Sluys and up the Thames to London.’

‘Thirty!’ Berden looked about him, as if he could see the prostrate forms of the injured soldiers heaped up.

‘Aye. We pressed into service every ship we had nearby, to fetch the men away before Parma changed his mind. We had to lay them out in rows on the deck, like cargo, and run them home. Fortunately the weather was good, else I don’t think we could have brought them home alive in rain.’

‘Kit here is a physician.’ Berden inclined his head towards me, ‘as well as working for Walsingham. He tended some of them at St Bartholomew’s.’

‘Four hundred, there were,’ I said. ‘We also had to lay them out in rows.’

‘I never want to carry out such an evacuation again,’ Thoms said, refilling our glasses. ‘It might never have been needed, if we had gone in sooner and broken the siege, saved Sluys and driven Parma away. He wouldn’t now be in possession of the good harbour there at Sluys.’

I realised what he had said. ‘You mean you were sent to Sluys with Leicester’s fleet?’

‘I was.’ He smiled grimly. ‘It was not a pleasant experience, sitting idle just offshore, watching until the guns inside Sluys fell silent. We knew they were running short of gunpowder. And we made a pathetic little sortie with fireships, that was turned against us, so we had to retreat with our tails between our legs. Drake would have gone straight in, as soon as he reached the Low Countries.’ He gave an impatient sigh. ‘Well, ’tis all over and done now. After I carried the wounded back from Sluys I was ordered to join the squadron at Dover. We are building up the naval defences for when the Spanish come in the new year.’

He rose to his feet. ‘Please feel free to use my cabin as your own. I must go back on deck. We will dine later.’

When he had left and closed the door of the cabin behind him, I studied Berden, sitting across from me. He had not touched his second glass of wine.

‘Best if you don’t drink that.’ I nodded toward his glass. ‘If you are feeling nausea, you had better lie down.’

‘Ha, coming the physician, are you, Kit?’

I shrugged. ‘Take my advice or not, as you please, but you will feel it less if you lie down and close your eyes.’

‘On the captain’s bunk?’

‘Why not? He is not using it.’

He shook his head, then clearly regretted it. ‘Perhaps you are right.’ He stood up, staggering a little, and made his way carefully over to the bunk, where he pulled off his boots and lay down. I unfolded one of the blankets and spread it over him.

‘Close you eyes and try to sleep,’ I said. ‘It will help.’

He did close them and muttered, ‘Never have been able to endure the sea, and this is worse than usual.’

I did not answer, but left him quiet and went back out on deck.

Although no snow was falling, the heavy clouds sagged overhead as though they would sink down and smother us with the weight of their unshed burden. The captain had still not given the order to hoist the foresail, but even without it we were speeding along. There was no land to be seen in this murk of night darkness in the daytime, so it was impossible to judge how quickly we were moving relative to land, but the bow wave rolled and creamed along the sides of the ship, then streamed out behind in a double ribbon of foam as far as the eye could see, which was not far before it vanished into the gloom. How fast we were really going would depend on the movement of the tides, which I had no way of judging.

I went into the canvas stable to see how the horses were faring. They were stirring uneasily but both turned their heads as though grateful that they were not alone on this fearful ship. We had left them some hay, which was nearly finished, and their water bucket had fallen over, spilling what was left of its contents and rolling away into a corner. I decided against fetching more water, which would certainly spill again as the ship rolled. Instead I felt in my saddlebag for the apples and gave each horse one, then sat on the upturned bucket and ate a piece of the cheese. Anxiety had robbed me of my appetite in the morning, but now fighting my way across the deck against the wind had made me hungry. Besides, two glasses of wine on an almost empty stomach was beginning to go to my head.

The apples and my companionship seemed to calm the horses, so I stayed where I was for a long time, leaning my back against Hector’s forequarters and even dozing a little. One of the sailors found me there, come to summon me to the captain’s cabin to dine.