On the fourth day out from Plymouth, the rain eased off, the wind swung round to a steady north-east, and the scattered fleet started to draw together. We sailed on, rounding the Brest peninsula, the westernmost tip of 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. We’ll find somewhere.’ He turned to look again towards the loom of the coast. ‘Not long now, till you see your homeland again.’
‘Nay.’ I kept to myself that I did not feel the affection for the place that lit up his eyes and made him stride about the deck like a much younger man. Portugal. Not my homeland. Never that. A place of nightmare. My stomach churned and I clenched my fists to hide the shaking of my hands.
‘Are we not heading too far to the west?’ I said, anxious to change the subject. ‘I thought we were ordered to attack the Spanish fleet where it is being repaired at Santander.’ I gestured towards the port bow, roughly in the direction where I thought, from my sight of Walsingham’s map, that Santander must lie. ‘Should we not be aiming more in that direction?’
He looked somewhat startled. ‘I did not know you were privy to that plan.’
‘Sir Francis told me. First to Santander, then to Coruña, firing as many of the Spanish ships as possible, to cripple their Atlantic navy. Then on southward to besiege Lisbon. Though I would have thought,’ I added, ‘that it would have been wiser to attack Lisbon first, to retain some element of surprise, even if the Spaniards spot our fleet as we sail down the coast.’
‘Perhaps. Though there would also be some merit in putting the Spanish fleet out of action first,’ he said, ‘so that Lisbon would require a land battle alone and not a naval one. It is for our military and naval leaders to make these decisions.’
‘A land battle with our amateur army?’ I laughed. ‘Besides, the ships under repair at Santander and Coruña are not seaworthy. They could not engage us at sea. But,’ I said, sticking to my point, ‘we do not seem to be making for Santander.’
‘There is a problem,’ he said.
I looked at him enquiringly.
‘Two problems, in fact. First, you must have noticed the strong on-shore wind. Drake is worried that we might become embayed in Biscay and vulnerable to attack either by the French or the Spanish. Trapped, with no way out. He has decided that it will be safer to bypass Santander and make directly for Coruña. Part of the Spanish fleet is there, so we should be able to inflict considerable damage.’
‘Though surely not as much as we could have done if we had attacked Santander as well,’ I said. ‘I suppose we must defer to Drake’s judgement in naval matters.’
Though I recalled how Drake had sailed off on a private plundering action in the middle of the Armada battle. How much was he to be trusted?
‘You said there were two problems,’ I reminded him.
‘You recall how that riffraff consumed our stores in Plymouth?’
‘Dr Nuñez,’ I said, ‘I don’t suppose any of us will ever forget those disgraceful scenes.’
‘It has left us very short of provisions. The money invested in the venture by the joint stock company was all spent in providing those original stores and the small amount of arms we carry. Drake and Norreys were unable to purchase more to replace what was lost.’
‘You mean we are going to run out of food?’ I was incredulous, that these men, with all their experience of mounting armed expeditions and voyages of exploration, could prove so inept in the most fundamental of preparations.
‘Food and drink. You see all these flags they are running up on the yardarms?’ He pointed over our heads, where lines of brightly coloured flags flapped against the heavy canvas of the sails. I had no idea of their purpose.
‘They are signalling from ship to ship,’ he said, ‘trying to decide what best to do. On some of the ships the men are rioting already, for lack of food. Our captain says we will have consumed all our own food by this evening. The ale will be finished by tomorrow. We cannot reach Lisbon in our present state.’