‘That rabble,’ Dr Nuñez told me, ‘they have already jeopardised our mission. Soon they will destroy it.’

‘What have they done now?’ I asked, even though I dreaded to hear.

‘They have triumphantly burned down a monastery and slaughtered those of the monks they could catch. And they have been feasting on the animals they’ve stolen from the nearby farms. They have been massacring peasants they have found hiding in the hedgerows.’

Even as he spoke, on the deck of the Victory we could watch the plumes of smoke from burning villages rising like vast umbrella pines to the heavens.

‘What will happen to our own countrymen when these butchers reach Portugal?’ I said. ‘And it will not take long for news of events here to reach the Spanish court.’

Dr Nuñez grimaced. ‘All hope of a surprise attack on Lisbon must have been lost by the end of our second day here at Coruña.’

The Dom and his master strategist, Ruy Lopez, were powerless. They had handed themselves over to Drake and Norreys, believing the agreed plan would be carried out. But Drake, as Sara Lopez had said on more than one occasion, was a pirate, and answered to no one when he was drunk on the prospect of looting. I was certain he did nothing to curb the behaviour of the rioting men, but used it as a cover for his hand-picked sailors to carry out more discriminating plunder on his own behalf. I believe Sir John Norreys gave his best endeavour, but not even he could mount an effective siege with his small number of trained but poorly armed soldiers, hampered by that much larger rioting crowd of vicious men.

And those trained soldiers were suffering injury and death in their futile attempt to attack the citadel with their inadequate weapons. In the end, after several days of desperate fighting, it was this which gave me the opportunity I was looking for. I sought out Dr Nuñez.

‘I want to go ashore,’ I said bluntly. ‘Norreys’s men are in need of medical care. I find it shameful to lurk here in safety aboard the ship, out of range of the Spanish cannon, when I could be relieving their suffering. Will you give me leave to go ashore and see what I can do to provide help?’

‘How is your own injury?’ he asked. ‘Your shoulder? Surely it still pains you.’

‘Aye, a little,’ I lied, my hand stealing involuntarily toward my left shoulder. ‘But it is healing.’ I had smothered the burn with a cooling salve and left it open to the air at night, when it kept me awake with acute pain. During the day I covered it with a soft pad under my patched shirt and doublet.

‘In truth, I should be glad of some occupation to distract me from thinking of it,’ I said. ‘There will be men amongst our besiegers who are suffering far worse, and we both know that the naval surgeons are much less skilled than we are, except in sawing off limbs. Let me go and see what I can do.’

He got up from the chair where he was sitting in the elegant cabin allotted to Dom Antonio. The Dom himself was presently relaxing under an awning on deck, reading, as if all that was happening on shore was of no concern to him.

‘First,’ Dr Nuñez said, ‘let me show you what I have arranged.’

He led me out of the Dom’s cabin to the slightly smaller cabin next to it, which he occupied, and opened the door. I had not been in here before, but I saw that it was fresh and airy, with a glass window open to the breeze, like a gentleman’s study. Everything was in immaculate order, a few books on a shelf, his satchel of medical supplies hanging on a hook next to his physician’s gown.

‘Here,’ he said, opening a door. ‘This was storage space for spare linen and tableware used in the captain’s and officers’ cabins. I have had everything removed and stored elsewhere, and the shelves taken down.’

It was a narrow, windowless space, though there was a small grill opening through into the cabin to allow air to circulate. Perhaps it was sometimes used to store food. A cot had been fitted inside, filling most of the floor, though there was a hanging cupboard over the foot of the cot and a pisspot under it.

‘It is a poor enough cabin for a gentleman physician,’ he said, ‘but perhaps you would be more comfortable here than in that fox’s den you have made for yourself on deck.’

He was smiling and I smiled back, full of gratitude.

‘I won’t inconvenience you?’

‘Not at all. I am more likely to inconvenience you, for Beatriz swears I snore like a pig.’

I laughed. ‘So does my father.’

It took very few minutes to move my few possessions and my blankets into this cubbyhole, my blankets on to the cot, my clothes and books into the cupboard, apart from my gown, which I hung from a nail on the back of the door. I felt almost overwhelmed with relief. Here I would be safe and private.

Once I had arranged everything to my satisfaction, I found Dr Nuñez on deck and tried to thank him, but he brushed my words aside.

‘Proper provision should have been made for you before, but I am afraid everyone has been caught up in other affairs,’ he said. ‘Now, about your request to help the soldiers attacking the citadel.’

‘I may go?’

‘Aye, but I shall come with you. Between us we should be able to offer some comfort to those poor fellows.’

I did not know whether to be glad or sorry. If he came with me, it would be much easier to go ashore and reach the men, but it would be difficult, or even impossible, for me to go looking for Titus Allanby in the town, or what was left of it. However, all I could do was go ashore and spy out the town as best I could. Later, I might be able to return alone.

We both equipped ourselves with our medical satchels and commandeered one of the Victory’s small attendant pinnaces to take us ashore. As we walked along the quay and stepped down on to the harbour paving, I realised that, for the first time in my life, I was walking on Spanish soil. It gave me a curious feeling, partly fear, partly a kind of exhilaration that I was nearer to fulfilling the first of my missions. Serving Walsingham had begun to work upon me once again and I was aware of a familiar sense of half-guilty excitement.

We had been given an escort of four trained soldiers, who led us a roundabout way through the cracked and broken streets to avoid the direct line of fire from the citadel’s cannon mounted in the walled upper town. The lower town and port appeared deserted, yet I was aware of watching eyes. When I turned my head to seek them out, there was nothing but a kind of quiver in the air, which sent a tremor along my spine. Most of the inhabitants were dead or escaped into the surrounding country, but I was sure there were others hiding amongst the damaged buildings, the very old and very young, and those who would not abandon them.

Everywhere, there were bodies, lying disregarded in the roadway or glimpsed through the broken doorways as we passed. Men, women, and even small children. A few mangy dogs were scavenging in the kennels of the streets through which we were making our way. A black and white cat watched us, slit-eyed, from a window where the shutters had been half torn away. Some of the damage to the buildings was too severe to have been inflicted by our drunken soldiers, even if they had been carrying muskets. This was artillery damage. In firing down on our besiegers, the Spanish garrison was wreaking havoc on their own civilian town.

The streets were pitted and strewn with abandoned possessions – clothes and cookpots and broken crockery. I saw a single child’s shoe, lying on its side next to a torn head veil. Somehow that shoe was more poignant than the derelict buildings. The air was thick with dust and the stench of gunpowder, trapped between the walls of the crowded houses by the heat. There had been a lull in the cannon fire when we came ashore, but now it started up again, so that instinctively we ducked and the soldiers hurried us on, past a church whose doors gaped open on a rubble-strewn interior, where the tower had collapsed into the nave. That was certainly not damage done by us. It could only be the result of heavy artillery.