‘I shall be sorry to say goodbye to you all, Teresa, but you will be better off when we are gone. Paolo will be recovered soon and says he will fish for you.’
I had learned from Paolo that Teresa’s father had been lost at sea just two months before our arrival at Coruña. The little family would have been destitute but for the kindness of neighbours, for the mother had never been strong and the little boy was simple-minded.
‘I will look after them,’ Paolo had said to me in his gruff voice, giving nothing away. It would not surprise me if he moved in with them and they became one family.
‘May I see the baby?’ I asked now.
Teresa’s mother smiled and held the baby out to me. She rarely spoke, but on my second or third visit she had asked me if I would give the child a name, so that I should always be remembered. I was embarrassed and could say nothing at first.
‘Caterina,’ I suggested at last, ‘if that pleases you.’
‘Caterina.’ She tried it on her tongue. ‘She will be baptised Caterina, as soon as we can hold a service.’
As soon, in other words, as the priests who had abandoned their flock returned. Well, although Caterina Alvarez was no longer, this little Caterina should take her place. She promised to be a fine healthy child like her sister. She was warm and soft in my arms, long eyelashes lying quietly on plump cheeks. She, at least, would have no memory of what had happened here.
When I bade them farewell, Teresa hugged me about the waist, pressing her face against my doublet, and I kissed the top of her head. I would not let them see the tears in my eyes, for their suffering at our hands far outweighed any good I had done them.
Paolo was standing in his doorway, leaning on his stick, as I went out into the street.
‘So you are leaving, then.’
‘Aye.’
He spat juicily, but had the grace to turn to one side.
‘I wish you well, Paolo. The town will recover, in the end. I have nothing but sorrow and regret for what has happened here.’
He grunted.
‘They will be glad of your help.’ I nodded toward the other house.
‘Aye, well, there will be none from them.’ As once before, he jerked his head up, indicating the upper town.
‘You’ll be glad to see us leave,’ I said.
‘We will.’
There was nothing else to say, but as I was starting to move away, he cleared his throat and, surprisingly, looked slightly ashamed.
‘This is for you.’
He thrust a grubby fist toward me and something small dropped into my outstretched hand. Then he turned his back on me and limped back into the house, slamming the door behind him.
It was a model of a seal, about four inches long, beautifully carved from some glossy wood. The eyes were filled with a look of innocent curiosity. Even the whiskers betrayed inquisitiveness. I closed my fingers over it, then I too turned my back and walked away.
Drake and Norreys sent despatches home to London, and with them I sent a coded report to Walsingham on all that had happened, including such information as I had been able to glean about Coruña and the surrounding countryside. It was carried by Titus Allanby, returning to London on one of the fast pinnaces, who would make his own report in person. Before he left, he shook my hand, and thanked me again for extricating him from the besieged town.
‘You would probably have contrived an escape yourself,’ I said, ‘even without my help.’
He shook his head. ‘I was too closely watched. And even had I done so, the English fleet might already have left. I owe you a good deal, Kit.’
Awkwardly, I tried to brush aside his thanks, but did ask that he would take my greetings to my father.
‘Tell him I am well,’ I said, ‘and please do not mention the burn or the ankle. Both are nearly recovered now.’
‘Very well, but I shall mention them to Sir Francis. Those who sit comfortably in Seething Lane do not always understand what we endure, who are out in the world, following their orders. I will also tell him all that we have discussed concerning Robert Poley.’
‘Aye, do that,’ I said. ‘Though we have no proof.’
‘It may plant a seed of doubt.’
He grinned and stretched, as he shouldered his pack before climbing down the rope ladder to the pinnace.
‘I am growing too old for this game,’ he called up to me, from where he stood on the deck of the smaller ship. ‘I think I shall buy a small farm and grow pigs and cabbages.’
I laughed, and raised my hand as the pinnace rowed clear of us and hoisted her sails. Part of me – nay, much of me – longed to be going home with her.
The next morning we set sail on that strong north-easterly, which carried us round the rest of Cape Finisterre and on towards Portugal at last. Away from Spain and Coruña, I began to breathe more easily. Looking around, however, I saw that the fleet seemed to have shrunk. I stopped one of the sailors.
‘Where are the rest of the ships?’ I said. ‘Have they fallen behind?’
He grimaced. ‘Not they. Most of the sixty Dutch vlieboten have abandoned the expedition and turned for home. And taken some three thousand men with them.’
I caught my breath. The vlieboten were small ships, like the pinnaces, not great warships, and they carried only light-weight armaments, but they were very useful, moving between the larger ships and able to navigate the shallower waters along parts of the Portuguese shore or in river estuaries. The three thousand men were also a substantial cost to the expedition, on top of the hundreds left buried in Spanish soil at Coruña.
Despite the loss of the Dutch ships and all those men, it was good to be on the move at last. The weather was hot, but tempered by the wind, and the rest of the fleet sailed smartly out round Finisterre and then south along the coast, although on the second day the wind dropped somewhat, so that although it continued to blow from a favourable quarter, it was not strong enough for us to make much speed. The soldiers, however, welcomed the respite as the fleet sailed on slowly. The provisions which had finally been procured meant that food and drink were in plentiful supply, although the ship’s officers ensured that there should be no gorging and no drunkenness. There had been far too much of that already. For the most part the injured soldiers made good progress toward recovery, so my duties as physician were light.
Four days out from Coruña, on the thirteenth day of May, I was standing once again with Dr Nuñez in the bow of the ship.
‘Is that a galleon, Kit?’ he said. ‘Further out to sea but heading on a slanting course to intercept us? Your eyes are keener than mine.’
I shaded my eyes with my hand and looked where he pointed.
‘Aye. It seems to be one ship on its own, not a Spanish fleet.’
A man on the masthead was calling something down to the captain, and pointing.
‘Is it English?’ Dr Nuñez asked.
‘Too far away to tell.’
I kept my eye on the approaching ship, so I did not at first notice the brightly painted fishing boat which had come alongside the Victory. Then, just before it dropped astern, I saw that Ruy Lopez was leaning over the rail and talking to the fishermen. Dr Nuñez went aft to see what news it had brought, for a fishing boat in these waters must be Portuguese. We were not far now from Ilhavo, where I had once hidden long ago amongst the fishnets.
As the fishing boat turned away, I saw that Dr Nuñez and Ruy Lopez were talking to Norreys, who had joined our ship that morning to discuss our strategy when we reached Portugal. It seemed they were reluctant to impart whatever news the fisherman had brought.
‘Has something happened?’ I asked Dr Nuñez when he returned to the foredeck, looking gloomy.
‘A treasure ship has put in to the harbour at Peniche.’
I was puzzled. Why was this such bad news? A single treasure ship, laden with spoils from Mexico and Peru, would not trouble our fleet of warships.