The Portuguese Affair by Ann Swinfen

Low Countries – when these soldiers were sent to take the citadel of Coruña, they had nothing but small arms.
    They fought bravely, and paid for it. In the meantime, the gallant first-time volunteers were roaming the surrounding countryside, having wiped out most of the town of Coruña.
    ‘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