The Portuguese Affair by Ann Swinfen Page A

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