The Portuguese Affair (15 page)

However much I advised them to keep to the shade, within an hour they would be back, lying in the sun, so I left them to suffer from their own folly.

A week after departing from Coruña, we were nearing Peniche. Another fishing boat had been sighted and detained, its crew apparently less ready than the first to pass information to the English fleet, despite the Dom’s huge standard at our masthead. I lingered nearby.

‘Aye,’ said the older man, while his boy glowered at us where he squatted, gutting sardines. ‘There was a treasure ship from the
Spanish Main in Peniche.’

‘And?’ said Dr Lopez, giving a worried sideways glance at the Dom.

‘Well,’ said the fisherman, and spat over the side of his boat, ‘word got around that she was loaded with a million crowns in gold. If you believe what they say. Not that we’ll see one
real
of it in Portugal. But she isn’t still here.’ He laughed grimly. ‘Once they heard
El Dracque
was coming, they cleared out, heading south.’

On learning what the fisherman had said, Drake decided to put in to Peniche anyway, instead of proceeding to
Lisbon. Why, I am not certain. Perhaps he believed that some of the treasure had been off-loaded there. Since the treasure ship had left, I would have expected him to follow it, even deserting the rest of the fleet, the way he had abandoned the English fleet during the early encounters with the ships of the Spanish Armada. However, Drake was in command of the fleet, and to Peniche the fleet would go. The agreed goal of our mission seemed to be retreating further and further from us.

Ruy Lopez and the Dom were asked to explain the lie of the land at Peniche to Norreys, who once again had come on board our ship. His brother was making a good recovery, which he partly attributed to the skill of Portuguese doctors, so Norreys was readier to take into account the advice and wishes of the Portuguese party

‘The town is loyal to me,’ the Dom asserted. ‘So this should prove an excellent landfall. There will be a small Spanish garrison, but the remainder of the inhabitants will be Portuguese, and loyal. There is opportunity here, at last, to begin rallying my people. We must move in swiftly, take the fortress, and plant my standard. As soon as word goes forth, my supporters will rush to my side and defeat the Spanish.’

‘Aye, aye,’ said Norreys, impatient with all this airy talk. He wanted hard information. ‘What is the position of the fortress, and where can we best land?’

‘The easiest place is the sheltered quay beside the fortress itself,’ said Ruy Lopez eagerly. I could see his eyes light up at the prospect of his moment of triumph. ‘The only other place is about a mile away, the Praia da Consolação, further to the east.’

‘Is there deep water there?’ said Norreys. ‘How close can we bring in the ships?’

Lopez and the Dom exchanged glances. They had planned for Lisbon. They had no real knowledge of Peniche, nor were they men of the sea.

Norreys watched them and sighed. ‘Very well, if you do not know the depth of the water, we will need to send the soldiers ashore in longboats. The loss of the Dutch
vlieboten
will cause us some difficulties here. We will try for the quay; failing that, we will make for this Praia da Consolação.’ He went off to signal to Drake and to Essex, who was to lead the landing party.

Before long we caught sight of the remarkable
Nau dos Corvos, the Ship of the Crows, a strange rock formation which lies off the tip of the peninsula on which Peniche is built. From a slight distance it looks like a ship heeling over in the wind and I suppose crows may perch there, though as we approached it was a flock of gulls and terns I saw diving for fish. A pretty scene but a dangerous one, for more rocks lie hidden about it below the surface, stirring up whorls and spouts of spume, and it is a notorious wrecker of ships.

After days of heat and strong but steady winds, the weather was shifting. Clouds were building up out to sea, and there was the crackle of lightning in the air. The wind was gaining in strength, and we had to fight our way round the south side of the peninsula through heavy surf. The fort stood guarding the inner curve of the harbour, so our fleet kept well off shore, out of cannon-range, while the officers of the army decided how to deploy their men. The wind continued to rise, so that once we had dropped anchor at the far eastern end of the harbour, the
Victory
tugged and jerked at the chain like an impatient dog. Some of the lubberly soldiers began to look green again, but when they were told to arm themselves for landing, their cheer increased. Perhaps Peniche would offer as many picking as Coruña had done.

A fleet of longboats was launched, rowed by sailors and crammed with two thousand soldiers. Before they were halfway across the bay, we saw a contingent of Spanish soldiers, in their distinctive armour and carrying the Spanish flag, emerge from the fortress and deploy around the safe landing place just below it. Dr Nuñez had come from his cabin and stood watching beside me, his knuckles shining where he gripped the rail.

‘Pray God our men have the sense to attack the Spanish soldiers and leave the Portuguese alone,’ he said. ‘Though after Coruña I put little faith in them.’

‘I think Sir John has given clear orders to his officers,’ I said, though without much conviction.

‘Let us hope you are right. What are they doing now?’

For the oarsmen had back-watered and most of the boats were changing direction.

‘I think Essex has seen the Spaniards. He’s making for the Praia da Consolação.’

The boats rowed off across the choppy waters, some of them becoming entangled with each other and rocking perilously as the great breakers rolled in from the
Atlantic, driven by the rising storm. The boats were dangerously overfull. At last they sorted themselves and began to head towards Consolação. The Spaniards made no move to head them off. They must have thought a landing there was impossible. The boats pressed on, however, the one bearing Essex’s standard in the lead. As they neared the shore, we saw Essex get to his feet and stand in the bow, his tall figure impressive, despite the bobbing and dipping of his craft. Then suddenly he was gone.

‘What’s happened!’ cried Dr Nuñez.

‘He’s jumped overboard!’ I said, ‘Dear God, he’s up to his neck in the waves. It must be near six feet deep there.’

We could see
Essex’s head, all that was visible, bobbing across the water towards the shore, like a pig’s bladder from a boys’ game of football floating on the surface.

‘Oh, look, the fools!’ I cried.

‘It’s too far away,’ he said. ‘I cannot see.’

Bravely, the men following
Essex had jumped in after him, taking no account of the fact that he was exceptionally tall. Most of them disappeared from sight, too short and too burdened by their armour to follow his magnificent stride as he rose from the waves like some travesty of an ancient sea god, streaming with water from every joint of his armour, his helmet encircled with seaweed. A few men scrambled out of the sea behind him, but the rest never reappeared. I felt sick

In the confusion the seamen were shouting to the soldiers to stay aboard until they had beached the boats, the soldiers were standing up, uncertain whether to follow their commander or obey the sailors, the boats were rocking perilously and ramming into one another. Only Essex and a few of his followers had gained the shore when one of the other boats capsized, overloaded as it was with a cargo of landsmen who knew nothing of how to behave at sea, tipping soldiers and sailors alike into the bay, well off shore. We watched helplessly as they were swept away to the ocean by a powerful undertow.

Eventually, the remnant of the soldiers reached the shore, and we noticed then that Norreys had kept to the fortress side of the bay and was landing his disciplined men. Whether alarmed more by the mad heroics of Essex or by the calm determination of Norreys, the small group of Spaniards immediately took to their heels. We learned later that they had retreated across the isthmus to the hills opposite the peninsula.

Then to our joy and relief we saw Dom Antonio’s standard climbing above the ramparts of the fortress and the gates being thrown open, spilling out a riot of civilians – women and children amongst them. Standing in the prow of the ship, the Dom had out his handkerchief and was wiping his eyes. Ruy Lopez was ablaze with triumph. Dr Nuñez turned to me with a smile that was wry and affectionate at the same time.

‘Well, it appears, Kit, that not even Essex has been able to ruin our return to Portuguese soil. I wish your father could have been here.’

I nodded. Despite all my doubts about the expedition, I had to hold back my tears. I am not quite sure why I was weeping. Was it because we had reached Portuguese soil without being met by armed force? Was it because the dreams of these old men were about to be realised? But what of the men who had just died, needlessly, before our very eyes? Yet again the poor leadership of the expedition had cost the lives of the common soldiers and sailors. The senseless folly of
Essex in leaping out into deep water had brought the deaths of his loyal followers. Overloaded boats had cost more lives. The failure to teach the soldiers how to behave in a boat had led to still more death. While those on shore were cheering and the Dom was weeping for joy, men’s bodies were being sucked away irredeemably by the ocean, while others, weighed down by armour, were even now sinking into the mud and sand at the bottom of the harbour.

There seemed to be some little flurry on the shore. A man of commanding figure was in conference with Norreys and both were gesturing emphatically. Within a few minutes, a longboat put off from the quay and rowed out to the
Victory
.

One of Norreys’s officers called out to us as they came alongside.

‘The Portuguese garrison is commanded by one Captain Aruajo, who is Dom Antonio’s man. He says that he will surrender to no one but the Dom himself. I am to take you all ashore.’

With some difficulty the three elderly men scrambled down into the heaving boat, and I scrambled after them, with hardly more dignity. At the quay Dom Antonio was helped ashore, and the rest of us behind him. As one, the people of Peniche knelt down, on the wave-washed quay and the sodden sand, and raised their hands and their tearful faces to their king. The tall man, Captain Aruajo, drew his sword. Holding it flat across his two palms, he offered it to Dom Antonio who took it, murmured something I could not hear, then handed it back, The captain sheathed his sword again, then took his king’s hand and kissed it.

After
Plymouth, after Coruña, Peniche seemed like a paradise. A throne stood ready for the returning king. The rooms were luxuriously furnished, the fortress amply supplied with food and drink. The storm rolled in over the town soon after we landed, turning the evening skies to midday with flashes of sheet lightning and making the very buildings vibrate with the reverberations of thunder. Despite the lashing wind-borne rain, we felt we had reached a safe haven. That evening we sat down to a Portuguese feast such as I had not seen since the last night in our own home in Coimbra. The tables were laid with elegant Turkey carpets and heavy silver. There were rich tapestries on the walls and braziers scented the air with regal frankincense and sweet lavender. We drank the finest wine from Venetian glass. They had killed and roasted a whole ox, and I was reminded suddenly of a story I had heard, at the church of St Bartholomew, about a long-lost son returning to his father’s house. The noise and laughter were overwhelming.

Although the taste of the food was real enough, as was the slight dizziness I experienced after three glass of exceptionally strong wine, yet the whole evening had about it the quality of a dream. After the horrors of Coruña, this eager, joyous reception seemed unreal. When I w
ent to bed that night, in a proper bed with two feather mattresses below and sheets of the finest linen, I thought with wonder that all our misgivings since leaving Plymouth had been groundless. The people of Portugal were, after all, eager to welcome Dom Antonio back and to drive the Spanish out of the country. For the first time in many days, I dreamt peacefully. I thought I was at home again in Duck Lane, in the parlour with my father and Thomas Harriot, who had come to play music with us. As is the odd way with dreams, Harriot had brought his virginals – I know not how – and I was playing. When Harriot picked up my lute and my father raised his recorder to his lips, my dog Rikki began to howl, quite melodiously, in tune with the music. I woke up laughing.

The next day, success did not look quite so easy. I was invited to join the party of English Portuguese, if I may call us that, at breakfast. At once I noticed that although they were relaxed and cheerful, their conversation was not as optimistic as it had been last night.

‘Captain Aruajo,’ said Dom Antonio, ‘had one piece of bad news for me. Because we put in to Coruña for provisions, and stayed there two weeks, King Philip received word of our arrival before ever we sailed from there.’

We exchanged glances. We knew that Drake and Norreys had made serious mistakes over the Coruña affair. We knew all chance of surprise had been lost.

‘Because of this–’ The Dom hesitated, and I realised that something concerned him deeply. ‘Because of this, the Spanish king has ordered the execution, without trial, of every noble who is suspected to be of my party. Merely suspected.’