The Portuguese Affair by Ann Swinfen

appreciate the splendour of the Victory . Around and behind us the rest of the fleet filled me with a grudging pride. We were a fine sight, even this small part of the fleet. The only time I had seen an English fleet before had been amidst the confusion of battle. Now we sailed bravely in formation down the spreading waters of the Thames, flags and pennants flying, the polished wood of the hulls gleaming, the new canvas of the sails a warm cream, every scrap of brass reflecting the spring sunshine. The shores on either side of the river, even when we reached the lower, muddy reaches, were lined with people on both the Kent and Essex banks, waving and cheering us on our way. I wondered whether any of the players I knew had come to see us off from London. I had not thought to look, and now it was too late. We were past Greenwich and moving with tide and wind down towards the estuary and the open sea.
     
    The journey itself as far as Plymouth was uneventful. The weather was calm, but with enough of a breeze to take us out into the German Sea and around the easternmost nose of Kent. As we stood out into mid Channel, I remembered what both Captain Thoms and Captain Faulconer had told me last year about the dangers of the Goodwin Sands. For a vessel of this size, the danger must be all the greater, for she needed deeper water than the pinnaces and even had they grounded they could probably have rowed away, provided they were quick about it. Or they could have lowered a skiff, so it could tow them off, always supposing it was daylight and the tide was not ebbing fast.
    A vast ship like the Victory could take neither of these measures to extricate herself from the shoals, so I was relieved to see that our helmsman was steering a wide course over to towards the French coast. We were not far from Gravelines, where I had been caught up in the battle aboard the Good Venture last year. It was hard to imagine it now, the explosions and smoke, the glare of the burning fire ships, the screams of injured men, and the air choking with dust and the reek of gunpowder. Now there was nothing to be seen but our well-ordered fleet and a few fishing boats closer to land on the calm waters.
    Dr Nuñez came to stand beside me, where I was leaning on the starboard rail, looking toward Kent.
    ‘Will that be Dover?’ he asked, pointing to where we could now make out the castle high on its promontory. I realised that, although his ships traded regularly throughout the known world, he had probably never travelled this way except on his original voyage to England.
    ‘Aye,’ I said. ‘That’s the castle up there, and, down below, the harbour I sailed from when I went to Amsterdam. ‘They light a signal fire on the old Roman lighthouse after dark, as a guide to ships.’
    ‘We’ll see that, no doubt,’ he said. ‘We are to put in to the harbour for the night. Some of the ships are to embark a contingent of soldiers from the garrison.’
    ‘Are they?’ I wondered whether Andrew Joplyn would be amongst them. ‘Their commander will not be pleased. He does not care for anyone to interfere with his running of the Dover garrison.’
    ‘Ah, of course, you met him.’
    ‘Aye. A pompous, rude man. We should be thankful he is not part of this expedition.’
    He laughed. ‘I think Sir John Norreys would soon lick him into shape.’
    We stood in silence as the Victory furled some of her canvas and turned slowly to make her way into the harbour. Flights of gulls shrieked from the nearby cliffs, skimming over the sea around us and plucking fish effortlessly from the water. I could see untidy nests being built on the ledges of the cliff face, which was streaked with their droppings, a dirty cream against the gleaming white of the limestone.
    ‘The birds will be nesting in Portugal too,’ Dr Nuñez said dreamily. ‘When I was a boy, we used to go to spend the hot weather in our summer home on a headland overlooking the sea, to escape the heat of Lisbon. It