The Portuguese Affair by Ann Swinfen

Author:Ann Swinfen
Language: eng
Format: mobi, azw3, epub
Tags: Mystery, Action & Adventure, Crime, Historical, Thriller & Suspense, Thriller, Literature & Fiction
ISBN: 9780992822866
Publisher: Shakenoak Press
Published: 2014-08-10T23:00:00+00:00

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 went 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

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