The Enterprise of England

by Ann Swinfen

  ‘I hope we have done enough to satisfy Sir Francis,’ I said, still somewhat breathless after what had happened. ‘I am not trained to fight. Wounding that man in the arm was pure chance.’

  ‘You did well,’ Berden said. ‘Unfortunately I did less well. While you were inside, the man on the ground managed to reach his knife and slashed me before I could disarm him.’

  ‘What!’ I cried. ‘You are wounded? Why have you said nothing?’

  ‘It was more urgent to get away before they returned with soldiers. It’s not deep, I think.’

  ‘You must let me see to it,’ I said.

  He shook his head. ‘Not yet. We cannot afford the time to delay. It is my left arm. It will keep until we are further on our way.’

  ‘Then let us hurry.’

  We set off again. Although we had made a good start, I found myself straining my ears for any sound of pursuit. Nothing to be heard yet, but for how long? There was no other road north from the village. Any pursuers had no need even to follow our tracks, they had only to keep to the same road. After a short while, Berden halted again.

  ‘This candle is nearly burnt out. Have you more?’

  ‘Aye.’ I twisted round and dug my hand into my saddlebag to unbuckle my satchel. When I passed a fresh candle to Berden he was able to light it just before the stump went out. He fixed the new candle in the lantern and we rode on.

  The next time we eased to a walk, to give the horses some rest, I asked, ‘What shall we do? Will it not be dangerous to sleep at the inns where we stayed before?’

  He thought for a moment before replying.

  ‘You are right. It might be. We do not know how far this disaffection, this treason, extends.’

  ‘We cannot ride for three days without a break,’ I said. ‘The horses hardly had time to rest tonight.’

  ‘Aye. We may need to rough it.’

  ‘Sleep in the open? We will freeze.’

  ‘Or a barn or a sheep fold.’ I could just make out his wry grin in the lantern light. ‘The life of one of Walsingham’s agents is not always a comfortable inn and a private chamber with its own fire.’

  I grinned back. ‘So I am learning.’

  We rode on at a steady pace as the moon disappeared, first behind clouds and then below the horizon. The loss of moonlight made it feel colder and I was glad of the small warmth of the dog against my stomach and chest. The faint glimmer of the candle lantern in Berden’s hand was the only means of lighting our way, though by now our eyes had adjusted to the dark.

  After what seemed an interminable night, the sky began to lighten. Dawn could not be far off. We crossed a bridge that I remembered from our southward journey.

  ‘The last inn we stayed at was not far from here,’ I said. It was strange to hear my own voice, for neither of us had spoken for several hours.

  ‘Aye, it was.’

  ‘I think we should stop there for a meal,’ I said, ‘and feed the horses, before we carry on. If we are pursued this far, it will be no mystery for them to know that we have passed this way, for there is no other. We need not stay long, but the horses must rest and eat.’ I also intended to see to the wound in his arm, but I did not say so.

  ‘You are right,’ he conceded. ‘We will eat and rest the horses.’

  It must have been more than an hour before we reached the inn, further than I remembered, but by then the sun was up and there was a chance we would be able to have a meal.

  It was a humble place, but compared with the squalor of last night, it was a palace. Berden went in to order us a meal, while I saw to the horses. By bribing the stable boy with a few coins, I got oats for the horses as well as hay. After rubbing them both down and putting on their blankets, I left them to rest and went into the inn through the stable yard door, carrying our saddle bags. The dog had lain exhausted in the straw, but now he dragged himself to his feet and followed me.

  Berden was in the small parlour, where a fire had been lit and was beginning to burn through. There were two mugs of beer on the table, and a bowl of water for the dog, which he drank thirstily.

  ‘I have bespoke a stewed lamb’s shank for us and some scraps for the dog,’ Berden said. ‘And the inn wife was already baking fresh bread.’

  ‘We should ask for food to carry with us as well,’ I said, ‘to see us through the rest of the day.’

  He nodded agreement. I unbuckled my satchel and probed about in it until I could get my fingers around the wallet of medicines in the bottom and draw it out. It had lain there undisturbed since we had left London.

  ‘What is that?’ Berden asked.

  ‘Medical supplies. I never travel without them. I want to look at your arm.’

  ‘Oh, very well.’

  He sighed, but removed his doublet and rolled up his left sleeve. Now that there was plenty of light, I saw that both were torn and blood stained. I went to fetch water from the kitchen, which I told them to boil, then carried it carefully back to the parlour.

  ‘The smells in the kitchen promise well,’ I said, as I began to clean the wound.

  He ventured a smile, but then gritted his teeth. Despite his dismissal of the wound as minor, I could see that it was giving him a good deal of pain. Like any knife wound, it was quite narrow, but it was also deep, running from his elbow to just above his wrist, and the skin around the wound was already enflamed. The knife had driven grit and dirt into the broken flesh and it took me some while to clean it all out. Neither of us spoke while I worked. When I was satisfied that it was clean, I spread it with a salve of honey, beeswax and comfrey.

  ‘I am afraid I must stitch this,’ I said. ‘It will hurt, but the healing will be much quicker and it will leave less of a scar.’

  Berden drank deeply of his beer.

  ‘Do it,’ he said in a tight voice.

  It needed eight stitches to bring the torn edges together, but it was done at last. I spread on more salve, then bandaged the whole lower arm. He rolled down the sleeve of his shirt and gave me a weak smile, not his usual broad grin.

  ‘I thank you, Kit. I shall recommend to Sir Francis that every mission by his agents should include a physician.’

  I laughed and threw the rag I had used to clean the wound into the fire. The dog was now stretched out in front of the warmth and I crouched down to stroke him. It was then that I realised that he too had been wounded.

  ‘It seems you are not the only one that fellow hurt,’ I said, getting up and carrying my satchel over to the fire. ‘The dog has a sword slash in his side.’

  ‘Poor lad,’ Berden said, ‘he’s a brave animal.’

  ‘He is.’ I set about treating this wound much as I had Berden’s, though it was made more difficult because the dog’s hair was matted with blood, which had dried and hardened over the wound. I was afraid the pain would drive him to bite me, but he lay still and resigned. Because of the caked hair, which I had to snip away, it took all the longer to clean and the inn wife had brought in the lamb shank and bread before I had finished.

  ‘You start,’ I told Berden. ‘I will finish here first.’

  I used the same salve, but I did not attempt to stitch the dog’s wound. It was not quite as deep as Berden’s and I did not think the dog would remain still long enough for me to put in the stitches. By the time I was able to sit at table, the inn wife had brought in a large bowl of meat scraps and porridge for the dog, and we all set to with the same eager hunger.

  ‘Who knows when he last had anything to eat,’ I said, inclining my head toward the dog.

  ‘Not for days, by the look of him. What will you do with him?’

  ‘I don’t know. He saved my life back there. His master is dead. It seems cruel to abandon him.’

  ‘I suppose we could take him back on the ship with us, but what then? Is there room for a dog in your life?’

  I shrugged. ‘I have never thought about it. I shall need to talk to my father. Perhaps I can find a friend to take him in.’ There was Sara, I thought, or S
imon, or one of the other players. James Burbage would want to train him to act in comedies. I smiled. ‘I am sure I can find him a home.’

  We stayed at the inn at least two hours, but by then Berden was becoming restive and I was uneasy myself. We could not be sure whether the Spanish soldiers, made aware of Englishmen prowling near to their army, would pursue us this far, but we still felt too close to be easy in our minds. We bought a supply of food from the inn, saddled the horses and went on our way. I was able to contrive a better harness to hold the dog in place in front of my saddle, without chafing his wound, which must have suffered on the first part of our journey.

  That night we found a half derelict sheepfold to sleep in, or rather to shelter in, for neither of us was able to sleep much, because of the cold. We scraped away an area of snow within the enclosure so that the horses could graze. I removed Berden’s bandage and checked his wound, which still looked enflamed, but no worse. The dog had licked away most of the salve, so I spread more on and this time wrapped a bandage around his body. Either it was his natural instinct to lick the wound, or he enjoyed the taste of the salve.

  By the next day we were less anxious. We had put a good deal of distance between ourselves and the village where we were attacked. Also, we had reached a more populated part of the country, with villages every few miles and other roads leading off in different directions. It would not now be so easy to follow us. And here we found the local people friendly and welcoming. That night we risked stopping at an inn, though I decided to sleep with the horses and Berden told me the next morning that he had slept in his boots, in case he heard an outcry from the stable yard again.

  I laughed. ‘I think we were safe enough here. I was just being cautious.’

  That afternoon we reached the canal, or rather the maze of waterways, that linked Amsterdam to the German sea. By now we had both quite lost track of the date, but we thought it must be near the time when Captain Thoms’s ship would return for us. It was a short ride from here into the outskirts of the town, not far from Leicester’s quarters. While Berden went to collect any despatches he might wish us to carry back to England, I walked the horses up and down the street to keep them warm. I had no wish to be humiliated again by the Earl’s scorn. As soon as Berden returned, we rode back to the waterway, turning along it by the frozen path that led to the sea. It was too late to reach the coast that day, so we spent one more night in an inn and about noon the next day we reached the small port.

  I saw the Silver Swan almost at once, easy to pick out from amongst the others at anchor because the sailors had once again erected the canvas stable on the foredeck. The ship was anchored some way out in the harbour, so it took us time to attract their attention, but when we did, they raised the anchor and began to row toward the quay. The sight of that familiar ship flooded me with relief. Soon we would be away from here and headed home.

  We dismounted and I lifted the dog down to the ground and unwound the rope. He had neither collar nor lead, but I trusted he would stay close beside me. As soon as the ship was moored alongside and the ramp run out, Captain Thoms came ashore and shook our hands.

  ‘Excellent,’ he said. ‘We arrived last night, so no time was wasted on either side. You have done what you came to do?’

  ‘Aye,’ said Berden. ‘Shall we get the horses aboard?’

  Redknoll had decided he had no more fear of ships and crossed the ramp calmly, followed with rather showy nonchalance by Hector, who immediately turned to the stable as one who comes home.

  ‘How soon can we leave?’ Berden asked, as we unsaddled the horses and built the straw bales around them for protection from knocks.

  ‘The tide turns in about an hour,’ the captain said. ‘The ebb tide will give us a good start. We can leave then.’

  He went to see to his ship while we finished settling the horses. He had made no comment about the extra passenger in the form of the dog, who had already scratched himself out a nest in some of the loose straw.

  They were an efficient crew. It seemed less than an hour later that Berden and I were sitting in the captain’s cabin as the sailors rowed the ship out of the harbour into clear water and hoisted the sails. There was not much wind, so all three sails went up. I hoped that there would be no storm on the homeward journey, so there was only the cold to contend with. While on deck I had noticed that many of the ropes were sheathed in tubes of glassy ice that cracked and shattered as the sails were hoisted and the ropes ran through pulleys. As usual, most of the sailors went barefoot, for a better grip on deck or when they climbed the rigging. Their feet were blue with cold. Even in the cabin I was grateful for the small enclosed brazier that gave off a little heat. I held out my hands to it and the chilblains that had begun to develop during our ride from Amsterdam began to sting. Of course one should not expose chilblains to the heat of a fire, but the temptation was too great, until I was forced to draw my hands back and rub them. I cursed myself silently for my folly. The dog had left his straw bed and followed us into the cabin, so when the captain joined us, having set the ship on its course, I apologised for the dog.

  ‘No need to apologise,’ he said, ‘I like dogs and have two myself at home. How did you come by him, and why is he bandaged?’

  I recounted a brief version of the dog’s history, saying only that his master was dead – not that he had been murdered – and that he had defended me when I was attacked.

  The captain stroked the dog, running his ears through his fingers. ‘It seems he is worth keeping then. Ah, that reminds me.’ He got up and went to one of the cupboards set into the wall, which I saw was filled with papers and writing materials.

  ‘This came for you by messenger this morning from Amsterdam.’

  I was surprised. Few people would have known that I would be taking ship here. It was a letter, merely inscribed ‘Dr Alvarez’, and closed by red wax which bore no imprint of a seal. Unconsciously I felt for the seal ring that I still wore around my neck but had had no occasion to use. Because of the blizzard and our trip to the south, there had been no opportunity to send word to Phelippes. I slid my thumbnail under the wax to lift it and unfolded the letter.

  It was an unfamiliar hand. I looked down at the signature. ‘Hurst’.

  The gentleman we both serve is in good health, thanks to the measures you recommended. He wishes me to convey his thanks and gratitude. The other person you know of has departed without leave, we know not where. The gentleman returns home shortly. I wish you a safe journey.

  Hurst.

  I beamed at Berden. ‘Hurst has been successful. And it seems the Earl no longer thinks me a fool.’ I decided to say no more for the present.

  The captain was still on his feet, bringing out a flagon of his good wine and three heavy-bottomed glasses.

  ‘Good news, then?’

  ‘Aye, good news.’ I folded the letter up again and slipped it inside my doublet. I was surprised at the pleasure it gave me. I was vindicated, and my actions had almost certainly saved the Earl from poison. He might not have died, but his health had not looked good to me, so even prompt medical attention might not have saved him if he had taken the belladonna.

  We moved to our seats round the captain’s table and he poured out the wine. ‘We should reach Dover sometime tomorrow, depending on the weather.’

  ‘Good,’ I said. ‘I have had enough of the Low Countries.’

  They both laughed.

  ‘And what is the dog called?’ the captain asked.

  In all this time the dog had remained nameless. The only person who might have known his name, the minister Dirck de Veen, had never mentioned it.

  ‘I will have to find him a name,’ I said. ‘I think it should be a Dutch name. Pieter?’

  ‘Jan?’ said Berden. ‘Lars?’

  The dog ignored us.

  ‘I knew a captain called Rikki,’ said Thoms. ‘It’s usually a child’s nickname, but he was a big man, very brave.’

  ‘Rikki?’ I said. The dog look
ed up and thumped his tail. ‘He seems happy with that.’

  ‘It is short for Richard,’ said Thoms, ‘and that means “valiant”. From what you tell me, it is appropriate.’

  I leaned down and caressed the dog’s head. ‘Rikki it shall be.’

  Our return journey, compared with our outward one, was uneventful. Although it remained bitterly cold, there was no further snow but a steady following wind that carried us down the coast of the Low Countries until we came too near the Spanish-controlled ports and Thoms turned the ship toward England. The only concern was when we drew near the shifting shoals of the Goodwin Sands just as the early winter dark began to close down on the following day. In order to avoid any danger, Thoms steered the ship in a wide westward arc and the lookout perched at the top of the main mast sang out that he could see a Spanish ship in the distance, perhaps off Dunkerque. For a while there was an atmosphere of tension aboard, but by the time we had cleared the shoals the ship was lost to sight and we headed in toward Dover.

  It was too late to start for London, so we would stay one night in the castle, relieved to be back on English soil and among friends. Before we left the ship, Captain Thoms had presented us each with a pot of his sister’s honey. In return, I drew out the two lemons I had carried with me all the way and never used, for I had sent back no despatches, secret or otherwise. Despite their rough journeys, the lemons were unharmed, and I gave them to Thoms.

  ‘Two lemons for you,’ I said, ‘against the scurvy.’

  He smiled. ‘I am grateful to you, Doctor. And see, I have also laid in a supply of dried scurvy grass.’ He opened the cupboard where he kept his wine and showed me a bundle of the dried herb.

  ‘Excellent,’ I said. ‘That will serve your men well in the winter, steeped in hot ale. In the summer you will be able to buy fresh.’