Once I had seen to the injury, I tore up a handful of grass and set to, rubbing the sweat off his coat. He still shivered from time to time, but there was some warmth in this open glade between the tall trunks, where westering sunlight fell slantwise, helping to dry his skin. When I felt he was at ease again, I allowed him another drink, kneeling beside him on the bank and scooping up water in my cupped hands to drink myself, for I was aware that my mouth was dry and my throat sore, as if I had been weeping for hours, yet I was dry-eyed now, though my cheeks were stiff with salt. I was aware only of a terrible emptiness where there had once been hope. I knew I ought to eat something before my strength failed me, but my stomach heaved at the thought.
I got to my feet, eased the bridle back into place, and mounted again. The only way to go at first was back through my grandfather’s estate, but I would not call at the house again. The horse was calm and seemed to have totally forgotten his fright as I urged him to a slow but steady canter that he should be able to sustain for a long while. When the manor house came into sight, I turned my back on its white walls, as they flushed a soft pink in the setting sun, and rode away, my mind in turmoil, shying away from the joyous thoughts which had filled it when I had approached only that morning.
Darkness was falling when we reached the bridge over the river Montego and there was no one about, not even a shepherd with a flock of sheep. Although he had crossed it quite willingly before, the horse baulked now. Perhaps he had not quite forgotten his earlier terror after all. Or perhaps the unchancy light of a rising full yellow moon, glancing off the water like fire, alarmed him. He would only consent to cross when I dismounted and led him over, encouraging him with soft words.
I knew I could not go much further that day, nor could the horse. Wearily we climbed up to the belt of woodland where we had spent the previous night, though I could hardly believe that only a day had passed since then. I found the stream again, but lower down. It was an adequate place to spend the night. The countryside was empty all around, no light shining from cottage or farm. Once again I removed the horse’s saddle and bridle and fixed the hobble so that he could graze, but not wander too far. In fact, he was well trained. He knew to stay near his rider.
The previous night I had given little thought to any dangers here in this woodland, far from human habitation, but it occurred to me now that there were likely to be wild boar in the forest, and possibly wolves as well. A boar was unlikely to trouble me unless first attacked, but I was less sure about wolves. The smell of a horse and a human would reach them from some distance and a horse is a natural prey. He could do little to protect himself. I wished I had my dog Rikki with me. He had shown himself courageous once before in protecting me from an attack – human not vulpine. I shivered. Whatever the thoughts eating into my mind, I must keep up my vigilance and my strength, and to sustain both, I must eat.
The thought of food still revolted me, but I forced myself to eat almost the last of my supplies – a little dried meat and some bread so stale I had to soak it in water from the stream before I could chew it. Despite the heat of the day, it grew chilly under the trees as darkness fell. I had no blanket, but I unrolled the cloak I had brought strapped behind my saddle and huddled into that for warmth. Even with the cloak I began to shiver uncontrollably, so that with the detached, analytical part of my brain I knew I was suffering from the delayed effects of shock. As a physician I had observed it in patients who had survived a near fatal accident. After such an experience, overpowering cold would seize the body. It could also happen to soldiers. Sustained by courage and excitement and violence throughout a battle, they would often begin this shaking after it was over. I had heard of it many times, and witnessed it for myself at Coruña. It was not fear. Somehow the body needed to restore the balance of humours after great physical effort or mental shock. I tried to regard myself dispassionately as a physician examining a patient. It did little good.
My mind recoiled from those scenes on the farm. Though I shrank from the thought of them, I must try to decide what to do. Was Isabel truly damaged in her mind? At times it had seemed so, when she looked as me with those vacant eyes. But then at other times she had clearly recognised me and at the end she had said, rationally enough, that she could not leave the children. Any mother would have done the same. And she had begged me to leave, to save myself, for I could do nothing to help her. Nay, I did not believe her mind was gone. I was sure, however, that she lived in perpetual terror of that man. I realised I did not even know his name. He must be the son of the older tenants of my grandfather, so he was a da Roca, but his first name had never been mentioned.
If our expedition was successful and Dom Antonio gained his throne, it might be possible for me to gain his help in wresting Isabel from the power of that man. If it could be proved that he was not married to her, he could have no claim to own her. It might be possible. I must cling to that hope. We had still to make our way to Lisbon and seize the capital, but the Dom was confident the people would rise in his favour. So much depended on so many imponderables, but I began to feel a small glimmer of hope. I lay back on the rough grass and watched the stars, brilliant in the dark sky, growing more intense as the moon sailed over to the west and began to sink toward the horizon. At some time in the dark hours, despite my intention to keep watch, I fell finally to sleep.
The following day I continued to retrace my route back toward Peniche, but I did not seek out the inn where I had stayed on my first night. Instead, I slept again in the open. The horse seemed fully recovered now, though it was clear he was growing weary. I still found it difficult to eat anything. Although there remained an end of cheese and some dried figs and apricots in my satchel, the very sight of food turned me dizzy with nausea, so I left them untouched. As I headed along the coast, I avoided the fishing villages, shying away from the kind woman and the children, riding now with an aching head and dogged purpose to reach the expedition again. I was light-headed from lack of food and exhaustion, but there was nothing else to do but simply ride on. Once more I avoided the towns, until I came at last to the isthmus leading to the peninsula of Peniche.
Less than a week after I had left, I was back at the royal camp. I returned my good horse to the garrison stables just inside the town gate with thanks to the master of cavalry, and bought the gallant animal a feed of bran mash and the best oats, for without him I could not have regained the safety of this small kingdom of Dom Antonio’s. Before leaving, I checked that the wound inflicted by the farmer’s dog was healing cleanly. I parted with the horse somewhat sadly, for we had endured much together. He had provided unquestioning companionship, but I dreaded what I might be asked about my private expedition when I rejoined the English force.
The town seemed strangely deserted. When I had left, the English soldiers and sailors had been in evidence everywhere in the streets, visiting the ale-houses and brothels, buying trinkets from market stalls, eating in the Portuguese equivalent of a London ordinary and enjoying the change from ship’s biscuit and salt cod. Here they would be able to eat fresh food, especially the sardines for which the area was famous. And no doubt they had been enjoying the local wine. Now hardly anyone was to be seen, not even the local inhabitants. Some children, playing in the street, looked up as I came away from the stable, sucking their thumbs and watching me in silence, wide-eyed. A young woman, carrying a baby, nodded to me, but did not smile, while an old crone, sitting on a stool before her doorway, turned on me a look that was almost malevolent. As I neared our quarters, I began to dread that our soldiers had once again gone on the rampage. It was only when I walked down to the harbour that I understood why the town, so crowded when I left, seemed half deserted now. The harbour was empty, save for a few fishing boats and a dozen or so skiffs. The entire English fleet had gone.