by Wilbur Smith
‘Please, madam!’ Hal whispered. ‘I mean you no ill. Please do not cry.’ His words had no effect. Clearly they were not understood and, inspired by the moment, Hal switched into Latin. ‘You need not fear. You are safe. I will not harm you.’
The shining head lifted. She had understood. He looked into her face, and it was as though he had received a charge of grape shot in the centre of his chest. The pain was so intense that he gasped aloud. He had never dreamed that such beauty could exist.
‘Mercy!’ she whispered pitifully in Latin. ‘Please do not harm me.’ Her eyes were liquid and brimming, but her tears served only to enhance their magnitude and intensify their iridescent violet. Her cheeks were blanched to the translucent lustre of alabaster, and the tears upon them gleamed like tiny seed pearls.
‘You are beautiful,’ Hal said, still in Latin. His voice sounded like that of a victim on the rack, breathless and agonized. He was tortured by emotions that he had never dreamed existed. He wanted to protect and cherish this woman, to keep her for ever for himself, to love and worship her. All the words of chivalry, which, until he looked upon her, he had read and mouthed but never truly understood, rushed to his tongue demanding utterance, but he could only stand and stare.
Then he was distracted by another soft sound from behind him. He spun round, cutlass at the ready. From under the satin sheets that trailed over the edge of the huge bed crawled a porcine figure. The back and belly were so well larded as to wobble with every movement the man made. Rolls of fat swaddled the back of his neck and hung down his pendulous jowls. ‘Yield yourself!’ Hal bellowed, and prodded him with the point of the blade. The Governor screamed shrilly and collapsed on the deck. He wriggled like a puppy.
‘Please do not kill me. I am a rich man,’ he sobbed, also in Latin. ‘I will pay any ransom.’
‘Get up!’ Hal prodded him again, but Petrus van de Velde had only enough strength and courage to reach his knees. He knelt there, blubbering.
‘Who are you?’
‘I am the Governor of the Cape of Good Hope, and this lady is my wife.’
These were the most terrible words Hal had ever heard spoken. He stared at the man aghast. The wondrous lady he already loved with his very life was married – and to this grotesque burlesque of a man who knelt before him.
‘My father-in-law is a director of the Company, one of the richest and most powerful merchants in Amsterdam. He will pay – he will pay anything. Please do not kill us.’
The words made little sense to Hal. His heart was breaking. Within moments he had gone from wild elation to the depths of the human spirit, from soaring love to plunging despair.
But the Governor’s words meant more to Sir Francis Courtney, who stood now in the entrance to the cabin with Aboli at his back.
‘Please calm yourself, Governor. You and your wife are in safe hands. I will make the arrangements for your ransom with all despatch.’ He swept off his plumed cavalier hat, and bent his knee towards Katinka. Even he was not entirely proof against her beauty. ‘May I introduce myself, madam? Captain Francis Courtney, at your command. Please take a while to compose yourself. At four bells – that is in an hour’s time – I would be obliged if you would join me on the quarterdeck. I intend to hold a muster of the ship’s company.’
Both ships were under sail, the little caravel under studding-sails and top sails only, the great galleon with her mainsail set. They sailed in close company on a north-easterly heading, away from the Cape and on a closing course with the eastern reaches of the African mainland. Sir Francis looked down paternally upon his crew in the galleon’s waist.
‘I promised you fifty guineas the man as your prize,’ he said, and they cheered him wildly. Some were stiff and crippled with their wounds. Five were laid on pallets against the rail, too weak from loss of blood to stand but determined not to miss a word of this ceremony. The dead were already stitched in their canvas shrouds, each with a Dutch cannonball at his feet, and laid out in the bows. Sixteen Englishmen and forty-two Dutch, comrades in the truce of death. None of the living now gave them a thought.
Sir Francis held up one hand. They fell silent and crowded forward so as not to miss his next words.
‘I lied to you,’ he told them. There was a moment of stunned disbelief and then they groaned and muttered darkly. ‘There is not a man among you …’ he paused for effect ‘… but is the richer by two hundred pounds for this day’s work!’
The silence persisted as they stared incredulously at him, and then they went mad with joy. They capered and howled, and whirled each other around in a delirious jig. Even the wounded sat up and crowed.
Sir Francis smiled down on them benignly for a while as he let them give vent to their joy. Then he waved a sheaf of manuscript pages over his head and they fell silent again. ‘This is the extract I have made of the ship’s manifest!’
‘Read it!’ they pleaded.
The recital went on for almost half an hour, for they cheered each item of the bill of lading that he translated from the Dutch as he read aloud. Cochineal and pepper, vanilla and saffron, cloves and cardamom with a total weight of forty-two tons. The crew knew that, weight for weight and pound for pound, those spices were as precious as bars of silver. They were hoarse with shouting, and Sir Francis held up his hand again. ‘Do I weary you with this endless list? Have you had enough?’
‘No!’ they roared. ‘Read on!’
‘Well, then, there are a few sticks of timber in her holds. Balu and teak and other strange wood that has never been seen north of the equator. Over three hundred tons.’ They feasted on his words with shining eyes. ‘There is still more, but I see that I weary you. You want no more?’
‘Read it to us!’ they pleaded.
‘Finest Chinese blue and white ceramic ware, and silk in bolts. That will please the ladies!’ They bellowed like a herd of bull elephants in musth at the mention of women. When they reached the next port, with two hundred pounds in each purse, they could have as many women, of whatever quality and comeliness their fancies ordered.
‘There is also gold and silver, but that is boarded over in sealed steel chests in the bottom of the main hold, with three hundred tons of timber on top of it. We will not get our hands on it until we reach port and unload the main cargo.’
‘How much gold?’ they pleaded. ‘Tell us how much silver.’
‘Silver in coin to the value of fifty thousand guilders. That’s over ten thousand good English pounds. Three hundred ingots of gold from the mines of Kollur on the Krishna river in Kandy, and the Good Lord alone knows what those will bring in when we sell them in London.’
Hal hung in the mainmast shrouds, a vantage point from which he could look down on his father on the quarterdeck. Hardly a word of what he was saying made sense to Hal, but he realized dimly that this must be one of the greatest prizes ever taken by English sailors during the course of this war with the Dutch. He felt dazed and light-headed, unable to concentrate on anything but the greater treasure he had captured with his own sword, and which now sat demurely behind his father, attended by her maid. Chivalrously Sir Francis had placed one of the carved, cushioned chairs from the captain’s cabin on the quarterdeck for the Dutch governor’s wife. Now Petrus van de Velde stood behind her, splendidly dressed, wearing high rhinegraves of soft Spanish leather that reached to his thighs, bewigged and beribboned, his corpulence covered with the medallions and silken sashes of his office.
To his surprise Hal found that he hated the man bitterly, and lamented that he had not skewered him as he crawled from under the bed, and so made the angel who was his wife into a tragic widow.
He imagined devoting his life to playing Lancelot to her Guinevere. He saw himself humble and submissive to her every whim but inspired to deeds of outstanding valour by his pure love for her. At her behest, he might even undertake a knightly errand to search for the Holy Grail and place the sacred relic in her beautiful white hands. He shuddered with pleasure at the thought, and s
tared down longingly at her.
While Hal daydreamed in the rigging, the ceremony on the deck below him drew to its conclusion. Behind the Governor were ranked the Dutch captain and the other captured officers. Colonel Cornelius Schreuder was the only one without a hat, for a bandage swathed his head. Despite the blow Aboli had dealt him his eye was still keen and unclouded and his expression fierce as he listened to Sir Francis list the spoils.
‘But that is not all, lads!’ Sir Francis assured his crew. ‘We are fortunate enough to have aboard, as our honoured guest, the new Governor of the Dutch settlement of the Cape of Good Hope.’ With an ironic flourish he bowed to van de Velde, who glowered at him: now that his captors had realized his value and position, he felt more secure.
The Englishmen cheered, but their eyes were on Katinka, and Sir Francis obliged them by introducing her.
‘We are also fortunate to have with us the Governor’s lovely wife—’ He broke off as the crew sounded their appreciation of her beauty.
‘Coarse peasant cattle,’ van de Velde growled and laid his hand protectively upon Katinka’s shoulder. She gazed upon the men with wide violet eyes, and her beauty and innocence shamed them into an embarrassed silence.
‘Mevrouw van de Velde is the only daughter of Burgher Hendrik Coetzee, the stadhouder of the City of Amsterdam, and the Chairman of the governing board of the Dutch East India Company.’
The crew stared at her in awe. Few understood the importance of such an exalted personage, but the manner in which Sir Francis had recited these titles had impressed them.
‘The Governor and his wife will be held on board this ship until their ransom is paid. One of the captured Dutch officers will be despatched to the Cape of Good Hope with the ransom demand to be transmitted by the next Company ship to the Council in Amsterdam.’
The crew goggled at the couple as they considered this, then Big Daniel asked, ‘How much, Sir Francis? What is the amount of the ransom you have set?’
‘I have set the Governor’s ransom at two hundred thousand guilders in gold coin.’
The ship’s company was stunned, for such a sum surpassed their understanding.
Then Daniel bellowed again, ‘Let’s have a cheer for the captain, lads!’ And they yelled until their voices cracked.
Sir Francis walked slowly down the ranks of captured Dutch seamen. There were forty-seven, eighteen of them wounded. He examined the face of each man as he passed: they were rough stock, coarse-featured and unintelligent of expression. It was obvious that none had any ransom value. They were, rather, a liability, for they had to be fed and guarded, and there was always the danger that they might recover their courage and attempt an insurrection.
‘The sooner we are rid of them the better,’ he murmured to himself, then addressed them aloud in their own language. ‘You have done your duty well. You will be set free and sent back to the fort at the Cape. You may take your ditty bags with you, and I will see to it that you are paid the wages owing you before you go.’ Their faces brightened. They had not expected that. That should keep them quiet and docile, he thought, as he turned away to the ladder down to his newly acquired cabin, where his more illustrious prisoners were waiting for him.
‘Gentlemen!’ he greeted them, as he entered and took his seat behind the mahogany desk. ‘Would you care for a glass of Canary wine?’
Governor van de Velde nodded greedily. His throat was dry and although he had eaten only half an hour previously his stomach growled like a hungry dog. Oliver, Sir Francis’s servant, poured the yellow wine into the long-stemmed glasses and served the sugared fruits he had found in the Dutch captain’s larder. The captain made a sour face as he recognized his own fare, but took a large gulp of the Canary.
Sir Francis consulted the pile of manuscript on which he had made his notes, then glanced at one of the letters he had found in the captain’s desk. It was from an eminent firm of bankers in Holland. He looked up at the captain and addressed him sternly. ‘I wonder that an officer of your service and seniority with the VOC should indulge in trade for his own account. We both know it is strictly forbidden by the Seventeen.’
The captain looked as though he might protest, but when Sir Francis tapped the letter he subsided and glanced guiltily at the Governor, who sat beside him.
‘It seems that you are a rich man, Mijnheer. You will hardly miss a ransom of two hundred thousand guilders.’ The captain muttered and scowled darkly, but Sir Francis went on smoothly, ‘If you will pen a letter to your bankers, the matter can be settled as between gentlemen, just as soon as I receive that amount in gold.’ The captain inclined his head in acquiescence.
‘Now, as to the ship’s officers,’ Sir Francis went on, ‘I have examined your enlistment register.’ He drew the book towards him and opened it. ‘It seems that they are all men without high connections or financial substance.’ He looked up at the captain. ‘Is that the case?’
‘That is true, Mijnheer.’
‘I will send them to the Cape with the common seamen. Now it remains to decide to whom we shall entrust the ransom demand to the Council of the Company for Governor van de Velde and his good lady – and, of course, your letter to your bankers.’
Sir Francis looked up at the Governor. Van de Velde stuffed another candied fruit into his mouth and replied around it, ‘Send Schreuder.’
‘Schreuder?’ Sir Francis riffled through the papers until he found the colonel’s commission. ‘Colonel Cornelius Schreuder, the newly appointed military commander of the fort at Good Hope?’
‘Ja, that one.’ Van de Velde reached for another sweetmeat. ‘His rank will give him more standing when he presents your demand for my ransom to my father-in-law,’ he pointed out.
Sir Francis studied the man’s face as he chewed. He wondered why the Governor wanted to be rid of the colonel. He seemed a good man and resourceful; it would make more sense to keep him at hand. However, what van de Velde said of his status was true. And Sir Francis sensed that Colonel Schreuder might play the devil if he were kept captive aboard the galleon for any length of time. Much more trouble than he’s worth, he thought, and said aloud, ‘Very well, I will send him.’
The Governor’s sugar-coated lips pouted with satisfaction. He was fully aware of his wife’s interest in the dashing colonel. He had been married to her for only a few years, and yet he knew for a certainty that she had taken at least eighteen lovers in that time, some for only an hour or an evening.
Her maid, Zelda, was in the pay of van de Velde and reported to him each of her mistress’s adventures, taking a deep vicarious pleasure in relating every salacious detail.
When van de Velde had first become aware of Katinka’s carnal appetite, he had been outraged. However, his initial furious remonstrations had had no effect upon her and he learned swiftly that over her he had no control. He could neither protest too much nor send her away for on the one hand he was besotted by her, and on the other her father was too rich and powerful. The advancement of his own fortune and status depended almost entirely upon her. In the end his only course of action had been, as far as possible, to keep temptation and opportunity from her. During this voyage he had succeeded in keeping her a virtual prisoner in her quarters, and he was sure that, had he not done so, his wife would have already sampled the colonel’s wares, which were ostentatiously on display. With him sent off the ship, her choice of diversion would be severely curtailed and, after a prolonged fast, she might even become amenable to his own sweaty advances.
‘Very well,’ Sir Francis agreed, ‘I will send Colonel Schreuder as your emissary.’ He turned the page of the almanac on the desk in front of him. ‘With fair winds, and by the grace of Almighty God, the round trip from the Cape to Holland and back here to the rendezvous should not occupy more than eight months. We can hope that you might be free to take up your duties at the Cape by Christmas.’
‘Where will you keep us until the ransom is received? My wife is a lady of quality and delicate disposition
.’
‘In a safe place, and in comfort. That I assure you, sir.’
‘Where will you meet the ship returning with our ransom monies?’
‘At thirty-three degrees south latitude and four degrees thirty minutes east.’
‘Where, pray, might that be?’
‘Why, Governor van de Velde, at the very spot upon the ocean where we are at this moment.’ Sir Francis would not be tricked so readily into revealing the whereabouts of his base.
In a misty dawn the galleon dropped anchor in the gentler waters behind a rocky headland of the African coast. The wind had dropped and begun to veer. The end of the summer season was at hand; they were fast approaching the autumnal equinox. The Lady Edwina, her pumps pounding ceaselessly, came alongside and, with fenders of matted oakum between the hulls, she made fast to the larger vessel.
At once the work of clearing her out began. Blocks and tackle had already been rigged from the galleon’s yards. They took out the guns first. The great bronze barrels on their trains were swayed aloft. Thirty seamen walked away with the tackle and then lowered each culverin to the galleon’s deck. Once these guns were sited, the galleon would have the firepower of a ship of the line and would be able to attack any Company galleon on better than equal terms.
Watching the cannon come on board, Sir Francis realized that he now had the force to launch a raid on any of the Dutch trading harbours in the Indies. This capture of the Standvastigheid was only a beginning. From here he planned to become the terror of the Dutch in the Ocean of the Indies, just as Sir Francis Drake had scourged the Spanish on their own main in the previous century.
Now the powder kegs were lifted out of the caravel’s magazine. Few remained filled after such a long cruise and the heavy actions she had fought. However, the galleon still carried almost two tons of excellent quality gunpowder, sufficient to fight a dozen battles, or to capture a rich Dutch entrepôt on the Trincomalee or Javanese coast.