by Wilbur Smith
He saw that Aboli was tending Daniel, binding up the wound in his chest with the red bandanna. Daniel was sitting up and seemed to have recovered somewhat, although clearly he had lost a great deal of blood. His face beneath the grime of battle was as white as the ashes of last night’s camp-fire.
Hal turned his head and saw Lord Cumbrae and Colonel Schreuder standing nearby, in deep and earnest conversation. The Buzzard broke off at last and shouted an order to one of his men. ‘Geordie, bring the slave chains from the Gull! We don’t want Captain Courtney to leave us again.’ The sailor hurried back to the beach, and the Buzzard and the colonel came to where the prisoners squatted under the muskets of their guards.
‘Captain Courtney.’ Schreuder addressed Sir Francis ominously. ‘I am arresting you and your crew for piracy on the high seas. You will be taken to Good Hope to stand trial on those charges.’
‘I protest, sir.’ Sir Francis stood up with dignity. ‘I demand that you treat my men with the consideration due to prisoners of war.’
‘There is no war, Captain,’ Schreuder told him icily. ‘Hostilities between the Republic of Holland and England ceased under treaty some months ago.’
Sir Francis stared at him, aghast, while he recovered from the shock of this news. ‘I was unaware that a peace had been concluded. I acted in good faith,’ he said at last, ‘but in any event I was sailing under a commission from His Majesty.’
‘You spoke of this Letter of Marque during our previous meeting. Will you consider me presumptuous if I insist on having sight of the document?’ Schreuder asked.
‘My commission from His Majesty is in my sea-chest in my hut.’ Sir Francis pointed into the stockade, where many of the huts had been destroyed by cannon fire. ‘If you will allow me I will bring it to you.’
‘Please don’t discommode yourself, Franky my old friend.’ The Buzzard clapped him on the shoulder. ‘I’ll fetch it for you.’ He strode away and ducked into the low doorway of the hut that Sir Francis had indicated.
Schreuder rounded on him again. ‘Where are you holding your hostages, sir? Governor van de Velde and his poor wife, where are they?’
‘The Governor must still be in his stockade with the other hostages, his wife and the captain of the galleon. I have not seen them since the beginning of the fight.’
Hal stood up shakily, holding the cloth to his head. ‘The Governor’s wife has taken refuge from the fighting in a cave in the hillside, up there.’
‘How do you know that?’ Schreuder asked sharply.
‘For her own safety, I led her there myself.’ Hal spoke up boldly, avoiding his father’s stern eye. ‘I was returning from the cave when I ran into you in the forest, Colonel.’
Schreuder looked up the hill, torn by duty and the desire to rush to the aid of the woman whose rescue was, for him at least, the main object of this expedition. But at that moment the Buzzard swaggered out of the hut. He carried a roll of parchment tied with a scarlet ribbon. The royal seals of red wax dangled from it.
Sir Francis smiled with satisfaction and relief. ‘There you have it, Colonel. I demand that you treat me and my crew as honourable prisoners, captured in a fair fight.’
Before he reached them, the Buzzard paused and unrolled the parchment. He held up the document at arm’s length, and turned it so that all could see the curlicue script penned by some clerk of the Admiralty in black indian ink. At last, with a jerk of his head, he summoned one of his own seamen. He took the loaded pistol from the man’s hand, and blew upon the burning match in the lock. Then he grinned at Sir Francis and applied the flame to the foot of the document in his hand.
Sir Francis stood appalled as the flame caught and the parchment began to curl and blacken as the pale yellow flame ran up it. ‘By God, Cumbrae, you treacherous bastard!’ He started forward, but the tip of Schreuder’s blade lay on his chest.
‘It would give me the greatest pleasure to thrust home,’ he murmured. ‘For your own sake, do not try my patience any further, sir.’
‘That swine is burning my commission.’
‘I can see nothing,’ Schreuder told him, his back deliberately turned to the Buzzard. ‘Nothing, except a notorious pirate standing before me with the blood of innocent men still warm and wet on his hands.’
Cumbrae watched the parchment burn, a great wide grin splitting his ginger whiskers. He passed the crackling sheet from hand to hand as the heat reached his fingertips, turning it to allow the flames to consume every scrap.
‘I have heard you prate of your honour, sir,’ Sir Francis flared at Schreuder. ‘It seems that that is an illusory commodity.’
‘Honour?’ Schreuder smiled coldly. ‘Do I hear a pirate speak to me of honour? It cannot be. Surely my ears play me false.’
Cumbrae allowed the flames to lick the tips of his fingers before he dropped the last blackened shred of the document to the earth and stamped on the ashes, crushing them to powder. Then he came up to Schreuder. ‘I am afraid Franky’s up to his tricks again. I can find no Letter of Marque signed by the royal hand.’
‘I suspected as much.’ Schreuder sheathed his sword. ‘I place the prisoners in your charge, my lord Cumbrae. I must see to the welfare of the hostages.’ He glanced at Hal. ‘You will take me immediately to the place where you left the Governor’s wife.’ He looked round at his Dutch sergeant who stood attentively at his shoulder. ‘Bind his hands behind his back and put a rope round his neck. Lead him on a leash like the mangy puppy he is.’
Colonel Schreuder delayed the rescue expedition while a search was conducted for his lost wig. His vanity would not allow him go to Katinka in a state of disarray. They found it lying in the forest through which he had chased Hal. It was covered with damp earth and dead leaves, but Schreuder beat it against his thigh then rearranged the curls carefully before placing it on his head. His beauty and dignity restored, he nodded at Hal. ‘Show us the way!’
By the time they came out on the terrace in front of the cave Hal was a sorry object. Both hands were trussed behind his back and the sergeant had another rope round his neck. His face was blackened with dirt and gunsmoke and his clothing torn and smeared with blood diluted with his own sweat. Despite his exhaustion and distress, his concern was still for Katinka, and he felt a tremor of alarm as he went into the cave.
There was no sign of her. I cannot live if anything has happened to her, he thought, but aloud he told Schreuder, ‘I left Mevrouw van de Velde here. No ill can have befallen her.’
‘For your sake, you had better be correct in that.’ The threat was more terrifying for having been uttered so softly. Then Schreuder raised his voice. ‘Mevrouw van de Velde!’ he called. ‘Madam, you are safe. It is Colonel Schreuder, come to rescue you!’
The vines veiling the entrance to the cave rustled softly, and Katinka stepped out timidly from behind them. Her huge violet eyes were brimming with tears, and her face was pale and tragic, adding to her appeal. ‘Oh!’ she choked with emotion. Then, dramatically, she held out both hands towards Cornelius Schreuder. ‘You came! You kept your promise!’ She flew to him and stood on tiptoe to fling both her slim arms round his neck. ‘I knew you would come! I knew you would never leave me to be humiliated and molested by these dreadful criminals.’
For one moment Schreuder was taken aback by her embrace, then he folded her in his arms, shielding and comforting her as she sobbed against the ribbons and sashes that covered his chest. ‘If you have suffered the slightest affront, I swear I will avenge it a hundredfold.’
‘My ordeal has been too terrible to relate,’ she whimpered.
‘This one?’ Schreuder looked at Hal and demanded, ‘Was he one of those who mistreated you?’
Katinka looked sideways at Hal, her cheek still pressed against Schreuder’s chest. Her eyes narrowed viciously and a small sadistic smile twisted her luscious lips. ‘He was the worst of all.’ She sobbed. ‘I cannot bring myself to tell you what disgusting things he said to me, or how he has harassed and humiliat
ed me.’ Her voice broke. ‘I only thank God for the strength that he gave me to hold out against that man’s importunity.’
Schreuder seemed to swell with the strength of his fury. Gently he set Katinka aside, then turned on Hal. He bunched his right fist and punched him hard in the side of his head. Hal was taken by surprise, and staggered back. Schreuder followed him swiftly, and his next punch caught Hal in the pit of his stomach, driving the wind from his lungs and doubling him over.
‘How dare you insult and mistreat a high-born lady?’ Schreuder was shaking with fury. He had lost all control of his temper.
Hal’s forehead was almost touching his knees, as he gasped and wheezed to recover his breath. Schreuder aimed a kick at his face, but Hal saw it coming and jerked his head aside. The boot glanced off his shoulder, and sent him reeling backwards.
Schreuder’s rage boiled over. ‘You are not fit to lick the soles of this lady’s slippers.’ He braced himself to punch again, but Hal was too quick. Although his hands were tied behind his back he stepped forward to meet Schreuder and aimed a kick at his groin, but because he was hampered by his bonds the kick lacked power.
Schreuder was more startled than hurt. ‘By God, puppy, you go too far!’ Hal was still off-balance, and Schreuder’s next blow knocked his legs out from under him. He collapsed and Schreuder set on him, using both feet, his boots thumping into Hal’s curled-up body. Hal grunted and rolled over, trying desperately to avoid the barrage of kicks that slogged into him.
‘Yes! Oh, yes!’ Katinka trilled with excitement. ‘Punish him for what he has done to me.’ She goaded Schreuder, driving his violent temper to its limit. ‘Make him suffer, as I was made to do.’
Hal knew in his heart that she was forced to reject him now in front of this man and even in his hurt he forgave her. He doubled over to protect his more vulnerable parts, taking most of the kicks on his shoulders and thighs, but he could not ride them all. One caught him in the side of the mouth and blood trickled down his chin.
Katinka squeaked and clapped her hands to see it flow. ‘I hate him. Yes! Hurt him! Smash his pretty, insolent face!’ But the blood seemed to bring Schreuder to his senses again. With an obvious effort, he curbed his wild temper and stepped back, breathing heavily and still trembling with rage. ‘That is just a small taste of what is in store for him. Believe me, Mevrouw, he will be paid out in full when we reach Good Hope.’ He turned back to Katinka and bowed. ‘Please let me take you back to the safety of the ship that waits in the bay.’
Katinka gave a pathetic little cry, her fingers on her soft pink lips. ‘Oh, Colonel, I fear I shall swoon.’ She swayed on her feet, and Schreuder leapt forward to steady her. She leant against him. ‘I do not think my legs can carry me.’
He swept her into his arms, and set off down the hill carrying her lightly. She clung to him as though she were a child being taken to her bed.
‘Come along, gallows-bait!’ The sergeant yanked Hal to his feet by the loop around his neck, and led him, still bleeding, down towards the camp. ‘Better for you had the Colonel finished you off here and now. The executioner at Good Hope is famous. He’s an artist, he is.’ He tugged hard on the rope. ‘He’ll have some sport with you, I’ll warrant.’
A pinnace brought the chains to the beach where the survivors of the Resolution’s crew, both wounded and unharmed, were squatting under guard in the blazing sun.
They carried the first set to Sir Francis. ‘It’s good to see you again, Captain.’ The sailor with the irons in his hands stood over him. ‘I have thought of you every day since last we met.’
‘I, on the other hand, have never given you another thought, Sam Bowles.’ Sir Francis barely glanced at him, but scorn was in his voice.
‘It’s Boatswain Sam Bowles, now. His lordship has promoted me,’ said Sam, with an insolent grin.
‘Then I wish the Buzzard joy of his new boatswain. ’Tis a marriage made in heaven.’
‘Hold out your hands, Captain. Let’s see how high and mighty you are with bracelets of iron on you,’ Sam Bowles gloated. ‘By Christ, you’ll never know how much pleasure this gives me.’ He snapped the shackles onto Sir Francis’s wrists and ankles, and with the key screwed them so tight that they bit into his flesh. ‘I hope that fits you as well as your fancy cloak ever did.’ He stepped back and spat suddenly into Sir Francis’s face, then burst out laughing. ‘I give you my solemn promise that, the day they reef your top sails for you, I will be at the Parade at Good Hope to wish you Godspeed. I wonder what way they will send you. Do you think it will be the fire, or will they hang and draw you?’ Sam chuckled again and went on to Hal. ‘Good day to you, young Master Henry. It’s your humble servant Boatswain Sam Bowles come to tend to your needs.’
‘I did not get a glimpse of your yellow hide during the fighting,’ Hal said quietly. ‘Where were you hiding this time?’ Sam flushed and swung the handful of heavy chains against Hal’s head. Hal recovered and stared coldly into his eyes. Sam would have struck again, but a huge black hand reached up and seized his wrist. He looked down into the smoky eyes of Aboli, who crouched beside Hal. Aboli said not a word but Sam Bowles stayed the blow. He could not hold that murderous stare, and dropped his eyes, keeping them averted as he knelt hurriedly to clamp the chains on Hal’s limbs.
He stood up and came to Aboli, who watched him with the same expressionless gaze as he hurriedly screwed the shackles onto him, then passed on to where Big Daniel lay. Daniel winced but uttered no sound as Sam Bowles tugged brutally at his arms. The bullet wound had stopped bleeding, but with this rough treatment it opened again and began to weep watery blood from under the red headcloth that Aboli had used to bandage it. The blood trickled over his chest and dripped into the sand.
When they were all shackled together they were ordered to their feet. Supporting him between them, Hal and Aboli half carried Daniel as they were led in a file to one of the larger trees. Again they were forced to sit while the end of the chain was passed around the trunk and made fast with two heavy iron padlocks.
There were only twenty-six survivors from the Resolution’s complement. Among these were four ex-slaves, of which Aboli was one. Nearly all were at least lightly wounded, but four, including Daniel, were gravely injured and must be in danger of their lives.
Ned Tyler had received a deep cutlass slash in his thigh. Hampered by their manacles, Hal and Aboli bound it up with another strip of cloth salvaged from the shirt of one of the dead men who littered the battlefield like flotsam on the windswept beach.
Parties of green-jacketed musketeers were working under their Dutch sergeants to gather up the corpses. Dragging them by the heels to a clearing among the trees, they stripped the bodies and searched them for the silver coins and other items of value that had been their share of the booty from the Standvastigheid.
A pair of petty-officers painstakingly searched through the discarded clothing, ripping out seams and tearing the soles off boots. Another team of three men, their sleeves rolled high and their fingers dipped in a pot of grease, probed the body orifices of the corpses, searching for any valuables that might be tucked away in these traditional hiding places.
The recovered booty was thrown into an empty water cask, over which a white sergeant stood with a loaded pistol as the keg filled slowly with a rich booty. When the ghoulish trio had finished with the naked corpses another gang dragged them away and threw them onto tall funeral pyres. Fuelled by dry logs the flames reached so high that they shrivelled the green leaves on the tall trees that surrounded the clearing. The smoke of charring flesh was sweet and nauseating, like burnt pork fat.
In the meantime, Schreuder and Cumbrae, assisted by Limberger, the captain of the galleon, were taking stock of the spice barrels. They were as officious as tax collectors, with their lists and books, checking the contents and weights of the recovered goods against the original ship’s manifest, and marking the staves of the kegs with white chalk.
When they had made their tallies other ga
ngs of seamen rolled the great barrels down to the beach and loaded them into the largest pinnace to be taken out to the galleon, which lay anchored out in the channel, under her new mainmast and rigging. The work went on all that night by the light of lantern and bonfire and the yellow flames of the cremation pyres.
As the hours passed Big Daniel became feverish. His skin was hot, and at times he raved. The bandage had at last staunched his wound, and under it a soft crusty scab had begun to form over the ugly puncture. But the skin around it was swollen and turning livid.
‘The ball is still in there,’ Hal whispered to Aboli. ‘There is no wound in his back for it to have left his body.’
Aboli grunted, ‘If we try to cut it out, we will kill him. From the angle which it entered, it must lie close to his heart and lungs.’
‘I fear it will mortify.’ Hal shook his head.
‘He is strong as a bull.’ Aboli shrugged. ‘Perhaps strong enough to defeat the demons.’ Aboli believed that all sickness was caused by demons that had invaded the blood. It was a groundless superstition, but Hal humoured him in his belief.
‘We should cauterize the wounds of all the men with hot tar.’ This was the sailor’s cure-all and Hal pleaded in Dutch with the Hottentot guards to bring one of the pitch pots from the carpenter’s shop in the stockade, but they ignored him.
It was after midnight before they saw Schreuder again. He strode out of the darkness and went directly to where Sir Francis lay chained to the others at the foot of the tree. Like the rest of his men, he was exhausted but able to snatch only brief moments of broken sleep, disturbed by the restless din and movements of the work gangs and the weak cries and groans of the wounded.
‘Sir Francis.’ Schreuder stooped and shook him fully awake. ‘May I trouble you for a few minutes of your time?’ From the tone of his voice, it seemed that his temper was on an even keel.
Sir Francis sat up. ‘First, Colonel, may I trouble you for a little compassion? None of my men has had a drop of water since yesterday afternoon. As you can see, four are grievously wounded.’