by Wilbur Smith
Even from a distance Katinka was delighted with her new home. She had dreaded being lodged in some ugly, bucolic hovel, but this far surpassed her most optimistic expectations. The entire domestic staff of the residence was drawn up on the wide front terrace to greet her.
The carriage rolled to a standstill and her two escorts hastened to help Katinka to earth. At a prearranged signal all the waiting manservants lifted their hats, and bowed so low as to sweep the ground before her with their headgear, while the females dropped into deep curtsies. Katinka acknowledged their greeting with a cool nod, and Kleinhans introduced each of them in turn to her. Most were merely brown or yellow faces that made no impression whatsoever on her, and she glanced vaguely in their direction then passed on, hurrying through this tedious little ritual as swiftly as she could.
However, one or two caught and held her attention for more than a few moments.
‘This is the head gardener.’ Kleinhans summoned the man with a snap of his fingers, and he stood bareheaded before her, holding over his chest the high-crowned Puritan hat with its silver buckled band and wide brim. ‘He is a man of some importance in our community,’ Kleinhans said. ‘Not only is he responsible for these beautiful surroundings,’ he indicated the wide green lawns and splendid flower beds, ‘and for providing each Company ship that calls into Table Bay with fresh fruit and vegetables, but he is also the official executioner.’
Katinka had been on the point of passing on, but now, with a small thrill of excitement, she turned back to study this creature. He towered above her, and she looked up into his strange pale eyes, imagining what dread sights they had seen. Then she glanced down at his hands. They were farmer’s hands, broad and strong and calloused, the backs covered with stiff bristles. She imagined them holding a spade or a branding iron, a pitchfork or the knotted coil of the strangling cord.
‘They call you Stadige Jan?’ She had heard the name spoken with fascination and revulsion, the way one speaks of a deadly, venomous snake.
‘Ja, Mevrouw.’ He nodded. ‘That is what they call me.’
‘A strange name. Why?’ She found his level yellow stare disquieting, as though he was looking at something far behind her.
‘Because I speak slowly. Because I never rush. Because I am thorough. Because plants grow slowly and fruitfully under my hands. Because men die slowly and painfully under these same hands.’ He held up one for her to examine. His voice was sonorous yet melodious. She found herself swallowing hard with a strange, perverse arousal.
‘We are soon to have a chance to watch you work, Stadige Jan.’ She smiled slightly breathlessly. ‘I believe that the dungeon of the castle is full of rogues awaiting your ministrations.’ She had a sudden image of those broad strong hands working on Hal Courtney’s slim straight body, the body she knew so well, changing it, gradually breaking it down. The muscles in her thighs and lower belly tightened at the thought. It would be the ultimate thrill to see the beautiful toy of which she had tired being maimed and disfigured, but slowly and slowly.
‘We must talk again, Stadige Jan,’ she said huskily. ‘I am sure you have many amusing stories to tell me, about cabbages and other things.’ He bowed again, replaced the hat on his shaven head and stepped back into the line of servants. Katinka passed on.
‘This is my housekeeper,’ Kleinhans said, but Katinka was so engrossed in her thoughts that, for several seconds, she gave no indication that she had heard him. Then she threw an idle glance at the female Kleinhans was presenting, and suddenly her eyes widened. She turned her full attention on the woman. ‘Her name is Sukeena.’ There was something in Kleinhans’ tone that she could not immediately fathom.
‘She is very young for such an important position,’ Katinka said, to gain time in which to allow her instincts to have play. In an entirely different manner, she found this woman as enthralling as the executioner. She was so exquisitely small and dainty as to seem an artist’s creation and not flesh and blood.
‘It is a characteristic of her race to appear much younger than their years,’ Kleinhans told her. ‘They have such small childlike bodies – you will observe her tiny waist and her hands and feet, like those of a doll.’ He broke off abruptly, as he realized that he might have committed a solecism in discussing another woman’s bodily parts.
Katinka’s expression did not change to reveal the amusement she felt. The old goat lusts for her, she thought, and she studied the jewel-like qualities to which he had drawn her attention. The girl wore a high collar, but the stuff of her blouse was sheer and light as gossamer. Like the rest of her, her breasts were tiny but perfect. Katinka could see the shape and colour of her nipples through the silk: they were like a pair of imperial rubies wrapped in gossamer. That dress, although simple and of classical Eastern design, must have cost fifty guilders at the very least. Her sandals were gold-embroidered, rich raiment for a house slave. At her throat she wore an ornament of carved jade, a jewel fit for a mandarin’s favourite. The girl must certainly be Kleinhans’ pretty bauble, she decided.
Katinka’s first carnal fulfilment had been at the age of thirteen, on the threshold of puberty. In the seclusion of the nursery, her nurse had introduced her to those forbidden delights. Occasionally, when her fancy dictated and opportunity presented, she still voyaged to the enchanted isles of Lesbos. Often she had found there enchantments that no man had been able to afford her. Now as she looked up from the childlike body to the dark eyes, she felt a tremor of desire run down her own belly and melt into her loins.
Sukeena’s gaze smouldered like the lavas of the volcanoes of her native Bali. These were not the eyes of a subservient child slave but those of a proud, defiant woman. Katinka felt herself challenged and aroused. To subdue her, and have her, and then to break her. She felt her pulse quicken and her breath come short as she pictured it happening.
‘Follow me, Sukeena,’ she commanded. ‘I want you to show me the house.’
‘My lady.’ Sukeena placed the palms of her hands together and touched her fingertips to her lips as she bowed, but her eyes held Katinka’s with the same dark, furious expression. Was it hatred, Katinka wondered, and the idea increased her excitement.
Sukeena has intrigued her, as I knew she must. She will buy her from me, Kleinhans thought. I will be rid of the witch at last. He had been aware of that interplay of passions and emotions between the two women. Although he did not flatter himself that he could fathom the slave girl’s oriental mind, she had been his chattel for almost five years and he had learned to recognize many of the nuances of her moods. The thought of parting with her filled him with dismay but for his own peace and sanity he knew he must do it. She was destroying him. He could not remember what it was to have a quiet mind, not to be plagued and tormented by passions and unfulfilled desires, not to be in the witch’s thrall. Because of her he had lost his health. His stomach was being eaten away by the hot acids of dyspepsia, and he could not remember a night of unbroken sleep in all those long five years.
At least he was rid of her brother, who had been almost as great a torment to him. Now she, too, must go. He could no longer endure this blight on his existence.
Sukeena stepped out of the line of servants and fell in dutifully behind the three, her loathsome master, the boorish giant of a soldier and this beautiful cruel golden lady, who, she sensed somehow, already held her destiny in those slim white hands.
I will wrest it from her, Sukeena vowed. This vile old man could not own me, although for the last five years he has dreamed of nothing else. Neither will this golden tiger woman ever own me. I swear it on my father’s sacred memory.
They passed in a group through the high airy rooms of the residence. Through the green-painted shutters spilled the mellow Cape sunshine, casting stark zebra shadows on the tiled floors. Katinka felt a lightness of the spirit in these sunny colonies. She felt a recklessness in herself, an eagerness for strange adventures and for unfathomed excitements.
In every room she encountered
a subtle, delicate feminine influence. It was not only the lingering perfume of flowers and incense, but some other living presence that she knew could never have emanated from the sad and sick old man at her side. She did not have to glance behind her to be aware of the girl who had created this aura, her silk clothing whispering and the susurration of the golden sandals on her tiny feet, the scent of the jasmine blossom in her coal-dark hair and the sweet musk of her skin.
In counterpoint, there was the crisp staccato click of the Colonel’s heels on the tiles, the creak of his leather and the clink of his scabbard as it swung at his side. His scent was more powerful than that of the girl. It was masculine and rank, sweat and leather and animal, like a stallion pushed hard, bounding between her thighs. In this emotional hothouse in which she found herself, every one of her senses was fully engaged.
At last Governor Kleinhans led them out of the house and across the lawns to where a small gazebo stood, secluded beneath the oaks. An alfresco repast had been laid for them, and Sukeena stood in close attendance, directing the service of the meal with a glance or a subtle, graceful gesture.
Katinka noticed that as each dish or bottle was presented Sukeena tasted a morsel or took a delicate sip, like a butterfly at an open orchid. Her silence was not self-effacing, for all three seated at the table were intensely aware of her presence.
Cornelius Schreuder sat so close to Katinka that his leg pressed against hers whenever he leaned close to speak to her. They looked down towards the bay, where the Standvastigheid lay at anchor, not far from the Gull of Moray. The galleon had come in during the night, fully laden with her cargo of recovered spices and timber. She would carry Kleinhans northwards on the next leg of her voyage, so he was in haste to settle his affairs here in the Cape. Katinka smiled sweetly at the old man over the rim of her wine glass, knowing that she had him at a disadvantage in the bargaining.
‘I wish to sell fifteen of my slaves,’ he told her, ‘and I have prepared a list of them, setting out their personal details, their skills and training, their ages and the state of their health. Five of the females are pregnant, so already the buyer will be assured of an increase on his, or her, investment.’
Katinka glanced at the document he handed her, then dropped it on the table top. ‘Tell me about Sukeena,’ she commanded. ‘Am I mistaken, or have I detected in her a drop of northern blood? Was her father Dutch?’
Although Sukeena stood close by, Katinka spoke about the girl as though she were an inanimate object, without hearing or human sensitivity, a pretty piece of jewellery or a miniature painting, perhaps.
‘You are observant, Mevrouw.’ Kleinhans inclined his head. ‘But no, her father was not Dutch. He was an English trader and her mother was a Balinese but, nonetheless, a woman of high breeding. When I saw her she was in her middle age. However, I understand that in her youth she was a great beauty. Although she was merely his concubine, the English trader treated her like a wife.’
All three studied Sukeena’s features openly. ‘Yes, you can see the European blood. It is the tone of her skin, and the set and shape of her eyes,’ said Katinka.
Sukeena kept her eyes lowered, and her expression did not change. Smoothly she continued with her duties.
‘What do you think of her appearance, Colonel?’ Katinka turned to Schreuder, and pressed her leg against his. ‘I am always interested in what a man finds attractive. Do you not think her a delicious little creature?’
Schreuder flushed slightly, and moved his chair so that he was no longer looking directly at Sukeena.
‘Mevrouw, I have never had a penchant for native girls, even if they are half-castes.’ Sukeena’s face remained impassive even though, at six feet from him, she had heard the derogatory description clearly. ‘My tastes incline very much towards our lovely Dutch girls. I would not trade the dross for the pure gold.’
‘Oh, Colonel, you are so gallant. I envy the pure golden Dutch girl who catches your fancy.’ She laughed, and he gave her a look more eloquent than the words that rose to his lips, but perforce remained unspoken.
Katinka turned back to Kleinhans. ‘So if her father was English, does she speak that language? That would be a useful accomplishment, would it not?’
‘Indeed, she speaks it with great fluency, but that is not all. She has a way with guilders and runs the household with great economy and efficiency. The other slaves respect and obey her. She has intimate knowledge of Oriental medicines and remedies for all illness—’
‘A paragon!’ Katinka interrupted his recital. ‘But what of her nature? Is she tractable, docile?’
‘She is as she appears,’ said Kleinhans, concealing the evasion with a ready reply and open face. ‘I assure you, Mevrouw, that I have owned her for five years and have always found her completely compliant.’
Sukeena’s face remained as if carved in jade, lovely and remote, but her soul seethed with outrage at the lie. For five years she had withstood him, and only on the few occasions when he had beaten her unconscious had he been able to invade her body. But that had been no victory for him, she knew, and took comfort from that knowledge. Twice she had recovered her senses while he was still grunting and straining over her like an animal, forcing himself into her dry, reluctant flesh. She did not count this as defeat, she did not even admit to herself that he had conquered her, for the moment that she regained consciousness she had begun to fight him again, with all the strength and determination of before.
‘You are not a woman,’ he had cried in despair, as she thrashed and kicked and wormed out from under him, ‘you are a devil,’ and, bleeding where she had bitten him and covered with deep gouges and scratches, he had slunk away, leaving her battered but triumphant. In the end he had given up any attempt at forcing her into submission, and instead had tried every other blandishment.
Once, weeping like an old woman, he had even offered her freedom and marriage, her deed of emancipation on the day that she married him. She spat like a cat at the thought.
Twice she had tried to kill him. Once with a dagger and once with poison. Now he made her taste every dish or bowl she served him, but the thought sustained her that one day she might succeed and watch his death throes.
‘She does seem to have an angelic presence,’ Katinka agreed, knowing instinctively that the description would enrage its subject. ‘Come here, Sukeena,’ she ordered, and the girl came to her moving like a reed in the wind.
‘Kneel down!’ said Katinka, and Sukeena knelt before her, her eyes modestly downcast. ‘Look at me!’ She raised her head.
Katinka studied her face, and spoke to Kleinhans without looking at him. ‘You say she is healthy?’
‘Young and healthy, never a day’s illness in her life.’
‘Is she pregnant?’ Katinka asked, and ran her hand lightly over the girl’s stomach. It was flat and hard.
‘No! No!’ Kleinhans exclaimed. ‘She is a virgin.’
‘There is never any guarantee of that state. The devil enters even the most heavily barred fortress.’ Katinka smiled. ‘But I will accept your word on it. I want to see her teeth. Open your mouth.’ For a moment she thought Sukeena would refuse, but then her lips parted, and her small teeth sparkled in the sunlight, whiter than freshly carved ivory.
Katinka laid the tip of her finger on the girl’s lower lip. It felt soft as a rose petal, and Katinka let the moment hang, drawing out the pleasure, prolonging Sukeena’s humiliation. Then, slowly and voluptuously, she ran her finger between the girl’s lips. The gesture was sexually fraught, a parody of the masculine penetration of the woman. As he watched, Kleinhans’ hand began to tremble so violently that the sweet Constantia wine spilled over the rim of the glass he held. Cornelius Schreuder scowled and moved uneasily in his seat, crossing one leg over the other.
The inside of Sukeena’s mouth was soft and moist. The two women stared at each other. Then Katinka began to move her finger slowly back and forth, exploring and probing while she asked Kleinhans, ‘Her father,
this Englishman, what happened to him? If he loved his concubine, as you say he did, why did he allow her children to be sold on the slave block?’
‘He was one of the English bandits that were executed while I was Governor of Batavia. I am sure you are acquainted with the incident, are you not, Mevrouw?’
‘Yes, I recall it well. The accused men were tortured by the Company executioner to ascertain the extent of their villainy,’ Katinka said softly, still gazing into Sukeena’s eyes. The extremity of the suffering she saw in them amazed and intrigued her. ‘I did not know that you were the Governor at that time. The girl’s father was executed at your orders, then?’ Katinka asked, and Sukeena’s lips quivered and closed softly around Katinka’s long white finger.
‘I have heard that they were crucified,’ Katinka breathed huskily, and Sukeena’s eyes filled with tears although her features remained serene. ‘I have heard that burning sulphur flares were applied to their feet,’ Katinka said, and felt the girl’s tongue slide over her finger as she swallowed her grief. ‘And then the flares were held under their hands.’ Sukeena’s sharp little teeth closed on her finger, not hard enough to be painful and certainly not hard enough to break or mark the white skin, but the threat was in her eyes, which were filled with hatred.
‘I regret that it was necessary. The man’s obstinacy was extraordinary. It must be a national trait of the English.’ Kleinhans nodded. ‘To endorse the punishment I ordered that the condemned man’s concubine, her name was Ashreth, be made to watch the execution, she and the two children. Of course, at the time I knew nothing of Sukeena and her brother. It was not idle cruelty on my part but Company policy. These people do not respond to kindness, which they mistake for weakness.’ Kleinhans gave a sigh of regret at such intransigence.