Birds of Prey

by Wilbur Smith

  The prisoners were still waiting in their chains below the dais, like oxen in the traces, as van de Velde settled himself into his chair again.

  ‘The gibbet and the gallows, these are your natural homes, but they are too good for you. I sentence every last man of you to a lifetime of labour in the service of the Dutch East India Company, which you conspired to cheat and rob, and whose servants you abducted and maltreated. Do not think this is kindness on my part, or weakness. There will come a time when you will weep to the Almighty and beg him for the easy death that I denied you this day. Take them away and put them to work immediately. The sight of them offends my eyes, and those of all honest men.’

  As they were herded from the hall, Katinka hissed with frustration and made a gesture of annoyance. Cumbrae leaned closer to her and asked, ‘What is it that troubles you, madam?’

  ‘I fear my husband has made a mistake. He should have sent them to the pyre on the parade.’ Now she would be denied the thrill of watching Slow John work on the beautiful brat, and listening to his screams. It would have been a deeply satisfying conclusion to the affair. Her husband had promised it to her, and he had cheated her of the pleasure. She would make him suffer for that, she decided.

  ‘Ah, madam, revenge is best savoured like a pipe of good Virginia tobacco. Not gobbled up in a rush. Any time in the future that the fancy takes you, you need only look up at the castle walls and there they will be, being worked slowly to death.’

  Hal passed close by where Sir Francis sat on the long bench. His father looked forlorn and sick, with his hair and beard in lank ropes and black shadows beneath his eyes, in dreadful contrast with his pale skin. Hal could not bear it and suddenly he cried, ‘Father!’ and would have run to him, but Sergeant Manseer had anticipated him and stepped in front of him with the long cane in his right hand. Hal backed away.

  His father did not look up, and Hal realized that he had taken his farewell and had moved on into the far territory where only Slow John would be able now to reach him.

  When the file of convicts had left the hall and the doors had closed behind them, a hush fell and every eye rested on the lonely figure on the bench.

  ‘Francis Courtney,’ van de Velde said loudly. ‘Stand forth!’

  Sir Francis threw back his head, flicking the greying hair out of his eyes. He shrugged off the guards’ hands and rose unaided to his feet. He held his head high as he marched to the dais, and his torn shirt flapped around his naked back. The cane stripes had begun to dry into crusted black scabs.

  ‘Francis Courtney, it is not by chance, I am certain, that you bear the same Christian name as that most notorious of all pirates, the rogue Francis Drake.’

  ‘I have the honour to be named for the famous seafarer,’ said Sir Francis softly.

  ‘Then I have the even greater honour of passing sentence upon you. I sentence you to death.’ Van de Velde waited for Sir Francis to show some emotion, but he stared back without expression. At last the Governor was forced to continue. ‘I repeat, your sentence is death, but the manner of your death will be of your own choosing.’ Abruptly and unexpectedly, he let out a mellow guffaw. ‘There are not many rogues of your calibre that are treated with such beneficence and condescension.’

  ‘With your permission, I shall withhold any expression of gratitude until I hear the rest of your proposal,’ Sir Francis murmured, and van de Velde stopped laughing.

  ‘Not all the cargo from the Standvastigheid has been recovered. By far the most valuable portion is still missing, and there is no doubt in my mind that you were able to secrete this before you were captured by the troops of the honourable Company. Are you prepared to reveal the hiding place of the missing cargo to the officers of the Company? In that case, your execution will be by a swift and clean beheading.’

  ‘I have nothing to tell you,’ said Sir Francis, in a disinterested tone.

  ‘Then, I fear, you will be asked the same question under extreme compulsion by the state executioner.’ Van de Velde smacked his lips softly, as though the words tasted good on his tongue. ‘Should you answer fully and without reservation the headsman’s axe will put an end to your suffering. Should you remain obstinate, the questioning will continue. At all times the choice will remain yours.’

  ‘Your excellency is a paragon of mercy,’ Sir Francis bowed, ‘but I cannot answer the question, for I know nothing of the cargo of which you speak.’

  ‘Then Almighty God have mercy on your soul,’ said van de Velde, and turned to Sergeant Manseer. ‘Take the prisoner away and place him in the charge of the state executioner.’

  Hal balanced high on the scaffolding on the unfinished wall of the eastern bastion of the castle. This was only the second day of the labours that were to last the rest of his natural life, and already the palms of his hands and both his shoulders were rubbed raw by the ropes and the rough, undressed stone blocks. One of his fingertips was crushed and the nail was the colour of a purple grape. Each masonry block weighed a ton or more and had to be manhandled up the rickety scaffolding of bamboo poles and planks.

  In the gang of convicts working with him were Big Daniel and Ned Tyler, neither of whom was fully recovered from his wounds. Their injuries were plain to see for all were dressed only in petticoats of ragged canvas.

  The musket ball had left a deep, dark purple crater in Daniel’s chest and a lion’s claw across his back, where Hal had cut him. The scabs over these wounds had burst open with his exertions and were weeping watery blood-tinged lymph.

  The sword wound crawled like a raw red vine around Ned’s thigh, and he limped heavily as he moved along the scaffold. After their privations in the slave deck of the Gull they were all honed clean of the last ounce of fat. They were lean as hunting dogs, and stringy muscle and bone stood out clearly beneath their sun-reddened skins.

  Though the sun still shone brightly, the winter wind whistled in from the nor-’west and seemed to abrade their bodies like ground glass. In unison they hauled at the tail of the heavy manila rope and the sheaves screeched in their blocks as the great yellow lump of stone lifted from the truck of the wagon far below and began its perilous ascent up the high structure.

  The previous day a scaffolding on the south bastion had collapsed under the weight of the stones and had hurled three of the convicts working upon it to their death on the cobbles far below. Hugo Barnard, the overseer, had muttered as he stood over their crushed corpses, ‘Three birds with one stone. I’ll have the next careless bastard that kills himself thrashed within an inch of his life,’ and burst out laughing at his own gallows’ humour.

  Daniel took a turn of the rope end around his good shoulder and anchored it as the rest of the team reached out, seized the swinging block and hauled it onto the trestle. Between them they manhandled it into the gap at the top of the wall, with the Dutch stonemason in his leather apron shouting instructions at them.

  They stood back panting after it had dropped into place, every muscle in their bodies aching and trembling from the effort, but there was no time to rest. From the courtyard below Hugo Barnard was already yelling, ‘Get that cradle down here. Swiftly now or I’ll come up and give you a touch of the persuader,’ and he flicked out the knotted leather thongs of his whip.

  Daniel peered over the edge of the scaffold. Suddenly he stiffened and glanced over his shoulder at Hal. ‘There go Aboli and the other lads.’

  Hal stepped up beside him and looked down. From the doorway to the dungeon a small procession emerged. The four black seamen were led out into the wintry sunshine. Once again, they were wearing light chains. ‘Look at those lucky bastards,’ Ned Tyler muttered. They had not been included in the labour teams, but had stayed in the dungeon, resting and being fed an extra meal each day to fatten them up while they waited to go on the auction block. This morning Manseer had ordered the four men to strip naked. Then Dr Saar, the Company surgeon, had come down to the cell and examined them, probing and peering into their ears and mouths to satisfy himse
lf as to the state of their health. When the surgeon had left, Manseer ordered them to anoint themselves all over from a stone jar of oil. Now their skins shone in the sunlight like polished ebony. Though they were still lean and finely drawn from their stay aboard the Gull, the coating of oil made them appear sleek prime specimens of humanity. Now they were being led out through the gates of the castle onto the open Parade where already a crowd had gathered.

  Before he passed through the gates Aboli raised his great round head and looked up at Hal on the scaffold, high above. For one moment their eyes met. There was no need for either to shout a message, chancing a cut of the cane from their keepers, and Aboli strode on without looking back.

  The auction block was a temporary structure that at other times was used as a gibbet on which the corpses of executed criminals were placed on public view. The four men were lined up on the platform and Dr Saar mounted the platform with them and addressed the crowd. ‘I have examined all of the four slaves being offered for sale today,’ he stated, lowering his head to peer over the tops of his wire-framed eye-glasses. ‘I can give the assurance that all of them are in good health. Their eyes and teeth are sound and they are hale in limb and body.’

  The crowd was in a festive mood. They clapped at the doctor’s announcement, and gave him an ironical cheer as he climbed down from the block and hurried back towards the castle gates. Jacobus Hop stepped forward and held up a hand for silence. Then he read from the proclamation of the sale, the crowd jeering and imitating him every time he stuttered. ‘By order of His Excellency the Governor of this colony of the honourable Dutch East India Company, I am authorized to offer for sale, to the highest bidder, four Negro slaves—’ He broke off and removed his hat respectfully as the Governor’s open carriage came down the avenue from the residence, passing through the gardens and wheeling out onto the open Parade behind the six glossy greys. Lord Cumbrae and the Governor’s wife sat side by side on the open leather seats facing forward, and Colonel Schreuder sat opposite them.

  The crowd opened to let the carriage come to the foot of the block, where Fredricus, the coloured coachman, called the team to a halt and wound down the hand brake. None of the passengers dismounted. Katinka lolled elegantly on the leather seat, twirling her parasol, and chatting gaily to the two men.

  On the platform Hop was thrown into confusion by the arrival of these exalted visitors, and stood flushing, stammering and blinking in the sunlight until Schreuder called out impatiently, ‘Get on with it, fellow! We didn’t come here to watch you goggle and gape.’

  Hop replaced his hat and bowed first at Schreuder then at Katinka. He raised his voice. ‘The first lot is the slave Aboli. He is about thirty years of age and is believed to be a member of the Qwanda tribe from the east coast of Africa. As you are aware, the Qwanda Negroes are much appreciated as field slaves and herdsmen. He could also be trained into an excellent wagon driver or coachman.’ He paused to mop his sweaty face and gather his tripping tongue, then he went on, ‘Aboli is said to be a skilled hunter and fisherman. He would bring in a good income to his owner from any of these occupations.’

  ‘Mijnheer Hop, are you hiding anything from us?’ Katinka called out, and Hop was once more thrown into disarray by the question. His stammer became so agonized that he could hardly get the words out.

  ‘Revered lady, greatly esteemed lady,’ he spread his hands helplessly, ‘I assure you—’

  ‘Would you offer for sale a bull wearing clothes?’ Katinka demanded. ‘Do you expect us to bid for something that we cannot see?’

  As he caught her meaning, Hop’s face cleared and he turned to Aboli. ‘Disrobe!’ he ordered loudly, to bolster his courage while facing this huge wild savage. For a moment Aboli stared at him unmoving then contemptuously slipped the knot of his loincloth and let it fall to the planks under his feet.

  Naked and magnificent, he stared over their heads at the table-topped mountain. There was a hissing intake of breath from the crowd below. One of the women squealed and another giggled nervously, but none turned away their eyes.

  ‘Hoots!’ Cumbrae broke the pregnant pause with a chuckle. ‘The buyer will be getting full measure. There is no makeweight in that load of blood-sausage. I’ll start the bidding at five hundred guilders!’

  ‘And a hundred more!’ Katinka called out.

  The Buzzard glanced at her and spoke softly from the corner of his mouth. ‘I did not know you were intending to bid, madam.’

  ‘I will have this one at any price, my lord,’ she warned him sweetly, ‘for he amuses me.’

  ‘I would never stand in the way of a beautiful lady.’ The Buzzard bowed. ‘But you will not bid against me for the other three, will you?’

  ‘’Tis a bargain, my lord.’ Katinka smiled. ‘This one is mine, and you may have the others.’

  Cumbrae folded his arms across his chest and shook his head when Hop looked to him to increase the bid. ‘Too rich a price for my digestion,’ he said, and Hop looked in vain for a buyer in the rest of the crowd. None was foolhardy enough to go up against the Governor’s wife. Recently they had been given a glimpse of his excellency’s temper in open court.

  ‘The slave Aboli is sold to Mevrouw van de Velde for the sum of six hundred guilders!’ Hop sang out, and bowed towards the carriage. ‘Do you wish the chains struck off, Mevrouw?’

  Katinka laughed. ‘And have him bolt for the mountains? No, Mijnheer, these soldiers will escort him up to the slave quarters at the residence.’ She glanced across at Schreuder who gave an order to a detachment of green-jackets waiting under their corporal at the edge of the crowd. They elbowed their way forward, dragged Aboli down from the block and led him away up the avenue towards the residence.

  Katinka watched him go. Then she tapped the Buzzard on the shoulder with one finger. ‘Thank you, my lord.’

  ‘The next lot is the slave Jiri,’ Hop told them, reading from his notes. ‘He is, as you see, another fine strong specimen—’

  ‘Five hundred guilders!’ growled the Buzzard, and glared at the other buyers, as if daring them to bid at their peril. But without the Governor’s wife to compete against, the burghers of the colony were bolder.

  ‘And one hundred,’ sang out a merchant of the town.

  ‘And a hundred more!’ called a wagoner in a jacket of leopardskins. The bidding went quickly to fifteen hundred guilders with only the wagoner and the Buzzard in the race.

  ‘Damn and blast the clod!’ Cumbrae muttered, and turned his head to catch the eye of his boatswain who, with three of his seamen, hovered beside the rear wheel of the carriage. Sam Bowles nodded and his eyes gleamed. With his men backing him he sidled through the press until he stood close behind the wagoner.

  ‘Sixteen hundred guilders,’ roared the Buzzard, ‘and be damned to ye!’

  The wagoner opened his mouth to push upwards and felt something prick him under the ribs. He glanced down at the knife in Sam Bowles’s gnarled fist, closed his mouth and blanched white as baleen.

  ‘The bid is against you, Mijnheer Tromp!’ Hop called to him, but the wagoner scurried away across the Parade back towards the town.

  Kimatti and Matesi were both knocked down to the Buzzard for well under a thousand guilders each. The other prospective buyers in the crowd had seen the little drama between Sam and the wagoner and none showed any further interest in bidding against Cumbrae.

  All three slaves were dragged away by Sam Bowles’s shore party towards the beach. When Matesi struggled to escape a shrewd crack over his scalp with a marlinspike quieted him and, with his mates, he was shoved into the longboat and rowed out to where the Gull lay anchored at the edge of the shoals.

  ‘A successful expedition for both of us, my lord.’ Katinka smiled at the Buzzard. ‘To celebrate our acquisitions, I hope you will be able to dine with us at the residence this evening.’

  ‘Nothing would have given me greater pleasure, but alas, madam, I was lingering only for the sale and the chance of picking up a few pri
me seamen. Now my ship lies ready in the bay, and the wind and the tide bid me away.’

  ‘We shall miss you, my lord. Your company has been most diverting. I hope you will call on us and remain a while longer when next you round the Cape of Good Hope.’

  ‘There is no power on this earth, no storm, ill wind or enemy which could prevent me doing so,’ said Cumbrae and kissed her hand. Cornelius Schreuder glowered: he could not stand to see another man lay a finger on this woman who had come to rule his existence.

  As the Buzzard’s feet touched the deck of the Gull he shouted to the helm, ‘Geordie, my lad, prepare to weigh anchor and get under way.’

  Then he singled out Sam Bowles. ‘I want the three Negroes on the quarterdeck, and swiftly.’ As they were ranged before him, he looked them over carefully. ‘Does any one of you three heathen beauties speak God’s own language?’ he asked, and they stared at him blankly. ‘So it’s only your benighted lingo, is it?’ He shook his head sadly. ‘That makes my life much harder.’

  ‘Begging your pardon,’ Sam Bowles tugged obsequiously at his Monmouth cap, ‘I know them well, all three of them. We was shipmates together, we was. They’re playing you for a patsy. They all three speak good English.’

  Cumbrae grinned at them, with murder in his eyes. ‘You belong to me now, my lovelies, from the tops of your woolly heads to the pink soles of your great flat feet. If you want to keep your black hides in one piece, you’ll not play games with me again, do you hear me?’ And with a swipe of his huge hairy fist he sent Jiri crashing to the deck. ‘When I talk to you you’ll answer clear and loud in sweet English words. We’re going back to Elephant Lagoon and, for the sake of your health, you’re going to show me where Captain Franky hid his treasure. Do you hear me?’

  Jiri scrambled back onto his feet. ‘Yes, Captain Lordy, sir! We hear you. You are our father.’