Blue Horizon

by Wilbur Smith

  “There they are!” Ahead they saw the gleam of a lantern, and the dark shape of a wagon beside the lesser bulk of the capsized cart. They urged the horses to the top of their speed. As they came up Sarah stepped into the road, holding up the lantern, with Yasmini beside her.

  “You are just in time to be too late, husband of mine.” Sarah laughed. “Everything is safely repacked on board the wagon.”

  At that moment Tom saw the driver behind her brandish his long whip, flicking out the lash to fire it over the backs of the oxen. “Stay your hand, Henny, you damned fool. They will hear your whiplash down in the castle. You will bring the colonel and all his men upon us like a pride of lions!”

  Guiltily Henny lowered the great whip, and instead he and his voorloper ran alongside the oxen slapping their rumps and urging them to pull away. The wagon began lumbering along towards the start of the dunes. The harpsichord swayed and rocked on top of the load. Tom spared it one bitter glance. “May it fall and burst into a thousand pieces!” he grumbled.

  “I choose to ignore that remark,” Sarah said primly, “for I know you did not mean it.”

  “Come up behind me, my sweeting.” Tom leaned out of the saddle to lift her up. “I shall whisk you back to the beach and have you on board before you can blink an eye.”

  “I thank you, no, my own true heart. I prefer to stay with the wagon, to see that no further mishaps befall my baggage.” In frustration Tom slapped the lead ox across its rump with the heavy sword scabbard.

  They reached the first slope of the dunes and Tom looked back, and felt the first flare of alarm. There were lights showing around the homestead, which only minutes before had been in complete darkness.

  “Look at that, brother,” he muttered to Dorian, keeping his voice low. “What do you make of it?”

  Dorian turned in the saddle. “Mounted men carrying lighted torches,” Dorian exclaimed. “They are coming up the hill from the direction of the colony. A large troop, riding in column. They must be cavalry.”

  “Keyser!” Tom agreed. “Stephanus Keyser! It can be no other. Somehow he has got wind of what we are about.”

  “When he finds that we have left the homestead, he will come straight on to the landing on the shore.”

  “He will catch us before we can load this baggage into the boats,” Tom agreed. “We must abandon the wagon, and run for the beach.”

  He spurred back to where Sarah and Yasmini were walking alongside the span of oxen. They had cut sticks from the side of the road and were helping to drive the span onwards.

  “Douse that lantern. Keyser has come,” Tom shouted at Sarah and pointed back. “He will be after us in no time at all.”

  “Leave the wagon. We must run.” Dorian was at Tom’s side.

  Sarah cupped her hand around the glass chimney of the lantern, blew out the flame. Then she turned on her husband. “You cannot be sure it is Keyser,” she challenged him.

  “Who else would be leading a troop of cavalry to High Weald at this time of the night?”

  “He will not know that we are heading for the beach.”

  “He may be fat, but that does not make him blind or stupid. Of course he will come after us.”

  Sarah looked ahead. “It’s not far now. We can reach the shore before him.”

  “A loaded ox-wagon against a troop of cavalry? Don’t be daft, woman.”

  “Then you must think of something,” she said, with simple faith. “You always do.”

  “Yes, I have already thought of something. Get up behind me, and we will run as though the devil is breathing fire down our necks.”

  “Which he is!” said Dorian, and then to Yasmini, “Come, my darling, let us go at once.”

  “You may go, Yassie,” Sarah said, “but I am staying.”

  “I cannot leave you, Sarah, we have been together too long. I will stay with you,” said Yasmini, and moved closer to her side. They presented the men with an unassailable front. Tom hesitated just a moment longer. Then he turned back to Dorian.

  “If I have learned nothing else in my life, this I know. They will not be moved.” He drew one of the pistols from its holster on the pommel of his saddle. “Look to your priming, Dorry.” He turned back to Sarah and told her sternly, “You will get us all killed. Perhaps then you will be satisfied. Make all haste. When you reach the beach Mansur will be waiting with the lighter. Have it loaded and ready to shove off. When next you see us Dorry and I might be in somewhat of a hurry.” He was about to ride off when a sudden thought occurred to him. He leaned over and lifted the spare trek chain from its bracket at the back end of the wagon. Every wagon carried this piece of equipment: it was there for use when the teams had to be double spanned.

  “What do you mean to do with that?” Dorian demanded. “It will weigh down your mount.”

  “Perhaps nothing.” Tom lashed the chain to the pommel of his saddle. “But then again, perhaps a great deal.”

  They left their two wives and the wagon after one last exhortation to make for the beach at their best speed, and galloped back up the hill. As they approached, the lights of the torches became brighter and the scene clearer. They reined in at the edge of the paddock, just below the homestead, and walked the horses into the deeper darkness below the outspread branches of the trees. They saw at once that these visitors were uniformed troopers. Many were dismounted and running in and out of the buildings, their sabres drawn, searching the rooms. Tom and Dorian could clearly make out their faces and features.

  “There is Keyser,” Dorian exclaimed, “and, by the beard of the Prophet, that is Susie with him.”

  “So, she is our Judas!” Tom’s tone was grim. “What possible reason would she have to betray us?”

  “Sometimes there is no accounting for the treacherous spite of those we have loved and trusted most,” Dorian replied.

  “Keyser won’t waste much time searching for us in the homestead,” Tom grunted, as he untied the riempie that secured the heavy trek chain to the front of his saddle. “Here is what you must do, Dorry.”

  Quickly he outlined his plan. Almost as soon as he started talking Dorian had grasped it all.

  “The gate above the main kraal,” Dorian agreed.

  “When you have done, leave it open,” Tom warned him.

  “You do have a hellish mind, brother Tom.” Dorian chuckled. “At times such as these, I am pleased that I am for you, not against.”

  “Go quickly,” Tom said. “Keyser has already discovered that the stable is empty and the birds have flown.” Tom mixed his metaphors cruelly.

  Dorian left Tom under the trees and took the fork of the road that led down to the main cattle stockades above the lagoon. Tom noted that he had the good sense to keep to the verge so that the grass muffled his horse’s hoofbeats. He watched until Dorian disappeared into the darkness, then switched his attention to what was happening around the buildings of High Weald.

  The troopers had at last abandoned the search and were hurrying back to their horses. On the front stoep of the homestead Susie was cowering in front of Keyser, who was shouting at her. His angry tone carried to where Tom waited, but he was too distant to catch the words.

  Perhaps Susie has been stricken by an attack of conscience, Tom thought, and watched Keyser lash the woman across the face with his riding crop. Susie fell to her knees. Keyser struck her again across her shoulders with a full overhead stroke of the whip. Susie screamed shrilly and pointed down the road to the dunes.

  The cavalry troopers mounted hastily and fell in behind Keyser as he rode at the head of the column. By the light of the torches they carried, Tom watched them come down towards the paddock. The jingle of the harness and the clatter of the carbines and sabres in the scabbards grew louder. When they were so close that he could hear the breathing of their horses, Tom spurred his own horse out of the darkness into the middle of the road in front of them.

  “Keyser, you treacherous bag of pig’s lard! A curse on your black heart and a pox o
n your shrivelled genitals!” he shouted. Keyser was so taken aback that he reined in his horse. The troopers behind him bumped into each other. For a moment there was confusion in the column as the horses milled about.

  “You will never take me, Keyser, you great round of cheese! Not on that donkey you call a horse.”

  Tom lifted the double-barrelled pistol and aimed as close over the top of the ostrich plumes in Keyser’s hat as he dared. Keyser ducked as the ball buzzed past his ear.

  Tom spun his horse and sent him racing down the road towards the kraal. Behind him he heard the thud of answering pistol shots, and Keyser’s furious bellows: “Catch that man! After him! Alive if you can, but dead if you must. Either way, I want him!”

  The troop of cavalry pounded after Tom. A blast of pellets from a cavalry carbine whirred around him like a covey of partridge rising from cover, and he lay flat on his horse’s mane and lashed the loose end of the reins across its neck.

  He looked back under his arm to judge the gap between himself and the pursuit, and when he saw that he was drawing ahead he slowed down a little into a firm gallop and let Keyser close in. The excited shouts and halloos of the troopers reassured Tom that they had him well in sight. Every few seconds there came the bang and thud of a pistol or carbine, and a few balls flew close enough for him to hear them pass. One struck his saddle only inches from his buttocks and went whining off into the night. If it had hit him, it would certainly have inflicted a wound that would have ended it all there and then.

  Although he knew exactly where the gate was and he was looking ahead to find it, it still surprised him when it appeared suddenly out of the darkness ahead of him. He saw instantly that Dorian had done as he had asked and left it wide open. The hedge on each side of the opening was shoulder high, thick and dark with matted thorn. Tom had only a moment to steer away from the gateway, and aim at the hedge. As he gathered his mount for the jump with the pressure of his knees and his hands on the reins, from the corner of his eye he saw the glint of steel. Dorian had wrapped each end of the chain around the heavy wooden gate-posts and the links were stretched at waist height across the opening.

  Tom let the horse under him judge the moment of takeoff, moved his weight forward and helped him surge upwards. They brushed over the top of the hedge and landed well in hand on the far side. The instant Tom recovered his balance and steadied his mount he turned and looked back. One of the troopers had pulled well ahead of his comrades, and tried to follow Tom over the hedge. His horse shied and refused at the last moment, running out while his rider flew off his back and came sailing over the hedge, flying free. He struck the ground in a tangle of limbs and equipment and lay like a sack of beans.

  Colonel Keyser saw his man unhorsed, waved his sword over his head and shouted, “Follow me! Through the gate!”

  His squadron bunched up close behind him and he charged into the gateway. With a metallic clash the chain sprang tight as the combined weight of animals and men crashed into it. In an instant the entire column was cut down, horses piling into each other as they fell. The bones of their legs snapped like dry firewood as they hit the chain. Their bodies filled the gateway in a struggling, kicking, screaming mass. Men were caught under the animals and their cries swelled the tumult.

  Even Tom, who had engineered it, was appalled by the shambles. Instinctively he turned back his horse, tempted for a fleeting moment to try to render assistance to his victims. Dorian rode out from behind the wall of the kraal where he had been concealed and stopped beside Tom. The two stared in horror. Then Keyser struggled to his feet almost under the noses of their horses.

  As the first into the trap, Keyser’s mount had struck the chain cleanly, and as they went down Keyser was hurled from the saddle like a stone from a sling. He struck and rolled across the earth, but somehow retained his grip on his sabre. Now he stood up unsteadily and gazed back in disbelief at the pile of struggling men and horses. Then he let out a cry of rage and despair mingled. He raised his sword and rushed at Tom.

  “For this I shall have your hide and heart!” he bellowed. With a flick of his sword Tom sent the sabre spinning from his grip to peg into the earth ten paces away. “Don’t be an idiot, man. There has been enough damage done for one day. See to your men.” Tom glanced at Dorian. “Come, Dorry, let’s go on.”

  They turned their horses. Still half stunned Keyser staggered to retrieve his sword and as they rode away he shouted after them, “This is not the end of the business, Tom Courtney. I shall come after you with all the might and authority of the VOC. You shall not escape my wrath.” Neither Tom nor Dorian looked back and he ran after them shouting threats, until they had pulled away and he had run out of breath. He stopped, panting, and hurled his sabre after them. “I shall hunt you down and root you out, you and all your seed.”

  Just as they were disappearing into the night, Keyser bellowed his last taunt: “Koots has already captured your bitch-born bastard. He is bringing back Jim Courtney’s head, and the head of his convict whore, pickled in a keg of brandy.”

  Tom stopped and stared back at him.

  “Yes, Koots has caught him,” Keyser shouted, with wild laughter.

  “He is lying, brother. He says it to wound you.” Dorian laid a hand on Tom’s arm. “How could he know what has happened out there?”

  “You are right, of course,” Tom whispered. “Jim has got clean away.”

  “We must get back to the women, and see them safely aboard,” Dorian insisted. They rode on and Keyser’s shouts receded behind them.

  Struggling for breath, Keyser tottered back to the tangle of men and horses. A few of his troopers were crawling to their feet, or sitting holding their heads or nursing other injuries.

  “Find me a horse,” Keyser yelled.

  His own horse, like most of the others, had broken its legs when it struck the chain, but a few animals, who had been in the rear rank of the charge, had been able to heave themselves upright and were standing, shivering and shaken. Keyser ran from one to another, checking their legs. He selected the one that seemed strongest, hoisted himself into the saddle and shouted to his men who could still walk, “Come on! Find yourselves a mount and follow me. We can still catch them on the beach.”

  Tom and Dorian found the last wagon descending the final slope of the dunes. The women were walking beside it. Sarah had relit the lantern and held it high when she heard the horses galloping up.

  “Will you not hurry, woman?” Tom was so agitated that he shouted at her from a distance.

  “We are hurrying,” she replied, “and your rough seaman’s language will make us go no faster.”

  “We have delayed Keyser for the moment, but he will be after us again soon enough.” Tom realized his mistake in adopting that brusque approach to his wife and, despite his agitation, tried to ameliorate his tone. “We are in sight of the beach, and all your possessions are safe.” He pointed ahead. “Will you now let me take you to the boat, my sweeting?”

  She looked up at him and, even in the poor light of her lantern, could see the strain on his face. She relented. “Lift me up, then, Tom.” She raised her arms to him like a small girl to her father. When he swung her up and placed her behind him she hugged him close, and whispered into the thick curls that bushed down the back of his neck, “You are the finest husband God ever placed upon this earth, and I am the most fortunate of wives.”

  Dorian gathered up Yasmini and they followed Tom down to where Mansur waited with the lighter at the water’s edge. They placed the two women firmly on board. The wagon came trundling down, and as it reached the lighter it sank axle deep into the wet sand. But this made it easier to transfer the last of their possessions into the boat. Once the wagon was empty the oxen were able to haul it away.

  While this was going on, Tom and Dorian kept glancing back into the darkness of the dunes, expecting the worst of Keyser’s threats to materialize, but the harpsichord was at last lashed down and covered with a tarpaulin to protect it from
the spray.

  Mansur and the crewmen who were shoving out the boat were still waist deep, when there was an angry shout from the dunes and the flash and clap of a carbine shot. The ball slammed into the transom of the boat, and Mansur leaped in.

  There was another shot and again the ball struck the hull. Tom pushed the women down until they were sitting on the deck, in an inch or more of bilge water, protected by the pile of hastily loaded cargo.

  “I entreat you now to keep your heads well down. We can argue the merits of this suggestion later. However, I assure you those are real musket balls.”

  He looked back and could just make out Keyser’s distinctive outline against the pale sand, but his stentorian bellows carried clearly: “You will not escape me, Tom Courtney. I shall see you hanged, drawn and quartered on the same scaffold as that bloody pirate, your grandfather. Every Dutch port in this world will be closed to you.”

  “Take no notice of what he says,” Tom told Sarah, dreading that Keyser would repeat his gruesome description of Jim’s fate and torment her beyond bearing. “In his pique he utters only monstrous lies. Come, let us give him a farewell tune.”

  To drown Keyser’s threats, he launched into a hearty but off-key rendition of “Spanish Ladies,” and the others all joined in. Dorian’s voice was as magnificent as ever and Mansur had inherited his ringing tenor. Yasmini’s soprano lisped sweetly. Sarah leaned against Tom’s reassuring bulk and sang with him.

  “Farewell and adieu to you, fair Spanish ladies,

  Farewell and adieu to you, ladies of Spain,

  For we’ve received orders to sail for old England,

  But we hope in a short time to see you again…

  Then let every man here toss off a full bumper,

  Then let every man here toss off his full bowl,

  For we will be jolly and drown melancholy,

  With a health to each jovial and true-hearted soul…”

  Yasmini laughed and clapped her hands. “That’s the first naughty song Dorry ever taught me. Do you remember when first I sang it to you, Tom?”