The pastor tore at the food with his teeth. He said little as he gulped down oysters and lobster tails, while Christiaan laid out his plans to divide the people further in order to preserve the food and water and prevent lawlessness.
“We must ensure that we maintain a good and virtuous community while we await our rescue.”
Joost poured some wine into a pewter cup for Hendrika and handed it to her. She took it, and at his urging she swallowed a mouthful of it, but her hands were shaking so badly she spilled some of it on her dress.
“Goodness and virtue,” Christiaan said. “I think all men would lead good and virtuous lives, provided they do not have the chance to be otherwise.”
“We must all guard against sin,” the pastor said.
“It is easy to guard against sin when it is difficult to achieve. A blameless life is something a man may have by virtue of laziness or lack of opportunity. Do you not think that many men think themselves assured of heaven when their only virtues are complacency and a dull life?”
“The Devil places temptations everywhere.”
“And you think that if a man resists it, then he is to be commended? For myself I think it is only when a man submits to it that he truly becomes interesting. What happens if we dazzle him with the promise of gold, for instance, and no one to prevent him from slipping it into his pocket, or if we leave him alone with a beautiful woman, what will he do then?”
“Such things are the Devil’s work. We must resist.”
Cornelia watched Joost out of the corner of her eye. He was staring at Hendrika, and the look on his face reminded her of a man with a fish he had never caught before, wondering how to fillet it.
There was golden smile about his lips. “You're a pretty little thing, aren't you?”
He reached out and touched her cheek.
“The Devil’s work!’ Christiaan crowed. “I have heard men say: ‘the Devil made me do this, the Devil made me do that.” But I ask you, pastor, if it was the Devil then why have a day of Judgment, for the devil surely then is guilty of everything?”
“The Devil exists only to lay the path to sin. This is why we pray, ‘lead us not into temptation.”’
“Well, the inference I take from this is that any man can be holy provided there is no other alternative. Am I correct?”
The pastor’s arguments had deserted him. He took another bite from a lobster tail.
“What if there is no such thing as the Devil? Perhaps he is just an invention by you preachers to keep braver men enslaved! I say that all things come from God! So if God puts desire in a man's heart, how can that desire be bad?”
Cornelia recognized this philosophy. It was the heretic Anabaptist creed, the one espoused by Torrentius.
“You said you wished to restrict lawlessness, sin is at the very heart of it.”
“Is it, pastor? Stealing other men’s food and wine, yes, this is lawless, for there are rules for the survival of all. But other laws are simply the result of men’s petty fears of their own nature. For instance, I believe women should be the common property of all. After all, a man's lust is natural and comes from God.” He looked at Cornelia. “Do you not agree, vrouwe?”
She felt the colour rise to her cheeks. “I think a good man honours a woman and protects her.”
“There are many ways to honour a woman’s beauty.”
Cornelia waited for the pastor to rebuke him. But he kept his silence. Besides, he could not, for his mouth was full of lobster.
Christiaan clapped him on the back. “Why so gloomy, pastor? Come, no more talk of religion, your daughter is to be married tomorrow. This is a time for rejoicing. Strootman, bring us more wine!’
***
“This is not such a bad thing for us,” the pastor said as they made their way back across the bleached coral flags from the Undermerchant’s tent. The flaming torch he held in his hand sent long shadows dancing over the scrub, the only light in this pitch night.
Cornelia gripped Hendrika’s hand tight in hers, felt the answering pressure.
“He is a libertine,” Cornelia said. “Perhaps a murderer as well.”
“He has kept us from becoming lawless. The execution of those thieves was sanctioned by the laws of the Honourable Company.”
“And the rape of those three girls? Was that sanctionedalso?”
“They cry rape afterwards. Who knows what they said and did at the time? You know that some of the women had been trading sexual favours for food?”
“They are starving them deliberately. This is all Christiaan’s doing.”
“He requires instruction,that is all. When I am restored to the council, I shall be able to influence affairs better.”
“He is a heretic!’ Hendrika said.
“Heretic? What do you know of such things?” His voice dropped, as if in conspiracy. “Dochterken, it will do us no good to challenge these people head on. It requires a subtle hand. You are too young to understand.”
They walked on in silence. Cornelia thought she heard a scream, and started. But it was only a mutton bird.
“You want me to marry Heer van der Linde. Is this what you wish for me, father?”
“It is perhaps better that you are kept legally by one man than misused by the many. It will all be done within the tenets of the law."
Cornelia was buffeted by another blast of wind, almost strong enough to knock her off her feet.
“I never thought you to behave so meekly in front of them,” she said.
“Do not be fooled, vrouwe. They think they have me duped, needs be, they shall see I can be clever also."
He threw open the flap of their tent. It was empty. The gymbel lamp that had hung from the spar was shattered, and there were slash marks in the timber struts, as if made by a cutlass or axe. Everything was upturned; the meagre chest they had salvaged for a bed, the driftwood table made for them by the carpenters. There were thick gobs of blood everywhere; the ground was slippery with it.
She could see where they had dragged the bodies of the pastor’s wife and children over the coral flags to the water.
The pastor dropped to his knees and screamed.
Chapter 69
A WINDSWEPT morning, flurries of rain driven by the ceaseless wind. The pastor stood with the missal open in his hand and read the wedding ceremony to the gaily dressed wedding party; Hendrika, her face pale as a corpse; Christiaan, the Captain-General, in fine red surcoat and abundant necklets of gold; his lieutenants, Steenhower, David Krueger, Gerrit van Hoeck, Gilles Clement; and the groom, Joost van der Linde, a new feather in his tall black hat, the silver buckles on his shoes polished until they shone by one of his lackeys.
Steenhower placed a fat emerald ring on the missal book, a stone that had once been in the possession of a Roman Emperor. Cornelia gasped. He had not even bothered to wash the blood from under his fingernails.
The pastor completed the words to the ceremony, his voice reedy and thin. The tenets of law having been completed to the satisfaction of the bride's father, Hendrika Molenaar became the wife of Joost van der Linde, lieutenant of the Kingdom.
Chapter 70
LIFE on the island took on a pattern, the new aristocracy firmly in place and distinguished from their subjects not only by their manner of dress but in the way they passed their days. Their servants did their fishing and collected their oysters and crabs and eggs, and every moment in fear of their lives.
Meanwhile the Captain-General and lords of life and deathparaded before their bijwijven, their pleasure women, their boots well-oiled with seal oil by their servants, each day a new red coat and silk stockings to wear.
By night they relaxed with red wine glinting in their beards, fearful women under their arms. They sang foul songs and supped at fish soup and lobster and precious Gouda cheese. It was the diamond life they had always dreamed of, and here, at the cost of a few worthless tailors and their brats, they had established the kingdom of their dreams.
***
> Cornelia huddled in her shelter, listening to the men drinking by the fire, getting drunk, getting ready. She knew all their voices by now. “Loves it, our Elisabeth,” she heard one of the men saying, it sounded like one of the van der Beecks. “She can't get enough of it.”
“It's not the way I remember it,” Gerrit van Hoeck said.
“Maybe she likes me better than you,” Olivier van der Beeck said and they all laughed.
“I've had all of them,” someone said. It was the cabin boy, Strootman. Scarcely a man, not even a beard on his chin. “I say Alida is the best. I'm going to have her again tonight.”
“Maybe I'll have Elisabeth,” Steenhower said. “I'll find some place no one here's been.”
More laughter. She heard them get out the dice to play for first turn.
“What about Miss High and Mighty?” Gilles Clement said.
“She’s off limits,” Krueger said. “Christiaan is saving that one for himself.”
“It’s a pity,” Steenhower said. “I could show that one a few tricks.”
“He’ll get tired of her one day,” Strootman said. “Then I’ll add her to my collection.”
Cornelia covered her ears, could not stand to listen anymore. When she unblocked them again, it was quiet. She heard boots crunching on the coral as the last of them made his way down to the women’s tent.
Chapter 71
THE pastor sat on the beach, his lips moving silently as he read his torn and salt-stained Bible. Cornelia saw Joost promenading along the beach with Hendrika, dressed in his purloined finery, as if he were a burgher with his wife on the Heerenstraat. She wore the fine dress Joost had one of the tailors stitch her from Company silk.
When Joost saw the pastor his spirits seemed to lift. She knew what he was thinking: now here was a game.
They stopped in front of him and Joost nudged him with his boot. “Is that what you do when a gentleman and his lady pass?” he said. “Get up and bow.”
The pastor did as he was told.
His black coat was just a rag now, his polished and buckled shoes rotted with seawater, stiff as iron on his feet. His beard had grown, even the fat belly had withered, and his breeches were held up with rope. He had lost so much weight, his clothes hung loose on him. He kept his head lowered, like a dog waiting for his master’s boot..
“A fine match you have made for me, Father,” Hendrika said. “I am a gentleman's lady now. Are you not proud?”
“Could you ask them to give me some food, dochterken?”
“Are you hungry, churchman? Hmm? That's because you never learned to fish. Doesn't it have something in the Book about fishing?” He knocked the Bible from his hand.
Willem Groot and Gerrit van Hoeck came loping down the beach to join in the fun. “Is this man bothering you, captain?” Groot said. “You want me to get rid of him?” His hand went to the sword at his belt.
“Well, what use is he?”
“We could use him for sword practice,” Groot said. “Pretend he’s Michiel Van Texel.”
Joost considered this.
“Shall I get some rope to tie him up?” Gerrit van Hoeck said.
The pastor’s knees gave way and he slumped onto the sand. He looked up at his daughter, his face melting to tears. “Hendrika, love,” he said.
“Let him be,” she said. “Who else will pull your rafts out for you when you want to go fishing?”
Joost sighed. “She has a point.”
“Though he's not very good at heavy work anymore,” Groot said. “He's getting slower.”
“Let's give him another day, see how he turns out,” Joost said.
Groot and van Hoeck grinned at each other and walked away. A bit of sport, that was all. No one was murdered on the island without Christiaan' authority, and they all knew the Captain-General wanted the pastor alive a while longer yet.
“Come, Hendrika,” Joost said, and held out his arm for her and they walked on, as if skirting an importunate beggar.
Cornelia almost felt sorry for him.
She caught Hendrika’s eyes as she passed. They were dead.
Chapter 72
A WILD night, the wind about to uproot the flimsy tent, flurries of rain like handfuls of grit thrown against the canvas walls, and biting cold. Christiaan did not seem to notice. He sat reciting poetry to her, from a book. She did not know if the poem was his own composition or he had copied it from somewhere.
Lovely eyes,—then the beauties have bound them,
And scattered their shadows around them;
Stars, in whose twinklings the virtues and graces,
Sweetness and meekness, all hold their high places:
But the brightest of stars is but twilight,
Compared with that beautiful eye-light.
She tried to remember that she had once been the owner of a house on the Leleistraat, the beautiful and respected vrouwe Noorstrandt, her life circumscribed by the gold ring on her finger and the expensive velvet gowns she wore to dinner. The reef had stripped all that away, and she no longer knew this woman with whom she had shared a lifetime. Was she the adulteress who once slept in her heart with Ambroise Secor?
Was she the coward who had stayed in her tent listening to the screams the night they raped the Post girls?
Was she the piece of filth those faceless sailors had used for their pleasure that night on the ship?
Christiaan and his friends had battered down the walls; his little army had razed her respectability, her courage, her moral certainty. And what had these marauders finally come upon, huddled in the final bailey? Was this the real vrouwe Noorstrandt?
Christiaan's voice droned on, the pretty words mocking her.
O, how blest, how divine the employment!
How heavenly, how high the enjoyment!
Delicate lips, and soft, amorous glances,—
Kindling, and quenching, and fanning sweet fancies,—
Now, now to my heart's centre rushing,
And now through my veins they are gushing.
A scream carried on the wind.
“What was that?”
Christiaan stopped, put down the book, seemed disappointed at the interruption. Had she not been listening to him? “I heard nothing,” he snapped.
“There was a scream.”
“Just the wind.”
“Someone calling for assistance.”
“A bird perhaps.”
There it was again. She threw her cloak around her shoulders and before he could stop her she had run outside the tent and into the teeth of a blinding gale.
An angry night, the moon hurtling across the sky, racing storm clouds as black as ink. She saw shadows on the beach before the moon was blotted out again by the clouds.
“Cornelia!’ Christiaan grabbed her by the shoulders, tried to drag her back inside. She broke away.
There were needles of rain in her face as she ran. She fell, her ankle twisted in a mutton bird hole. She dragged herself to her knees, and for a moment the moon reappeared, illuminating the beach.
She saw a group of men splashing into the shallows, heard shouts and laughter then another scream. She recognised Krueger's voice down there, and Strootman. Then the moon disappeared again behind the gathering stormcast and rain exploded over the island, it was like being pelted with small stones.
Chapter 73
WILLEM Groot and Theunis Quick were setting out for the channel to fish. They called for the pastor to drag a raft through the shallows for them. It was hard for her not to feel sorry for him as he stumbled on the razor-edged coral and fell headlong into the water. The men on the raft laughed, and their jeers were echoed from the beach, where Strootman and Gerrit van Hoeck were watching.
“He's useless,” Groot said. “Why don't we just carry him out to the deeps and drown him?”
“Let Strootman have him,” Theunis Quick shouted. “He's looking to try out his sword arm.”
The pastor stood there, dripping wet, mouth hanging open like
a dumb animal, waiting for them to pass sentence. They were only having their fun, if he but knew it. If ever they decided they had really had enough of him, there would be no more banter. She knew that well enough by now.
“Let him catch us a fish for supper,” Strootman said.
Groot and Quick leaped off the raft and the pastor tried to stumble away but they caught him easily, splashing through the shallow. They made him stand there in water to his waist, fumbling with the baited line they gave him.
“Look at Welten,” Strootman said. “What's he doing?”
Welten splashed through the shallows towards the raft, now drifting unattended a few feet from the shore. Van Hoeck shouted a warning to Quick and Groot but they were having too much of a good time humiliating the pastor to pay any notice.
He’s going to escape, Cornelia thought. He’s decided to take his chance. She silently willed him on.
He was nearly at the raft when Pieter Robben, who had been down at the beach baiting lines for Quick, leaped to his feet and set off after him. Strootman and van Hoeck ran back to their tents and reappeared with their swords and bucklers. Cornelia grabbed at Strootman’s arm. He threw her off and she went down hard, hitting her head on a rock. She passed out. When she came to Welten had already poled the raft away from the beach. Robben was fighting with Strootman and van Hoeck in the shallows. Strootman slashed with his sword and Robben ducked his head and pushed Strootman in the chest and he fell back into the water. Van Hoeck hit him a glancing blow in the back with his sword but Robben, instead of flinching away, went at him with his fists. He was almost half his size and it was something to see, how he yelled and swung at him, and sent him tumbling over Strootman into the shallows.
Then he set off after Welten and the raft.
By now Groot and Quick had come splashing back up the beach but they were too far away to help. By the time Strootman and van Hoeck got back to their feet Robben was already into the deep water. Groot went after him but fell over again and came up screaming, cutting himself to ribbons on the coral. Robben started swimming out to the raft.
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