The Golden Tulip

by Rosalind Laker

  “It’s a long time since my first day here,” she said to him. “If the suggestion that I be your pupil had not been made I might never have become a master of painting in my own right.”

  “I think you would.” His eyes were smiling. “Go to the heights, Francesca. You have it in you.”

  “I thank you for everything.”

  He and his family came to see her off, as did Aletta and Constantijn. “Come back soon!” they all called to her.

  “I will!” She waved, but her gaze lingered last on Jan. She had a sudden sad foreboding that she would never see him again.

  IN AMSTERDAM IT did not take Francesca long to settle down as if she had never been away, although that was only in the routine of the house. She realized that once a break had been made with one’s childhood origins, for whatever reason, nothing can be the same again. She belonged, and yet her place was no longer here, for she had her own life to lead.

  “If Pieter should ever get to Amsterdam, Father,” she asked, “would you allow us to marry?”

  Since the reports of the war were promising that day, Hendrick answered generously. “Indeed I would. You’ve been kept apart too long.”

  “Then give me that marriage contract to burn.”

  He found it and handed it over to her. She went into the kitchen and thrust it into the firebox to watch the flames curl the document to blackened ashes. Maria, who had come hobbling into the kitchen, tapped her cane approvingly on the tiled floor.

  “Well done. That should have been burnt as soon as it was written.”

  It was not long before Hendrick began to regret his rash promise. The French army was advancing toward Amsterdam again, delayed only by the mopping up of quite ill-fortified places that could have done little harm. It was as if Louis XIV’s lust for conquest made it impossible for him not to place his seal on everything in his path for miles around. At Utrecht he had celebrated with ceremonial reviews of his troops and banquets while, according to rumors that sped around, quite ignoring the advice of his generals to take Holland swiftly and crush it instantly under his heel. Hendrick knew that if Amsterdam fell there could only be one outcome for Francesca and he himself dreaded coming face to face with Ludolf again.

  He was seized with anxiety when he heard the sounds of a joyful reunion in the reception hall and came from his study to see that Pieter was there. The young man and Francesca were locked in a kiss, she being twirled around in his arms, her petticoats swirling.

  She turned to Hendrick, her face radiant. “Remember your promise, Father! Pieter has something important to ask you.”

  Hendrick felt cornered and he played for time, holding up a hand. “First of all I have a question to put to Pieter.” His gaze had taken in Pieter’s travel-worn clothes, the dust on his boots and in his hair. “It looks to me as if you have come straight from the fighting.”

  “I have, mijnheer.”

  “Then tell me this in an honest manner. Are we going to drive the French from Dutch soil?”

  “We are indeed.” Pieter spoke with total confidence. “It’s not going to be easy and we may have many hard years ahead, but a tidal wave of loyalty and support for the Prince is rising on all sides. He is meeting it wherever he goes now. Things have changed a great deal since the city of Utrecht kept its gates closed against him because they were preparing to welcome the French. More and more volunteers are joining our forces every day. Our ultimate freedom is not in doubt.”

  “In that case,” Hendrick stated, reluctant already to dash the look of joyous hope from Francesca’s face, “you may marry my daughter.”

  “I’m honored!” In high spirits Pieter bowed, but he had another request to make. “Would you let the marriage take place today? This afternoon?”

  Hendrick blustered, caught off guard. “So soon! There’s no need to rush matters.”

  “There is.” Pieter was insistent. “Tomorrow at dawn I have to leave again.”

  There was something in the young man’s eyes that conveyed a message of its own to Hendrick. It said that time and life itself might be running out. It was not hard to guess that when Pieter left Amsterdam in the morning some dangerous mission awaited him.

  “Very well,” Hendrick agreed. “You had better get the necessary papers from the Town Hall and present them to the minister at the Zuider Church. The ceremony should take place there.”

  For the ceremony Francesca wore the same silk gown in which she had received her mastership. She picked some roses from the courtyard flower beds and made them into a chaplet for her head. Pieter changed into clothes kept at his Amsterdam house. Hendrick escorted the bride to her groom and only Maria and Griet witnessed the ceremony. Summer sunshine filled the church, shining through the high clear windows, and the scent of the roses hung lightly in the still air.

  The repast afterward was the best Griet could produce at short notice and Hendrick provided the finest wine from his cellar. In the early evening Pieter and Francesca left her home to go to his house together. They had it to themselves, for he had given his housekeeper time off to stay with her daughter. Before leaving, the woman had placed flowers in their bedchamber.

  When they reached the room Pieter took the chaplet of roses from Francesca’s hair. She held him lightly by the wrists as he lowered the flowers. “Tell me where you are going tomorrow. I want to know.”

  He placed the chaplet down on a chest and put his arms lightly around her.

  “Tomorrow I take command of troops who will be arriving in Amsterdam at dawn. Our task will be to defend the castle at Muiden from the French.”

  She knew the castle. It was only two hours from Amsterdam and occupied a strategic location on the Vecht River. All the ships that went to and from Amsterdam via the Zuider Zee had to pass under the guns of the castle. Equally important was the fact that the principal sluices by which the land around Amsterdam could be flooded were at Muiden. If the castle fell into French hands it would be a catastrophe.

  “Let me come with you. The officers have their wives there, don’t they?”

  “Yes, but that’s only because it’s a peacetime token force that is still in charge. No more wives will be going there. In any case, be practical. You don’t ride, do you?”

  “No, but I could travel in an army wagon.”

  “That’s forbidden. We have to be ready for action against the French at all times.”

  “But they are not so near yet.”

  “I fear they are. There could be advance parties anywhere now. My duty at the castle will be to await any order from the Prince to open the sluices and let in the sea to make an island of Amsterdam for its protection if the worst should come.”

  “Then we would be separated until the war ends! I’d be marooned here away from you!”

  He reasoned with her. “Why do you think I wanted you out of Delft and here in Amsterdam? It was because I knew of the defenses that had been planned for the city.”

  “But I’d be as safe in the castle with other wives once the land was flooded.”

  “In that event I would be relegating command of the garrison to someone else and returning to fight in the Prince’s company. You’d still be marooned away from me.”

  “Yet we would have had a little more time together.”

  “No, my darling, no!” The set of his chin showed her that he would not alter his decision. She made one last effort. “If there should be any wives traveling with the troops tomorrow, then would you let me go too?”

  Since he was full of mounting desire for her and knew he could agree to that request without any chance of it being fulfilled, he gave a nod. “On that condition only.” His arms tightened about her and his mouth found hers, silencing all talk except that of love.

  Their night together with the windows open to the soft air and a sky full of stars was all the more tender and passionate through the imminence of their parting on the morrow. He made love to her in a variety of ways, constantly aroused by her loving, often erotic respo
nse. They exulted in each other’s bodies, intoxicated by love, and no less pleasurable were the quiet, drowsy times when they lay entwined smiling and whispering until one slept and then the other, only to become simultaneously stirred by passion as each remembered again the swift passing of the minutes that would fade the stars and bring the dawn.

  When the hour came they left the bed together, bathed together and dressed and ate some breakfast all without leaving each other. Then it was time for him to go from the house. He buckled on his sword, put on his orange-plumed hat and took up his riding gloves to tuck them into his orange sash. Then he held her to him and kissed her once more.

  “I love you so much,” he said softly. “Pray God this war will not keep us apart for too long.”

  They went out into the warm, clear morning, collected his horse and reached Dam Square shortly before a column of fifty men marched into view. He was concerned to see how tired they were and questioned the young officer in charge.

  “Did you not camp outside the city as ordered?” he demanded.

  “No, Captain. We were delayed and I had to march the men all night to get here.”

  “See that they’re fed and let them rest for an hour. Then we must move, and quickly.”

  A coach, dusty from the summer roads, had drawn up in the wake of the soldiers, not far from where Francesca was standing. She could see a large, sensible-looking woman inside, wearing a white-collared dark gown and a white cap. Her gold eardrops and the rings on her fingers as she wielded a silver-handled fan suggested she was the wife of a well-to-do burgher. The coachman was already giving the horses water and the woman leaned out to address him.

  “How long is it to be before we move on again?”

  He stepped to one side where he could see her, still holding a leather bucket for the nearest horse. “About an hour and a half, I reckon, mevrouw, by which time the soldiers will have had a rest and their food.”

  “Is there a hostelry nearby?”

  “Yes, I can see one on the corner.” He left the horse to open the coach door and lower the step for her. As she alighted, Francesca went forward.

  “Your pardon, ma’am, but are you going to Muiden too?”

  The woman looked surprised that Francesca should know her destination. “Yes, I am. I have special permission to visit my daughter at the castle. She is there with her husband and is shortly to give birth.”

  “I’m the wife of Captain van Doorne, who is taking command of the castle. Would you allow me to travel with you?”

  “With pleasure. I’ll be glad of your company. I’m Vrouw Vreeburg. Will you join me for breakfast at the hostelry?”

  “I thank you, but now that I have the chance of transport I’ll go home and fetch me some things to take with me.”

  Francesca ran to meet Pieter, who was coming back to her. He had been told about Vrouw Vreeburg and forestalled what she was about to say.

  “The woman is not an army wife.”

  “No, but be fair, Pieter! She is the mother of one.”

  He sighed deeply. “Let’s hire a porter for you at the hostelry and then you may bring a traveling chest from your home with all you’ll need.” One corner of his mouth lifted in a slight smile. “But don’t bring an easel.”

  “I daresay the castle’s carpenter will make me one.”

  When Francesca had finished packing she said farewell to Maria, who was still in bed, for the old woman rose later these days.

  “God be with you, child,” Maria said fondly.

  Hendrick, well aware that Francesca might be traveling into danger, wanted to say something to cheer her on the way. “When all this is over I’ll welcome Aletta back into the fold if she wants to come on a visit.”

  “She has been hoping for that.”

  “I never told you, but I was present when she was married.”

  Francesca held his hand in both of hers. “I know,” she admitted. “One day when I was in that art supplier’s shop I asked about the anonymous order that was sent to the de Veere house. The description of the customer could only have fitted you.”

  He grinned broadly at her. “You always were like your mother. I couldn’t keep anything secret from her either.”

  When Francesca arrived back at Dam Square, Vrouw Vreeburg was looking out for her. Pieter, now in the saddle, seeing the porter trundling a sizeable box as well as the chest, guessed that the former contained a roll of canvas and painting materials. These were loaded onto the coach and Francesca stepped in to sit beside her fellow passenger. The soldiers, refreshed by food and drink, stood ready. Pieter at their head gave the signal and the column moved forward. The march out of the city and on to Muiden had begun.

  Francesca and Vrouw Vreeburg found much of interest to talk about. It was not idle chatter but sensible discussion, and each had respect for the other’s intelligence. They had both brought food, Vrouw Vreeburg having replenished a basket at the hostelry and Francesca had been well supplied by Griet. When the woman dozed Francesca looked out at the countryside, which was parched from the dry summer, the grass unnaturally brown at the wayside. It was the hard earth that had enabled the French to move their artillery at such speed and the low water levels had aided crossings.

  They had completed half of the journey when Pieter came galloping up to the coach, his face very serious.

  “We’ve sighted the French. They’re advancing on us. I’m telling the coachman to detach this equipage from the column and drive on to the castle with all possible speed. Give warning there! There may be enemy troops advancing to attack it other than these! Good luck!”

  Francesca heard him shouting to the coachman and then she and Vrouw Vreeburg were almost thrown from their seats as the coach took a leap forward. The horses set up a pace that would have rivaled that of any stage wagon. Her last glimpse of Pieter was as he gave orders to the soldiers, who were running to take up their firing positions.

  “Well,” Vrouw Vreeburg exclaimed, straightening her cap, “it’s a good thing we came. If we should overtake more French troops on the road we can ride past, whereas an army messenger would have been stopped.”

  The remaining miles were covered without mishap. The round towers of the castle stood high against the sky as they entered the town of Muiden. The way people were standing in groups talking solemnly together in the streets showed that something was wrong.

  “I hope the castle hasn’t been taken already!” Francesca exclaimed anxiously.

  “Pray God that isn’t so!” Vrouw Vreeburg cried.

  At Francesca’s instructions, the coachman, who had been keeping a moderate pace since they had come through the gates of the town, hailed three bystanders.

  “Is anything amiss?”

  One man exchanged a quick glance with the other two before answering. “That depends on your personal view, coachman. The fortress over at Naarden surrendered earlier to a troop of French cavalry and their commander has sent five of those marauding troopers here with a representative from Versailles to claim the castle of Muiden.”

  “I consider that to be bad news.”

  The man looked satisfied. “Then I’ll tell you more. They have warned that resistance is pointless and all they wish to do is to save bloodshed. The magistrates are about to make their way to the castle now with the representative to authorize the handing over of the keys to him.”

  Francesca, who had heard everything, called quickly to the coachman. “Whip up!”

  He obeyed with the same speed as he had done when they had first set out on their own, leaving the three bystanders gaping after him. Vrouw Vreeburg was full of outrage against the French.

  “What villains! And what fools, those magistrates! Whatever can they have been promised in personal gain?”

  “Maybe they are just frightened men who genuinely want to save the lives of the townsfolk,” Francesca suggested.

  “You’re more charitable than I!” They had been rattling along the narrow streets when suddenly the coach bega
n slowing down again. Vrouw Vreeburg fumed with impatience. “What has happened now?”

  Francesca looked out once more and saw that the coachman had found his way blocked by a wider and larger coach gleaming with giltwork, a man mounted beside it in escort.

  “It’s the magisterial coach that is holding us up!” she explained tensely. Then leaning out farther, she saw a group of the town dignitaries in their official robes come through the entrance door of a courthouse and begin to descend the flight of steps prior to entering the coach.

  Urgently she instructed the coachman. “As soon as we come to a side street, turn down it! Somehow we must get to the castle first!”

  “Very good, mevrouw.”

  Francesca was about to draw her head back into the coach when she saw the horseman in escort to the gilded coach half turn in the saddle to speak to someone. A great wave of shock and fear swept over her as she recognized him. All color drained from her face and she sank back onto the seat. Her companion peered at her in alarm.

  “My dear young woman, don’t pass out of your senses now!”

  “That has never happened to me yet.” Francesca sat bolt upright to dismiss the suggestion. “I was unprepared for recognizing the Versailles representative. He is a man called Ludolf van Deventer, a Dutch traitor whom I had hoped never to set eyes on again.”

  “What misfortune!”

  The coachman was finding his way through the narrow streets. Then at last the castle of Muiden came into full view on the far side of the river. Reddish in color, square in shape, it was surrounded by a wide moat with a drawbridge, which was down. Francesca called to the coachman that he should drive straight into the castle as soon as they reached it. Then she glanced back through the window and saw with alarm that the magisterial coach and its escort had already come into sight. Five French cavalrymen were riding in front of the gilded equipage with their officer at the head of the procession.

  The Dutch sentries at the gatehouse to the single way across the river to the castle did not bother to examine Vrouw Vreeburg’s paper of permission to visit, being used to the comings and goings of the wives and relatives of those in the garrison, and they merely waved the coach through. Their attention was fixed on the approaching procession and they were smartening themselves up for its arrival, a sure sign that they already knew that the castle was to be surrendered.