Even in the uncertain lantern light, he had recognized his adversary's quality. Freshly roused from his bunk the Dutchman wore no wig on his shaven head but his fine pointed moustaches showed him to be a man of fashion. His embroidered linen nightshirt and the sword he wielded with the panache of a duelling master all proved that he was a gentleman, and no mistake.
The longer blade of the claymore was a disadvantage in the restricted space, and Cumbrae was forced to use the point rather than the double edges. The Dutchman thrust, then feinted low and slipped in under his guard. Cumbrae hissed with anger as the steel flew under his raised right arm, missing him by a finger's width and slashing a shower of splinters from the panel behind him.
Before his adversary could recover, the Buzzard whipped his left arm around the man's neck and enfolded him in a bear-hug. Locked together in the narrow passage, neither man could use his sword. They dropped them and wrestled from one end of the corridor to the other, snarling and snapping like a pair of fighting dogs, then grunting and howling with pain and outrage as first one then the other threw a telling fist to the head or smashed his elbow into the other's belly.
"Crack his skull," Cumbrae gasped at his men. "Knock the brute down." He was unaccustomed to being bested in a straight trial of muscle, but the other was his match. His up-thrust knee crashed into the Buzzard's crotch, and he howled again, "Help me, damn your poxy yellow livers! Knock the rogue down!"
He managed to get one hand free and lock it round the man's waist then, bright crimson in the face with the effort, he lifted him and swung him round so that his back was presented to a seaman waiting with a raised oak club in his fist. It cracked down with a practised and controlled blow on the back of the shaven pate, not hard enough to shatter bone, but with just sufficient force to stun the Dutchman and turn his legs to jelly under him. He sagged in Cumbrae's arms.
Puffing, the Buzzard lowered him to the deck, and all four seamen bounced on him, pinning his limbs and straddling his back. "Get a rope on this hellion," he panted, "afore he comes to and wrecks us and smashes up our prize."
"Another filthy English pirate!" the Dutchman mouthed weakly, shaking his head to clear his wits and thrashing around on the deck as he tried to throw off his captors.
"I'll not put up with your foul insults," Cumbrae told him genially, as he smoothed his ruffled red beard and retrieved his claymore. "Call me a filthy pirate if you will, but I'm no Englishman and I'll thank you to remember it."
"Pirates! All you scum are pirates."
"And who are you to call me scum, you with your great hairy arse sticking in the air?" In the scuffle the Dutchman's night shirt had tucked- up around his waist leaving him bare below. "I'll not argue with a man in such indecent attire. Get your clothes on, sir, and then we will continue this discourse."
Cumbrae ran up onto the deck, and found that they were already well out to sea. Muffled shouts and banging were coming from under the battened-down hatches, but his men had full control of the deck. "Smartly done, you canty bunch of sea-rats. The easiest fifty guineas you'll ever put in your purses. Give yerselves a cheer, and cock a snook at the devil," he roared so that even those up on the yards could hear him.
Robben Island was only a league dead ahead, and as the bay opened before them they could make out the Gull lying on the moonlit waters.
"Hoist a lantern to the masthead," Cumbrae ordered, "We we'll put a wee stretch of water between us before the cheese-heads in the fort rub the sleep out of their eyes."
As the lantern went aloft, the Gull repeated the signal to acknowledge. Then she hoisted her anchor and followed the prize out to sea.
"There is bound to be a good breakfast in the galley," Cumbrae told his men. "The Dutchies know how to tend their bellies. Once you have them locked neatly in their own chains, you can try their fare. Boatswain, keep her steady as she goes. I'm going below to have a peep at the manifest, and to find what we've caught ourselves."
The Dutch officers were trussed hand and foot, and laid out in a row on the deck of the main cabin. An armed seaman stood over each man. Cumbrae shone the lantern in their faces, and examined them in turn. The big warlike officer lifted his head and bellowed up at him, "I pray God that I live to see you swinging on the rope's end, along with all the other devil-spawned English pirates who plague the oceans." It was obvious that he had fully recovered from the blow to the back of his head.
"I must commend you on your command of the English language," Cumbrae told him. "Your choice of words is quite poetic. What is your name, sir?"
"I am Colonel Cornelius Schreuder in the service of the Dutch East India Company."
"How do you do, sir? I am Angus Cochran, Earl of Cumbrae."
"You, sit, are nothing but a vile pirate."
"Colonel, your repetitions are becoming just a wee bit tiresome. I implore you not to spoil a most protriising acquaintanceship in this manner. After all, you are to be my guest for some time until your ransom is paid. I am a privateer, sailing under the commission of His Majesty King Charles the Second. You, gentlemen, are prisoners of war."
"There is no war!" Colonel Schreuder roared at him scornfully. "We gave you Englishmen a good thrashing and the war is over. Peace was signed over two months ago."
Cumbrae stared at him in horror, then found his voice again. "I do not believe you, sir." Suddenly he was subdued and shaken. He denied it more to give himself time to think than with any conviction. News of the English defeat at the Medway and the battle of the Thames had been some months old when Richard Lister had given it to him. He had also reported that the King was suing for peace with the Dutch Republic. Anything might have happened in the meantime.
"Order these villains of yours to release me, and I will prove it to you." Colonel Schreuder was still in a towering rage, and Cumbrae hesitated before he nodded at his men. "Let him up and untie him," he ordered.
Colonel Schreuder sprang to his feet and smoothed his rumpled moustaches as he stormed off to his own cabin. There, he took down a silk robe from the head of his bunk. Tying the belt around his waist he went to his writing bureau and opened the drawer. With frosty dignity, he came back to Cumbrae and handed him a thick bundle of papers.
The Buzzard saw that most were official Dutch proclamations in both Dutch and English, but that one was an English news-sheet. He unfolded it with trepidation, and held it at arm's length. It was dated August 1667. The headline was in heavy black type two inches tall. PEACE
SIGNED WITH DUTCH REPUBLIC!
As his eye raced down the page, his mind tried to adjust to this disconcerting change in circumstances. He knew that with the signing of the peace treaty all Letters of Marque, issued by either side in the conflict, had become null and void. Even had there been any doubt about it, the third paragraph on the page confirmed it. All privateers of both combatant nations, sailing under commission and Letters of Marque, have been ordered to cease warlike expeditions forthwith and to return to their home ports to submit themselves to examination by the Admiralty assizes.
The Buzzard stared at the news-sheet without reading further, and pondered the various courses of action open to him. The Swallow was a rich prize, the Good Lord alone knew just how rich. Scratching his beard he toyed with the idea of flouting the orders of the Admiralty assizes, and hanging on to it at all costs. His great-grandfather had been a famous outlaw, astute enough to back the Earl of Moray and the other Scottish lords against Mary, Queen of Scots. After the battle of Carberry Hill they had forced Mary to abdicate and placed her infant son James upon the throne. For his part in the campaign his ancestor had received his earldom.
Before him all the Cochrans had been sheep thieves and border raiders, who had made their fortunes by murdering and robbing not only Englishmen but members of other Scottish clans as well. The Cochran blood ran true, so the consideration was not a matter of ethics. It was a calculation of his chances of getting away with this prize.
Cumbrae was proud of his lineage but also awar
e that his ancestors had come to prominence by adroitly avoiding the gibbet and the hangman's ministrations. During this last century, all the seafaring nations of the world had banded together to stamp out the scourge of the corsair and the pirate that, since the times of the pharaohs of ancient Egypt, had plagued the commerce of the oceans.
Ye'll not get away with it, laddie, he decided silently, and shook his head regretfully. He held up the news-sheet before the eyes of his sailors, none of whom was able to read. "It seems the war is over, more's the pity of it. We will have to set these gentlemen free."
"Captain, does this mean that we lose out on our prize money?" the coxswain asked plaintively.
"Unless you want to swing from the gallows at Greenwich dock for piracy, it surely does."
Then he turned and bowed to Colonel Schreuder. "sir, it seems that I owe you an apology." He smiled ingratiatingly. "It was an honest mistake on my part, which I hope you will forgive. I have been without news of the outside world these past months."
The Colonel returned his bow stiffly, and Cumbrae went on, "It gives me pleasure to return your sword to you. You fought like a warrior and a true gentleman." The Colonel bowed a little more graciously. "I will give orders to have the crew of this ship released at once. You are, of course, free to return to Table Bay and to continue your voyage from there. Whither were you bound, sir? "he asked politely.
"We were on the point of sailing for Amsterdam before your intervention, sir. I was carrying letters of ransom to the council of the VOC on behalf of the Governor designate of the Cape of Good Hope who, together with his saintly wife, was captured by another English pirate, or rather," he corrected himself, "by another English privateer."
Cumbrae stared at him. "Was your Governor designate named Petrus van de Velde, and was he captured oh board the company ship the Standvastigheid?" he asked. "And was his captor an Englishman, Sir Francis Courtney?"
Colonel Schreuder looked startled. "He was indeed, sir. But how do you know these details?"
"I will answer your question in due course, Colonel, but first I must know. Are you aware that the Standvastigheid was captured after the-peace treaty was signed by our two countries?"
"My lord, I was a passenger on board the Standvastigheid when she was captured. Certainly I am aware that she was an illegal prize."
"One last question, Colonel. Would not your reputation and professional -standing be greatly enhanced if you were able to capture this pirate Courtney, to secure by force of arms the release of Governor van de Velde and his wife, and to return to the treasury of the Dutch East India Company the valuable cargo of the Standvastigheid?"
The Colonel was struck speechless by such a magnificent prospect. That image of violet-coloured eyes and hair like sunshine, which since he had last looked upon it had never been far from his mind, now returned to him in every vivid detail. The promise that those sweet red lips had made him outweighed even the treasure of spice and bullion that was at stake. How grateful the lady Katinka would be for her release, and her father also, who was president of the governing board of the VOC. This might be the most significant stroke of fortune that would ever come his way.
He was so moved that he could barely manage a stiff nod of agreement to the Buzzard's proposition.
"Then, sir, I do believe that you and I have matters to discuss that might redound to our mutual advantage," said the Buzzard, with an expansive smile.
The following morning the Gull and the Swallow sailed in company back into Table Bay, and as soon as they had anchored under the guns of the fort the Colonel and Cumbrae went ashore. They landed through the surf, where a party of slaves and convicts waded out shoulder deep to drag their boat up the beach before the next wave could capsize it, and stepped out onto dry land without wetting their boots. As they strode together towards the gates of the fort they made a striking and unusual pair. Schreuder was in full uniform, his sashes, ribbons and the plumes in his Hal fluttering in the sou'-easter. Cumbrae was resplendent in his plaid of red, russet, yellow and black. The population of this remote ways station had never seen a man dressed in such garb and crowded to the verge of the unpaved parade ground to gape at him.
Some of the doll-like Javanese slave girls caught Cumbrae's attention, for he had been at sea for months without the solace of feminine company. Their skin shone like polished ivory, and their dark eyes were languid. Many had been dolled up in European style by their owners, and their small, neat bosoms were jaunty under their lacy bodices.
Cumbrae acknowledged their admiration like royalty on a progress, lifting his beribboned bonnet to the youngest and prettiest of the girls, reducing them to titters and blushes with the bold stare of his blue eyes over the fiery bush of his whiskers.
The sentries at the gates of the fort saluted Schreuder, who was well known to them, and they went through into the interior courtyard. Cumbrae glanced around him with a penetrating eye, assessing the strength of the de fences It might be peace now, but who could tell what might transpire a few years from now? One day he might be leading a siege against these walls.
He saw that the fortifications were laid out in the shape of a five-pointed star. Clearly they had as their model the new fortress of Antwerp, which had been the first to adopt this innovative ground-plan.
Each of the five points was crowned by a redoubt, the salient angles of which made it possible for the defenders to lay down a covering fire on the curtain walls of the fort, which before would have been dead ground, and indefensible. Once the massive outer walls of masonry were completed, the fort would be well nigh impregnable to anything other than an elaborate siege. It might take many months to sap and mine the walls before they could be breached.
However, the work was far from finished. Gangs of hundreds of slaves and convicts were labouring in the moat and on top of the half-raised walls. Many of the cannon were stored in the courtyard and had not yet been sited in their redoubts atop the walls overlooking the bay.
"An opportunity lo stP the Buzzard wailed. This intelligence had come to him too late to be of profit. "With another few Knights of the Order to help me Richard Lister, and even Franky Courtney, before we fell out I could have taken this fort and sacked the town. If we had combined our forces, the three of us could have sat here in comfort, commanding the entire southern Atlantic and snapping up every Dutch galleon that tried to round the Cape."
As he looked around the courtyard, he saw that part of the fort was also used as a prison. A file of convicts and slaves in leg-irons was being led up from the dungeons under the northern wall. Barracks for the military garrison had been built above these foundations.
Although piles of masonry and scaffolding littered the courtyard, a company of musketeers in the green and gold doublets of the VOC was drilling in the only open space in front of the armoury.
Oxdrawn wagons, heavily laden with lumber and stone, rumbled in and out of the gates or cluttered the yard, and a coach, standing in splendid isolation, waited outside the entrance to the south wing of the building. The horses were a matching team of greys, groomed so that their hides gleamed in the sunlight. The coachman and footmen were in the green and gold Company livery.
"His excellency is in his office early this morning. Usually we don't see him before noon," Schreuder grunted. "News of your arrival must have reached the residence."
They went up the staircase of the south wing and entered through teak doors with the Company crest carved into them. In the entrance lobby, with its polished yellowwood floors, an aide-de-camp took their hats and swords, and led them through to the antechamber. "I will tell his excellency that you are here," he excused himself, as he backed out of the room. He returned in minutes. "His excellency will see you now."
The Governor's audience room overlooked the bay through narrow slit windows. It was furnished in a strange mixture of heavy Dutch furniture and Oriental artifacts. Flamboyant Chinese rugs covered the polished floors, and the glass-fronted cabinets displayed a collection o
f delicate ceramic ware in the distinctive and colourful glazes of the Ming dynasty.
Governor Kleinhans was a tall, dyspeptic man in late middle age, his skin yellowed by a life in the tropics and his features creased and wrinkled by the cares of his office. His frame was skeletal, his Adam's apple so prominent as to seem deformed, and his full wig too young in style for the withered features beneath it.
"Colonel Schreuder." He greeted the officer stiffly, with, out taking his faded eyes, in their pouches of jaundiced skin, off the Buzzard. "When I woke this morning and saw your ship was gone I thought you had sailed for home without my leave."
"I beg your pardon, sir. I will give you a full explanation, but may I first introduce the Earl of Cumbrae, an English nobleman." "Scots, not English," the Buzzard growled.
However, Governor Kleinhans was impressed by the title, and switched into good grammatical English, marred only slightly by his guttural accent. "Ah, I bid you welcome to the Cape of Good Hope, my lord. Please be seated. May I offer you a light refreshment a glass of Madeira, perhaps?"
Wilbur Smith - C09 Birds Of Prey Page 21