by Wilbur Smith
Such beauty should have delighted Hal, yet every memory that crowded back upon him was touched with pain and horror. The walls of the castle were clear to see from this range, and on the crenellated battlements the cannon glared out at them, their muzzles dark, empty eye-sockets. In the dungeons beneath those walls he had lived out three cruel Cape winters, and he shivered now at the memory of the cold in his bones. It was on those walls that Hal had laboured until the skin and flesh were torn from his palms, and he reeled with fatigue. It was on the builders’ scaffolding that he had seen so many good men die, and there that he had made the difficult transition from boy to man.
He lifted the telescope to his eye to survey the other ships at anchor in the bay. He was amazed at their numbers. He counted twenty-three sail, all big trading vessels, Dutchmen for the most part. He spotted one Englishman among them, another East Indiaman from the look of her, but he saw with disappointment that she was not the Yeoman of York. There was no sign of his companion in the anchorage.
Without lowering the telescope, he swept the waters of the bay towards the land. His eye stopped on the open parade below the castle’s walls, and the memories of his father’s execution flooded back to him in all their stark, terrible detail. He had to force them from his mind to be able to concentrate on bringing the Seraph into the anchorage.
‘We will anchor out of range of the guns in the fort, Mr Tyler.’ He gave the order, and there was no need to qualify it. Ned knew his mind, and his expression was also sombre. Perhaps he too was reliving those days of horror as he put up the helm, and gave the order to take in the canvas.
The anchor went down with a splash that wet the forecastle, and the cable smoked out through the hawse-hole. Seraph snubbed up hard, and then pirouetted gracefully with her head to the wind and became quiescent, transformed from a vital, living, straining sea creature to something lovely and tranquil as a drifting swan.
The crew lined the Seraph’s bare yards and hung in the shrouds, staring at the land, shouting comment, speculation and question as they watched the bum-boats rowing out to meet them. Seamen called this fair cape the Tavern of the Seas. It had been colonized over fifty years before to serve as a victualling station for the fleet of the Dutch East India Company, and the bum-boats were laden with all the things that a crew craved after three months at sea.
Hal called his officers to him. ‘Watch that no strong drink is smuggled into the ship,’ he warned Alf Wilson. ‘The rum-sellers will try to slip it in through the gunports. We will have half the men puking drunk by nightfall if you let them hoodwink you.’
‘Aye, Captain.’ The fourth officer touched his cap. As a man of abstinence, he was a good choice for the duty.
‘Aboli, place men armed with cutlass and pistol at the rail. We don’t want those thieving rogues coming aboard to strip the ship bare, nor whores plying their trade on the gundeck. Otherwise the daggers will be out—’ He had almost said, ‘again’, but stopped himself. He did not want to remind them of the conflict between his sons.
‘Mr Fisher, you will do the bargaining with the bum-boats, you’re good at that.’ He could rely on Big Daniel to get his shilling’s worth, and to check every piece of fruit and vegetable that came aboard. ‘Mr Walsh will assist you and pay the boatmen.’ Walsh had many duties, from schoolmaster to writer and purser.
The officers scattered to the tasks he had set them, and Hal strode to the rail. He looked down into the bum-boats as they came alongside. They were laden to the gunwales with fresh produce: potatoes with the earth still on them, green cabbages and apples, figs and pumpkins, sides of fresh red mutton and plucked chickens. The crew would gorge themselves this evening. Saliva squirted from under Hal’s tongue as he looked down upon this cornucopia. This hunger for fresh food was a consuming lust that overcame every seaman at the end of a long voyage. Some of his men were already leaning out over the side and bargaining for the wares. Those with money paid as much as a ha’penny for a single fresh potato: a ludicrous price. They were frantic with greed, wiping the clinging earth off the fat white tubers against the skirts of their petticoats as though they were apples, then wolfing them down raw, crunching the astringent white flesh with every evidence of enjoyment.
Dr Reynolds came to Hal’s side. ‘Well, sir, it’s a relief to be in port again. Twenty-six cases of scurvy on board already, but we will see those cured before we sail again. It’s a miracle and a mystery, but the air from the land heals even the worst cases, men who have lost their teeth and are too weak to stand.’ He handed Hal a ripe apple. ‘I stole a couple of these from Master Walsh’s stock.’
Hal bit into it and had to close his eyes in ecstasy. ‘The food of the gods,’ he said, as the juices flooded his mouth and slid, like sweet oil, down his throat. ‘My father used to say it was lack of fresh food that caused the scurvy,’ he told the surgeon.
Dr Reynolds smiled pityingly, and took a huge bite of his own apple. ‘Well, Captain, sir, no reflection on your sainted father, for all the world knows he was a great and good man, but ship’s biscuit and salt beef is food enough for any seaman.’ Reynolds wagged his head wisely. ‘You do hear some marvellous theories from men not trained in the physic arts, but it’s the sea air that causes scurvy, and nothing else.’
‘How are my two sons, Doctor?’ Hal asked, changing the subject adroitly.
‘Thomas is a healthy young animal and, fortunately, the wound was not deep and did little damage. I have closed it with cat-gut stitches, and it will be healed in next to no time – that is if it does not mortify.’
‘What of Guy?’
‘I have sent him to the bunk in your cabin. His lungs were flooded with salt water, and that sometimes breeds morbid humours. But in a few days he, too, should be none the worse for his ducking.’
‘I am thankful to you, Doctor.’
At that moment there was a commotion amidships. Aboli had picked out one of the Hottentot lads, who had carried a crate of fruit up the ladder from the bum-boat alongside, and grabbed his shoulder. ‘Hey there, pretty boy,’ he challenged. ‘Or are you a boy?’ His victim had a heart-shaped face, flawless golden skin and slanted Asiatic eyes. He reacted to Aboli’s challenge with a flood of high-pitched abuse, in a strange, tongue-clicking language, and struggled in Aboli’s great hands. Laughing, Aboli jerked the hat from his head, and a thick black mane fell onto the fellow’s shoulders. Then Aboli lifted him high with one hand, and with the other jerked his breeches down around his knees.
The crew let out a howl of delight as a plump yellow bottom was revealed and shapely thighs, between which nestled the dark, furry, triangular badge of womanhood. High in the air, the girl rained blows with both hands on Aboli’s bald head, and when this had no effect on him, she clawed at his eyes with long, sharp fingernails, and kicked wildly at him with both feet.
Aboli walked to the ship’s rail and tossed her over the side as effortlessly as if she had been a stray kitten. Her companions hoisted her back into the bum-boat, streaming water, hoisting her breeches, and still shrieking abuse at the seamen who jeered at her from the rail.
Hal turned away to hide his smile, and walked across to where Mr Beatty stood with his family around him at the foot of the main mast, all of them gazing across at the shore and animatedly discussing this new land. Hal lifted his hat to the ladies, and Mrs Beatty beamed with pleasure. In contrast, Caroline avoided his eyes. She had been shamefaced in his company ever since the night in the magazine.
Hal turned back to Mr Beatty. ‘We will be anchored here for many days, possibly weeks. I must await the arrival of the Yeoman, and there is much else I must see to. I’m sure that you will want to take your family ashore, to give the ladies an opportunity to escape from the confines of their cabins and to stretch their legs. I know that there are comfortable lodgings to be had in the town.’
‘What a capital idea, sir!’ Beatty responded enthusiastically. ‘I’m sure it is no hardship to you, Sir Hal, but for us land-dwellers the confined spa
ces on board become irksome.’
Hal nodded agreement. ‘I shall send young Guy ashore with you. I’m sure you will want your secretary at hand.’ He was pleased to have achieved his most urgent purposes: first to separate Tom from Guy, and second to separate Tom from Caroline. Both situations could blow up like a powder-keg at any moment. ‘I will have you conveyed ashore as soon as the boats are launched, although it is perhaps too late this evening.’ He glanced at the setting sun. ‘You might wish to pack your chests now and wait until tomorrow to go ashore.’
‘You are very kind, Captain.’ Beatty bowed.
‘When you have an opportunity you might be good enough to make a courtesy call upon the Dutch governor – van der Stel is his name, Simon van der Stel. I will be much occupied with the ship’s management, and you will be doing me a great service by undertaking this duty on my and the Company’s behalf.’
Beatty bowed again. ‘With the greatest of pleasure, Sir Hal.’
It was over twenty years since Hal had escaped with his crew from imprisonment in the castle dungeons, and it was unlikely that anyone in the settlement would recognize him, but he was a convicted felon, with a life sentence hanging over his head. During the escape from the castle he and his men had been forced to kill many of their gaolers and pursuers in self-defence, but the Dutch might see it in a different light. If he were recognized he might find himself before a Dutch tribunal charged with those crimes and facing the prospect of serving out his life sentence or even paying for his crimes on the gallows, as his father had. A formal call on the governor of the colony would not be a wise move. Much better to send Beatty.
Then again, he must gather all the news available in the settlement. Every ship returning from the Orient, no matter its nationality, called here at the Cape. He could not hope for better intelligence than was readily available in the taverns and bawdy-houses of the waterfront. He excused himself from the Beatty family and called Big Daniel and Aboli to him. ‘As soon as it’s dark, we’re going ashore. Have one of the boats made ready.’
The moon was four days from full. The mountain loomed dark and monstrous over them, its gullies and bluffs touched with silver, as they followed the shimmering path of moonlight to the beach. Hal sat between Aboli and Big Daniel in the stern sheets. All three were muffled with cloaks and hats, and they carried pistols and swords under their cloaks. The rowers were also armed, twelve good men under Alf Wilson.
They came into the beach on one of the Atlantic swells, hissing over the sands on the foaming crest. As soon as the wave began to retreat, the rowers jumped out and dragged the longboat high and dry.
‘Keep the men under your eye, Alf. Don’t let them sneak away to look for drink and women,’ Hal warned Wilson. ‘We may be in a hurry when we return.’
They trudged together through the soft beach sand, and as soon as they found the path they set out for the huddle of buildings below the fort. Some of the windows showed the glimmer of lanterns, and as they drew nearer they could hear music, singing and drunken shouts.
‘It has changed little since our last visit,’ Aboli grunted.
‘Trade is still good,’ Big Daniel agreed, and stooped into the door of the first tavern on the edge of the settlement.
The light was so dim and the fog of tobacco smoke so dense that it took a few seconds for their vision to adjust. The room was full of dark figures, and the reek of sweating bodies, rank pipe smoke and bad liquor. The noise was deafening, and as they paused in the entrance, a seaman reeled past them. He staggered to the edge of the sand dunes, dropped to his knees and threw up loudly and copiously. Then he toppled forward and fell face down in the puddle of his own vomit.
The three men stepped together into the room and pushed their way through the throng towards the far corner, where there was a trestle table and a bench on which another comatose drunk sprawled. Big Daniel lifted him as though he were a sleeping child and laid him gently on the cow-dung floor. Aboli swept the clutter of empty tankards and platters of half-eaten food from the table, while Hal took a seat on the bench with his back to the wall to survey the dim room and the men who crowded it.
They were mostly sailors, though there were a few troopers, in their blue jackets and white cross-belts, from the castle garrison. Hal listened to their talk, but it was a drunken babble of wild boasting, cursing and mindless laughter.
‘Dutchmen,’ Aboli murmured, as he took his seat on the bench beside Hal. They listened for a while. As a matter of survival all three had learned to speak the language during their captivity.
A group of five tough-looking sailors sat at the table beside them. They seemed less drunk than the others, but they were speaking loudly to make themselves heard above the din. Hal listened for a while but heard nothing of interest. A Hottentot serving-wench brought them foaming pots of beer.
Daniel tasted his and made a face. ‘Piss! Still warm from the pig,’ he said, but took another swig.
Hal did not touch his, because he had just heard the Dutchman at the next table say, ‘We will be lucky if the devil-damned convoy ever leaves this pestilent port.’
The mention of a convoy intrigued Hal. Traders usually sailed alone. Only in times of war or other emergency did they form convoys and place themselves under the protective guns of men-o’-war. He leaned forward to hear the rest.
‘Ja. I for one will not weep if I never drop anchor again in this nest of black whores and thieving Hottentots. I have spent nearly the last guilder in my purse, and all I have to show for it is a sore head and a raw pizzle.’
‘I say the skipper should take his chances and sail alone. The hell with this bastard Jangiri and his heathen crew! Die Luipard is a match for any son of the prophet. We don’t need to sit around here until van Rutyers is ready to nursemaid us.’
Hal’s pulse spurted at the name Jangiri. It was the first time he had heard it outside Nicholas Childs’s cabinet.
‘Who is van Rutyers?’ Big Daniel asked quietly, and took another pull at his poisonous beer. He, too, had been eavesdropping on the Dutch sailors.
‘The Dutch admiral of the Ocean of the Indies,’ Hal told him. ‘He is based in the Dutch factory at Batavia.’ He slid a silver shilling over the dirty tabletop. ‘Buy them a pot of beer, Big Danny, and listen to what they have to tell you,’ he ordered, but as Daniel stood up from the bench he found himself confronted by a woman.
She stood, arms akimbo, and looked up at him with a seductive grin that lacked only a few teeth. ‘Come to the back room with me, you big bull,’ she told him, ‘and I will give you something you’ve never had before.’
‘What have you got, my darling?’ Big Daniel showed her his bare gums in a wide grin. ‘Leprosy?’
Hal surveyed the drab swiftly, and realized that she could be a better source of information than any drunken Dutchman. ‘Shame on you, Master Daniel,’ he said, ‘that you don’t recognize a lady of quality when you see one.’ The woman ogled Hal, taking in the cut and quality of his coat, the silver buttons on his waistcoat.
‘Sit you down, your ladyship,’ Hal invited her. She giggled and preened like a girl, pushing straggling grey strands back from her face with grimy fingers whose nails were broken and black-rimmed. ‘Take a little something, for your throat’s sake. Daniel, get the lady a glass of gin. No, no, let us not be mean. Get a full bottle.’
The woman fluffed out her grubby petticoats, and dropped onto the bench opposite Hal. ‘You’re a real prince, you are.’ She peered into his face. ‘And handsome as the devil, too.’
‘What is your name, my beauty?’ Hal asked.
‘Mevrouw Maakenberg,’ she answered. ‘But you may call me Hannah.’ Daniel returned with a square bottle of gin and a tumbler. He poured it to the brim. Hannah lifted it with her little finger raised and took a ladylike sip. She did not wince at the ferocity of the pale spirit.
‘So, Hannah,’ Hal smiled at her, and she wriggled like a puppy under his gaze, ‘there is nothing that goes on here at Good Hope th
at you don’t know about, is there, now?’
‘That’s God own truth, if I say it myself.’ She showed the gaps in her teeth again. ‘Anything you want to know, sir, you ask old Hannah.’
She was as good as her word. For the next hour Hal sat opposite her and listened to what she had to tell him. He found that behind the raddled face and bleary gin-sodden eyes lurked the remnants of a once bright intelligence.
It seemed that she knew the sexual mores and leanings of every male and female in the settlement, from Governor van der Stel to the dock-workers and transport drivers. She could tell them the price of all the produce in the market, from potatoes to mampoer, the fiery peach brandy made by the burghers. She knew which slaves were for sale, the prices their owners were asking and what they would accept. She knew the sailing dates of every ship in the bay, her captain’s name, her cargo and every port of call on her route. She could give them an account of each ship’s latest voyage, the hazards and hardships she had encountered.
‘Tell me, Hannah, why there are so many VOC ships lying in the bay?’ He was referring to the Verenigde Oostindische Compagnie, the Dutch East India Company.
‘Those are all outward bound for Batavia. Governor van der Stel has ordered that all ships sailing eastward must sail in convoy under the protection of warships.’
‘Why, Hannah, would he want to do that?’
‘Because of Jangiri. You have heard of Jangiri, have you not?’
Hal shook his head. ‘No. Who is he – or it?’
‘The Sword of the Prophet – that’s what he calls himself. But he’s nothing more than a bloody pirate, worse than Franky Courtney hisself, that’s what he is.’
Hal exchanged a glance with Aboli. Both men were taken aback to have his father’s name thrown at them so carelessly, and to know that Sir Francis and his exploits were still so well remembered hereabouts.