Birds of Prey

by Wilbur Smith

  The tears were sliding silently down Sukeena’s cheeks as Kleinhans went on, ‘Once they had fully confessed their guilt, the criminals were burned. The flares were thrown onto the faggots of wood at their feet and the whole lot went up in the flames, which was a merciful release for all of us.’

  With a small shudder Katinka withdrew her finger from between the girl’s trembling lips. With the tenderness of a satisfied lover she stroked the satiny cheek, her finger still wet with the girl’s saliva leaving damp streaks on the amber skin.

  ‘What happened to the woman, the concubine? Was she also sold into slavery with the children?’ Katinka asked, not taking her gaze from those grief-wet eyes in front of her.

  ‘No,’ Kleinhans said. ‘That is the strange part of the story. Ashreth threw herself into the flames and perished on the same pyre as her English lover. There is no understanding the native mind, is there?’

  There was a long silence, and when a cloud passed over the sun the day seemed suddenly dark and chill.

  ‘I will take her,’ Katinka said, so softly that Kleinhans cupped a hand to his ear.

  ‘Please excuse me, Mevrouw, but I did not catch what you said.’

  ‘I will take her,’ Katinka repeated. ‘This girl, Sukeena, I will buy her from you.’

  ‘We have not yet agreed a price.’ Kleinhans looked startled: he had not expected it to be so easy.

  ‘I am certain your price will be reasonable – that is, if you also wish to sell me the other slaves in your span.’

  ‘You are a lady of great compassion.’ Kleinhans shook his head in admiration. ‘I see that Sukeena’s story has touched your heart and that you want to take her into your care. Thank you. I know you will treat her kindly.’

  Hal hung on the grating of the cell window and called his sighting to Aboli, who held him on his shoulders.

  ‘They have returned in the Governor’s carriage. The three of them, Kleinhans, Schreuder and Governor van de Velde’s wife. They are going back up the staircase—’ He broke off and exclaimed, ‘Wait! There is someone else alighting from the carriage. Someone I do not know. A woman.’

  Daniel, who was standing at the grille gate, relayed this message up the staircase to the solitary cells at the top.

  ‘Describe this strange woman,’ Sir Francis called.

  At that moment the woman turned to say something to Fredricus the driver and, with a start, Hal recognized her as the slave girl who had stood in the crowd while they were being marched across the parade.

  ‘She is small and young, almost a child. Balinese, perhaps, or Malaccan, something about the look of her.’ He hesitated. ‘She is probably of mixed blood, and almost certainly a servant or a slave. Kleinhans and Schreuder walk ahead of her.’

  Daniel passed this on, and suddenly Althuda’s voice came back to them down the stairwell. ‘Is she very pretty? Long dark hair twisted up on top of her head, with flowers in it. Does she wear a green jade ornament at her throat?’

  ‘All those things,’ Hal shouted back. ‘Except that she is not pretty, she is lovely beyond the telling of it. Do you know her? Who is she?’

  ‘Her name is Sukeena. She is the one for whom I came back from the mountains. She is my little sister.’

  Hal watched Sukeena mount the stairs, moving with the lightness and alacrity of an autumn leaf in a gust of wind. Somehow, while he watched this girl, his thoughts of Katinka were not so all-consuming. When she disappeared from his sight, the light filtering into the dungeon seemed dimmer and the stone walls more damp and cold.

  At first they had all been amazed by the treatment meted out to them in the castle dungeons. They were allowed to slop out the latrine bucket every morning, drawing lots for the privilege. At the end of the first week, a load of fresh straw was delivered by one of the Company field slaves, driving an oxcart, and they were allowed to throw out the verminous old straw that covered the floors. Through a copper pipe the water cistern was fed continuously from one of the streams that rushed down from the mountain, so they suffered no hardship from thirst. Each evening a loaf of coarse-grained bread, the size of a wagon wheel, and a great iron pot were sent down from the kitchens. The pot was filled with the peelings and offcuts of vegetables, boiled up with the meat of seals captured on Robben Island. This stew was more plentiful and tastier than much of the food they had eaten aboard ship.

  Althuda laughed when he heard them discussing it. ‘They also feed their oxen well. Dumb animals work better when they are strong.’

  ‘We ain’t doing much work here and now,’ Daniel remarked comfortably, and patted his belly.

  Althuda laughed again. ‘Look out of the window,’ he advised them. ‘There is a fort to build. You will not be sitting down here much longer. Believe me when I say it.’

  ‘Ahoy there, Althuda,’ Daniel shouted, ‘your sister isn’t English, so it makes sense that you aren’t an Englishman either. How is it that you speak like one?’

  ‘My father was from Plymouth. I have never been there. Do you know the place?’

  There was a roar of laughter and comment and clapping, and Hal spoke for them all. ‘By God, except for Aboli and these other African knaves, we are all Devon men and true. You are one of us, then, Althuda!’

  ‘You have never seen me. I must warn you that I don’t look like you,’ Althuda warned them.

  ‘If you look half as good as your little sister, then you’ll do well enough,’ Hal replied, and the men hooted with laughter.

  For the first week of their captivity, they saw the sergeant gaoler, named Manseer, only when the stew pot was brought in or when the bedding straw was changed. Then, suddenly, on the eighth morning, the iron door at the head of the stairs was thrown open with a crash and Manseer bellowed down the well, ‘Two at a time, form up. We are taking you out to wash some of the stink off you, or the judge will suffocate before he has a chance to send you to Stadige Jan. Come on now, shake yourselves.’

  With a dozen guards keeping watch over them they were taken out in pairs, made to strip naked and wash themselves and their clothing under the hand pump behind the stables.

  The following morning they were turned out again with the dawn, and this time the castle armourer was waiting with his forge and anvil to shackle them together, not this time in one long ungainly file but into pairs.

  When the iron-studded door to Sir Francis’s cell was opened, and his father emerged with his hair hanging lankly to his shoulders and a grizzled beard covering his chin, Hal pushed himself forward so that they were shackled together.

  ‘How are you, Father?’ Hal asked with concern, for he had never seen his father looking so seedy.

  Before Sir Francis could reply a bout of coughing overtook him. When it passed, he answered hoarsely, ‘I prefer a good Channel gale to the air down here, but I am well enough for what has to be done.’

  ‘I could not shout it to you, but Aboli and I have been working out a plan to escape,’ Hal whispered to him. ‘We have managed to lift one of the floor slabs in the back of the cell and we are going to dig a tunnel under the walls.’

  ‘With your bare hands?’ Sir Francis smiled at him.

  ‘We need to find a tool,’ Hal admitted, ‘but when we do …’

  He nodded with grim determination, and Sir Francis felt his heart might burst with love and pride. I have taught him to be a fighter, and to keep on fighting even when the battle is lost. Sweet God, I hope the Dutchies spare him the fate that they have in store for me.

  In the middle of the morning they were marched from the courtyard up the staircase into the main hall of the castle, which had been converted into a courtroom. Shackled two by two, they were led to the four rows of low wooden benches in the centre of the floor and seated upon them, Sir Francis and Hal in the middle of the front row. Their guards, with drawn swords, lined up along the wall behind them.

  A platform had been built against the wall before them and on it, facing the benches of the prisoners, was set a heavy table and a t
all chair of dark teak. This was the judge’s throne. At one end of the table was a stool, on which the court writer was already seated, scribbling busily in his journal. Below the platform was another pair of tables and chairs. At one of these sat someone Hal had seen many times before through the cell window. According to Althuda, he was a junior clerk in the Company administration. His name was Jacobus Hop and, after one nervous glance at the prisoners, he did not look at them again. He was rustling and scratching through a sheaf of documents, pausing from time to time to wipe his sweating face with a large white neckcloth.

  At the second table sat Colonel Cornelius Schreuder. He was the romantic poet’s image of the gallant and debonair soldier, all a-glitter with his medallions and stars and the wide sash across one shoulder. His wig was freshly washed, the curls hanging down to his shoulders. His legs were thrust out in front of him, his soft thigh-high boots crossed at the ankles. On the table top in front of him books and papers were scattered and laid carelessly upon them were his plumed hat and the Neptune sword. As he rocked backwards and forwards on his chair he stared relentlessly at Hal, and though Hal tried to match his gaze he was forced at last to drop his eyes.

  There was a sudden uproar at the main doors, and when they swung open the crowds from the town burst in and scrambled to find seats on the benches down each side of the hall. As soon as the last seat was taken, the doors were forced closed again in the faces of those unfortunates at the rear. Now the hall was clamorous with excited comment and anticipation, as the lucky spectators studied the prisoners and loudly gave their opinions to each other.

  To one side an area had been railed off, and two green-jackets with drawn swords stood guard over it. Behind the railing a row of comfortable cushioned chairs had been arranged. Now there was further hubbub, and the crowd’s attention turned from the accused men to the dignitaries who filed out through the doors of the audience chamber. Governor Kleinhans led them, with Katinka van de Velde on his arm, followed by Lord Cumbrae and Captain Limberger, chatting casually together, ignoring the stir that their entrance was causing among the common folk.

  Katinka took the chair in the centre of the row. Hal stared at her, willing her to look in his direction, to give him a sign of recognition and reassurance. He tried to sustain in himself the faith that she would never abandon him, and that she had already used her influence and had interceded with her husband for mercy, but she was deep in conversation with Governor Kleinhans and never as much as glanced at the ranks of English seamen. She does not want others to see her preference and concern for us, Hal consoled himself, but when the time comes for her to give her evidence she will surely speak out for us.

  Colonel Schreuder clumped down his booted feet heavily and came to his feet. He stared around the crowded hall with huge disdain, and the female spectators gave little sighs and squeals of admiration.

  ‘This tribunal is convened by virtue of the power conferred upon the honourable Dutch East India Company in the terms of the charter issued to the aforesaid Company by the government of the Republic of Holland and the Lowlands. Pray silence and stand for the president of the tribunal, His Excellency Governor Petrus van de Velde.’

  The spectators came to their feet with a subdued murmur and stared in anticipation at the door behind the platform. Some of the prisoners struggled up, rattling their chains, but when they saw Sir Francis Courtney and Hal sit unmoving they subsided back onto the benches.

  Through the far door appeared the president of the court. He mounted ponderously to the platform and glared down upon the seated rows of prisoners. ‘Get those rogues on their feet!’ he bellowed suddenly and the crowds quailed before his murderous expression.

  In the stunned silence that followed this outburst, Sir Francis spoke out clearly in Dutch. ‘Neither I nor any of my men recognize the authority of this assembly, nor do we accept the right of the self-appointed president to examine and sentence free-born Englishmen, subjects only of His Majesty King Charles the Second.’

  Van de Velde seemed to swell like a great toad. His face turned a dark and furious shade of crimson, and he roared, ‘You are a pirate and a murderer. By the sovereignty of the Republic and the charter of the Company, by the right of moral and international law, the authority is vested in me to conduct this trial.’ He broke off to gasp for breath, then went on even louder than before. ‘I find you guilty of gross and flagrant contempt of this court, and I sentence you to ten strokes of the cane to be administered forthwith.’ He looked to the commander of the guard. ‘Master of arms, take the prisoner into the courtyard and carry out the sentence at once.’

  Four soldiers hurried forward from the back of the hall, and hauled Sir Francis to his feet. Hal, shackled to his father, was dragged with him to the main doors. Behind them, men and women leaped onto the benches and craned for a view, then rushed in a body to the doorway and the windows as Sir Francis and Hal were urged down the staircase into the yard.

  Sir Francis kept silent, his head high and his back straight, as he was pushed to the hitching rail for officer’s horses at the entrance of the armoury. At the shouted orders of the sergeant, he and Hal were placed on either side of the high rail, facing each other, their manacled wrists hooked into the iron rings.

  Hal was powerless to intervene. The sergeant placed his forefinger in the back of the collar of Sir Francis’s shirt and yanked down, splitting the cotton to the waist. Then he stepped back and swished his light malacca cane.

  ‘You have made an oath on your Knighthood. Do you stand by it on your honour?’ Sir Francis whispered to his son.

  ‘I do, Father.’

  The cane fluted and snapped on his bare flesh, and Sir Francis winced. ‘This beating is but a little thing, the play of children compared to what must follow. Do you understand that?’

  ‘I understand full well.’

  The sergeant struck again. He was laying the stripes one on top of the other, the pain multiplying with each blow.

  ‘No matter what you do or say, nothing and no one can change the flight of the red comet. The stars have laid out my destiny and you cannot intervene.’

  The cane hummed and cracked, and Sir Francis’s body stiffened, then relaxed.

  ‘If you are strong and constant, you will endure. That will be my reward.’

  This time he gave a small, hoarse gasp as the cane bit into the tautly stretched muscles of his back.

  ‘You are my body and my blood. Through you I also will endure.’

  The cane hummed and clapped, again and again.

  ‘Swear it to me one last time. Reinforce your oath, that you will never reveal anything to these people in a futile attempt to save me.’

  ‘Father, I swear it to you,’ Hal whispered back, his face white as bleached bone, as the cane sang, a succession of cruel blows.

  ‘I put all my faith and my trust in you,’ said Sir Francis, and the soldiers lifted him down from the railing. As they marched back up the staircase, he leaned lightly on Hal’s arm. When he stumbled Hal braced him, so that his head was still high and his bloody back straight as they entered the hall and marched together to their seats on the front bench.

  Governor van de Velde was now seated on the dais. A silver tray was set at his elbow, loaded with small china bowls of appetizers and spiced savouries. He was munching contentedly on one of these and drinking from a pewter mug of small beer as he chatted to Colonel Schreuder at the table below him. As soon as Sir Francis and Hal were shoved by their guards onto the bench again his amiable expression changed dramatically. He raised his voice and an immediate, dense silence fell over the assembly. ‘I trust that I have made it clear that I will brook no further hindrance to these proceedings.’ He glowered at Sir Francis and then raised his eyes to sweep the hall. ‘That goes for all persons gathered here. Anyone else who in any way attempts to make a mockery of this tribunal will receive the same treatment as the prisoner.’ He looked down at Schreuder. ‘Who appears for the prosecution?’

  Sch
reuder stood up. ‘Colonel Cornelius Schreuder, at your service, your excellency.’

  ‘Who appears for the defence?’ Van de Velde glowered at Jacobus Hop, and the clerk sprang to his feet, sending half the documents in front of him showering to the tiles.

  ‘I do, your excellency.’

  ‘State your name, man!’ van de Velde roared at him, and Hop wriggled like a puppy.

  He stammered, ‘Jacobus Hop, clerk and writer to the Honourable Dutch East India Company.’ This declaration took a long time to enunciate.

  ‘In future speak out and speak clear,’ van de Velde warned him, then turned back to Schreuder. ‘You may proceed to present your case, Colonel.’

  ‘This is a matter of piracy on the high seas, together with murder and abduction. The accused are twenty-four in number. With your indulgence, I will now read a list of their names. Each prisoner will stand when his name is read so that the court may recognize him.’ From the sleeve of his tunic he drew a roll of parchment and held it at arm’s length. ‘The foremost accused person is Francis Courtney, captain of the pirate bark the Lady Edwina. Your excellency, he is the leader and instigator of all the criminal acts perpetrated by this pack of seawolves and corsairs.’ Van de Velde nodded his understanding and Schreuder went on. ‘Henry Courtney, officer and mate. Ned Tyler, boatswain. Daniel Fisher, boatswain …’ He recited the name and rank of each man on the benches, and each stood briefly, some of them bobbing their heads and grinning ingratiatingly at van de Velde. The last four names on Schreuder’s list were those of the black seamen.

  ‘Matesi, a Negro slave.

  ‘Jiri, a Negro slave.

  ‘Kimatti, a Negro slave.

  ‘Aboli, a Negro slave.

  ‘The prosecution will prove that on the fourth day of September in the year of Our Lord sixteen sixty-seven, Francis Courtney, while commanding the caravel the Lady Edwina, of which the other prisoners were all crew members, did fall upon the galleon De Standvastigheid, Captain Limberger commanding …’ Schreuder spoke without reference to notes or papers, and Hal felt a reluctant admiration for the thoroughness and lucidity of his accusations.