[Master Mercurius 02] - Untrue Till Death

by Graham Brack

  The old man laid his pen down carefully, stood and bowed gravely. I sensed no enthusiasm for the interruption but he doubtless knew that, as St Paul was told on the road to Damascus, it is hard for him to kick against the pricks. That is just a poetic way of saying that he would be wasting his time, just as an ox prodded with a pointed stick may kick backwards but in the end he will have to walk on. I had no pointed stick, of course, but I could have a word with the Stadhouder, and nobody would want me to do that.

  I had met men like De Ring before. Typically they come of good families but they are not the eldest son, so they have to find some way of earning a living, but it must be fitting employment for a gentleman. State service is ideal, because nobody would dare raise the tawdry question of any salary such a man might receive.

  ‘How may I be of service?’ he asked. That was the way he spoke. Circumlocutions and indirectness was his natural approach.

  ‘I regret to inform you that a servant of the Stadhouder has been killed. I understand that you were forwarding his salary by some indirect means, and I wondered if you could tell me how that was done and who knew of it.’

  ‘That is most distressing,’ De Ring answered. ‘It would assist me materially if you were willing to share with me the name of the unfortunate person involved.’

  I was half tempted to refuse just to see whether his even temper could be shaken, but that would hardly have advanced my enquiry. ‘He was employed at the university in Leiden. He was known there as Van Looy.’ I was sure De Ring would know that name, because monies would be despatched to that identity.

  ‘Indeed, I know the name. I am sorry to hear these tidings.’

  ‘Did you know him by any other name?’

  ‘I cannot say. I know a great many people, and I understand that sometimes a masquerade or subterfuge is necessary,’ he replied, with a slight frown at the word “subterfuge” as if he found the whole idea distasteful. ‘But I make it my business not to enquire into matters that do not concern me.’

  ‘Presumably if Van Looy had been in service with the Stadhouder before, his payments under his real name would have to stop…’ I began.

  ‘Well, indeed they should,’ De Ring agreed, ‘but that would necessitate our knowing the relationship between the identities. We therefore arrange that those who prepare the payments in such cases are not the same people who forward the payments. My staff here would continue to prepare the salaries, but the person who forwards them would be instructed separately not to do so. At intervals the surplus funds are returned to us without attribution to any particular individuals.’

  ‘If I may say so, that doesn’t sound very efficient.’

  ‘It lacks efficiency, but that is necessary to maintain secrecy. During the interval between Stadhouders an alternative method was tried, but it proved unsatisfactory.’ He spoke as if this had been a period of a few weeks rather than twenty-two years. I could imagine him itching to turn back to the old system on every day of those years too. ‘The difficulty that was experienced,’ he continued, ‘was that the new system involved a single person being aware of the double identities. This had unfortunate consequences when men died unexpectedly. As men are wont to do.’

  Men were certainly wont to do so when they were too close to the De Witts or the Stadhouder, I thought. I was beginning to feel rather uncomfortable about my own position given how things had turned out for Van Looy who, I assumed, had rather more experience of this sort of thing than I had; whatever “this sort of thing” actually was. ‘I understand,’ I said encouragingly, though actually I wasn’t sure that I did. ‘But how were the monies forwarded?’

  ‘In the case of mijnheer Van Looy, the arrangement varied somewhat from standard practice.’ He winced at the thought of such an irregularity. ‘Van Looy was paid by us rather than the university, and we provided the money quarterly.’

  ‘And how was that achieved?’

  ‘I believe that a courier delivered the monies directly to the Rector in person. The delivery would have been the responsibility of the Heer van Zuylestein.’

  I was beginning to find these titles confusing, though their punctilious use was doubtless second nature to men of the court. The Heer van Zuylestein was the same person I knew as William de Zuylestein, the latter being a sort of family name and the former being his title, or at least a part of it. Of course the organisation of the delivery would be his responsibility, and he would employ Van Kamerik or some similar person to do the job. But, if so, then the Rector would have met the courier; and the courier would know that someone at Leiden was in the Stadhouder’s pay. As did the Rector, of course. I just hoped that the Rector had waited until the courier was far from Leiden before he gave the purse to Van Looy in case the transaction had been observed.

  My questions being concluded, I rose and was about to thank him for his help when my eye was caught by a painting on the wall behind him. ‘That is a very fine work,’ I said, although I confess that my knowledge of art is negligible.

  De Ring turned and inspected it as if noticing it for the very first time. ‘Oh, that,’ he said. ‘It is a view of Rubens’ estate near Antwerp.’

  ‘By whom, may I ask?’

  ‘What? Rubens, of course. I bought it from the artist.’

  ‘You own a Rubens?’

  ‘Yes. I keep it here because I’m rarely at home. I would never see it if it were not here.’

  ‘Aren’t you worried that someone will steal it?’

  ‘It would be easier to steal at home. This palace is much better guarded than my house. And any man would know that he who stole anything here would be hanged within a day of discovery.’

  Strictly speaking, men ought not to be hanged until they have been tried in court, but Stadhouders have tended to regard this as an administrative inconvenience rather than a safeguard of their subjects’ liberty. William was generally considered to be one of those most likely to follow the law, but I was sure that he could take a shortcut when it suited him. And if I could find whoever had murdered Van Looy, he could expect the minimum of delay before he was swinging in the breeze.

  Despite Pieters’ best efforts, I was not convinced that the list he had provided could be complete. Although Van Looy had not been sent to Leiden until the new payment system had been introduced and therefore nobody should have known his real identity, I had noticed that the clerks in the room worked with papers spread across their desks. I could not exclude the possibility that somebody had somehow seen two documents and put two and two together; but if that were the case, then the finger would have to point at somebody with access to the Stadhouder’s offices. On the other hand, hundreds of men and women were walking around these buildings, and although there were sentries and checkpoints I presumed that from time to time guards could be distracted.

  In the back of my mind I remembered the disappearance of a paper from one of the university offices which had never been guarded because, it was said, it would never be unattended, but then came a day when all the clerks except one were needed elsewhere, and he had to answer a call of nature, during which time an opportunist managed to slip in and “borrow” an item of correspondence. In my defence, I wanted to know whether I was going to be kept on as a member of staff after my probationary period, but it had taxed my ingenuity to think how to return the document. I had assumed that nobody would notice its disappearance for a while, but it was detected almost as soon as the clerk returned — how was I to know he had been working on it when he needed to leave urgently? — and I had to resort to pushing it under the locked door at night, giving it a sharp shove at an angle so that it was discovered in the morning under a desk near the corner of the room.

  Obtaining an appointment with William de Zuylestein was more challenging than seeing the Stadhouder himself. It seemed that he had returned to his estate to deal with the eviction of some tenants who had not paid their rent. This was a duty that he took very seriously and liked to supervise personally, perhaps because he lived
a fairly hand-to-mouth existence himself. He was required to put on a certain show as a senior courtier, but his lands had been severely damaged during the late war and it was rumoured that his income was much reduced. His tenants were struggling as much as any other lord’s, but he could not be as accommodating as some others given the straitened circumstances of his own purse.

  I was questioning whether anything was being gained by my continuing presence in The Hague when Pieters came to tell me that Van Kamerik had returned. I hastened to speak with him, and found him making short work of a roast chicken in one of the rooms where the guards ate.

  I introduced myself and explained my mission.

  ‘You won’t take offence, I’m sure,’ he replied, ‘but how do I know that your mission is authorised? I can’t talk to just anyone, you know.’

  I was trying to think how I might prove my bona fides when Pieters chipped in.

  ‘I am in a position to provide such assurance, mijnheer. The Stadhouder himself has commissioned Master Mercurius to establish the circumstances surrounding the death of mijnheer Van Looy.’

  Van Kamerik stopped eating and stared at each of us in turn. ‘Van Looy is dead?’

  If he was dissimulating, he was very good at it; but then, I suppose it would be helpful in his work for him to be very good at it.

  ‘I’m afraid he is. He was struck from behind and pushed down a flight of stairs,’ I explained.

  ‘The stairs near his office?’

  ‘The very same.’

  Van Kamerik leaned forward and spoke confidentially. ‘I cannot say that I’m surprised. The last time I was there, I caught a glimpse out of the corner of my eye of some low fellow skulking there as I left Van Looy’s room.’

  I might have resented being described in such terms if it had not been important not to admit my presence. Then I recollected that there was no reason to conceal the fact now that Van Kamerik had admitted that he had been there. ‘That was me,’ I said. ‘I was about to visit Van Looy myself when I saw that he already had a visitor. Your scabbard is distinctive.’

  ‘I’m not ashamed of who I am.’ He lifted the scabbard into view. ‘This leopard has been the badge of my family for nearly two hundred years.’

  I had completely failed to notice the animal, largely because it was the same colour as the scabbard and it was surrounded by gold mountings. I did not dare to ask whose badge the leopard was, because it was clear from Van Kamerik’s face that I was expected to know that. But, in all truth, it was quite hard to tell it was a leopard. It might just as well have been a lion — or even a house cat.

  I am not comfortable in the face of aggression, and Van Kamerik was distinctly pugnacious. There are bravoes who march around our cities challenging all and sundry to duels, and I could easily imagine Van Kamerik doing exactly that, but only if he thought he would win; and I had a strong suspicion that the customary rules of combat would swiftly have been discarded if the fight was going the wrong way. Van Kamerik had the look of one who would stick his sword-point between your ribs while you were politely saluting him.

  ‘I heard raised voices,’ I said. ‘What were you arguing about?’

  I expected him to tell me to mind my own business, but he was commendably direct on this point. ‘He had evidence of a conspiracy against the Stadhouder which he had been gathering for some time. I urged him to use it to act at once, but he said that he believed that there were others who were party to the plot who had thus far escaped his detection, and therefore he proposed to delay in the hope of netting all the birds with one swoop.’

  ‘Did he confide in you who these people were?’

  ‘No, because he knew I would have run them through myself if I had known their names. I can’t abide treason.’

  He looked at me as if I might well be a traitor. I had not felt so concerned for my personal safety since the Bishop of Namur took exception to something in one of my homilies.

  ‘I ask you, mijnheer, to think carefully. Did he say anything, at any time, that might help me to identify these villains and bring them to justice?’

  My language was carefully calculated to excite his sympathy. It failed, because he plainly did not think that we needed to trouble a court if these names came to hand. Van Kamerik believed in direct action and would just have shoved them head first down the nearest well. At least, that is what he told me.

  ‘And good riddance to bad rubbish,’ he added.

  Van Kamerik was able to give me one piece of information that I had not heard before. Van Looy had talked about a group of “at least five” plotters active in Leiden. It seemed incredible to me that so large a group had escaped detection, given the fever of activity that had resulted from the fall of the De Witts. On the other hand, despite my disparaging remarks about him, I could see now that Van Looy was not a fool. The man whom I had found repellent in almost every way was acting a part. This, of course, did not mean that he was not repellent anyway, but I was compelled to admit that I might have misjudged him. In any event, no man deserves to end his days in an undignified heap on a back staircase, and I was duty bound to do all I could to unmask his killer.

  CHAPTER NINE

  I presented my compliments to the Stadhouder, who asked me what I proposed to do next.

  ‘I will return to Leiden and, with your permission, share what I have learned with the Rector. I will then see if any more has come to light about Van Looy’s death. But in order to keep my cover intact, I must make the return journey to Utrecht soon to hand over my report on the university salaries and complete my task for you there with Professor Voet.’

  The Stadhouder paced as he thought. Since he was wearing boots, this was not doing a great deal for the condition of his carpets. As usual, the Stadhouder was attired in a deal of armour which clanked as he passed back and forth. If I am ever haunted by a ghost dragging chains behind him, I expect it will sound much like the Stadhouder’s perambulation that day.

  ‘I approve,’ he said at length. ‘Tell Voet that I am grateful for his advice and I accept his proposal to have his grandson and mijnheer Van Leusden ready to support him. Tell him not to tire himself and that I am concerned for his health, all that sort of stuff. I’m sure you’ll think of something. Let him believe that I am not concerned about any diminution of his powers but I do not wish to lose his valuable counsel by working him into an early grave.’

  I was unsure how genuine I could make these sentiments sound, but I bowed to acknowledge the order.

  ‘We can always think about replacing him in the spring,’ William added.

  I have been accused, at various times during my life, of an antipathy to great men. It is not so. I have known several, and William III was amongst them. I would go so far as to say that he was, taken all in all, a good man. But I would not have wanted to devote my life to the service of such a master.

  ‘Pieters, give Master Mercurius the same sum as before for his expenses. You heard what I just said. Write out a letter for Professor Voet in those terms and I’ll sign it before Mercurius goes. Well, don’t dither, man. The last barge for Leiden leaves within the hour.’

  I had forgotten that Adriaan had returned to Leiden with the Rector’s carriage.

  ‘One last thing, Mercurius,’ said the Stadhouder. ‘Please tell the Rector I would be very happy for him to serve one more year, or at least until you have solved this mystery.’

  I should have explained before how the university is managed. Each year one of the professors is elected Rector Magnificus. He chairs the Academic Board and is, in theory, the chair of the committee that awards degrees of all kinds. In practice, no man knows enough these days to ask sensible questions of all the candidates for doctorates in all the subjects, so a selection of deputies usually take on these roles. Occasionally a Rector serves more than one year or is re-elected at a future date.

  As a result of the wars and general turmoil, the Professor elected Rector for 1672-73 had been unable or unwilling to take up the post, and
nobody was very keen to stand for the job. Strictly, the man I have been calling Rector was filling in for his replacement, but to all intents and purposes there had been no change, and, to judge by the Stadhouder’s words, there would be none next academic year either. I knew that the Rector would be disappointed. He wanted to return to his books and his teaching, and now the Stadhouder had explicitly tied that happy moment to my success. If I did not succeed, the Rector would be forced to carry on for yet another year. I suppose I could have concealed the message, but any man who did not pass on a command from the Stadhouder was either very brave or very foolhardy, and I am neither of these.

  The barge glided to a halt alongside the Fish Market, and I hopped out and walked the short distance to the Rapenburg. My route took me past Steen’s inn, and I was sorely tempted to slip inside and see how many beakers of beer were needed to make me forget everything, but I was worried that I might forget everything.

  To my relief, the Rector had retired for the night so it was not until the following morning that I was able to wait upon him and recount what had passed at The Hague. It was all going very well until I got to the part about the Rector staying on for another year.

  ‘So, if I am to understand the Stadhouder, I have to remain in office until you solve this crime?’

  ‘So it would seem, Rector.’

  ‘And if you don’t solve the crime…?’

  ‘The Stadhouder did not specify what would happen.’

  The Rector broke eye contact and returned to his work, always a bad sign. ‘Then I will specify it. I am growing old. No doubt I would need an Assistant Rector who would do the bulk of the work for me. I know just the man.’

  This was no idle threat. The work of a Rector is arduous and conducted well into the evening. I might never get to Steen’s Inn again.

  ‘Permit me to observe,’ I stammered, ‘that the Rector is always a professor, which I am not.’

  ‘Not yet,’ agreed the Rector, ‘but I’m sure I could find or create a professorship for the right candidate, should the need arise.’