by Graham Brack
‘As you wish, Stadhouder,’ he replied.
We continued down the stairs and across the court to the guardroom. Beniamino was not there, which surprised me because I could think of no other place where he could find the soldiers we were to take to Leiden.
There came a hammering at the gates, and the sentry reported to the captain that the lute-player had returned with four cut-throats who were seeking admittance. William interrupted to order them to be brought to him. When they were ranged in front of him, he asked Beniamino to explain.
‘Retired mercenaries, Stadhouder,’ said Beniamino. ‘Desperate, violent, malodorous but scrupulously loyal to you.’
‘Three cheers for the Stadhouder!’ shouted one, and they all joined in. I suspect they had been plied with copious amounts of drink.
Beniamino approached and spoke to William in a low voice. ‘Five guilders a man, but I guarantee worth every stijver.’
‘If they aren’t, you’ll pay the twenty guilders,’ William coolly retorted. ‘Get them equipped and ready to move at once, and come with me.’
Beniamino issued some terse orders which saw the four men equipped with pistols and ammunition, coats and boots. These were not military in appearance, which led me to wonder why they were so readily to hand, but I had more important things to consider.
William led us to the upper floor, closed the door, and retreated to the far side of the room. ‘Tell him what you told me,’ he barked.
I hastily explained my discoveries.
‘It makes sense,’ Beniamino conceded, ‘but how do we prove it? If we get it wrong, we alert the true traitor to our knowledge.’
‘I have an idea,’ William answered. ‘I want the two of you to go to Leiden right now.’
‘Now, Stadhouder? It’s dark,’ I objected.
‘Good. Nobody will see you going, will they? Go now, do your work in the registry and give the addresses to these four. They can’t arrest them, but at least they can see if they’re around or go looking for them. The pair of you will travel straight on to Haarlem to find the minister Van der Horst.’
I did not like the sound of this.
‘Meanwhile,’ said the Stadhouder, ‘I will tell Pieters tomorrow evening to prepare a letter to the mayor of Haarlem telling him that I want him to send some men to help you arrest Van der Horst senior. If Pieters is our man, he is likely to send a warning to the minister, and you will already be there to see it arrive and, if possible, to intercept it. I, on the other hand, will watch Pieters to see if he shows any sign of anxiety. If the mayor’s men turn up to arrest Van der Horst and there has been no interference in that plan, we may take it that Pieters is innocent.’
It seemed a clever plan to me. People said lots of unpleasant things about William, but I never heard a man say that he was stupid. Rather the opposite; even his enemies conceded that he was cunning.
Beniamino and I descended the stairs, collected our belongings and wondered how we were meant to get to Leiden at this time of night, when no barges were available. You can walk the route in an afternoon in good summer weather, but in the dark you are as likely to plunge into a canal or a bog.
As we formed into a group and waited for the gate to be opened, the lieutenant of the watch murmured to us. ‘The Stadhouder says you’re to walk to the Kloosterkerk. It’s just a few minutes away.’
‘I know it,’ said one of the mercenaries.
‘Good. There are six fast horses waiting for you there.’
Had the opportunity arisen, I would have pointed out that clerical gentlemen do not ride horses, especially when in their gowns, but I was bustled outside and the gates were closed behind us. Discretion dictated that we moved quietly through the streets, and I will allow that I was impressed with how silently the other five moved. I, on the other hand, might as well have been a pedlar advertising his wares, because every move I made seemed to echo in the night-blackened streets.
When we reached the Kloosterkerk a couple of men were waiting with some fine horses, already saddled in preparation. It was a long time since I had ridden a horse, but I vaguely recalled my riding master instructing me on the importance of building a rapport with your steed before attempting to ride him, so I patted his muzzle a few times while telling him what a fine animal he was.
‘There’s no time for that now,’ said Beniamino. ‘Besides, you don’t want to make juffrouw Van Leusden jealous.’
I could have done without that reminder of my lost love.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Beniamino and I set out along the road on a fine night with bright stars above, though there was little moon. The horses were strong and kept up a good pace without any prompting from me, which was just as well as I was struggling to keep my knees locked against my mount’s sides.
‘There’s not much point in the Stadhouder lending us fast horses if you’re going to keep yours at a fast walk,’ Beniamino commented.
‘Fast walk? This is a trot,’ I replied indignantly.
‘Hang on,’ he answered. ‘Let me count its legs. No, it has four. It can go faster than that.’
Thus saying he flicked my horse’s rear quarter with his hand and cantered off on his own. My horse took the hint and tried to keep up despite my furious tugging at the reins. Since I was rocking in the saddle, the poor animal became confused about which direction I wanted him to go, my knees taking it in turns to buffet him, so we zigzagged along for about an hour before Beniamino indicated a pause and slowed his horse to a walk so it could approach the river bank and take a drink and rest for a while. I took the opportunity to adjust my dress, which had become disordered in several respects, and to take a mouthful from the flask I was offered. I thought it contained water, but it was actually genever which scorched the back of my throat as it went down.
‘Bit rough for your palate, dominie?’ laughed the mercenary who gave it to me.
I tried to think of a witty rejoinder, but there was little point since I had temporarily lost the power of speech.
We remounted and completed our journey at a trot, arriving at Leiden to find the gates firmly shut and nobody around to open them. This did not concern the soldiers in the least, who seemed happy to camp in the fields, but I have an attraction to a proper bed, so I hammered on the gates once more.
‘Open in the name of the Stadhouder!’ I bellowed.
‘Is he with you?’ came a cry from inside.
‘No.’
‘Then go away.’
The guard did not actually say “Go away” but that was the gist of his comment.
‘I am Master Mercurius of the University,’ I shouted, ‘and I demand that you open this gate.’
Beniamino smiled and walked up to the gate, pushing himself flat against one. ‘You men pile the faggots up against the gate,’ he bellowed, ‘and I’ll get the fire.’
The small inspection window in the gate opened briefly, and a worried face appeared. Before he had the chance to say anything, Beniamino extended his arm from the side and grabbed him by the hair, almost pulling his head through the small window.
‘Ah, it won’t go through!’ Beniamino announced. ‘Perhaps if we cut the ears off we could make a difference.’ He brandished his knife.
‘I don’t think so,’ said one of the other mercenaries. ‘It’ll still be too tall. We could take a chunk out of the scalp, I suppose.’
‘Or he could be a nice man and tell his colleague to open the gate so we don’t need to pull him through the hole bit by bit,’ Beniamino suggested.
‘Open the gate! Open the gate!’ the sentry shouted.
There was the sound of a beam being withdrawn from its cradle, and then the gate creaked open.
We walked our horses through in single file.
‘Thank you, lads,’ said Beniamino. ‘Don’t forget to lock it again. There are some bad types out there.’
Considering how much noise we had made in seeking entry, I confess I did not see the point in our reversion to quiet movement, b
ut we walked the horses slowly through the city. I had given no thought at all to where the horses might be stabled, but the soldiers scouted round the University buildings and finally spotted a place where they could tether the horses. It was a dry, mild night, so there was no need to take them inside, and the soldiers settled down to have a nap in the garden.
I headed for my room and was taken aback when Beniamino followed.
‘Where are you going?’ I asked.
‘To the Registry. Isn’t that where you’re going?’
‘I was planning to go to my bed.’
‘There’s no time for that now. We’ve got to get those addresses and be on our way before sunrise.’
That would give us about three hours, at best; I was losing enthusiasm for this mission by the moment, and since I had never had a great deal of it in the first place I was in danger of reaching zero enthusiasm fairly soon.
‘The Registry is closed, Beniamino,’ I explained.
‘Closed, aye; but is it locked?’
‘I don’t know,’ I confessed.
‘Neither do I, so let’s go and find out.’
I led him to the door, took a deep breath and turned the handle. It was open. I was shocked; the Registry contains all manner of confidential information, but it seemed that anyone could just walk in during the night and help themselves. I decided I must make a point of drawing this to the Rector’s attention. It was as well that Van Looy was dead, because if he hadn’t been his anger at finding this door unlocked might have killed him.
I had only the slightest acquaintance with the Registry’s layout, but I knew that the records of current students were kept in loose-leaf form. This was logical, because students come and go and if you had a bound book you would have to read right from the start if you were looking for someone. Each student had his own leaf on which his personal details, his payments and his achievements were recorded, and to my great relief I found that someone had placed them in alphabetical order, so I soon found the pages for Molenaar, Van der Horst and Terhoeven. I copied out the addresses for the three men, reasoning that there may be something worth finding in Molenaar’s papers, and was about to return them to the drawer when something on Terhoeven’s record caught my eye. I took the paper to the window so that I could be sure that I was reading it right.
‘What is it?’ asked Beniamino.
‘Hm? Oh, nothing. At least, just an administrative oddity,’ I said.
But I wasn’t sure that was all it was. I just didn’t yet know what to make of it.
Beniamino gave the addresses to the mercenaries, having checked that at least one of them could read, and instructed them just to find the men and, if successful, to follow them, detaining them only if they looked like leaving the city.
‘We expect to be back in about two days,’ he told them, swinging his leg effortlessly over his horse and waiting for me to do the same. With the kind assistance of one of the soldiers, I finally did likewise and we set out as dawn broke, which meant that the city gates were being unlocked as we followed the road north and there was no need to maltreat any more guards.
This time we kept at a fast walk, because the horses had to cover about eight leagues to get to Haarlem. I found the rhythm soporific and was probably asleep when I was woken by a shove on my shoulder.
‘A horse is no place to cat-nap,’ Beniamino said.
‘I’m sorry. It seems so long since I slept,’ I moaned.
‘Well, once we’ve found the minister’s home we can get a little sleep. If Pieters is going to get a message to him, it can’t set out before this evening when the Stadhouder tells him what we’re up to, so we can go to bed early and be bright-eyed at two in the morning to take up position outside.’
I have never been bright-eyed at two in the morning. I have enough trouble getting up for the early prayers before breakfast, even when I am supposed to be the man saying them, so the prospect of another disturbed night did not appeal. Nights are for sleeping. I am told that there are officers who delight in marching their armies about by night to put them in more advantageous positions before the morning battle, which seems to me to be very near cheating.
The horses bore up well, so as the morning wore on we broke into a gentle trot and found ourselves in Haarlem before midday. I had never been there before, so I was keen to look around, but Beniamino insisted that we must find the church where Van der Horst senior was minister.
It took little finding, and the verger who was sweeping the front path was happy to confirm that this was the church of the celebrated mijnheer Van der Horst. Beniamino laid it on a bit thick, telling how he had heard great things of Van der Horst’s preaching and that we hoped, God willing, to attend church on Sunday to hear him.
‘There’s no need to wait that long, bless you, gentlemen,’ said the verger, ‘for there is a prayer preparation service on Saturday afternoon at five o’clock.’
Beniamino’s ability to fake enthusiasm was truly impressive. I felt hardly any excitement at this prospect, and I am ordained, so he must have felt even less, but you would never have known it by the way he reached into his saddlebag for a notebook and carefully wrote down the details of the service before thanking the verger and riding on.
We found an inn, stabled the horses and climbed the stairs to a private room. There was only one bed, but I did not care. If I could only get some sleep I did not mind if I had to share it with Beniamino, though I hoped his predilections ran only to wenches, because one hears some things about lute-players that make one wonder.
‘You can have the bed,’ Beniamino charitably offered. ‘I’ll just fold up a blanket as a pillow and doss down on the floor by the hearth.’
He appeared to be one of those people who could sleep just about anywhere. I have long envied them. I have never had a lot of money, but the one luxury I have always tried to secure for myself is a good bed. We spend a third of our lives in it after all, so a man should be prepared to pay for the best he can afford. As I write this now, I have the happiest thoughts of a bed I bought in 1693 which was beyond comparison. We were very happy together until it developed woodworm and fell to bits one Saturday night not long ago. It was a good servant, and I shall not see its like again.
I was woken after dark by a violent shaking of my shoulder.
‘What time is it?’ I yawned.
‘Past midnight. Come — I’ve got us both some dinner before the kitchen shut below. Eat it while it’s still hot.’ He took a bite of chicken. ‘While it’s still lukewarm,’ he said.
I was not especially hungry, but who knew when the chance to eat would come round again, so I tucked in while wishing that it was possible to sleep and chew at the same time.
‘Don’t drink too much,’ he counselled. ‘A soldier is vulnerable when he’s peeing. It tends to put you off your guard.’
I resolved to remember this in case it was ever useful in my life, and it never has been.
We extinguished the candle for safety and Beniamino opened the window slightly, just enough to get your fingers behind it from the outside.
‘We may need to let ourselves in when we get back,’ he explained.
‘Beniamino, this room is on the upper floor,’ I protested.
‘Yes. And your point is…?’
‘How will we get into an upstairs room?’
‘Simple. I’ll climb on your shoulders, open the window and climb in. Then I’ll let down a sheet to you and you can walk up the side of the building using the sheet as a rope.’
I admired his resourcefulness without ever feeling the need to emulate it.
‘We’ll go out through the back door. The front one has a heavy bolt and opening it will wake the household.’
I followed him through the kitchen and we slipped out into an alleyway, then into a road. It was quite a long walk across town, but at length we came into the square where the church was and Beniamino led us to a small archway between two houses.
‘The chat this afternoon wa
s just a subterfuge to inspect the surroundings for a good vantage point,’ he explained. ‘I don’t actually have much interest in hearing Van der Horst preach.’
‘I never thought you did,’ I answered. ‘Tell me, do you believe in God?’
He looked at me long and hard. ‘Of course I do,’ he said at length. ‘What sort of question is that? Only a fool doesn’t believe.’
‘I just wondered,’ I said. ‘Don’t you get pangs of conscience when you’re — oh, I don’t know — cutting off part of someone’s finger or searing their genitalia with a red hot iron?’
‘I’m a seeker after truth, in my own way,’ he protested. ‘I value it as much as you do. I just have a more direct way of getting hold of it. Now keep quiet so we don’t draw attention to ourselves.’
We crouched down behind the house wall and listened, Beniamino having explained that at this time of night we could hear anyone approaching, so we did not need to keep peeking out.
‘Take a nap if you want,’ he said, ‘so long as you wake as soon as I nudge you.’
I did as I was bid, and somehow drifted off, but was soon awakened once more.
‘Is something happening?’ I whispered urgently.
‘No, you were snoring.’
‘Oh, sorry.’
‘Very loud.’
‘Sorry again.’
Dawn was approaching, and the city would soon come to life. I was beginning to think that our vigil had been wasted when there was a clatter on the cobbles and a horse was tied up outside the minister’s house.
Beniamino walked briskly up to the rider as he tethered his animal. ‘You have a letter for mijnheer Van der Horst, I believe. I’ll take it for you.’
‘My orders are to give it directly into the minister’s hand,’ said the messenger.
Beniamino levelled a pistol at his head. ‘They’ve just changed,’ he said.
