East India

by Colin Falconer

  “Do you think to seduce me this way?”

  His eyebrows rose in great twin arches. “Heer Commandeur told me of this piece on the voyage. It was unwise of him, in the circumstances, don't you agree?”

  “What piece?”

  “It is a cameo from the treasure house of the Roman Emperor, Constantine. Imagine. Thirteen hundred years old!’

  “I don't believe you,” she said.

  “It belongs to Rubens, that overpaid portrait painter.”

  “Show me,” she said, challenge in her voice.

  “No,” he said, ‘you must come here.” He patted the bed beside him, like a coquette.

  She rose to her feet and took up the challenge. She despised herself for it, but as he said, it did no harm to look.

  As she reached him, he shut the lid. “A kiss, schaapjes.” he said.

  “No!’

  “A prince would pay ten thousand guilders for such a gem. All I ask is a kiss and it is yours.”

  “It is not yours to give.”

  “No? I have it here on my lap. I am the power and the life here, my Cornelia. Anything you wish, I can grant you.”

  “Then take me to Batavia so that I can be with my husband.”

  He stood up. She moved out of reach.

  “Is that what you wish?” His voice grew soft. “Do you really yearn for this Boudewyn? Does he know your secret thoughts, does he make you feel that every day is a joy and a wonder, was it him you dreamed of as we crossed the swelling oceans from Amsterdam?”

  She felt herself breathing faster. How did he presume to know so much of what she thought and felt?

  He stroked her hair. “Such a pretty lady, you were made for jewels. But I forget, your husband can only polish them for others to wear. Is that not so?”

  “I do not care overmuch for such things.”

  “My pretty Cornelia, you want to shine. Is it not true? You want to shimmer like paradise, you want a man who will make you a great lady, a queen.”

  She felt his fingers on her cheek and she jerked away.

  “You will never touch me,” she said.

  “Just one kiss, schaapjes, and everything in this casket is yours.”

  She felt for Little Bean’s knife hidden under her skirts. I should just stick him now, and be done with it. Straight into his belly and twist. Or open up his neck in a bloody gash like I saw Salomon do to poor Richard Merrell.

  But it was not an easy thing to kill in cold blood, even though these men found it simple enough. Even hate could not make her do it. She had her fingers around the hilt and still could not find it in herself to pull it free and do what needed to be done.

  “Get away from me!’ She pushed him so hard that he almost fell. His face contorted in rage and she waited for his assault. Instead he wheeled around, and went out of the tent.

  ***

  Now his turn to be tormented.

  A curious game of power to be negotiated here, she realised. He wanted her, but he would not take her by force. He wanted her to come willingly. Was it because he was afraid of using violence himself or was it just his vanity?

  Well, she would let him writhe and squirm on her hook. A remarkable thing: he wanted so badly to touch her, yet he allowed her to reject his advances. For such a clever man, he was artless with women.

  That night she lay awake, a light burning in her tent, a wick set in a dish of seal oil she used for a lamp. She waited for him to come, starting at every footfall in the darkness. Finally she fell to troubled sleep, a wind from the south bringing a flurry of sleet. She jerked awake at the sound of a cry in the darkness.

  They were killing again.

  Chapter 83

  KRUEGER stood in the doorway of the tent, looked her up and down with as much insolence as any man could muster. To think he had once been one of the commandeur's clerks.

  “Pretty Cornelia,” he said. He grabbed her wrist and yanked her towards him, held her face in one great ham fist. He seemed pleased when she cried out.

  “You think you are such a big man when there are only women and children to bully.”

  He pushed her down on her bed, grinned at her with mossy teeth. “Little Vrouwe High and Mighty,” he said. “I've been hearing things about you. Complaints.”

  “From whom?”

  Krueger took out his knife, played with it, letting the light catch the blade. “A strange fellow, our Christiaan. A romantic.”

  “Romantic!’

  “Don't laugh at me, vrouwe, I'll cut your throat.” She'd seen David Krueger cut throats with her own eyes, and she knew he meant it. “What do you want of me?”

  “I don't want anything of you, vrouwe. It's Christiaan who wants you. If it was me, I'd have you bent over that table right now, and I'd take what I wanted whether you wished it or not. But Christiaan is a gentle man. He's not rough and tumble like the rest of us. He has a delicate way about him.”

  “He just doesn't want to get his hands dirty.”

  “You shouldn't talk about him that way. If it wasn't for him, you'd be doing general service like the others. And with that viper's tongue of yours, I dare say you'd end up food for the crabs and the fish, like as not.”

  She got up off the bed and went to walk past him. Show him you're not afraid, she thought, even if you are.

  His left hand shot out, quick as a snake, and grabbed her by the hair. The knife was at her throat, she could feel the cold edge of the blade against her throat. “So here's what I want, little Miss High and Mighty. I want to hear that you've been nice to our Captain-General, just like he wants you to be. Or else it's going to be the worse for you.”

  “Christiaan won't allow it.”

  He laughed, unexpectedly. “You’re counting on that, aren’t you, you little minx?” He pulled her head right back and she gasped with pain. “But that's where you're wrong. Christiaan has had enough of your little games. He wants you to know he's withdrawing his protection. Be nice to him or tomorrow you go to the women's tent with Alida and Elisabeth and the rest.” He leaned closer, his foul breath in her face. It was as rancid as a goat's. “I’d like that. I think you'll find me and Steenhower a little less delicate in our ways than the Captain-General.”

  Her knees would not hold her. She fell onto the carpet.

  Krueger went out, laughing.

  ***

  Barefoot in the shallows, Cornelia turned her face towards the reef. I don't have to do it, she thought. There is another way. The pastor says I will burn in hell for it but I don't care. Perhaps that is what I deserve. And what hell can be worse than this one?

  She started walking out towards the deeps.

  The mud was slippery underfoot, and she gasped as she stepped on a piece of sharp coral. Her heavy velvet dress, soaked with seawater, dragged at her legs. Already she was in up to her waist. She stopped; not easy to die, even when you had nothing left to live for and not a scrap of pride left.

  The water was cold, and she caught her her breath. Such a beautiful morning, the sea glittering and still, and the sun so bright on the water it hurt the eyes.

  She closed her eyes in resolve, and waded out further.

  She heard someone splashing into the sea after her. She tried to get to the deeper water, trod on another wadcutter, cried out and went under. Someone dragged her back to the surface and she did not fight hard enough to stop them. Even when the will was broken, her spirit turned traitor and clung to life.

  She heard Christiaan shouting for assistance as he dragged her back to the shore. By the time they reached the beach they were both soaked and their arms and legs were bleeding from coral cuts.

  She knelt on the beach, coughing water from her mouth and nose. Christiaan stood over her, eyes red-rimmed with anguish.

  “Why did you do this?” he squealed.

  She choked up more seawater.

  “Haven't I given you everything you wanted? Didn't I protect you?”

  She lay with her cheek on the hard coral, hating herself f
or her weakness. If she had not hesitated, he might not have been able to reach her in time.

  “Why did you do this?”

  How to answer him? He really didn't understand. In his own way, she supposed, Christiaan van Sant loved her. And that was the greatest curse of all.

  Chapter 84

  Off the great Southland

  AN ALBATROSS soared from the bow of the Zandaam, circling on the warm spring currents, watching the cross trees of the ship below it dip in the swell, the bow throwing up spray as she beat into the waves. In the distance its small bright eyes make out the ruffle of foam around the Houtman Rocks. But these are sharper eyes, better placed than those of the sailors of the Zandaam below, as it heads away from the reef towards the south east, making slow progress against unfavourable winds.

  On the poop deck, Ambroise Secor scanned the empty horizon, in an agony of frustration. Thirty-seven days under sail already; it had taken them less time to reach Batavia on a yawl barely larger than a fishing boat. They should have sighted the islands long ago.

  The people must all be dead by now, he thought. Almost two months alone on the islands, scarce enough food to eat or water to sustain them. It would be a miracle if any had survived. And indeed, do I want to find them alive, he asked himself, so they can point accusing fingers in my direction?

  He hated himself for such thoughts. He searched the horizon once more with the eyeglass, prayed that when they finally arrived at that cursed reef, there would somehow be redemption for the soul and reputation of Ambroise Secor.

  Chapter 85

  The Houtman Rocks

  CORNELIA woke with a start. Something moved outside her shelter, a boot crunched on a piece of loose coral, she heard a man breathing hard. She looked out of the entrance, saw a cluster of stars but no moon--it must be late, all the men would be drunk and snoring by now. Unless one of them had decided he would like some of Miss High and Mighty for himself.

  She felt under the silk pillow that Christiaan had given her, found Little Bean’s knife, held it ready. What do I do with this? Do I slash with it, or just stab him, low down where he’s most vulnerable or in the chest, to do murder?

  Can I do it?

  She held her breath and waited. She heard the intruder crawl right to the entrance of her shelter. She wrapped the shawl closer around her shoulders, her fingers tightened around the handle of the dagger.

  “Cornelia.” The whisper was so soft she could hardly make it out. “Cornelia Noorstrandt?”

  “Michiel?”

  “Shh.” His hand reached for her and slid down the edge of the knife. “Fuck!’

  She grabbed his arm with her other hand. He pulled her outside.

  He put his face close to hers. “Just follow me,” he whispered. “Don’t say anything.”

  She saw the silhouettes of the other women scrambling down the rocks to the beach. She dared a glance over her shoulder at the muyter’s tents. She heard one of them snore like a pig. They drank hard every night after they’d been to the women’s tent. She hoped they would sleep well again tonight.

  She stumbled on the loose coral in the dark, snagged her dress in the saltbush. But she kept hold of Michiel’s arm and soon they were in the shallows. She saw a raft with a single mast silhouetted against the lagoon. Her dress was soon soaked, she could barely move in it, Michiel turned and scooped her up, carried her the rest of the way.

  She heard the other women wading in, one of them took a tumble on the beach, another splashed headlong into the shallows. Could they make any more noise? She waited for Christiaan or Joost to come roaring down the beach.

  Michiel went back to help the others. She felt the raft rock and tip every time he lifted one of the women aboard. One of them was crying and the soldier in charge of the raft hissed at her to keep quiet. Another splash as Elisabeth Post went under, came up yelling. Michiel swore and he must have clamped his hand across her mouth because immediately the sound was muffled.

  But the damage was done. She heard shouts coming from the shore, lamps bobbing along the beach. “For God’s sake hurry!’ Michiel hissed.

  She saw a bright flash, heard the crack of a musket. The women screamed and the men swore. “Lie flat!’ he shouted. “Don’t give them a target.”

  Somehow, they got everyone aboard and Michiel shouted for his comrade to start poling, as fast as he could. Grietje was last aboard, she tried to pull herself up and fell back in. Michiel grabbed her as they started moving away from the beach. The raft rocked alarmingly as he hauled her up a second time.

  Another musket flash and she heard a groan.

  “Hurry!’ Michiel shouted.

  Someone splashed into the shallows after them, she heard a third musket shot, shouts of frustration from the muyters. “Cornelia?” Michiel said.

  She felt him beside her. She put her arms around him and clung to him as tight as she could. He smelled of woodsmoke and salt and sweat but right then it was a scent sweeter than any perfume the Company ever brought back from the East. “You came back,” she said.

  “I promised you I would.”

  She took his hand, there was blood dripping from his fingers. “You’re hurt,” she said.

  “You stabbed me with that bloody knife,” he said and laughed.

  There were lamps bobbing all along the shore. She imagined Christiaan, the fine Captain-General would have apoplexy when he found out what Michiel had done. The current carried them swiftly now, away from the rocks and past the dark silhouettes of the smaller islands in the lagoon. The outgoing tide would carry them most of them way to the long island.

  Michiel rolled on his back and started to laugh. The women joined in.

  “Gabriel’s been shot,” du Trieux said.

  Chapter 86

  DAWN broke over the sea. Cornelia was stiff with cold. She raised her head and made out the crouching silhouette of an island. There were figures standing along the shore watching them float in with the current. Michiel lay at the edge of the raft, keeping her warm with his own body. She tried to snuggle in against him but he took his arm from around his shoulders.

  “There are people watching,” he murmured.

  Du Trieux poled them in to the shallows. Men waded out to meet them, Gabriel was first, two men carried him off, he was limp and Cornelia wondered if he was already dead. Finally Michiel and du Trieux slid into the water, Michiel took her in his arms and headed to the shore. Other soldiers dragged the raft in.

  She stood on another narrow beach, wind battered and cold, but for the first time in months she was not afraid.

  Michiel spoke to one of his corporals, a man he called Westerveld. “Mount a guard on the women day and night. Our men haven’t seen a skirt in a while. I’ll not have these women exchange one gang of abusers for another.”

  “Sir.”

  “How is Gabriel?” Cornelia said.

  “It looks bad. It’s a lung shot and we have no doctor.”

  “You think he’ll die?”

  “Dying’s not the worst thing that can happen to a man. He can lose his honour.”

  They looked at each other.

  “Michiel, you’re the bravest man I’ve ever known.”

  “I did what any man would have done.”

  “No, you just did what few men would have done. Look at your hand. Let me bind it up.”

  He shrugged her away. “It will be all right. Is that the knife?”

  “Little Bean gave it to me.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “They murdered him. We found his body, floating.”

  “Do you know who it was?”

  She shook her head.

  He turned the knife over in his hand. “He used to do his scrimshaw with this.” He shook his head. “Bastards. I’ll wager it was Steenhower who did for him. What happened to Richard?”

  She shook her head.

  “Him as well? I should have taken him with me.”

  “He had a broken arm. You had no choice.”
/>
  “They’ll come for us now. But we’re ready for them.”

  She felt the strength go out of her and she fell to her knees. He put his arms around her and she clung to him.

  “You’ll see Batavia yet, vrouwe Noorstrandt.”

  “I don’t care about seeing Batavia,” she said. “I’m here now. That’s all the matters.”

  The Houtman Rocks

  CHRISTIAAN sat in his tent drinking brandy and listening to the Devil’s Own squabbling with each other down on the beach. Wine ran down his beard. He picked up the cameo and tossed it in fury across his tent. How could this happen?

  “So much for telling us there was no water on the long island,” he heard Krueger say to Oliver van Beeck.

  “There isn't any.”

  “Then how is it they're still alive?”

  “We should have killed them while we had the chance,” Gerrit van Hoeck said.

  “It was Christiaan who said we should send them over there,” Steenhower said. ‘“Let them rot in the sun,” wasn't that what he said?”

  “We wouldn't have to worry about them if you hadn't lost the raft,” Gilles Clement said to Quick.

  “It would have been all right if Groot knew how to use a sword,” Quick shot back.

  “Never mind Groot, the raft was Krueger’s responsibility. But no, you had to fuck the women, and you left it unguarded.”

  “Who knew that bastard would think of doing something like that?”

  “You useless bastard. I had a cow with more brains than you. She was more use too. At least I could milk the fucking thing.”

  Christiaan had heard enough. As he stepped outside he saw a knife blade flash in the sun. Joost and Gerrit van Hoeck grabbed Krueger’s arms and held him. Steenhower was on his feet too, reaching for his own knife. “Stop!’

  Christiaan stepped between them. “What's going on here?”

  “Steenhower called Krueger stupid.”