by Wilbur Smith
They looked on quietly as the seamen trudged past in their clanking chains, and there was no sound of laughter among them. Rather, Hal sensed a certain empathy behind their closed impassive expressions for they were captives also. Just before they entered the gate to the fort, Hal noticed one girl in particular at the back of the crowd. She had climbed up on a pile of masonry blocks for a better view and stood higher than the intervening ranks of spectators. This was not the only reason why Hal had singled her out.
She was more beautiful than he had ever expected any woman to be. She was a flower of a girl, with thick glossy black hair and dark eyes that seemed too large for her delicate oval face. For one moment their eyes met over the heads of the crowd, and it seemed to Hal that she tried to pass him some message that he was unable to grasp. He knew only that she felt compassion for him, and that she shared in his suffering. Then he lost sight of her as they were marched through the gateway into the courtyard of the fort.
The image of her stayed with him over the dreadful days that followed. Gradually it began to supersede the memory of Katinka, and in the nights sometimes returned to give him the strength he needed to endure. He felt that if there were but one person of such loveliness and tenderness out there, beyond the gaunt stone walls, who cared for his abject condition, then it was worth fighting on.
In the courtyard of the fort, a military armourer struck off their shackles. A shore party under the command of Sam Bowles stood by to collect the discarded chains to take back aboard the Gull. "I will miss you all, my shipmates." Sam grinned. The lower decks of the old Gull will be empty and lonely without your smiling faces and your good cheer." He gave them a salute from the gateway as he led his shore party away. "I hope they look after you as well as your good friend Sam Bowles did. But, never fear, I'll be at the Parade when you give your last performance there."
When Sam was gone, Hal looked around the courtyard. He saw that the fortress had been designed on a substantial scale. As part of his training his father had made him study the science of land fortifications, so he recognized the tlassical defensive layout of the stone walls and redoubts. He realized that once these works were completed, it would take an army equipped with a full siege train to reduce them.
However, the work was less than half finished, and on the landward side of the fort or, as their new gaolers referred to it, bet kasteel, the castle, there were merely open foundations from which the massive stone walls would one day rise. Yet it was clear that the work was being hastened along. Almost certainly the two recent Anglo-Dutch wars had imparted this impetus. Both Oliver Cromwell, the Lord Protector of the Commonwealth of England, Scotland and Ireland, during the interregnum, and King Charles, son of the man he had beheaded, could claim some credit for the frenzy of construction that was going on around them. They had forcibly reminded the Dutch of the vulnerability of their far-flung colonies. The half-finished walls swarmed with hundreds of workmen, and the courtyard in which they stood was piled with building timber and blocks of dressed masonry hewn from the mountain that loomed over it all.
As dangerous captives they were kept apart from the other prisoners. They were marched from the courtyard down the short spiral staircase below the south wall of the fort. The stone blocks that lined floor, vaulted roof and walls glistened with moisture that had seeped in from the surrounding waterlogged soil. Even on such a sunny day in autumn the temperature in these dank forbidding surroundings made them shiver.
At the foot of the first flight of stairs Sir Francis Courtney was dragged out of the file by his gaolers and thrust into a small cell just large enough to hold one man. It was one in a row of half a dozen or so identical cells, whose doors were of solid timber studded with iron bolts and the tiny barred peep-hole in each was shuttered and closed. They had no sight of the other inmates. "Special quarters for you, Sir Pirate," the burly Dutch gaoler told him as he slammed the door on Sir Francis and turned the lock with a huge iron key from the bunch on his belt. "We are putting you in the Skellum's Den, with all the really bad ones, the murderers and rebels and robbers. You will feel at home here, of that I'm sure."
The rest of the prisoners were herded down to the next level of the dungeon. The sergeant gaoler unlocked the grille door at the end of the tunnel and they were shoved into a long narrow cell. Once the grille was locked behind them there was barely room for them all to stretch out on the thin layer of damp straw that covered the cobblestoned floor. A single latrine bucket stood in one corner, but murmurs of pleasure from all the men greeted the sight of the large water cistern beside the grille gate. At least this meant they were no longer on shipboard water rations.
There were four small windows set in the top of one wall and, once they had inspected their surroundings, Hal looked up at them. Aboli hoisted him onto his shoulders and he was able to reach one of these narrow openings. It was heavily barred, like the others, but Hal tried the gratings with his bare hands. They were set rock-firm, and he was forced to put out of his mind any notion of escaping this way.
Hanging on the grating, he drew himself up and peered through it. He found that his eyes were a foot or so above ground level, and from' there he had a view of part of the interior courtyard of the castle. He could see the entrance gateway and the grand portals of what he guessed must be the Company offices and the Governor's suite. To one side, through the gap where the walls had not yet been raised, he could see a portion of the cliffs of the table-topped mountain, and above them the sky. Against the cloudless blue sailed a flock of white gulls.
Hal lowered himself and pushed his way through the throng of seamen, stepping over the bodies of the sick and wounded. When he reached the grille he looked up the staircase but could not see the door to his father's cell. - "Father!" he called tentatively, expecting a rebuke from one of the gaolers, but when there was no response he raised his voice and shouted again.
"I hear you, Hal, his father called back.
"Do you have any orders for us, Father?"
"I expect they'll leave us in peace for a day or two, at least until they have convened a tribunal. We will have to wait it out. Tell the men to be of good heart."
At that a strange voice intervened, speaking in English but with an unfamiliar accent. "Are you the English pirates we have heard so much about?"
"We are honest sailors, falsely accused," Sir Francis shouted back. "Who and what are you?"
"I am your neighbour in the Skellum's Den, two cells down from you. I am condemned to die, as you are."
"We are not yet condemned," Sir Francis protested.
"It is only a matter of time. I hear from the gaolers, that you soon will be."
"What is your name?" Hal joined in the exchange. He was not interested in the stranger, but this conversation served to pass the time and divert them from their own predicament. "What is your crime?"
"I am Althuda, and my crime is that I strive to be free and to set other men free."
"Then we are brothers, Althuda, you and I and every man here. We all strive for freedom."
There was a ragged chorus of assent, and when it subsided Althuda spoke again. "I led a revolt of the Company slaves. Some were recaptured. Those Stadige Jan burned alive, but most of us escaped into the mountains. Many times they sent soldiers after us, but we fought and drove them off and they could not enslave us again." His was a vital young voice, proud and strong, and even before Hal had seen his face he found himself drawn to this Althuda.
"Then if you escaped, how is it that you are back here in the Skellurn's Den?" one of the English seamen wanted to know. They were all listening now. Althuda's story had moved even the most hardened of them.
"I came back to rescue somebody, another slave who was left behind," Althuda told them. "When I entered the colony again I was recognized and betrayed."
They were all silent for a space.
"A woman?" a voice asked. "You came back for a woman?" "Yes," said Althuda. "A woman."
"There is always an Eve in th
e midst of Eden to tempt us into folly, "one sang out and they all laughed.
Then somebody else asked, "Was she your sweetheart?" "No," Althuda answered. "I came back for my little sister."
Thirty guests sat down to the banquet that Governor Kleinhans gave to welcome his successor. All the most important men in the administration of the colony, together with their wives, were seated around the long board.
From the place of honour Petrus van de Velde gazed with delighted anticipation down the length of the rosewood table above which hung massive chandeliers, each burning fifty perfumed- candles. They lit the great hall as if it was day, and sparkled on the silverware and crystal glasses.
For months now, ever since sailing from the coast of Trincomalee, van de Velde had been forced to subsist on the swill and offal cooked on the galleon and then on the coarse fare that the English pirates had provided for him. Now his eyes shone and saliva flooded his mouth as he contemplated the culinary extravaganza spread before him. He reached for the tall glass in front of him, and took a mouthful of the rare wine from Champagne. The tiny seething bubbles tickled his palate and spurred his already unbridled appetite.
Van de Velde considered this a most fortunate posting, for which his wife's connection in the Council of Seventeen was to be thanked. Positioned here, at the tip of Africa, A constant procession of ships passed in both directions bringing the luxuries of Europe and the Orient into Table Bay. They would want for nothing.
Silently he cursed Kleinhans for his long-winded speech of welcome, of which he heard barely a word. All his attention was on the array of silver dishes and chargers that were laid before him, one after another.
There were little sucking pigs in crisp suits of golden crackling, barons of beef running with their own rich juices set around with steaming ramparts of roasted potatoes, heaps of tender young pullets and pigeons and ducks and fat geese, five different types of fresh fish from the Atlantic, cooked five different ways, fragrant with the curries and spices of Java and Kandy and Further India, tall pyramids of the huge claw less crimson lobsters that abounded in this southern ocean, a vast array of fruits and succulent vegetables from the Company gardens, and sherbets and custards and sugar dumplings and cakes and trifles and confitures and every sweet delight that the slave chefs in the kitchens could conceive. All this was backed by stalwart ranks of cheese brought by Company ships from Holland, and jars of pickled North-Sea herring, and smoked sides of wild boar and salmon.
In contrast to this superabundance, the service was all of delicate blue and white pattern. Behind each chair stood a house slave in the green uniform of the Company, ready to recharge glass and plate with nimble white-gloved hands. Would the man never stop talking and let them at the food, van de Velde wondered, and smiled and nodded at Kleinhans" inanities.
At last, with a bow to the new Governor and a much deeper one to his wife, Kleinhans sank back into his chair, and everyone looked expectantly at van de Velde. He gazed around at their asinine faces, and then with a sigh rose to his feet to reply. Two minutes will do it, he told himself, and gave them what they expected to hear, ending jovially, "In conclusion, I want only to wish Governor Kleinhans a safe return to the old country, and a long and happy retirement."
He sat down with alacrity and reached for his spoon. This was the first time the burghers had been privileged to witness the new Governor at table, and an amazed and respectful silence fell upon the company as they watched the level in his soup bowl fall like the outgoing tide across the mud-flats of the Zuider Zee. Then, suddenly realizing that when the guest of honour finished one course, the plates would be changed and the next course served, they fell to in a frenzied effort to catch up. There were many stout trenchermen among them, but none to match the Governor, especially when he had had a head start.
As his soup bowl emptied, every bowl was whisked away and replaced with a plate piled high with thick cuts of sucking pig. The first two courses were completed in virtual silence, broken only by slurping and gulping.
During the third course Kleinhans rallied and, as host, made a valiant attempt to revive the conversation. He leaned forward to distract van de Velde's attention from his plate. "I expect that you will wish to deal with the matter of the English pirates before any other business," he asked, and van de Velde nodded vigorously, although his mouth was too full of succulent lobster to permit a verbal reply.
"Have you decided yet how you will go about their trial and sentencing?" Kleinhans enquired lugubriously. Van de Velde swallowed noisily, before he replied, "They will be executed, of course, but not before their captain, this notorious corsair Francis Courtney, reveals the hiding place of the missing Company cargo. I would like to convene a tribunal immediately for this purpose."
Colonel Schreuder coughed politely, and van de Velde glanced at him impatiently. "Yes? You wanted to say something? Out with it, then!"
"Today I had opportunity to inspect the work proceeding on the kasteel fortifications, sir. The good Lord alone knows when we will be at war with England again, but it may be soon. The English are thieves by nature, and pirates by vocation. It is for these reasons, sir, that the Seventeen in Amsterdam have placed the highest priority on the completion of our fortifications. That fact is spelt out very clearly in my orders and my letter of appointment to the command of the kasteel."
Every man at the table looked grave and attentive at the mention of the sacred Seventeen, as though the name of a deity had been invoked. Schreuder let the silence run on for a while to make good his point, then said, "The work is very much behind what their excellencies have decreed."
Major Loten, the outgoing garrison commander, interjected, "It is true that the work is somewhat behindhand, but there are good reasons for this." The construction was his prime responsibility, and Governor van de Velde's eyes switched to his face. He placed another forkful of lobster in his mouth. The sauce was truly delicious, and he sighed with pleasure as he contemplated another five years of meals of this order. He must certainly buy the chef from Kleinhans before he sailed.
He formed his features into a more solemn pattern as he listened to Loren making his excuses. "I have been hampered by a shortage of labour. This most regrettable revolt among the slaves has left us severely under manned he said lamely, and van de Velde frowned.
"Precisely the point I was about to make," Schreuder picked up smoothly. "If we are so short of men to meet the expectations of the Seventeen, would we be wise to execute twenty-four strong and able-bodied English pirates, instead of employing them in the workings?"
Every eye at the table turned to van de Velde to judge his reaction, waiting for him to give them a lead. The new Governor swallowed, then used his forefinger to free a shred of lobster leg caught in his back teeth before he spoke. "Courtney cannot be spared, he said at last. "Not even to work on the fortifications. According to Lord Cumbrae, whose opinion I respect," he gave the Buzzard a seated bow, "the Englishman knows where the missing cargo is hidden, besides which my wife and I," he nodded towards Katinka, who sat between Kleinhans and Schreuder, "have been forced to suffer many indignities at his hands."
"I quite agree," said Schreuder. "He must be made to tell all he knows of the missing bullion. But the others? Such a waste to execute them when they are needed on the walls, don't you think, sir. They are, after all, dull-witted cattle, with little understanding of the gravity of their offence but with strong backs to pay for it."
Van de Velde grunted noncommittally. "I would like to hear the opinion of Governor Kleinhans on this matter," he said, and filled his mouth again, his head lowered on his shoulders and his small eyes focused on his predecessor. Sagely, he passed on the responsibility of making the decision. Later, if there were repercussions, he could always unload a share of the blame.
"Of course," said Governor Kleinhans, with an airy wave of the hand, "prime slaves are selling for almost a thousand guilders a head at the moment. Such a large addition to the Company purse would commend itsel
f highly to their excellencies. The Seventeen are determined that the colony must pay for itself and not become a drain on the Company exchequer."
All present gave this their solemn consideration. In the silence Katinka said, in ringing crystal tones, "I, for one, will need slaves for my household. I would welcome the opportunity to acquire good workers even at those exorbitant prices."
"By international accord and protocol it is forbidden to sell Christians into slavery," Schreuder pointed out, as he saw the prospects of procuring labour for his fortifications beginning to recede. "Even Englishmen."
