The City of Tears

by Kate Mosse

  ‘God rest his soul,’ said van Raay, wiping a bloodied dagger on his sleeve.

  ‘Willem?’ Piet stared in disbelief at the knife. ‘My friend, I beg you—’

  Van Raay sighed. ‘You have nothing to fear from me.’

  Piet stared at the man sprawled dead at his feet. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘It was the only way to get him off guard.’

  ‘So you and Houtman were not in league?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then how did he know I had told you of our plans?’

  ‘I suspect Houtman had you followed to my home after you left the meeting in Lastage on Saturday night. The following day, Houtman presented himself at my door, claiming he had information pertinent to you and your family, and offering to share it provided I might participate in –’ he looked around the prison chamber with a glance – ‘this charade. Given what was at stake – for you and for Amsterdam – I had no choice but to accept his proposal.’

  Piet looked back down at Houtman. ‘Why would he want to kill me, when there is so much more? It makes no sense.’

  Van Raay sighed. ‘Are you not an Amsterdammer yet, Reydon? Have you not learnt the lengths to which men will go to buy respectability? Houtman had ambitions to sit on the new council. The Calvinists might be all for shaking off the Spanish yoke but, in their different way, they are as hidebound as the Catholic burghers they claim to despise. For a common soldier like Houtman to have any chance of being invited to take a seat in the Stadhuis, he needed money.’

  ‘Hence the rich widow in Heiligeweg.’

  Van Raay nodded.

  ‘Minou and I had only thought to use that information to encourage Houtman to keep to his promise not to allow his men to turn to violence. We would not have used it against him.’

  ‘Ah, but Houtman couldn’t be certain of that. He wanted to be sure you couldn’t talk.’

  Piet frowned. ‘Did he tell you what information he had about my family?’

  ‘No. He said only that there were spies in Amsterdam, asking questions about you, on behalf of a French nobleman.’

  Piet turned cold. ‘Did Houtman know the name of this noble gentleman?’

  ‘He didn’t say. It might have been a fabrication. Houtman was looking for any excuse to act against you.’

  ‘And Amsterdam is thick with spies,’ Piet said, trying to persuade himself it meant nothing. He shook his head. There’d be time enough to think about what this might mean, but now was not the moment. He looked down at the dead man. ‘We have to get out of here. It won’t be long before someone notices Houtman’s missing.’ He offered his bound wrists to van Raay. ‘Can you cut me free?’

  Van Raay gave an apologetic shrug. ‘Since Houtman’s men are everywhere, it might be safer to extend this performance a while longer. If they believe you are still a prisoner, but now in my charge, they might not challenge me.’

  For a moment, Piet simply stared, amazed at the transformation in the sombre, pious man he had thought he’d known.

  Van Raay saw his confusion and smiled. ‘I was not always a grain merchant, Reydon.’

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE

  There were still two soldiers on duty outside the main entrance into Sint Antoniespoort.

  Minou took a deep breath, then walked across the bridge holding the borrowed basket with its red-and-white-striped cloth in front of her.

  ‘I have brought victuals for Joost Wouter!’

  The younger of the sentries waved her in without even checking, but the second – a man with a face disfigured by smallpox – went with her into the courtyard, closing the heavy door behind them and shooting the bolt.

  ‘Wouter’s up the top.’

  With a sickening lurch, Minou realised she’d been thinking so hard about how to gain admittance, she had neglected to consider what she might do once she was inside. Piet could be anywhere.

  ‘Look, are you going or not?’ the sentry growled. ‘You can’t stay here.’

  ‘I’m going,’ Minou mumbled, keeping her face hidden. ‘Dankuwel.’

  She headed towards the tower, but had only taken a couple of steps, when she heard a shout from somewhere below.

  ‘Now what,’ the soldier grumbled, dropping his hand to his weapon.

  Minou slipped into the shadow of the stairwell.

  ‘Who goes there?’ the soldier called down.

  There was no answer. Minou watched the man hesitate, then walk towards the stairs. Then, just as quickly, he seemed to stagger back in alarm, catching his boot and stumbling, as two men came storming up the steps.

  ‘This prisoner is to be transferred to the garrison at the Schreyershoektoren without delay. Unbolt the gate.’

  The soldier leapt to attention. ‘Zeer goed.’

  Minou felt the ground shift beneath her. Everything seemed to be moving slowly, as if in a dream: the sentry with his pock-marked skin rushing to obey the command; Piet, with his bruised face and hands still tied behind his back; the man in a distinctive flat black burgher’s hat holding a knife to Piet’s back.

  Cornelia’s father.

  The basket fell from her hands, tumbling down the step into plain view. The earthenware jug rolled free, shattering on impact. For a moment, Minou held Piet’s gaze, then time came rushing back.

  The sentry spun around to face Minou, just as a fellow soldier, bleeding copiously from a gash on his forehead, staggered up the stairs behind Willem van Raay.

  Van Raay drew a knife and leant towards Piet. Minou screamed.

  ‘Piet!’

  ‘It’s all right!’ he shouted back, holding up his wrists with the rope now hanging from them.

  ‘Sound the alarm!’ the sentry ordered.

  But before he could shout again, Minou threw herself at him. Taken by surprise, his weapon went flying from his hand. Willem van Raay turned to deal with the wounded soldier coming up the stairs behind them, while Piet punched the sentry on the jaw, laying him out flat.

  Minou heard the sound of men’s boots on the floor above them.

  ‘More soldiers are coming!’ she shouted.

  ‘Minou, go while you still have the chance,’ Piet shouted, trying to help van Raay. ‘We can hold them off.’

  ‘I’m not leaving without you.’

  The guard was dazed – Piet had broken a stool over his head when they’d stormed out of the prison – but the man was roaring and as wild as a bear. He slashed out. Piet parried the strike, but the tip of the blade caught his arm. A red seam of fresh blood opened on his skin.

  Minou felt herself being dragged off her feet. She clawed at her throat, trying to stop herself from choking as the borrowed cloak dug into her skin. Then, the air was knocked out of her as she was slammed back against the wall. A man with blackened teeth put a filthy hand across her neck.

  ‘What have we here?’

  Piet spun round. ‘Take your hands off her, Wouter!’

  ‘Now I’ve seen it all!’ Wouter sneered. ‘Bringing your wife to do a man’s job.’

  In the chaos of the next few moments, Minou didn’t see what happened on the stairs. But she heard the shout, next the sound of the guard tumbling down the stone steps, and the thump of his body when he hit the stone flagstones at the bottom. Then silence.

  Piet sprang at Wouter, forcing him to release her. Gasping, Minou darted up the stairs to the next floor of the tower and shot home the bolt of the pass door to prevent anyone else getting through.

  Piet and Wouter were now circling one another, each with a dagger drawn, each waiting for the moment to strike. Minou could see Willem van Raay was in trouble too. The colour had drained from his face and his breath was coming in short bursts.

  Now other soldiers were hammering on the pass door above. Even if they couldn’t get through, Minou knew it wouldn’t be long before they attracted the remaining sentry outside, and that would be the end.

  She had an idea. Crouching down, she stretched out her hand to where the basket lay on its side by the wal
l. She couldn’t quite reach it. She extended her fingers a little further, desperate not to alert Wouter or distract Piet, then a little more until she managed to get some purchase on the side of the basket. Carefully, she pulled it towards her as the combatants continued to circle and parry.

  Minou waited until Wouter was closer to her, then she threw the basket between his feet. It didn’t bring him down, but it was enough to make him lose concentration for an instant and stumble, long enough for Piet to thrust his poniard into his enemy’s leg. Wouter shrieked like a stuck pig, and went down. His eyes were wide open. Piet rolled him over. Minou’s hand flew to her mouth. His belly was sliced open, guts and blood spilling out. He’d fallen on his own knife.

  ‘Don’t look,’ Piet said quickly, taking her hand, then called to van Raay.

  ‘We must go!’

  ‘You go, Reydon. I’ll follow.’

  Minou could see the sheen of sweat on his brow. ‘Are you hurt, Burgher van Raay?’

  ‘A little short of breath, my dear, nothing more.’

  ‘Can you walk?’ Piet asked. ‘If we do as you originally suggested, there is still a chance we can get out.’

  Van Raay nodded, though Minou saw how much it cost him to do so.

  ‘Minou, you distract the sentries’ attention while we pass. Our plan had been to say Willem was taking me to another gatehouse. They often move prisoners between the towers.’

  ‘I’ll do my best.’ She glanced down at the unconscious sentry. ‘There should be only one man on duty outside. This man accompanied me in here.’

  Piet nodded. ‘Can you tie the rope?’

  Minou wrapped the severed cords around Piet’s hands, this time in front of him so he could hold the ties in place, then, averting her eyes from Wouter, fetched the basket. She draped the red-and-white cloth across it, adjusted the heavy cloak to hide the red marks on her neck, then stepped through the heavy outer door leaving it ajar.

  To her relief, the young sentry was alone. He gave no impression of having heard the fracas behind the thick walls.

  ‘Wouter bids me thank you for allowing me entrance,’ she said.

  ‘He’d do the same,’ the boy replied. ‘Besides, there’s a beer in it for me.’

  ‘That’s only fair,’ Minou said. ‘One good turn deserves another.’

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Piet and Willem van Raay standing ready. She pretended to stumble and grasped the sentry’s arm, then beckoned them to start moving.

  ‘Be careful, Mevrouw,’ the boy said.

  ‘I don’t know what’s come over me. I’m all at sixes-and-sevens today. It must be all that business over at the Stadhuis.’

  ‘You heard about it?’

  ‘I was there. I saw Hendrick Dircksz being marched away.’

  ‘Did you! Better times are coming. Holland should stand alone.’

  ‘Will you walk me across the bridge, young man?’ Minou said, pressing home her advantage. She gripped his arm even harder. ‘Not for anything would I fall into that water. I heard the trouble started here?’

  ‘It did,’ he said proudly. ‘All men of sound heart follow the Prince of Orange.’

  ‘I don’t understand politics,’ Minou said, while surreptitiously waving Piet and van Ray out behind his back. ‘And look over there.’ She pointed across the square, in the opposite direction from where Piet and Willem were heading. ‘They’ve sent the Grey Friars packing at last.’

  ‘Good riddance!’

  Minou could see Piet had wrapped his hands into his sleeves, leaving the tail of the rope dangling as if he was still bound. Willem van Raay had his hand on Piet’s shoulder as if forcing him forward. If they could just keep going.

  ‘Though politicians are all as bad as each other,’ Minou added, rambling to keep the guard’s attention. ‘It’s always us common people who suffer, whoever sits in the Stadhuis. They’ve no care for the lives of ordinary people.’

  ‘Holland will be better alone. We don’t need those Spanish dogs telling us what to do. Deciding our taxes, writing our laws, denying us our churches.’

  Minou could see they were almost clear. Just a few steps further. But there was a sudden loud noise, and the sentry turned towards Lastage. At the last moment, he noticed them.

  ‘Hey!’ he shouted. ‘You, there!’

  Willem van Raay looked back over his shoulder. ‘Transfer to Schreyershoektoren,’ he shouted, though Minou could hear his voice was weak. ‘On the orders of Jan Houtman.’

  The sentry started to go after them. Minou stepped in front of him and blocked his way.

  ‘Schreyershoektoren!’ she tutted. ‘I wonder what crime he committed. Must be bad to be taken there, don’t you think?’

  ‘Did you say on Houtman’s orders?’ the boy shouted over her shoulder.

  ‘Ja,’ van Raay replied but, this time, he did not turn.

  ‘I order you to stop!’

  Minou pulled at the young man’s sleeve. ‘How fortunate we are to have such fine soldiers as you keeping us safe. I tell you what, next time I come, I’ll be sure to bring a little extra.’

  The sentry took a last look at the two men disappearing into the distance at the north side of the square, then he shrugged. Minou offered up a silent prayer of thanks.

  ‘Well, I’d best be getting on. Thank you for your assistance, young man.’

  He bowed his head, then turned back to Sint Antoniespoort, while Minou walked towards Zeedijk, forcing herself not to break into a run. Only then, did the sentry see someone waving frantically from an upstairs window.

  ‘What’s that?’ he called up.

  ‘The pass door’s bolted. We’re locked in!’

  * * *

  Minou didn’t stop until she was well out of sight.

  She found a quiet corner and took stock. Leaning against the tavern wall, she took several deep breaths. Her hands were shaking and sweat was pooling in the small of her back. The fear and anger that had given her the strength to fight was already draining away.

  Minou closed her eyes. She could not believe how close they had all come to being arrested. Piet had been badly beaten and Cornelia’s father was clearly exhausted, but God willing they were safe now. She assumed they would double back into Zeedijk once they were sure they weren’t being followed.

  But they had done it. They had defeated the guards and got away. She turned cold at the thought they had killed at least one man, and Wouter was dead too. What would happen when the bodies were found? She’d kept her hood over her head, but Piet would be recognised. Willem van Raay as well. Pushing the thought from her mind, Minou forced herself to concentrate on the matter at hand. There’d be time enough to decide what to do once they were in the safety of their own house.

  As she turned into Zeedijk, she saw Piet and Willem van Raay approaching from the other direction. Minou hurried to meet them.

  ‘Mon coeur, you’re safe. Thank God.’

  ‘Willem is hurt,’ Piet said in a low voice. ‘I think his ribs might be broken.’

  ‘The blow knocked all the air out of me,’ van Raay gasped. ‘I only need a few moments to catch my breath.’

  Minou looked at him. His skin was the colour of milk and his breathing was laboured.

  ‘Cornelia and Alis are waiting for us inside,’ she said. ‘Let me help you, it’s not much further.’

  Minou put her arm around Willem van Raay’s waist and, with Piet on the other side taking his weight, together they walked him towards the corner house. It was slow going. Then Minou moved position and realised her hand was sticky. She looked and saw fresh red blood staining her fingers. It hadn’t been a fist at all, but the blade of a knife slipping between his ribs.

  ‘Piet,’ she whispered urgently. ‘Hurry. He’s been stabbed.’

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO

  ZEEDIJK

  Minou and Piet staggered inside, holding van Raay between them. He was barely conscious now. With each step, Minou felt a new gush of warm blood seep through her clot
hes.

  ‘Frans!’ Piet shouted into the empty hallway. ‘Frans!’

  ‘We’ll take him in here,’ Minou said, gesturing to the chamber on the ground floor that gave onto the orchard. ‘We don’t have time to take him to a bedchamber. He needs to be kept still.’

  Piet pushed open the door with his boot. ‘Is the wound still bleeding?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Will that do?’ he asked, nodding at the oak settle.

  Minou shook her head. ‘It’s too narrow. He needs to lie flat. We’ll lift him onto the table. Put your cloak beneath him, and we’ll put something else under his head.’

  Together, they managed to lean van Raay against the edge of the table, then Piet raised his legs and laid him down gently. More blood gushed from the wound and started to drip from the oak surface down to the floor.

  Outside in the garden, Minou could hear the voices of the orphanage children playing. Such innocent and incongruous sounds compared to the horror of the day.

  ‘Piet, ask Agnes to bring water and bandages. We need to clean the wound and bind it. Then find Cornelia.’

  ‘I will. How bad is it?’

  ‘Until I look, I cannot tell,’ Minou replied, though she feared from Willem’s colour and the amount of blood he had lost, that it was already too late. ‘Tell her to bring brandy and valerian root, too. It will help with the pain. There is some in the bottom drawer of the cabinet in our bedchamber.’

  As Piet rushed into the hall, Frans came in from the gardens, then stopped dead when he saw Willem van Raay.

  ‘The Devil preserve us –’

  ‘Frans, is Juffrouw van Raay here?’

  The boy was looking at the blood pooling on the floor beneath the table.

  ‘Frans!’ Minou snapped.

  ‘Sorry. Yes, she’s on the terrace. What happened to him? We’ve been hearing all sorts of rumours all day and they’re looting the Grey Friars monastery.’

  ‘Is Alis with her?’