A Flower for the Queen: A Historical Novel (31 page)

Forster began to appreciate the seriousness of his situation and cast about him looking for some way to save himself. He panicked eyes fell upon Masson who stood speechless in amazement as events unfolded in front of him.

“But I have never seen those pages in my life. They belong to Mr Masson, he was sent here by Banks to plunder and spy.”

The Governor cast his glare upon Masson and then clutched the documents to his chest with both hands as he struggled to contain his anger.

“I think it is clear that we have treachery of the highest order here in our midst. It is no small matter when a foreign power sends emissaries to our shores with the intention of examining our defences so that they may find a way to unseat us and take as their own that which we have built up over generations. Thus, it is not just us, or our compatriots, who are most wronged by actions such as these: but the memories of our forbearers who struggled, toiled and died to bring civilisation where there was once only savagery.

“Thankfully, owing to the patriotism of our friend Doctor Thunberg, who I think I can now say is truly a Dutchman in spirit, if not by birth, we have managed to circumvent any damage that may have been caused by this villainous treachery.

“However, for the traitor responsible, I can think of no punishment severe enough that could compensate for such heinous deeds. In times as grave as this, we must look not only to our own laws for guidance, but to a higher law that is spelled out in the Holy Book.”

“Amen” and “Hear, hear” erupted from the crowd. With his audience cheering him on, van Plettenberg looked to the heavens, waiting for a divine signal that would dictate the most appropriate punishment. He closed his eyes and nodded. Whatever message he had been waiting for had been received, loud and clear.

“When we have a traitor in our midst, is it not best that we place him where all can see him, so that he can act as a warning to others? But do we not also have a duty to give him an opportunity to repent so that he can accept the error of his ways and find redemption in the mercy of our Lord?”

“Amen!” came the universal response.

“Then, my fellow brothers and sisters under God, Let us take this duplicity and instead turn it into a lesson. The sinner here is allegedly a man of science, and judging by these documents, he is also a man interested in the geography of our land. I think that it is right that we therefore give him the opportunity to put his talents to use in a way that will redeem him and serve as a warning to others.”

Van Plettenberg looked to the horizon and, raising his arm, pointed to a sun-bleached, barren and distant rock of an island that lay off the shores of Table Bay. “Send him to Robben Island, so that he may pass his life examining the geography of that forsaken island. Using stone as his paper and a chisel as his quill, let him break rocks for the rest of his days, in reflection of the wrong that he has done, whilst always being able to gaze upon our shores so that he may witness the fact that we are not weakened by his acts, but are made stronger.”

The crowd roared its approval, but van Plettenberg appealed for quiet before removing his hat and closing his eyes. “By the power that is vested in me as the Governor of this good colony and Chief Justice of her peoples, for the crime of high treason, I pass a sentence of life imprisonment with hard labour, to be carried out on Robben Island, on you, Reinhold Forster.”

As Forster was led away, protesting his innocence, the ship captain’s secretary engaged van Plettenberg in a whispered discussion, clarifying that he had absolutely no knowledge of the papers, and that if he had, he would never have allowed the cargo to be brought aboard his ship. Van Plettenberg just stood and listened, looking appraisingly at Masson as the captain said one last thing before turning on his heel and marching off to a waiting launch.

Van Plettenberg smoothed his whiskers like a cat preening itself just after a meal and then approached Masson. “I apologise if this terrible scene has caused you any embarrassment or distress, Mr Masson, but it is incredible the lengths that some people will go to conceal the truth, is it not, Doctor Thunberg?”

“Yes, Governor.” Thunberg stepped forward, bowing as he did so. “I only hope that Mr Forster will have time to reflect on this before the sun robs him of his senses.”

“Indeed. Whilst I have to admit that there are some details that do not entirely make sense to me, the proof was overwhelming. I can’t imagine how a man so highly esteemed in the scientific community could be so brazen as to carry out such a deception.”

“I think it’s probably easier to do only that which you can imagine, Governor,” said Thunberg, looking at Masson with exaggerated earnestness.

“Still,” van Plettenberg mused, as he watched the crowd make its way back along the dock. He turned his watery blue eyes towards Masson and said in a voice that contained only the subtlest hint of menace, “Even though your government has chosen the low road, there is no reason why we should retaliate this time. However, I think that it would be best for everyone if all foreign botanists were to leave the colony without delay. You may therefore leave with one box of these extraordinary flowers as a token of my best wishes.”

“But your Excellency, with only a single box, the chances of their arriving alive are almost negligible.” Masson knew he was pressing his luck, but he also knew how difficult it would be for the flowers in the salty air and stuffy conditions aboard the ship.

“If I were you, Mr Masson, I would take whatever slim chance you have. My decision stands, and I bid you good day and farewell. Travel safely, Mr Masson, and please do send my regards to your Admiralty.”

The Governor put his hat on his head, turned and walked off, following the crowd that was slowly making its way to the fort, with a still protesting Forster at its centre.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Thunberg’s face broke into a self-satisfied grin “I wasn’t sure it would work. Please, don’t judge me too harshly, Masson. The King will get his flower, and you will get your land. The only ones to lose out will be the English Admiralty, and I think that they will manage to weather the loss.”

“And what about Forster? Does he deserve to be sent to rot on that godforsaken rock?”

“He brought it on himself; I only gave him the rope to hang himself. If he hadn’t tried to sell you out, he wouldn’t now be on his way to the fort. Besides, would you rather that it was you?”

“I would rather that we had kept to our agreed-upon plan. Instead, I end up playing the part of the fool in a drama that you cooked up just to secure your place on a ship to Japan.”

“I’m sorry, Masson, but you might do well to remember that if it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have your flower.”

“You don’t get it, do you?” Masson hissed. “I don’t give a damn about the flower.”

Understanding washed over Thunberg’s face and in the process drained it of colour. “I’m so sorry, Masson. I had no idea.”

“Neither did I. Not until just now. But there it is.”

“If there is anything I can do …?”

Masson took his journal from his tote and opened it at the pages that held the pressed flower. “Give her this and tell her that I am sorry but that I had no choice. Make sure that nothing happens to her and that she gets on that blasted ship. She’s suffered more than either of us and now has even less to show for it.”

Thunberg nodded his head. “I give you my word.”

Masson shook Thunberg’s hand before climbing into the launch, which threw off its moorings and made haste towards the waiting ship.

As Thunberg watched the launch grow smaller and smaller, he cast his eyes back to the Lion’s Head, the great promontory guarding the flank of Table Bay, and saw Jane’s solitary figure standing atop its summit.

He rode up to meet her, and as he gave her the flower, they saw Masson’s ship disappear beyond the horizon.

C
ANADA
, 21 N
OVEMBER
, 1805

“Thunberg being Thunberg, he turned the whole thing into a great adventure story and became the centre of attention in Cape Town. As the hero of the hour, his elevated status amongst the colonial elite helped to swing the balance in his favour, and van Plettenberg finally had to agree that he was Dutch enough to travel as a Company ship’s surgeon. He succeeded in fulfilling his life’s dream of going to Japan and became the foremost authority on its flora.”

“And what new worlds did he conquer after he left Japan? Did he move into politics?”

“I’m afraid not,” Masson began before Jack cut him off.

“But surely a man like that must have been destined for great things!”

“Jack!” implored George Grant from the doorway.

“But, father, don’t you see? Doctor Thunberg is exactly the kind of man I am interested in. A man of ideals! A man who did not settle for mediocrity and who refused to surrender that which was important for that which was palatable or comfortable. I mean no disrespect to Mr Masson, but Doctor Thunberg was not the kind of man to just go home to his garden. He clearly had important things still to do, things that might actually be worth writing about.”

The old man seemed conflicted. His earlier enthusiasm had waned, and even though he had been so desperate to tell the tale, he was now reluctant to unburden himself of the last part.

He sighed and huddled deeper into his blanket against whatever chill gale was blowing in from his past.

The old man did not look at Jack but instead searched out the eyes of George Grant, who was standing at the far end of the room. The two older men’s gazes locked onto each other in a moment of shared understanding.

“Perhaps you can at least tell me what part of the globe he’s in now and where he’s travelling to next, so that I may try to write to him?”

“He is in Sweden, in Uppsala. He has not left his house for more than twenty-five years, and I doubt he will ever leave it again.”

“Housebound? Thunberg?” asked Jack, thunderstruck. “But that can’t be right! A man such as that does not give up on life or simply succumb. He breaks free, doesn’t he?”

Pleading had replaced the confusion that burned in Jack’s eyes, and the old man could only hope that what was coming would not be too much for him.

S
TOCKHOLM
, M
ARCH
1779

“Doctor Carl Peter Thunberg!” The footman called out from the gilded doors of the ante-chamber to the King’s reception room.

Thunberg stood, checked himself and then walked through the doors into the State Room where he was warmly greeted by the young Swedish King Gustav III.

“Doctor Thunberg,” pronounced the King. “We are proud to welcome you back to Sweden after nine years of absence. During those long years, we have followed your progress and achievements with great interest. The new and rare plant specimens you have brought back from your travels are yet more examples of the infinite richness of nature. The excellence of your work contributes not only to the advancement of the Natural Sciences but also to our prestige.”

Thunberg replied, bowing deeply, “I am filled with gratitude for the uniform protection I have unceasingly received from your Majesty’s bounty and which allowed this modest contribution to science.”

“Rest assured, Doctor Thunberg, that this protection is yours again in any endeavour you shall choose to undertake, be it Botany or in Public Office. We need men such as you at home and abroad. Do you have an inkling for what lies ahead?”

Thunberg paused before answering. “Your Majesty, I humbly ask to take your leave for some time to consider your request and take advice from my esteemed mentor, Doctor Linnaeus.”

An awkward silence filled the room as the courtiers and attendants exchanged embarrassed looks.

“I am deeply sorry, Doctor Thunberg. Has no one told you?”

Thunberg stared back at the King blankly, his confusion plain.

The King looked helplessly around the room at his courtiers and attendants, who did their best to avoid his accusatory glare. “Doctor Linnaeus exchanged this life for a better one some months ago. I can assure you he was given the burial that his monumental achievements deserved. You will find his grave at Uppsala.”

Thunberg found that the frescoed walls and gilded ceiling, which moments before had appeared so vast and cavernous, had suddenly shrunk to claustrophobic proportions.

“Then would your Majesty forgive my haste in seeking leave … to pay my respects to … a most … excellent and generous … mentor.”

Thunberg retreated backwards out of the State Room, his head bowed, as much to avoid the stares of the audience as to show obedience to the King. A rising crescendo of astonished whispers followed him over the threshold, where he turned and ran down the main staircase, his footfalls tumbling down the polished granite steps and then echoing off the vaulted ceilings. Before he had even reached the bottom step, he was yelling for the guards to open the enormous cast-iron entrance doors.

Once outside, he kept running, even as his fine silk shoes became sodden in the snow. He ran out across the inner courtyard and beyond the long, curved, arcaded wings of the palace that stretched out like giant arms trying to close around him and pull him back.

Only when he was beyond the palace gates did he slow and then collapse onto his knees into the snow, exhausted by the cold that sapped the life from his lungs.

Later that night, all over Stockholm, from the King’s banqueting hall to the most modest of beer-stained tables within the dockside taverns, the talk was of a man whose grief had been so strong that, had he not been blinded by the tears that froze in his eyes, he would surely have run all the way back to Uppsala.

U
PPSALA
, A
PRIL
1779

On a cold, damp spring morning, Thunberg stepped out of his carriage and approached a pair of tall, wrought-iron gates that had only the crest of the University of Uppsala by way of decoration or embellishment.