Love's Odyssey (12 page)

"God damn you, no! She's mine, do you hear?"

"Come, Pieter, you're the man who preached to us about the Adamites. Converted more than one man aboard the Zuiderwind, didn't you? And now you balk at practicing what you preach. What about the community of wives you told us about? 'Each man's wife for use by all,' is how you put it."

Jan jerked his head toward Romell. "She's not even your wife—just a woman you took. By God, I think I can have a share of her if I want it." Jan reached out for Romell, and Pieter, who'd taken to wearing a sword buckled onto his waist, drew his blade with a rasp of steel against leather.

"Jesus, man," Jan said, backing away. "I was only joking."

Pieter stood facing Jan, sword in hand. "Don't ever lay a hand on her," he said, his grey eyes cold and still. "She belongs to me. I'll kill anyone who tries to take her."

Jan shrugged, trying to make the best of the encounter. "You're a fool to get hot over a woman," he said. "Not a one of them's worth it."

After that, though Jan made no move to approach her, Romell noticed that he watched her every chance he got. She would be trying to coax Catarina down to the sea, to clean her, and look up to see Jan's eyes on her. Something in his glance made her wish her legs weren't bare from knee to ankle, that she had petticoats to hide the curve of her hips.

Although Romell took no pleasure in Pieter's caresses, the idea of Jan Hardens taking her was unthinkable. How could Margitte bear the man? Pieter, no matter how she felt about him otherwise, wasn't disgusting to look at. Jan's face reminded her of a pig's, and Romell took care not to be alone where he might find her.

For all her precautions, Jan caught her one morning when she'd left Pieter asleep in the tent and gone to the water barrels. Jan's arm about her throat cut off her cry, and he dragged her behind a crude barricade of planks the men had thrust into the sand as a windbreak. With grim efficiency, he tied a cloth to gag her and tore the crimson satin from her body.

Romell kicked and struggled with him while the wind whipped her hair over her face and blew sand in her eyes, for they were on the windward side of the barrier. But Jan was far stronger than she was and soon had her arms pinioned while he straddled her. He thrust a knee between her legs to force them apart, and Romell knew she couldn't stop him from mounting her.

Damn him! she raged. Damn all men who treat women like animals! Seething with impotent hate, she shut out his ugly face.

Suddenly, his weight was off her body. Romell's eyes flew open and she saw Jan sprawled on the ground. Pieter knelt next to her and removed the gag from her mouth.

"I'm going to kill him," he said, rising.

Romell scrambled to her feet, catching up her red satin garment. She stared from Pieter to Jan, who was trying to scuttle away on his knees, one hand pressed to his neck. She noticed the length of rope in Pieter's hand then and realized that he'd nearly garroted Jan.

"Get to your feet and fight like a man," Pieter challenged him. "I'll kill you with my bare hands."

Yes, kill him, kill him, Romell wanted to shout, and was taken aback by her violent desire to see Jan Hardens dead before her. Maybe they'd kill each other and she'd be free.

No, not free . . . not while there were other men like them on this island.

The pair circled one another, feinting, until Pieter charged, staggering Jan with a blow, then pulled back with a curse. Romell saw blood running down his arm. Jan had a knife!

From the direction of the tents, Romell heard men shout and call. At first she paid no attention, her eyes on Pieter and Jan warily circling each other. But the yelling from camp took on an urgent note, and Romell stepped around the barricade and looked toward the tents. Beyond them, on the beach, figures stood waiting as the men from camp started toward them.

Romell screamed out Adrien's name and began racing toward the shore.

Chapter 12

The six men stranded on the small island soon gave up hope of crossing the shark-infested waters. By tacit agreement, Adrien assumed leadership of the group and set a lookout every day and every night, all of the men taking turns.

By the night they guarded against possible attack from the other island. By day they did, too, but also scanned the seas for any sign of the rescue ship.

"The skipper and Brouwer must plan on taking over any ship sent from Batavia," Adrien reasoned. "Otherwise, they'll all hang."

No one disagreed. Mutilated bodies from the other island—one a child's—had washed up on the shore.

"I can't get over the skipper being in on it," Brom would say every day or so. "I know he drank too much, but I still don't understand." Brom was a clerk with the VOC, on his way to a post in Batavia.

"I told you what I heard on the Zuiderwind, Loomis, one of the soldiers, always answered. "Skipper Hardens got mixed up with them Adamites after Pieter Brouwer gave him the pictures."

Adrien thought it was more than this. He'd heard about the miniatures Pieter had shown the crew and the other soldiers, although he'd never seen them. Pictures painted by a Dutchman twenty years or so ago, showing men and women together in ways to arouse a man's lust. While these paintings may have contributed to Jan Hardens' installing Loulie in his cabin, Adrien couldn't believe they'd influenced him to go against his character.

No, the skipper had the seeds of brutality and murder within him before he ever met Pieter and heard of the Adamites. It wasn't fair to blame the sect for the carnage either. Many atrocities had been committed these past years in the name of God that surely must appall Him. How many innocent souls, for instance, had the Inquisition tortured and burned?

Adrien tried never to think of Romell. He didn't want to believe her dead, yet he knew if she lived, she must be no better than Pieter's slave. Or worse. Why had he been so blind as to leave her alone, without protection?

Loomis discovered small rodents living in burrows on the island, and by trapping these animals, collecting birds' eggs and fishing, food wasn't a problem. The tiny spring was adequate to keep them in water. Early on, Adrien had collected driftwood to put atop the highest mound and laid a fire for signaling any rescue ship.

But, as the weeks passed, the men grew discouraged.

"What if the sloop never got to Batavia," Brom said, not for the first time. "Then we'll have to hope a ship passes close enough so we sight her sails and can signal," Adrien answered patiently.

"Supposing she thinks we're a bunch of heathen blacks, sitting around a campfire, and pays no mind?" Brom went on.

"Then we'll wait until providence whips up a good storm to send us enough driftwood to fashion a raft like Pieter's," Adrien said stubbornly.

"There's too many of them to take on and they've got more arms."

"We can sail for the mainland." Adrien pointed to the dark smudge on the eastern horizon. "Can't be more than thirty miles—maybe forty."

"And overrun with black cannibals."

"What would you have me say, then? That we must lie down and give up? Never!"

Brom shook his head, not answering, then got up to climb the rise for his turn at lookout duty.

Adrien carefully marked each new day by scratching a line with the tip of his knife on a rock. They'd been on the island fifty-eight days. The Zuiderwind had gone aground on the reef ten days before that—over two months. How had Romell fared in these fifty-eight days? Was it possible she liked Pieter well enough so she didn't mind . . . ? No, damn, he wasn't going to think about her.

"Seals!" Brom called from his hill. "A herd of seals! They're crawling onto the rocks off the north side of the island."

Adrien, Loomis, and Olav--the third soldier was to stand lookout tonight and so was sleeping-- immediately headed for the rocks. Johan, the other civilian, was collecting water, a tedious project, and Adrien didn't alert him. The seals watched them splash out to the rocks without showing any alarm, and it was a simple matter for the soldiers to skewer one each with their pikes. When blood flowed onto the rocks, the other seals took fright and plunged back into the water. Adrien managed to cut the throat of a third seal, and the men dragged the dead animals back to the island.

"Must of been twenty or so, maybe more," Loomis said. "Friendly critters, like killing a cow."

"Sail! Sail!" The shout came from Brom, who leaped up and down on his hill like a jumping jack.

Adrien dropped the seal he carried and raced to Brom, who pointed to the northwest. Shading his eyes, Adrien made out a white dot against the blue-green sea.

"The fire!" he cried. "Light the signal fire."

The dry wood caught readily, and the men hurried to put dampened wood on the flames to produce more smoke. But the wind, which blew briskly from the west, whisked the smoke away before it had a chance to rise.

"I doubt they'll see it," Brom said.

If the approaching ship noticed the smoke, no one aboard gave the anxious men on the small island any sign. She bore down steadily until they could identify her as a yacht.

"We've got to warn them," Adrien said.

"Could fire my musket when they get close enough," Loomis suggested. "They'd hear."

"But they wouldn't know it was just a signal, that we mean them no harm." Adrien shook his head. "No, I've got to get out to that ship before they drop anchor and send a boat off to the other island."

"You planning to ride a shark?" Loomis asked.

"I can straddle a piece of planking and paddle out," Adrien said.

"How you going to keep your legs from the sharks?"

"I'll tow a dead seal. They'll fight over it and let me alone."

Loomis shook his head. "That's a hell of a chance to take. I wouldn't want to be out there with the sharks coming at me."

"I don't want to be shot by those scum on the other island either," Adrien said, "or abandoned here. If they take over the ship, we're done for."

All the men stared at him somberly. It was the first he'd admitted aloud that they had no chance but the ship.

"You'd best take my pike with you," Loomis said finally.

Romell reached the throng of shouting men on the beach and plunged into the melee, shouting, "No, don't, you mustn't kill him!" She grasped the arm of a man with a club, then fell back in surprise when she saw what he was attacking: a seal.

The man shook Romell off. He and the others hacked and clubbed at the seals. Although she knew the meat would be welcome, Romell was sickened by the cries of the beasts, and the blood spurting onto the sand reminded her of a day not long ago when it had been human blood.

She fought to control her tears. Against all reason, she'd been certain that Adrien had come to rescue her—how could she have mistaken the seals for men? She'd discovered she could face her circumstances with more courage if she didn't cry, and she wouldn't cry now.

If Adrien still lived, he was safer where he was, for Pieter or any of the others would kill him on sight if he reached this island.

She watched as Pieter, then Jan, ran past her to join the men at the water's edge. Food was more important than revenge, she thought, smiling grimly to herself.

The entire camp gathered on the beach, chasing survivors of the seal herd or cutting up those already dead. Romell took part by putting meat into an iron pot for stewing, shutting her mind to the blood and the smell of death.

At first no one paid any attention to Catarina when she wandered down to join them. Everyone, even the men who still used her, knew her wits were addled.

"I saw it, I saw it," she kept repeating. At last her voice reached Rommel, who turned to stare at the girl. Catarina hadn’t said a word for months. What had stirred her into speech?

"What did you see, Catarina?" she asked

But Catarina, staring at the blood on Romell’s arms and hands didn’t answer. Romell hurried to the water and washed herself. With her arms clean and dripping water, she came back to Catarina.

"What did you see?" she repeated.

The girl didn’t speak but turned to look northward. She started in that direction.

Romell followed her, looking north, but saw nothing at first except the curve of the smaller island. But then… "Oh my God!" she gasped.

At the same time she heard a man shout behind her, "A ship! A ship!"

Everyone turned to look. Jan Hardens immediately began shouting orders. The men hauled the raft to the water for launching.

"They’ll be sending a supply boat once they anchor," Jan explained, "thinking we need food and water. Pieter and his men’ll take care of the sailors from the boat after it lands. The raft will have reached the ship by then and I’ll be aboard with my men."

"When Pieter brings the boatload of you back to the ship—some of you dressed in the sailors’ clothes—then there’ll be enough of us to take over. Understood?"

If only I could alert the ship, Romell thought as she watched Jan climb onto the raft with seven other men. But she knew it was impossible.

"Take them goddamned jewels off your neck," Jan ordered one of the men. "You want to make them suspicious? Time enough for gold and jewels later."

Catarina huddled against Romell, eyes fastened on the ship preparing to anchor off to the north of the island to avoid dangerous reefs. "I saw it," she whispered. "Come to take me away."

Romell put an arm around her, her throat tight with pain and anger. Soon she'd be aboard that ship and as much Pieter's prisoner as ever. And Catarina--would she even be taken aboard? Romell bit her lip. I won't allow her to be left behind, she vowed. Pieter'll bring her along if I ask. I'll take care of her.

Romell was herded into Pieter's tent with the other three women and Catarina, and a guard with a pike was stationed at the door.

"Safety, ha!" Margitte said. "They think we'll shout a warning, give them away."

"Well, wouldn't we?" Romell asked. "I certainly intended to." She eyed the guard. But even if the others would join her in rushing him, Pieter and his men were waiting outside the tent for the boat to land.

Margitte shrugged. "Being English, you don't know what the Dutchman says about his windmill. You’d do well to heed the advice: ‘Wait until you see out of which corner the wind blows.’''

"Uit welke hock de wind waait," Catarina repeated.

Margitte laughed. "Even the mad girl knows it. She has more sense than you, Romell."

Adrien, stretched out on his stomach on the planking, paddled desperately. Behind him the water churned and frothed bloodily as the sharks disposed of the dead seal. He'd dropped the seal the moment he spotted the first fin, but now he wondered if the carcass hadn't attracted every shark in the area. He headed toward the yacht, swinging at anchor, and tried not to think that one of the sinister fish might be beneath him even now, turning, opening the great mouth with its rows of sharp teeth.

He'd once heard a one-legged fisherman say that when the shark bit off his leg he'd never even felt the loss, that he couldn't believe it when his mates dragged him back aboard the fishing boat and he'd seen the bloody stump.

Adrien raised his head to look at the rescue ship and saw a small boat pulling away toward the big island. He changed course to intercept it, forcing his tired arms and legs to move faster. As he closed the gap and saw that the boat would be by him before he could reach it, he gave a great yell. As he shouted, he saw a huge grey fin come toward him and begin its deadly circle.

"Shark!" he heard the men in the boat cry, then a babble of voices that he shut out as he gripped Loomis' pike and tried to follow the shark's fin.

Impossible to use the lance from his position on the plank. The men in the boat were too far away to help. Adrien took a deep breath and slid off into the water, maneuvering the pike into striking position. In the muted green of the water, he saw the light underbelly of the mammoth fish as the shark closed in for the kill.

Adrien thrust the pike into its belly, twisting upward. The shark veered away, coming so close its tail rasped Adrien's thighs. The water clouded with blood as Adrien rose to the surface. He struck out for the boat, and moments later, hands yanked him over the side. Adrien lay gasping on the bottom. He forced his head up to check his legs, then his arms.

One of the sailors, understanding, laughed. "You're all there mate, excepting maybe a finger. The right hand's bloody."

Adrien sat up. The tip of his fourth finger was gone, sheared neatly away. The sailor flung him a kerchief, and he wrapped his hand tightly to staunch the bleeding.

"Never seen so many of them devils in one place another man marveled. "Must be a dozen or so."

Adrien looked over the side where the water swirled in turmoil as other sharks attacked the one he'd wounded.

"Don't go to the island," he said, breathing hard. "Head back to the ship."

"Who the hell are you?" The boatswain demanded. "Only a damned fool'd be in the water with sharks about."