Love's Odyssey (20 page)

By midday they were out of the jungle, and Romell breathed a sigh of relief. Pieter pointed toward a mountain peak ahead and to the left. Like all of Java's mountains, it was the cone-shaped peak of a volcano.

"That's where we're headed," Pieter said. "When I came to Batavia on the ship, I picked out our mountain, and there it is."

Romell turned to face him, the sight of his scars no longer appalling to her. "How did you manage to get away from Southland?" she asked. "I didn't think you—well, I believed you were dying."

"I think I was dead for awhile, but God gave me another chance."

"To repent your sins?"

His one eye gleamed. "There is no sin! He allowed me the time to find you again, for we belong together."

Romell looked ahead to the mountain. Trees cloaked the lower half, but the cone rose sleek and stark. Smoke drifted from the top.

"When I was still alive at the end of the tribal corroboree," Pieter went on, "they brought me back to the coast as a slave. I found the raft and escaped. A Portuguese trader picked me up and brought me to Batavia."

"And now you think we can live on that mountain? See how it smokes! Surely living near it can't be safe."

"It's the one I choose," he said stubbornly. "We'll go there."

"Why won't you take me back?" she asked. "I don't want to be here with you—you've brought me by force. How can you say God intends such a thing?"

He grabbed her shoulders and shook her. "Be still! You're but a woman and know nothing of God and His designs."

The forest on the slopes of Pieter's mountain wasn't jungle-like, for the big trees grew farther apart and sun angled to the ground. But the sun encouraged smaller plants to grow, and the going was slow through the underbrush. Just before dusk, Pieter built a temporary shelter of brush between two boulders. Romell, exhausted, crawled inside, fell asleep and didn't rouse until the sky was pink with dawn.

Pieter, sitting outside the shelter, was intent on what he was doing and only grunted in greeting when she appeared. To her surprise, she saw he had a stone spearhead, one he must have brought with him from Southland. He had affixed the head to a shaft of wood with long plant fibers. As Romell watched, he rose and tested the heft of the spear.

"They taught me to hunt with one," he said.

When they went on up the mountainside, he carried the spear.

In the afternoon they came across the remains of a village in an overgrown clearing. Pieter salvaged enough of the bamboo supports to fashion a new dwelling, then cut the long fronds of low-growing palms to make a roof.

"You can start a fire," he told her, handing over the flint. "I'll find meat to cook."

Romell watched Pieter disappear into the trees, then crouched near the hut and struck the flint so that any spark would fall onto the small heap of dry leaves she'd gathered. She tried not to think of how alone she was, how far from any other human being except Pieter. What if he didn't return? She bit her lip and concentrated on making the fire.

The three-foot lizard Pieter hauled back to her was blue and ugly, but its meat was tasty, something like chicken and better than the tiny lizards the natives of Southland caught.

The fiery sun plunged out of sight, and they sat in darkness with their little fire the only light. Pieter pulled her to her feet and into the hut.

"The first night in our new home," he said. "Take off your sarong, Romellje."

The dying fire at the hut's entrance, gave little light, but she saw he was already naked, the hideousness of his scars shadowed by darkness. Reluctantly, she undid the sarong, folded the material and set it aside. He pulled her down on the mat he'd made of leaves. His hands caressed her, stroking her gently, but she lay rigid, fearing his wild mutterings as much as his brute force.

Time passed. Pieter's wild injunctions to his god were replaced by a soft babble, broken now and again by a whimper. His body tightened, curled almost to protect itself from invisible forces pulling him apart. Forces of destiny, of retribution? Romell thought bitterly, but relaxed because Pieter had not made a move toward her.

She turned her head toward him. He kissed her, the ridged scar along his mouth brushing against her lips. It wasn't a demanding kiss, nor long. And it seemed to ask forgiveness. She touched his hand. His body uncoiled and his breathing deepened, and she knew he soon slept.

Finally, her apprehension lulled, Romell let her thoughts bring her to the edge of sleep.

Pieter's world had collapsed, she told herself. The captivity in Southland must have been to him a sign his god Torrentius was merely a mortal and had forsaken him. The starvation, the physical pain may have seemed like punishments to Pieter. And, perhaps, in his final days he was trying to rid from his burning brain the dawning belief that evil did exist in the world, and he, himself, had directed some of it. He was trying to repent.

Chapter 20

As the ship dropped anchor in the deeper water off shore, Adrien Montgomery impatiently paced the deck. Was he too late? He'd been a fool, as he'd realized all too clearly once he was away from Batavia.

He'd seen through Margitte's manipulations, only to find Romell living with the Reijts and apparently ready to wed the giant Dutchman who'd brought her from Amsterdam to be his bride. Why hadn't he gone to see Romell? Damn the Dutchman, Romell was his, had been ever since their voyage to Amsterdam.

And damn Margitte too. For all her beauty, she was naught but a scheming vixen. He'd been taken like a fox takes a rabbit. But he was back now, and he'd put things right—if he wasn't too late.

Adrien looked out over the sun-sparkled blue water to stare at the stone compound of the VOC. Yes, and damn the Hollanders for their mastery of the East Indies. We'll see to them, Adrien told himself. England will yet rule over these islands.

His friend in Sumatra was already worth more than most of the lords in London. Larry bought pepper from the local sultan and sold it in London for hundreds of times its cost. He'd offered Adrien a percentage if he'd sail back to England with the next cargo of pepper, for Larry suspected his London agent was cheating him, despite the huge profits.

God knows I'm not fond of the tropics, Adrien thought, shifting his glance past the flats of Batavia to the mountain peaks thrusting above the jungle. Mixed with his need for Romell was a smoldering rage that any woman could so embed herself in his mind. This passion to hold her in his arms, to make her his, was far more intense than the pallid urge he'd felt for Cecelia. He realized now that he'd been more piqued than hurt when Cecelia chose his brother.

Romell. The rich red of her hair, her courage, her defiant manner while her warm brown eyes hinted of love. She'd been fashioned for love--his body remembered the touch of hers, making the times with Margitte passing fancies. He'd fight that big Dutchman for her if he had to, but Romell was his!

He curbed his impatience over the slowness in lowering the boat, the dilatory rowing to the docks. As soon as the boat touched the wharf, Adrien leaped ashore and strode toward the Reijts' house. Always so damn stifling in this compound, he thought. Why didn't they build the houses farther inland, on the lower slope of the mountain? And all these foul-smelling canals— the stench is as bad as the streets of London. It didn't do to try to turn a tropical land into a copy of your own country, but he understood the impulse to build a familiar town to ease the strangeness. 

The heat was the hardest to adjust to. Batavia was never cool, nor was the English settlement on Sumatra. The heat was the worst by the sea where the land flattened and the mangrove swamps proliferated. The Javanese princes were wise and built their palaces inland where the land rose. But the sea brought the ships and the ships carried the spices and the silks. The ships brought the money.

I don't know how we'll live, Romell and I, he thought. Larry wasn't pleased when I put him off.

"Damme, Adrien, King Charles is too busy with his war to pay any attention to you. He's forgotten that bastard Burnet by this time and acquired a new favorite who likely doesn't even know you exist. London's as safe as your own bed!"

Larry was no doubt quite right. But if he returned to England, sooner or later he'd be drawn into taking sides, of choosing his king or standing with the rebels in Parliament. While he sympathized with the rebels, all his friends supported King Charles. Was he to fight against friends, or was he to abandon his principles?

"A smart man can step lively enough to keep out of it," Larry pointed out.

He'd forgotten Larry's proclivity for coming out on top by standing aside. He wasn't Larry; once in England he'd never be able to ignore what was happening and keep free of it.

But a man needed money to live. Adrien's pace slowed. Was he denying Romell a comfortable life? What did he have to offer her? He stopped. Why did he think she'd choose him over van der Pol? The Dutchman was wealthy, a handsome, well-thought-of merchant. Women wanted what money could buy. Why should he think Romell was any different?

She might have already married the man, might be Mevrouw van der Pol. Adrien's eyes narrowed at the thought of Romell in the arms of the Dutchman.

"Romell’s had such horrible experiences," Margitte had told him after the Southland rescue. "She doesn't want to see you, or any man, for awhile, Adrien. Mijnheer van der Pol has promised to give her time to recover. She'll be staying with friends of his. She tells me she wants to marry him, after she feels better, that she needs someone who will take care of her." 

And Margitte's blue eyes had stared at him, telling him that he had no money to make Romell well and happy.

"We would do very well together, you and I," Margitte had added. "Once I'm through the mourning period."

He'd smiled at that, knowing that he'd never marry a woman like Margitte, a manipulator, a wanton. Adrien shook his head. Even knowing her for what she was, he'd let Margitte fool him.

For now he didn't believe that Romell hadn't wanted to see him. He remembered how she'd clung to him when he found her at the edge of the Southland desert, the sudden joy in her eyes when she recognized him.

His brave and wonderful Romell, who'd survived and escaped from the savages. He'd known he loved her at that moment, blackened and emaciated though she was.

What now? Was he to turn his back and leave without seeing her? Was she well and happy with the Dutchman? Adrien slammed his fist into the palm of his other hand. No, damn it, he wouldn't walk away from her again without hearing from her own lips that she didn't want him.

Elysabet Reijts stared at Adrien. "To see Romell?" she repeated blankly, half-rising from her chair.

What was wrong with the woman? "Yes, if you'll be so kind as to take her the message. She is here with you?"

One of the Javanese maids eased by him, head bowed, and he shifted to let her pass, clenching his fists impatiently. What was the matter with
Mevrouw
Reijts?

"Romell—she—she's not here anymore," Elysabet said haltingly, wringing her hands.

Adrien's heart sank. So he was too late.

"When was the wedding?" he asked.

To his surprise, Elysabet burst into tears, sobbing so hysterically he called for the maid to help her. Under the Javanese girl's ministrations, Elysabet finally calmed somewhat.

"What happened?" Adrien demanded as soon as he thought she could understand him. "Is something amiss with Romell?" His heart pounded with dread as he waited for her to speak. Not dead, Romell can't be dead.

"She—Romell is gone," Elysabet gasped. "Disappeared."

Adrien tried to tamp down his urgency, to speak instead of roar at this witless woman who produced tears instead of information.

"Can you tell me about it?" he managed to say quite calmly.

Elysabet mopped at her eyes with her damp handkerchief. "No one knows what happened. It was at Hendrik's. Someone attacked him and took Romell."

"Surely he knows?"

Elysabet shook her head. "Hendrik can't remember. He was struck from behind. When he came to himself, she was gone."

"How long ago?" Adrien heard the fury in his voice and saw Elysabet shrink back, clutching at the arms of her chair.

"We—weeks," she stammered. "It's been weeks—a month."

"I'll drag the truth from that stupid van der Pol," he snarled.

Elysabet huddled away from him, her hand to her mouth. "Hendrik doesn't know what happened to Romell. No one knows," she said haltingly. "I told them it must be the man with the scars, the one-eyed man. I saw him, I know I did, but no one pays any attention."

Adrien reached out and grasped her arm. She whimpered, and he dropped his hand. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to frighten you." He took a deep breath. "Who is this man you saw?"

"Oh, I don't know him." She shuddered. "I wouldn't want to know him. But he watched us, watched Romell and me when we visited the Widow Van Slyke. Then, the night of Hendrik's party, Romell saw him in front of our house. At least, she saw someone." Elysabet glanced apprehensively toward her front door, as though expecting the scarred man to burst in.

"He must have been waiting for a chance to take Romell. That's what I told Hendrik and Christoffel, my husband." She began to cry again.

"What did this man you saw look like?" Adrien asked.

"Just awful. His face was all twisted by scars, and I think he had only one eye, as I told you. He limped. He moved fast but he limped. It frightens me to speak of him."

Had she really seen anyone? Adrien wondered. "How was this stranger dressed?" he asked.

"Like a sailor. Christoffel, thinks I must have glimpsed a man off the ships. He won't pay attention when I tell him this horrible sailor abducted Romell. He says we would have found her, because they searched the ships and Romell wasn't there."

"Has no one any idea where she might be?"

"The guards swear no woman was taken through the compound gates. She disappeared as though the devil had taken her."

"That's nonsense."

Elysabet set her chin stubbornly. "You didn't see him. He could have been a demon—he didn't look human."

Adrien walked slowly away from the Reijts' house, uncertain what to do next. See van der Pol, shake the truth from him if the man were lying? Talk to Christoffel Reijts? Margitte? Would he be any the wiser afterward? A woman couldn't simply disappear from the VOC compound; it was impossible.

"Orang Inggris," a soft voice said from behind him. "
Tuan Inggris
."

Adrien whirled to see Elysabet's Javanese maid. He'd learned some Javanese and knew she called him the Englishman.

"What?" he asked in her tongue.

She blinked, ducking her head. "Nonee Inggris?" she asked.

"Yes, I seek the English miss."

"Nonee gunung api-api."

Mountain--Fire-fire. Mountain of fires. One of the volcanoes?

Adrien spoke carefully, using his limited Javanese. "The English miss is on the fire mountain? Which one?"

The woman couldn't tell him--she didn't know which mountain.

"Who took the English miss to fire mountain?" he demanded.

The woman shrank back, frightened by his anger. "
Orang Blanda
," she whispered, covering one eye with her hand. Before he could question her further, she turned and fled back to the house. A Dutchman. Adrien believed the Javanese maid. Natives would know what the Dutch would not. But why hadn't the maid told her employers? Adrien took a step toward the Reijts' house, then hesitated.

The maid had waited until he left the house to tell him what she knew. She'd undoubtedly deny everything if he confronted her in Elysabet's presence. A one-eyed man, a Dutchman. Elysabet's demon.

Adrien raised his head in decision, strode to the street and set off for the docks. What he needed was a Javanese who'd travel with him outside of the compound into the mountains. A guide. The maid's words were little enough to go on, but he'd try. By God, he'd die trying to find Romell if he had to!

Adrien found a Javanese to guide him, a man name Sito. When he listened to Adrien's halting Javanese he grinned widely, then laughed outright. But he understood what was said, and once they left the compound Sito found news of the missing nonee when he talked to a woman working in a nearby rice paddy.

"One-eye drive a cart through the gate," Sito reported.

Adrien nodded. Romell would have been hidden in the cart. But what madman would abduct her? How did he expect to survive on the mountain with his captive?

Adrien tried to quell his desperate urgency. Nothing would be gained by rushing ahead. He glanced back at the compound walls, then shook his head. He'd waste days trying to convince the Dutch to send soldiers with him. Besides, the villagers were afraid of the soldiers and likely wouldn't give any information.

No, he and Sito alone would do better. Sito wouldn't alarm the villagers and they could stop at every hut to ask about Romell, That was the only way to try to pick up her trail—a difficult task in this land of swamps and jungles and mountains.

Which fire mountain? From just outside the compound gate he could see four cones: the double-peak called Pangrango and Gedeh by the natives, Salak, Tangkuban, Prahu. These were the closest peaks, and chances were the man had traveled with Romell no further. At least, Adrien hoped not.

Adrian and Sito followed a road through the rice fields, passing Javanese carrying poles across their shoulders with baskets on each end. Each time Sito asked the question, the answer was yes, the one-eyed Orang Blanda had driven the cart past here many suns ago. Late in the day, Adrien heard news that convinced him that he was on the right trail.

"A nonee with fire hair who wears the sarong," Sito reported. "She rides with the Dutchman."

"Is she all right? Does she seem hurt?" Adrien asked.

Sito bowed. "She rides in the cart, that's what they say. The man carries a kris. The people do not like this, for the symbols on the hilt are not for Orang Blanda but for the Javanese people."