The Monsoon (23 page)

“Let’s see to that cut, lad,” Hal said gruffly.

Tom glanced down without interest at his wound. The seawater had reduced the bleeding to a slow weep.

“It’s nothing,” he said.

“A

scratch.” Then he looked up again at Hal.

“He hates me. It was the first thing he said when I pulled him to the surface. What am I to do?”

“Guy will get over it.” Hal ripped open Tom’s shirt to get at the dagger cut.

“He will forget and forgive.”

“No, he will not.” Tom shook his head.

“He said he will always hate me. He is my brother.

Help me, Father.

What can I do?” Hal could give him no answer. He knew all too well the younger twin’s obstinacy and tenacity: they were at once his strength and his weakness. He knew that Tom was right. Guy would never forgive him.

It was the most beautiful landfall in all the oceans Hal had ever sailed. The mountain was a towering wall against the sky, and the wind sweeping over the top frothed like boiling milk into a soft pulsating cloud, touched with shades of oyster shell and pink pearl, colours borrowed from the lowering sun. The slopes of the mountain below the rocky ramparts were green with forests, and the beaches were white, rimmed with a frosting of surf.

Such beauty should have delighted Hal, yet every memory that crowded back upon him was touched with pain and horror. The walls of the castle were clear to see from this range, and on the crenellated battlements the cannon glared out at them, their muzzles dark, empty eye, sockets. In the dungeons beneath those walls he had lived out three cruel Cape winters, and he shivered now at the memory of the cold in his bones. It was on those walls that Hal had laboured until the skin and flesh were torn from his palms, and he reeled with fatigue.

It was on the builders” scaffolding that he had seen so many good men die, and there that he had made the difficult transition from boy to man.

He lifted the telescope to his eye to survey the other ships at anchor in the bay. He was amazed at their numbers. He counted twenty-three sail, all big trading vessels, Dutchmen for the most part.

He spotted one Englishman among them, another East Indiaman from the look of her, but he saw with disappointment that she was not the Yeoman of York. There was no sign of his companion in the anchorage.

Without lowering the telescope, he swept the waters of the bay towards the land. His eye stopped on the open parade below the castle’s walls, and the memories of his father’s execution flooded back to him in all their stark, terrible detail. He had to force them from his mind to be able to concentrate on bringing the Seraph into the anchorage.

“We will anchor out of range of the guns in the fort, Mr. Tyler.”

He gave the order, and there was no need to qualify it. Ned knew his mind, and his expression was also sombre. Perhaps he too was reliving those days of horror as he put up the helm, and gave the order to take in the canvas.

The anchor went down with a splash that wet the forecastle, and the cable smoked out through the hawsehole. Seraph snubbed up hard, and then pirouetted gracefully with her head to the wind and became quiescent, transformed from a vital, living, straining sea creature to something lovely and tranquil as a drifting swan.

The crew lined the Seraph’s bare yards and hung in the shrouds, staring at the land, shouting comment, speculation and question as they watched the bum-boats rowing out to meet them. Seamen called this fair cape the Tavern of the Seas. It had been colonized over fifty years before to serve as a victualling station for the fleet of the Dutch East India Company, and the bum-boats were laden with all the things that a crew craved after three months at sea.

Hal called his officers to him.

“Watch that no strong drink is smuggled into the ship,” he warned All Wilson.

“The rum-sellers will try to slip it in through the gun ports.

We will have half the men puking drunk by nightfall if you let them hoodwink you.”

“Aye, Captain.” The fourth officer touched his cap.

As a man Of abstinence, he was a good choice for the duty.

“Aboli, place men armed with cutlass and pistol at the list rail.

We don’t want those thieving rogues coming aboard to strip the ship bare, nor whores plying their trade on the gundeck. Otherwise the daggers will be out-” He had almost said, “again,” but stopped himself.

He did not want to remind them of the conflict between his sons.

Mr-Fisher, you will do the bargaining with the bum boats you’re good at that.” He could rely on Big Daniel to get his shilling’s worth, and to check every piece of fruit and vegetable that came aboard.

“Mr. Walsh will assist you and pay the boatmen.” Walsh had many duties, from schoolmaster to writer and purser.

The officers scattered to the tasks he had set them, and Hal strode to the rail. He looked down into the bum boats as they came alongside. They were laden to the gunwales with fresh produce:

potatoes with the earth still on them, green cabbages and apples, figs and pumpkins, sides of fresh red mutton and plucked chickens. The crew would gorge themselves this evening. Saliva squirted from under Hal’s tongue as he looked down upon this cornucopia. This hunger for fresh food was a consuming lust that overcame every seaman at the end of a long voyage. Some of his men were already leaning out over the side and bargaining for the wares. Those with money paid as much a ludicrous price.

as a ha’ penny for a single fresh potato.

They were frantic with greed, wiping the clinging earth off the fat white tubers against the skirts of their petticoats as though they were apples, then wolfing them down raw, crunching the astringent white flesh with every evidence of enjoyment.

Dr. Reynolds came to Hal’s side.

“Well, sir, it’s a relief to be in port again. Twenty-six cases of scurvy on board already, but we will see those cured before we sail again.

It’s a miracle and a mystery, but the air from the land heals even the worst cases, men who have lost their teeth and are too weak to stand.” He handed Hal a ripe apple.

“I stole a couple of these from Master Walsh’s stock.” Hal bit into it and had to close his eyes in ecstasy.

“The food of the gods,” he said, as the juices flooded his mouth and slid, like sweet oil, down his throat.

“My father used to say it was lack of fresh food that caused the scurvy,” he told the surgeon.

and took a huge bite. Dr. Reynolds smiled pityingly, .

“Well, Captain, sir, no reflection on your sainted father, for all the world knows he was a great man, but ship’s biscuit and salt beef is food enough goo for any seaman.” Reynolds wagged his head wisely.

“You do hear some marvelous theories from men not trained in the hysic arts, but it’s the sea air that causes scurvy, and nothing else.”

“How are my two sons, Doctor?” Hal asked, changing the subject adroitly.

“Thomas is a healthy young animal and, fortunately, little damage.

the wound was not deep and I closed it with cat-gut stitches, and it will be healed in next to no time, that is if it does not mortify.

“What of Guy?”

“I have sent him to the bunk in your cabin.

His lungs were flooded with salt water, and that sometimes breeds morbid humours. But in a few days he, too, should be none the worse for his ducking.

“I am thankful to you, Doctor.” At that moment there was a commotion amidships.

Aboli had picked out one of the Hottentot lads, who had carried a crate of fruit up the ladder from the bum-boat alongside, and grabbed his shoulder.

“Hey there, pretty boy,” he challenged.

“Or are you a boy?” His victim had a heart-shaped face, flawless golden skin and slanted Asiatic eyes. He reacted to Aboli’s challenge with a flood of high pitched abuse, in a strange, tongue-clicking language, and struggled in Aboli’s great hands. Laughing, Aboli jerked the hat from his head, and a thick black mane fell onto the fellow’s shoulders.

Then Aboli lifted him high with one hand, and with the other jerked his breeches down around his knees.

The crew let out a howl of delight as a plump yellow bottom was revealed and shapely thighs, between which nestled the dark, fimry, triangular badge of womanhood.

High in the air, the girl rained blows with both hands on Aboli’s bald head, and when this had no effect on him, she clawed at his eyes with long, sharp fingernails, and kicked wildly at him with both feet.

Aboli walked to the ship’s rail and tossed her over the side as effortlessly as if she had been a stray kitten. Her companions hoisted her back into the bum-boat, streaming water, hoisting her breeches, and still shrieking abuse at the seamen who jeered at her from the rail.

Hal turned away to hide his smile, and walked across to where Mr. Beatty stood with his family around him at the foot of the main mast, all of them gazing across “at the shore and animatedly discussing this new land. Hal lifted his hat to the ladies, and Mrs. Beatty beamed with pleasure.

In contrast, Caroline avoided his eyes. She had been shame, faced in his company ever since the night in the magazine.

Hal turned back to Mr. Beatty.

“We will be anchored here for many days, possibly weeks. I must await the arrival of the Yeoman, and there is much else I must see to. I’m sure that you will want to take your family ashore, to give the ladies an opportunity to escape from the confines of their cabins and to stretch their legs. I know that there are comfortable lodgings to be had in the town.”

“What a capital idea, sir!” Beatty responded enthusiastically.

“I’m sure it is no hardship to you, Sir Hal, but for us land@ dwellers the confined spaces on board become irksome.” Hal nodded agreement.

“I shall send young Guy ashore with you. I’m sure you will want your secretary at hand.”

He was pleased to have achieved his most urgent purposes: first to separate Tom from Guy, and second to separate Tom from Caroline. Both situations could blow up like a powder-keg at any moment.

“I will have you conveyed ashore as soon as the boats are launched, although it is perhaps too late this evening.” He glanced at the setting sun.

“You might wish to pack your chests now and wait until tomorrow to go ashore.”

“You are very kind, Captain.” Beatty bowed.

When you have an opportunity you might be good enough to make a courtesy call upon the Dutch governor, van der Stel is his name, Simon van der Stel. I will be much occupied with the ship’s management, and you will be doing me a great service by undertaking this duty on my and the Company’s behalf” Beatty bowed again.

“With the greatest of pleasure, Sir Hal.” It was over twenty years since Hal had escaped with his crew from imprisonment in the castle dungeons, and it was unlikely that anyone in the settlement would recognize him, but he was a convicted felon, with a life sentence hanging over his head. During the escape from the castle he and his men had been forced to kill many of their gaolers and pursuers in self defence but the Dutch might see it in a different light. If he were recognized he might find himself before a Dutch tribunal charged with those crimes and facing the prospect of serving out his life sentence or even paying for his crimes on the gallows, as his father had. A formal call on the governor of the colony would not be a wise move. Much better to send Beatty.

Then again, he must gather all the news available in the settlement. Every ship returning from the Orient, no matter its nationality, called here at the Cape. He could not hope for better intelligence than was readily available in the taverns and bawdy-houses of the waterfront. He excused himself from the Beatty family and called Big Daniel and Aboli to him.

“As soon as it’s dark, we’re going ashore. Have one of the boats made ready.” he moon was four days from full. The mountain loomed dark and monstrous over them, its gullies and bluffs touched with silver, as they followed the shimmering path of moonlight to the beach.

Hal sat between Aboli and Big Daniel in the stern sheets. All three were muffled with cloaks and hats, and they carried pistols and swords under their cloaks. The rowers were also armed, twelve good men under All Wilson.

They came into the beach on one of the Atlantic swells, hissing over the sands on the foaming crest. As soon as the wave began to retreat, the rowers jumped out and dragged the longboat high and dry.

“Keep the men under your eye, All. Don’t let them sneak away to look for drink and women,” Hal warned Wilson.

“We may be in a hurry when we return.” They trudged together through the soft beach sand, and as soon as they found the path they set out for the huddle of buildings below the fort. Some of the windoWs showed the glimmer of lanterns, and as they drew nearer they could hear music, singing and drunken shouts.

“It has changed little since our last visit,” Aboli grunted.

“Trade is still good,” Big Daniel agreed, and stooped into the door of the first tavern on the edge of the settlement.

The light was so dim and the fog of tobacco smoke so dense that it took a few seconds for their vision to adjust.

The room was full of dark figures, and the reek of sweating bodies, rank pipe smoke and bad liquor. The noise was deafening, and as they paused in the entrance, a seaman reeled past them. He staggered to the edge of the sand dunes, dropped to his knees and threw up loudly and copiously. Then he toppled forward and fell face down in the puddle of his own vomit.

The three men stepped together into the room and pushed their way through the throng towards the far corner, where there was a trestle table and a bench on which another comatose drunk sprawled. Big Daniel lifted him as though he were a sleeping child and laid him gently on the cow-dung floor, Aboli swept the clutter of empty tankards and platters of half-eaten food from the table, while Hal took a seat on the bench with his back to the wall to survey the dim room and the men who crowded it.

They were mostly sailors, though there were a few troopers, in their blue jackets and white cross-belts, from the castle garrison.

Hal listened to their talk, but it was a drunken babble of wild boasting, cursing and mindless laughter.