Birds of Prey (30 page)

The softer splashes thrown up by Schreuder did not attract their attention until he was only a dozen strokes from the far bank, when one of the monsters sensed his presence. It turned and sped
towards him, ripples spreading like a fan on each side of the twin lumps on its forehead.

‘Faster!’ Maatzuyker bellowed. ‘He’s after you!’ Schreuder redoubled his stroke as the crocodile closed in swiftly upon him. Every man on the bank roared
encouragement at him, but the crocodile was only a body length behind as Schreuder’s feet touched the bottom. It raced in the last yard as Schreuder flung himself forward and the mighty jaws
snapped closed only inches behind his feet.

Dragging the rope like a tail he staggered towards the tree-line – but still he was not clear of danger for the dragonlike creature raised itself on its stubby bowed legs as it came
ashore, and waddled after him at a speed that the watchers could hardly credit. Schreuder reached the first tree of the forest only feet ahead of it and sprang for an overhanging branch. As the
snaggle-toothed jaws clashed shut he was just able to lift his legs beyond their bite and, with the last of his strength, draw himself higher into the branches.

The frustrated reptile lurked below, circling the bole of the tree. Then, uttering a hissing roar, it retreated slowly down the bank. It carried high its long tail, crested like a gigantic
cockscomb, but as it reached the river it lowered itself and slid back beneath the surface.

Even before it had disappeared, Schreuder shouted across the river, ‘Make your end fast!’

He looped his own rope end around the thick trunk beside which he was perched, and knotted it. Then he yelled, ‘Maatzuyker! Get those men busy building a raft. They can pull themselves
over on the rope against the current.’

T
he hull of the
Resolution
had been cleaned of weed and barnacles, and as the crew paid off her hoving lines she righted herself slowly
against the press of the incoming tide.

While she had been careened on the beach, the carpenters had finished shaping and dressing the new mainmast, and it was at last ready to step. It took every hand to carry the long, heavy spar
down to the beach and lift the thick end over the gunwale. The tackle was made fast to her other two standing masts, and the slings were adjusted to raise the new spar.

With gangs heaving cautiously on the lines, and Big Daniel and Ned directing them, they raised the massive length of gleaming pine towards the vertical. Sir Francis trusted no one else to
supervise the crucial business of fitting the heel of the mast through the hole in the main deck and then sliding its length down through the hull to the step on the keelson of the ship. It was a
delicate operation that needed the strength of fifty men, and took most of that day.

‘Well done, lads!’ Sir Francis told them, when at last the massive spar slid home the last few inches and the heel clunked heavily into its prepared step. ‘Slack off!’ No
longer supported by the ropes, the fifty-foot mast stood of its own accord.

Big Daniel shouted up to the deck from where he stood waist deep in the lagoon, ‘Now woe betide those cheese-heads. Ten days from today, we’ll sail her out through the heads, you
mark my words.’

Sir Francis smiled down at him from the rail. ‘Not before we get the shrouds on that mainmast. And that will not happen while you stand there with your mouth open and your tongue
wagging.’

He was about to turn away when suddenly he frowned at the shore. The Governor’s wife had come out of the trees, followed by her maid, and now she stood at the top of the beach, spinning
the handle of her parasol between her long white fingers so it revolved over her head, a brightly coloured wheel that drew the eye of every man of his crew. Even Hal, who was overseeing the gang on
the foredeck, had turned from his work to gawk at her like a ninny. Today she was dressed in a fetching new costume, cut so low in front that her bosom bulged out almost to her nipples.

‘Mr Courtney,’ Sir Francis called, loud enough to shame his son in front of his men, ‘give a mind to your work. Where are the wedges to steady that spar?’

Hal started, and flushed darkly under his tan as he turned from the rail and seized the heavy mallet. ‘You heard the captain,’ he snapped at his gang.

‘That strumpet is the Eve in this paradise,’ Sir Francis dropped his voice, and spoke from the side of his mouth to Aboli at his shoulder. ‘I have seen Hal mooning at her
before and, sweet heavens, she looks back at him bold as a harlot with her dugs sticking out. He is only a boy.’

‘You see him through a father’s eyes.’ Aboli smiled and shook his head. ‘He is a boy no longer. He is a man. You told me once that your holy book speaks of an eagle in
the sky and a serpent on a rock, and a man with a maid.’

A
lthough Hal could steal little time from his duties, he responded to Katinka’s summons like a salmon returning to its native river in the
spawning season. When she called him, nothing could stop him answering. He ran up the path with his heart keeping time to his flying feet. It was almost a full day since last he had been alone with
Katinka, which was much too long for his liking. Sometimes he was able to sneak away from the camp to meet her twice or even thrice in a single day. Often they could be together only for a few
minutes, but that was time enough to get the business done. The two wasted little of their precious time together in ceremony or debate.

They had been forced to find a meeting place other than her hut. Hal’s midnight visits to the hostage stockade had almost ended in disaster. Governor van de Velde could not have been
sleeping as soundly as his snores suggested and they had grown careless and rowdy in their love play.

Roused by his wife’s unrestrained cries and Hal’s loud responses, Governor van de Velde seized the lantern and crept up on her hut. Aboli, on guard without, saw the glimmer of it in
time to hiss a warning, giving Hal a space to snatch up his clothing and duck out of the hole in the stockade wall, just as van de Velde burst into the hut with the lantern in one hand and a naked
sword in the other.

He had complained bitterly to Sir Francis the following morning. ‘One of your thieving sailors,’ he accused.

‘Is there any item of value missing from your wife’s hut?’ Sir Francis wanted to know and, when van de Velde shook his head, he was heavy with innuendo. ‘Perhaps your wife should not make such a show of her jewels for they excite avaricious
thoughts. In future, sir, it might be prudent to take better care of
all
your possessions.’

Sir Francis questioned the off-duty watch, but as the Governor’s wife could supply no description of the intruder – she had been fast asleep at the time – the matter was soon
dropped. That had been the last nocturnal visit Hal dared risk to the stockade.

Instead they had found this secret place to meet. It was well hidden but situated close enough to the camp for Hal to be able respond to her summons and to reach it in just a few minutes. He
paused briefly on the narrow terrace in front of the cave, breathing deeply in his haste and excitement. He and Aboli had discovered it as they returned from one of their hunting forays in the
hills. It was not really a cave, but an overhang where the soft red sandstone had been eroded from the harder rock strata to form a deep veranda.

They were not the first men to have passed this way. There were old ashes in the stone hearth against the back wall of the shelter, and the low roof was soot-stained. Littering the floor were
the bones of fish and small mammals, remnants of meals that had been prepared at the hearth. The bones were dry and picked clean, and the ashes were cold and scattered. The hearth was long
disused.

However, these were not the only signs of human occupation. The rear wall was covered from floor to roof with a wild and exuberant cavalcade of paintings. Horned antelope and gazelle that Hal
did not recognize streamed in great herds across the smooth rock face, hunted by stick-like human archers with swollen buttocks and incongruously erect sexual members. The paintings were childlike
and colourful, the perspective and the relative size of men and beasts fantastical. Some human figures dwarfed the elephant they pursued, and eagles were twice the size of the herds of black
buffalo beneath their outstretched wings. Yet Hal was enchanted by them. Often in the intervals of quiet between wild bouts of lovemaking, he would lie staring up at these strange little men as
they hunted the game and fought battles with each other. At those times he felt a strange longing to know more about the artists, and these heroic little hunters and warriors they had depicted.

When he asked Aboli about them, the big black man shrugged disdainfuly. ‘They are the San. Not really men, but little yellow apes. If you are ever unfortunate enough to meet one of them, a
fate from which your three gods should protect you, you will find out more about their poison arrows than their paint pots.’

Today the paintings could hold his interest for only a moment, for the bed of grass that he had laid on the floor against the wall was empty. This was no surprise, for he was early to the tryst.
Still, he wondered if she would come or if her summons had been capricious. Then, behind him, he heard the snap of a breaking twig from further down the slope.

He glanced around quickly for a place to hide. Down one side of the entrance trailed a curtain of vines, their dark green foliage starred with startlingly yellow blossoms, their light, sweet
perfume wafting through the cave. Hal slipped behind it and shrank back against the rock wall.

A moment later Katinka sprang lightly onto the terrace outside the entrance and peered expectantly into the interior. When she realized it was empty, her frame stiffened with anger. She said one
word in Dutch that, from her regular use of it, he had come to know well. It was obscene, and he felt his skin crawl with excitement at the delights presaged by that word.

Silently he slipped out from his hiding place and crept up behind her. He whipped one hand over her eyes and, with the other arm around her waist, lifted her off her feet and ran with her
towards the bed of grass.

Much later Hal lay back on the grass mattress, his naked chest still heaving and running with sweat. She nibbled lightly at one of his nipples as though it were a raisin. Then she played with
the golden medallion that hung from his neck.

‘This is pretty,’ she murmured. ‘I like the red ruby eyes of the lion. What is it?’ He did not understand this complex question in her language, and shrugged. She
repeated it slowly and clearly.

‘It is something given me by my father. It has great value to me,’ he replied evasively.

‘I want it,’ she said. ‘Will you give it to me?’

He smiled lazily. ‘I could never do that.’

‘Do you love me?’ she pouted. ‘Are you mad for me?’

‘Yes, I love you madly,’ he admitted, as with the back of his forearm he wiped the sweat out of his eyes.

‘Then give me the medallion.’

He shook his head wordlessly and then, to avoid the looming argument, he asked, ‘Do you love me as I love you?’

She gave a merry laugh. ‘Don’t be a silly goat! Of course I do not love you. Lord Cyclops is the only one I love.’ She had nicknamed his sex after the one-eyed giant of the
legend, and to affirm it she reached down to his groin. ‘But even him I do not love when he is so soft and small.’ Her fingers were busy for a moment, and then she laughed again, this
time throatily. ‘There now, I love him better already. Ah, yes! Better still. The bigger he grows, the more I love him. I am going kiss him now to show him how much I love him.’

She slid the tip of her tongue down over his belly, but as she pushed her face into the dark bush of his pubic hair, a sound arrested her. It came rolling in across the lagoon below, and broke
in a hundred booming echoes from the hills.

‘Thunder!’ Katinka cried, and sat up. ‘I hate thunder. Ever since I was a little girl.’

‘Not thunder!’ Hal said, and pushed her away so roughly that she cried out again.

‘Oh! You son of a pig, you have hurt me.’

But Hal took no heed of her complaint, and sprang to his feet. Naked, he rushed to the entrance of the cave and stared out. The entrance was situated high enough to enable him to see over the
tops of the forest trees surrounding the lagoon. The bare masts of the
Resolution
towered into the blue noon sky. The air was filled with seabirds – the thunderous sound had startled
them from the surface of the water and the sunlight sparkled on their wings so that circling high overhead they seemed to be creatures of ice and crystal.

A softly rolling bank of mist obscured half the lagoon. It blanketed the rocky cliffs of the heads in silvery-blue billows that were suddenly shot through with strange flickering lights. But
this was not mist.

The thunder broke again, reaching Hal long after the flare of lights, the distant sound taking time to reach his ears. The swirling clouds thickened, spilling densely and heavily as oil across
the lagoon waters. Above this cloud bank, the tall masts and sails of two great ships floated as though suspended above the waters. He stared at them, stupefied, as they sailed in serenely between
the heads. Another broadside broke from the leading ship. He saw at once that she was a frigate, her black hull trimmed with white, her gunports gaping and the fire and smoke boiling out of her.
High above the smoke banks the tricolour of the Dutch Republic rippled in the light noon breeze. In line behind her the
Gull of Moray
followed daintily, the colours of St George and St
Andrew and the great red cross of the Temple bedecking her masts and rigging, her culverins bellowing out their warlike chorus.

‘Merciful God!’ Hal cried. ‘Why do not the batteries at the entrance return their fire?’

Then with his naked eye he saw strange soldiers in green uniform overrunning the gun emplacements at the foot of the cliffs, their swords and the steel heads of their pikes flashing in the
sunlight as they slaughtered the gunners, and flung their bodies over the parapets into the sea below.