Birds of Prey (45 page)

Van de Velde took a pinch of snuff up each nostril and then sneezed deliciously, spraying the court writer who sat beside him. The clerk closed the one eye nearest to the Governor but kept his
quill flying across the page in an effort to keep up with the proceedings.

‘I believe that you and I have discussed this opinion before.’ Van de Velde nodded mockingly towards Sir Francis. ‘I will now proceed to sentence these pirates. I will deal
firstly with the four Negroes. Let the following persons stand forth. Aboli! Matesi! Jiri! Kimatti!’

The four were shackled in pairs, and now the guards prodded them to their feet. They shuffled forward and stood below the dais. Van de Velde regarded them sternly. ‘I have taken into
account that you are ignorant savages, and therefore cannot be expected to behave like decent Christians. Although your crimes reek to heaven and cry for retribution, I am inclined to mercy. I
condemn you to lifelong slavery. You will be sold by the auctioneer of the Dutch East India Company to the highest bidder at auction, and the monies received from this sale will be paid into the
Company treasury. Take them away, Sergeant!’

As they were led from the hall Aboli looked across at Sir Francis and Hal. His dark face was impassive behind the mask of tattoos, but his eyes sent them the message of his heart.

‘Next I will deal with the white pirates,’ van de Velde announced. ‘Let the following prisoners stand forth.’ He read from the list in his hand. ‘Henry Courtney,
officer and mate. Ned Tyler, boatswain. Daniel Fisher, boatswain. William Rogers, seaman …’ He read out every name except that of Sir Francis Courtney. When Sir Francis rose beside his
son, van de Velde stopped him. ‘Not you! You are the captain and the instigator of this gang of rogues. I have other plans for you. Have the armourer separate him from the other
prisoner.’ The man hurried forward from the back of the court with the leather satchel containing his tools, and worked swiftly to knock the shackle out of the links that bound Hal to his
father.

Sir Francis sat alone on the long bench as Hal left him and went forward to take his place at the head of the row of prisoners below the dais. Van de Velde studied their faces, beginning at one
end of the line and moving his brooding gaze slowly along until he arrived at Hal. ‘A more murderous bunch of cutthroats I have never laid eyes upon. No honest man or woman is safe when
creatures like you are at large. You are fit only for the gibbet.’

As he stared at Hal, a sudden thought occurred to him, and he glanced away towards the Buzzard, who sat beside the lovely Katinka at the side of the hall. ‘My lord!’ he called.
‘May I trouble you for a word in private?’ Leaving the prisoners standing, van de Velde heaved his bulk onto his feet and waddled back through the doors in the audience chamber behind
him. The Buzzard made an elaborate bow to Katinka and followed the Governor.

As he entered the chamber he found van de Velde selecting a morsel from the silver tray on the polished yellow-wood table. He turned to the Buzzard, his mouth already filled. ‘A sudden
thought occurred to me. If I am to send Francis Courtney to the executioner for questioning as to the whereabouts of the missing cargo, should not his son go also? Surely Courtney would have told
his son or had him with him when he secreted the treasure. What do you think, my Lord?’

The Buzzard looked grave and tugged at his beard as he pretended to consider the question. He had wondered how long it would take this great hog to come round to this way of thinking, and he had
long ago prepared his answer. He knew he could rely on the fact that Sir Francis Courtney would never reveal the whereabouts of his wealth, not even to the most cunning and persistent tormentor. He
was just too stubborn and pigheaded unless – and here was the one possible case in which he might capitulate – if it were to save his only son. ‘Your excellency, I think you need
have no fear that any living person knows where the treasure is, apart from the pirate himself. He is much too avaricious and suspicious to trust another human being.’

Van de Velde looked dubious and helped himself to another curried samosa from the tray. While he munched, the Buzzard mulled over his best line of argument, should van de Velde choose to debate
it further. There was no question in the Buzzard’s mind but that Hal Courtney knew where the treasure from the
Standvastigheid
lay. What was more, he almost certainly knew where the
other hoard from the
Heerlycke Nacht
was hidden. Unlike his father, the youngster would be unable to withstand the questioning by Slow John and, even if he proved tougher than the Buzzard
believed, his father would certainly break down when he saw his son on the rack. One way or the other the two would lead the Dutch to the hoard, and that was the last thing on this earth that the
Buzzard wanted to happen.

His grave expression almost cracked into a grin as he realized the irony of his being forced to save Henry Courtney from the attentions of Slow John. But if he wanted the treasure for himself,
he must make sure that neither father nor son led the cheese-heads to it first. The best place for Sir Francis was the gallows, and the best place for his brat was the dungeon under the castle
walls.

This time he could not prevent the grin reaching his lips as he thought that while Slow John was still cooling his branding irons in Sir Francis’s blood, the
Gull
would be flying
back to Elephant Lagoon to winkle out those sacks of guilders and those bars of gold from whatever nook or cranny Sir Francis had tucked them into.

He turned the grin now on van de Velde. ‘No, your excellency, I give you my assurance that Francis Courtney is the only man alive who knows where it is. He may look hard and talk bravely,
but Franky will roll over and spread his thighs like a whore offered a gold guinea just as soon as Slow John gets to work on him. My advice is that you send Henry Courtney to work on the castle,
and rely on his father to lead you to the booty.’

‘
Ja!
’ Van de Velde nodded. ‘That’s what I thought myself. I just wanted you to confirm what I already knew.’ He popped one last samosa into his mouth and
spoke around it. ‘Let’s go back and get the business finished, then.’

The prisoners were still waiting in their chains below the dais, like oxen in the traces, as van de Velde settled himself into his chair again.

‘The gibbet and the gallows, these are your natural homes, but they are too good for you. I sentence every last man of you to a lifetime of labour in the service of the Dutch East India
Company, which you conspired to cheat and rob, and whose servants you abducted and maltreated. Do not think this is kindness on my part, or weakness. There will come a time when you will weep to
the Almighty and beg him for the easy death that I denied you this day. Take them away and put them to work immediately. The sight of them offends my eyes, and those of all honest men.’

As they were herded from the hall, Katinka hissed with frustration and made a gesture of annoyance. Cumbrae leaned closer to her and asked, ‘What is it that troubles you, madam?’

‘I fear my husband has made a mistake. He should have sent them to the pyre on the parade.’ Now she would be denied the thrill of watching Slow John work on the beautiful brat, and
listening to his screams. It would have been a deeply satisfying conclusion to the affair. Her husband had promised it to her, and he had cheated her of the pleasure. She would make him suffer for
that, she decided.

‘Ah, madam, revenge is best savoured like a pipe of good Virginia tobacco. Not gobbled up in a rush. Any time in the future that the fancy takes you, you need only look up at the castle
walls and there they will be, being worked slowly to death.’

Hal passed close by where Sir Francis sat on the long bench. His father looked forlorn and sick, with his hair and beard in lank ropes and black shadows beneath his eyes, in dreadful contrast
with his pale skin. Hal could not bear it and suddenly he cried, ‘Father!’ and would have run to him, but Sergeant Manseer had anticipated him and stepped in front of him with the long
cane in his right hand. Hal backed away.

His father did not look up, and Hal realized that he had taken his farewell and had moved on into the far territory where only Slow John would be able now to reach him.

When the file of convicts had left the hall and the doors had closed behind them, a hush fell and every eye rested on the lonely figure on the bench.

‘Francis Courtney,’ van de Velde said loudly. ‘Stand forth!’

Sir Francis threw back his head, flicking the greying hair out of his eyes. He shrugged off the guards’ hands and rose unaided to his feet. He held his head high as he marched to the dais,
and his torn shirt flapped around his naked back. The cane stripes had begun to dry into crusted black scabs.

‘Francis Courtney, it is not by chance, I am certain, that you bear the same Christian name as that most notorious of all pirates, the rogue Francis Drake.’

‘I have the honour to be named for the famous seafarer,’ said Sir Francis softly.

‘Then I have the even greater honour of passing sentence upon you. I sentence you to death.’ Van de Velde waited for Sir Francis to show some emotion, but he stared back without
expression. At last the Governor was forced to continue. ‘I repeat, your sentence is death, but the manner of your death will be of your own choosing.’ Abruptly and unexpectedly, he let
out a mellow guffaw. ‘There are not many rogues of your calibre that are treated with such beneficence and condescension.’

‘With your permission, I shall withhold any expression of gratitude until I hear the rest of your proposal,’ Sir Francis murmured, and van de Velde stopped laughing.

‘Not all the cargo from the
Standvastigheid
has been recovered. By far the most valuable portion is still missing, and there is no doubt in my mind that you were able to secrete
this before you were captured by the troops of the honourable Company. Are you prepared to reveal the hiding place of the missing cargo to the officers of the Company? In that case, your execution
will be by a swift and clean beheading.’

‘I have nothing to tell you,’ said Sir Francis, in a disinterested tone.

‘Then, I fear, you will be asked the same question under extreme compulsion by the state executioner.’ Van de Velde smacked his lips softly, as though the words tasted good on his
tongue. ‘Should you answer fully and without reservation the headsman’s axe will put an end to your suffering. Should you remain obstinate, the questioning will continue. At all times
the choice will remain yours.’

‘Your excellency is a paragon of mercy,’ Sir Francis bowed, ‘but I cannot answer the question, for I know nothing of the cargo of which you speak.’

‘Then Almighty God have mercy on your soul,’ said van de Velde, and turned to Sergeant Manseer. ‘Take the prisoner away and place him in the charge of the state
executioner.’

H
al balanced high on the scaffolding on the unfinished wall of the eastern bastion of the castle. This was only the second day of the labours
that were to last the rest of his natural life, and already the palms of his hands and both his shoulders were rubbed raw by the ropes and the rough, undressed stone blocks. One of his fingertips
was crushed and the nail was the colour of a purple grape. Each masonry block weighed a ton or more and had to be manhandled up the rickety scaffolding of bamboo poles and planks.

In the gang of convicts working with him were Big Daniel and Ned Tyler, neither of whom was fully recovered from his wounds. Their injuries were plain to see for all were dressed only in
petticoats of ragged canvas.

The musket ball had left a deep, dark purple crater in Daniel’s chest and a lion’s claw across his back, where Hal had cut him. The scabs over these wounds had burst open with his
exertions and were weeping watery blood-tinged lymph.

The sword wound crawled like a raw red vine around Ned’s thigh, and he limped heavily as he moved along the scaffold. After their privations in the slave deck of the
Gull
they were
all honed clean of the last ounce of fat. They were lean as hunting dogs, and stringy muscle and bone stood out clearly beneath their sun-reddened skins.

Though the sun still shone brightly, the winter wind whistled in from the nor-’west and seemed to abrade their bodies like ground glass. In unison they hauled at the tail of the heavy
manila rope and the sheaves screeched in their blocks as the great yellow lump of stone lifted from the truck of the wagon far below and began its perilous ascent up the high structure.

The previous day a scaffolding on the south bastion had collapsed under the weight of the stones and had hurled three of the convicts working upon it to their death on the cobbles far below.
Hugo Barnard, the overseer, had muttered as he stood over their crushed corpses, ‘Three birds with one stone. I’ll have the next careless bastard that kills himself thrashed within an
inch of his life,’ and burst out laughing at his own gallows’ humour.

Daniel took a turn of the rope end around his good shoulder and anchored it as the rest of the team reached out, seized the swinging block and hauled it onto the trestle. Between them they
manhandled it into the gap at the top of the wall, with the Dutch stonemason in his leather apron shouting instructions at them.

They stood back panting after it had dropped into place, every muscle in their bodies aching and trembling from the effort, but there was no time to rest. From the courtyard below Hugo Barnard
was already yelling, ‘Get that cradle down here. Swiftly now or I’ll come up and give you a touch of the persuader,’ and he flicked out the knotted leather thongs of his whip.

Daniel peered over the edge of the scaffold. Suddenly he stiffened and glanced over his shoulder at Hal. ‘There go Aboli and the other lads.’

Hal stepped up beside him and looked down. From the doorway to the dungeon a small procession emerged. The four black seamen were led out into the wintry sunshine. Once again, they were wearing
light chains. ‘Look at those lucky bastards,’ Ned Tyler muttered. They had not been included in the labour teams, but had stayed in the dungeon, resting and being fed an extra meal each
day to fatten them up while they waited to go on the auction block. This morning Manseer had ordered the four men to strip naked. Then Dr Saar, the Company surgeon, had come down to the cell and
examined them, probing and peering into their ears and mouths to satisfy himself as to the state of their health. When the surgeon had left, Manseer ordered them to anoint themselves all over from
a stone jar of oil. Now their skins shone in the sunlight like polished ebony. Though they were still lean and finely drawn from their stay aboard the
Gull
, the coating of oil made them
appear sleek prime specimens of humanity. Now they were being led out through the gates of the castle onto the open Parade where already a crowd had gathered.