Daughters of the Silk Road: A beautiful and epic novel of family, love and the secrets of a Ming Vase (21 page)

‘I am so sorry,’ he said. ‘I should have been here.’ It was unclear if he was addressing his dead sister in the painting or his mother.

‘Yes,’ was all his mother would say.

Eventually, Hans went downstairs. He found his father in the study poring over columns of figures. ‘Papa, I am so sorry. I should have been here.’

‘Not at all, dear boy. You have your work, and thank God for it. Katje was the apple of our eye. She brought so much light and happiness to our lives. I miss her very much. But what could you have done? She was ill. She was never strong. It was always just a matter of time. At least, I thought so.’

Hans slumped in the chair opposite his father and wept.

‘Dear boy, don’t cry. There has been too much weeping in this house. You must go back to your work when you have had a chance to rest. This is no place for you now.’

‘Really?’ asked Hans. ‘Won’t Mama want to me stay here?’

‘She will, but I won’t let her. You cannot stay just to comfort your mother, Hans. You must continue with your work. I hear great things of you from Jacob. He has been most impressed. He says you have a great future. Your book-keeping is exemplary. You are good with the natives and the crew alike.’

‘Well, I am delighted, obviously, but how will we tell Mama?’

‘I’ve already told her. When you wrote to tell us you were coming home, I made it clear that she must not put pressure on you to stay. Losing Katje was God’s will and we must accept it. “We must not punish Hans for our loss,” I told her. “He must be allowed to travel and live his life.” Besides, we need you to take on the business one day; you need to learn all you can now.’

‘And what did Mama say?’ asked Hans.

‘The love of money is the root of all evil.’

Johan looked up at his son and winked. ‘The first book of Timothy; chapter six, verse ten.’

Hans remained at home for three months. He helped his father with the book-keeping. He discussed business with other merchants at the VOC and spent any spare time with one or two of his friends who were still in Amsterdam. At home, in the evenings, the family would eat together in the large dining room at the front of the house. Now that Hans was home, his mother had agreed at least to come downstairs for the evening meal.

‘Progress, progress,’ said his father, handing Hans a glass of wine on the news that his wife would be joining them.

‘It’s good to see you here, Clara, my dear,’ he beamed as she entered the room.

But his wife would not eat.

Saskia did her best to tempt Clara with imaginatively planned meals: ‘Madam, I have a little salad to start – of nice leaves from the garden. It has a little oil on it, but is very fresh. Then we have a nice pair of pheasants, lightly cooked, very tasty.’

The men tucked in with gusto, but Clara simply manoeuvred her food around her plate, scarcely tasting it.

In the following weeks, the atmosphere became increasingly claustrophobic and depressing. Over a glass of port one evening, Hans suggested to his father that it might be time for him to return to the East. Fortuitously, the Governor-General of the VOC was soon to make a voyage to Jayakarta (as it was then known), where he intended to set up a permanent trading post. Johan agreed his son should be allowed to join him.

On hearing the news, Clara retreated once more to the nursery.

H
ans left
Amsterdam on the 7th of March 1619 – nearly a year after Katje’s death. As his ship glided out of Amsterdam harbour, he felt the pressures of his family lifting from his shoulders. Hans stood on deck watching Amsterdam receding until the church spires and domes of the city were just tiny specks on the skyline. He breathed in the salty air as the seagulls free-wheeled around his head. He was free at last.

Hans enjoyed ship life. It was cramped of course, and he suffered terribly with seasickness if the weather was rough. As the assistant merchant, he lived a relatively comfortable life on board, behind the mast. This part of the ship contained the quarters of the senior officers, including the surgeon and the Reverend, together with any guests who were travelling on board. Hans had his own private cabin, but it was cramped, with a bed, a chest for his clothes, and a very small desk. He had a personal servant who would clean his uniform and tidy his cabin. Life on board was necessarily disciplined. The senior officers always dined together, with the evening meal served in the captain’s saloon. Hans enjoyed the banter and chatter with the other officers. The wine and port flowed and the food was good, certainly at the start of each leg of the journey when the supplies were fresh. Before the mast, however, life was very different. These were the quarters of the lowlier ranks: seamen, artisans and soldiers, who had to endure cramped and often insanitary conditions.

In all, Hans was away for over four years. Towards the end of his tour of duty, he was promoted to ship’s captain and put in charge of a large shipment that would be taken from the island of Manila back to Amsterdam. He brought with him a young girl named Mori whom he had rescued from a Portuguese slave trader. The trader had bought her from pirates, who had kidnapped her when she was just eight years old from her home village in the province of Goa. She was now fifteen and a Catholic. The trader made use of her and intended to sell her on when he was bored with her to the brothels of Batavia or possibly even Lisbon. She worked for him in every capacity – serving at his table, preparing food, doing his laundry and sharing his bed.

The merchant was named Carlos Fernandes. The Portuguese and the Dutch were at loggerheads over trade, but there was always a deal to be done if you were prepared to dine with the devil. Carlos invited Hans to dinner to discuss a shipment of pepper. Hans had been reluctant, but the price was good. His first sight of the girl had been as they sat before dinner on the large veranda overlooking the lush garden. Carlos called out, ‘Mori, Mori, come here, you stupid girl. A man could die of thirst here.’

The girl materialised almost silently at his side. ‘Sorry, master.’

‘Well, bring the rum then!’ he barked at her.

She returned with a bottle and two crystal glasses on a silver tray. Hans observed her fine long fingers trembling slightly as she laid the tray on the table between the two men. She was tall and slender. She wore a simple cotton dress and her hair was wrapped in a brightly coloured turban. She kept her eyes lowered and winced almost imperceptibly when Carlos the trader spoke to her.

‘More rum, girl. Hurry with it. And where is our dinner? Serve it now.’

The large dining table had been laid meticulously with silver and linen; Carlos barracked Mori, finding fault with everything. ‘Don’t put the dish there, put it here! What is the matter with you? You are an imbecile. I should have left you with the pirates. You are not fit to live in a house. Are you stupid?’

The tirade continued. The girl was powerless and could do nothing but submit. She laid the dishes on the table with great care and only raised her eyes once as she served Hans with a dish of chicken. He was watching her intently, hoping some kindness would flow, unobserved, towards her. Her dark lashes flicked up momentarily, revealing large dark brown eyes filled with tears. She caught his gaze for a second before blinking; the tears spilled down her smooth brown cheeks. Hans resisted the urge to wipe them away with his finger.

Once the men were served, she withdrew and hovered in an ante-room. Clearly she had been instructed to remain, out of sight, in case Carlos needed anything. He drank heavily and soon after one o’clock he fell asleep, his head lolling on his chest, snoring loudly. Hans walked as silently as possible from the dining room and up the stairs to his own room. The girl was still lingering in the hallway. As he shut his door, he heard Carlos’ rough voice, then a sharp slap. He heard her crying and had to fight the urge to rush downstairs and rescue her there and then. But he resolved to wait. He must not jeopardise his cargo, or her life.

The following day, he rose early. As he left his room, he noticed the girl slipping silently and meekly from her master’s bedchamber. Her eyes were downcast as she passed Hans in the corridor. She appeared mute and yet he had heard her cry the previous night. She had a voice; she was simply unable to use it.

Over breakfast, he and Carlos made final arrangements for the shipment of pepper. Hans’ ship was leaving that day and the shipment would be delivered within the hour to the port. He shook hands with Carlos and made to leave. But as he walked down the drive of the merchant’s house, he cut back and hurried through the gardens of the estate. He found the girl hanging up washing in the kitchen garden. She pulled back in fear as he approached her.

He held his fingers to his lips: ‘Shh… Please, I wish you no harm. But I cannot stand by and watch you being so abused by Carlos. He told me last night that when he is done with you he intends to sell you on.’

The girl’s large, dark eyes widened in fear.

‘Let me help you. I am leaving today and returning to my country in Europe – far from here and far from Carlos. You can have work in my house. I am a merchant, and wealthy. I will find suitable work for you – washing and cleaning. But you will not have to degrade yourself. Do you understand me? I am a good Christian. I will care for you.’

The girl said nothing, clearly assessing the situation.

‘Mori, Mori! Where the hell are you, girl?’ Carlos’ voice carried through the house and out into the garden.

A look of panic spread across her face. ‘Yes, I will come with you,’ she finally whispered. ‘When?’

‘Meet me at the harbour this afternoon. We set sail on the evening tide. Do you think you can get away?’

‘I will pretend to run an errand for him. I will get there somehow. Thank you.’

She turned to go back into the large plantation house. Hans heard a sharp slap as Carlos hit her once again.

The loading of the pepper took most of the day. When it was finished, the ship’s Captain Jacob stood at the prow, ready to cast off and leave. There was no sign of Mori.

‘We must make sail, Hans. The tide is with us.’

‘Just a few minutes more,’ begged Hans. ‘I know she will be here.’

A quarter of an hour passed. ‘We cannot stay any longer,’ said Jacob at last. ‘We risk losing the tide.’

‘Go then,’ said Hans, his eyes scanning the dockside.

As Jacob ordered the lines to be released from the harbour, Hans saw Mori running down the gangway. Her turban unravelled as she ran, revealing her long dark hair flying out behind her. She had a tiny bag clutched to her breast, as if in fear of losing it. She called up to Hans and waved at him.

‘Wait, please…’

The ship’s ropes had already been loosed and the gangplank pulled back on board; the vessel had begun to move away from the dockside. Hans rushed to the side of the ship and called to her.

‘Jump, quick!’

The girl sized up the situation and the ever-widening gap between the dockside and the ship; the emerald sea gurgling below. She ran back a few paces, tucking the small bag inside her cotton blouse. She rushed towards the edge of the dock and took a leap into the air, her legs pedalling as she did so, as if willing herself to reach the side of the ship.

Hans leant out as far as he could from the side of the ship and their hands connected in mid-air. He tightened his grip and she hung for a few perilous seconds over the dark, boiling sea before he could pull her to safety.

Finally, in front of him on the deck, she held her face in her hands and sobbed. ‘Thank you… Thank you.’

‘Thank God,’ said Hans. ‘Another few minutes and we’d have been away. Come with me. I’ll find you a little corner, somewhere safe.’

As the master of the ship, Hans had a larger cabin than usual. It stood on one side of a sitting room that he shared with the captain. Next to his cabin was a small space that was intended as an office. It had a desk and a chair, nothing more. He ordered the desk and chair moved to the sitting room and had a small cot bed brought in for Mori.

‘You will sleep here, all right? That way I shall be nearby and will make sure no one does you any harm.’

She was the only woman on board ship on that journey and the seamen noted the pretty girl with the long dark hair and slender figure. But Hans made it clear that anyone caught touching her would be flogged and left at the next port. The men muttered amongst themselves. They were jealous of the young man, for they were sure he was sleeping with her throughout the journey.

But Hans did not touch her. She was beautiful, certainly, and appeared willing and appreciative. But he knew he would be no better than Carlos if he made her his own.

When the ship finally landed in Amsterdam, Mori expressed her fears. ‘What will people make of me here? You won’t let them take me, will you, Hans?’

‘No, I will not. I’ve told you. You will have work in our house. Good work. You are not a slave, Mori. You are a free person. Many of my contemporaries are involved in slavery, I know. But I do not believe it is right. I will pay you and you will be free to leave at any time. There are other people of colour here. Not many, but some of have found work in houses in this city. You’ll see.’

His mother was in her bedroom when Hans arrived back home. She heard the clatter of horse’s hooves on the cobbles outside; she heard Mitze call down to Saskia in the kitchens below. ‘He’s here!’ She stood and looked out of the window. The bootboy, Michaela, was unloading chests and bags onto the steps of the large house. Hans climbed down from the carriage. He breathed deeply and looked around – at the house, the canal, up at the pale blue sky. He looked up towards his mother’s bedroom and waved. He appeared thin, tired, but otherwise well enough, she thought. Clara waved back and her heart gave a little leap. He turned away from her towards the carriage and put his arms out to an unseen object within. He brought out a girl. She wore a black cloak with a hood. As he lifted her to the ground, the hood fell back, revealing dark hair, dark skin. The girl smiled up at him with an unwavering gaze. Clara heard him speak.