Golden Lion (13 page)

‘I don’t think much of Captain Tromp’s wine cellar,’ he joked, holding the vial up to the ship’s lantern and trying to peer through the thick green glass.

‘I have heard Hindoo sailors from India talk of Amrit, the Nectar of Immortality. Perhaps it is that,’ Aboli ventured, with a grin.

Hal laughed. ‘If Tromp had found the elixir of life I doubt he would be sailing this worm-riddled Portuguese tub and picking fights with the likes of us.’ He pulled the cork stopper and sniffed the vial’s contents. ‘Whatever it is it’s sour,’ he said.

‘I know a good way of testing the man to see if he is indeed immortal,’ Aboli said, waving his cutlass, but Hal was in no mood to laugh. He had clung on to the smallest hope that Tromp might have been carrying a more valuable cargo than he had let on. Clearly, however, he had nothing of any worth whatever on board. And yet, there had to have been some reason why these vials had been boxed with such care. The liquid they contained was certainly not a scent for which fashionable women would pay good money. Nor could it be some sort of medical potion, for if it were there would be labels promoting its properties. Hal felt a brief tremor of shock as the thought struck him that he might just have inadvertently inhaled a dose of poison, but a moment’s reflection told him that he was entirely unharmed.

The puzzle deepened as Aboli opened the next barrel, from which Hal pulled three pieces of desiccated old wood, getting a splinter in his thumb for his trouble. Each piece was dark as an old ship’s timber, though none had the telltale signs of shipworm. ‘Do you have any idea at all what these might be?’ Hal asked, quite at a loss for a suggestion of his own. Aboli held up his hands and shrugged, admitting that he too was defeated.

‘Well, there’s only one man who can solve this conundrum,’ Hal said. ‘Go and fetch Tromp and let’s hear what he has to say for himself.’

A few minutes later, Aboli returned to the hold, accompanied by the
Delft
’s former master. Hal held up the pieces of wood and asked, ‘What in heaven’s name are these?’

Tromp grinned. ‘You should not take the name of heaven in vain, Captain. Those are pieces of the true cross.’ Hal had personal experience of Christianity’s most precious relics. So for a second he was almost prepared to believe that he was holding part of the cross on which Christ himself had died. But if so, why was Tromp smiling? Was he so lacking in faith that he could make a joke of the Saviour’s suffering?

Hal kept his counsel for the time being. He said nothing as he put the pieces of wood back where he’d found them and then held up the green glass vial that had been his first discovery.

‘Ah,’ Tromp nodded cheerfully. ‘I see you have found that most sacred of treasures, the ancient bottle that contains the milk of the Virgin Mary. There is another in there that holds the tears the Blessed Mother shed as she watched her son die.’

Now Hal spoke, and his voice was tense with anger. ‘By God, sir, I’ll ask you not to take the names of Our Lord Jesus Christ and his blessed mother Mary in vain. You may find your blasphemy amusing. Be assured that I do not.’

The Dutchman raised his palms submissively. ‘I can see you are a man who is not easily fooled, Captain Courtney,’ he said. ‘But you are a rarity in that regard, or so I had hoped, for it was my intention to make hundreds of pounds from selling such curiosities.’ He scratched his pointed beard. ‘Or as I intended to describe them, such holy relics.’

‘And the rest of them?’ Hal said, pointing at the other ten barrels.

Tromp spread his arms like a spice merchant flaunting his wares. ‘I have the teeth, hair, and blood of Christ. I have samples of the linen in which Christ was wrapped as an infant.’ He pursed his lips as if trying to recall what was in the other barrels, then smiled. ‘I have jars containing saints’ fingers and even – and I apologize in advance for my sacrilege – the foreskin of the baby Jesus, cut off during his circumcision.’ He swept an arm out toward Hal. ‘But now you have all these things, Captain, for my cargo, like my ship, is yours.’

Hal felt his lip curl and Tromp raised a hand again.

‘I admit it is an unusual, and some would say unforgivable, cargo,’ he said. ‘But I was not in any position to worry too much about religious scruples.’

‘You do not strike me as a man who worries about scruples of any kind,’ said Hal, tartly.

‘Ach, you have me again,’ Tromp admitted with a disarmingly self-deprecating smile.

‘Damn, but this Dutchman is hard to dislike for long!’ Hal thought to himself, becoming almost more cross for his weakness in the face of his opponent’s charm.

‘I believe you English have a saying for life in this corner of the globe, far beyond the reach of civilization and its laws,’ Tromp said. ‘How do you say it? Ah yes, “All is fair beyond the Line”. That is correct, no?’

Hal glanced at Aboli for they had both heard his father say those very words often enough, usually when planning the act of subterfuge, not to mention deceit, with which he planned to take a Dutch ship. Just as Tromp had done with the
Delft
against the
Golden Bough
, Sir Francis Courtney would match his beloved
Lady Edwina
, named after his deceased wife, Hal’s mother, against far larger opponents. And, like Tromp, he had not been afraid to use trickery to achieve his ends.

So Hal could not say anything but, ‘Yes, that is the saying.’ And then he asked, ‘So, who would ever buy these counterfeit curiosities?’

Tromp considered how best to answer this. ‘I assume, Captain, that you are of the Protestant faith.’

‘You assume correctly.’

‘Well, so am I. Now, as you know, we Dutch are traders. We travel the world in search of profit and we have found it in the Spice Islands of the East Indies. The Dutch East India Company has a monopoly on the spice trade—’

‘Except when Englishmen take some of that spice for themselves,’ Hal said, thinking of the cargoes his father had seized.

‘Don’t you mean “took”, Captain Courtney?’ said Tromp with another triumphant grin. ‘As you yourself observed, this very morning, our two nations are no longer at war. Any seizure of Dutch spices would be an act of piracy.’

Damn the man again
, Hal thought, then said, ‘Of what relevance is this to your counterfeit relics?’

‘Simply that we Dutch are not great missionaries. The Spanish and Portuguese, however, who have long been our rivals in the East Indies, see the spreading of the Catholic faith as being at least as important as any financial gain. The Jesuits, in particular, have sunk their claws into the people of the Philippines, into China, even into the islands of Japan, whose rulers hide themselves away from the rest of the world. And wherever they go, they take with them relics to use as weapons in their holy war for control of men’s immortal souls. Such objects can be effective in kindling the devotion among newcomers to the faith. They appeal to their superstitions and they give them something that they can see and hold as tokens of their new god.’

‘Religious relics – true relics that is – can be objects of extraordinary power. I have beheld the true Tabernacle and seen its glory with my own eyes. Can any man who calls himself a priest knowingly peddle false things?’

Tromp shrugged. ‘If they bring faith to those who don’t have it, then surely the trick is justified in the eyes of God. That is of no concern to me. What I care about is money. I went to native craftsmen in Batavia, the capital of our East Indian territories, and spent almost every penny I had on the manufacture of these relics you see before you. My crew and I starved because I did not have enough cash for decent supplies. But I believe our hunger was worth it.’

Now Tromp’s eyes lit up and he became as animated as a market trader. ‘Think about it! Think of the huge market for such relics here in Africa. The Portuguese now hold the Captaincy of Mozambique and Sofala. They have trading posts on the coast, and along the major rivers. And wherever there is trade, the Church is not far behind, seeking to convert the natives. The Jesuits will be grateful to anyone who can supply them with sacred objects that will help them in their task. There is a fortune to be made, Captain Courtney. I’m telling you, man, this cargo is as precious as any gold!’

‘Not like this,’ Hal said, disgusted by the whole enterprise, and with that he took the vial containing the Virgin’s milk, dropped it on the floor then set his boot heel upon it.

Tromp flicked a hand as though to dismiss the barrels and their contents. ‘You are quite right of course. It is a dishonourable business. It would be unworthy of us to sell goods we knew to be false.’ He let that sink in a moment, like the sour milk on the boards by Hal’s feet then scratched his bristled cheek. ‘But should you take a different view, I would be happy to share my contacts with you.’

Hal ignored the offer. He called out to one of his other crewmen who had come down into the hold, ‘Mr Lovell, take Captain Tromp back to his men and make sure they’ve all had their fair ration of water and biscuit. We at least know how to behave with honour.’

‘Aye-aye, Cap’n,’ Lovell said, leading the Dutchman away so that Hal and Aboli were left alone in the dark hold.

The big African was tense with barely suppressed anger. ‘So your people come to Africa and when they are not making slaves of those born beneath this sky they are tricking them with false relics. With bones and old wool and rancid milk from a cow.’

‘They are not
my
people, these slavers and cheats,’ Hal said, a knot of shame pulling taut in his stomach. Then he stepped forward and put a hand on the African’s muscled shoulder. ‘My crew are my people. And you, Aboli, are my brother.’

Aboli glared at him a while, his tattooed face a mask of fury in the dark, but then he could hold the expression no longer, breaking the tension with a great booming laugh.

‘You devil, Aboli!’ Hal said. ‘I thought I was going to have to fight you again, like we used to. Of course, I forgot you’re an old woman now!’

Aboli reached out and took hold of Hal’s shoulder. ‘I would like nothing more, Gundwane, you are a captain now and I think the men will not take you seriously if they see you on your backside sobbing like a little girl.’

And with that Hal laughed too as they turned their backs on the barrels of fake relics and climbed back up to the gundeck to inspect the
Delft
’s demi-culverins.

illiam Pett took a sip of his Canary wine and swept an arm around the stern cabin, encompassing the tasteful decoration and polished oak furniture, the map table and the captain’s cot, now unhooked from the timbers that crossed the cabin roof and placed on its side against the far wall to give Hal’s guests more room.

‘You have a beautiful ship, Captain Courtney, which must have cost a considerable sum to build and fit to such a fine standard,’ he said. ‘I hope you will not think it rude of me to inquire, but how did a gentleman as youthful as you come by it? Was it an inheritance, perhaps?’

‘No, Mr Pett,’ Hal replied. ‘My inheritance lies elsewhere. The
Golden Bough
came to me by capture, seized from a deceitful, lying rogue who had come by it, as was his wont, by treachery and theft.’

‘I hope that is not the sum of your account, Captain,’ Pett said. ‘For I confess, you have whetted my appetite for what sounds like a splendid tale.’

‘I’m not much of a storyteller,’ Hal demurred. ‘I do things and leave it to other men to spin their yarns.’

Pett was intrigued. This young pup of a captain had acquired at least one enemy in his time. And when a man had enemies, Pett had hope of new clients. He directed an amiable smile in Hal’s direction and persisted, ‘Oh, you do yourself scant justice, sir. In my experience, men of the sea such as yourself are always well capable of recounting their adventures to a welcoming audience. Tell me this at least: who was this scoundrel from whom you took the
Golden Bough
? And from whom had he acquired it?’

Hal looked reluctant but then, to Pett’s delight, Judith entered the conversation, saying, ‘You know, my dearest, although I know very well how your story ends, you have never told me the start of it. I would love to hear it now, if it pleases you to tell it.’

‘How can you refuse a request from one so lovely, sir?’ Pett added. ‘For it will surely be to your benefit to tell her a tale from which, as our presence here attests, you emerge the conquering hero.’

‘Go on, sir,’ Big Daniel piped up. ‘Tell Mr Pett about the Buzzard and how we roasted him!’

Hal sighed, then held up his hands in mock surrender. ‘Very well, I will do as I’m asked. Pass me the Canary, if you’d be so kind, Mr Pett. I need some refreshment before I dry out my mouth with talking.’

Hal poured a glass of wine while he composed his thoughts, drained half of it and then said, ‘It began at eight bells in the middle watch, in the darkness just before dawn, when I found a ship with my nose.’

‘With your nose, sir?’ Pett exclaimed. ‘Was it so dark that you did not know the ship was there until it hit you smack in the face?’

Hal joined in the laughter that went around the table. ‘No, sir, the ship did not hit me. But the scent of the spice it was carrying in its holds, a scent as sweet as honey on the wind, struck my senses a blow they could not ignore. I was up at the masthead on the
Lady Edwina
, a fine ship, named after my dear, departed mother, which had begun life in Dutch colours before my father, Sir Francis Courtney, captured her and adapted her to his own purposes.