The Map of Bones, page 13
‘There are other paths to contentment,’ Suzanne protested, but Judith just smiled and told her to ‘wait and see’.
Shortly before eight o’clock, Suzanne left her lodgings and walked through the familiar streets, across the parade ground and bridge, to the Castle. Her hair was dressed in long ringlets which framed her face. She was wearing her favourite gown, a pale blue with a jewelled bodice, wide sleeves and lace trim at the neck, with her finest embroidered shoes. She feared they would be stained by the dust – it had not rained for weeks – but the occasion required it. Though not interested in any man Judith might put before her, she still wanted to be admired.
Having given her name to the guards at the gate, Suzanne was ushered under the bell tower and into the main courtyard. Lanterns had been set along the path towards the hall chamber, the flames fluttering in the gentle evening breeze sending shadows dancing along the yellow walls of the buildings. Everything seemed soft and enchanted in the apricot dusk. The guinea fowl were gone, replaced by four magnificent peacocks, their beautiful tails trailing across the cobbled surface.
Inside the building, she could hear the strains of courtly music slipping down the staircase. Viol and lute, the percussive plucking of the strings of a virginal. For an instant, she was back in La Rochelle in the days before the dragonnades, when chamber musicians would travel between the big houses filling the town with harmony.
Having paid her respects to the Commander and his sister-in-law, Suzanne was pleased to feel Judith’s hand upon her elbow.
‘You are placed beside Jean Prieur du Plessis,’ Judith whispered. ‘His wife is at home nursing their son. He was barber-surgeon on the Oosterland, which arrived last April. Thanks to him, there was not a single death on board. I think you will enjoy his company.’
The name triggered a memory, but Suzanne couldn’t place it. Du Plessis wasn’t mentioned in Louise’s prison diary, yet she was sure she had seen it written somewhere.
‘Thank you. Who else is here?’
‘That’s the captain of the Prinseland,’ Judith said, inclining her head towards a tall man standing by one of the open windows. ‘And that man with the whiskers, he is the captain of the Castricum. They lost a fair few souls during the course of the voyage, a source of bitter regret for him.’
Suzanne looked around the chamber, recognising a few faces. She was surprised to see Wilhelmina, one of the Rotterdam girls. In a plain red gown, and with her hair styled, she appeared older and more assured.
‘Wilhelmina?’
Judith’s gentle face grew sombre. ‘She met Corporal Biebouw at our wedding and he requested she should be invited tonight. My husband says he means to ask Commander Van der Stel for permission to marry.’
‘You are not in favour of his suit?’
Judith’s composure faltered. ‘It seems that he has, for some time, had a relationship with an enslaved Malagasy woman he owned. Some say he married her – which made her a freewoman – but even so. There is a child, a girl, whom he had baptised and he himself is named as the father.’
Suzanne frowned. ‘But if that is the case, how can he marry again?’
Judith lowered her voice. ‘Many of the first enslaved women married Dutch settlers – though Corporal Biebouw is, in point of fact, German – but it is now prohibited.’
‘So the marriage is not seen as legitimate.’
‘Exactly so. I cannot see such a man will be a good husband for Wilhelmina, but her heart is set upon him and Adriaan says the Commander will give his blessing. Maybe she will reform him.’
‘Only God can reform man’s baser nature,’ Suzanne said wryly.
Judith nodded. ‘It is true that I have yet to see Corporal Biebouw in chapel of a Sunday.’
Suzanne was about to ask more, but now Adriaan was standing in front of them. He smiled lovingly at his wife. ‘My dear, I would introduce you to the captain of the Prinseland.’ Then he turned to Suzanne and dropped his voice. ‘Meet me at the main gate at ten o’clock tomorrow morning, sister. Wear travelling clothes.’
‘Are we going back to Gallow’s Hill?’
He looked around, as if fearing to be overheard. ‘No, we ride for Stellenbosch. I will explain tomorrow.’ Then he raised his voice for the benefit of any eavesdroppers. ‘Might you be good enough to excuse us, juffrouw Joubert?’
Suzanne stared as Judith was swept away, brimming over with curiosity and excitement. At last, she was to travel into the interior. She had no idea why or how Adriaan had arranged she should accompany him – nor what the purpose of his visit might be – but it didn’t matter. At last, she would see something of life beyond the Colony, riding the ‘wagon trail’ to Stellenbosch.
And beyond that, Olifantshoek.
Unable to stop herself from smiling, Suzanne waved her fan, stirring the warm air, then mingled with her fellow guests. She picked up murmured snatches of news from the Fatherland: that William of Orange was leader of a Grand Alliance of Protestant countries alarmed at the expansionist ambitions of the king of France; that there were rumours William might even take the throne of England to save the Protestant nation from the rule of the convert Catholic king James II; that an English composer by the name of Henry Purcell was taking London by storm.
Suzanne let the chatter float by, stories from another world. Her eye alighted on Wilhelmina, listening with pretty animation to one of the VOC officer’s wives whilst constantly looking to see if Corporal Biebouw’s eyes were upon her.
She liked Wilhelmina, and wished her well, but wondered if anyone had considered the feelings of Biebouw’s common-law wife in the matter. She thought of the Black and Malagasy women she saw in the town, with lighter-skinned children playing at their sides, and realised how many such liaisons there must be. Based on mutual affection, or something darker? That was the question, for what power could those women, enslaved or free, possibly have to turn down such advances?
Her ruminations were brought to an end by the banging of a huge brass gong. A Black servant dressed in VOC livery then clapped his hands and invited guests to take their seats at the table for dinner. Suzanne nodded a greeting to the gentleman on her left, an officer from the Castricum, and spoke a few words in French to Monsieur du Plessis. A man of some fifty years, he had a crumpled face, but his eyes shone with determination and resilience. She still could not remember why the name was familiar.
Then the pastor enjoined the assembled company to say the Grace. Suzanne bowed her head and tried to still her excitement.
‘Tomorrow,’ she murmured to herself, as she put a morsel of bread in her mouth.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
THE CAPE FLATS
Sunday, 7th November
The bay mare crested the brow of the low hill. Mane and tail flying, the thunder of its hooves reverberated on the sun-baked sands.
Suzanne felt free, exhilarated, just as she had when standing on the deck of the China looking at the vast ocean. The limitless space, the glorious joining of land and sky, sailing to the ends of the earth. Out here, on the Cape flats, she felt something of the same. At her back, she heard Adriaan shouting at her to pull up and knew she should obey. Instead, she dug in her heels harder, wanting to hold this sense of liberty for a while longer.
When Suzanne had arrived at the Castle at the appointed hour, wearing her knee-height leather boots and riding gloves, Van Dijk had been waiting with two soldiers and four horses, one fitted with a lady’s saddle. He had summoned a groom to bring steps so she could mount. ‘I thought you might prefer this to a cart. We will ride due east, across the Cape flats, and should arrive in Stellenbosch by nightfall, all being well.’
‘And you gained permission to take me with you. I cannot begin to thank you, brother.’ She looked quizzically at him. ‘How did you? Indeed, why did you?’
Adriaan raised his eyebrows. ‘My dear wife says that you are finding time hanging heavy on your hands.’
‘That’s true, but even so.’
He swung his leg into the saddle. ‘I have need of your assistance.’
‘Does it concern Louise? You have discovered something more?’
‘Possibly,’ he replied. ‘I will explain as we ride.’
At first, they had held a steady pace, heading past the Castle and following the valley of the Salt River that ran east across the plains. Then, Suzanne had not been able to resist giving her horse its head. The sun was high in the sky and the grasslands were alive with colour. It was magnificent to see the fynbos at closer quarters: yellow and white flowers, purple pelargonium with soft, heart-shaped petals, and bold-pink protea with sugarbirds perched on top, their long tail feathers hanging down to the green stalks of the flower.
Adriaan finally caught up with her. He pulled up his grey stallion beside her horse and grabbed the reins.
‘Have your wits gone? How could you put yourself, put us all at risk, by galloping ahead?’
Immediately chastened, Suzanne bowed her head. ‘Forgive me. I have been confined for so long.’
His expression softened. ‘No harm done. But this is not France, riding out for sport or pleasure in gentle woodland. Here there are dangers everywhere.’
Suzanne saw nothing save a heard of antelope in the far distance.
‘There are lions and jackals here,’ he said, ‘and although they cannot outrun a horse, those animals are killers. And though elephants live in the valleys, and are mostly indifferent to us unless we encroach on their territory, they are treacherous if roused.’
‘Is that likely here?’
‘Well, no,’ he admitted. ‘But as we establish settlements further up country, the animals move further inland and the more likely we are to provoke them. We also need to take heed of the settlers. There are increasing numbers of farms, in Drakenstein and the Liesbeeck Valley and along the Eerste River, which runs through Stellenbosch, managed by former VOC employees or settlers, so some of the animals are becoming more used to human presence. These free burghers are able to cultivate a piece of land, on which they must grow crops to be sold back to us. But only the VOC is permitted to barter directly with the Khoi for cattle and sheep and this is a source of tension. We have to be careful.’ He paused to drink from his flagon, then offered it to Suzanne. ‘The Khoi, as you know, are a nomadic people, moving their herds around between Table Bay, Swartland and Saldanha Bay. There are agreements in place about limiting hunting to protect their livestock.’
Suzanne heard the pride in his voice, though that did not stop her asking a question she knew would vex him. ‘Are these trading agreements with the Khoi observed?’
‘For the most part,’ Adriaan replied curtly. ‘You must understand that many of the local chiefs choose to barter with us and work with us, as interpreters and traders.’
‘But what choice do they ha—’ she began to say, then, seeing their escort had nearly caught them up, Suzanne dropped her voice: ‘Why are we going to Stellenbosch? You promised you would tell me.’
Adriaan fixed her with a severe look. ‘Only if you promise to pull no more tricks like that.’
‘I give you my word.’
‘Some two weeks ago, we received word that a white man answering to the description of Lars Eltorp was apprehended in Stellenbosch. It appears he, and a farmer living to the east of the town, became inebriated in a makeshift tavern near the river. A fight broke out between them and local workers. A great deal of damage was done, knives were drawn. It is only thanks to the swift reactions of the tapster and a couple of off-duty soldiers, that no one was killed.’
Suzanne looked at him with surprise. ‘I did not realise you were still looking for him?’
‘Eltorp attempted to ruin my wife, and then to kill her,’ he said. ‘Why would I ever stop trying to hunt him down?’
‘If it is the same man,’ Suzanne felt obliged to point out. ‘He cannot be the only man called Lars in the Colony.’
‘And that is why you are here. You can identify him.’
Suzanne’s stomach lurched. ‘And if it is?’
‘Then I intend to see him hang.’
Despite the heat of the day, Suzanne shivered. ‘You suggested that there was something more? Something to do with Louise?’
‘In an attempt to escape the noose, Eltorp has been spinning tales.’
‘He mentioned Louise?’
Finally, his expression relaxed. ‘As ever, dear sister, you will have to be patient. I do not want to prejudice you. We will hear what the villain has to say for ourselves.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
STELLENBOSCH
They arrived in Stellenbosch at dusk. The air was still warm and, save for the constant whine of mosquitos, it was quiet.
Nestled in a fertile valley below the Stellenbosch mountains on the banks of the Eerste River, the temperate climate and the resources allocated to build a settlement here, meant that the Cape’s second town was thriving. It was already functioning independently of the Colony. Adriaan had told her it had its own magistrate, as well as a church, a school and a newly established theological seminary. The main street boasted a few fine houses with verandah-trailing bougainvillea and lines of oak trees planted on Van der Stel’s orders to provide shade.
‘We will go straight to the drostdij,’ Adriaan said. ‘The holding cells are there and the landdrost is expecting us. Once our investigations are over, we will stay overnight, and return to the Colony in the morning.’
Suzanne felt a flutter of nerves.
They dismounted and led their horses across the narrow footbridge connecting the street to the little island in the river where Van der Stel had first set up camp, and their soldier escorts handed them into the care of a groom. Adriaan and Suzanne brushed the dust and sand from their clothes before going inside the impressive building to present themselves to the magistrate, Pieter Odendaal. A florid fellow of some five-and-thirty years with whom Adriaan was acquainted, he appeared puffed up with the importance of his own position.
Within a quarter-hour of their arrival, Adriaan and Suzanne were walking through the courthouse to the holding cells. She felt saddle sore and dirty from the journey.
‘In truth, we have little need of cells,’ Odendaal said with a measure of self-satisfaction. ‘We have no trouble here. A stable community of hard-working Dutchmen, no sailors to disturb the peace, few conflicts with the tribesmen.’
‘A model town,’ Suzanne observed, wondering at the absence of women in his description.
Odendaal looked sharply at her, as if suspecting a criticism.
‘If it pleases you,’ she continued, as meekly as she could stomach, ‘on what charge is the man being held?’
‘Affray, in the first instance. Brawling in a tavern, damage to property and persons. When we brought him in, we discovered several items that could only have been acquired in trading with Khoi.’
Remembering how Adriaan had explained that only the VOC itself was permitted to trade directly with the local people, Suzanne nodded.
‘I think perhaps . . .’ Odendaal said to Adriaan, ‘the young lady should return to the house. The gaol is hardly a suitable place for female sensitivities.’
‘I am quite—’
Adriaan interrupted her. ‘Juffrouw Joubert is the only one who can identify the villain. We need to be certain if justice is to be done.’
Odendaal looked unconvinced, but he raised his hand. ‘As you wish.’
He led them down three steps into a small internal courtyard, contained on all sides by a high brick wall with shards of pottery set along the top. On the far side, there was a squat straw-and-brick building with no windows. Two torches flamed beside the door, sending distorted shadows up and along the walls.
Taking one of the torches, Odendaal shot the bolt and led them inside.
Suzanne instantly put her kerchief over her mouth and nose. The air was foetid and hot. Ahead of them was a large iron grille, fixed floor to ceiling, leading to the area where prisoners were kept. She saw metal cages either side of a corridor and chains affixed to the walls, shackles for wrists and for ankles.
Odendaal took a large ring of keys from his belt, unlocked the grille, ushered them through, then secured it behind him. He held the torch up to reveal a huddled heap of filthy clothing in the corner of a cell. Suzanne peered into the flickering gloom. Was this the man who had menaced Judith, who had put a knife into her side? He looked no threat at all.
Odendaal banged on the iron bars. ‘Get up, Eltorp. You have visitors.’
The man did not stir. Then, with a lazy insolence, he raised himself on an elbow and glared towards them. Instinctively, Suzanne shrank back. His face was bruised and one of his eyes was swollen shut, a mane of black hair hung down either side of his bearded face. A villain, no doubt, but could she be certain he was the man who had walked past her window that first night holding a knife to Driek’s neck?
Adriaan looked at her, the question in his eyes.
Suzanne shook her head. ‘I cannot see clearly enough.’
‘Get up, man!’ Odendaal shouted.
This time, the prisoner complied. Though his clothes hung like rags, stained and stinking of the cell, there was something threatening in the way he moved. Waves of hatred, of violence, seemed to emanate from him.
He gave a mock bow. ‘To what do I owe the pleasure?’
Suzanne jolted. It was the same voice, overheard in the darkness, she would swear to that.
‘Enough of your impertinence,’ the landdrost said. ‘Speak when you are spoken to, otherwise hold your tongue.’
‘No, let him speak,’ she said.
Eltorp sneered. ‘My, my, you’ve brought me a lady to sweeten my days.’
