The Map of Bones, page 17
‘With iron we obligingly provided,’ he’d added wryly. ‘Lethal.’
The sun was already too hot for her to remain outside for long. So having extracted a promise from Jan that someone would inform her as soon as her guide arrived, the sound of the church bell signalling the end of the service sent Suzanne hurrying back to her chamber. She had no desire to see either Odendaal or his sister. However, she found she could not avoid hearing him.
Within a half-hour of their returning to the drostdij, Odendaal was in the courtyard below her window shouting and issuing orders. Suzanne watched aghast as Black servants and Malagasy men were paraded in and forced to stand in the direct sun. Two soldiers stood with weapons in hand, ready to shoot at anyone who dared to move. Odendaal’s face was puce and Suzanne could see rings of sweat on his white shirt.
‘Are you all blind?’ he shouted as he walked up and down in front of the line of men. ‘Are you deaf? Are you dumb?’
Without warning, he struck one of the men in the face with his cane. The man cried out, but held his position. Suzanne saw how they all looked down at the ground, unwilling to catch the landdrost’s eye. All save one man, at the end of the row, who looked straight ahead.
‘Until my property is returned to me, everyone will suffer,’ Odendaal screamed, spitting out the words as if they were nails. ‘Every one of you. There will be no food, no water, until you tell me where they have gone and who assisted them.’
He ran his stick along the bare upper bodies of the men, as if defying them to flinch, until he arrived at the proud man at the end. He was tall, broader than most of the Khoi men Suzanne had seen, and wearing Dutch clothes.
‘Well?’ Odendaal demanded, shouting in the man’s face. ‘Cat got your tongue?’
‘There is no one who knows anything,’ the man replied in clear Dutch. ‘I have asked widely, and I give you my word.’
Odendaal threw back his head and laughed. ‘Your word? How could the word of a savage possibly be worth anything?’
The landdrost raised his arm. ‘I will teach you a lesson you will not forget.’ He clicked his fingers. ‘You, and you. Strip him.’
Two Malagasy men shuffled forward at his summons, not wanting to obey, but having no choice. Odendaal’s victim gave a slight nod of the head, as if absolving them, then removed his own shirt rather than have it torn from his back.
‘And the rest,’ Odendaal shouted.
Calmly, and with grace, the man removed his breeches and stockings, until he was standing only in his undergarments. Suzanne feared his self-possession would inflame Odendaal further. The landdrost was attempting to exert his authority, but the other man’s quiet dignity diminished him, and he knew it.
He walked calmly to the wooden stake and allowed his hands to be tied around it. Suzanne realised he was permitting the beating to happen. He wanted to spare the Malagasy men from having to drag him kicking and screaming as, Suzanne guessed, Odendaal would have preferred.
She averted her eyes as the landdrost delivered ten blows across the man’s naked back, each delivered with more ferocity than the last. But she could hear the whip of the cane through the air, the connection as the rod found its mark, and Odendaal’s laboured breathing. His victim flinched with every blow, but he did not shout out.
At last, there was silence: that of the dispossessed when they have no power to prevent the injustice happening before their eyes; that of shame at having been forced to witness an act of undeserved punishment; the silence of self-preservation at not wanting to draw attention to themselves; and finally, gratitude that it was not their skin raw and bleeding.
Sick to her stomach, Suzanne turned back to the window. When the man’s hands were untied, he staggered as if he might fall, but managed to hold himself.
‘Now what do you say?’ Odendaal was panting from his sadistic exertion.
In a clear voice, that carried as clearly into Suzanne’s chamber as if the man had been standing directly before her, he raised his head and looked Odendaal directly in the eye: ‘My answer remains the same, master. No one knows anything.’
The landdrost roared and struck him across the cheek.
‘Leave him here,’ he bellowed to the soldiers. ‘Let’s see if a little African sun will teach him to respect his betters.’ Then he turned and stormed into the drostdij.
Straight away, the other men began to disperse, some pausing to speak to their injured comrade, others hurrying away as if terrified to be seen talking to him. The soldiers, too, moved away. One ignored him, the other spat in his face before following Odendaal into the house.
When the courtyard was empty, Suzanne saw the Khoi man allow himself to slump against the wooden post for support. Then, she saw Tia run out from the kitchen with a cup. She held it to the man’s lips, put her hand on his cheek, then rushed back into the drostdij.
Suzanne closed her eyes. She had witnessed much cruelty, and knew what it felt like to be on the receiving end of a fist. She had seen men hunted down for sport in the streets of La Rochelle and the woods of northern France. But the cold deliberation of Odendaal’s actions made it all the more brutal. She drew a deep breath, raging against the unfairness of the world that gave a bully such as him power over so many.
Yet what could she do? She had no authority, no influence to prevent Odendaal doing exactly what he wanted in his own house. Without Adriaan, her position was precarious. More to the point, if she tried to intervene, would it make the situation better or worse?
Then something occurred to her. Tia had been prepared to risk Odendaal’s wrath by giving the man water. Might it be that she knew him? Suzanne had never seen him before, so did not think he was a servant in the landdrost’s employ. Perhaps if she could find out who he did work for, then she could seek his employer out and have him released? She knew in her heart it was a rusty plan – Odendaal was the most powerful man in Stellenbosch, so who would stand firm against him? But she could think of nothing better.
Suzanne hurried from her room and down the stairs. She found Tia in the kitchen, bent over a black cooking pot hanging over the open fire. It was like a furnace in the small chamber, the chicken boiling in the water, the flames spitting. The smell made Suzanne gag.
‘Tia?’
The girl jolted, then composed herself before turning round. Straight away, Suzanne could see she had been crying.
‘I saw what happened,’ she said, making no move to comfort her. She suspected the girl would resent her sympathy. ‘I wondered if—’
‘It’s your fault!’ Tia suddenly shouted, then clamped her hand over her mouth as if to prevent herself from saying more.
Suzanne flushed. ‘Whatever do you mean?’
Now Tia was wringing her apron between her hands. ‘Nothing, miss. I’m sorry, miss.’
Shaken by the girl’s outburst, Suzanne took a step towards her.
‘Please, Tia. I’m not angry. Tell me what you meant. I want to help, but I need to know more.’
The girl raised her eyes defiantly. ‘He was only here because of you.’
Suzanne suddenly understood. ‘That man is my guide? Is that what you are saying?’
Tia nodded. ‘The master saw him come into the kitchen and accused him of passing a message about the missing men. Since he did not want to get me into trouble by naming me, he said nothing. And now look . . .’
‘Who is this man to you?’ Suzanne asked gently.
‘Harrie is my brother,’ Tia replied, then burst into tears.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Suzanne had never known a time when it was not dangerous to be a Huguenot. She had grown to understand how everything about their lives was fragile, how at any moment a new law might be enacted to limit their freedom of worship, of movement, of existence. And how important it was to keep her emotions hidden.
Now, this ability to mask her true feelings stood her in good stead. She would have liked to feel the cold hilt of her newly jewelled knife in her hand. But she knew that any attempt to shame or call Odendaal to account would fail. He was a bully and, like all bullies, it meant he was a weak man, and a coward. Suzanne would have to use his own vices against him if she was to have a hope of having Tia’s brother released.
She strode into the hall, heading for Odendaal’s study. She knew he tended to spend the hour before lunch in there with his papers, though Suzanne suspected he did little. Laziness, too, she added to her tally of his failings.
Anke Odendaal was dithering in the hall, blocking her path.
‘Oh, you should not disturb him,’ she said, her thin voice quavering when she realised where Suzanne was heading. ‘He is much disturbed. There has been an incident this morning. An act of disloyalty which has much upset him. Even I am not permitted to disturb him until the gong is sounded for—’
‘An incident?’ Suzanne said, trying to keep her temper in check. ‘Is that what he told you?’
Anke’s nervous eyes flashed. ‘Don’t go in. It will only make it worse.’
Suzanne felt a fleeting rush of pity for the woman, who so clearly lived in fear of her brother. ‘I am afraid I have no choice,’ she said, gently moving her aside from the door.
‘What the Devil?’ Odendaal stammered as she walked in, swinging his feet from his desk and sending a pile of papers scattering onto the wooden floor. As Suzanne had expected, there was a glass at his elbow and little evidence that he had been working.
‘If I might beg a moment of your time, landdrost,’ she said, taking care to keep her voice civil.
‘No. You may not. I am occupied.’
Suzanne let her eyes slide to his glass, then back again and had the pleasure of seeing Odendaal’s blotchy face turn a deeper red.
‘It is a matter of a few moments.’ She smiled.
Odendaal still did not do her the courtesy of standing up. ‘I do not have time for women’s frivolities. Whatever you want, speak to my sister. It is always possible she will be able to do something, fool that she is.’ He jabbed a finger across the empty space between them. ‘Get out.’
His words were sliding into one another. He was more inebriated than she had thought, and Suzanne knew this would make him less predictable.
‘I wish for nothing more than to leave,’ she said, holding her ground. ‘It is you who is preventing me, landdrost.’ Though it pained her to give him the respect due to his office, she adjudged it wiser to match his boorishness with courtesy. ‘Adriaan van Dijk, to whom I believe you answer, engaged a guide to accompany me. That individual, I now discover, is at this present moment in your courtyard. At your bidding.’
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about. If you do not leave now, I will be obliged to call for assistance.’
Suzanne nearly laughed at the idea he would need someone to escort her from the chamber, but curbed her tongue. Her aim was to have Harrie released, not to beat Odendaal in a battle of wits.
‘The man whom you punished this morning – I know not for what infraction – is, I regret to say, the very guide mijnheer Van Dijk hired to accompany me. I am therefore asking you, landdrost, to put aside whatever felony this individual has committed and release him, so that I might be on my way.’ She paused. ‘I cannot imagine that you would have allowed him to be chastised in such a manner had you known he was in Van Dijk’s employ.’
Moving with a speed that caught Suzanne by surprise, Odendaal suddenly stumbled out from behind his desk.
‘But your protector is not here,’ he hissed nastily, twisting a strand of her red hair around his finger. He ran his hand down her cheek, then pinched her chin between his forefinger and thumb. ‘I do not know who you think you are, Mademoiselle Joubert,’ he said, using the French honorific as an insult, ‘but here you count for nothing. You are a refugee. Your own king didn’t want you or your kind, so we have to put up with you here, forcing us to take in the dregs France no longer wants.’
He squeezed harder. Thinking of Harrie in the courtyard, Suzanne forced herself not to make a sound.
‘Or perhaps you are a spy, mademoiselle. They say your king is using French harlots to do his dirty work for him. What say you to that?’
‘I am not a spy, landdrost, and I do not think it behoves your office to insult me in such a manner. However, I give you my word that, if you release my guide and let me leave, mijnheer Van Dijk will hear nothing of this from me. Indeed, if it pleases you, I will travel directly from Olifantshoek to the Colony after my business is concluded, and will not trouble you again.’
Perhaps a sliver of common sense pierced his drunken mind for, without warning, he pushed her away and staggered back to his chair behind the desk. ‘Then why was he seen coming into the house, you tell me that?’
‘He was coming to see his sister,’ Suzanne said, realising before the words were out of her mouth that she had made a mistake.
He leant forward, his eyes glinting with malice. ‘Who?’
Desperate not to compound her error, Suzanne shook her head. ‘I do not know. It is only what the servants are saying.’
‘His sister!’ He gave a bark of laughter. ‘They are like bitches in heat, all of them. They’d open their legs to any man.’
Suzanne felt her hands bunch into fists. ‘So, will you have the man released?’ She swallowed her pride. ‘Please.’
‘Please,’ he mocked. He peered into his empty glass, then seemed to lose interest. ‘Fetch the maid to bring me more brandy. The pretty one, what’s her name? Eva or Tia? That one.’
‘She was sent to fetch water,’ Suzanne lied, wanting to protect her from his drunken paddlings. She had no doubt that was his intention.
‘Bah!’ Odendaal slumped back in his chair. ‘Send Hendrik to me.’
Suzanne hesitated. She knew one of the two soldiers was called Hendrik. Did this mean he was going to accede to her request?
‘Thank you, landdrost,’ she forced herself to say, ‘and for your hospitality. I will not disturb you further.’
Her heart thudding, she left the room. Suzanne stood for a moment in the hall to compose herself, then went to find Hendrik and delivered the message. She concealed herself in the corner of the hall, waiting until she heard Odendaal give the instruction to release the guide, then returned to the kitchen.
‘Tia, he is going to release your brother—’
The young woman’s eyes lit up. ‘How?’
Suzanne put her finger to her lips. ‘There is no time to explain. The landdrost asked for you. I told him you had gone to fetch water, but it would be wise to make yourself scarce. He is in an ugly mood.’
The expression on Tia’s face – part revulsion, part resignation – confirmed Suzanne’s suspicion that Odendaal did not keep his hands to himself.
‘See to it that Khemy—’
Tia interrupted again. ‘He prefers to be called Harrie, miss.’
Suzanne didn’t understand why he would prefer the name the Dutch had foisted upon him, but knew this was not the time to ask. ‘Very well. Bind his wounds and make sure Harrie is able to travel, then ask him to meet me in the stables. The groom has my mare ready. When the household is sleeping after lunch, we will leave.’ She hesitated: ‘You should come with us, Tia.’
The maid stepped back in surprise. ‘I cannot, miss. This is a good job. If I leave, I would never find employment with anyone else, he would see to that.’
‘It will not take the landdrost long to discover you are Harrie’s sister. He will want someone to blame and he will pick on you, can’t you see? Besides, I would be grateful for female company.’
‘How will I live?’
‘My grandmother and I have need of a maid in the Colony. You can work for us.’
‘But you are French?’ Tia said in disbelief.
Suzanne laughed. If nothing else, the experiences of this long, dreadful morning had taught her once and for all that the French were seen as of no account in the Colony. In everyone’s eyes – Dutch, Khoi, even Malagasy – they were poor and disenfranchised, nothing but a drain upon this frontier nation.
‘I am not a refugee, we paid our—’ she started, then stopped. None of this mattered. What mattered was getting away from the drostdij before Odendaal changed his mind. ‘I will look after you, Tia, as your brother will look after me on this journey.’
Suzanne held her breath, not wanting to rush the girl to a decision, whilst knowing that every second counted.
‘I cannot be seen leaving with you,’ Tia said, decisive now. ‘And I will need some clothes.’ The girl looked down at her blue dress, white pinafore apron, cap and shoes. ‘These belong to him,’ she said, infusing the word with contempt. ‘I would not be branded a thief.’
Suzanne nodded. ‘Come with me.’ Upstairs, she found a shirt and chemise, clean undergarments. ‘But I have no shoes that will fit you.’
‘No matter, miss.’ Tia took the clothes in her arms. ‘I will meet you by the camphor tree on the far side of the river.’
‘Where is that exactly?’
Finally, Tia smiled. ‘My brother knows.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
For Suzanne, the waiting was interminable. At every moment, she expected to hear Odendaal’s heavy tread upon the stair.
Having packed her belongings, she kept to her room, watching the shadows lengthening. Some while after Tia had left her chamber, Harrie was released. Another maid, whose name she did not know, came with a pail and strips of cloth to clean his wounds. She couldn’t hear what they were saying in the courtyard below, but the girl was smiling shyly and Suzanne realised Harrie was trying to put her at her ease.
Suzanne approached the window and put her hand to the frame, keeping out of sight. She saw him brush the dirt from his clothes, stiffly pull on his breeches and lace his arms into his sleeves. Pinpricks of blood immediately started to spot the white fabric of his shirt. He grimaced as he put on his boots, his movements slow and precise, then he pressed his hands together as if to thank the maid for her assistance. Suzanne watched them go into the house and, shortly afterwards, heard the squeak of the kitchen door which she knew led out to the stables.
