The Map of Bones, page 27
‘Is that Kmame?’ Adriaan asked.
‘That is him,’ Tia hissed behind him.
Adriaan was failing to understand the relationship between the four men. They had been working on the assumption that Kmame had more warriors at his command and that he had kidnapped Suzanne. Tia was certain that was what had happened. Now Adriaan wasn’t so sure. Kmame was holding his hands behind his back. He couldn’t tell if they were bound there or if it was simply how he was standing. Might he be a prisoner rather than captor? And what of the white man? Adriaan knew Suzanne had been convinced that he was someone connected to Louise, but had not made it clear if she thought he was someone she could trust. Perhaps it was he, rather than Kmame, who had kidnapped Suzanne to ransom for a reward?
If she was there at all.
Suddenly, a huge fork of lightning split the grey sky and thunder erupted almost directly over their heads. Rain started to fall: furious, torrential, blinding.
Kmame took advantage of the diversion and started to shout. There was an altercation between him and the white man, who turned his back and started to walk towards the house. He had nearly reached the door, when there was another clap of thunder.
Then chaos broke loose.
Kmame screamed at the top of his voice, a battle cry to chill the blood, then swung round with what looked like a rock in his hand. He smashed it once, then again, into the face of the San warrior closest to him, who fell to the ground without a sound. The other guard readied his spear, but he was too slow. Kmame delivered a ferocious blow to the side of his head. He bought the rock down on the back of his neck until the second San also lay motionless in the dirt.
All this had taken no more than seconds.
The white man was running back to confront him, but Kmame grabbed the spear of one of the fallen San.
‘Stop him!’ Adriaan shouted at the top of his voice.
Harrie instantly broke cover, racing down towards the farm, slipping and sliding in the mud. Adriaan followed, his pistol in hand but, in the driving rain, he couldn’t get a clear shot.
Then, to his amazement, he saw Suzanne standing in the doorway of the farmhouse with her musket in her hand. Adriaan saw Kmame pull back his arm and aim the spear directly towards the white man, who threw himself to the ground as the iron point whistled past his ear. Harrie burst into the compound and tried to reach Kmame, who now had the second spear in his hand.
Then, he saw white smoke and the explosion as the ball left the muzzle of the gun. Suzanne’s aim was true. Kmame’s body was thrown back by the impact and fell, bleeding red into the dirt. His legs twitched, his feet tracing patterns on the drowning land, then nothing.
Adriaan watched Suzanne slowly lower her arm. Then, as carefully as if she was releasing a child, she put the musket down on the ground. The white man pulled himself to his feet, then he opened his arms as Suzanne ran to embrace him. They stood there for a moment, drenched by the driving rain, then stepped apart.
‘Miss!’ screamed Tia, hurtling past her brother and throwing herself at Suzanne. ‘You’re alive!’
Suzanne was in shock. She seemed barely to notice the rain pelting down upon their heads.
‘Adriaan, may I present Théodore Barenton to you,’ she said, as if they were at a reception at the Commander’s residence. ‘He is a distant cousin of sorts. His father was Louise’s half-brother, though what relation that makes us to one another, I cannot say.’
‘Suzanne, are you . . .?’ he began.
‘Théodore,’ she continued in a daze, ‘this is Adriaan van Dijk, the husband of my dearest friend in the Colony. It is he who taught me how to shoot on the sand dunes at Gallow’s Hill.’
The two men looked at one another, then Théodore put out his hand. ‘In which case, mijnheer Van Dijk, I am very much in your debt.’
Finally, Suzanne’s composure cracked. She began to laugh until the tears mixed with the rain on her cheeks.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
Friday, 14th January
In accordance with tradition, Tia and Harrie cleaned the bodies of the two fallen San and buried them that same evening. Suzanne, worn out by everything that had happened, sat silently with Adriaan, while Théodore prepared a meal for them all.
‘Théodore’s mother—’ she started to explain, then stopped. It was all too complicated and too shocking. She realised she wanted to keep all that she had learnt close to her heart until she had absorbed it properly herself. She found a safer topic of conversation. ‘Gilles Barenton was brought up by his uncle, who was a vintner in La Rochelle, and he passed on that skill to Théodore. Given the interest Commander Van der Stel has in cultivating vines, Adriaan, you will find his success interesting. Théodore’s vineyard rivals what the Company has achieved in the Colony. Would you like to see it?’
Adriaan nodded. ‘If Monsieur Barenton would be kind enough to show me, I would.’
Théodore lit a lantern and they walked out into the soft night. Everywhere smelt fresh and clean. Suzanne said little, but listened as the two men fell into an easy discussion about irrigation and crop yield. The details did not interest her, and both her mind and her body were exhausted. But she thought the wine Théodore was producing was as good as anything that might grace a table in La Rochelle and hoped that, by piquing Adriaan’s interest, she might help Pierre and Isabeau Jaubert and their fellow refugees.
‘What do you call your farm?’ Adriaan asked as they returned to the main house.
Théodore hesitated. ‘It has never needed a name. We made wine for our own table, nothing more. But perhaps it should.’ He looked at Suzanne. ‘What about La Justice. Do you approve?’
She smiled. ‘I cannot think of a more fitting name.’
‘Very well.’ Théodore nodded. ‘Are you coming in?’
‘If you might give me a moment with Suzanne,’ Adriaan said.
Suzanne looked at him. All evening, she had felt him darting anxious looks at her. And his relief at finding her alive and unharmed was clearly tempered by some other consideration. Then, suddenly, she knew what he was going to say.
‘Sister, I do not know how to tell you this, when you have been through so much,’ he began, ‘but Florence—’
Suzanne put her hand on his arm. ‘It is all right. I saw her in my dreams, standing side by side with Louise and Minou. She is at peace now.’
They remained with Théodore for a few days. Suzanne was still not back to full strength and Tia’s arm needed time to heal.
Suzanne and Théodore talked most of the time, as he went about the chores on the farm. She read Louise’s Olifantshoek diary detailing their arrival in the Cape and their lives on the farm. For his part, Théodore asked many questions about La Rochelle and Amsterdam, about her experiences in the Colony.
By and by, Suzanne felt strong enough to leave. Early one morning, holding a bouquet of wild flowers, she walked to the small planted copse of oak saplings behind the farmhouse. Théodore had offered to accompany her, but she wanted to make this last pilgrimage alone. It would be her final act of remembrance for Louise, and for Gilles, on African soil.
With the peaks of the Olifantshoek mountains behind it, Suzanne found the glade easily enough. In the centre was a small sign made out of yellow-wood beneath a spreading aloe tree. The inscription on the board was plain: carved, she knew, by Gilles, showing simply the dates of Louise’s birth and death. Beneath that, three words in block capitals:
CAPTAIN AND COMMANDER
Lower still, inscribed by a different hand, Gilles’ name and dates had been added a decade later: Just one word underneath in the same block capitals: BELOVED.
Suzanne lingered a while, thinking of the love Louise and Gilles had found and fought for, the love that had held them fast for all of their lives. And she thought of their son living his solitary life in the valley where they had made their home. All in all, despite the hardships and the tragedies, it was a good life.
She bent down and laid her flowers on the grave. She would never again stand here, but that didn’t mean her quest had failed. Far from it. She was ready to let Louise go. She had discovered what she needed to know and had laid her ghost to rest. Her own demons, too. Now, after all the words that had been written and spoken and imagined, there was only one word left to say.
‘Goodbye,’ she whispered.
Wednesday, 19th January
On Wednesday, the nineteenth of January, Suzanne, Adriaan, Harrie and Tia took their leave of Olifantshoek. Théodore had provided a horse for Harrie and Tia to ride as far as Stellenbosch, saying that he would collect the animal from there when next he ventured west. The travellers should be back in the Colony before the Sabbath.
‘Are you certain you will not come with us?’ Suzanne asked.
Théodore shook his head. ‘I am content here. I am not made for the city.’ He turned to Adriaan. ‘But you will always be a welcome visitor, mijnheer.’ He nodded to Tia and Harrie. ‘As will you.’
‘And you in the Colony, Monsieur Barenton, should we ever persuade you to venture so far,’ Adriaan replied. ‘My wife would be pleased to make your acquaintance. Perhaps I might seek your further advice on the land here for the refugees to farm?’
Suzanne rested her hand on Théodore’s arm. ‘And you are quite sure that you do not want me to leave this with you?’ She had spent the past days copying out Louise’s Olifantshoek writings, and had offered to leave Louise’s diary from the Old Moon with him. It seemed to her that they all belonged together.
‘You are kind, but no. Louise did not intend for it to remain here, given she sent it back to Amsterdam with her ship.’ Théodore held up the Tarot card between his thumb and forefinger. ‘This is enough for me.’
‘La Justice,’ Suzanne said and smiled, taking in the surroundings with a final look. ‘The first wine farm in Olifantshoek.’
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
THE CAPE COLONY
Sunday, 20th March 1689
Eight weeks after returning to the Colony – and precisely one year to the day that the China had left Rotterdam bound for the Cape of Good Hope – Suzanne Joubert was ready to depart. Her friends were waiting to see her off. She was sad to be leaving those she had come to love, but she would carry them with her in her heart. Both the living and the dead.
It was not the end of the story but a beginning.
It was a beautiful autumn day, warm and tempered with a light breeze, so unlike the day of their arrival in the Colony. Out in the bay a spiegelretourschip, the Gouw, under the command of captain Joost Barend, was preparing to return to Amsterdam. The Gouw had come from the East Indies via Batavia, loaded with cloves, nutmeg, anise and cinnamon to be auctioned in Dutch markets. Once her last passengers had embarked, she would sail.
‘Do you have everything?’ Judith asked for the hundredth time.
Suzanne laughed and took her hands, taking delight in the full swell of her friend’s belly.
‘You promise me that you will write and let me know when you are safely delivered? Send letters via the next ship. Girl or boy, one thing is for certain, he will have his father’s wonderful blue eyes.’ She turned to Madame Lombard. ‘I am relying on you to take good care of them. And Isabeau Jaubert, if you could ever be persuaded to travel outside the Colony to see her. She is due at much the same time as Judith.’
Madame Lombard grunted, her sharp eyes glistening. ‘You can trust me, child. And to tend your grandmother’s grave.’
Suzanne bowed her head. ‘I am grateful to know she will not lie forgotten in the ground.’
Finally, she turned to Adriaan. In many ways, he was the person she would miss the most. ‘You have been like the brother I never had,’ she said, emotion catching in her throat. ‘I can never thank you enough for all that you have done for me. And remember, Théodore Barenton is a good man. He can help you.’
‘We will miss you,’ Adriaan said, then turned away, so she should not see the dew in his eyes. She heard him clear his throat, then he slapped Harrie on the shoulder. ‘Harrie has agreed to come to work for me, did you know? And Tia will be a companion to Judith.’
‘I think it a marvellous idea. When I am lonely, I will think of you all together and that will give me comfort.’ She held out her hand. ‘Thank you, Harrie, for everything.’
‘The honour has been mine.’
Tia stepped forward, then her composure broke and she threw her arms around Suzanne’s waist.
‘Come, come, this will not do,’ Suzanne said softly. ‘You need to care for mevrouw Van Dijk now. She needs you more than I.’
Tia wiped her eyes. ‘I know, miss, but—’
‘You will be always in my heart.’
Slowly, Suzanne turned to face the vista that had first welcomed her, seeing it now through altered eyes. Today, no cloth of cloud covered Table Mountain. Now, she had been beyond the mountains and had seen the red earth and the veld for herself, seen the fynbos and animals which came from the beginning of time.
Her satchel was slung over her shoulder, Safe inside were Louise’s prison diary and her own silver dagger. She would give it into the care of the captain once she was on board. Her portmanteau with her other possessions, and the written notes she had made during her time in the Cape, had already been loaded into the rowing boat.
Suzanne took a deep breath as she allowed the sailor to help her down and looked up to the little group standing on the jetty.
‘Farewell,’ she called up to them. ‘I will never forget you, my friends. Never.’
PART TWO
One month later
THE HIGH SEAS & CORNWALL
April–July 1689
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
THE ATLANTIC OCEAN
Wednesday, 20th April
They had been a month at sea.
Suzanne had settled easily into life on board the Gouw. The ringing of the ship’s bell, the changing of the watch, the sound of the sailors’ bare feet as they ran up and down the deck, the crack of the sails and the whistling of the wind through the rigging. The captain was firm, but fair, and his men respected him. He raised his voice when it was necessary, administered punishment for serious infractions, but otherwise let his mariners work the ship.
They took advantage of the trade winds, changing direction to avoid storms and ride the ocean currents, and the weather was mostly kind. It was a very different experience from Suzanne’s voyage one year ago. Then, the fear and destitution of the Huguenot refugees – the women and men who had become her friends – had hovered over the China like a black mist. This time, there were no more than a handful of passengers, all of them, like Suzanne, paying their own passage: VOC officials returning home; sons sent from the Colony to be educated in the Fatherland; daughters to be married to Amsterdamers. It made for a calm ship, a working ship.
Suzanne found herself enjoying the journey. On the China, there had always been some human tragedy being played out below deck. And she’d had Florence to talk to, to take her mind off the rolling and listing of the ship. On the Gouw, she was alone with her thoughts and memories. But she was not lonely, because Louise and Gilles were her constant companions now, Tia and Judith, Adriaan and Harrie. It was only when she thought of her grandmother that she felt her heart contract.
When the weather was good, Suzanne sat on the starboard side, knowing that the Portuguese gold coast was far off to the east, out of sight. Further north, lay Dakar in its sea of sands. She imagined the maps in her mind and traced their journey in her imagination. No one paid her much attention, no one bothered her and she wrote down everything she had seen, everything she had been told, everything she felt.
They made it through the doldrums, where the south-easterly trade winds met the north-easterly trade winds of the northern hemisphere, finding themselves becalmed for no more than a couple of days. Then on to the Las Palmas de Gran Canaria, where Louise had been put on trial for having forced slaver ships to abandon their vile trade in those waters.
April into May, May into June. Day after day, the sun rose in a milky sky and set over the endless horizon. Suzanne relished the glorious isolation, surrounded on all sides by the dark, shifting ocean. Some days, the sea was a deep green, purple in places, crested by white waves. At other times, when the black clouds gathered, it was a turbulent and broiling black, as if monsters from the deep were whipping the waves into a frenzy. She remembered paintings in Amsterdam, portraits of the sea, and knew that there was nothing that an artist could create that would capture the ocean’s majesty and awful power.
June eased into July, sailing from autumn in the south to summer in the north. Dusk to dawn, Suzanne watched the sky turn from royal blue to misted grey. Spirits were high as they sailed close to the coast of Portugal. The Gouw was a lucky ship, the sailors told her, hadn’t their progress so far proved it? She knew storms could whip up out of nowhere in the Bay of Biscay and even seasoned sailors would cross themselves when they saw the clouds chasing in from the Atlantic. But, she was not concerned. The sky remained clear and the seas remained calm.
The days passed in endless motion. Every part of the vessel seemed to sing – creaking, lilting, moving, moaning – the rise and fall in the waves, bouncing and crashing against the swell.
Their luck changed as they sailed north from the Bay of Biscay. It began to rain. Huge waves rolled in from the Atlantic. Steep and unforgiving, they set the Gouw bobbing like a cork. Waves broke across the waist of the main deck, making all movement perilous. Then the wind veered round so they were battling into a north-easterly, threatening to blow them back into the open ocean.
‘Welcome home,’ somebody said, and everyone laughed.
Somewhere out of sight, they passed the rocky coast of Brittany and, for a day or two, they were blessed with a westerly wind. Relations between France and England were difficult, meaning the Channel was often a watery battleground.
