The fugitives sword, p.33
The Fugitive's Sword, page 33
part #1 of Lord's Learning Series
A poor soule sat sighing under a sicamore tree;
O willow, willow, willow!
With his hand on his bosom, his head on his knee:
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland.
At some point, despite his fear and the singing, he must have fallen asleep because he woke to find himself curled in the bed, under a blanket. The ship was no longer being thrown around by the elements and there was bright sunlight coming in through the small port at the back of the cabin.
“I’m glad you are awake.” Mevrouw Harris was sitting at the table with her book open. “I have been feeling hungry and I am sure I can smell something being cooked. Would you see if you can find us some food?”
Jorrit scrambled up quickly, feeling his face hot with embarrassment, suddenly very aware that he should not have been sleeping in the bed at all.
“I—I’m sorry, Mevrouw. Yes. Of course. I’ll fetch it now.”
She smiled at him.
“Thank you for your company last night, Jorrit. You were very brave and that helped me to be brave too.”
Uncertain what to say to that, Jorrit made a quick bow and fled the cabin. He was not sure he had been brave, but Mevrouw Harris had been, and that had helped him to be less afraid.
As well as fetching food, Jorrit learned that the storm had blown the ship a good way from where they had wanted to be and now it might take longer to get back to Dunkirk. The better news was that the storm seemed to have dispersed the Dutch fleet as there were no longer their menacing sails on the horizon. Fortunately, they were not lost as they had been after the previous storm.
Mevrouw Harris took the news thoughtfully and it occurred too late to Jorrit that the fact the Dutch fleet had vanished was probably not such good news for her as it must have been her hope of rescue. He was just wondering what he could say to reassure her, when the door was flung open and Captain Vroomen strode in.
Jorrit jumped to his feet from where he had been sitting at the table. Mevrouw Harris, who had just finished eating, remained seated and frowned slightly. The captain stopped abruptly and gave her the wolfish smile Jorrit knew all too well.
“So, this is the English whore Schiavono found. I can see why he wanted to keep her to himself. Who is she?” He was clearly speaking to Jorrit, but Mevrouw Harris had risen to her feet as he was speaking and answered for him in her near perfect Dutch.
“I am English, sir, but I am no whore. My name is Mistress Harris and I am a decent and godly married woman.”
If the captain was either surprised or ashamed that she had understood him he didn’t show it. Instead, his grin widened.
“Decent and godly, you say? Then I am sure your husband will be pleased to make a generous payment for your safe return.”
He named a sum which made Jorrit’s mouth drop open and brought an angry flush to Mevrouw Harris’ cheeks.
“My husband, sir,” she said stiffly, “is a captain, not a colonel. He would scarcely make that much in half a year.”
Captain Vroomen nodded, almost as if he was being sympathetic.
“I can see that would be very difficult for him then. But I have a solution. If you wish you may return to him without any payment. You can share my cabin until we reach Dunkirk and then you will be free to go where you will.”
Jorrit’s stomach sank, and he felt suddenly sick. This was surely what the Schiavono had meant. If the captain tries to touch her—kill him. Captain Vroomen’s voice went on and sounded as if it came from a distance as Jorrit grappled with the enormity of his task
“After all, Mevrouw, you are a married woman, it is not as if you would be shocked or appalled by such. I am strong and healthy, not old or disfigured, and I promise you no woman has yet complained of me.”
Mevrouw Harris had taken a step back and all colour fled her face, but Jorrit saw her jaw tighten as if with a renewed and very grim determination.
“If the sum you named is the price of my freedom, I assure you my husband will find a way to pay you. As for your unspeakable suggestion, sir, it is better we pretend it was not spoken. I am a good and loyal wife. I love my husband deeply and—” Her breath caught as if on a sob and she placed her hands protectively over her skirts. “—and I am with child which is why I did not travel with him when he needed to leave. I was indisposed for a while and have been warned I need to be careful or there is a risk…” She lowered her gaze as she trailed off.
Captain Vroomen looked as if he had run flat faced into a wall. The wolfish grin froze on his face then melted away like frost in sunlight leaving his expression oddly unemotional. He continued to stare at Mevrouw Harris and then he lifted his chin and his nostrils flared.
“Very well. You had better hope that your husband can find the money before the brat is born or it will be twice as expensive to redeem you as there will then be two of you.”
He turned sharply on his heel and was gone.
Mevrouw Harris drew a shuddering breath and put a hand on the table to steady herself. Jorrit was instantly beside her. He knew nothing of women and their having babies—except that they did, but he was very sure that they needed extra care at such a time. He helped her to sit down and wondered what else he could do. She sat with her face in her hands for a few moments then straightened up and gave Jorrit a wan smile.
“Thank you. He is not a very pleasant man, your captain.”
And at that moment Jorrit knew if the captain did ever try and touch Mevrouw Harris, he would somehow find a way to kill him and not because of anything the Schiavono had said. But the captain made no further visits to the cabin.
It took five days for the Star to make its way back to Dunkirk. Contrary winds and sightings of hostile ships delayed them again and again. Running before the wind to escape pursuit, they rowed back into it under cover of darkness to slip past the ships that chased them.
For those five days Jorrit tried hard not to think about the Schiavono or what might have happened to De Zeekat. He had heard the crew talking in low voices about what poor condition De Zeekat had been in and how the captain had put far too few crew aboard to man it. That Vroomen had chosen those who everyone knew made no secret of their loyalty to the Schiavono. All the crew whispered, that all those on De Zeekat were surely dead men—if not from the storm, then from the lurking heretic fleet.
Jorrit had feared that without the Schiavono aboard the Star he would be treated as before, ordered around by everyone to do the most menial tasks. Instead, he found he was left well alone. He learned the captain had given orders that he was to be allowed to care for Mevrouw Harris as she might require. But she required very little of him except to fetch their food, empty the pot, clean up the cabin and walk with her on the deck for a while now and then when the weather was fine. At other times she would read or help Jorrit improve his English. She even started to teach him French which she said would serve him better than either English or Dutch and told him that he was a very good student.
So, he had mixed feelings as they came into Dunkirk. The child Mevrouw Harris was going to have was a very fortunate one and he knew a small curl of envy. He seldom thought of the mother he had never known, but now he wondered if his own mother had been anything like Mevrouw Harris and he decided that she might well have been. But reaching Dunkirk meant he would soon not see her again.
It also meant he had to face up to the grim reality that the Schiavono was gone and Jorrit would be on his own in the world. Perhaps, he thought, Master Carrasco might take him on as a servant, although he truly did not wish to stay on the Star, but otherwise it was hard to see what else his future might hold. Going back to Breda now seemed like a distant and unrealistic dream.
On their final approach to Dunkirk, the guns of the Mardyck fort fired – not in welcome but to dissuade the ships that chased them. The blockade fleet had returned. Individual ships would no longer be able to slip in and out of the port to harry the north at will.
Mevrouw Harris had insisted they be on deck as they came into Dunkirk. Jorrit saw the now familiar forest of masts, swaying on the tide beneath the calling seagulls and the smell of the city slowly took over from the scent of the sea. They were still some distance from their dock when a murmur of excitement and disbelief started running through the crew.
“Will you look at that?
“It’s not possible.”
“I don’t believe it.”
Jorrit’s gaze followed where the crew were looking and his heart lurched. Tied up to the dock in the place where the Star should rest was De Zeekat.
A ragged cheer went up from the crew and for Jorrit it was as if someone had lifted an anchor tied to his heart. He glanced up to where the captain stood and saw him shake his head, his face expressionless, then give orders for the Star to dock elsewhere nearby.
“I think your master has survived after all,” Mevrouw Harris said and there was in her voice something that told Jorrit she was glad about it too.
Of course, news of their return had already spread to the people who had the most interest in it even before the Star was securely tied up. Waiting on the dockside with those who had come to cheer their return, was a man who Jorrit had seen only once before when he had visited Master Carrasco, the captain’s cousin—the one who owned the shipyard where the Star had been built. He wore black, which Jorrit thought little of at first glance except as being a mark of his wealth.
Then Jorrit realised who was standing with the captain’s cousin and his spirits surged. The Schiavono, in good health, uninjured, but looking grave. Jorrit had not recognised him immediately because his hair was pushed back, almost invisible under the high crowned, broad brimmed, capotain hat. He was also clad in black from head to foot.
It was Mevrouw Harris who made Jorrit realise what that must mean.
“I think,” she said quietly, as the captain jumped ashore before the last ropes were secure and strode over to the two men, “that someone has died.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Kate was taken from the ship by an escort of four armed men who she did not recognise. She would have asked the boy Jorrit who they were, but he had not returned to the cabin when they docked. She had asked for him but been told he was no longer aboard the ship. At least these men brought her coffer with them.
After spending so long in The Hague and visiting other Dutch towns, Dunkirk had much about it that was familiar. The neat and clean streets, the high quality of the brick housing. Kate admired unstintingly the proportions and facade of the house to which she was taken, the fittings and furnishings within and, as she was later to learn, the fine tableware, food and drink.
The house belonged to a wealthy man, no doubt the unpleasant Captain Vroomen who was determined to make every penny he could from her. Kate was sure the queen would pay for her release, but if it came out who she really was the price would become even steeper. All she could hope was that she might be able to send a message that would alert the queen to her plight whilst not betraying her true identity.
The men escorting Kate took her through the house to a fine room with a bed in one corner, hung with plain but good quality drapes. A table and cushioned chairs where one might sit to dine, read, write or receive guests, paintings on the wall with a maritime theme, a case of books, and a window that overlooked a small courtyard. There was a brick hearth with a warm fire and a vase of sweet scented dried flowers. A neatly dressed girl with fair hair and freckles who was in her mid-teens waited by the door. She bobbed a nervous curtsy as Kate was shown in. One of the men explained she was called Clara and there to serve Mevrouw Harris as servant and maid. If she needed anything, he assured her Clara would be sure she was provided.
For a prison it was quite delightful.
And a prison it undoubtedly was.
If Kate had any doubt of that it was dispelled within minutes of her arrival.
She had thanked the men who had escorted her, and they left closing the door firmly behind them. Then she turned to Clara with her warmest smile to put the girl at ease and the two of them began to unpack the clothes from her coffer to see what damage they had taken from travel, what would benefit from airing and what needed to be laundered.
They were still engaged in that task and Kate had just decided she had won the girl over enough to ask her more pertinent questions, such as who this house belonged to, when there was shouting outside the door. Kate rose from where she had been sitting at the table as the door burst open. Captain Vroomen, his sword drawn and blood glinting redly on its blade. Behind him Kate could see there were at least two other men. Clara shrieked, her hands flying to her mouth. Heart pounding, Kate stepped forward placing herself between the captain and Clara. Her own life being worth money to the man, was perhaps more assured than that of a mere serving girl.
Vroomen glanced at the clothing they had set to air and gestured towards it with his blade, his hand enclosed within the hilt. “Tell the girl to repack all those. They can be sent on after. But you’re coming with me and will stay at my house.”
If this was not his house, then whose house was it?
Kate wished she had not been so careful of Clara’s nervousness and had demanded to know from the first. But whoever the house might belong to every instinct screamed that she would be safer here than with Vroomen.
“There is blood on your sword,” she said, making no attempt to keep the horror from her voice. “You have killed someone.”
“Of course not,” Vroomen snapped and thrust the sword away, the blood still on it. “He was merely cut for trying to refuse me entry. Now, we must go quickly.” As he spoke, he stepped forward to grab her arm. Evading his grasp, Kate retreated further into the room.
“I have no wish to go anywhere else,” she said.
“That is not for you to say. You are my prize, and I am not having you stolen from me. If you won’t come willingly, I’ll have you dragged and carried out, but I can’t think that would do you much good in your state.”
She had forgotten she told him she was pregnant. It had been a convenient lie for the moment she had spoken it and he had left her alone on the ship because of it. Perhaps it might restrain him even now.
“I will not go with you,” she insisted. “You come here with violence and threats. How can I feel assured of my safety?”
This time he anticipated she would try and avoid him and his lunge to grip her arm was too quick for Kate. She tried to pull away now genuinely afraid, close to panic as he drew her close to him, his hand holding her with a bruising force.
“Let go of her!” The shriek came from Clara who had picked up the heavy candlestick and was holding it as if it were a weapon. “Leave her alone.”
The stark terror Kate saw in her face spoke to the courage it was costing her. Suddenly, fearful that Vroomen might strike at the girl, Kate’s own courage returned.
“Put that down,” she ordered. “Captain Vroomen is not going to harm me.”
The harshness of her tone made Clara blanch and the girl dropped the candelabra, one of its branches breaking as it hit the floor.
“Captain Vroomen is most certainly not going to harm you.” The words spoken coldly, made them all turn.
Philip Lord stood in the doorway, the sword in his hand held almost negligently, point dipped, as if he was scarcely aware it was there and a silent threat. Vroomen’s men were no longer in evidence. Kate had forgotten the impact of his presence. He was a youth, younger than she was and his face was unsculpted as yet by the characteristics of adulthood. But in height he matched Vroomen already and there was nothing of a child in his expression. The gaze he had fixed on Vroomen was Baltic and the fury he held leashed seemed to shimmer about him.
Kate seized the opportunity to pull free from Vroomen’s suddenly slackened grip, and he made no attempt to detain her. The hand he had gripped her with moving to rest on his sword hilt.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded.
“I am the one who should be asking you that question,” Lord said, his tone close to a snarl. “You forced your way in here, injuring one of my servants.”
“The man refused to let me in. And what do you mean ‘your servant’ he was Alonso’s man.”
The briefest flicker of a shadow crossed Lord’s face at the mention of the name. Clearly one that meant something to him. But when he spoke it was with the same unyielding edge. “This is my house—now. And the servants here are mine. You have no right to be here and no right to assault one of my men.”
“Your house?” Vroomen scoffed. He gave a brief dismissive laugh. Then his expression changed and hardened. “I have every right to enter a house where someone is holding my stolen property, no matter whose house it might be.”
It took Kate a moment to realise he was speaking of her, and she stepped forward to protest but Philip Lord had lifted his sword and spoke before she could.
“How dare you call Mevrouw Harris your property,” he hissed, “as if she were some kind of slave or chattel.”
“Well, this is a fine turnabout. I don’t recall you being so concerned about the fate of others we have captured to ransom. She is my hostage. I spared her life, fed her and protected her and brought her safely here. I will keep her until that ransom has been paid.”
“She is staying here,” Lord said, “I will be responsible for her safety and welfare.”
“I don’t know what game you think you are playing, Schiavono. The money is mine and I will have it.”
“The money due to you will be paid to you, on that you have my word,” Lord said and now there was a hint of contempt in the coldness. “But Mevrouw Harris remains here. I have already ordered your men removed from my house. If you do not leave right away, I will have you thrown out after them.”
