‘And how long am I supposed to wait until I can see her?’ Hector snapped.
‘There may come a moment when a discreet meeting can be arranged . . . or perhaps the circumstances will change,’ the chamberlain murmured.
‘What do you mean?’ Hector demanded. He resented the bland way Mansur deflected his questions.
‘His Majesty is increasingly forgetful. One day he issues an order, the next day he no longer remembers what he has commanded. Or he contradicts what he has said previously. It is part of my duties to smooth over any inconsistencies.’
‘And what if I simply found my way to wherever it is that Maria is being held?’
The chamberlain looked at him in open disbelief. ‘Enter the women’s quarters? That would not be easy or sensible.’ Noting the stubborn expression on Hector’s face, he went on, ‘His Majesty has only one son, but he has a number of daughters. They too live in the female quarters until the time comes when they are to be married off to neighbouring rulers. That is how Omoro builds its alliances. The virtue of the princesses is of state importance and jealously protected. The guards would deal harshly with an intruder.’
In glum silence they descended the path that led down to the town. Arriving at the warehouse where they were lodged, Hector noted that the number of sentries at the door had been doubled. Inside, the crew of the Westflinge were picking over the remains of another meal. They were only interested in knowing when they would be allowed to leave Pehko. It was Jezreel who tried to raise Hector’s flagging spirits.
‘I’d take the chamberlain’s word that no harm will come to Maria,’ he said. ‘These people don’t seem to be nasty. They’ve looked after us well so far, and the truth is we really have no choice but to do what the Sultan wants. But that won’t stop us from trying to get you and Maria together again.’
SO ANOTHER WEEK dragged by. Dan set up a workshop in one of the empty rooms within the warehouse. There, with help from Jacques and Jezreel, he set about repairing the dozens of rusty, damaged weapons that were delivered by the Sultan’s men.
Whenever Hector stepped outside the building, he looked up towards the palace on the hill and wondered if the Sultan’s women ever spent any time in the open air so that he might catch a glimpse of Maria. Once or twice he tried walking up the footpath to the Kedatun sultan, but was intercepted by the guards and turned back. As he agonized about Maria, Hector also began to fear that he and his companions were sinking into the same slow torpor he’d sensed on the first day they arrived in Pehko. It was obvious that Vlucht and his crew were content to do very little. They loafed around the building, the invalids visibly returning to health, and Stolck preferred to spend much of his time with his countrymen.
Meals were delivered with admirable regularity, though the menu of rice, sago cakes, fish stew and fruit never varied. In fact there was little to distinguish one day from the next. Each cool dawn was followed by a hot and humid morning as thunder clouds swelled inland before advancing on the town, delivering a sudden downpour and then drifting out over the sea. The puddles they left behind steamed in the returning sunshine and disappeared by the time the swift tropical dusk fell, and the inmates of the warehouse lay down to sleep with the certain knowledge that the pattern would be repeated the following day.
The arrival of a foreign ship was the only break in the monotony. On the fifth day after the interview with the Sultan, a vessel came gliding into the creek on the tide and dropped anchor directly in front of the warehouse. According to Vlucht, the newcomer’s twin side rudders and boxy shape identified her as a small jong, a merchant ship from Malacca, and that evening Hector met her captain on the jetty as he returned from presenting his compliments at the palace.
Musallam Iskandar was a man of indeterminate age. He was running to fat, with slightly bulging eyes, greying stubble and a scattering of pockmarks on a face whose features hinted at Arab rather than oriental ancestry. He greeted Hector cheerfully in passably good English.
‘Mansur told me that there were foreigners in Pehko,’ he said. ‘I noticed that little jolly boat of yours tied up in the harbour, but I do not see your vessel.’
‘We were forced to run our ship aground farther along the coast,’ Hector explained. ‘The Omoro found us cast away and brought us here.’
‘You were fortunate. The Omoro don’t venture far nowadays.’
‘That big kora kora came across us,’ said Hector, nodding towards the outrigger vessel, which had not stirred since their arrival.
‘On their way back from hongi-tochten against the Sugala, I expect,’ observed Musallam. ‘It’s an annual ritual. The Sultan of Omoro quarrels with his neighbour, the Rajah of Sugala, over who owns the forest and the right to harvest the wild birds. Every year Sultan Syabullah sends a war party to menace his rival, but the raid never solves anything. The Sugala know what’s coming, and they built a palisade around their capital years ago. So they retreat within their defences, the Omoro fire off a few shots and then come back home.’
‘You seem to know a lot about these people,’ Hector observed.
The merchant captain shrugged. ‘I trade in the bird skins. It’s the only item that makes the long voyage here worthwhile, and the forests in this region are the prime sources for God’s Birds, whoever controls them. So I alternate. One year I go to Sugala and collect up all the skins they have in stock. The next year I come here and do the same.’
‘But I was told that the Ternate Sultan has taken control of the trade.’
The shipmaster gave a dismissive wave. ‘My family has been coming to Omoro for more than three generations. My grandfather and father both did business with the old Sultan, and I’m not about to give up the contact.’
Behind the Malaccan captain, Hector could see cargo being ferried ashore from his ship.
‘How long will you stay here?’ he asked.
Musallam rolled his eyes. ‘As long as it takes. The Sultan gets to meet very few foreigners, and likes to talk with them. They are a diversion for him. So the negotiations will drag on for a month at least. They always do.’
‘When you leave, would it be possible that my companions could sail with you? There are about a dozen of them.’
‘Only with the Sultan’s permission. I need his authority if I am to take any passengers.’ The shipmaster gave Hector a shrewd glance. ‘What about you? Do you plan to stay on in Pehko?’
‘There is a woman without whom I cannot leave.’
‘And where is this woman now?’
‘She is living at the palace.’
The captain drew a sharp breath. ‘Meddling in the Sultan’s affairs is ill advised. He may be old, but he resents any interference with his royal prerogatives.’
He turned to watch a dugout approaching the jetty. The canoe was piled with so many bales of cloth that it had taken on an alarming list and looked about to capsize. ‘Excuse me,’ he said, ‘I must attend to the unloading of my vessel. There is much to be done. Doubtless we will meet again. Pehko is a small place.’
IT WAS ON the third morning after that encounter that Jezreel woke Hector half an hour after sunrise, shaking him out of a deep sleep.
‘Hector,’ the big man was saying, ‘the Hollanders have gone.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Hector. He sat up, struggling to shake off his drowsiness. Jezreel was squatting down beside him. The dim light filtering through the shuttered window highlighted his friend’s look of exasperation.
‘Vlucht and the others. They’ve done a flit.’