Arent examined his uncle. They’d last seen each other a month ago, when he and Sammy had first arrived in Batavia. They’d eaten a large dinner and drunk a great quantity of wine, then reminisced, for it had been eleven years since they’d met last.
He hadn’t changed a great deal. Over the years, that hawk-like face had become more hawkish, perhaps, and there was now an island of sunburnt baldness on top of his head. About the only significant change was his weight. He’d lost the coating of fat that was the privilege of wealth, growing thin as any beggar on the street.
Eerily thin, thought Arent. The way a sword was thin. Sharp, rather than frail, as if age were a whetstone. Could it be worry that had remoulded him? A breastplate sat snugly atop his clothes, the metal gleaming. Despite its obvious quality, it must have been uncomfortable. Even generals at war took their armour off once they returned to their tents, but his uncle showed no such inclination.
The governor general peered around his nephew’s body, finding Guard Captain Drecht waiting patiently behind him, his hat pressed respectfully to his chest.
‘You look like you’re attending my funeral, Drecht. What do you want from me?’
‘To request permission to offload some of our musketeers to another ship, sir. We’ve got them crammed into every empty space we can find, but there just isn’t enough room on the Saardam.’
‘How many did we bring aboard?’
‘Seventy.’
‘And how many do you want to offload?’
‘Thirty.’
‘What do you make of it, Vos?’ the governor general asked his chamberlain.
Vos glanced over his shoulder, his ink-stained fingers twitching as he considered the details. ‘Your protection would be adequately served by the number we’d retain, and the extra rations would be welcome. I can see nothing against it,’ he declared, before returning to his work.
‘Then you have your permission, Guard Captain,’ said the governor general. ‘Now if you gentlemen would excuse me, I’d like some time alone with my nephew. We have much to discuss.’
With a regretful glance at his pile of unordered scrolls, Cornelius Vos followed Jacobi Drecht into the great cabin, shutting the door behind him.
‘Curious fellow,’ said Arent.
‘None finer with figures, but you’d have more fun talking to the figurehead,’ he said, running his fingers along the jugs in his wine rack. ‘He’s loyal, though. As is Drecht, and that counts for a great deal these days. Do you want a drink?’
‘Is that your famous wine cupboard?’
‘As much as would fit,’ said Jan. ‘I have something French that I’d be glad to waste on those wretched taste buds of yours.’
‘I’d be glad to have it wasted on me.’
Jan took down a jug, blowing the dust away. Tearing the cork loose, he poured out two mugs, handing Arent one. ‘To family,’ he said, raising his mug.
Arent clinked it and they drank heartily, savouring the taste.
‘I tried to see you after your soldiers took Sammy, but I wasn’t even allowed into the fort,’ said Arent, trying to keep the hurt from his voice. ‘They said you’d summon me when you had a free moment, but I didn’t hear anything.’
‘That was cowardice on my part.’ The governor general lowered his eyes, shamefaced. ‘I’ve been avoiding you.’
‘Why?’
‘I was afraid if I saw you … I was afraid of what I might be forced to do.’
‘Uncle?’
The governor general rolled the wine around his mug, staring deeply into the red liquid as if some great truth would shortly reveal itself.
Sighing, he stared at Arent.
‘Now you’re standing in front of me, I realise my oath to the Company is not greater than my oath to your family,’ he said quietly. ‘So tell me, without fear, did you know what Samuel Pipps was doing?’
Arent opened his mouth, but the governor general silenced him with a hand.
‘Before you answer, understand fully there will be no recrimination from me,’ he said, his eyes scouring Arent’s features. ‘I will do everything in my considerable power to shield you, but I must know if Samuel Pipps intends to name you as a’ – he searched for the word – ‘conspirator when he goes before the Gentlemen 17.’ His face darkened. ‘If that’s the case, additional measures must be taken.’
Arent had no idea what ‘additional measures’ meant specifically, but he could hear the blood dripping from them.
‘I never saw him do anything underhand, Uncle,’ he said stridently. ‘I never have. He doesn’t even know what he’s accused of.’
‘He knows,’ scoffed the governor general.
‘Are you certain? He’s a better man than you give him credit for.’
The governor general went to the porthole, his back to his nephew. Only an hour at sea and the fleet was already beginning to disperse, the white sails leaving the black monsoon clouds behind.
‘Do I strike you as a stupid man?’ asked the governor general, an edge in his voice.
‘No.’
‘Reckless, then? Cavalier, perhaps?’
‘No.’
‘Pipps is a a hero to this noble Company we all serve. He’s a favourite of the Gentlemen 17. I would not manacle him, nor treat him with such disregard if I had any other choice. Believe me, the punishment befits the crime.’
‘And what is that crime?’ asked Arent, vexed. ‘Why keep it a secret?’
‘Because when you face the Gentlemen 17, this bafflement will be your greatest defence,’ said the governor general. ‘They’ll believe you were involved. How could they not? They know how close you and Pipps are. They know how he leans on you. They will not believe you were ignorant. Your outrage, your confusion; this is how we’ll sway them.’
Arent picked up the wine jug, refilling his mug and his uncle’s.
‘His trial is eight months away, Uncle,’ he said, joining him at the porthole. ‘But while we’re worrying about the sword, we may miss the spear. Sammy believes there’s some threat to this boat.’
‘Of course he does. He thinks he can use it to parlay his freedom.’
‘The leper had no tongue, yet he spoke. He had a maimed foot, yet he climbed a tower of crates. These peculiarities alone are worth Pipps’s attention. And then there’s the symbol that appeared on the sail.’
‘What symbol?’
‘An eye with a tail. It was exactly the same as the scar on my wrist. The one I got after my father disappeared.’
Suddenly, Arent had his uncle’s full attention. Going to his desk, Jan Haan plucked a quill from its well, drawing the symbol on to a sheet of parchment and holding it in front of Arent’s face.
‘This one?’ he demanded, the ink dripping down the sheet. ‘You’re sure?’
Arent’s heart hammered. ‘I’m sure. How could it be here?’
‘How much do you remember of that period after your father disappeared? Do you remember why your grandfather came for you?’
Arent nodded. After he’d returned alone from the hunting trip, he’d been shunned. His sisters had treated him with scorn and his mother had kept her distance, leaving his care to the servants. Everybody had hated his father, but nobody seemed glad he was gone. Nor were they happy that Arent had come back. It was never spoken aloud, but their accusation was obvious. They thought he’d put an arrow in his father’s back, then feigned memory loss.
Soon enough, the rumour was the truth, spreading amid his father’s congregation, poisoning them against him.
At first, they accused him quietly, the other children whispering vile insults whenever they saw him on the road. Then one of the villagers had cursed him after Mass, screaming that the devil danced behind him.