Amsterdam,
ithe VOC.' He opened the top chest, which was packed to the brim with small canvas bags. Tom handed one of the bags to each of the women.
'So heavy!' Yasmini exclaimed, and nearly dropped hers.
'An't nothing heavier,' Tom agreed.
When Sarah opened the mouth of the bag she held she gasped. 'Gold coins? All three chests rilled with gold?'
'Naturally, my sweeting. We pay our expenses in silver, and keep the profits in gold.'
'Tom Courtney, you are a dark horse. Why did you never tell us of this hoard?'
'There was never a reason until now.' He laughed. 'The knowledge would have made you discontent, but now it has taken a weight off your heart.'
'How much have you and Dorry squirrel led away in here?' Yasmini asked, in wonder.
Tom knocked with his knuckles on each of the three chests in turn. ' 'Seems all three are still full. This is the most part of our savings. In addition we have an ample collection of sapphires from Ceylon and diamonds from the fabulous Kollur mine on the Krishna river in India. They are all large stones of the first water. If not quite a king's ransom, then at least a rajah's.' He chuckled richly. 'In truth, that is not quite all. Both our ships lying in the bay have their weighty cargoes still intact.'
To say nothing of two platoons of VOC soldiers on board as well,' Sarah pointed out spicily, as she backed out of the concealed strongroom.
'That presents an interesting problem,' Tom admitted, as he locked the door and Dorian helped him push the bookcase back into position to cover it. 'But one that is not insoluble.' He went to take his seat again, and patted the chair next to him. 'Come sit beside me, Sarah Courtney. I am going to need the benefit of your sharp wit and famous erudition now.'
'I think it is time that we invited Mansur to join the family deliberations,' Dorian suggested. 'He is old enough at last and, what is more, his life will be changed as profoundly as ours when we sail out of Table Bay. He will probably be distraught to be taken from his childhood home.'
Quite right!' Tom agreed. 'But now speed is everything. Our exodus must take van de Witten and Keyser by surprise. They cannot be expecting us to abandon High Weald and all its contents. There is a great deal to be seen to, but we must set ourselves a limit.' He looked UP at Dorian. Three days?'
'It will be a close-run thing.' Dorian frowned as he considered it. 'But, yes, we can be ready to sail in three days.'
Those three days were filled with frenzied activity, carefully concealed from the rest of the world. It was essential that even the most trusted of their servants had no inkling of their true intentions. Loyalty did not presuppose discretion: the serving girls were notorious chatterboxes, and the chambermaids even worse. Many had romantic attachments to men in the town and a few consorted with the soldiers and petty officers in the castle. To allay any suspicions, Sarah and Yasmini put it about that the sorting and packing of clothes and furniture was merely a seasonal reordering and cleaning of the rambling homestead. In the go down Tom and Dorian conducted their annual stock-taking three months earlier than was their usual custom.
An English East Indiaman was lying at anchor in the bay, and the captain was an old and trusted friend of Tom. They had dealt with each other over the last twenty years. Tom sent him an invitation to dinner and, during the meal, swore him to secrecy and informed him of their plans to leave Good Hope. Then he sold him the entire contents of the go down at High Weald for a fraction of its real value. In return Captain Welles promised not to take possession until after the two Courtney ships had sailed from the bay. He undertook to make payment for the goods directly into the CBTC account at Mr. Coutts's bank in Piccadilly immediately on his return to London.
The land and buildings of High Weald were held under perpetual quit-rent to the VOC. Mijnheer van de Velde, another prosperous burgher of the colony, had been importuning Tom and Dorian for years to sell the estate to him.
After midnight the brothers, dressed in black, their faces covered by the brims of their hats and the collars of their greatcoats, rode across to his homestead on the banks of the Black river, and knocked on the shutters of van de Velde's bedroom. After his initial alarm, angry shouts and threats, he came out in his nightshirt brandishing a bell-mouthed blunderbuss. He shone his lantern into their faces.
'Name of a dog, it is you!' he exclaimed, and led them into his counting-house. As the first light of dawn paled the sky and the doves cooed in the oaks outside the windows they shook hands on the bargain. Tom and Dorian signed the deed of transfer of High Weald and, grinning triumphantly, van de Velde handed over an irrevocable letter of credit drawn on the Bank of Batavia for an amount less than half of what he had been prepared to pay for it only a few months before.
On the planned evening of departure, as the sun set and the light faded, when they could not be observed from the beach or the castle
walls, Mansur and a small crew rowed out to the anchored ships. Keyser had placed six Hottentot troopers under a corporal on board each. After five days at anchor, with the vessels pitching and rolling in the steep swells kicked up by the south-easter, those soldiers who were not prostrated with seasickness were bored and disenchanted with this duty. To add to their misery they could see the lights of the taverns along the beachfront and hear snatches of song and revelry drifting across the dark, wind-churned surface from the shore.
Mansur's arrival alongside was a pleasant distraction, and they crowded the rail to exchange jests and friendly insults with him and his rowers. Mansur was a favourite of the Hottentot community in the colony. The nickname they had bestowed upon him was Specht, Woodpecker, for his fiery topknot.
'You are not allowed on board, Specht,' the corporal told him sternly. 'Colonel Keyser's orders. No visitors allowed.'
'Do not fuss yourself. I am not coming on board. I would not want to be seen in the company of such rogues and ruffians,' Mansur shouted back.
'So you say, old Specht, but then what are you doing here? You should be giving the girls in the village sewing lessons.' The corporal shouted with laughter at his own wit. The word naai had a double meaning: not only to sew but also to fornicate. Mansur's red hair and startling good looks rendered him almost irresistible to the members of the fair sex.
'It's my birthday,' Mansur told them, 'and I have brought a present for you.' He kicked the keg of Cape brandewiin that lay in the bottom of the boat. 'Send down a cargo net.' They jumped to obey, and the keg swayed up on to the deck.
The Muslim captain of the Gift of Allah came up from his cabin to protest at this devil's brew, forbidden by the Prophet, coming on board.
'Peace be upon you, Batula,' Mansur called to him in Arabic. 'These men are my friends.' Batula had been Dorian's lance-bearer in the early days in the deserts, they had spent most of their lives together and the links between them were of iron. Batula had known Mansur from the day of his birth. He recognized Mansur's voice and his anger abated a little. He consoled himself that all his men were believers and they would not be tempted by Satan's liquor, unlike the kaffir soldiers.
The Hottentot corporal knocked the bung out of the brandy keg and ruled a pewter mug. He took a mouthful of the neat spirits, gasped and exhaled the fumes noisily. 'Yis moar!' he exclaimed. 'Dis kkkerl It's so good!'
Mugs in hand his men crowded round him for their turn at the keg, but the corporal relented his former strictures and called down to Mansur, 'Hey, Specht! Come on board and share a cup.'
Mansur waved an apology as they pulled away and headed for the other ship. 'Not now, perhaps later. I have another present for your men on the Maid of York.'
Sarah and Yasmini had been strictly charged by their husbands to restrict their luggage to two large travelling trunks each. Tom absolutely forbade Sarah to try to smuggle her harpsichord on to the ship. As soon as the men were occupied elsewhere, the two good wives had the servants load their ten large chests on to the waiting cart, and the harpsichord sat four-square on top of this abundant cargo. The wheels of the cart were splayed under the weight.
'Sarah Courtney, you astound me. I know not what to say.' Tom glared at the offending instrument when he returned.
'Then say naught, Tom, you big booby. And I shall play you the sweetest rendition of 'Spanish Ladies' you have ever heard when we reach the new home you shall build me.' That was his favourite song, and he stumped off in defeat to oversee the loading of the other wagons.
At this last hour it was not possible that word of their departure might reach Colonel Keyset's ear in time for him to intervene, so the servants were assembled and Tom and Dorian told them that the family was leaving High Weald for ever. There was not space on board the two ships for all of the servants and freed slaves that made up the High Weald household. Those who had been chosen to go with the family were given the right to refuse and stay in the colony. Not one took up that option. They were given an hour to pack. Those who were being left behind huddled in a forlorn group at the end of the wide veranda. The women were weeping softly. All the members of the Courtney family went down the line of familiar, well-beloved faces, talking to each in turn and embracing them. Tom and Dorian handed each a canvas purse, and a deed of manumission and release from
