Birds of Prey (55 page)

‘Surely they have made other weapons?’ Hal enquired.

‘They have fashioned bows and pikes, but they lack iron points for these weapons.’

‘How secure are your hiding places in the wilderness?’ Hal persisted.

‘The mountains are endless. The gorges are a tangled labyrinth. The cliffs are harsh and there are no paths except those made by the baboons.’

‘Do the Dutch soldiers venture into these mountains?’

‘Never! They dare not scale even the first ravine.’

These discussions filled all their evenings, as the winter gales came ravening down from the mountain like a pride of lions roaring at the castle walls. The men in the dungeons lay shivering on
the straw pallets. Sometimes it was only the talking and the hoping that kept them from succumbing to the cold. Even so, some of the older, weaker convicts sickened: their throats and chests filled
with thick yellow phlegm, their bodies burned up with fever and they died, choking and coughing.

The flesh was burned off those who survived. Although they became thin, they were hardened by the cold and the labour. Hal reached his full growth and strength in those terrible months, until he
could match Daniel at belaying a rope or hefting the heavy hods. His beard grew out dense and black and the thick pigtail of his hair hung down between his shoulder blades. The whip marks latticed
his back and flanks, and his gaze was hard and relentless when he looked up at the mountain tops, blue in the distance.

‘How far is it to the mountains?’ he asked Althuda in the darkness of the cell.

‘Ten leagues,’ Althuda told him.

‘So far!’ Hal whispered. ‘How did you ever reach them over such a distance, with the Dutch in pursuit?’

‘I told you I was a fisherman,’ Althuda said. ‘I went out each day to kill seals to feed the other slaves. My boat was small and we were many. It barely served to carry us
across False Bay to the foot of the mountains. My sister Sukeena does not swim. That is why I would not let her chance the crossing.’

‘Where is that boat now?’

‘The Dutch who pursued us found where we had hidden it. They burned it.’ Each night these councils were short-lived, for they were all being driven to the limit of their strength and
endurance. But, gradually, Hal was able to milk from Althuda every detail that might be of use.

‘What is the spirit of the men you took with you to the mountains?’

‘They are brave men – and women too, for there are three girls with the band. Had they been less brave they would never have left the safety of their captivity. But they are not
warriors, except one.’

‘Who is he, this one among them?’

‘His name is Sabah. He was a soldier until the Dutch captured him. Now he is a soldier again.’

‘Could we send word to him?’

Althuda laughed bitterly. ‘We could shout from the top of the castle walls or rattle our chains. He might hear us on his mountain top.’

‘If I had wanted a jester, I would have called on Daniel here to amuse me. His jokes would make a dog retch, but they are funnier than yours. Answer me now, Althuda. Is there no way to
reach Sabah?’

Though his tone was light, it had an edge of steel to it, and Althuda thought a while before he replied. ‘When I escaped I arranged with Sukeena a hiding place beyond the bitter-almond
hedge of the colony, where we could leave messages for each other. Sabah knew of this post, for I showed it to him on the night I returned to fetch my sister. It is a long throw of the dice, but
Sabah may still visit it to find a message from me.’

‘I will think on these things you have told me,’ Hal said, and Daniel, lying near him in the dark cell, heard the power and authority in his voice and shook his head.

’Tis the voice and the manner of Captain Franky he has now, Daniel marvelled. What the Dutchies are doing to him here might have put a lesser man up on the reef but, by God, all they have
done to him is filled his main sail with a strong wind. Hal had taken over his father’s role, and the crew who had survived recognized it. More and more they looked to him for leadership, to
give them courage to go on and to counsel them, to settle the petty disputes that rose almost daily between men in such bitter straits, and to keep a spark of hope and courage burning in all their
hearts.

The next evening Hal took up the council of war that exhaustion had interrupted the night before. ‘So Sukeena knows where to leave a message for Sabah?’

‘Naturally, she knows it well – the hollow tree on the banks of the Eerste River, the first river beyond the boundary hedge,’ Althuda replied.

‘Aboli must try to make contact with Sabah. Is there something that is known only to you and Sabah that will prove to him the message comes from you and is not a Dutch trap?’

Althuda thought about it. ‘Just say ’tis the father of little Bobby,’ he suggested at last. Hal waited in silence for Althuda to explain, and after a pause he went on,
‘Robert is my son, born in the wilderness after we had escaped from the colony. This August he will be a year old. His mother is one of the girls I spoke of. In all but name she is my wife.
Nobody inside the bitter-almond hedge but I could know the child’s name.’

‘So, you have as good a reason as any of us for wanting to fly over these walls,’ Hal murmured.

The content of the messages that they were able to pass to Aboli was severely restricted by the size of the paper they could safely employ without alerting the gaolers or the sharp, hungry
scrutiny of Hugo Barnard. Hal and Althuda spent hours straining their eyes in the dim light and flogging their wits to compose the most succinct messages that would still be intelligible. The
replies that returned to them were the voice of Sukeena speaking, little jewels of brevity that delighted them with occasional flashes of wit and humour.

Hal found himself thinking more and more of Sukeena, and when she came again to the castle, following behind her mistress, her eyes went first to the scaffold where he worked before going on to
seek out her brother. Occasionally, when there was space in the letters that Aboli placed in the crack of the wall, she made little personal comments; a reference to his bushing black beard or the
passing of his birthday. This startled Hal, and touched him deeply. He wondered for a while how she had known this intimate detail, until he guessed that Aboli had told her. He encouraged Althuda
to talk about her in the darkness. He learned little things about her childhood, her fancies and her dislikes. As he lay and listened to Althuda, he began to fall in love with her.

Now when Hal looked to the mountains in the north they were covered by a mantle of snow that shone in the wintry sunlight. The wind came down from it like a lance and seemed to pierce his soul.
‘Aboli has still not heard from Sabah.’ After four months of waiting, Hal at last accepted that failure. ‘We will have to cut him out of our plans.’

‘He is my friend, but he must have given me up,’ Althuda agreed. ‘I grieve for my wife for she also must be mourning my death.’

‘Let us move on, then, for it boots us not to wish for what is denied us,’ Hal said firmly. ‘It would be easier to escape from the quarry on the mountain than from the castle
itself. It seems that Sukeena must have arranged for your reprieve. Perhaps in the same fashion she can have us sent to the quarry.’

They dispatched the message, and a week later the reply came back. Sukeena was unable to influence the choice of their workplace, and she cautioned that any attempt to do so would arouse
immediate suspicion. ‘Be patient, Gundwane,’ she told him in a longer message than she had ever sent before. ‘Those who love you are working for your salvation.’ Hal read
that message a hundred times then repeated it to himself as often. He was touched that she should use his nickname; Gundwane. Of course, Aboli had told her that also.

‘Those who love you’? Does she mean Aboli alone, or does she use the plural intentionally? Is there another who loves me too? Does she mean me alone or does she include Althuda, her
brother? He alternated between hope and dismay. How can she trouble my mind so, when I have never even heard her voice? How can she feel anything for me, when she sees nothing but a bearded
scarecrow in a beggar’s rags? But, then, perhaps Aboli has been my champion and told her I was not always thus.

Plan as they would, the days passed and hope grew threadbare. Six more of Hal’s seamen died during the months of August and September: two fell from the scaffold, one was struck down by a
falling block of masonry and two more succumbed to the cold and the damp. The sixth was Oliver, who had been Sir Francis’s manservant. Early in their imprisonment his right foot had been
crushed beneath the iron-shod wheel of one of the ox-wagons that brought the stone down from the quarry. Even though Dr Saar had placed a splint upon the shattered bone, the foot would not mend. It
swelled up and burst out in suppurating ulcers that smelt like the flesh of a corpse. Hugo Barnard drove him back to work, even though he limped around the courtyard on a crude crutch.

Hal and Daniel tried to shield Oliver, but if they intervened too obviously Barnard became even more vindictive. All they could do was take as much of the work as they could on themselves and
keep Oliver out of range of the overseer’s whip. When the day came that Oliver was too weak to climb the ladder to the top of the south wall, Barnard sent him to work as a mason’s boy,
trimming and shaping the slabs of stone. In the courtyard he was right under Barnard’s eye, and twice in the same morning Barnard laid in to him with the whip.

The last was a casual blow, not nearly as vicious as many that had preceded it. Oliver was a tailor by trade, and by nature a timid and gentle creature, but, like a cur driven into an alley from
which there was no escape, he turned and snapped. He swung the heavy wooden mallet in his right hand, and though Barnard sprang back he was not swift enough and it caught him across one shin. It
was a glancing blow that did not break bone but it smeared the skin, and a flush of blood darkened Barnard’s hose and seeped down into his shoe. Even from his perch on the scaffold Hal could
see by his expression that Oliver was appalled and terrified by what he had done.

‘Sir!’ he cried, and fell to his knees. ‘I did not mean it. Please, sir, forgive me.’ He dropped the mallet and held up both hands to his face in the attitude of
prayer.

Hugo Barnard staggered back, then stooped to examine his injury. He ignored Oliver’s frantic pleas, and peeled back his hose to expose the long graze down his shin. Then still without
looking at Oliver, he limped to the hitching rail on the far side of the courtyard where his pair of black boarhounds were tethered. He held them on the leashes and pointed them at where Oliver
still knelt.

‘Get him!’ They hurled themselves against the leashes, baying and gaping with wide red mouths and long white fangs.

‘Get him!’ Barnard urged, and at the same time restrained them. The fury in his voice enraged the animals, and they leapt against the leashes so that Barnard was almost pulled off
his feet.

‘Please!’ screamed Oliver, struggling to rise, toppling back, then crawling towards where his crutch was propped against the stone wall.

Barnard slipped the hounds. They bounded across the yard and Oliver had time only to lift his hands to cover his face before they were on him.

They bowled him over and sent him rolling over the cobbles, then slashed at him with snapping jaws. One went for his face, but he lifted his arm and it buried its fangs in his elbow. Oliver was
shirtless and the other hound caught him in the belly. Both held on.

From high on the scaffold Hal was powerless to intervene. Gradually Oliver’s screams grew weaker and his struggles ceased. Barnard and his hounds never let up: they went on worrying the
body long after the last flutter of life had been extinguished. Then Barnard gave the mutilated body one last kick and stepped back. He was panting wildly and sweat slimed his face and dripped onto
his shirtfront, but he lifted his head and grinned up at Hal. He left Oliver’s body lying on the cobbles until the end of the work shift when he singled out Hal and Daniel. ‘Throw that
piece of offal on the dungheap behind the castle. He will be more use to the seagulls and crows than he ever was to me.’ And he chuckled with glee when he saw the murder in Hal’s
eyes.

When spring came round again only eight were left. Yet the eight were tempered by these hardships. Every muscle and sinew stood proud beneath the tanned and weathered skin of Hal’s chest
and arms. The palms of his hands were tough as leather, and his fingers powerful as a blacksmith’s tongs. When he broke up a fight a single blow from one of his scarred fists could drop a big
man to the paving.

The first promise of spring dispersed the gale-driven clouds, and the sun had new fire in its rays. A restlessness took over from the resigned gloom that had possessed them all during winter.
Tempers were short, fighting among them more frequent, and their eyes looked often to the far mountains, from which the snows had thawed or turned out across the blue Atlantic.

Then there came a message from Aboli in Sukeena’s hand: ‘Sabah sends greetings to A. Bobby and his mother pine for him.’ It filled them all with a wild and joyous hope that, in
truth, had no firm foundation for Sabah and his band could only help them once they had passed the bitter-almond hedge.

Another month passed, and the wild flame of hope that had lit their hearts sank to an ember. Spring came in its full glory, and turned the mountain into a prodigy of wild flowers whose colours
stunned the eye, and whose perfume reached them even on the high scaffold. The wind came singing out of the south-east, and the sunbirds returned from they knew not where, setting the air afire
with their sparkling plumage.

Then there was a laconic message from Sukeena and Aboli. ‘It is time to go. How many are you?’

That night they discussed the message in whispers that shook with excitement. ‘Aboli has a plan. But how can he get all of us away?’

‘For me he is the only horse in the race,’ Big Daniel growled. ‘I’m laying every penny I have on him.’