The Golden Cross (31 page)

Abel Tasman called a meeting that night. The men of the smaller
Zeehaen
crowded aboard the
Heemskerk
, filling the upper deck while Aidan’s shipmates hung from the yardarms and peered from hatchways that led below decks. Tasman stood on the high forecastle and looked down at his men … and one woman.

“Most honorable and courageous men,” Tasman began, his eagle eye roving over the assorted crew assembled below and around him. “Anthony Van Diemen, governor general of Batavia, commands us to go forth into the unknown to make a complete picture of lands north and west of the continent of Nova Hollandia. Tomorrow at high tide we shall sail first to Mauritius. From that point we will sail eastward at the southern latitude of fifty-two or fifty-four degrees until land is sighted.” The corner of his mouth quirked as he glanced at Francois Visscher, who stood next to him. “Though we are not expressly commanded to search for silver and gold, should we find it, we are not to dissuade any man from bringing aboard as much as he can carry.”

A great cheer rose from the men, and Aidan clung to a cable as the particularly robust sailor next to her thumped her enthusiastically on the back.

Tasman held up his hand and waited until the cheering died down. When the only sounds were the slapping, sucking noises of
the tide beneath the dock, he pressed his hand to his chest. “Sleep well when your watch is relieved,” the captain went on, his gaze sweeping the crowd. “Work hard at your duties. We are well-provisioned and well-commanded. Let me introduce the officers of the command, so that every man, whether he sails aboard the
Heemskerk
or the
Zeehaen
, will know his officers.”

Tasman turned behind him to Francois Visscher, and introduced him as first mate of the flagship. In a surge of loyalty, the men of the
Heemskerk
, who had worked under Visscher’s strict discipline for the last week, gave a rousing cheer. Next Tasman introduced T’jercksen Holman, skipper of the
Heemskerk
, and Aidan rose on tiptoe to see him. A trim, self-confident presence, the skipper had spent most of the past week in Tasman’s cabin, doubtless planning the voyage. Aidan had passed the captain’s cabin several times and glanced through the portal, only to see the two men bent over charts spread out on the captain’s table.

Next Tasman introduced two men Aidan had not seen before. The first, Gerrit Janszoon, served as skipper of the
Zeehaen
. The skipper was tall, rawboned, and beardless, and looked about with an ingenuously appealing face. A small spattering of light applause sounded among the men, and Aidan marveled that the men of the
Zeehaen
showed so little enthusiasm for their skipper. When the weak applause ceased, Tasman gestured to a man who stood in the shadows of the foremast. The officer stepped forward, moving with nonchalant grace toward the forecastle railing. Towering over Tasman by a full eight inches, he wore no coat or uniform, only dark breeches and a full-cut shirt with the sleeves cut off at the elbow. Something gold winked at his neck, and Aidan lifted her brow, for few of the men could afford the luxury of jewelry.

“May I present Witt Dekker.” Tasman extended a hand toward this officer. “First mate aboard the
Zeehaen.”
Aidan immediately lowered her gaze, not wanting to attract this man’s attention. Dekker had been a frequent patron of Bram’s tavern, and
though it wasn’t likely he would recognize her, she could not take a chance now.

Dekker crossed his arms and thrust his jaw forward, his slanting black brows lifting in acknowledgment of the captain’s introduction. Aidan found herself surreptitiously studying his face. His profile spoke of power and strength, his lips were firm and sensual. But the set of his chin suggested a stubborn streak, and Aidan did not think she would enjoy sailing under him.

“Finally,” Tasman said, gripping the forecastle rail as he leaned forward, “I have procured the services of an excellent English surgeon, who will attend to any man sick or injured aboard either ship.” Aidan caught her breath as Sterling Thorne, caught off guard, began to move toward the rungs he must climb in order to reach the forecastle. Tasman waited, an impatient frown on his face, as Thorne climbed the ladder and moved with vigor and grace toward the captain’s side.

Tasman’s rigid stance softened as he lifted one hand and clapped it to Sterling’s shoulder. “You will know how much I value this man when you hear what I am prepared to give him when we return,” Tasman announced. “When we have safely returned to Batavia, Sterling Thorne will be honored with my daughter’s hand—and you are all invited to the wedding.”

On cue, the men responded with more cheering, then someone called for a pint of ale to toast the happy couple. Aidan watched, bemused and bewildered, as Tasman stepped aside, leaving the limelight to Thorne.

The doctor held up his hand for silence, then bowed in the direction of his captain and future father-in-law. “I hope to serve you all to the best of my ability no matter what I am promised upon our return,” he said simply. “For I am sworn to aid any man who needs a healing touch, and I promise that my touch shall be as gentle as possible.” His eyes twinkled and his mouth twisted in a wry smile. “If not, I have the key to the liquor stores and will make certain you are too insensible to feel your pain.”

The assembled crew rocked with laughter, and Sterling paused, smiling indulgently, like a parent amused by the mischief of his children. When the laughter died down, Aidan saw a change come over his features, a somber inward look. “I know that you, like me, must dream of a future life with roots deep in the soil.” A touch of sadness lined his faint smile. “I came to the East Indies to make a life for myself, to put down roots so that my younger brother could follow. And if we are successful in this venture, we will find more lands to colonize, more opportunities for men and women to find the freedom for which God designed us.”

Aidan glanced at the men around her. She doubted if any of them had longings for roots in the soil. Her experiences in the tavern and aboard ship had taught her that seamen were a breed apart. They walked with the rolling gait of the sea, they climbed rigging as easily as a spider crawled through its web, and they drank like fish in the sea.

But something in the doctor’s impassioned speech tugged at their hearts, for they applauded him wildly. Aidan relaxed. It probably wouldn’t be wise to talk too much about loving land with men who felt themselves born and bred to the sea, but it was obvious that Sterling Thorne had won the hearts of the men for whom he was responsible.

“He is quite nice, isn’t he?” A light, feminine voice spoke near her elbow, and Aidan choked back a frightened cry, nearly convinced that her own shadow had spoken. She turned, looked, and saw a young boy standing beside her, a lad scarcely up to her shoulder, with eyes dark and bright like the stars. No beard yet adorned that cheek, and his voice was still cast in girlish tones.

He looked up at her with an open expression, as if he had found a friend. Aidan swallowed hard, then jerked her head toward the surgeon. “He’s all right, I suppose. But I hope I’m never sick enough to need a doctor.”

“Me too.” The boy thrust his thumbs into the waistband of his breeches, then tilted his head and gave Aidan a quizzical glance.

“Are you aboard the
Heemskerk?
I haven’t seen you before.”

“Yes,” Aidan muttered, hoping his questions would soon stop. “I’m Heer Van Dyck’s ketelbinkie.”

The boy’s brows rose in silent respect. “Good for you. I’m a ketelbinkie aboard the
Zeehaen
. The job’s not so bad, but today I worked for the cook and nearly cut off my thumb while I was chopping the heads off pickled herring.” He pulled his thumb from his trousers and held it up, a grotesquely swollen digit swathed in white bandaging.

“Goodness!” Aidan gasped in honest admiration. “I hope it’s not as bad as it looks!”

“Aye, it is,” the boy answered, carefully settling the wounded thumb back into its protected position. “But Witt Dekker brought me over this afternoon, and the doctor stopped the bleeding. I was covered in blood; my shirt was as red as a harlot’s lips.”

Aidan blinked, uncertain how to answer, but the boy didn’t seem to notice her discomfort. “My name’s Tiy.” He thrust his uninjured hand toward her. “It’s nice to meet another ketelbinkie. I figure we ought to stick together. If we’re stranded and the food runs out, they always eat the young ones first.”

A wave of apprehension swept through her as Aidan extended her hand. This boy was joking—wasn’t he?

“I’ll swim over and see you sometime when we’re at anchor,” he offered, stepping away as the men of the
Zeehaen
began to move toward the dock to return to their own ship. “Or you can come see me.”

“I—I don’t swim,” Aidan managed to call.

“That’s good.” The boy’s round face split into a wide grin. “If you can’t swim, you won’t prolong your drowning when the ship goes down.” One of the older men clapped a hand on Tiy’s shoulder and shoved him forward.

A sudden chill raced down Aidan’s spine. Tiy was only a mischievous scamp, trying to impress her with his bravado. There
wasn’t any real danger out on the sea. Hadn’t Henrick said that a ship was the safest place for her now?

But try as she might to clear her brain, a host of irritating, niggling shadows of fear remained.

T
he two ships set sail shortly after sunrise on August 14, 1642. As a flurry of orders flowed through the first mate’s speaking trumpet, the hatches were battened, the lines coiled, and the dock workers cast off the mooring hawsers, ropes as thick as Aidan’s wrist. She stepped out of the cabin to find a cloud of white canvas sails set and drawing wind over her head. The rope that had held the anchor slithered up, streaming water, and on the soles of her feet Aidan felt the vibration that ran through the keel as the vessel took the wind. The smaller
Zeehaen
had already moved out into the bay, her upper deck crowned by a forest of rigging and sail, through which tiny dark figures hopped and crawled like fleas on a bedsheet.

The bosun of the
Heemskerk
strode back and forth across the deck, barking orders as the lines tightened and sails snapped overhead. The ship moved out into the rising sun, coming to life with a groan as the sails were sheeted home. The
Heemskerk
plunged her bow deep while the lighter
Zeehaen
cut through the water ahead of her, trailing a lacy white wake.

Caught up in the excitement of departure, Aidan leaned on the railing amidships, careful not to place herself in the way of the seamen who scuttled about, each responding immediately to the calls that rang out from the forecastle. To Aidan, it seemed magical, musical: Lines and hawsers sang in the wind, a chorus of timbers creaked with each rise and fall of the sea, faint thumps and murmurs from below decks provided a rhythmic background to the men’s work.

She’d seen enough of the ship to have a feel for where things lay. The three-masted
Heemskerk
had three levels—the top deck was pierced by the mainmast in the center of the ship, the foremast at the fore, and the mizzenmast aft. The forecastle contained two small cabins, one of which housed Aidan, the first mate, and Heer Van Dyck; the next-door cabin served as a sick bay and quarters for the doctor. The captain’s spacious cabin was situated at the rear of the ship, beneath the quarterdeck.

The holds on the second deck served as storerooms and galley, and in the lowest deck, the orlop, stores of water, food, and gunpowder served as ballast for the ship. A great many large stones rode there as well, Heer Van Dyck told her, to hold the ship aright in case the stores ran empty. This ship, a vessel for exploration, carried only six cannons, all located near portholes on the second deck. Captain Tasman hoped he would have no occasion to use them. Few pirates traveled in these waters, and he hoped to impress any unfamiliar natives with his friendliness, not his firepower.

“You there! Boy!”

Aidan looked up, startled from her reverie, and shaded her eyes. A sailor hung from the rigging a dozen feet above her, one muscled arm wrapped around a yardarm, the other extended to her. “Bring up that rope at your feet and be quick about it!”

Aidan looked down, picked up the coiled rope, and slipped it over her shoulder, praying that Van Dyck’s God would give her strength and calm the uneven beating of her heart. She’d never climbed anything higher than a chair in her life, and her arms were as thin as noodles, not at all suited for swinging from rigging like a monkey.

“Are you going to take all day?”

Aidan moved to the railing and clamped her fingers around the netted rigging. Above her men swarmed through the ropes like spiders. She could do this. She could. But when she swung her weight out over the railing, the dark water loomed under her,
and she held to the rigging for dear life. The seaman yelled again, cursing her slowness. Aidan knew if she didn’t hurry she’d draw the attention of others. She had managed to lay low during the preparations, but now there was a fresh wind to catch. “Boy!” the sailor shouted. “Now!”