Believe or Die (23 page)

“Who exactly are your enemies?”

“Why Wil, anyone who is not on my side of course.
Anyone
mark you.”

Neither Spaniard nor Portuguese bothered the vessels as they exited the Pillars of Hercules and turned north. The few ships they did espy clearly thought the caravel was a prize taken by the xebec and thus gave them a wide berth. Soon the weather took a turn for the worst with iron-grey skies, erratic winds and drenching squalls forcing the tubby caravel to make a run for a safe haven known to the Portuguese Master. The xebec had other plans and with a last parting hail between De Rood and Serkan, it turned away back towards warmer climes. For two days they lingered in a tiny fishing village, moored up and penned there by contrary winds. Under orders from De Rood, Simon, in company with a couple of brawny sailors and dressed in borrowed rags, disappeared into the village. The trio returned on a wagon laden with food, wine and assorted, unidentifiable packages. Simon seemed agonised, indeed, traumatised by the cost apparently involved. Soon after, the winds changed and they were out in the cold waters of the Atlantic once more. Within days however, they met with the disfavour of the Bay of Biscay and had to run to safety again. Again Simon was despatched ashore but this time he returned accompanied by a pair of local officials both mightily drunk and reeking of garlic. After a very brief meeting with De Rood, the Frenchmen disappeared over the side with their pockets jingling and a firm conviction that they had never seen nor heard of any strange caravels seeking shelter from the elements. To sea once more with the weather becoming more clement daily.

One morning De Rood appeared on deck to be met by astonished gasps from all present. Gone was the Barbary Warlord, replaced by a man who, apart from his deep colouring consequential to many years under the Moroccan sun, was every inch the European Gentleman. He smirked at his slack-jawed audience. Then Simon emerged nervously from behind the Dutchman. He too had metamorphosed into a new creature. His clothes were dark and drab and struck a cord in Pitkin’s memory as acute as a slap across the face. Simon looked the very image of a Puritan bookkeeper. Images of England suddenly and unbidden assailed Wil’s mind. Years of pain and horror momentarily disappeared from his consciousness; he was rendered speechless. Jacob’s heavily bearded and tanned face kept alternating between grin and frown. He pointed hesitantly at De Rood’s garb.

“Am I to believe that I am once more to wear such apparel?” he almost whispered. “I never thought it possible Lord.”

“I have told you Jacob, no more
Lord
. I have told you this frequently and you must attend. Our lives may depend on it. As to your clothing, soon you may wear what you wish, but not just yet. Come, we have things to discus.”

They sat huddled in what passed as the Master’s cabin. That worthy himself was on deck muttering darkly and bemoaning the injustices of life. Small flickering candles held in a hanging lantern cast strange shadows around the tiny cabin, which stank of sweat and damp.

“Soon we shall be arriving in my homeland which I have not seen these many long years,” announced De Rood. “Much will have changed I am sure and we must tread with the utmost caution. Fortunately, if I may use the word, war after war with the Catholics have left my country in dire need of investment from whatever source. Thus, our cargo will not be spurned but, through the good offices of the Jewish community, will be invested and make us both respectable and comfortable.”

“Hah! That goes some way to explaining why Simon and I are here then, we are to become go-betweens!” snorted Jacob. De Rood merely shrugged.

“How long will your ‘cargo’ provide for our needs?” asked Wil.

“Long enough. It will certainly get us a loan in the short term. That will then allow us to set up our business, which in turn will provide for our future prosperity.”

“You seem very confident,” remarked Simon.

“I have been secretly corresponding with certain parties in the Low Countries and believe the scheme to be sound.”

“Do you honestly think that all the Jews in your country are thieves? Do you think they would want to come within a league of your bloodstained booty!” growled Jacob.

“Upon my soul Jacob!” exclaimed De Rood, “Have you grown a conscience?”

“Perhaps I have rediscovered one. Ahhhhh … but who do I deceive but myself? My hands and soul are as tainted as anyones!”

“Then see here a chance to cleanse both. Would you be averse to becoming an importer of exotic produce, medicinal herbs perhaps? Better yet! Should you not like to set up for a surgeon or some such?”

“Do you mock me Sir? Me? A Jew? Who would permit it?”

“You may be surprised my friend. Holland has not persecuted your race since the Spanish were kicked out. With money behind you, all things are possible. Particularly when you have your own man of accounts behind you. Mayhaps even your own bank, owned in partnership of course,” said De Rood winking at Simon. “Start slowly discreetly, as a man of business and move up from there.”

Simon had been staring at the candle flame for some moments until his brain linked De Rood’s gesture with the words ‘accounts’ and ‘bank’. He coughed and smiled slowly.

“I have heard tell of a wondrous plant from the East which perhaps we might investigate with a view to selling on a large scale. I have heard it called a ‘Tulip’.”

“Is it medicinal?” demanded Jacob.

“No, not that I know of.”

“Can it be eaten?” asked Wil.

“No.”

“Then what earthly use is it?” frowned De Rood.

“I am told it is beautiful.”

The other three looked blankly at Simon.

“Well, it was just a passing notion,” shrugged the little Jew.

“Stay with your calculations Master Simon. No Hollander will ever buy or grow such a plant I can assure you.” “May I ask Lord … sorry, Sir. Was it me you were thinking of to attend to our banking?”

“Who better? If you can succeed in the Bazaar of Marrakech, then I cannot see a Fleming posing you any problems! All you need is the right kind of backers and here we sit beside you.”

Pitkin had been following the discourse with growing unease.

“And what of me Master?” he asked. “I have no skills to match those of Jacob and Simon, what then can I offer to this alliance?”

“Ah, but you are going to be a very busy man Wil Pitkin. Our ‘investment’ will not last forever no matter how wisely it is managed. Jacob and Simon will look to our affairs at home, ‘home’ now being my country. But you and I, well, we must provide for the future.”

“I am no merchant Sir.”

“And think you that I am? Yet still we are not without our talents you and I,” grinned De Rood tapping the hilt of his nearby sword. “We must seek out new ‘markets’ and then protect all investments from those whose interests run contrary to ours. In short, we must work hard to ensure a steady flow of wealth to our Jewish comrades here.”

“Who are then to cleanse it? Make it respectable?” snorted Jacob.

“Just so.”

“You speak of criminality Sir!” retorted Jacob with mock outrage.

“I speak of business. Think on it my good Sirs. Ponder it well. Consider the lives that you have but recently left behind, then observe the poverty and degradation that you will shortly come across in the ‘civilised’ countries of Europe. That done, ask yourselves if that is the kind of ‘honest’ life you wish, whereby you end up in the gutter, or, on the other hand, would you prefer to ride in a carriage?”

Pitkin ‘pondered’ quickly.

“One question Sir.”

“Always ‘one question’ Wil! Well, out with it.”

“If one or all of us declined your offer, would we be dead men mayhaps?”

Jacob and Simon’s eyes turned abruptly on De Rood who showed no emotion or indeed, expression.

“You speak boldly Sirrah. It is true, I have killed many a man. Yet I still consider myself an honourable man in that I have never broken my word when freely given.

And I give you, all of you, my oath now that I intend you no harm whatever path you may take from here. If however we are all in agreement, we will undertake a solemn pact, a given pledge from each to uphold his part in this venture and hold true to his comrades. Only if a man broke his vow would he need to fear my blade.”

“Your words cheer me Master,” said Wil. “For in truth, there have been times when I wondered if we might be killed to ensure our silence.”

De Rood smiled and sipped his wine.

“Oh well now Master Pitkin, I didn’t say that it hadn’t crossed my mind!”

The Netherlands had indeed changed, Amsterdam in particular. For the first time in many years, De Rood felt panic but was determined not to reveal it to Simon walking alongside him. The old familiar smell of herrings still permeated the atmosphere, but that was as far as his nostalgia could reach. The seemingly endless war against Spain and her allies had finally come to an end and Holland was independent. Not just independent but apparently thriving, which was not what he had been expecting. A huge network of canals was being built, ships of the recently established Dutch East India Company filled the harbour, which itself was far bigger than De Rood remembered. He looked out to sea and could just make out the topsails of a squadron of warships beating up against the wind. He pursed his lips. This was a possible complication to his master plan. De Rood stopped and petitioned a passing merchant as to the purpose of these fighting vessels. The merchant was astonished. Did he not know? Had he been living on the moon? De Rood said he had been travelling for some years and was thus ignorant of current affairs. The merchant noted the tanned skin, nodded sympathetically, and explained that the ships were preparing for a possible war. War? Against whom? The Spanish again? Oh no, against the English explained the merchant. What had started as a series of minor trading disputes was about to escalate into a full-blown war. The prize at stake was the dominance of seaborne trade, in particular that with the East Indies. To secure that prize, command of the sea was vital. The English, still in confusion from the events of the last decade, had allowed their fleet to decline disgracefully. Meanwhile the Dutch had completely rebuilt and reorganised theirs. This situation was unexpected to say the least, but after his initial alarm at hearing it, De Rood’s shrewd and devious mind began to see possibilities and he started walking on again with Simon trailing in his wake. Turning a corner and deep in thought, he glanced up and suddenly stopped dead. Simon cannoned into him and apologised profusely. De Rood was gaping at the huge Westerkerk. This massive church had still been under construction when he had last seen it. Now he could understand why people had started referring to it as ‘Tall John’. It was enormous!

He shook his head and moved on. Where had Old Amsterdam gone? All along the new canals splendid town houses decorated with elaborate gables and facades were under construction. A sly smile crossed his features. One of those would be perfect for a ‘Gentleman Adventurer’ returning from his travels, particularly when it had such discreet and convenient access to a canal and thus to the sea! The image of himself on one of those ornate balconies was disturbed by his companion. Simon, always with matters of finance and figures on his mind, had been and was still chattering, though whether through excitement or fear was hard to tell. The word ‘Tulip’ arose again and De Rood stopped and glared at him. It appeared that the plant had indeed appeared in Holland, imported from the land of the Ottomans some years ago. It had become a national obsession. Rumour had it that people had mortgaged their homes to buy the bulbs confident that they would make a killing. But the bubble had burst. The plant was still being grown but no one was making any money, which seemed to sadden Simon, perhaps because he had but recently suggested investing in the crop.

“Tulips! Bah! I hope your judgement improves Master Simon, you must be wiser than to even consider investing my money in any such hare-brained schemes!”

“I was without the facts at my disposal Sir. I would never invest so unwisely without being aware of all the implications.”

“I am glad to hear it.”

Then De Rood stopped again. Once again it was the presence of another fine and clearly Protestant church that halted him. He stroked his chin as he contemplated it.

“Tell me Simon, what other intelligence have you gleaned. What for example know you about the religious situation here?”

“In what respect Meinheer?”

De Rood noticed that Simon was already trying to come to terms with yet another language and smiled indulgently.

“Are Catholics free to worship here?”

“Never Sir. Memories of the Inquisition still linger and Papism is strictly forbidden.”

“I thought as much. But Judaism is practised openly?”

“Openly, if discreetly Sir.”

“Interesting.”

Onwards they strode crossing yet more newly constructed canals until they came to the splendid Herengracht. De Rood paused again. It was familiar, yet somehow, not familiar. At length, they came to the banks of the Amstel. Here, in the centre of the Jewish community, were the dealers of precious stones and metals and it was here that De Rood and Simon parted company. Simon, bearing a letter of introduction, disappeared through a maze of tenements navigating by means of a hand drawn map. De Rood sat outside a small eatery and ordered a meal of raw herring, chopped onion and pickles. Glancing to his left he spotted a large man in relaxed pose clearly enjoying his ale and Jenever. He nodded at the large man and he nodded back - a little insurance against the unknown. A short time later Simon appeared and beckoned De Rood towards an alley. The latter stood, stretched, and followed checking his dagger and pistol on the way. But treachery was there none and after some hours of haggling, De Rood and Simon emerged into the early evening sunlight. They walked slowly back towards the heart of the city and were later joined by Jacob who had ensured they were not being followed. Later still they met up with Wil in a quiet and anonymous inn nestling in the north-west corner of Amsterdam. De Rood’s scheme was now afoot. The Jewish businessmen on the banks of the Amstel had tried to maintain a nonchalant countenance, but their eyes had lit up when they saw a sample of De Rood’s ‘baggage’. A provisional deal had been struck. Jacob and Simon received a cash advance from which they were to set up a warehouse and organise accommodation, both to be adequate but un-notable, and both to be totally above board and legal. De Rood lit a pipe and warmed himself by the fire. It was not cold by European standards, but to one used to the desert it took some acclimatising. Wil watched Jacob and Simon depart and waited. Some noisy drinkers passed nearby and he knew De Rood was waiting until no one was in earshot. At length De Rood sat down again and beckoned Wil closer.