‘Well,’ said Nathan as they crossed the bridge. ‘There is a fellow who knows more than he says.’
She waited for a trio of shouting children to barge past. ‘He was playing some sort of game, that is obvious. And his face, I don’t know. I seemed to recognise it somehow. He was with the army, an officer perhaps – did he seem familiar?’
They rounded a corner to reach the waterfront. ‘Lots of people were in the army, Mercia. How should I know who he is?’
She looked at him. ‘I suppose not.’
He sighed. ‘But he clearly knows of James North. When we have spoken with Pietersen, we should find him again.’
‘I intend to. Ah, this must be it.’
She stopped in front of a five-storeyed brick building set slightly back from the waterfront. Its facade was pitted with symmetrical windows, its gabled roof bisected by a small, domed structure jutting up to the sky. A set of gallows stood nonchalant in the small courtyard in front, but nobody was swinging today.
Two guards at the entrance looked over. Giving them a quick nod, Nathan walked Mercia towards an alley running down the building’s right side.
‘We cannot just stroll in,’ he said. ‘We will have to wait for Pietersen to come out. And I have just thought of a problem. We do not know what he looks like.’
‘Hell’s teeth.’ She cursed herself. ‘Why did neither of us think to ask Davids?’
‘Too busy trying to work out what he was saying.’
‘True. Well, we will find him out some other way.’ She leant against the alley wall, gazing at the riverfront in silence.
Nathan bit his lip. ‘Mercia, what happened in the brewhouse—’
She twisted her head to face him. ‘It is disturbing you.’
‘Yes.’
‘It was as you said. He wanted to kill us.’ She sighed. ‘But no. I wish he could have lived.’
‘I am sorry. I should have controlled myself, but—’
‘It does not matter now.’ She rested her hand on his arm. ‘You were protecting me.’
‘I know. ’Tis just that, I wish you did not have to see.’
‘Do not think badly of yourself, Nat.’ She tried a smile of reassurance. ‘We are alive. Let’s just stand here and wait.’
Twenty minutes later a commotion from along the canal made Mercia peek from their hiding place. A group of men were walking towards the Stadt Huys, Winthrop and his followers amongst a larger number of well-dressed townsfolk. In the midst of the Dutch contingent strode a sober man in a large feather-plumed hat, a wide orange sash decorating his breastplate of shining bronze. He was moving awkwardly, his gait off-centre, surrounded by his men.
‘That must be Governor Stuyvesant,’ she said. ‘By the Lord, that is a huge nose. ’Tis bigger than Winthrop’s.’
Nathan put his head round the corner but they hastily withdrew as the group approached. Once the men had passed and halted in front of the town hall, they looked again.
‘We will leave you here,’ Stuyvesant was saying. ‘My council is assembled inside. I will talk with them, but I do not think much needs to be said.’
‘Think before you act,’ said Winthrop. ‘You have our terms in writing. Let us know your answer by civilised means.’ He bowed, leading his party towards the boat on which they had arrived.
‘If they leave now,’ whispered Nathan, ‘how are we going to get back?’
‘Hopefully they will delay.’ Mercia was still looking at Stuyvesant’s group. ‘They will find some excuse – and if not—damn, will those soldiers not move?’
‘Forget escaping. You just want to see his leg.’
‘Of course.’ She slipped as she stretched too far out, but she caught herself on the wall in time. ‘Captain Morley mentioned it enough times on board ship. Ah, finally.’
Dismissing his soldiers Stuyvesant marched towards the town hall, his bearing as imposing as Nicolls’, testament to a long history of command. Now he was fully visible, Mercia could see his long sword hanging down his right side, its tip sitting snug against a fine wooden leg that came up to his knee. The scuffed stump spoke to years of use.
‘That must shape a man,’ said Nathan. ‘To survive an amputation – I have seen men lying on tables, their limbs shot through, choosing to die rather than face the surgeon’s brutal cut.’
‘He is impressive, I will say that.’ She ducked her head back inside the alley. ‘Now what do we do?’
‘Wait here.’ Nathan pulled his hat down low and disappeared round the corner. She peered out to see him walking at a brisk pace towards the nearby pier. He nodded at the boat where Winthrop and his men had now embarked before continuing on. Seconds later one of the men left the boat to follow him, but they soon passed out of her sight. Minutes later, when she was beginning to worry, she felt a hand tap her shoulder. She jumped.
‘I’m sorry.’ Nathan was standing behind her.
‘All the way round this group of buildings. I thought the guards might notice if I was constantly walking in front of them.’
‘Very sensible. What were you doing?’
‘Finding a way to talk with one of Winthrop’s men. I asked him to wait for us, but he’s worried if they stay too long the Dutch will be suspicious. They will give us what time they can. Now follow me. I noticed the town hall extends right down here.’
He led her down the alley and leapt over a low wall into a large backyard, startling an old woman passing by. Mercia smiled at her, shrugging her shoulders, but the woman frowned and continued on her way.
‘You should be more careful,’ she said, joining Nathan on the other side of the wall. ‘That woman kept looking back. I had to wait for her to turn the corner.’ She looked around. They were in a dirty yard littered with the detritus of construction, a number of semi-mature trees doing their best to disguise the mess. ‘Why are we here?’
‘This is the back of the town hall.’ Nathan pointed upwards. ‘Winthrop’s man said the council usually meets in the central room on the second floor. If Davids is right, Pietersen is there. We can look through the window to try to pick him out.’
She craned her neck. ‘What, up there? ’Tis too high.’
‘That shouldn’t be a problem.’ He shook the trunk of a leafy tree growing directly beneath. ‘But it won’t take my weight.’
He smiled at her.
‘Oh no,’ she said. ‘In this dress?’
‘Steady,’ said Mercia, climbing near the top of the quivering tree. She edged along a thick branch that extended below the second-floor window. Nathan was holding the trunk, but the stability he provided was minimal. Gripping the sill above, she inched up her head to see into the meeting room, hiding her face as much as she could.
‘What’s going on?’ asked Nathan.
She wobbled on the branch. ‘They’re in there, but ’tis hard to see. Stuyvesant is in the middle, surrounded by several others. They look unhappy. He is shaking his head, gesticulating.’ She swayed a little, trying for a better position. ‘Now he is waving a piece of paper at them. Probably the terms Winthrop gave him. It looks like they want him to hand it over, but he is keeping it close to his chest. No, they are definitely not happy. Oh!’
‘What is it?’
‘Stuyvesant has torn up the paper and thrust the pieces in his pocket.’
‘Why?’
‘Nicolls said he was obstinate. Maybe he wants to reject the terms. But now the others are really upset. One of them is screaming so loudly I can hear. Not that it helps, ’tis all in Dutch.’
‘Any idea which one is Pietersen?’
‘Not yet.’ She risked a look down. ‘Why don’t you come up?’
‘Too heavy.’ A bird settled on the tree, shaking the smallest branches. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll catch you if you fall.’
‘Thank you so much.’ She went back to looking through the window. ‘This is better than the theatre. Stuyvesant is standing with his arms folded, refusing to listen.’ She winced. ‘That must hurt. Someone is shouting right in his ear. Now he is backing away. He is taking the scraps of paper from his pocket. He has handed them to one of the others. Who is coming towards a table by the window—Hell!’
She ducked down, making the tree shudder unnervingly, but after a few seconds she risked looking back up.
‘I can see two men at the table. One is trying to put the pieces back in order. The other has turned to the rest. He is asking a question. Stuyvesant looks livid.’ She waited. ‘I think they are taking a vote. Yes, someone is shouting out names.’ She listened closely, repeating the names as they were called. ‘De Decker. Steenwick. Van Cortlandt. Pietersen.’ She nearly fell from the tree. ‘Nat, I know which is Pietersen.’
‘No, I want to see how this ends.’
But the meeting did not last much longer. The vote was concluded, Stuyvesant clearly in the minority. He brooded in a corner, furious. The council began to file from the room. Mercia followed Pietersen with her eyes, registering his unassuming clothes, his dark hair, his hooked nose.
‘Pietersen is leaving,’ she hissed. ‘We have to get to the front in case he comes out.’
She slid down the trunk, a jagged twig ripping a tear in her dress as she streaked her hands on the rough bark. Once on the ground she raced through the yard to hurdle the low wall. But then she pulled up short, colliding with Nathan as he halted in the alley, an unimpressed guard blocking their way.
The guard raised his long musket. When he spoke it was in English. ‘Come with me.’
They were marched to the courtyard in front of the town hall. Mercia glanced at the adjacent pier where Winthrop was still holding off his departure. Remarking their predicament, he turned his head towards them before looking quickly away.
‘How are we going to get out of this?’ whispered Nathan. ‘Winthrop will have to leave.’
‘Quiet,’ growled the guard, one of the two who had been stationed at the town hall entrance. The old woman from the alley was hovering nearby, talking with his colleague – or rather at him. The harassed man hurried over as soon as he saw his fellow return.
While the soldiers were talking, Mercia mumbled at Nathan from the corner of her mouth. ‘Should we run to the boat?’
‘The guards seem worried. I don’t think they know what to do. They may panic and—’
‘Nat,’ she interrupted. ‘That’s Pietersen, leaving the building now.’ She nodded to where a quartet of men were exiting the hall. ‘The man with the ribbons on his waistcoat. Look.’
The man she recognised as Pietersen broke off from his group as he noticed what was happening in the courtyard. He peered at the two prisoners, taking a tentative step in their direction, staring at Mercia in particular. Then his eyes widened and he looked down, speeding away on his original course.
‘Meneer Pietersen!’ shouted one of the guards. ‘He, Meneer Pietersen!’
The sentry’s voice rang out clear in the small space but Pietersen walked still faster, pretending not to hear. By the time he rounded the corner, his walk had become a jog. The guard went back to muttering with his companion.
‘Did you see that?’ whispered Mercia. ‘He looked at me and ran off.’
Nathan nodded. ‘Someone must have warned him about you. Perhaps that Jerrard—’ He fell silent as a musket was poked into his back.
‘No talk!’ said the guard who had brought them there. ‘Now wait.’
He lowered his musket and entered the town hall. The remaining soldier stayed with them, holding his gun vertically, the barrel pointing up from the ground. Mercia looked at him more closely. He was wearing a breastplate and helmet, but would it be possible to overpower him? She glanced at his musket. His grip was firm – if she grabbed it and pulled, it might throw him off balance, allowing Nathan to attack. But before she could catch Nathan’s eye to suggest they attempt it, one of Winthrop’s party appeared from the boat. She smiled to herself. This would be some ruse of Winthrop’s.
The approaching envoy nodded, addressing the guard. ‘Before we return to our ship, Governor Winthrop wonders whether any answer is yet available from Governor Stuyvesant.’
‘I do not understand,’ said the guard. ‘You want the governor?’
‘No, I want to know if there is any message.’
The guard shook his head, unable to comprehend. He shouted a question towards the town hall entrance. From the shadows someone disappeared inside, re-emerging moments later with a freckled clerk.
‘I speak English,’ the clerk said to Winthrop’s man. ‘What do you want?’
‘I want to know if there is any message from the governor.’
The Dutchman smirked. ‘So you try to find out from me what is happening, now your friends here have been caught?’ He jerked his head at Nathan. ‘Spying on the council is not a good idea.’
The envoy blinked. ‘I do not know what you mean.’
‘They were looking through a window. They are English. We know you sent them.’
‘Oh, come now. Do you think we would employ a woman to do a soldier’s work?’ He glanced at Mercia and scoffed. ‘Well then. I shall leave you to your duties.’
He walked back to the boat. Mercia watched him go in disbelief.
She was still reeling from Winthrop’s abandonment when the sentry reappeared with a more grandly uniformed guardsman, evidently his superior. The time for a quick escape had gone. The guards debated energetically, gesticulating at the captured pair, looking at Winthrop’s boat, staring back at the town hall. The officer in charge considered what to do, clearly as uncertain as his subordinates. Finally he barked out an order and returned inside.
The guards raised their muskets. ‘Move,’ said one, jabbing Mercia in the back. The other fell in behind Nathan, forcing him to walk alongside her towards the canal. As they passed the pier, she saw the boat had already cast off and was being rowed back to the fleet. She looked for Winthrop, but he was facing the other way.
At gunpoint they were marched along the New Amsterdam streets, over the stone bridge, past Marta’s tavern, out into the large marketplace in front of the fort where the murmuring locals ceased their chatter to stare. One of the guards shouted a command, and the fort’s hefty gate grumbled open, scattering a cloud of dust.
Another musket prod nudged Mercia through. She stumbled with Nathan into the Dutch stronghold, triangular bastions topped with fearsome cannons at each corner, ramparts manned by dozens of soldiers along each edge.
The gate clanged shut, trapping them inside.