In Alkmaar, life is going on as usual. Barges are coming and going, cargo is being loaded and unloaded and people are trading at the cheese market. Here and there, I hear people talking about the plague but it isn’t the talk of the town here. I soon realize people believe the sickness has remained confined to the South. I don’t intend to draw attention to myself by telling anyone the truth.
I said goodbye to Wout and the lads at Tree Gate before going from tavern to tavern along Brewer’s Quay. The cheese market has just finished. Usually my father and brothers sit drinking or finishing off bits of business in the pub for a while. Not for too long, they’ve always got the journey home ahead of them. It seems they’ve left in good time today, too, because I can’t find them.
I keep looking for a while in the inns near the cheese market and when that brings me no joy either, I walk farther into the city to the Thirteen Beams. It’s been more than a year since I last saw Emil and Bertha. I quicken my step, almost breaking into a run for the last stretch. A little out of breath, I push open the door.
Our reunion is even more enthusiastic than I expect. Bertha screams and drops a tankard, Emil comes toward me with open arms and pulls me into a tight hug.
“Catrin! How is it possible! I never thought I’d see you again,” says Bertha tearfully.
To my surprise, she starts crying, and I put my arm around her. “Of course you would, why did you think that?”
She pulls me into the back, to their living room. “Where have you been? You’ve got to tell me everything.”
I don’t intend to do that, and begin a vague story that Bertha quickly interrupts.
“You were in Amsterdam but you didn’t stay there,” she says. “You left without letting us know where you were going. Why, Catrin?”
“I sent word, but it obviously didn’t get through.” It’s hard to lie to her face and Bertha isn’t fooled.
“That’s not true. You did a moonlit flit and sent no word. I think I know why.”
Our eyes meet. I’m the first to look away.
“You ran,” Bertha says gently. “The bailiff has been here looking for you. He wanted to talk to you.”
I look at her again and see my fear reflected in Bertha’s eyes. “Did he say what about?”
“About Govert.”
A silence falls, which I break with a deep sigh. “Tell me everything, Bertha.”
“No, you tell me everything. Is it true what they’re saying?”
“What are they saying?”
“That you killed your husband.”
If you want to keep something secret, you can’t trust anyone, even your best friends. I can’t lie to Bertha but I can’t confess my crime either, so I keep quiet.
“Oh God,” says Bertha. “Don’t say anything, I understand. I think I knew as soon as it happened. But after everything that bastard did to you, I can hardly blame you.”
“Govert was stone drunk. He fell into bed and stopped breathing.”
“I believe you, lovely, and I’d stick to that story. Don’t tell anyone any different, not even me, then they have nothing to use against you.” She takes my hand and continues. “Emil knows Van Venn, the bailiff. Govert’s brother went to him because he didn’t believe what happened.”
“Mart. He can’t stand the fact that the whole inheritance went to me after one year of marriage.”
“Yes, Emil said the brother had his own reasons for blackening your name. So put it down to that.”
“What did the bailiff say, exactly?”
“That he wanted to ask you some questions. He hung around, Emil gave him a few beers and then he told us the doctor who examined Govert said that he had lots of red dots on his eyeballs. That points to him having suffocated.”
“So he wants to talk to me.” It’s impossible to hide my alarm from Bertha. My heart is hammering painfully in my chest and I can feel the color draining from my face.
“I wouldn’t stick around, if I were you. You’d have been better off not coming back at all.”
“Bertha’s right.” We turn to Emil, who’s standing in the doorway. “One minute they just want to talk to you and the next they’re putting you to the question,” he says.
I struggle to swallow. I’ve heard enough stories about their methods to have a vivid picture of what that would involve. Visions of thumbscrews and pulleys for wrenching joints apart appear before my eyes. It’s not hard to get a confession that way. If your guilt is in doubt, they resort to those methods assuming God will help you to endure the torture if you’re innocent.
“You need to get out of here, Catrin,” says Bertha. “I don’t know where you’ve been all this time, but you’d be better off going back there.”
“I can’t,” I whisper. “Not right now anyway.”
“Why not?”
For a second, I question whether I should tell her, then I decide to be honest. “There’s plague where I’ve come from.”
This news comes as more of a shock than my silent admission of guilt. Bertha slaps her hand over her mouth, Emil stiffens.
“What did you say?” he chokes.
“There were two or three cases when I left the city, and that was in an area where I never go. So I can’t be carrying it,” I say hastily. “But you see now that I can’t go back.”
Bertha and Emil exchange glances. “Which city are you talking about?” Bertha asks in a high-pitched voice, full of fear. “Is it near Alkmaar?”
“No, I traveled for three days to get here. You don’t need to be afraid.”
But they are, of course.
“Breda is much further than three days away. They said the plague had hit Breda, but it must be much closer.” Bertha looks at me, her eyes huge.
“They say all kinds of things. And who says the plague will spread north? It could just as easily spread east, or die down.”
It makes no difference what I say, they’re suddenly looking at me differently. Bertha shuffles back, wiping her hands on her apron.
“You can’t stay here,” she says apologetically. “There’s no room.”
“Oh,” I say.
“It’s the truth. I’m sorry.”
“It doesn’t matter, there are plenty of inns in Alkmaar. I’ll go and find one right away.”
We stand looking at each other a little awkwardly, then Emil gestures to the door. “You should be able to find something at the Morien’s Head.”
I nod, look back one last time at Bertha, who stands rooted to the spot with her arms folded. When she continues to say nothing, I leave.