For the Commander, little comfort was derived from a night's sleep in the month of May.
The growing slave desertion and random attacks on farms issued to the Freemen along the Liesbeeck River caused an uneasiness, and it dampened the mood around the Peninsula. For the first time since their arrival the close-knitted settler community experienced a sense of insecurity which, unwittingly, manifested itself in conversations around the dinner table, church services and public houses.
It was not only Nommoa that kept him awake. It was also the Caapmen - once bright-eyed at the sight of his copper, wire, and beads - who no longer displayed the same awe at his wares, and displayed a reluctance to part with their cattle.
'How on earth will I supply the colony with meat? What if the ships arrive in peak season?'
'God will provide. He never failed us and He will guide us through this storm, husband. Have faith.'
'Eva believes bad spirits stole my sleep.'
'You are a man of faith. Now more than ever, believe that God wants your attention. Not bad spirits.'
'God is far away right now...'
'He is speaking to you. Through your dreams.'
In the middle of the night he jumped up. He shook Maria by the shoulders. 'Did you hear that?'
'Hear what,' she asked, with her eyes closed.
'Nothing. Go back to sleep.'
'I am awake now.'
'I heard Eva calling my name. She was standing there, by the door.'
'God sent her.'
'Eva knows the Khoe like she knows the moods of the all seasons. But she is only a girl. Why would He send me a heathen girl?'
'Because, husband, He works in mysterious ways.'
'At times I wish I understood the simplicity of your faith,' he grunted and turned his back on her.
The next morning he summoned Krotoa. 'What is going on? Today you will tell me everything you know. No lies. If I found out you lied you will lose those lips. Then I will cut out that lying tongue with this.' When she started speaking he picked up a rusty awl and rubbed it between his fingers as she spoke. When she was through he stared at her, kept stroking the old tool and dismissed her with a gesture of his head.
'I called this urgent Council meeting to address the runaway slaves. Since the start of this month, seven black slaves deserted: one from the forest, two from the fort and four from the farms. The oldest, who pretended he was ill, influenced all of them.' The Commander waited for the murmers to dissipate. 'Last month freemen Caspar Brinkman, Jan Reindersz and Harman Remajenne were hit. It broke my heart when I saw Caspar. The young man had tears in his eyes when he spoke about his four black slaves that had run away in the night. Harman's female slave fled with rice and clothing. All the slaves of Reindersz took blankets, rice, tobacco, and clothes.'
'We must catch a few and make examples of them.' It was Harwarden. 'My slaves say these old ones are clever.'
'My best trackers are searching for them. Every day,' said Abraham. The Hottentoos were promised huge rewards if they bring in the fugitives. We must unearth the reasons for the sudden surge in runaways, and establish what prompted these cleverness and thievery.'
The Commander hit the table a couple of times. His face was pink. 'There is no such thing as a clever slave. We must stop these desertions. We look weak.'
'Abraham, it was your duty to get to the bottom of these desertions. What is the cause? Excessive whipping... or thumping?' Asked De Mann. 'There must be something behind it.'
'All the freemen deny whipping or thumping. I admit. Their swiftness of foot makes it difficult to catch them. The Hottentoos are our best hope to find them, but for some reason they appear reluctant to help. We suspect they are harbouring these slaves and intend to exchange them for their own profit in the interior.'
'What about Herry? He was always helpful,' said De Mann.
'Herry had been gone for a long time, but he is back now. He was encouraged to go and look for the runaway slaves, and capture as many as he can. He was treated with brandy and tobacco, and his bags were filled with the usual. The old jackal promised he would do his best, with huge demands.'
'Such as?' The question came from Councillor Verenne.
'That he and all the Caapmen, with all their huts and cattle, dwell as good friends in our neighbourhood from now on. And better protection against other natives from the interior.'
Laughter erupted. 'Are we going to give in to such madness?'
'No,' replied the Commander. 'We will only negotiate once our slaves and cattle are returned. I instructed the fiscus to inspect the farms of the freemen. He is ready with a report.' He sat down.
'I, together with sergeant Harwarden went around to the freemen. They will treat their slaves properly, and not make them surly. And to stop the continual beatings, thumping, and whippings. We cannot afford one single runaway. We need the labour. They demanded we interrogate Anthony. They were certain he knew the whereabouts of the fugitives, and the cattle.'
When he sat down, the Commander got up and cleared his throat. 'Upon receipt of Abraham's report, just prior to this meeting, I sent for Anthony. I will bring him before the Council. I believe he is plotting behind our backs. Abraham, from now on we will have eyes on him day and night. Get him.'
Nommoa accompanied him inside, dressed like a hunter, in lion skins and a necklace of teeth and feathers. Tails, and a variety of animal parts adorned his ankles and upper arms. Around his head was what could be the tail of a leopard. Attached to his headband was the tail of a squirrel which trailed down the side of his right ear. His right hand clutched his spear. Upright, chin lifted, he stood among the Dutch Council, unafraid. It was the first time they saw in full traditional gear.
They stared at him. Some were amused. Some smiled. Others laughed out loud, entertained at the sight of the Commanders second interpreter they viewed as dull. Stupid really. The one they sarcastically baptised Domineer, who, after his return from Batavia insisted he was Anthony, and not Doman or Domineer. They heard that it had been revealed to him in Batavia that his Dutch name ridiculed his intellect and meant stupid man.
When the murmurs subsided, the Commander snickered. 'What have we here, today? Anthony the preacher? No. Let me guess. Domineer or perhaps Doman? 'He put his finger on his lips and pretended to think. 'Oh, I get it.' He turned to the men. 'What we have here today is the mighty Hottentoo warrior, Nommoa of the Goringhaiqua.' Comments and laughter ensued. Nommoa remained unresponsive. 'Why are the Hottentoos refusing to search for the runaways?'
'I do not know.'
The Commander could not hide his disgust at the cold response. 'You do not know? Is that it? You do not know?'
Nommoa's maintained his countenance. Stoic. Upright. Looking straight ahead of him with not the slightest inclination to engage.
The Commander was a surgeon. He knew men and he could interpret every facial twitch. Before him stood a Khoe man. Not the stupid one they called Domineer. Or Anthony who returned from Batavia with a Bible under his arm. No. In front of him was a warrior. Decorated. Proudly he displayed his war scars; his hunting prowess adorned his head, neck, arms and legs like any high-ranking officer back in Holland. He was no longer Anthony, Doman or Domineer. In front of them was a warrior who declared war against his settlement.
'Nommoa, that is your name, I am told?' He stepped up to him and whispered into his ear. 'Do know what we are doing to your one-ear slave?' Nommoa remained unresponsive. Van Riebeeck smirked. He flicked the squirrel tail attached to the headband which hanged down the side of his right ear.
Nommoa gripped his spear. He squeezed it so tight that his right hand began to tremble. The muscles in his upper arm twitched and formed a huge lump.
'Get out of my sight.' Nommoa turned and walked to the door. When he put his hand on the doorknob, the Commander spoke once again. 'About your convict slave.' His hand froze. 'If the runaways are not returned and it comes to light that you had a hand in their disappearance... it will end badly for her.' Nommoa opened the door and left.
The Commander's suspicions were confirmed. Moreover, it had aroused his interest in the convict slave. Once again, he summoned Krotoa. 'So, the Hottentoos are harbouring the runaways.'
'I tell you, mijnheer, Doman is no good.'
He stopped her. 'Eva, I would have believed you if you came to me and told me about the meeting of the Caapmen before it took place. But no, I had to threaten you for the truth. So, from now on, enough with the pretending. We both know you do not call him Doman. Or Anthony. I am not a fool. Now you will tell me what else you found out. Start from the beginning, and this time, speak with an honest tongue or I will toss you out, minus those lips and tongue, and tell the Caapmen about you.'
'Nommoa is no good. Everything we speak in master's room he tells Gogosoa. If I tell him, it is wrong, he says he is not a Dutchman and that I am a Hottentoo slave with bad blood.'
'Is this true what you are telling me?'
'Yes, master, everything I speak is correct. The captain of the Caapmen harbours the slaves. He intends to present them as gifts to the Cochoquas to remain good friends with them.'
'The Cochoquas?'
'Yes, mijnheer. My sister wife to
one of their captains. One of the wives. He also has other wives but she my sister is-'
'Enough. I am interested in your family history. Do have slaves?'
'No master. They sell the slaves to the daccha growers who live far and want slaves to work the earh for the green medicine. My people want the herb because it has the powers to summon the spirits of our ancestors.'
'That treasonous low life.'
'Please, if mijnheer respects my life and the skin on my face among the Caapmen... What fell from my lips in darkness cannot be revealed to them.'
'And if I do? What will you do? Betray me too?'
'If what I said dwells between us then I will always speak openly.'
'Anything else to convey under the cover of darkness?'
'Gogosoa has two sons. Schacher and Otegno. Seize them. If you do this your black slaves would soon return.'