'I have called this sitting to hear the case against the one-ear convict slave who stands accused of murdering her infant daughter.' Commander Borghorst turned to the fiscal, Cornelius de Cretzer opposite him. 'Yesterday I ordered you to leave no stone unturned, and to bring me the truth. What do you have to report?'
'My Lord, honourable members of this revered Council of Justice, I greet you in the name of the Vereenigde Oost-Indische Compagnie.'
The five men around the long, wooden table returned his greeting by placing their hands on their hearts and bowing their heads.
'I stand before you with grave concern in my heart.' He paused, placed both his gloved hands on the table, eyes sweeping across each of the faces from left to right, back to the centre. 'An atrocious act occurred right here amidst us decent, law-abiding Christian folk, and I must reveal with shock and dismay-' He pulled out a crisp, white handkerchief folded in a triangle and brought it to his face, hardly touching his nose. His sunburnt face was a portrait of solemnity beneath his wide brimmed feather hat. 'A vile, recalcitrant convict slave known to many as One Ear in the colony, resistant to the advances of Dutch norms and values, strangled her very own infant.'
He remained stone-faced until the heavy sighs, headshaking, and choir-like burst of cursing subsided. 'Valuable property of the Company, a prized baptised half caste, died in pain and agony-'
'Have you proof of this dastardly deed?' Interrupted the Commander.
'I submit to you this sworn declaration of the chief surgeon and statements from reliable witnesses obtained by the chief gardener. It all states the same thing. The infant died in consequence of the slave's intentions. I await your further instruction.'
The Commander jumped to his feet. 'I want a full Confession. You will place her in confinement and bleed the truth from her!'
The fiscal touched the brim of his black hat and bowed his head. His body collapsed into an obliging curtsy. 'Your command I will execute with haste, Commander.'
'And report back to this Council, tonight still.'
'As it pleases this Cou-'
'A full and free confession,' sputtered the Commander with a wheezing chest bobbing up and down. 'Nothing less.' The sudden attack forced him to sit down.' When he regained his composure, he stood up and stormed out of the room without greeting or any concluding pleasantries.
Preoccupied with their own thoughts, they fell into their seats when his footsteps were no longer audible. A silence marked by beard pulling, lip curling, sighs and foot tapping settled among the men. It was Lieutenant Coon who jumped up and, pointing at the fiscal, demanded. 'Cornelis, we must make an example. There are too many of them and they are getting out of control. If we want these evil-spirited natives and slaves to conform, we must show them who are in charge.'
The fiscal lifted his eyebrows, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. 'I cannot agree more, Lieutenant.'
'He ordered a full and free confession. That gives you the right to extract-'
'As harsh as possible.' Coon was interjected by Smient whose face was emotionless.
The fiscal nodded, two fingers on his upturned lips. 'Any suggestions? How harsh...is harsh?'
'Burn her at the stake. That should take care of these witches once and for all,' seethed Valckenrijk, hitting his fist on the table.
The rest of the men, confused and taken aback, stared at him, and burst out laughing.
The fiscal addressed Valckenrijk. 'Calm down, Jan. First things first. I must keep her alive to squeeze a confession from her... And I think I know exactly how I'll get it. Then we can decide on a sentence.'
De Cretzer, Lieutenant Coon, Smient, Wittebol and Jan Valckenrijk made their way to the slave lodge. They stopped in front of a dilapidated building with no windows.
'Go and get her,' de Cretzer instructed two male slaves while they remained on the horse-driven cart at a distance. The slaves eventually emerged poking a woman with a cane in her back, prompting her to go towards the cart. Covered with a blanket from head-to-toe she was advancing unsteadily, placing one foot in front of the other with measured movements.
'Take off the blanket,' the fiscal shouted at the slaves behind her. The two bare-footed males in coarse linen shirts and tattered knickerbockers retreated and shook their heads, eyes wide.
'Pox,' they shouted from where they were standing and pointed to the woman. 'Pox.'
'Clean her up and take her to the torture chamber. That's an order!'
The two men took off their hats and looked at each other, trepidation and fear ingrained in the lines of their pitch-black faces, exposing the white of their eyes against the black dilated pupils.
'Right now, or I'll have you flogged in public,' screamed de Cretzer.
***
The five men in black robes and double-breasted naval jackets, breeches, narrow knee-length boots with turned-over tops and shoulder-length curls beneath their broad-brimmed hats made their way to the front of the room. Commander Borghorst was in the centre, flanked by two officials to his right and three to his left. He acknowledged the fiscal at the table with a slight nod of the head, and an impatient imprint etched into the lines of his face. 'What have you uncovered? Is the convict slave guilty of infanticide?'
The fiscal, a tall man in his thirties, face contorted in anger mixed with disdain, rose to his feet. 'With the help of 'Lieutenant Coon, Smient, Wittebol and Jan Valckenrijk, we spared no effort to get to the bottom of this dark crime and we speak from one mouth. I, this colony's fiscal, stand here today in the firm belief that such barbarous conduct cannot, in clear conscience, pass by without severe punishment.' He ripped out a document and waved it in the air. 'This, right here in my hand, contains the missing piece of the puzzle,' he said. 'It is a Con-fes-sion.' Then he put it down, tugged at his long, pointed beard and continued in a low tone, his voice barely audible. 'A signed Confession from the very lips of the child murderer herself, obtained-'
The Commander, gripped in a coughing fit which continued until his face turned red, started fidgeting in his pockets while the fiscal, with a hint of irritation on his frowned forehead, glanced at the table and turned his attention to his notes. Lieutenant Johannes Coon and Jacob Granaat jumped at the opportunity of a quick exchange in hushed tones while Jansz and Brettal remained stoic. Smient, seated next to Borghorst on his right, smirked at the Commander's temporary incapacity. Wheezing and gasping for air his trembling fingers wrestled something from the pocket of his doublet which he stuffed into his mouth. When he was finally composed, he lifted his hand and waved it shakily at the fiscal to proceed.
'This Confession contains the proof upon which we must act. It proves that she is guilty of the dark crime her fellow slaves accused her of. The murder of her own infant daughter, valuable property of the Company whose life was taken in cold blood. But that is not all...we obtained expert medical evidence-' He bent down and pulled out a document from a folder. The folder slipped from his hand and hit the floor with a thud. He scrambled to gather the documents which lay scattered. Eventually he pulled out something that elicited a jovial 'Ah ha' from him. 'Here it is,' he said and stared at the document. 'The findings of the autopsy. Performed by none other than our two esteemed surgeons.' He was on a roll. 'But that's not all...' De Cretzer burrowed among his papers once more, pulled out yet another document and lifted his eyebrows in surprise before he spoke. 'What is this, you might wonder?' A deep frown had settled on his forehead. 'Wonder no more. For it is a Declaration, signed by reliable witnesses in the employ of the Company and secured by none other than our Chief Gardener. This Declaration, proves, conclusively, that eight days ago that stinking chickenpox infested murderous pig, consumed by the darkness of her soul, smothered the product of her own loins to death.'
The last few grains of sand in the neck of the hourglass signalled that it had reached its end. The Commander glanced at the fiscal and turned it around with excessive force.
'Fiscal, it is late. We have a long day tomorrow.'
'In conclusion,' said de Cretzer. He placed the palms of both his hands on the table. 'This abomination must be punished for her darkness... Severely so. And there are many ways to punish rogue slaves and root out their violent notions. Much improved behaviours have been noted with the application of crucifixions. Dismemberment. And burning at the stake as suggested by Jan. Of course, there are also drawing, quartering and many other deterrents all proven and-'
'De Cretzer, we do not have all night. Get to the matter of punishment. Speed it up.'
'Indeed, Commander, my intention was to-'
'Irrelevant. I want your recommendations for proper sentencing in such circumstances.'
'Rip-out-her-breasts-' he exclaimed. He slit his heavy browed eyes and his thin face creased with disgust. He grew taller and taller as he pushed out his chest, clutching both the lapels of his black cloak. 'With red hot pinchers...' His voice echoed through the room and all the eyes followed his every move and hanged onto every word that fell from his lips. 'And-burrrn-the-murderous-pig-to-ashes!'
'Thank you. Sit down.'
The fiscal gathered his documents and shoved them in one untidy heap before he straightened his cloak, wiped his mouth, and sat down.
'I am of one mind with the fiscal,' added the Commander. We must dispose of this matter with speed. The dead half caste was Company property. It has also come to my attention that another native infant was rescued by a settler women from an unspeakable fate this very year. Then, of course, there was the matter of the three children of widow Meerhoff ...so blatantly deserted by the vile mother. Such atrocities are on the rise, and it must be halted. These slaves we do not yet understand, neither their disdain for the life of a girl child.' The feathered hats bob up and down. 'Public execution. That will send a warning. It will serve as an example to the uncivilised that murder, especially this kind, is punishable by death. It is incumbent on us, the god-fearing defenders of the faith, and this Council, to preserve the decency of this growing colony. No matter the costs.' He turned to the fiscal. 'Tomorrow, you will bring the prisoner before this Council for sentencing.'
When the meeting was concluded, the Commander of the fledgling Dutch settlement at the Cape of Good Hope walked to his quarters. A bare-footed slave, head downcast was awaiting his arrival. He wore scruffy breeches two sizes too big and a coarse shirt that lost its colour a long time ago. When his master was in proximity, he took off his hat and, clutching it in his calloused right hand, placed it over his heart.
'Gunand, master,' he greeted without lifting his head.
'Bring my food.'
The slave shuffled off. In the kitchen two slaves looked up when he appeared in the doorway. 'Sickum is here,' he whispered while glancing down the passage. The two women snickered and picked up the trays. In silence they carried the food to the dining room and returned to the kitchen. The butler took his position against the wall close to the door when the Commander started on his meal.
The sun, a blood red blotch against the crimson sky was disappearing behind Table Mountain that towered over the four cornered fort of mud and clay, hidden behind the pointed stakes and palisades.
In the limited light of his candle-lit desk Commander Borghorst unlocked the top drawer of his huge desk and took out his journal. He flipped through the pages and paused at the entry dated 13 September 1665. He stuck his hand into the drawer and fished out the small velvet pouch at the back. Slowly he shook out its content and placed each of the stones, individually, in the palm of his hand. He closed his hand and squeezed them so tight that his knuckles turned white. Then he placed them, one by one, in a straight row in front of him, eyes glued to the multi-coloured gemstones. A faraway expression settled on his face as he reached, without looking, for the bottle and the glass neatly arranged in the tray on top of the crisp white linen cloth. He leaned back into his armchair. Gripped by a sudden rage he punched the table with his fist and gulped down wine, one glass after the other. After a while he picked them up and, admiring the blue, red, green and diamond hues of each one of them against the light of the candle, he put them back into the pouch.
The two young slave women in the adjacent room, startled by the angry sound of the bell, looked at one another and jump to their feet without saying a word. Summoned to service they hurried to their master's bedroom. In the limited light they moved around like rabbits, eyes and ears tuned to his every grunt and gesture. The brutal invasion eventually came to an end, witnessed only by the deceitful glow of the moon reflected in their eyes. He emptied himself, and passed out, indifferent to the two shadows against the wall who snuffed the light and made their way to the kitchen. On the hard earth they lay their bodies to rest under the thin company-issued blanket with the ebb and flow of the never-ending tides of Table Bay in their ears.
The next morning, their master woke up at first light and walked to the wall of quarried stone, axed, smoothed, and dressed into proper shape to serve as the entrance of the fort. Saluted by the Dutch soldiers on guard.