Part Three:
“Bartholemew!” Their grandfather
barked. “You will watch Harm like a hawk, you understand?”
“I said I will, so I will,” Bart
gave a petulant scowl, and was rewarded with a slap around his ear by the old
grizzled naval officer.
“And less of your cheek young man!
You watch your little brother out there, or do I have to send the servants with
you?”
“No sir,” Bart winced at the
throbbing pain, and frowned at Harm waiting eagerly by the large door.
“Very well,” their grandfather
gave a curt nod. “Be back for the evening meal, we’ll be holding the vigil as a
family; and don’t you dare stray from the main waters!”
“Yes sir.”
Their grandfather patted him forcefully
on the shoulder, then returned to his study.
“Are we ready?” Harm smiled,
swinging his new skating boots excitedly.
Bart didn’t even bother to reply.
He strode past his younger brother, past the waiting servant in the hall, and
stepped out onto the frozen streets of Old Haarlem.
The snap of cold stalled his
breathing, and he immediately drew his thick woollen coat closer.
“Stay warm young masters!” The
servant called after them, closing the door.
Eager Harm was behind him, and
within moments was trying to make patterns with his billowing clouds of breath.
“Can I have a sweet pastry when we
get there?”
“No,” Bart said with a tut.
“Why not?”
“I don’t have money to spend on
pastry.”
“You have money – I’ve seen it.”
Bart ignored him, concentrating
instead on the freshly laid snow atop the icy cobles, and picking his way
carefully to the large waterways. Haarlem was already busy with workers
adapting to the white landscape: Sleds were pulled through the streets instead
of carts, hauled by sure-footed animals; men and women were dressed in thick
wool and furs, and others on the smaller waterways wore the skating boots like
the boys carried in their hands.
The cake-like smell of steeped
barley from one of the many breweries wafted on the frozen air – all was normal
in the Dutch hub of trade – save for the colossal sheet of ice that covered the
whole city like a slick oil. Icicles hung from the eaves, the trees were white
and feathery with crystals of both frost and snow, and the hungry crows skittered
on the frozen earth, desperate for some morsel of charity.
“Here?” Harm pointed to the
closest canal – a steep sided ravine between red brick homes and warehouses.
“No… you’ll break your neck. Come
on.”
They passed a sled of firewood
hauled by dogs that yapped noisily, and through a winding alley between hot
workshops where men beat iron with hammers. Bart wondered if they were making
blades for the ice boots.
Finally, beside one of the older
churches in the district, they came to a gentle slope that led onto the
waterways. In the summer it was green grass occupied by courting couples, now
it was as frozen as everything else.
Harm skipped ahead of him, already
pulling his skating boots on. Bart rolled his dark eyes at his little brother’s
enthusiasm, before leaning against the frosted trunk of an ancient lime, and
tried awkwardly to put on his own boots. Their grandfather had bought them in a
rare show of kindness. He was doubly angry with the old man, for making him
look after Harm, and for hitting him around the ear.
He looked onto the busy waterways.
It was packed with couples skating together, laughing with glee; with groups of
youths playing with kolf sticks, and
families being shuttled around on sleds. Everyone seemed to be having fun…
He cursed his brother under his
breath. All he wanted was to be alone. Well… not alone exactly… just alone
enough so he could tell Cornelia at the wine stall how beautiful she was.
“Come on!” Harm stepped onto the
ice, sliding away.
“Not that way!” Bart called, slipping
ungracefully down the frozen hill, and stumbling onto the thick ice.
Harm was already showing off,
weaving between a group of thatchers on their way to repair some snow-damaged
roof.
Bart skated after him, almost
tripping over a richly dressed merchant.
“Watch out you fool!”
“Harm, come back!” Bart shouted,
but his little brother only laughed at the chase, twisting on one foot, and
looping around in a wide arc. “Will you stop?”
Harm did as he was told – about
fifteen feet away, his annoying grin spreading from ear to ear.
Bart frowned at him. “You are
going the wrong way.”
“You want to see your girlfriend?”
Harm pretended to blow a kiss, and performed a quick pirouette.
“She’s not my girlfriend!”
“I don’t blame her, who would want
to be the girlfriend of grumpy face Bartholemew Bloed?”
Bart frowned. He wanted nothing
more than to push his little brother arse first upon the hard ice, and watch
him cry. That would wipe the smirk from his face. Fortunately for Harm, he was
just out of reach. Instead, Bart pointed up the waterway to where many market
stalls stood on the edge of the ice. “I’m going that way.”
“We can go that way…” Harm said
slowly, “so long as you buy me a pastry.”
“I’ll buy you a mug of hot wine,
if you’re lucky.”
Harm seemed to ponder the offer
for a moment, dipped his head in agreement, and took off towards the market.
Bart had trouble keeping up, and
despite the cold he was soon hot with the exercise, and the muscles in his
thighs and calves began to ache.
The closer they came to the stalls,
the more rutted the ice became, and the busier it was too, and the more
difficult it was to pick between them. He nearly slipped over a few times, and
it wasn’t long before he saw another man crunch painfully onto his face, much
to the hilarity of his unhelpful friends.
People were already drinking beer,
spirits, and wine from the various portable bars that had sprung up, and others
stuffed their faces with pastries or freshly roasted nuts.
He had lost sight of Harm in the
thickening crowd, but he knew where he was going. They’d skated through the
stalls nearly every day since the ice had been thick enough, and stopped at the
wine merchant on each occasion. They hadn’t been out on their skates since last
Wednesday. The weather had been bad for two days, and yesterday they’d been
made to study arithmetic and letter writing.
As they neared their destination
Bart couldn’t help but feel nervous. The churning in his stomach had started,
just like the first time he’d set eyes upon Cornelia.
He had been thinking what to say
to her since their last meeting, where he had clumsily offered her the gift of
a small poetry book.
He pushed through the crowd of
drinkers on the ice, hastily looking for her beautiful pale face by the
steaming pan of wine. She was by the woodpile, and so was Harm. He had just
said something, and she was giggling.
If Harm had told her anything
rude, he would give him a thick ear—
“Bart!” Cornelia turned at his
approach, her full lips parting into the warmest of smiles.
“He-hello,” he fumbled, the
butterflies still deep in his belly.
She stepped towards him and took
hold of his cold hands. Even with the blades of his skates, she was still
taller. “It’s good to see you both, I worried you wouldn’t come back!”
“Huh,” Harm said with a grin,
“little chance of that. You are all he talks about! Cornelia this, Cornelia
that.”
Bart scowled in his brother’s
direction, and felt his face reddening in a combination of anger and
embarrassment.
Cornelia squeezed his fingers with
her gentle hands, giggling again. It was a lovely sound – like the trilling of
a spring marsh bird. “Is that so? Well… I think that’s very sweet of you.”
Bart was too shy to reply
properly, but he did feel his anger soften at her words.
“Oh – I have a surprise for you
two actually. Wait here…” She let go of his hands, disappearing into one of the
tents behind the busy temporary bar.
Harm was looking between him and
the tent, a quizzical look upon his face.
A few minutes passed before she
re-emerged, sliding on the ice.
She had her own pair of skates!
“Come on!” She laughed, pushing
between them both, and back through the crowd of drinkers.
The whole time they had known her
she hadn’t had skating boots of her own. They had taken her out sometimes on a
wooden crate, punting her along as she trilled with her wonderful giggle. The
time before last, a dog had joined in, chasing them across the ice, skittering
on all fours.
“Where did you get them?” Bart
chased after her.
“Been saving up haven’t I?” She
looked back with a sweet smile, “Oh, and I sold a nonsense book of poetry some
gentleman’s son gave me.”
His face must have changed,
because she giggled again, “Oh Bart! I jest! I’ve read that book every single
evening before bed!”
He relaxed, allowing her to take
him by the hand and drag him away from the crowds. Hand in hand, just like all
the other couples, they skated together. She was slightly unsteady, and they
nearly fell a few times, or collided with players from a rowdy game of ball and
stick. He laughed with her, and all the nervousness he had felt at their
meeting disappeared.
When they were away from the
market, and out onto the wide flats, she brought them to a sudden stop. “Well?”
She asked.
“Well what?” He looked back,
seeing Harm moving effortlessly in wide figures of eight. He felt her cold
fingers touch his cheek, and she pulled him back towards him. She was so close
he could smell the spiced wine on her breath.
“Well aren’t you going to kiss
me?”
“Kiss?” His heart quickened; the
churning in his stomach returned.
She pressed against him, their
skates clashing together first, and then their chests met in the embrace.
Lastly it was their lips, softly and sweetly…
He had never felt the touch of a
girl before, but she seemed to know what she was doing. She parted his lips
with her own, and they kissed—
“Oh that’s disgusting!” Harm
called.
But it didn’t matter what his
annoying little brother thought. He was lost in the moment, and wanted it to
never end…
A while later, and the kiss did
end. Cornelia squeezed his hands and stuck her tongue out at Harm. “I say we
carry on down the canal… I hear the ice
is better down by the harbour.”
“We can’t go to the harbour,” Harm
said, still skating around them in circles, “we have to go home for the vigil.”
“Oh come on,” Cornelia smiled,
“it’s Christmas! What’s the worst that could happen?”
The worst? Well… their grandfather
would beat him blue. Harm would get away with it though, as per usual…
“Well Bart?”
He looked at the beautiful girl
before him, and couldn’t help but break out into a grin. “We’ll come to the
harbour.”
“But—” Harm started.
“We are going – together. And I’ll
buy you a sweet pastry on the way!”
***
“That was beautiful!” Molly
sighed, “I’ve never skated on the ice before.” She had sneaked back to their
fire just as Bart had started his tale.
“We were lucky,” Bart nodded in
agreement. “It is a wonderful pastime, but these past few years I hear it
hasn’t frozen as well as it did in my youth.”
Jacob smiled at the tale. He felt
a pang of jealousy of his cousin’s childhood. Bart had known the love of a
brother, and had grown up with their grandfather. He’d even been surrounded by
servants in their city townhouse. Like Molly, he had never skated on the ice.
He guessed they had one thing in common.
“What happened with Cornelia?”
“What happened? We met nearly
every day… We kissed. We laughed. We cuddled… And then spring came, and the ice
was gone.” Bart gave Molly a sad smile.
“Pah,” Roy spat, rolling the
flaked fish into patties. “Sounds like a rich man’s folly.”
“On the contrary, in Haarlem it
was everyone on the ice – from the humblest labourer to the richest of
merchants, and beneath the fur and wool you couldn’t tell who was who. All
drank together in the tents, and all ate together from the same fires. Not too
dissimilar from what we have here…” Bart waved to the various fires of the
buccaneers.
His cousin was right. Colour,
religion, politics… none of it mattered to the pirates. If you could work well,
shoot a musket, and swing a blade, you were welcome to share the plunder. He
looked over at Molly. Even a whore was welcome… well, she was exceptionally
welcome at times, and no doubt she’d find a paying bed for the night once she’d
filled her belly with Roy’s cooking.
“How long until we eat?” She asked
of the one-legged man.
“Done when it’s done Miss
O’Failin.”
“In that case I’ll have a sup of
that rum. Jacob?” She was smiling in what looked like an attempt to be nice,
but he could still see her anger hidden beneath her Irish eyes.
He took a large swig and handed it
over with a bow of his head. “So Molly, no doubt you have a festive tale for
us?”
“Of Christmas?” She half-snatched
the bottle, sitting a little closer to the spitting flames. “You all think
Christmas is about feasting and giving and being together? Well you are all
wrong.” She sipped from the bottle, and her eyes seemed to flash darkly. “When
my mother died I grew up with nuns, and with the Holy Catholics you soon learn
Christmas is about being pious, and the best way to be pious is to accept your
beatings graciously… But one day, I didn’t…”
***
Thanks for reading the third part of a free online exclusive piratical tale written just for Christmas. I hope you've enjoyed it!
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This work was written primarily as a result of the fantastic Google+ group SaturdayScenes. Look for the work of new and exciting authors every weekend under that hashtag.
If gritty historical fiction is your thing, you could do far worse than look for my published nautical tales ROGUES' NEST, GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE, and SMUGGLER'S HILL...
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