luxurious ship, any sense of comfort aboard the Batavia was short lived.
The convoy had barely entered the North Sea when they were beset by a violent storm, most of the ships losing sight of each other. As the Batavia pitched and rolled and reared and dived, the many inexperienced travellers aboard her were convinced they must drown. When the Lion-of-Holland disappeared into the waves and the bowsprit itself speared the sea, they felt the vessel must surely plunge to the bottom of the ocean never to return. But she reared back up again, like a wild horse refusing to be broken.
Like the others, Lucretia had thought she might die from the sea sickness, but she had recovered and found her sea legs far better than most. Now she weathered the storms like a seasoned sailor. She was better housed thanmost too, and she knew it. The sailors slept and ate huddled amongst the twenty-eight cannons. The soldiers, some seasoned regulars, some military cadets, others conscriptees bound for national service in the colonies, were restricted to the closely confined quarters above, where there was not space enough for a man to stand upright. There they crouched for eleven hours at a stretch before being allowed their brief respite on deck. And the working-class passengers found space where they could. Only the commanding officers had cabins of their own.
In consideration of her social standing, Lucretia had been allocated an alcove which she shared with her maid, Zwaantie, and she ate with the officers in the dining room at the stern of the ship. The one grand room aboard the Batavia, the dining room converted to sleeping quarters at night, but during the early evening, at mealtime, the select dozen or so were seated in a civilised fashion around the large oak table.
Not that the company was civilised, Lucretia thought. With the exception of Francisco Pelsaert, she loathed the men with whom she was forced to socialise. Particularly the shipâs captain, Adriaen Jacobsz. For all of his renown as an excellent sailor, and for all of his personal pretensions to intellectual superiority, Lucretia had decided upon their first meeting that the man was a pig.
Jacobsz, although a handsome man with an imposing figure, was an unashamed hedonist who ate and drank with gusto and boasted openly of his sexual exploits. Convinced of his own fatal charm, he had very early on set about to impress the aristocratic and beautiful young woman. But the harder he tried, the more Lucretia retreated behind her haughty façade, openly displaying her preference for Pelsaertâs company, which further annoyed Jacobsz. As Commandeur of the fleet, Pelsaert was his superior in rank, Jacobsz accepted that, but it was quite evident both Lucretia and Pelsaert also considered him ofinferior social standing, which was an insult. He was after all the captain of the vessel. Jacobsz turned his attentions instead to Lucretiaâs maid, Zwaantie Hendrix, and there found instant gratification.
It irked Lucretia that her maid was conducting an affair with the detestable Jacobsz, and she grew to despise Zwaantie. She knew too that the loathsome pair were whispering obscenities about her and Pelsaert. Nothing was secret aboard the Batavia. The Commandeur had recently taken ill and Lucretia regularly visited him in his cabin, to take him a bowl of soup which the cook had brewed or to bathe his fevered brow. Some troublemakers amongst the men considered the Commandeur a malingerer. âLying back in his cabin enjoying the trip, who does he think he is,â they said. And the lascivious rumours spread by Jacobsz and Zwaantie Hendrix did not help matters. Lucretia van den Mylen was Pelsaertâs whore, they whispered, and others listened.
Well, let them talk, Lucretia thought now as she gazed up at the luffing sails, savouring the moment of calm. And let them listen. She would rise above them all, she did not need them. She had the locket to keep her company, to guard
The convoy had barely entered the North Sea when they were beset by a violent storm, most of the ships losing sight of each other. As the Batavia pitched and rolled and reared and dived, the many inexperienced travellers aboard her were convinced they must drown. When the Lion-of-Holland disappeared into the waves and the bowsprit itself speared the sea, they felt the vessel must surely plunge to the bottom of the ocean never to return. But she reared back up again, like a wild horse refusing to be broken.
Like the others, Lucretia had thought she might die from the sea sickness, but she had recovered and found her sea legs far better than most. Now she weathered the storms like a seasoned sailor. She was better housed thanmost too, and she knew it. The sailors slept and ate huddled amongst the twenty-eight cannons. The soldiers, some seasoned regulars, some military cadets, others conscriptees bound for national service in the colonies, were restricted to the closely confined quarters above, where there was not space enough for a man to stand upright. There they crouched for eleven hours at a stretch before being allowed their brief respite on deck. And the working-class passengers found space where they could. Only the commanding officers had cabins of their own.
In consideration of her social standing, Lucretia had been allocated an alcove which she shared with her maid, Zwaantie, and she ate with the officers in the dining room at the stern of the ship. The one grand room aboard the Batavia, the dining room converted to sleeping quarters at night, but during the early evening, at mealtime, the select dozen or so were seated in a civilised fashion around the large oak table.
Not that the company was civilised, Lucretia thought. With the exception of Francisco Pelsaert, she loathed the men with whom she was forced to socialise. Particularly the shipâs captain, Adriaen Jacobsz. For all of his renown as an excellent sailor, and for all of his personal pretensions to intellectual superiority, Lucretia had decided upon their first meeting that the man was a pig.
Jacobsz, although a handsome man with an imposing figure, was an unashamed hedonist who ate and drank with gusto and boasted openly of his sexual exploits. Convinced of his own fatal charm, he had very early on set about to impress the aristocratic and beautiful young woman. But the harder he tried, the more Lucretia retreated behind her haughty façade, openly displaying her preference for Pelsaertâs company, which further annoyed Jacobsz. As Commandeur of the fleet, Pelsaert was his superior in rank, Jacobsz accepted that, but it was quite evident both Lucretia and Pelsaert also considered him ofinferior social standing, which was an insult. He was after all the captain of the vessel. Jacobsz turned his attentions instead to Lucretiaâs maid, Zwaantie Hendrix, and there found instant gratification.
It irked Lucretia that her maid was conducting an affair with the detestable Jacobsz, and she grew to despise Zwaantie. She knew too that the loathsome pair were whispering obscenities about her and Pelsaert. Nothing was secret aboard the Batavia. The Commandeur had recently taken ill and Lucretia regularly visited him in his cabin, to take him a bowl of soup which the cook had brewed or to bathe his fevered brow. Some troublemakers amongst the men considered the Commandeur a malingerer. âLying back in his cabin enjoying the trip, who does he think he is,â they said. And the lascivious rumours spread by Jacobsz and Zwaantie Hendrix did not help matters. Lucretia van den Mylen was Pelsaertâs whore, they whispered, and others listened.
Well, let them talk, Lucretia thought now as she gazed up at the luffing sails, savouring the moment of calm. And let them listen. She would rise above them all, she did not need them. She had the locket to keep her company, to guard
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