Chapter V: Fevered Dreams

For the third time since the night in which the garrison of Fort Liefkenhoek perceived the exchange of cannon fire between the black galley and the Immaculate Conception and the explosion of that ship, evening fell, a still and unusually warm evening. People who knew about weather were of the opinion that there would be an ample fall of snow before too long and they may well have been right. After the early morning sun had risen brightly in a cloudless sky, it had around midday crept behind heavy grey clouds. These clouds had become more and more closely packed and in the evening had sunk more and more deeply over the town of Antwerp, over land, river and sea.

Once again we find ourselves on the Genoese ship, the Andrea Doria, in the captain's cabin.

The hanging lamp throws its ruddy light over the room, over the weapons therein, the maps on the wall, the floor on which bloody bedclothes lie strewn about, on the bed where Antonio Valani moans and rambles in a raging fever, on Myga van Bergen kneeling where the pillows are at the end of the bed, on lieutenant Leone della Rota who is standing next to where his friend is dying and wild, strange glances cast by the wounded man towards the forcibly taken maid.

At noon Leone della Rota had heard with equanimity from Admiral Spinola and the governor of Antwerp that the escape of the sea beggar was attributable to him. With somewhat less equanimity he had also received the news that, in the absence of someone more suitable, he was to be entrusted with the overall command of the Genoese galleon for the expedition of the following day.

Neither the governor nor the admiral had inquired after the presence of a young woman on board ship.

As he had had a lot of work to do both on board and on land, the day had flown by for Lieutenant della Rota and he had only been able to devote a small amount of time to his dying friend. But on board and on land, indeed everywhere, the young Genoan was pursued by the image of the beautiful Flemish damsel whom he was currently holding captive on his ship, who would be subject to his every whim, without the slightest vestige of protection, once his friend was dead. At first he sought to banish all such thoughts from his mind, but time and again they forced themselves upon him and there was no way that he could escape them and soon he gave up the struggle completely. The pretty child appeared to him in her desperation all the more charming. Among the sailors and men-at-arms, in the admiral's antechamber, in the streets of the town she appeared in his mind's eye as he saw her kneeling in a cabin of the Andrea Doria, wringing her hands. The wildest of passions broke out inside him in bright flames and he sought to overcome with the most convoluted sophistry the resistance of his conscience.

What earthly use would it be to Antonio if he, Leone, were to send this woman back to where she came from?

And now Leone recalled those moments during which he had held the young woman's delicate body in his arms, during which he had carried the unconscious girl through the gunsmoke and the streets. Then the wind had blown the damsel's fair hair into his face.

"No, no, no, Antonio Valani, your right to this fair booty ceases with your life! All's fair in love and war, Antonio Valani. Strike your colours and pass away. Then your luck will devolve on me and tomorrow, tomorrow I'll be defeated and someone else will have the victory. All's fair in love and war, my poor Antonio!"

With such thoughts in his head the lieutenant had walked into the cabin at twilight and now he stood, as we have shown him, between the dying man and Myga all of a tremble in the glimmer of the flickering ship's lantern.

The idea of carrying the wounded captain ashore had been mooted, but with all the strength of a life about to be extinguished Antonio Valani had expressly forbidden this. He wanted to die on board his ship and not in a hospital. He had not forgotten in his delirium that Leone had brought the Flemish maiden that he loved onto the Andrea Doria. The nearer he is to death, the more he clings to this love, the more violently it manifests itself. In life he might almost have concealed it had his turbulent companion Leone della Rota not meddled in it. As he lies dying, his brain casts off all restraint; Antonio Valani no longer hides anything of what he has formerly felt and kept a secret.

Poor Myga! See how she kneels there at the feet of the mortally wounded captain with her hair spread out, white as a ghost, wringing her hands! No salvation, none!

The waves of the Scheldt have swallowed up her betrothed, who was impotent to prevent the depraved corruption of his beloved and who had precipitated himself into the river's cold waters so as not to participate in her dishonour.

And where is God in all this? Woe is me, the night is too dark and the mind of the unfortunate maiden too disturbed to be able to remember the great Redeemer from all of life's troubles. No power on heaven or on earth can protect her from scandal and disgrace. Poor Myga van Bergen!

The clock in the tower of the cathedral chimed eleven, the single chimes succeeding one another slowly and echoing in Myga's mind.

The noise of the town gradually diminished again and once again one light after another went out behind the city wall constructed by the Italian civil engineer, Paciotti.

The calm grew ever deeper. From time to time, however, wild cries and rejoicing rang out. From time to time too there came the raucous singing of a stray band of soldiers or the cry of a nightwatchman and the "Halt! Who goes there?" of patrols.

And once again the clock whirred in the tower of the Cathedral of Our Lady--midnight!

Antonio Valani lifted himself up from his pillow and cast about him mad glances from his eyes aglow with fever.

"Where is she? Leone, Leone--wine, lights and love! Leone, where are you? Where are you holding her? Where are you keeping her hidden? She's mine, you traitor, you treacherous Leone--the girl belongs to me! Hahaha, I'm not dead like you thought, Leone. I'm alive and holding on to what is mine."

Myga van Bergen's forehead was touching the floor of the cabin and Lieutenant della Rota gently pushed the delirious man back onto his bed and tried every way he could to calm him down, but it seemed as if all the strength and feeling of the dying man had to burst out afresh in all their fullness before they faded away forever.

Again and again the delirious Antonio tried to escape from the arms of Leone.

"All hands on deck. To the oars! To the oars! Long live the king! They're flying their flag--the sea beggars' flag. Fire at it! Fire at it! Eviva Genova! There goes the admiral, blown to kingdom come! Fire! Fire! It's a living hell! Leone, look after the ship. Look after the ship, Leone. It's all over for us. Woe is me. The beggars' flag. Man the guns. All is lost. All is lost. Look after the ship, look after the ship, Leone!"

The sick man fell back. The lieutenant straightened his pillow for him. Then he approached the kneeling maiden:

"What are you afraid of, signorina? Get up. What is it keeps you down on the floor? I won't harm you, my sweet little dove. You ought to be a queen, the absolute ruler of this good ship of ours. That's war for you. Someone has to strike their colours. Someone else gets to fly them from the flagpole. Poor Antonio! He predicted this--for him the grave, for me the beautiful bounty; I love you. I love you, star of Flanders, white rose of Antwerp. I love you and you're mine--stop ruffling your hair, don't look so wild--you're mine and no-one's going to take you from me!"

"Jan! Jan! Help! Rescue me!" cried the maiden, without knowing what it was she was shouting.

"Forget about your sea beggar," whispered Leone. "Has he not had his revenge on us? Will not poor Antonio be dead within the hour? Why are you so bothered about the body of this sea beggar? Leave him to drift with the tide. Get up. Get up, I say. You shouldn't be injuring your chaste brow by banging it on the floor. What can I say? The sea beggar's dead. Antonio Valani is dying. Take Leone, Leone who is still alive, in the blessed arms of his proud and beautiful queen."

"Mercy! Mercy!" stammered the maiden, but the lieutenant merely laughed:

"Listen, one o'clock! At five o'clock we cast off. Till then you have all the time you want to moan as much as you want, but then away with sighs and complaining. Antonio, poor friend, between now and five you've time enough to die. Don't sit up. Lie down. Your wounds are bleeding again. Lie down. What business of yours is the girl?"

"Leone, Leone, look after the ship! Beware the black galley. Look after the ship!" the dying man screamed in his delirium.

"Who cares about the black galley?" muttered Leone della Rota. "The chase will only begin at five o'clock. Calm down, Antonio, calm down. Everything is as it should be on board. No worries. Sleep. Go to sleep."

Once again the captain sank back and closed his eyes. The last wild burst of excitement was followed immediately by the final moments of exhaustion. The life of Antonio Valani, captain of the Andrea Doria, was drawing to a close.

The lieutenant was all too well aware of it. He sighed and shook his head: "Poor Antonio! Poor friend! Must you set sail so soon? Ah, what good does it do to moan about it, and yet--I wish that day was dawning. I wish this long night were over! Once we're out at sea, once the corpse is overboard, only then will I feel better. I really do wish that morning were here already!"

He paced up and down in the narrow cabin. More than once he brushed against the unfortunate Myga and each time she jerked her arms together and pushed herself nearer to the wall.

"If only I could die," whispered Myga van Bergen. "If only death would come to save me. Let death embrace me as it embraced Jan."

The oil lamp was threatening to go out. Leone della Rota called for another light, more wine. He needed both in this dark night. His soul seemed a wild and desolate place.