territory by judy nunn sample chapter

8/4/2019 Territory by Judy Nunn Sample Chapter

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A story of the Top End and the peoplewho dare to dwell there

Territory

Copyright Judy Nunn 2002. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, transmittedin any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.


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An Arrow bookPublished by Random House Australia Pty Ltd

Level 3, 100 Pacific Highway, North Sydney NSW 2060

www.randomhouse.com.au

First published by Random House Australia 2002

This Arrow edition published 2003, 2007, 2011

Copyright Judy Nunn 2002

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any

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scanning or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior

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National Library of Australia

Cataloguing-in-Publication Entry

Nunn, Judy

Territory / Judy Nunn

ISBN 978 1 86471 246 9 (pbk).

A823.3

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Copyright Judy Nunn 2002. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, transmitted

in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.


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CH A P T E R ON E

1628

From his little writing desk in the corner by the door,young Pieter Grij stole another furtive glance at thewoman as he dipped his quilled pen in the inkwell.

And, yet again, he quickly averted his gaze to concentrateupon the giant leather-bound ledger before him, lest hisfather should catch the naked admiration in his eyes. But

old Gerrit Grijs attention was focussed upon the locketwhich he held in his hands. Seated at his showcase table,he lovingly buffed the silver with a fine silk cloth then del-icately, reverently, and with a touch of regret as if loath topart with this newborn gem of his creation, he placed it inthe black, velvet-lined presentation case.

Another glance from the youth to the woman. Once

again his gaze quickly averted lest she herself should turnand perceive his unashamed adoration. Painstakingly, thetip of his tongue protruding from his lips, Pieter concen-trated upon his task. QuantityoneSilver pendant withdiamonds inset . . . he wrote, the nib of the pen scratchingon the rough paper as he entered the description and the




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payment into the ledger, all the while longing to look upand once more feast his eyes on her. For nineteen-year-oldPieter had never seen so beautiful a woman. A woman of

breeding, it was obvious. Tall, slender, her face framedby a heart-shaped bonnet, her thick auburn hair capturedby the bonnets lace cowl. Even as Pieter entered the sumin the ledger, he could see, through the shadows of hissandy eyelashes, the aquiline profile, the proud tilt of herchin and the regal bearing of her shoulders as she gazedout of the window. Pieter darent look up. Any momentshe might turn, and those magnificent, ice-blue eyes mightscorn him, that fine, arched brow might furrow withdisapproval, for he was far beneath her. He, the lowlyyoungest son of a diamond merchant, albeit a mastercraftsman, and she a fine lady. Why, she might read some-thing untoward in his admiration. Something sinful. And

Pieter would feel shamed.But Lucretia van den Mylen did not turn from thewindow. She stood in the second-floor showroom ofthe merchants house and continued to stare out over theKeizersgracht. What an elegant city Amsterdam wasbecoming, she thought. Even now, before the final stagesof the Prinsengracht construction had been completed.

The three major canals, the Herengracht, the Keizers-gracht and the Prinsengracht, were an engineering feat ofwhich all Amsterdammers were justifiably proud. Theystarted at the harbour, where the walled city of Amsterdamsat snuggled within the immense womb of the Zuider Zee,and they arced around the township to meet the AmstelRiver. Tall slender houses, like the diamond merchants,

had already sprung up beside the canals, wealthy mer-chants and traders willing to sacrifice breadth of frontagefor fashionable canal views.

It was an afternoon in late September, and Lucretiawatched a young couple, huddled together to ward off theautumn chill, as they walked along the cobbled street beside

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the canal. Now and then they disappeared amongst the rowof elm and linden trees which lined the street, but still shewatched until they were out of sight around the bend. They

made her think of Boudewijn and how she missed him,and how she longed to feel his arms around her. In onemonths time she would be on her way to him, she thought. Just one month. The voyage would take a whole furthernine and God alone knew what perils lay ahead on the highseas, but each day would bring her closer to him, and toLucretia that was all that mattered. Of course she wouldmiss Amsterdam, she thought as she watched a small bargebeing punted along the canal, but . . .

Here she is, Vrouwe van den Mylen. The merchantsvoice startled her, lost in reverie as she had been. A thingof great beauty. Gerrit Grij checked himself. Although healways referred to his favourite pieces in the female gender,

lavish comments upon his own work were uncharacteristicof him, he did not wish to sound proud. I hope she meetswith your requirements, he added.

He eased himself carefully from his chair, stifling agrimace at the pain of the arthritis in his hip, and held theopen presentation case at arms length. Ceremoniously helowered it to the table in front of him. Lucretia crossed to

the table and looked down at the locket.A tiny but audible gasp of astonishment caught in her

throat and her lips parted in a smile of sheer delight; thejeweller was right, the locket was a thing of great beauty.Circular, no more than an inch in diameter, it was madefrom solid silver, and engraved on its face was a rockymountain. Not an etching, not an outline, but the very

texture of the rock appeared to be carved into the heavymetal, as if it had been eroded by the elements themselves.And behind the mountains peak rose a mighty sun, acluster of diamonds, perfectly cut and set into the silver toreflect the maximum light from every direction. The twowere entwined: the sun caressed the mountain, and the

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mountain basked in the sun, its peak of a lighter hue thanits base, as if it were reaching for the suns embrace.

It is glorious, Lucretia breathed softly as she lifted the

locket from the case, truly glorious.She had spoken in depth with the jeweller about the

design, and she had trusted in the quality of his work, forGerrit Grij was far more than a merchant and a jeweller,he was a diamond cutter and an engraver whose crafts-manship was held in the highest esteem.

Boudewijn is the sun to me, as I am the earth to him,she had said.

Gerrit Grij had wondered briefly whether the requestbore any astrological inference. As a devout Protestant hesincerely hoped not. But as an artisan the challenge excitedhim.

The sun and the earth, he had mused. Yes, yes, the sun

must be a cluster of diamonds. Perfect diamonds set toreflect its rays from all directions. And the earththeearth must not be flat, not like Holland. There must betexture and depth. The earth must be a great mountain.

Lucretia had agreed. Now she marvelled at the result.Gerrit Grij was gratified by Lucretia van den Mylens

reaction, the locket had been a labour of love, it was his

finest piece and he was inordinately proud of it. The joy inVrouwe van den Mylens magnificent eyes gave him farmore pleasure than he would ever admit. The chain isstrong, he said, each link is welded, you see? He reachedout his hands and gave the chain a brisk tug.

Oh. Lucretia was startled by the brutality of hisgesture.

You need have no fear of it breaking, he added. Open it.Gerrits stern face, brow furrowed from forty years in

his trade, softened as he watched the slender fingers turnthe locket and press the catch on the side. A woman ofsuch beauty deserved a thing of such beauty. He supposedthat was why he had given the piece his greatest care





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and attention. And she had spoken of her husband withsuch love.

I go to meet him in the East Indies, she had said. And

I wish for a memento of some sort to travel with me. As ifwe were together. As if, by the grace of God, Boudewijnwere there to protect me. The light of love was so strongin her eyes that Gerrit put aside his laughable notion ofany connection with the occult art of astrology. The motifwas born purely of devotion.

The token must be in the form of a locket, he had said,with the initials of you and your husband engraved oneach side of the interior. He hadnt added with a chainlong enough that the pendant may rest against your heart,but hed made the chain of such length anyway.

Lucretia opened the locket. L v.d. M was engraved inperfect copperplate on the left, and on the right, B v.d. M.

It is perfect, she said, and she pressed the open locket toher breast.The gesture touched Gerrit Grij more than he could say.

You are happy with the length of the chain? he enquiredas Lucretia closed the locket. Allow me. He undid theclasp and Lucretia turned, lifting her hair in its lace cowl,allowing him to secure it about her neck.

Pieter was by now unashamedly staring. His father andthe beautiful woman were both too intent upon the locketto notice him anyway. He could see the nape of her neck.White. Arched. Leaning forward as she was to assist hisfather. Arched, like a beautiful swan.

Yes, I am very happy with the length of the chain,Lucretia said. On her wide lace collar, the locket rested

over her breastbone.With a chain of this length, Gerrit explained, you can

wear the locket at all times. As an adornment on theoutside of your garment or, if you fear for its safety, it canremain hidden.

Extremely practical, Lucretia agreed, although she had

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a feeling the choice of the length of chain displayed thesame understanding as did the design and craftsmanship ofthe locket itself. But she said nothing, once more bending

her neck and lifting her hair as he unclasped the locket.A swan, Pieter thought. A glorious white swan.And you will encounter times on your voyage when you

will no doubt fear for its safety, Gerrit continued, re-placing the locket in its case. And for your own safety, hethought. He admired the woman for embarking uponsuch an arduous trip. Another measure of her love, hedetermined, and he prayed for her safety. Any number ofdisasters could befall her. Pirates, shipwreck, not to men-tion starvation, deprivation, and illness; ships were notknown for their comfort and the voyage to the East Indiescould take a year. Shipboard life was no life for a womanof breeding, as Gerrit knew well.

Lucretia read into the mans words what he was trulysaying. I have little to fear, she assured him. I shall betravelling aboard the finest ship ever to set sail fromAmsterdam.

I am glad to hear of it, Gerrit Grij said, handing herthe case. I wish you well, Vrouwe van den Mylen. Godspeed you safely to your husband. Then, to cover his

display of sentiment, he barked at his young son, Pieter,see Vrouwe van den Mylen safely downstairs. He gesturedapologetically towards his walking stick.

Pieter opened the door and led the way down thenarrow staircase.

Pieter is it? Lucretia said as they arrived at the littlefront shop which opened on to the cobbled street. She had

been fully aware of the youths surreptitious glances. Shehad not found them offensive, accustomed as she was tothe admiration of men. Indeed, she had realised that theboy was painfully shy.

Pieter nodded. She had spoken to him! Directly to him!Perhaps one day if you work very hard you may





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become a great craftsman like your father. She smiledencouragingly.

She had smiled at him! He found his voice. I hope to,

he said. And I do work hard. Very hard. He glancednervously upstairs as if his father might hear him. Fatheris a stern taskmaster.

It is apparent in his work, Lucretia said. He is a greatartist. And great artists are meticulous. They must be. Andyou must be too, Pieter, if you wish to become a mastercraftsman like your father.

Yes, Pieter said, I know, that is what he tells me. Shewas talking to him! Actually talking to him! He wanted tokeep her there in the shop, so that he could look at her andtalk to her some more. But she had opened the front door.The shopbell tinkled. He must make conversation!

What ship do you sail on? he asked.

The Batavia, she said, and her smile was radiant.The Batavia. Her maiden voyage. Goodbye, Pieter. Theshopbell tinkled as the door closed behind her.

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