id="id00081">"Idleness?" laughed the ship's bosun. "By the fair frame of Venus, I didn't know we were being idle. I thought it might be possible to make use of this time we're lying here at anchor. Corpo di Bacco, I've made a fine conquest of a strapping wench in town in the tavern with the arms of Alcantara hanging up outside. You're invited, Antonio."

"You never take life seriously, Leone!" sighed the captain.

"Listen to me," laughed the bosun. "Trust to your instincts, my friend, and don't give me that. Don't turn away with such a miserable look on your face. Follow my finger—see, over there, that light over the city wall in that corner window. Just follow my finger—can you see it? Antonio, Antonello, captain, little captain of mine, who lives in that room? Tell me who has lit that tiny light. Is she not the sweetest child that this northern clime, or should I say this northern bog, has ever brought forth as long as there has been rain here and that must have been for a very long time, I think. Has not Antonio Valani, captain of this good ship, the Andrea Doria, fallen in love body and soul with the fair hair and the blue eyes of this beautiful Fleming? Another of your sighs? Antonio, Antonio, by our lovely lady of Cythera, you can be a pain sometimes!"

Captain Valani turned away indignantly.

"Oh, leave me alone, Leone—go to your buxom wench. I'm giving you the rest of the night off, up until the first cock crows, just to get you and your loose tongue off my ship. Go now, I beg you, go and stop torturing me with your cheerful face. I forgive you the lightness of your blood and your zest for life, but give me an hour by myself if you are truly my friend. My life seems like a wilderness at the moment."

"Antonio," said the second-in-command more seriously, "Antonio, on my honour, it was not my intention to torture you. My plump hostess at the Alcantara Arms can wait keeping an eye on the door for as long as she has a mind to. I won't go. What the devil ails you, my friend? How do things stand with you? Confide in me what it is that oppresses you. It's not last night's bad news from the Scheldt estuary, that's for sure. Confide in me. Can it really be true what I took as a joke and treated in fun? Have you really fallen for the charms of the fair-haired enchantress?"

Captain Valani sighed deeply without answering and Leone went on:

"And she's playing hard to get, hard to get with you, every woman's pin-up in the strada Balbi and in all the other streets, sidestreets and alleyways of our dear home town of Genoa. By the goddess of Paphos that calls for punishment, the most severe punishment. Oh that beautiful barbarian! I stand ready to serve you, Antonio Valani, my friend and superior, with sword, heart and head. What can we do to win you the heart of that sweet child?"

The rest of the conversation between the captain and his bosun was lost in and interrupted by the shouts of the night watch in the direction of the gangplank. A whirl of drums resounded from the quayside, torches flickered and weapons glinted. Admiral Federigo Spinola had come to see how things were aboard the Andrea Doria and on the other ships of his fleet lying at anchor under the walls of Antwerp. He was in the foulest of moods as Leone and Antonio could not help but notice when they hurried to welcome him on board. The admiral stamped about most grimly surrounded by his captains who had gathered around him on the main deck of the Andrea Doria. The unfortunate skirmish of the previous night lay heavy on his heart. If things were going to continue in this vein, his business interests were not worth the parchment contract they were written on, countersigned with the Yo el Rey of King Philip the Third of Spain.

"To sea with you!" cried Admiral Spinola as he raged at his captains. "Put out to sea and capture that accursed black galley. String up the whole of its crew from its own yardarms and the devil take their souls. Tomorrow at daybreak I want the four galleys that are lying here at anchor to weigh anchor. Do you hear me, gentlemen? The Andrea Doria will stay here and await further orders. But the galleys will make sail tomorrow good and early. The message has already been given to the ships' captains at Sluys to put out to sea with every ship available. The black galley—bring me the black galley or bring me back Satan himself."

At this the admiral stamped off, swallowing the rest of his harangue, and the captains looked at one another wryly and then turned their gaze to the admiral:

"Diavolo, Spanish sound and fury!"

"A task that's easier said than done!"

"Well, what do you think, gentlemen?"

"The black galley, eh?"

"Did you hang your cook yesterday, Francesco?"

"Yes, it's a pity!"

"Spinola sends us to Sluys!"

"To hunt the black galley!"

And so the banter on the Andrea Doria went on till eventually one captain after another went off to complete preparations for the imminent departure of their ships.

It was a long time before Antonio Valani and Leone della Rota were able to find themselves alone on deck.

"So the others are sailing and we have to stay here? Wonderful!" said Leone. "Let us go hunting on our own account, Antonio, but first to the tavern I spoke of. You can tell me everything there is to know there of your relationship with that pretty Flemish woman."

"No, Leone. Leave me alone."

"No, I won't. You should and will tell me. I'm going to cure you, dear boy. I'm a good doctor in matters like these. Many a one had learnt that and you are not going to be the exception, Tonino."

Reluctantly the captain allowed himself to be dragged away from his ship. With an air of annoyance he followed his lieutenant through the streets of Antwerp to the Alcantara Arms where the fat hostess had fallen for the jolly della Rota and the scoundrel had a free slate and free accommodation as often as it seemed agreeable to him. And it was frequently very much so and just the job for him.

III.
Jan and Myga.

The following evening Myga van Bergen was sitting in one of the high gable houses behind the city wall on the quayside in Antwerp in the immediate vicinity of her small night light. As the daughter of the erstwhile rich and respected merchant, Michael van Bergen, of whom it could now be said: Supremum diem obiit, senex et pauper (Old age and poverty killed him), she was dressed in mourning.

As when a sack of newly minted gold coins is shaken, fifteen or twenty years before the name of the firm of Norris and Van Bergen reverberated in the ears of everyone, for the firm represented one of the richest merchant banking houses in the whole of affluent Antwerp. Its ships sailed on every ocean, its warehouses were full of the most precious treasures from the Indies and America, its underwriting rooms were full of diligent underwriters. Twenty years before you could have asked at the Stock Exchange or at the Oosterling Bank, the great repository of the Hanseatic League, about the firm of Norris and Van Bergen and you would have heard good reports of them.

Now it was a different story. Johann Geerdes Norris had died long ago in Amsterdam and a fortnight since his former business partner had followed him to the grave in Antwerp as an undischarged bankrupt.

If you had asked now on the Stock Exchange or at the offices of the Hanseatic League about the firm of Norris and Van Bergen, you would probably have been asked to repeat your question more than once and received for your answer a shake of the