‘No,’ came the firm reply.
‘Come, sir. This land was settled by the Dutch, now another has usurped their ancient rights. Do you not believe this to be injurious to their feelings?’
Ryneveld gave a tiny smile. ‘In turn, I’m astonished you English have not railed against the usurping Dutch – after all, it is you who have the prior claim. Was it not in 1620, a generation before our Jan van Riebeeck, that your Captain Shillinge took formal possession of the Cape in the name of King James?’
‘It had slipped my mind,’ Renzi said smoothly.
‘Then, sir, I think it true to say that should affairs be conducted in the old ways, congenial to the sensitivities of the honest citizens of Cape Town and conducive to the swelling of trade, you shall have a contented colony.’
‘Upon the advice of one of discernment and discretion, intimate with the delicacies of public affairs at the Cape . . .?’
‘Naturally.’
‘Capital!’ Baird said. ‘If he’s willing to serve it means he’s others of like mind behind him. I do believe we have a way forward. Tricky that Janssens is still in the field – two governors, divided loyalties and such.’
‘Never mentioned, sir.’
‘Then he shall be appointed fiscal again.’ Baird laid down his pen and smiled expansively. ‘Excellent! No offence intended to my soldier brothers but a civil complexion to our rule is essential and now we have it. A rather good wheeze I came up with, hey? We may now move forward, I believe.’
‘Shall you wish your cabinet to meet?’ Renzi asked.
‘I’m not intending in the future to conduct my affairs by committee, my dear Mr Colonial Secretary. It shall be informed of the resumption of a civil administration and then dissolved. Any advice I might require I’ll ask for at the time. Now – I do think it about time we made a few proclamations. Let’s see . . . one about allegiance to His Majesty, o’ course, but at the same time a grand one as sets ’em a-twittering, opening the port to trade and such.’
‘Allegiance? Could not this be seen as somewhat presumptive, the Batavians being as yet undefeated?’
‘Then what do you see as standing in its place?’ The tone, however, was pleasant and encouraging.
‘Um, I’d say a stern admonition of sorts from your own good self, urging citizens to abandon General Janssens’s cause as hopeless in the face of garrison reinforcements from England expected daily.’
‘And pointing out the undoubted advantages of settling down to an enlightened domestic rule – yes, that will do. Now, while I summon Ryneveld, see what a fist you can make of the wording, there’s a good chap!’
As Renzi reached his office, a terrified woman escaped with her mops and buckets and a distinguished-looking elderly gentleman presented himself. ‘Sir – Oudtshoorn, chief clerk. I do hope your office will be satisfactory. If there’s anything . . . ?’
‘Thank you, er, Oudtshoorn.’ They entered and a younger man at a small desk to one side rose awkwardly.
‘Stoll, your private clerk. You may rely on his discretion.’ Renzi was astonished that so many Dutch had such an excellent command of English.
Oudtshoorn turned to Stoll. ‘Do you soon acquaint Mijnheer Renzi with the present workings of the secretariat. He may wish to make changes.’
‘Sir,’ the young man said, touching his forelock in an old-fashioned way.
After the chief clerk had left, Renzi was obliged to cut short Stoll’s earnest conversation and sat behind his vast desk to compose his thoughts.
How utterly unreal it was! After a near-mortal fever, years ago, had led to his quitting the Navy he had not, since then, held any post of consequence he could boast of, and his attempt at establishing a new life in New South Wales had failed miserably.
Since then his closest friend, Thomas Kydd, had provided him with board and lodging in the form of a position aboard his ship while he pursued his studies. It had worked most agreeably, well suited to his character, his horizons always new, never the limited ones of the scholar in his fusty rooms, yet in his own eyes he’d never really been gainfully employed.
Now here he was, sitting in state as a colonial secretary, with all the trappings and influence that came from being so close to the summit of power.
He had no illusions about why he had been chosen. For Baird he was perfect: educated, intelligent, of an appearance and, above all, with no loyalty to a faction. He was not ambitious and, in his tendre for scholarship, no threat – and immediately available. His evident connections at the highest with London might prove useful in the future but would at least ensure that he was not trifled with by others.
Out of the corner of his eye he could see Stoll watching him covertly as he busied himself. Renzi bent to his task of finding a form of words for nothing less than the coercion of a people to accept foreign rule. It was a challenge that would test his literary powers to the limits.
He stared ahead, his quill at the ready. Fragments of Pausanias on helotry in conquered peoples drifted into his mind. The Athenians had robust views on rulers and the ruled, pithy aphorisms that went to the core of what it was to extend conquest into dominion.
Pulling himself together, he gave a wry smile. His studies into the vanished worlds of long ago had not prepared him for producing actual decrees and proclamations, of turning political intent into workable public instruments. This was going to be an interesting occupation.
‘Whereas . . .’ Everything official began that way. Then what? He glanced about for inspiration and found himself catching Stoll’s wary eyes. He looked away: it was this man’s lands and heritage he was dealing with.
‘Whereas a party of Batavian troops, under the Orders of Lieutenant General Janssens is attempting to oppose the authority of the British when further resistance is—’ Is useless? The usual denunciation of the oppressor? No – something like, ‘injurious to the settlement and its trade’ would better serve.
Stoll darted anxious looks towards him. It was no good. Renzi could not concentrate. He rose slowly and Stoll shot to his feet. ‘Oh, er, whose is that office?’ Renzi asked, indicating a small side room.
‘That is where Mijnheer Höhne, your sworn translator, goes when you call for him, sir.’
‘Very well. I shall work there for the moment.’
Stoll blinked in consternation, but said nothing.
Alone at a small desk in the modest room, with a rather charming painting of a Dutch family scene on the wall, Renzi set to with renewed purpose and soon had a draft. He reviewed its phraseology, aware that it would be pinned up in public places.
. . . to inform the Inhabitants of this Colony that being in possession of the Town and principal Places the whole be subject to His Majesty’s Authority . . . most strictly enjoin them to have no communication with the aforesaid Corps . . . will draw upon themselves consequences of the most serious nature . . .
He concluded with a solemn reference to the inevitable miseries of a protracted state of warfare set against a future of prosperity and growth under a settled population, and took it to Baird.
‘Exactly so! Fine work, Renzi. You’ve a translator? Then we’ll get it cast in Dutch and set out beneath. We’ll have, say, two hundred struck off immediately and posted up. Then we’ll need to get our heads together on how we deal with this damned grain shortage.’
Renzi made to leave but Baird called after him, ‘Ryneveld took the position. I rather think it a good idea should you make an early official acquaintance.’
‘I will, sir.’
‘Oh, and – How shall I say it? I’m sure there’s a half-decent tailor in town – you’ll soon be looking to dress for the part, hey?’