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Unable to shake off the memory of the beggar’s warning, I decided to return to the church and ask him to explain just what he had meant, but by the time I had found my way back – and I managed to lose myself twice – there was no sign of him or his dog. A woman was selling hot sweet pastries from a tray hanging from her neck and I bought one. As I ate it, I asked her if she knew where I could find the beggar I had seen there that morning.
Giving me an odd look, she said, ‘I do not know, Me’heer. Sometimes he is there, sometimes not. I do not know where he lives.’
It was clear she thought it strange that I should ask. Not wanting to draw attention to myself, I gave a quick nod, as if it was of no importance, and made my way back to the i
That evening I decided to sit in a corner of the i
There was nothing suspicious or even interesting in the soldiers’ talk. This evening there were few civilians in the i
Why had the beggar warned me against Parker?
Tired from my hours of walking over the snow-covered cobbles of Amsterdam and seeing little purpose in eavesdropping any longer on the soldiers’ talk, I decided to go to bed. On the way, I asked Niels Penders to send some hot water to my room. It arrived soon after I did, carried in by a girl of about my own age, the i
For days, ever since we had left London, I had slept in the same clothes I wore all day, and I felt tired and grubby. It was a luxurious pleasure to wash all over with the scrap of soap I had brought with me. I had no towel, but a fire had been laid in the small fireplace and after rubbing myself with my cloak I soon dried by toasting myself in front of it. I then washed out my stockings, my shirt and my undershift, wringing them out as best I could and draping them over a chair in front of the fire, which I made up with logs from a basket provided by the i
The coffer I left in place behind the door, but I laid my clean shirt, breeches and spare hose ready, in case I should need to dress in a hurry, and with that slid beneath the feather bed and blew out my candle. Within minutes I was asleep.
The next morning I woke slowly, vaguely aware of a cock crowing somewhere not far off, and the clatter of hooves beneath my window. The clothes I had washed, being of thin fabric, had dried in the night, so I folded them and packed them into my knapsack. I dressed in the clean clothes I had laid out and drew the coffer away from the door, hoping that no one would hear the noise I made. Before eating the previous night I had checked that the ostler had fed Hector, but I thought I would visit the stables before breaking my fast. It was still quite early, so it might be possible to call on Ettore Añez before he was too much caught up in the business of the day.
Hector seemed comfortable and well fed, so as soon as I had eaten I set off again on foot for Reiger Straat. There had been no further snow during the night, so what had already fallen was churned up and dirty with the passage of feet and stained with horse droppings. Perhaps because I knew the way, the house seemed nearer this time. The hoists and the barges were not yet as busy as they had been the day before, and only one man emerged from the door of the house at the sign of the Leaping Gazelle, so I decided to make my way up the shallow steps and knock.
The door was opened immediately by a smartly dressed servant who asked me something in Dutch. I replied in English.
‘Is this the home of Mijnheer Ettore Añez?’
‘Certainly, sir,’ he replied in faultless English, with no trace of accent. ‘Who shall I say is calling?’
‘Dr Christoval Alvarez,’ I said, ‘a friend of his cousin Sara Lopez from London.’
‘If you will wait here a moment, sir.’ He bowed and climbed the stairs to the next floor, where I heard the knock on a door and the murmur of voices. I might have been in a gentleman’s house in London, received by one of his upper servants.
The man came quickly downstairs again.
‘If you would follow me, Dr Alvarez?’
On the first floor he knocked at a door, then opened it without waiting for an answer, and I stepped inside. A large window faced the canal, filling the room with reflected light dancing off the water. As I entered, a tall man, thin and elegantly dressed, came towards me with both hands outstretched, beaming at me with genuine pleasure.
‘Dr Alvarez! My cousin has told me much about you and your father in her letters. I am delighted to meet you and to welcome you to Amsterdam.’ He turned to the servant who was just closing the door. ‘Alfred, bring us some refreshments.’
He indicated two comfortable chairs pulled close to the fire. ‘Please, please, sit down. You will take a little wine? You must tell me all the news of Sara and the children.’
It was not much more than an hour since I had eaten at the i