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I walked back to the Prins Willem, hastening my pace as the snow began to fall in earnest. By the time I reached the i
For the next two days it snowed without ceasing, a steady, relentless fall. At first there was little wind, but toward the end of the second day a stormy gale blew up, driving the snow into drifts against the sides of buildings until in some places they reached nearly to the height of the windows. Few people stirred outside. Some of the soldiers still came to the i
I visited Hector several times a day, but the stable was solidly built of brick and the grooms had a fire in their room at one end, whose warmth filtered through to the horses. Confined to the i
The night of the second day of blizzard, I lay in bed listening to the wind howling round the corners of the building with a viciousness that seemed almost animate. Every so often there came a crash as a tile was ripped off the roof of the i
At last I slept and when I woke the world seemed strangely silent. The wind had dropped and light was filtering in around the shutters of my window. I crossed the floor, wincing at its icy touch on my feet, and opened them. A low red sun cast its light over a glittering snow-covered town, The wind had vanished. The snow was no longer falling. Down below I saw a workman, bundled up in a thick cloak, a scarf wound round his head and hat, making his way slowly across the square and leaving the first footprints to mark it, except for the feathery patterns of birds’ feet which were lightly etched on the surface. Away to the right I could see the canal, no longer a body of water shifting and stirring, but a solid road of ice. Even as I watched, I saw a group of young men sit down on the bank and strap skates to the soles of their boots, then laughing and shouting they launched themselves out on to the frozen canal, dipping and swooping across the ice. My heart lifted at seeing them and I longed to be able to glide like that, as swift and free as a bird in the air.
A few minutes later another group arrived, families with young children, carrying large round trays like the ones used to bring in huge joints of meat to the i
Everyone seemed cheered by the change in the weather. It was still bitterly cold, but the sight of the sun after the darkness of the blizzard was itself enough to raise one’s spirits. I spent the morning watching the sport on the canal, then after di
As I crossed the square I saw women turning away from the public well. Although I could not understand their speech, from their gestures it was clear that the well was frozen. Underfoot the top layer of the snow had also frozen into a hard crust which crunched and shattered under my feet, so that they sank into the softer snow below. It reached to my knees. Soon my boots and stockings were soaking and my legs felt as icy as the canals, but I ploughed on until I reached the church where I had first seen the beggar. He was not there.
A small crowd of local people was emerging from the church, shaking the hand of the minister and calling out brief greetings to each other before hurrying away to the warmth of their homes. As the minister went back into the church, I followed him.
Most of the people of Amsterdam I had met knew some English, so I spoke to him in English, hoping that he would understand.
‘Dominee, may I ask you about one of your parishioners?’ There was no evidence that the soldier was one of his parishioners, but it seemed a reasonable guess.
He turned and smiled politely. ‘What do you wish to know?’ His English was almost without any accent.
‘A few days ago I spoke to a former soldier, who was playing a pipe and begging outside your church. We spoke about Sluys. I am a physician from England who cared for many of the survivors. I thought I would speak to him again, but he is not there now. Perhaps it is too cold.’
I knew that I was being deliberately misleading in mentioning Sluys, but felt I needed to give some reason for my interest in the man.
‘I know the man you mean, Mijnheer. He does indeed live in this parish, though he rarely attends church. His sufferings, I am afraid, have turned him from God. His name is Hans Viederman.’
‘And you say he lives nearby?’
‘He does. If you turn right outside the door of the church and follow the narrow passage that runs along our outside wall, there are a few small houses on the other side. Hans’s house is the last of these.’
‘Does he have family?’
The minister shook his head sadly. ‘When he came home from the fighting, with . . . his legs like that . . . crippled, his wife left him and took their little boy with her. She has gone to live with her parents in a village about five miles from Amsterdam.