Chapter 135: The Pope's Party and the Infidels

The captain of the Voyager watched this scene, his eyes nearly popping out of his head as he watched the enemy ships cut across the distance, drawing closer and closer.

A hint of panic had crept into Dirk's voice: "Load chain shot!"

Soon, the Longwind, the Cloud Sail, and the Voyager had closed to within a hundred paces.

The Voyager fired first.

Ten serpentine guns on the broadside loosed chain shot—the projectiles split in two mid-air, joined by iron chains, tumbling end over end as they flew straight for the sails.

Unfortunately, Chinese hard sails were built tough and durable by design, their original purpose being to withstand the capricious monsoons and typhoons.

Chain shot worked wonders against Western ships with their complex rigging, but against Chinese hard sails, its effectiveness was greatly diminished.

The Voyager's chain shot tumbled through the air, most splashing into the sea—only two struck the Cloud Sail, carving gashes across her mainsail and foresail.

Hard sails had battens running along the back, so partial damage to the sail wouldn't let the wind tear it apart the way it would a soft sail—it barely even affected the ship's speed.

The Longwind and the Cloud Sail slowly closed to within eighty paces of the Voyager, then fired their broadside guns—also chain shot.

A single volley snapped a large swath of the Voyager's shrouds.

The Voyager replied with chain shot of her own, and the two sides traded cannon fire at sixty paces on the open sea.

For a time, sails, rigging, wood splinters, seawater, gunsmoke, and screams churned together in chaos above the waves.

The gunners on the Longwind and the Cloud Sail had been fed on countless live-fire drills—in rapid-fire mode, their rate of fire far exceeded the Voyager's, averaging two shots for every one the Voyager managed.

After ten exchanges, most of the Voyager's sails and rigging had been destroyed.

Another volley severed every lift on the Voyager's mainmast—the three yards on the mainmast lost their support and swung violently to starboard, and the ship lost all primary propulsion, gradually going dead in the water, crawling along at a turtle's pace.

The Longwind seized the moment to sail across the Dutchman's bow, switching her broadside guns to grapeshot and beginning a merciless sweep of the deck.

The instant the guns fired, a chorus of screams and a mist of blood rose from the Dutch deck.

The Cloud Sail followed close behind—when she passed along the Dutchman's side, her crew could even feel the bloody mist sprinkling against their skin.

Zheng Zhilong wiped a hand across his face—it came away covered in scarlet blood-water—and grinned savagely: "Switch to grapeshot, sail to the enemy's bow!"

On deck, the first mate, the boatswain, and the gunnery officer shouted over one another.

"Switch to grapeshot!"

"Helm to starboard, lower the sails!"

The thunder of cannon fire rang out without cease.

After several rounds of grapeshot, the Voyager's bow was nearly shot to pieces, countless iron balls reaping lives wantonly across her deck.

For a time, the roar of cannons, screams, and the crack of splintering planks played in concert, sulfur and the stench of blood interweaving.

Zheng Zhilong's face was alight with excitement—the scene made his blood boil, and he shouted at the top of his lungs without pause.

"Aim where the men are thickest!"

"Pound the sterncastle! Don't let those men with guns come out!"

"Hahaha, that shot was a beauty—Skinny Zhang, there's a reward for you when we get back to shore!"

With nothing but a good pair of lungs, Zheng Zhilong did the work of boatswain and gunnery officer all by himself, and reveled in it—his excited expression looked less like fighting a battle and more like playing a war game.

Aboard the Voyager, Dirk crouched behind the bulwark of the stern deck, not daring to show his head—around him, severed limbs, chunks of flesh, blood, and wood splinters rained down onto his body like a storm.

"Surrender, we surrender! Why hasn't anyone raised the white flag yet?" Dirk clutched his head and shouted desperately.

The first mate, likewise curled up, said: "Our men haven't even gotten the white flag up before they're shot dead—three have died already!"

"Those damned Portuguese, have they gone mad?" Dirk cursed in fury.

In all his years at sea, he had never seen such a tactic—refusing to board, firing cannonballs as if they cost nothing, blasting away without mercy.

Amid the hail of shot, the first mate bellowed: "Now we can only wait for their guns to overheat!"

"Slaughter, this is slaughter!" Dirk accused in outrage.

"I—" the first mate began, but he'd barely gotten out one word when a stream of grapeshot punched straight through the bulwark, shredding him in an instant—tattered flesh and shot sprayed across the entire stern deck.

Dirk's head and face were drenched crimson, and he stared blankly as the first mate's riddled body toppled over, his own frame trembling uncontrollably.

After what felt like an eternity—a veritable Judgment Day—the enemy's guns fell silent.

Dirk no longer bothered to issue orders to his crew. Seizing the opportunity, he tore a strip of white cloth from his shirt, tied it to a splintered plank, fashioned a crude white flag, and waved it in the air.

Though he himself was uninjured, his clothes were already soaked with his crewmen's blood, and the white cloth had been stained red—it looked more like a red flag.

Aboard the Cloud Sail, the gunnery officer reported loudly: "The guns are overheating!"

Zheng Zhilong said in a low voice: "Turn about, switch to the guns on the other side!"

A crewman shouted: "Look!"

Everyone on board looked toward the Dutch ship—from behind various bits of cover, seven or eight white flags thrust out, waving in the air.

The Longwind's five-colored signal flags waved, ordering the Cloud Sail to come alongside and board.

Zheng Zhilong obeyed, ordering the Cloud Sail to turn in place, swing around in a wide arc, and close in on the Voyager's port side.

The crew lowered the sails, cast grappling hooks to draw the two ships together, then laid down planks and charged across them onto the Voyager with swords and spears.

By the time Zheng Zhilong set foot on the Voyager, the surviving crew had all been subdued and knelt in rows on the deck.

Zheng Zhilong first swept his gaze across the deck—every exposed plank on the ship was damaged, not a single spot intact; the deck that should have been smooth was now pockmarked with craters, and in some places holes had been blown straight through, revealing the guns below.

Severed limbs and broken arms lay everywhere on the deck, and even though Zheng Zhilong's nose was already clogged with the smell of sulfur, the stench of blood still bored straight up into his skull.

Zheng Zhilong bent down and pried a grapeshot ball embedded in the bulwark, turning it over in his hand, secretly awed by the power of cannon fire.

The Cloud Sail's first mate stepped forward and reported: "There are five unharmed red barbarian prisoners on board, and ten wounded—red barbarians, Japanese pirates, and others."

"The wounded?" Zheng Zhilong frowned. "What are the identities of the wounded?"

"Judging by their dress, they should be ordinary crewmen and mercenaries."

"Well, there's no physician on that island to treat their wounds."

"Your subordinate understands."

The first mate immediately ordered the wounded brought to the ship's rail and executed—the crewmen went about it with great efficiency, cutting throats, draining blood, and pushing the bodies into the sea in one smooth motion.

Deke was stunned by such behavior—even Caribbean pirates would at least demand ransom or force people to join their crew.

These yellow-skinned pirates killed people without asking a single question?

Zheng Zhilong indeed asked nothing, only ordering the remaining red barbarians bound and sent back to the island, while dispatching men to inspect the hold and assess the damage to the ship.

For one, Zheng Zhilong didn't understand Dutch; for another, once on the island, there were specialists to make these prisoners talk.

"You few, clean up the deck," Zheng Zhilong ordered the crew. There was too much blood—people could easily slip.

The crew acknowledged the order, covering the bloodstains with sand while tossing the larger chunks of remains into the sea.

Just as the cleaning was underway, a commotion broke out from the cargo hold.

"Who's there? Don't move!"

"Everyone squat down—come any closer and we'll shoot!"

A moment later, a crewman hurried up from the cargo hold and said quietly to Zheng Zhilong: "Shipmaster, we found several dozen people in the cargo hold."

"Red barbarians?" Zheng Zhilong asked, puzzled.

"Han Chinese—by their accent, from the Liaodong area. They seem to have been captured and brought aboard. What should we do?"

Zheng Zhilong: "Keep them under guard. Don't let them out of the cargo hold."

The crewman went below to relay the order, while Zheng Zhilong paced over to Deke.

This red-haired barbarian wore a tight-fitting, waist-length double-breasted coat with a wide collar of fine linen spread flat across his shoulders—his whole appearance extravagant and noble-looking. He must be an officer.

"Do you speak Chinese?" Zheng Zhilong asked.

Deke: "Ik ben de kapitein van de VOC, Deke……"

Zheng Zhilong frowned: "What kind of bird talk is that!" Then he repeated the question in Portuguese.

Deke couldn't understand it, but could tell it was Portuguese, and became even more convinced that these Ming men were Portuguese mercenaries. In his heart, he cursed the Portuguese of Macao ten thousand times over.

Unable to communicate, Zheng Zhilong ordered his men: "Blindfold these Dutchmen, lock them up, and leave them for the helmsman to interrogate."

His men obeyed.

After about an hour, a crewman came up from the lower hold and reported: "Shipmaster, the ship has twenty cannons, over twenty chests of silver ingots, thirty chests of copper ingots, ten chests of raw silk, and over a dozen chests of miscellaneous goods."

When he finished, the carpenter of the Cloud Sail also reported: "Shipmaster, this ship's deck is badly damaged, but the hold and waterline are basically intact."

The first mate of the Cloud Sail said: "The rigging is badly damaged—can't be fixed anytime soon. We'll have to tow it back to the island."

Zheng Zhilong said: "Then that's what we'll do. Have someone rig the tow lines, notify the Long Wind, and we prepare to return!"

That evening, the fleet docked at Houjiang Bay pier.

Because the number of prisoners on Nan'ao Island kept growing—sea bandits, household troops, camp soldiers, Spaniards, all sorts—a prison and torture-interrogation chambers had already been built on the island to squeeze out the maximum intelligence.

Deke and four other Dutch prisoners of war were escorted into one of them.

Inside the interrogation chamber, Lin Qian sat at a table, with Zheng Zhilong and Bai Qing standing at his sides, reporting on the day's battle.

On the table lay a preliminary inventory list of the plundered goods, among which the fifty-two Han Chinese found in the hold stood out conspicuously.

On the floor of the interrogation chamber, the five Dutch prisoners of war sat blindfolded, trembling.

"Who are you people?" Lin Qian asked the question in both Spanish and English.

Deke reacted strongly to the Spanish, though he still couldn't understand it.

Lin Qian had his men search among the Spanish prisoners for someone who could speak Dutch. After a long while, Juan, the Spanish naval vice admiral, was brought in.

After more than half a year on the island, Juan's aristocratic bearing was utterly gone—his skin had darkened, he'd grown gaunt to the point of being unrecognizable, no different from an ordinary Iberian peasant. The moment he saw Lin Qian, he dropped to his knees, weeping and begging for freedom.

Lin Qian promised him a slight improvement in prisoner treatment, on the condition that he serve as a Dutch translator.

Juan readily agreed.

"What's your name, and what is your status?" Lin Qian asked.

Standing to the side, Juan barked sternly in Dutch: "Heathen! State your name and status!"

"I am Captain Deke de Vries of the Dutch East India Company. I can pay a ransom in exchange for my freedom!"

The Dutch and the Spanish had long-standing grievances—one could hear it plainly in Juan's single word "heathen."

By this time, the Netherlands had fully converted to Protestantism, while Spain was an old Catholic power. The religious conflict between the two was irreconcilable.

Add to that the period when Spain's Habsburg dynasty ruled the Netherlands, levying exorbitant taxes that stirred popular outrage and sparked the Dutch War of Independence.

That war had dragged on for decades and still hadn't ended by this day, adding national conflict between the two.

The Dutch excelled at commerce, and most of the silver, raw silk, and porcelain that Spain plundered and traded for through desperate effort in the Americas and Asia ended up in Dutch hands—something that made Spain fiercely envious.

So the two countries also had economic conflict.

Finally, both the Dutch and the Spanish coveted the fat prizes of the Americas and Southeast Asia, sparking yet more conflict over colonies.

In short, in a single phrase: the two nations' grievances ran extremely deep.

Moreover, the traditional Chinese strategic philosophies of "sharing a common hatred against the enemy," "vertical and horizontal alliances," and "befriend the distant while attacking the near" didn't work in the conflicts among the Dutch, Spanish, and Portuguese either.

Although Portugal and Spain had a delicate relationship, because both were under Habsburg rule, they were equally targeted by Dutch hostility.

The Dutch had established a trading factory in Japan, and their ships roamed the seas of East Asia—one of their aims being to break the Portuguese monopoly on trade with the Great Ming and Japan.

When Juan heard Deke's request to exchange ransom for freedom, he couldn't help but laugh out loud.

Here under the pirate chief Lin Qian—whether ransom could buy freedom—didn he, Spanish naval vice admiral Juan, know the answer well enough?

Ming sea bandits didn't buy that game at all!

"Papist! How dare you mock a nobleman?" Deke roared in fury.

Deke had heard Lin Qian and Juan conversing in Spanish just moments ago, and could no longer hold back from retorting.

Juan ignored him and translated for Lin Qian.

Lin Qian said flatly: "The fifty-two Han Chinese in the hold—explain that."

Building on Lin Qian's question, Juan added the prefix "heathen" and asked Deke.

Deke felt a pang of guilt and stammered, not daring to answer.

Lin Qian said upon seeing this, "Tell the truth, and I'll let you go."

Juan couldn't believe it, but under pressure, he had no choice but to translate. He could only hang his head and repeat the words as they were.

Dirk was overjoyed and explained, "Those fifty-two men are all laborers to be sent to Batavia. Ming people can endure hardship and toil, excel at farming and building cities. Give them a little sweetener and they'll work with all their might—even more diligently than natives or black slaves driven by the whip!"

In the age of sail, the Dutch were active participants in the slave trade.

This "business" yielded enormous profits with minimal investment, and the Southeast Asian colonies were desperately short of labor—there was no reason for the Dutch East India Company not to do it.

Lin Qian said in a cold voice, "You dare to traffic Ming citizens into slavery!"

Dirk hastily explained, "Not slaves—laborers! The two are not the same under colonial law!"

"Heh." Lin Qian let out a light laugh.

In Batavia, the legal status of Chinese was higher than that of slaves, purely because giving Chinese a little money drove them harder than a whip ever could.

In the eyes of the colonists, there was no essential difference between slaves and laborers.

Historically, Manila was not the only place where massacres of Chinese occurred—Batavia had its own as well.

Lin Qian then questioned him in detail about the origins of the fifty-two Chinese captives, the scale of the Dutch "laborer" roundups in Ming territory, the routes of the Dutch fleet, the number of warships in the East India Company, and the extent of their sphere of influence.

It turned out that the Dutch still had some fear of the Ming authorities. All fifty-two men had been purchased at Hirado, and most of Hirado's supply came from Liaodong refugees.

In March of this year, after Nurhaci breached Liaoshen, many Han Chinese along the border crossed the Yalu River and fled into Joseon territory.

Some wokou pirates colluded with local Joseon officials, seized these refugees, shipped them to Hirado, and sold them to the Dutch.

Armed merchant ships like the Voyager numbered two to three hundred in total for the East India Company, and fluyt merchant vessels were beyond counting.

As for the number of warships, that was unknown—a conservative estimate put it at thirty to forty or so.

Hearing such numbers of ships, even Juan looked astonished. He knew the Dutch were strong, but he never imagined they were this strong!

Fortunately, although the Dutch had many ships, their sphere of influence was also vast—the fleet had to guard Batavia, the Spice Islands, Ceylon, and the vast seas covered by their shipping routes.

Once the massive fleet was dispersed across these places, it no longer seemed so numerous.

After the questioning ended, Lin Qian instructed Bai Qing, "I'm placing the Long Wind, the Cloud Sail, and all the eagle ships under your command. From today onward, when you encounter Dutch vessels, no need to report—put to sea and strike directly!"

"Yes!" Bai Qing clasped his fists.

Zheng Zhilong felt somewhat disappointed—after all, Lin Qian's orders were given to Bai Qing, and he had no authority to lead ships on raiding expeditions.

Seeing Lin Qian rise to leave the interrogation room, Dirk hurriedly said, "Captain, you promised to let me go."

The torches on the wall flickered, casting Lin Qian's face half in light, half in shadow: "You think you can leave once you're on the island? Since you're so fond of Ming laborers, why not have a proper taste of labor-reform life on Nan'ao Island."

Hearing Lin Qian's attitude, Juan was so frightened that goosebumps covered his body. He wanted to say something but didn't dare speak.

Lin Qian said to the militia squad leader guarding the prisoners, "From now on, this Spaniard eats and sleeps better than the other prisoners, and his work is lighter too."

"Understood."

Lin Qian's improvement of Juan's treatment was not for the sake of keeping his word.

First, Juan was the only one under his command who understood Dutch—future interrogations of Dutch captives would still depend on him.

Second, as sea battles grew more frequent and the number of prisoners on the island increased, he had to find ways to reduce the strain on the guards.

Rewarding well-behaved prisoners and guiding them toward active reform was one method.

Even if that failed, differential treatment could create conflicts among the prisoners, redirecting their resentment away from the guards.

"Yiguan, walk with me a ways." Lin Qian stopped at the door of the interrogation room and said.

Hearing this, Zheng Zhilong's face lit up with joy, and he trotted along eagerly after him.

Leaving the interrogation room, Lin Qian strolled around the island with Zheng Zhilong. He stopped at a stall selling oyster omelets and ordered seven or eight portions from the vendor, then sat with his guards in front of the stall to eat.

In no time, the oyster omelets were served, and the guards tested them for poison.

Lin Qian pulled out a pair of chopsticks and said to Zheng Zhilong, "Eat while it's hot."

The oyster omelet was similar to fried oysters—fresh oysters coated in sweet potato starch and pan-fried, with crispy edges and tender, juicy oysters inside. One bite and the oyster juices burst in the mouth, full of flavor.

Paired with fish sauce and salted water dipping sauce, the taste was extremely fresh and sweet, beloved by the people of Chaozhou.

Ever since Lin Qian had smoothed relations with Commander Ma and Magistrate Cai of Chenghai, the camp soldier status of everyone on the island had been confirmed, and more and more small merchants came to the island to trade each day.

Even this oyster omelet stall, which used to only set up near the docks, had now moved to the south of the city.

Nan'ao City was now changing with each passing day, exuding a rich beauty of an economic upswing.

Lin Qian ate his oyster omelet and remarked with emotion, "Nan'ao City's current state is all thanks to you and Second Brother Zhou holding down the Government Affairs Hall!"

"Cough, cough, cough!" Hearing this, Zheng Zhilong coughed uncontrollably, nearly spraying fish sauce out his nose. While catching his breath, he waved his hands: "Helmsman, if you say things like that, I won't dare set foot in the Government Affairs Hall again!"

Lin Qian joked, "If not the Government Affairs Hall, then where do you want to go?"

Zheng Zhilong's heart tightened—he couldn't tell whether the Helmsman was joking or testing him—so he replied in the same joking manner to show his loyalty: "If Brother Lin thinks highly of me, I'd even be willing to serve as your bodyguard!"

"Brother Yiguan is accomplished in both letters and arms—wouldn't being a bodyguard be a waste of your talents?" Lin Qian said indistinctly while slurping down his oyster omelet.

Zheng Zhilong was momentarily puzzled. If this were a test, the manner was far too casual and natural.

Besides, he was utterly loyal and had never done a single thing to wrong the Helmsman—his conscience was clear.

Since coming to the island, he had served as Director of the Penal Affairs Bureau and Deputy Director of the Government Affairs Hall, and led the Cloud Sail on raiding expeditions at sea. Though he had achieved some small successes, they were nothing compared to the Helmsman's accomplishments—a minor sorcerer next to a great one.

So, reasoning from logic and sentiment alike, he shouldn't be tested by Lin Qian.

With that thought, Zheng Zhilong began to blame himself, thinking: "My mind is so full of suspicions—I truly fail the Helmsman's sincere treatment. I am deeply ashamed!"

Seeing Zheng Zhilong frozen in thought and silent, Lin Qian said, "There's a matter I need you to handle."

Zheng Zhilong immediately stood and clasped his fists, saying solemnly, "Please give your orders, Helmsman. I would go through fire and water without hesitation!"

Lin Qian smiled and gestured for him to sit: "It's not that serious—I'm just sending you to meet an old acquaintance."

"The councilman of Macao."

Half a month later, a Sea Wolf ship sailed into Macao harbor.

Stepping onto the pier and seeing the familiar sights before him, Zheng Zhilong felt as if a lifetime had passed—his thoughts churned with emotion.

A little over a year ago, he had set out from this very harbor and boarded the Helmsman's ship.

Today he once again came as Lin Qian's special envoy to meet Councilman Andre.

On this trip, Zheng Zhilong was the chief envoy, with Jose as his deputy.

Zheng Zhilong was upright and forthright in temperament, with a forceful manner; Jose was smooth and worldly, skilled at adapting to circumstances. Lin Qian had sent these two as envoys precisely so their strengths would complement each other.

No sooner had the two stepped off the ship than they received a warm reception from the councilman, who sent a carriage to take them to his residence.

The carriage traveled for a long while before stopping before a mansion nestled against the mountains and beside the water.

Zheng Zhilong, Jose, and the other members of Lin Qian's delegation alighted, facing a pair of enormous carved ebony double doors.

The wooden doors opened, revealing a luxurious European-style mansion. Passing through the foyer, they came upon a Roman-style central courtyard, at the center of which stood a marble fountain, surrounded by orange trees, lemon trees, and all manner of flowers whose names they could not say.

In the courtyard, gardeners each tended to their duties, accompanied by the babbling sound of water and the fragrance of blossoms and fruit, basking in the autumn sunlight—a scene of quiet peace and harmony.

The steward led the delegation through the courtyard to the main building, whose interior made lavish use of rosewood and ebony, bearing a distinct Manueline style with Renaissance acanthus leaf ornamentation.

Velvet, brocade, silk, and tapestries covered every corner of the main building.

Throughout the journey, Zheng Zhilong kept his gaze straight ahead with a calm expression, but inwardly he was secretly astonished.

When he had left Macao, the councilman had not put on such grand display. Evidently, that large order from the Santa Ana—four hundred thousand taels of cargo and one hundred thousand taels of firearms—had filled the councilman's coffers to overflowing.

Judging from the decor of this mansion, the councilman's wealth was practically spilling out.

By contrast, the helmsman—it had been so long since he came to Nan'ao Island, and he had not even acquired a single property of his own, let alone an official residence. Every tael of silver he earned was spent on what mattered most. That was what a man destined for great things looked like.

"Earn a bit of silver and indulge in pleasure—what future is there in that? A man like that has reached his ceiling in this life." Zheng Zhilong secretly held the councilman in contempt.

(End of chapter)

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