Boomerang Gold: Gold Trilogy, #1

By Dion Mayne and Paul Richardson

Captain Calder Velden, a ruthless seafaring servant of the Secret Dutch Allegiance, had been summoned to serve his state in territories unknown.

1586 AD his beloved homelands were under Spanish Rule, there seemed to be no answers on how the resistance could end the tyranny. Backed by incredible wealth, King Phillip II of Spain had established a World Power hell bent on conquering all known territories.

The Dutch Allegiance knew the Spanish had discovered an untapped source of wealth in the territories of Nueva Guinea. It was time to send their cut-snake captain to disrupt and cripple the southern supply of gold to the Spanish Treasury.

Calder was in command of the new stealth ship, 'The Kharon', specifically made for the mission. Christened after the mythical ferry boat of the underworld, she was to pursue, raid and pillage enemy merchant ships along the trade route south of Bantam and leave no survivors!

However the unpredictable cloak and dagger mission itself could not have foreseen the Captain and Crew being entangled in mass murder, hoards of treasure, discovery of new lands and revenge that would span the best part of twenty years.

Everyone knows you must be responsible for your actions; but when you mix gold fever, pride, revenge and the open seas then perhaps you may be forgiven for forgetting your responsibilities.

In the case of The Kharon and her crew's greed, wealth may just play second fiddle to survival.

A tale entwined around historical events!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dion Mayne
• Release date: Jul 8, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223368571

Book preview

Prologue

Willem Janszoon had sailed the Duyfken south of southeast for days. His mission was twofold. There was an official exploratory assignment which funded the voyage, and there was an unofficial, more covert assignment. Sailing along the coast of what appeared to be a vast new land mass, the Duyfken’s crew had made landfall at several places they hoped may have provided supplies of fresh water. However, after they discovered each of the rivers was tidal for many reaches inland and after being challenged by seemingly hostile local landowners, Janszoon left the landing points empty handed.

Janszoon noted in his log:

While in pursuit of a suitable supply of freshwater, some of my crew were chased by people who behaved like barbarians.

The Duyfken had sailed further south. More stops along the coast resulted in more encounters with hostile locals. Determined to fulfil both assignments, Janszoon continued southward.

After several days on a meandering course, Janszoon sighted spires of smoke as they rose from the ridge tops of an island to his east. On captain’s orders the crew dropped anchor in the bay.

First contact was with friendly women and children. However, the cordiality did not last long.

Janszoon’s logbook noted:

The natives on this island were unique. They were friendly at first. They seemed familiar with our European attire and customs. It appeared one of them, possibly the chief, understood my language. However, before useful dialogue could be established, his warriors became hostile. A battle broke out. Lives were lost on both sides.

Janszoon didn’t venture any further south. He knew he had found the place. He hoped the loss of lives through his commitment to The Allegiance operative may bring reward. He charted the island on an unofficial map.

Officially he recorded:

Vast regions of these southern lands were for the greater part uncultivated, and in certain parts, inhabited by savage, cruel, black barbarians who slew some of my sailors.

With many hostile encounters along the unchartered coastline and now the loss of life at this mystery island, Janszoon was pressured by his sailors. He turned north and sailed toward Jakarta.

While history celebrates the Dutch seafarer’s discoveries from a European perspective, Janszoon had come closer than he would ever know to solving the mystery of the hidden treasure.

However, the locals knew. Like the boomerang, the pale-skin demons had once again returned to their lands to exploit them. But they had vowed to defend their country by whatever means. They vowed it would always remain Finjarra land.

For centuries, stories about the mysterious island were told by seasoned seafarers. The legend of the Boomerang Gold grew. So too did the stories of Captain Calder Velden and his turbulent adventures in the seas southeast of the Dutch East Indies.

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Chapter 1

Carlos Santenez thought he might drown in his own perspiration. Even though he was motionless, the tropical heat and the humidity drew out fluids that saturated his uniform.

Santenez was grateful for his captain’s rank. It was hot enough as he stood in the shade of a tree and oversaw the operation. He could not imagine his discomfort had he still been a crew member and had to hump the heavy, wooden crates down the steep, slippery pathway to the long boat at the edge of the beach. The captain was a tall, sinewy man who had always considered himself fit and active. That was when he sailed on or near the Mediterranean. He had not been prepared for the soul sapping environment of this jungle covered, rain drenched mountainous island.

Those who had first sailed the coastline of the land where Santenez now sweltered had thought the locals looked like the people of Guinea and called it Nueva Guinea while the English explorers translated it as New Guinea. Earlier expeditions by covert Spanish explorers had reported an abundance of gold in these coastal foothills. Mining had soon begun, and sailors became slaves to the land as they dug for gold, chopped trees to make crates, and loaded ships with the bounty of their labor, all in the name of king and country. Carlos Santenez’s brief was to oversee these current shipments.

Three years earlier, the naval captain had been stationed in Tunis as part of the royal fleet. At the age of thirty-five, he had reached the pinnacle of his maritime career. He had led various sea battles against pirates and those opposed to Spain and was victorious. Because he had become a revered naval officer, a strategic combatant, and a loyal servant of his country, he was summoned to the king’s court. There, he was issued with confidential orders to lead several warships, as well as a fleet of merchant ships, to the newly discovered islands of Nueva Guinea. His brief was to oversee the extraction of gold from the island.

The gold was mined from its source high in the mountains. The fleet’s crews were the miners. Captain Santenez had been charged with ensuring the treasure’s safe passage back to Spain. Some of the gold was destined to take a longer route to Genoa. The Genovese bankers were on good terms with the Spanish crown and often financed the crown’s foreign endeavors.

An outpost had been established on this large island. Locals were coerced to assist and worked alongside his sailors. The captain had been instructed to maintain the help of the native workers by any means necessary.

The men on the ships of the fleet, from captains to low-ranking crew members, were not to disclose the plans of the sortie to anyone. Santenez’s orders were to kill any worker who attempted to leave the operation. An attempted departure by a sailor would be deemed treason. Initially, to keep the source of the gold a secret, Captain Santenez was the only officer given navigational charts. He had been ordered to withhold charts until all ships were loaded with gold and were ready for the return voyage to Spain. As for those sailors who wished to write home, Captain Santenez tasked two trusted crewmen to write for the sailors, and even those written scripts had to be read by Captain Santenez before being sent onward.

The mission was shrouded in secrecy. It was not made known, even to others of influence in the Spanish navy. The official log of the fleet’s voyage stated the ships and their crews had departed from Las Islas Filipinas, a Spanish port in the East Indies. Las Islas Filipinas was to the northwest of Nueva Guinea and made a perfect cover should any of this fleet be interrogated en route. The Spanish were wary of the growing Dutch presence. Should the Dutch board any of these government funded ships, the charts would conceal where the fleet was headed or, after they had been loaded, where the gold had come from. Should the Dutch have tried to disrupt this mission, the false charts would have sent their scouts and explorers north of Bantam toward Las Islas Filipinas rather than southeast toward Nueva Guinea.

For the return journey, with holds filled, Captain Santenez was to direct the fleet’s captains to follow the warship escorts and sail south for a day before they turned west toward Africa. That way they would remain out of known trade routes.

As Carlos Santenez sweltered in the discomfort of the intense and unforgiving midmorning heat, he knew he was responsible for one of the most important operations undertaken by his king. It had taken almost six months to prepare the fleet. The journey to reach Nueva Guinea had taken a few weeks short of twelve months. Now that they were here, the conditions for his European men seemed appalling. It took all his leadership skills to keep his sailors on task, the locals on side, and the operation on schedule.

Many men regretted having signed up for this voyage, and the captain couldn’t blame them. But regardless of shared sentiments, if a crew member showed any lack of obedience or effort, he was duly punished. The motivation for each man to contribute to the operation was the lure of a return home. The only way that could happen would be for them to load the ships with enough gold to keep the king’s treasury satisfied.

It had been estimated there was enough gold in these hills for at least eight years of mining. Captain Santenez was realistic. He knew he would be back to this island several times. He also knew, as word of the operation got out, as it must, being such a long term venture, each journey back to Spain would become more perilous. It was not only the dangerous seas his heavily laden fleet would encounter. It would also be the greed and opportunism of many who sailed on them. There were bound to be men with intentions to pirate them and pilfer their cargo. Not only did the Spanish crews need to be strong and capable miners, but they would also have to be impeccable sailors and, if required, brave, courageous, and ruthless fighters.

The captain of La Lisboa stood beside Captain Santenez. He reported, El Capitán, mine was the last of the merchant ships to be filled. I can report loading has now been completed. The men with wooden crates filled and headed down past you are loading your ship. As per your orders, the men will leave your ship with minimal cargo to allow you the freedom to maneuver at sea and therefore keep our fleet safe should we encounter any rogue ships on our journey around Africa.

Santenez wiped the moisture from his brow. He said, Manuel, the men have done a fine job. We have a long journey ahead of us. I suggest we lay offshore for the next several days before we sail. It will give the crews a chance for some well-deserved rest.

Captain Montena smiled. Captain Santenez, deep down, you have a good heart. I will advise the other captains of the lay days ahead. I am sure with some smooth talk that the local chief will provide us with fresh meat and fish and some of the delightful fruit grown in this place. That way the men can have a celebration feast.

Santenez smiled. He added, My dear oceangoing colleague, that is a splendid idea. It will surely be a grand show of appreciation for the hard work done by the men of all of our crews.

Captain Montena turned and headed down the hill.

Santenez called after him, Captain, while you bribe the chief for the riches of his gardens, perhaps you can coerce him to provide some of the riches of his female villagers for our officers.

Montena held up a thumb. He nodded. Excellent idea, sir. As well as fill our bellies, we can unleash the tension in our loins. My fellow captains will be in awe of your strategic thinking on this matter.

Santenez’s grin fell away quickly. He watched the merchant ship’s captain edge his way down the steep slope and into the cool of the jungle canopy. Despite the success of the operation to date and this recent banter, the captain had a heavy heart.

He knew he was in charge of a significant and historical operation. His country depended on his success if it was to fund the expansion of its empire. He knew he was responsible for the lives of hundreds of men. With the emergence of sophisticated piracy, the ocean had become a dangerous place.

Captain Santenez did not want to let his king down, but the last people he wanted to let down were the crewmen who had undertaken this arduous task in this horrendous heat, so far from their homes.

The last two sailors struggled past. A timber crate swung between them as they struggled down the steep slope. The one at the front said, Morning, Captain. This be the last one for this trip.

Santenez acknowledged them. Well done, Carlo and Alvaro. You and your fellow sailors have done an outstanding job.

Carlo revealed a chipped-tooth smile. He said, You know, Captain, my partner Alvaro and I reckon, over the past few months, the most expensive fleets of ships to ever sail the seas have departed from this island.

Santenez nodded. You are right there, sailor. And in a few days, we will join the staggered convoy.

Alvaro, top side of the box, didn’t smile. He said, Yes. And I reckon there are many people who would kill for these sorts of riches.

Carlo then added, Ah, but first they would have to know about it. There isn’t anyone out there who knows. Thanks to Captain Santenez and the wisdom of our king.

Alvaro sighed, Oh, they will know about us soon enough. Maybe it is the work of the devil, but people learn these things soon enough.

Santenez didn’t discuss the dangers of the trip. Before he hurried the men away, he put a final question to Carlo, How are your journals going Carlo? Do you require me to send any more of them on, or are you happy to deliver the current one personally? I take it you’re continuing onto Genoa once we unload in Spain?

Carlo tipped his head, Thank you captain, my last journal I will deliver in person, my Master, Giovanni de Tocco, will be delighted to have me back at the estate.

The men regained their balance of the crate and struggled down the slope.

Santenez kept a distance but followed.

He took care not to slip as he shuffled down the side of the mountain.

Chapter 2

The sun was high in the sky. It was early afternoon. The sea breeze was fresh and quickly blew away any of the mustiness from inside the door the two men closed. They stood and waited as their pupils retracted.

The older of the two pulled at his waistline and straightened his trousers. He tugged at his belt rope. He placed a hand on his front. With a wiggle and a foot shuffle, he adjusted himself until he found a comfortable position.

Calder Velden was a formidable being. His arms and shoulders oozed muscle. His solid build was a tribute to his Scandinavian ancestry and Viking blood line. His taller-than-most stance indicated he was an introspective man, confident, nonetheless. Even now, after a satisfying brothel romp with a delightful woman, his face showed little emotion. He was better known for his deep dark stare than any inklings of warmth or compassion.

Calder Velden was a sailor, a good sailor. He also considered himself a warrior, a good warrior. He lived his life for sea and country and, as a ship’s captain, his long-term wish was for a chance to serve his country and help repel the Spanish. With his home, the Netherlands, under the control of King Phillip II of Spain, Captain Velden felt nothing but pure hatred for those who had ruled the country all his life.

Velden was a revered character in the world of coastal sea routes. He was considered brutal by those who crossed his path. But now, as he stood outside the dockyard whorehouse, having had what he considered the best sexual experience of his life with a lass who he considered the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, he appeared relaxed and content. He was also pleased he had shared this brothel experience with Hunter, his younger brother. With his hat pressed back into the disheveled flicks and trails of his shoulder length sun-ravaged blonde hair, he looked at his trouser front and said, Well brother, I am back in order. How about you?

Hunter Velden was three years his brother’s junior. Like Calder, he had spent his childhood around the Amsterdam dockyards where they had helped their father repair fishing boats.

He also had a love for the sea and, to the chagrin of his mother, had left home as a teenager to join Calder as a merchant seaman. Like Calder, he soon became involved in a life of militia warfare. The brothers were members of crews which engaged in the sabotage of Spanish ships wherever and whenever possible. Hunter had stayed at his brother’s side when Calder had become a small ship captain. He had his brother’s back as they methodically raided vessels and caused supply delays to Spanish land armies.

Hunter also despised the Spanish domination of his country. He too had vowed to take whatever action necessary to rid his beloved Netherlands of the influence of the Spanish.

And like his brother, he had reveled in the visit to the dockyard brothel.

Calder asked again, Well brother, do you have your manhood in order? Are you ready to return to the ship? The cargo will have been loaded by now. We will sail on tonight’s tide.

Hunter said to his older brother, Yes Captain. My manhood is in order. He smiled. Can I say it is at peace. It is resting, but have no fear, it is alert like a good warrior, ready for the next time it is required to rise to the occasion!

Calder smiled. It was rare for Hunter to see his brother with an expression other than a hatred-filled scowl, so he continued the mirth, and to his delight, Calder joined the repartee.

As they stepped off toward the docks, Hunter said, Well with the young wench I had it is worth still being half drunk even if it is the middle hours of the day!

Calder laughed. Ha, my brother! I am sure she would have given you the same amount of pleasure should you have been sober.

Hunter walked on. He added. She was a pretty young thing.

Calder agreed, Yes, and mine was older than most but a body to die for, almost mesmerizing, softer than others I have had. She certainly knew how to pleasure a man.

Hunter absorbed his brother’s rare show of emotion. He felt confident enough to tease. Just think Calder, one day a whore, like the one you just had, is going to end up with child and you will become a father!

Calder took the jibe in good spirit. He added his own speculation. My brother, it is probable I am a father to many a child in many a port!

Calder placed his hand on Hunter’s shoulder. They walked on. Calder smirked. He said, Hunter, maybe you will be the lucky one, if your wench ends up with child.

Calder was enjoying the banter. Despite his renowned hardheartedness, Calder loved his brother. They had a special bond. They covered for each other in all situations. Calder knew he would die for Hunter if he had to. He also knew Hunter would do the same for him. They made an awesome team. A team both knew was dominated by Calder.

They walked on toward the dock. They stopped.

He stood in front of them. Gentlemen, you are in a jovial frame of mind!

During their friendly derision, neither brother had noticed him step into their path. The sound of his voice brought Calder Velden upright. He tensed. His smile vanished. His scowl returned. Beside him, Hunter Velden tensed. He visually interrogated the man who stood before them.

The man was older than the brothers. He was also shorter. He wore a royal blue blazer which featured metal buttons down its center. His crisp white hosiery was tucked into shin length lace-up shoes. His greying hair was tied behind his head. It shone in the sunlight. The man smelled like he had recently bathed. The skin on his face was pure. He portrayed the persona of a gentlemen. It was obvious he lived an indoor life and unlike the men he had just addressed, spent little time at sea.

The man said, Captain Calder Velden?

Calder hardly moved his lips. He stood upright, defensively. "Who sir might you be to be asking after me?’

My name is Bryon Abbing. I am known as Lord Abbing in my homeland. I have been asking after you all morning.

Hunter Velden noted the accent. The man’s Dutch was impeccable, but the accent?

Calder Velden solved his brother’s query. He asked the man, Why does an English gentleman such as yourself seek my presence? I am sure you and I have very little in common.

The Englishman was assertive. Captain Velden, I am afraid you are mistaken. Please hear me out and you will soon learn we have very much in common.

Velden sneered, Get out of my way sir. I have not bathed in more than a week. I smell like a brothel, and I have a ship loaded with cargo ready to sail on this evening’s tide. So, do not waste my time with your upper-class talk about you and I having things in common. With respect, what could a high society gent like yourself have in common with two lowly Dutch sailors such as my brother and I?

The man remained composed, Captain, what if I said we both share a hate of the Spanish?

Calder stiffened, curious. He played along. Then sir, I would say we do have something in common. But what dare I ask, would a well-to-do like yourself be doing about it? My brother and I act, when we have the chance. There is many a Spanish trader that has returned to port minus one or two of its crew.

Hunter added, And it’s safe box, and whatever other fineries it may have been transporting.

Calder continued, So, dear sir, we consider ourselves warriors for a cause, undercover vigilantes doing whatever it takes to bring down the Spanish kingdom, ship by ship. With respect, it looks like you have not done a day’s work in your life.

The Englishman countered the allegation. My dear Captain, do not always judge a person by his appearance. I have not done so with you. Dare I say the two of you look like local street dogs. Your hair is in tangles, and you have probably been with your trousers at your ankles all day, as you heaved and grunted over common prostitutes.

Calder clenched his fist. The description, as accurate as it may have been, riled him. The man continued, Captain Velden. I have toiled for more days than you have lived. Please keep your suspicion and, dare I say, lack of people skills, for more suitable times. Now please hear me out. I have a proposition to put to you. One I think you will find irresistible

Calder and Hunter listened.

*   *   *   *   *   *

Guttural grunts forced lung crunching exhalations from her work colleague as she was repeatedly pressed deeper and deeper into the hard straw mattress. The Neanderthal noises behind the makeshift drape that separated the cubicles, did not distract Tilley. The scene that played out next to her was all part of her workplace environment. The groans became moans, and the moans became cries which referenced the Lord Jesus. There was a loud shout of Dear God! and the adjoining room went silent.

Tilley returned to her washdown. The cloth soaked in warm soapy water soothed her skin. She ran it from her waist to her knees. Down and up and round and around, over and over. She accepted men had physical needs and if they paid to fulfil them, then she had to live with the humiliation, the discomfort, and the pain.

The large pile of Guilders next to the washbasin was her justification for her present state of undress. But this time it had been different. Tilley thought he was more like an animal than a sex starved sailor. The things he did to her were things she had never done. His strength, his stamina, his eyes, were all intense and led to a bout of sexual acts that went beyond what should be expected of a regular dockyard brothel worker.

Every muscle in her body ached.

Tilley rubbed the warmth of the wet towel between her thighs and around to the small of her back. It soothed her. She knew she would suffer heavy bruising. She hoped the next man was a typical fat bellied, small penis, orgasm on penetration type. She did not think her body would cope with another episode like she had endured with the pirate type.

She wiped herself dry and reached for her dress. She was ready to move on. She had a job to do. She had a living to make.

Tilley was an independent woman. She was aware of the life choice she had made to become a prostitute. She considered the job to be short term. Sometimes it was easy money. Other times, like this morning, it was harder than she ever had imagined.

Throughout her life she had needed to portray a strong will. It would not take her long to put the session with the aggressive sailor behind her, or so she thought.

Tilley’s birth name was Tanaquil, which, ironically, in Latin meant worshipped in the home. She never knew her parents. She did not even know when or where she had been born. She did know she was of Spanish heritage and at a young age was placed in the household to the south of Amsterdam owned by a Spanish aristocrat. She had worked there as a maid and learned to speak Dutch. In her teens she ran away and took up a life on the streets. There she met Matilda, an English girl of similar age. Matilda had also experienced a difficult upbringing. As a teenager she had stowed away on a channel trader. She had snuck off when the ship from London had docked