When the goldfinches start to twitter, Zacharias is already awake. He carefully climbs out of the box bed so as not to wake his wife. He dresses in the small back room in the Nonnenstraat, one of the five houses in a row that the Burgerweeshuis had built in 1604 and rents out for eighteen guilders a year. A short red jacket over his tunic. His pale grey hose, a pair of blue linen breeches down to the knee. His leather shoes with thick soles, supple around his feet, made for miles. He lays out the leather pad, the cargo hook and the rope in readiness. He will certainly need those today.
Zacharias cannot read. But he knows every trade mark in Bommel by heart, of every merchant, every miller, every trader and their forebears and children. He recognises city seals at first glance. Lübeck, Kampen, Nijmegen: he can tell them apart even though he cannot decipher the letters. And he knows the city like the back of his hand, every alley, every passage, every inn. That is his toolkit, alongside the rope, the cargo hook and the leather pad that protects his head and neck from the cutting pressure of heavy loads.
In the Tolstraat stands the porters' house, on that spot for at least since 1350, as evidenced by the bricks that archaeologists found during excavations in 1993. Large and flat, of the type that was in use from 1350. This is where the porters gather when there is work to be distributed. The housemaster rings the bell. Those who report within the agreed time get first pick of the best jobs. The rest is divided by smakken: rolling dice in a special box, the smakbak, to prevent any trouble with stones rolling away. The highest score goes first.
Today there are two letters to be delivered when Zacharias arrives as one of the first. Not a heavy job, but a quick one. One letter from the secretary of the bailiff and aldermen, to the inn around the corner. The other for the bailiff himself, to the inn in the Steigerstraat. Zacharias takes both. He is not interested in what they contain. The message is for the recipient, not for him. He sees that one of the seals is Lübeck, or at least a city far upstream to the east. Doesn't matter. Delivering quickly is what counts.
After the letters, after a bowl of groats with strips of bacon that his wife has prepared, Zacharias rolls low again. He does not throw high numbers. But there is work: a bale of smyrna wool of almost two hundred pounds that must go from the Waalkade to the fuller on the Volrestraat. Special wool, from a special sheep, from which very fine kersey can be made. It must absolutely not get mixed with ordinary wool.
At the harbour it is busy. Crane children are unloading a large Hanseatic ship. Large barrels of wine are being hoisted onto the quay. Merchants, weighers and administrators are at work. Zacharias reports to the harbour master and waits patiently while the administrator notes everything down. Impatience gets you nowhere with gentlemen of this sort. Once everything has been settled, he hoists the bale onto his back, hooks the sack hook behind the rope and shifts the load into position with his shoulders. The leather pad must sit properly. Then he sets off. Much more slowly now. Zacharias is almost a hundred kilos heavier than an hour ago.
Along the way he muses about kersey. Those fullers, a dirty trade, rough folk, but they stamp wool with their feet into a cloth known from London to Cologne. Warm, water-resistant, self-cleaning and incredibly strong. If he ever throws very high numbers, a few times a day, for a week, he will buy a cloak of kersey. One for himself. One for his wife. Someday.
At the corner house in the Volrestraat he reports the load. He receives a confirmation of receipt, a valuable piece of paper as this is the proof with which he can collect his payment. He quickly makes himself scarce at the fullers. You should not hang around too long there if you are not looking for trouble.
Back at the porters' house he collects his coins. Literally light on his feet he walks home. He still considers whether he can offer services to the secretary of the aldermen, or perhaps help with carrying a bier. He will see. The well at the end of the Nonnenstraat is fortunately there, as always. Bommel has a good well beneath the city, he knows that. And his wife makes sure they stay fresh and clean, because foul smells attract diseases and you do not want to be known as a spreader of disease. Zacharias has had a fine working day. Without a scratch.
Walk along with Zacharias, a porter who lived in Zaltbommel in 1604. During the Hanseatic period, porters carried bales, barrels and crates for the merchants who made the city wealthy. Hard work in the heart of a thriving trading city. The walk passes by the imposing City Castle of Maarten van Rossum, the place where Zacharias presumably lived on the Nonnenstraat, medieval warehouses in the Ruiterstraat and fine Hanseatic period buildings on the Gasthuisstraat and the Markt.
