Calling Crow

by Paul Clayton

  The other woman picked up an armful of damp clothing and walked away. Calling Crow moved closer to Juana. “We will run away the first chance we get. Keep your eyes on me, and I will tell you when it is time.”

  “How will we-- ” Juana saw the Bishop and another Black Robe approaching. “He comes,” she said, going back to her work. “You must not let him see you talking to me. Go quickly.”

  Calling Crow joined the steady stream of men who were walking back toward the quay to carry in more provisions.

  Juana saw the priest and Bishop Cavago go up onto the half deck where some others were talking. Then the Bishop turned and walked in her direction. He stood at the rail a short distance away and looked out at the sea.

  “Who was that?” he said.

  Juana did not look at him as she wrung out a cloth into the tub. “I do not know what he is called.”

  “What did he want?”

  “He was looking for someone who is not on this ship.”

  “Is that so?” The Bishop continued to stare at the sea. Then he turned to her. “Well, there is no sense in catching the eye of any of these fellows. They will more than likely stay in the Floridas. You will be returning to the island with me, of course.”

  Juana continued to avoid his eyes as she scrubbed a shirt on the side of the tub. She was on fire with anger, yet she dared not show it. His eyes were all over her while she worked, and she was greatly relieved when two other women, each carrying a sack of dirty clothing, walked over to use the tub.

  The Bishop ignored them as he looked down at her. “Juana, there is more washing in my cabin behind the door. See to it.”

  Juana nodded and he walked off.

  As the women dumped their clothing into the tub, Juana watched Calling Crow walk by carrying another one of the large stone jars. After he passed, there was a sudden startling sound of thunder yet not a cloud was in the sky. The thunder came again and again, and the women shrieked and crouched on the deck. Juana sat down slowly, breathing through her teeth as she held her belly.

  “Aieyee,” shouted one of the women, her eyes half shut, “what was it?”

  Calling Crow came over to them. “It is the ships in the harbor. They are firing their big cannons for De Sole.” He knelt down beside Juana and spoke softly into her ear. “I will be out here always. Stay away from him as best you can. If he won’t leave you alone, tell me and I will talk to Father Luis. Perhaps he can help us. If he cannot, then I will have to do something.”

  Many trumpets blew a fanfare. A Spanish soldier shouted at the people. “Quiet! Quiet now.” Calling Crow and Juana watched Bishop Cavago and the priests climb the steps to the poop deck. The Bishop raised his arms to give the blessing, and all got down on their knees. After the blessing, the men got to their feet.

  De Sole and two of his captains walked toward the poop, the clump of their heavy boots reverberating through the wooden deck. They quickly climbed the steps and turned to look out upon the people assembled below.

  De Sole drew his sword and knelt on one knee. Looking skyward, he said in a loud, booming voice, “I, Juan Pinosa de Sole, do hereby swear before all of you today, that I will not take a razor to my beard until Florida is brought to heel!”

  “Hear, hear,” shouted his captains, and all the men immediately took to cheering.

  “Aieyee,” Calling Crow said quietly to Juana. “It will be bad for those people over there.”

  Juana nodded grimly.

  De Sole went on. “How honorable a calling it is that we Christian knights follow, for with the grace of God we shall have the pleasure of winning over that great land of Florida for the Crown. And all the inhabitants thereof, their souls we shall deliver to the priests for eternal salvation.”

  A squad of harquebusmen fired their weapons in a volley. Juana flinched, and Calling Crow impulsively reached out to hold her, but drew back. Black smoke drifted across the deck in the mild breeze. The men on shore began pushing the big ship away from the quay with timbers as the sailors on board strained at the capstan. Slowly the main sail rose and billowed out in a gentle curve as the big ship turned about. Calling Crow and Juana frowned worriedly as De Sole got to his feet. Raising his sword high, he shouted. “Santiago! To the Floridas!”

  “Santiago!” roared the soldiers in response.

  Chapter 37

  The Isabella and the other ships of De Sole’s fleet sailed slowly into a small bay. Senor Francisco Mateo watched as the sailors shouted and rushed about lowering sail and readying the anchors. A dozen natives stood on a curve of sandy beach. As Mateo leaned against the rail to watch, the smell of millions of flowers filled the air. The smell did little to lift his spirits. He did not want to be here. His last foray into the Floridas had cost him too much.

  A hollow thud sounded as a sailor wielding a large wooden mallet knocked loose the chocks securing the anchor. The anchor fell, hawser groaning as it slipped through the hawsehole. A loud splash sounded as the anchor entered the water.

  One of De Sole’s guards walked up to Mateo. “His Excellency would like to speak with you.”

  As Mateo started up the stairs he saw Father Luis’s Indian, Roberto, hanging about the washerwomen. Not having known he was aboard the ship, Mateo stopped in surprise. The guard turned round to him. “Come quickly, Senor. He is waiting.”

  Mateo was shown into De Sole’s spacious cabin. Alonso Roldan stood beside De Sole’s desk looking down at a large chart. When Roldan noticed Mateo, he bowed slightly to De Sole and walked off a few feet to give the two men privacy.

  De Sole looked at Mateo, “Senor Roldan says we are now in the area you explored on your voyage. I told you when we left Santo Domingo that I wanted you to report to me when the coast began to look familiar.”

  Mateo glared at Roldan as he stepped around the desk to look down at the chart. It was a new chart, decorated with comely Indian maids prancing naked on the shores of Florida, with friendly dolphins leaping from the waters. Mateo looked at De Sole. “Where are we, according to your reckoning?”

  De Sole ran his little finger down the coast, stopping at a point. “Here, at latitude twenty seven and a half.”

  Mateo shook his head. “I’ve never landed this far south.” He pointed to a spur of land jutting out much further north. “This is where I left the coast last time.”

  De Sole sat back in his chair, eyeing Mateo suspiciously. “Then you are saying that Senor Roldan is-- mistaken.”

  Mateo turned to look at Roldan. “Yes. He doesn’t know how to read a chart properly.”

  Roldan’s face turned crimson. “Excellency,” he said, “he lies. I told you he would do nothing to help you.

  Mateo glared angrily at Roldan, then turned back to De Sole. “Excellency, please allow he and I to settle our score now?”

  De Sole sat back in his chair and folded his hands. “Both of you are familiar with these lands and natives, so you are valuable to me. There will be no swordplay. Do you understand?”

  De Sole stared at Mateo as he waited for an answer. A soldier strode quickly into the room. “Indians, sir. A canoe full of them coming out.”

  De Sole got to his feet. “Very well. Prepare a boat with a gun and meet them. Bring their cacique aboard if he’s among them.”

  The soldier bowed and walked out.

  De Sole pulled on his sword. He turned to Mateo. “That will be all.”

  Mateo bowed and turned to Roldan. “One day soon we shall settle our score.”

  “Sooner than you think.” Roldan’s face remained impassive.

  ***

  From up on the foredeck, Calling Crow watched the people on the beach. They were nearly naked, free and happy as children as they watched the ships. They, too, would soon fall before the power of the Spanish and be forced to work in their fields and mines. There was nothing Calling Crow could do about that, but when he and Juana escaped, they could warn the people on their way north. Although they were very far from Tumaqua, they could get there. He wa
s sure of it. His people traded with many other tribes from faraway lands. There would be trading parties going in the direction from which the cold winds blew. It would take many days of walking, but eventually they would find their way to his village. Then what? He had been thinking of this more and more lately. What would they find there? Would the village still be there? And who was chief? He wondered if Tiamai was married. She should be. After all, he had been gone a long time. Most importantly, however, he had been worrying about whether or not he and Juana would be accepted there, and would Juana be happy there. He hoped so.

  The howling and barking of the dogs was very loud now. Calling Crow heard it from between the boards of the deck. Despite the ferocity of the dogs, he pitied them. Not once during the entire voyage had he seen any Spanish feeding them. Now their hunger was driving them mad.

  Calling Crow turned as Juana came up behind him. “They will curse this day for the rest of their lives,” he said. She said nothing as she stood beside him, a basket of soiled clothing on her hip. When a stream was located, she was to go ashore with the other women to wash under the watchful eyes of some Spanish soldiers.

  A loud guffaw erupted not far away as some soldiers prepared to go ashore. They talked and laughed as they put on their armor and loaded their weapons. Below, as the ripe smell of the land permeated the hold of the ship, the barking of the dogs grew louder until it sounded to Calling Crow like the hell the Spanish often spoke of.

  Calling Crow turned to look at Juana. “Tell me again what you will do when you get ashore.”

  Juana looked around and saw that Long Hair Woman was out of earshot, loading up another big basket with some other women. She turned back to Calling Crow. “I will go with the other women washers, and I will wait until it is very quiet and the guard is not watching. Then I will sneak away and hide in the woods. When it is dark and the stars are clear, I will make my way to the beach where I will call like the owl. You will find me in that way.”

  Calling Crow looked at her. She was dressed in a gown of rough Spanish wool, but despite the shapelessness of the garment, her round belly showed through. He knew they must get away soon.

  “You look very beautiful,” he said.

  Juana looked at him, her eyes moist with many days and nights of unshed tears. Calling Crow wished he could hold her, but he dared not.

  “Do not worry, my love,” he said, “soon we will escape and be on our way.”

  Juana nodded, too overcome to speak.

  A shout went up, then a chorus of excited speculation among the Spanish. Calling Crow looked back at the beach. “Some of these foolish people are coming out in a canoe,” he said.

  “He has seen us,” said Juana.

  “Who?” said Calling Crow.

  “The Bishop. He is watching us from up there.”

  Calling Crow turned and looked up at the priests gathered at the rail on the half deck. The Bishop looked at him, and Calling Crow cursed himself for letting the man see him with Juana. The priests climbed the steps to the quarterdeck and moved out of sight.

  Later Juana watched Calling Crow climb down the rope ladder into the boat with the other bearers. As she smiled down at him, someone joined her at the rail. She turned, and her smile froze at the sight of the Bishop.

  Juana looked away from the Bishop and back down at Calling Crow. Calling Crow saw the Bishop, and his face darkened with hate. Juana raised her hand to wave and the Bishop seized it tightly.

  He pulled her, back toward the mainmast. Juana yanked her hand away. “What are you doing? I am to help with the washing.”

  The Bishop shook his head and grabbed her wrist again. “Oh, no. In your condition it would not be wise.”

  “But, my lord,” said Juana as he pulled her toward the stairs, “I was told to wash with the others.”

  Bishop Cavago squeezed her wrist painfully as he pulled her along toward his cabin. “If you love to wash so much I shall have a tub put in my cabin for you, child.”

  “Why do you do this to me?” said Juana.

  The Bishop’s reddened face quivered. “Because I have given you everything, do you hear? You belong to me. He shall never have you!”

  “What do you mean?” said Juana as he continued to pull her along by the wrist. “He is of my people, that is all!”

  The Bishop opened his cabin door. “Do you think I am blind?” He pushed her inside, bolting the door from the outside.

  As the dimness of the cabin enveloped her, Juana pounded on the door. She heard the Bishop’s muffled voice. “Don’t carry on so, child. Just clean the room up and I shall let you out when I’ve a mind to.”

  Juana slumped to the floor, crying out Calling Crow’s name.

  On the boat ride to the beach, Calling Crow saw only the Bishop pulling Juana away by the arm. Now he knows, he thought, and that would make escape almost impossible. Still, there must be a way. Father Luis would help them. He didn’t know how far the good priest would go, or if he would go against his own, but perhaps it was time to find out.

  As soon as the boats ground on the sand, three soldiers carrying loaded crossbows began yelling at Calling Crow and the Arawak man who was called Ito. “Out” they shouted. “Get these others carrying the supplies up onto the beach. Hurry!”

  Stepping out into the warm surf, Calling Crow called to the other bearers, and they grabbed the many baskets and boxes and carried them up onto the dry sand. Near the tree line, a group of native men, women, and children had gathered to see the Spanish. The children stuck close to the legs of their mothers. The women were naked from the waist up, with long black, oiled hair, and the men were small of build and wore loin clothes and small rings of gold in their ears. The people were genuinely friendly to the Spanish and Calling Crow knew from this that they had had no contact with them before.

  Calling Crow stacked another box on the growing pile. From the forest came the scent of millions of flowers. Butterflies flit here and there and bees and hummingbirds buzzed about.

  One by one, the boats pulled up onto the white sand to unload their occupants and supplies before heading back out to the ships for more. Calling Crow and Ito worked with a group of bearers as soldiers shouted orders and formed up in ranks. Off a ways, a party of priests, led by the Bishop, assembled in an orderly group, their black robes in stark contrast to the bright silk scarves of the soldiers and the nakedness of the people.

  One of the soldiers told Calling Crow and the others to rest, and they sat down on the boxes. Two young priests carried a wooden altar upon which lay rich cloths of purple and gold. They set it on the sand. Four other priests carried a large gold cross over and set it upon the altar. This done, the Bishop took his place in front of the altar facing the cross. De Sole knelt and the Spanish and the people of this place followed his example. Calling Crow and the others knelt.

  As the crowd grew quiet, the barking and cries of the dogs could be heard. The priests sang the liturgy while bells were rung and incense burned. The local people looked on in wonder and awe.

  When it was finished, De Sole turned and conferred with his captains. A soldier stood and raised his arms solemnly. “All quiet for the reading of the Proclamation!”

  As the soldier waved his hands for silence, Ito turned to Calling Crow. “They are not going to translate it for these unlucky people?”

  Calling Crow said nothing.

  “Hear ye all,” the soldier’s voice droned out, “The Proclamation of the Council of the Indies! On this, the eighth day of April, in the year one thousand five hundred and fifty eight of our Lord, I hereby proclaim to all you native peoples of this place which we Spanish call Florida, that from this day forward, you are to render your obedience and loyalty to our sovereign King Charles. You are also to embrace the one true Catholic faith for the rest of your days on this earth, devoting your life to God’s laws. Your failure to do these things shall cause you to incur the anger of your sovereign and suffer the grave consequences. So be it said.”

&n
bsp; The soldier rolled up the proclamation and three trumpeters sounded a fanfare.

  The Indians cheered and raised their lances to the sky. Some of the soldiers looked at them with suspicion, wondering if they’d intended disrespect.

  Calling Crow, Ito, and the other bearers picked up their loads and followed the column of soldiers and priests into the forest to make their way to the village. As they entered the forest’s shadowy coolness, the howling of the dogs sounded eerily behind them. The trail followed a raised bank and took them through a hot humid bog of mangrove trees, their roots rising from the water like black sea snakes. Calling Crow thought that it would be a good place to slip away, but not with Juana locked up on the ship. He would have to wait for another chance. After a walk of a half league or so they came upon a small village of palm thatched huts raised on stilts. De Sole and most of his men were already there, along with Mateo and Roldan. Calling Crow and the others put the supplies down where the soldiers indicated and sat down to rest.

  After a while Hotea, the interpreter, approached with one of the local Indians. The man’s gold earrings glinted in the sun. They talked excitedly, but Calling Crow was too far to hear what they said. He could see De Sole studying the man intently. De Sole reached out and grabbed the man’s earring. The man ducked down, attempting to escape. Two soldiers held him as De Sole ripped the ring from his ear. The man crouched in fear as his ear and neck ran with blood.

  “Senor Roldan,” called De Sole, “bring your lodestone!”

  “Look,” said Ito, pointing. “Their cacique is coming.”

  Four men labored down the rough slope of the trail carrying a sedan chair made of cane and thatch. The cacique sat calmly inside as the men carried him past Calling Crow and Ito. The cacique was old and thin, and looked sickly. They watched him slowly get out of the chair and bow to De Sole. Instead of the loincloths that his men wore, the cacique wore a robe of animal skins and had a skin of some kind wrapped around his head like a Moor’s turban.