by Paul Clayton
“They’re going to want him to tell them about the gold,” said Ito.
Calling Crow nodded grimly.
A soldier came up the trail leading a dog. The animal lunged at Calling Crow, Ito, and the other bearers as it passed. Barking and snapping frenziedly, it seemed oblivious to the rope about its neck. A few moments later a low growl could be heard, and then the frightened cries of the cacique. “Those dogs will make him talk,” said Ito.
Disgust and anger filled Calling Crow. He must get Juana away somehow-- and soon.
Two soldiers came back and began shouting. “On your feet! We are going back. Back to the beach!”
As Calling Crow, Ito, and the others lifted their baskets and boxes, De Sole and his entourage passed them. Calling Crow saw Mateo, Roldan, and the old cacique in their midst. The man looked frightened. Calling Crow and the others started down the trail, a babble of excited speculation breaking out among the bearers.
“Did you hear?” said Ito from behind.
Calling Crow shook his head.
“We will sail north to find the Saturiba People. They are the ones who traded these people their gold. They are taking the cacique to the ship to help guide them.”
As Calling Crow and Ito walked along the raised trail through the mangrove forest, they heard the sporadic thunder of the harquebuses.
“They are killing them!” said Calling Crow.
“Yes,” said Ito. “The Spanish took their food and some of them were foolish enough to fight back.”
As they waded through the mangrove forest, disembodied screams traveled over the still black waters, sounding like tortured cries from the Christian hell.
Chapter 38
The fleet had hardly sailed more than a few leagues north when bad weather moved in. The sky turned black and an hour later wind and rain came hard out of the northeast. Calling Crow crouched beside Juana under the canvas which was spread across the gunwales on the forward part of the Isabella. The soldiers had put up the canvas at the insistence of Father Luis, to protect the people from the wind and driving rain of the storm.
Calling Crow and the others were sick from the heaving seas. The ships made a hard starboard tack for the first half of the day, changing at midday to a port tack, which they held until nightfall. At nightfall they anchored only slightly north of, and within sight of, where they’d anchored the night before. Even at anchor, the ships rocked violently, giving the people no respite.
The Indian women had left their cabins and come up onto the deck so that they could be with their men, for they were sure that the ship would capsize, and they did not want to die alone. Some people lay in pools of their own vomit, unable to move. Others sang their death songs.
As Juana huddled close to Calling Crow, she thought she saw the dark hooded figure of the Bishop on the poop. He had been locking her in his room and it was only because of the storm that he had let her out. She looked back up and then asked herself, what did it matter now that they were all going to die anyway? She wrapped her arms around Calling Crow and held onto him tightly.
Calling Crow shouted into her ear over the wind and the cries of the others. “Do not worry, the storm will abate and we will get away.”
Juana shook her head sadly, her tears washed away by the driving rain. “No. Let us not pretend. I love you, but our love will have to wait till we pass over to the next world.” Juana turned and saw a dark figure nearby. It was Father Luis, the priest who had been so kind to Calling Crow. He was kneeling to hear someone’s confession. She said into Calling Crow’s ear. “We must prepare now for our deaths. I will make my last confession, then you must do the same.” She called out to the father. “Father, please hear my last confession.”
Calling Crow turned away as Father Luis knelt down beside her.
***
Father Luis was so agitated by the things the girl, Juana, had told him, that he had barely been able to concentrate as he listened to the confessions of the others. Now as he made his way down the steps to the gundeck in the deepening darkness, his anger grew. He had been planning to talk to the Bishop in the morning, but he knew he would not be able to sleep if he didn’t confront him right away about what the girl had said. Hugging the bulkheads, he made his way to the cabins at the rear of the poop and knocked on the Bishop’s door. Nothing happened for a few minutes, and he angrily knocked again. The door opened and the Bishop’s face appeared in the glow of a lamp he was holding. “What is it?” he said.
“Excellency, I have just heard a most tortured confession.”
Bishop Cavago’s face grew sharp. “And?”
“It had to do with you.”
“What do you mean?”
“The native woman, Juana. She said that you have had relations with her.”
Distant lightning flashed down the hatches and Bishop Cavago blinked. “She must be suffering from delusions. The storm is making them all a little crazy.”
Thunder rumbled and the ship rolled sideways, the timbers groaning as they flexed. Father Luis shouted over the noise as he shook his head. “No, Excellency. Like the others, she believes she is now face-to-face with the Eternity. She would not lie. She said that you forced her to do these things.”
Bishop Cavago shook his head angrily. “And what are you going to do about this crazy accusation?”
Father Luis stared at the Bishop. “Excellency, when we return to Hispaniola the Inquisitor will have to be told.”
Bishop Cavago’s face quivered in the dim light. “Get out!” He slammed the door loudly in Father Luis’s face.
***
Slowly, over the next two days, the winds lost their velocity and the seas calmed. The deck of the Isabella was crowded with people, Indian and Spanish alike, kneeling to offer prayers of thanks. By the time the fleet arrived in the area where the Saturiba People were said to live, the seas were a navigable choppy green with white combers. The ships moved up a channel between the coast and a long sandy spit and dropped anchor. On the shore, white sand stretched several hundred yards to a forest of tall, ragged-looking palmetto trees, pond pine, cypress and sweet gum. Mateo leaned against the rail with the others to stare hungrily at the land. It appeared deserted, the only sounds being the sorrowful cries of a few curious gulls and the slapping of the waves against the hull of the ship.
De Sole, Captain Herrera, and Hotea, the interpreter, stood on the poop deck. The frail-looking cacique was with them. De Sole waved at Mateo to come up the stairs.
“Does this place look familiar?” said De Sole as Mateo walked up.
Mateo shook his head. “I have never been here before.”
De Sole gave Mateo a look which said he did not believe him. But Mateo cared not. He was here because he had no choice, not because he wanted to serve the great, noble De Sole in his grand expedition.
De Sole turned to Hotea. “Ask the cacique if this is truly the place. It doesn’t seem inhabited-- ” De Sole smiled. “And tell him that if he is mistaken I shall merely thrash him. But if he has lied to me I shall throw him to the dogs below.”
Hotea translated De Sole’s words for the cacique and the man’s chin shook with fear. Before he could reply, one of De Sole’s men began shouting, “Indians! Look there!”
They turned to see several Indians emerge from the forest onto the sandy beach. At first there were only five, then dozens more hurried down onto the beach. From a trail further down the beach, more appeared-- two steady streams of people crowded onto the beach.
Captain Herrera smiled at De Sole, “They look like ants from a stirred-up nest.”
De Sole nodded. “They were expecting us.”
“How could that be, Excellency?” said Herrera.
De Sole studied the Indians closely. “A runner would have made better time coming up the coast than we did with that wind and sea we were fighting.”
Herrera nodded. “Yes, you are right.”
“Of course I am right,” De Sole snapped. He glared at Mateo and then tur
ned back to Herrera. “Take Hotea to interpret, and a dozen soldiers for protection, and put a boat ashore to see if you can talk to them. Tell them we want to trade with them. Bring some truk with you.”
“Si, Excellency,” said Herrera, bowing smartly. He walked off and began shouting orders to his men.
De Sole turned to Mateo. “That is what worked for you, isn’t it? Lots of bright truk?”
Mateo nodded and said nothing.
They watched the boat head out from the ship. Alonso Roldan joined De Sole at the rail and Mateo turned away angrily. Two soldiers stood in the prow, their tall harquebuses on stands, ready to fire. Oars dipping rhythmically, the boat was halfway to the shore when a native craft appeared from a hidden creek further up. Constructed of two extremely long canoes lashed together and filled with at least two dozen men, the rowers stood as they dug their paddles into the sea. The canoe raced at an impressive speed for the ship’s boat.
A volley of arrows rose from the Indian craft like an angry cloud of bees. The arrows arced down, most of them missing their target. They littered the surface of the sea like straw in the gutter after a rain.
“Quite thick, eh?” Roldan said to De Sole. “A man would be stung for sure.”
De Sole nodded without taking his eyes off the boats. “But not if he was wearing fine Castilian mail and armor. The savages have nothing that can penetrate that.”
“Si, that is so.”
The ship’s boat drew within range and two puffs of black smoke erupted from it. A moment later the report of the harquebuses reached the ship. The two crafts drew closer.
“They are no longer afraid of the harquebuses,” said De Sole.
“Si, Excellency,” said Roldan, “to their detriment.”
The two boats closed, and sunlight flashed off armor and sword as barely audible shouts and cries floated back over the water. The ship’s boat disengaged and headed back for the Isabella. Looking down from the high deck of the ship, Mateo and the others could see that the soldiers had captured two of the Indians from the canoe.
De Sole turned to Mateo. “Come along. Let us see what they’ve caught. Maybe you can shed some light on what they say.”
Mateo nodded as he followed De Sole and Roldan down the stairs.
Soldiers milled about the waist, waiting for the ship’s boat to come about. Herrera and three other soldiers were the first to come aboard, dragging the two Indians with them. Hotea followed closely behind. Two more soldiers climbed up, helping a third whose breeches were drenched in blood, an arrow having pierced his unprotected leg. As the two Indians were pulled, struggling, across the deck, one of them lunged at Mateo, shrieking angrily.
Several sailors threw the man to the deck, subduing him.
De Sole called over to Hotea, “What was he saying?”
“He said that Senor Mateo is the one who took his people away.”
Mateo watched the Indian warily as he struggled to break free of the soldiers.
“Your reputation precedes you,” said De Sole.
Mateo bowed, “I am sure it pales compared to yours, Excellency.”
De Sole smiled and turned back to Roldan. “It seems their enthusiasm is not to trade with us, but rather to attack us. Chain those two up for now.”
Roldan nodded and walked off.
De Sole shouted to one of his officers. “Antonio! Have the ship’s master prepare the signal pennant for an artillery barrage. We shall have to run them off the beach so we can land.”
Antonio hurried off as another officer hovered at De Sole’s side. De Sole turned to him. “Prepare the men. We will go ashore in an hour’s time.”
“Si, Excellency.” The man ran off.
De Sole turned back to watch the mass of natives on the beach. One more of the lashed-together canoes had ventured forth, but stayed well out of range of the ship.
Down in the bilge, Alonso Roldan kicked one of the two captured Indians as he and a soldier attempted to chain the man up. Finishing, he looked over in the dim light at Hotea and a soldier who were still chaining the other Indian. The soldier got to his feet and he and Hotea headed for the stairs.
“Wait,” said Roldan. Despite the stench of the bilge, he wanted to question the Indians. His mind still burned with the image of the Indian on the deck fairly foaming at the mouth as he shrieked at Mateo. Roldan nodded to Hotea. “Ask him what happened to the people of his village left behind after the others were taken away by Mateo.”
Hotea put the question to the Indian and he talked at length. Hotea turned to Roldan. “He said that they went to live with the Saturiba People.”
“What about the big cacique, the one called Ahopo? Did he survive?”
Hotea questioned the man and relayed his answer. “He said that Ahopo eventually became cacique of both tribes. This was after the Saturiba cacique was killed.”
Roldan studied the Indian carefully, recalling the man’s rage against Mateo. Ahopo would also be eager to get his hands on the man who had sailed away with most of his villagers. Roldan smiled as a plan began forming in his mind.
Hotea looked at him inquisitively. “What is it, Senor?”
“Nothing for now. Let us get out of this stink.”
Chapter 39
Calling Crow and Juana watched from the foredeck as the strange looking double-hulled Indian canoe paddled back and forth, the men aboard it attempting to get a good look at the ships while remaining out of range of the guns. Calling Crow’s heart was troubled. How and when would he and Juana make their escape? It was more dangerous now than he had anticipated and sometimes he despaired of their ever escaping. A noise came from above as a signal flag moved up the mast. He asked one of the cholos hurrying by. “What does the flag mean?”
The man scowled haughtily. “It is an order to prepare to bombard those foolish people on the beach.”
Calling Crow and Juana looked back at the beach as the cholo hurried off.
“Calling Crow,” said Juana, “a bombardment would kill many of them. We must tell Father Luis. Maybe. he can stop them.”
They found Father Luis alone in his cabin. He blinked at the strong light as he opened the door. “Yes, children,” he said, “what is it?”
“Father,” said Juana, “they are going to bombard the people on the beach with the big guns!”
Father Luis made the sign of the cross. “Just a minute.”
Calling Crow and Juana followed the good priest as he headed for the stairs to the waist. He turned to them. “You had better wait here.”
***
Father Luis hurried down the stairs and spotted Bishop Cavago talking with three other priests. He hurried over to them. “They are going to bombard the natives,” he said.
“No!” said Father Tomas as he quickly made the sign of the cross.
“How do you know?” demanded Bishop Cavago.
“One of the Indians just told me,” said Father Luis.
“Since when does De Sole consult with the Indians?”
Father Luis forced himself to maintain the proper respect toward the Bishop. After what the girl, Juana, had told him, it was very difficult. “Excellency, they know what is going on. One of them overheard it. We must try and stop it.”
Bishop Cavago walked off quickly, the other priests following him. They found De Sole surrounded by his captains and soldiers. Bishop Cavago and the priests pushed through the men.
De Sole bowed slightly to Cavago. “My lord Bishop?”
“Excellency,” said Bishop Cavago, “By rights we should be given the opportunity to attempt to convert these natives before any military action is taken against them.”
A loud clatter sounded nearby as a soldier led one of the war horses up the ramp. De Sole nodded to the Bishop. “Very well. But use all possible haste, for we have to get our forces ashore before darkness.”
“Thank you, Excellency.” Cavago turned round to Father Luis and the other priests.
Father Miguel, a young priest in his mid-twe
nties, blinked his large brown eyes nervously. “We should take some soldiers with us,” he said. “Just in case.”
“No,” said Bishop Cavago, “that would enrage them further. Only one of us should go. That way the natives will know we mean them no harm. Then, when they are calmer, we can all go ashore.”
The priests grew quiet as the implications of the Bishop’s words sank in.
“Father Luis,” said Bishop Cavago in a kindly voice, “Don’t you agree?”
Father Luis tried to keep the fear out of his eyes. He knew what the Bishop was doing, but he could not stop him. “Si, Excellency,” he said.
“Well,” said Bishop Cavago, “perhaps you should go. After all, you have had the most success with the Indians.”
The other priests kept their eyes on the wooden deck boards.
“I will go, Excellency,” said Father Luis. “But first I would like a few minutes alone in my cabin to pray and prepare myself.”
Bishop Cavago nodded grimly. “Of course.”
***
Father Luis knelt in the dimness of his cabin as he prayed before the crucifix on the wall. Fear and anger washed over him in waves. He prayed to overcome his anger at the Bishop. He cried out for forgiveness and strength. The Indians were furious. How could he calm them, let alone convert them? As he prayed, many sounds filtered dully into his cabin-- the tramp of feet, shouts, the clatter of weapons and armor. He recalled his life on the island of Hispaniola and the child who became his first baptism. He had been sent to the new territories on the northwest side. The Indians there had been very hostile and suspicious. On his third visit to their village, the cacique had angrily ordered a sick child to be brought to him. “The child is dying anyway,” he had said, “so you can have him for your god. Maybe then you will stop bothering us.”
He baptized the child and did everything he could for him, but he had the Indian plague and did not last. While Father Luis cared for the child, the child’s father stayed with Father Luis and he had a chance to tell him of God’s greatness. The man eventually converted and became a good friend. Then others in the village converted one by one, family by family, until the entire population became Christian. As he thought of these things, Father Luis felt the fear loosening its grip on him. He had saved hundreds of native people from pagan ways and eventual damnation. The realization warmed him, but then he was struck with a terrible thought-- what would happen to Roberto and Juana if he were killed? They would be at the Bishop’s mercy.
