Fiya said with some amusement, “Yes, give them wampum.“
”Wampum?” Evelyn said.
“I am no professor,” Fiya said off-handedly, glancing over to Kate. “I did not know they were all so ignorant.”
Evelyn opened her mouth, but Kate interrupted before the whole thing turned bitter, "First, you assume that the natives are friendly and some of them are around. But these are big places, new continents, more land, fewer villages, and rarely roads in between. Many people come and go with the season and the hunting, you see. Second, you would have to have the wampum to trade. Which means you would have to take the time and trouble to know what wampum is to the people in any particular place.”
Evelyn licked her lips, thinking. She said, “Yes, I see.”
Kate was encouraged and continued, “Collect it or trade for it, that takes time, it is still work. Some tribes like blankets and coats, others prefer only guns and powder. Some like whiskey while the elders of others forbid it because it makes their warriors foolish. Most trade for trinkets like beads and mirrors and combs, but not for their big things, only small skins or small kills."
“Kills?” said one of the more timid women.
“Game, meat, food,” said Evelyn, looking to Kate, who nodded.
"What is it then?" someone else asked. “This wampum, I mean.”
Kate said, "Wampum, that’s how my father would say it. Womponpeage in the native language, by my mother’s notes—it’s money, of sorts. Sometimes shells of a particular variety, but it can be beads, bells, mirrors, pots—anything useful or curious or pretty. It’s more of a bartering method than money. Not many have use for silver or even gold."
"Shells and beads," Miss Sydney-Stokes said. She slapped her fan shut on her hand for emphasis, and then rose to go. No one paid her any mind, and certainly not enough to follow. She turned, waited for a moment, but then gave up the fight. She stepped back and sat down again.
Fiya said, “Pearls come from shells, from grains of sand that are irritants.” She was looking in particular at Miss Sydney-Stokes.
Evelyn said, “And what of mother-of-pearl, it is not so different from shells of a preferred color.”
Fiya nodded. “Gold, silver, precious stones, what defines their worth in time and place and culture? Paper money was an unheard of thing in the time of your priest.”
She meant the time of Jesus.
“It is part of the native culture and their communication,” Kate quickly explained. “White wampum belts are a peace offering, while dark ones are used to offer challenge or declare war. And they use strings of dyed beads made from porcupine quills to send messages and identify the messenger. They even use them to record events."
Miss Sydney-Stokes said, "What nonsense, I never heard of such a thing."
Kate noticed that the woman’s fan had been put away. The other women were attentive, which was a good thing. At least they weren’t asking more important questions, like “Where are we going?”
She said, "We follow flags and banners. I’m sure your father has a coat of arms, and the church uses the Crucifix and stained glass windows depict the lives and deaths of saints. We use flags and lamps to signal at sea. There’s really not so much difference. The Bayeux tapestry is only a piece of cloth that records past history. The philosophy is much the same.”
The Bayeux tapestry was one of Europe’s great historical treasures. There were no beads or quills, it was true, but it was an 11th or 12th century embroidered artwork depicting the Battle of Hastings and the Norman conquest of England. It was priceless in terms of history.
To some anyway, Kate thought. Not to the natives is America, they had never heard of such a thing. Kate only knew of it herself because it was in her mother’s journal.
"You are making it up, trying to fool us. I do not believe you, none of it,” said Miss Sydney-Stokes, and again the fan came out.
“Oh no, I have seen the big great thing,” the red-haired woman said. “I was attending my lady when she was on a grand tour with her new husband, the dear old thing. Poor soul didn’t last all the way through it. The old gent, not the much younger lady who was with child at the time, did I mention? But I heard all the ladies and gents saying how special it was, but it looked like it needed a good dust-thumping to me.”
Several ladies laughed discretely, of course.
Miss Sydney-Stokes wasn’t among them. Instead, she rose with her chin still high and stiff in the air. "I meant the shells and beads, and all that native nonsense.”
Several ladies snickered.
“Are you mocking me?" Sydney-Stokes demanded, her fan twitching nervously like she might, at any moment, use it as a weapon.
Fiya stood up then, and she stood up with a great deal more presence than Miss Sydney-Stokes could ever summon. Part of it was height; that much was true. Then there was the fact that Fiya was a most striking woman while Miss Sydney-Stokes looked better from behind than from in front. But the rest of it was demeanor. Fiya was a real princess, after all. The rest of the ladies fell silent.
"You are lazy, I can see,” Fiya said with scorn. “Remain so and you will starve. Perhaps it is better if you die off early, for you will then be less of a burden to the rest.”
Miss Sydney-Stokes grew pale. She flipped her fan open and now used it for real. She took in deep breaths of the cooling air. The master’s cabin remained quiet, and in a moment, Miss Sydney-Stokes turned and walked away with a stiff back.
Kate figured if the woman didn’t release her corset-stays a bit, she might pass out some day. The only reason she hadn’t yet was because she had lost some weight. Always look for the good in things. It was something her mother might say, and Kate wondered if it was written in the journals.
"Why would you be socializing with the primitive people in the new world anyway," the red-haired woman said.
It was curiosity, not challenge, and friendly discussion was welcome.
“What is your name?” Kate said.
“Fiona. Your pardon, ma’am, I forgot my manners, it seems. Fiona O’Connor, that’s my name. I’m a lady’s maid, usually. I was being sent on my way home to see to my ailing Ma. Not that I’ll ever see her again now.”
Kate didn’t want to talk about things like that. This was a way to keep the women thinking of other things besides the fact that they had been kidnaped and were now adrift in currents unknown. Their situation was a depressing topic that really had no good answers.
She said, "I socialize with people in the new world, Fiona O’Connor, because they know how to survive there. It isn't new to them; by the way, it was only strange to the colonists and merchant traders. Some of those cultures have cities older than the Roman times and religions too."
"Oh, I had not thought of that," she replied lowly.
"This is our ship now. For now, there is no need to struggle to survive,” Kate said. “Chat if you will, gossip if you must, but from now on, there are no servants and no mistresses either, only sailors and ship’s master. If you want to eat, you must do your share. Food will come as it is, and you may fend for yourself after.”
“You mean cook on our own? Is that wise on a ship?” Evelyn said. “What if we burn a hole in the boat?”
Some of the women giggled, some looked horrified.
Kate’s brow furrowed; she said, “Good point.”
Even the pirate crew had a quartermaster, someone to ration and say who got what and why.
"Fiya, you will act as quartermaster.”
She knew Fiya would protest, so she quickly reminded, “You appointed me master, after all.”
Fiya grunted, not sounding like a princess at all.
Then Kate spoke louder so the others might hear, “Ladies, you will get your daily shares from Fiya, but only she may say what you get and how much. We will have to determine how to prepare it and when. Do your assigned chores, and you share in the food. If not, Fiya will deal harshly with you. In any case, I'm afraid we will have to ration."
<
br /> Kate repeated the same in Spanish for those ladies to hear and be clear. They only nodded, but had said very little and didn’t look about to change that now.
"Why do we need to ration?" Evelyn said. “I thought we were well provisioned.”
"I don't know how long we will be adrift,” Kate said. “We must assume the long haul and ensure our longest survival."
"Why her?" Fiona said, nodding toward Fiya.
"Because she is smarter than the rest of us, she has a knife and knows how to use it, and because I said so."
Fiona seemed satisfied with that.
Someone said, "Who will give us hot water? How will we wash and clean our things?”
Another one said, “We will all end up starving to death, I just know it. I hate being hungry.”
Yet another one said, “You should not have cut us free, only to drift in this damp salty hell. Lord knows what will become of us now."
The Spanish were now muttering amongst themselves, looking over to Kate and Fiya without doing it blatantly. They weren’t shy, and Kate figured they weren’t scheming—probably suspicious of the heathens, which they thought was both Fiya and herself.
This time it was Kate who sighed.
Then bad went to worse.
One by one, they all start crying, which was trying enough. But they also kept up the complaining. Kate looked to Fiya, and they both left the cabin.
Outside, Fiya looked up, and Kate took her meaning. In a moment, they had both tied their skirts to a knot between their knees, and then began to climb the rigging together as if they danced in coordinated time.
Luckily, there was a good wind, and it drowned out the wailing from below. Almost.
* * * * *
Kate knew she would be a pathetic captain, and so it was true. But Fiya helped when discipline lagged, and Fiona and Evelyn dealt with morale too. Now they had all worked out a routine. Some did the work on the ship, while others did the work on the food and the clothes. After a few days, they would trade.
Once in a while and true to her word, Miss Sydney-Stokes would offer to pay for an unpleasant task to be done for her. Fiona was usually the one to pitch in. Not that the pirates had left them much money, but Fiona took promissory notes and was coming out quite well.
Otherwise, the groups remained as they had been before, with very little talk in between them.
Days later, Evelyn approached once again. Fiya and Kate were in the master’s cabin, and Kate was studying the maps, as always.
“We took a vote,” Evelyn said abruptly.
Fiya rolled her eyes and gave Kate a look of disdain. They knew this was coming.
“Maddox. You are Welsh,” Kate said.
Evelyn flushed and smiled. “My father’s parents were from Wales, this is true. But my mother was from Pennsylvania and they fought for America in the War of Independence.”
“I had family there in Wales,” Kate said, wistfully. “In Powys and Gwynedd, but a long time ago. Go on.”
“We took a vote,” she said again, more relaxed. Obviously she had rehearsed her speech.
"This is no democracy," Fiya said. She was flipping her knife, watching it turn in the air and stick into the table. There were many tiny holes. She had been doing it a long time, and she rarely missed the mark. A small design was forming; it was nothing a lady would like.
Evelyn flinched with each dull thud as the blade stuck in wood.
"And on what did you vote?" Kate said.
"We decided, we want, I mean, we should— We must go back," Evelyn said.
Fiya grunted again, part disdain, but now also part laughter.
Kate studied Evelyn for a moment. Clearly they still had no idea what any of this meant. But she didn’t want to make enemies, it was too close of quarters and things were going so peacefully.
She said carefully, "There are no slaves here, no prisoners either. You're free to go anytime."
The woman said nothing, but her hands were twisting her handkerchief again. The little cloth square was really much worse for the wear. The busy nervousness might be considered definitely unladylike and possibly violent, if this were a tea party in a damask-covered parlor.
"There are no boats left, as you may have noticed, but you can swim,” Kate offered. “Be sure to get your bearings before you go, I would hate to have you all lost at sea. I mean, worse than we are now. Maybe we can even navigate closer to shore, though I don’t trust the charts of the shoals around here.”
Not that she really knew what “here” meant, but no sense in admitting to that.
The woman hesitated. “We hadn’t . . . I mean, I don’t know—“
“Take whatever you need,” Fiya offered, with her sly Nile queen smile. “I will give you rations, all that you want. We can tie them around your neck with a good bit of rope, along with a casket that might float for a while. Or even better, I will tie you all to the great barge that is Morgana Sydney-Stokes. She will also float for some time."
Kate hid her smile with her head down in closer scrutiny of the maps.
More silence. Evelyn glanced back to where she had been, but there was no one at the door for support.
Fiya was now feeling the blade of the knife. She looked very comfortable in the roll of cold-hearted pirate, Kate decided, and she tried to hide her wider smile with a yawn.
"You must take us back." Evelyn finally said, then thought to add as an afterthought, “Please.”
Kate liked Evelyn Maddox. The woman has a good head on her shoulders, Kate decided. Usually. It’s only the company she keeps that brings her to this folly. Maybe the woman could handle the truth.
“Back to where?” Kate said.
Evelyn was ready: “Back to the last port.”
“Again, which was where?”
Evelyn opened her mouth, but shut it again.
“In any case, we can't make more sail than we have done so far,” said Kate. “Not without the rest of you pitching in. But none of you have deemed it your duty to do so.”
A better captain would have forced them to do so, but Kate knew she was useless as a captain. Other than food, she had no other weapons to use against them.
Men would be different, especially a seasoned crew. They knew the natural order on a ship in the sea. They would follow orders, even if given through a figurehead like Mr. Whayles had been on the Earl’s excursion. But women who had no sense of this life . . .
Kate said, “We are at the mercy of the currents and the trade routes now. Just pray that the ship that finds us is not the same crew that we just overthrew, or worse."
“Worse? How could they be . . ? Oh!”
Evelyn put a hand to her mouth. They could rape them and kill them as they had so many others. Hadn’t they done worse to the Indian women too? Every one of the women had heard the screams; saw the wounds and the damage both in body and mind.
The remaining Indian woman kept to herself, but she did her share of work, even though the other women kept their distance too. Maybe they didn’t like to be reminded of how it had been, only a few weeks ago.
Fiya stuck her knife in the tabletop. "Go back to your harpies, little lamb."
Evelyn was mulling it over. She finally said, “You have a valid point, but I am not sure the others are concerned so much with reason. They are frightened, and they are not stupid. Their imaginations— Well, they have no idea where we were then or where we are now. I had a little chart in my cabin on my own ship, and I asked the captain to show me where we were everyday. I was traveling alone, thank God for that. But I miss my brother, and I miss my own bed and decent meals, and . . .”
She was in danger of starting to cry. Kate pointed to some islands on the map, then to other spots as she spoke: “I think we were in port somewhere here. I think the currents have taken us here, like this.” She traced with her finger and pointed again. “I am hoping that we end up in the currents here, where some friendly ship finds us sooner rather than after.”
In fact, she
was still hoping that the friendly ships would be those of her uncle. But she was not brave enough to say it out loud.
Fiya smiled wide. “After we might perish, you mean.”
Evelyn set her mouth firm and ignored the morbid notion. She seemed to understand Fiya by now, Kate figured, which was a good sign.
“How do you know that for sure?” Evelyn said, looking at the chart with interest and what seemed like some sense. “I mean, where we were, and where we are, and were we might be going?”
“I don’t,” Kate said. “I am guessing, but as often as I could, I looked at the stars.” Then she got up and left.
Evelyn studied the map, but her expression showed a good deal of question.
"She has knowledge in such things,” Fiya said, nodding after Kate. “It is only her own self doubt that gives you unease. But me, I have no doubts. I have entrusted my soul to Allah and my earthly body to this woman.”
"I’m from New York, a thriving city with comings and goings from all over the world. I used to think I knew the ways of that world, but now I see how little it is that I know.”
Fiya studied Evelyn for a moment, but the woman didn’t flinch. Fiya said, “Be glad of your ignorance, little lamb, for knowledge can make you powerful, but it can also make you very sad.”
* * * * *
CHAPTER 35 - Disguise
Ambrose Standish did not go to America. That was just a lie he told because he figured it would hurt Kate, knowing she was prisoner somewhere and would probably never see America again.
Now he sat outside the church in San de Luz, glaring at the priest as the man tended the petunias . . . or potatoes . . . or turnips or some other weed.
This so-called priest is just a big Irish ruffian, Standish decided. Still, his own Spanish contacts knew the priest and respected his opinions as well as the man himself.
The church was too strong here. He didn’t like it. He couldn’t relate.
Money—that concept he understood. And fear, he knew that had power too.
The Wilde Flower Saga: A Contrary Wind (Historical Adventure Series) Page 36
