She hoped it would not take long—the leaving of the ships. She had been living this horrible, primitive existence forever, it seemed to her, just forever and a day and she was more than done with it. She expected she was half-mad already. Her mind was an idle bit of matter sitting like a slug in her skull. It had not been stimulated. She had no scrolls to read, no writing materials, no historians or philosophers to teach her, no pomp and circumstance of politics, no passing pageantry to behold. And being a child, she could not even indulge the flesh with the animal pleasure of intercourse, which she missed as if it were a phantom appendage she longed for.
A slight rustle sounded loud to her ears and without hesitation to think what it might be she reached out swiftly with one hand and caught the wriggling, furry thing that had tried to skitter past her to the vine-covered exit.
She brought it to her face, squinting in the gloom. It wriggled ferociously and tried to take nips at her fingers. It was a rat, a rather large one, with a long whipping tail and beady little black eyes. It was in a thorough panic as it squirmed in her hard clutch.
“Hello, my friend,” she said, smiling. “It is kind of you to visit.” And then with her other hand she gripped the head of the little beast and wrenched it sideways until she heard a crunching sound of bones snapping. The rat stopped wriggling and lay limp in her hands.
Now she had something to eat. She would be sustained until nightfall.
CHAPTER 7
TAKING A NEW LAND
Christopher Columbus stood on deck and instructed his men in what they were to do upon landfall. His ship led the others forward through the swells, their sails now lowered, the land close enough they could go ashore in small boats.
“You can see them streaming down to the shore, excited about our arrival. Make friendly gestures and do not scowl at them. Remember that they have not seen a white man. Make no sudden movements and do not get too close to them. We’ve seen natives like this before and you should know what to do. We'll try to gain their confidence, trade with their leaders or elders or kings, and once entrenched we will make this great place ours in the name of the great Isabella, Queen of Spain!”
A roar rose from the clustered men. They were almost in rags, unshaven, dirty, and hungry as well, for fresh food. Their stores were low and this new land was a wonderful gift, a land of mountains and green forests, no matter that it was also a great adventure. There might be gold hidden there, treasure, what it was their captain wanted most and what they, too, wanted with every fiber of their beings. Even though they were forbidden to take gold for themselves, everyone filched a little along and hid it on the ships before sailing away. Also, as they could see, rushing down and into the small lapping waves along the sandy shore, there were women! The men had not had congress with a woman for months and were bursting with lust. Given half a chance, at this point in their journeys, they would poke a cow or a horse or any sort of four-legged beast, but a woman was certainly preferred.
“Take your time,” Columbus was instructing. “Say nothing while I hold palaver with the tribal leaders. Begin slowly to set up a camp inland, bring our cooking pots and spices, find something to cook, asking the natives politely. Now….” He paused, wiping sweat from his brow with a handkerchief scented with grated lime. The limes, almost gone now, only a few left, were shriveled and juiceless after all this time on board, but their skin still held some fragrance that revived his senses. He did not feel so well though it was a great victory to discover what he thought might be China, his real destination. He had made one mistake already, happening on the New World, but this could be the place he sought.
His stomach had become sensitive on him, growling, going sour, spewing shit that was so foul he gagged. He wondered if he’d outlast this trip unless he got stronger. “Now, let us lower our boats and strike land! In the name of the Queen! In the name of Spain!”
After the excited roar, the men set to work. Columbus staggered a bit before taking hold of the railing to steady his gait. He went into the first boat, as was his custom, and waited for it to fill with oar men and his personal guards, armed to the teeth with muskets and swords and knives at their belts. He himself did not carry a weapon, not needing one and in fact knowing he could approach people easier if unarmed. But on sighting the land, he had retired to his cabin, cursing his grumbling belly, and carefully dressed in full gear, with his silver, plumed helmet and his silver chest plate hammered to a dull shine, and his best leather boots that were now looking a little worn and creased.
He had evidence that dressed this way, in full regalia, he was looked upon by the primitives as a god come ashore, a mythical being stepping forth from the frothy edge of the sea like Poseidon rising from the waters. He was supremely confidant his stalwart men would overcome this place and dominate it within days. He hoped for gold, heaps of it, mountains of it, caskets of it. He hoped for treasure beyond all treasure to bring back to his queen, to his homeland. He hoped for an easy victory, low loss of his men, and a land that he could title to Spain that was worth titling.
He clutched his churning stomach and leaned forward and kept his hard gaze on the people awaiting his arrival on shore. This was so easy, he thought, it was almost ridiculous. They were so stupid they thought he was their friend, their new god, come to deliver them, to show them miracles.
They, at least in the beginning, the new people in these new worlds, loved him.
Everyone always loved him.
CHAPTER 8
THE TIME OF WAITING
It had been months and the Spaniards hadn’t made a move toward leaving the island. The great ships stood fast with lowered masts, rocking gently in the bay.
Angelique was dirty, her hair knotted with tangles her finger brushing could not undo, and she was mad as hell.
She had sneaked down the mountain a few times during those months, watching the interaction of the intruders and the natives. From hiding, even at a distance, she could see things were not going well. The people were sullen, hunchbacked with barely suppressed fury. The invaders wore cloth breeches and carried weapons, some of which Angelique had never seen before. She could not imagine what they did, these strange pieces made of both wood and iron, half as tall as the men who carried them. Later, on another foray down from the mountain, she discovered how the weapons were used and it astounded her. A fire came out the end of the long barrel, a small, acrid smoke wafted from it, and the man it had been pointed at fell dead instantly, a great hole in his chest, running blood. These people owned such a tremendous advantage with these weapons that she imagined they could have easily disseminated Caesar's troops in an afternoon. Astonishing!
The invaders were often bearded and they were all light skinned in stark contrast to the dark natives. It was day and night passing by one another, a strange parade of peoples. Glancing down at her arms she realized her own skin color was closer to that of the invaders than to the people. It’s just possible she might pass as one of them, if circumstances dictated. “I am one of you!” she could cry. “I was left here with these primitives when I was a baby. My skin is white like yours and only a little darker because of the sun, my lords.”
But that wouldn’t work, she knew, even if she convinced them of her skin color. The people would betray her and tell them she was their queen, their small, beloved queen, and then the strangers would kill her. Or take her captive, which would be worse. Yes, she could thwart the stupid natives when they tried to do away with her, but if standing right before one of these white men, holding the long weapon that spewed fire, she would be hard put to escape their clutches. Especially if one of them decided to dispatch her on the spot. She could move fast, sometimes faster than the human eye could detect, but she did not want to bet her life she could move fast enough to evade the death-dealing weapon.
She simply had to wait for them to get ready to leave.
She watched quietly, trying to find out what she could of the invaders. They looked cruel to her the way they swatte
d aside natives who might be in their path. Natives were knocked straight to the ground without the abuser taking any notice at all. The invaders were cruel in the way they yelled and scowled ferociously at the people, the way they grabbed things from the ones they had made servants, who were only trying to appease them.
She had seen invasions before, armies tramping into Rome, into Alexandria, and they were all the same. There was never remorse or compassion shown the subjugated. In the end most of the people who had been dominated ended up either dead or enslaved. Her long ago Egyptian queen, Cleopatra, had finally taken her own life rather than submit to domination. She knew too well what to expect of this present invasion. It is why she had had to flee. Why she remained hidden.
She both reviled and loved the invaders. Reviled, because they were destroying what had been her kingdom for two centuries. Loved, because they were her one chance to leave the island for the wider world. In the end she cared little for either group, invader or native. She cared for herself above all, something that most humans did not have the wherewithal to do.
Later in her spy missions to see what was happening, she discovered the invaders were building a modern city close to the sea. This excited her for she had not seen a proper building in hundreds of years. They mixed sand and clay and crushed shells from the sea, fashioning bricks that were fired in clay ovens. Already they had made a church, something she recognized. This kind of edifice made her draw back her lips from her teeth. She despised places of worship. The God who had thrown her into darkness wasn’t a being she would ever worship again.
The church had windows, with shutters that could be closed against high wind or rain. A great wooden door opened into what clearly was an antechamber leading into the church proper.
They used the natives as a work force, whipping them whenever they refused or did not work hard enough. She saw a man, dressed better than the others, who walked with his back so straight he seemed to be made of some substance other than mere flesh. He was their commander. She memorized his face, but knew she didn’t have to. He would always be dressed like a king and the ramrod way of comporting himself would always belong only to him. In his walk he said I am your commander. I am in charge here.
On another spy visit, months later, she found the city almost complete and knew the commander ruled it. She witnessed brutal beatings and rapings of her people and horrible murders that were carried out without provocation.
Then as she watched one native being cut to ribbons by a long shiny sword of one of the soldiers, she saw a man wearing a long gown of rough, brown cloth come into the street and scream at the soldier. She did not know this language, but she understood from the scene, the soldier hanging his head low and not meeting the other man’s eyes, that the man in the gown controlled some sort of power to stop the violence in its tracks. At their feet lay the murdered native, one arm sliced completely from his body, other mortal wounds spurting gouts of blood from his still body into the dust of the pathway.
The soldier skulked off, chastened. The gowned man stood over the dead man in the dirt and made gestures over his chest and mumbled what Angelique knew must be prayers. Then he was their religious man, like her island’s own witch doctors had been before she outlawed them. This religious man obviously enjoyed much more authority than any witch doctor. He had cowed the soldier, berating him for the violent murder of the innocent.
She might be able to sneak into the city and gain this person’s trust and goodwill, get him to take her under his protection. The glimmer of a plan formed in her mind like a tiny sun lighting up a dark landscape.
She watched longer, while the religious man called for other soldiers to take the body and, presumably, bury it. She watched his face closely, saw the revulsion there as the bloody body was lifted and the separated arm gathered from where it lay like a torn talisman of death. All this made her happy. Surely he was a man who could be used. Manipulated. He thought a man’s life important, when it wasn’t. He thought violent death horrible, when it was the normal state of the world. She could use his weak-minded beliefs against him.
She crept deeper into the jungle for the trek back to her mountain. She missed comfort, companionship. She missed fire, because she could not have one in her cave, too much chance of being found out. She missed bathing in the sea. It had to be said, she missed the people. Without them she was forced to live like an animal and that displeased her immensely. Pleasure, comfort, power, these were what she was used to and for which she lived. Time passed, the island changed from day to day thanks to the invaders, and she remained the same, but alone. Too alone.
#
It was at the end of a year into the occupation that she finally found a way to get to the religious man. She spent long months just watching, taking note. The first time she’d seen him, screaming at the murderous soldier, might have been an aberration of his normal behavior. She watched him for many months longer, to be sure she was right in her evaluation of the man. After a few more incidents, she was very sure, but then getting to him when he was alone proved to be difficult. He lived in a small addition added onto the church. He was a busy man, consulted all day until sunset by people who came and went from his door. At night there was a guard stationed near his dwelling and this guard was a good one for he never fell asleep on duty, never seemed less than on absolute alert for suspicious intruders.
It was proper, Angelique knew, to protect your religious leaders. Especially from a wild people you were trying to convert, which is what she saw happening. One day a week the religious leader had soldiers round up as many natives as they could muster and march them to his great church building, through the large double wooden doors, and into waiting pews hewn from the largest hardwood trees on the island. The religious man read from an open book and spoke with vigor about whatever religion he was espousing.
She would get to him, ask for his protection, but she had to find him alone.
In the deep summer following the first year of occupation, Angelique accidentally found her chance. She had come down from her mountain hide out and stood in a new hidden area in order to see the progress of the abruptly built town the invaders were creating. It was a new spot where she hid, closer to the encampment, and she thought she was covered by vine, leaf, and thick shadow and could not be seen, but a voice behind her spoke in the foreigner’s language, and she turned around, panicked she’d been discovered. She feared turning into the business end of the deadly, fiery weapon. She might have known someone was coming had she not been so concentrated on the little town of strange buildings facing the sea.
It was the religious man. He stood before her in his cassock, smiling down at her. He spoke again, but she shook her head to show she did not understand. He reached out to touch her shoulder, but she jerked away impulsively. He stooped and quietly observed her with kind, patient eyes. She knew this was her time. She brought tears to bear and let them roll down her smooth cheeks. She wept and saw what that did to the religious man. Distress entered his eyes and again he reached out on impulse. This time she let him touch her. He had her little bare shoulder and pulled her from her hiding place into the open. He brought a soft white cloth from a pocket in his gown and wiped her face. She had not felt such fine linen cloth in two centuries. She nearly swooned from the feel of it. He made gestures meaning he wished for her to come with him.
It is what she wanted. It is what she had hoped for but had never found a way past the night guard to the religious man inside the church. She had studied their language from the distance and thought she knew a few words. She used the word which meant “thank you”, looking up at the kindly gentleman. He was pleased, yes, he was very pleased with her. He smiled and led her from the edge of the jungle into the open spaces of the invaders’ town, his hand firmly, protectively, on her small shoulder.
#
She was taken under the religious man’s wing and given a soft blanket to sleep on in the corner of his room. He thought her an orphan. He had no id
ea what the islanders were babbling about when they pointed at her and tried to communicate with their former queen. It was lucky, she knew, that the invaders took little interest in learning the dialect of the people they ruled. They expected the population to learn their language, which in time she knew they would, out of pure necessity.
Meanwhile she made great efforts to learn the invaders’ tongue. She pointed to things and cocked her head and waited for the religious man to give her the word for it in his language. Bowl. Pitcher. Candle. Book. Having an advanced intelligence and the experience of having lived for two hundred years, never mind the thousands of years she had lived in human bodies before, she caught on quickly. By the week’s end she was communicating with him in a rough, simple exchange.
“I am a priest,” he told her. “I have been sent here from my country, Spain, obligated to Her Highness to teach the people about the one and true God.”
She agreed with whatever he said, never letting on that she thought him a fool and a fraud.
“When will your captain be leaving?” she asked innocently.
“I do not know. In a month, a year, I do not know.” He spread his hands out to indicate he was empty of this knowledge.
“But he must have pressing business with your queen. He must tell her about this place, is that not so?”
“Oh, this place,” he replied, scoffing at the idea. “This place does not seem to have gold or treasure. I am afraid your island is pretty worthless to my queen—except for the souls to be saved, of course, which are by no means worthless.” He smiled, showing small uneven teeth, and to Angelique he might as well have been a baboon picking fleas off his belly.
HORROR THRILLERS-A Box Set of Horror Novels Page 4
