THE WARMTH OF TAYA’S LODGE
At the turning of the sandglass just after sunrise and shortly following the departure for shore by Matipuyaut’s party, the San Salvador’s boatswain lifted his voice in an official tone that halted the actions of every seaman and soldier. “Turn your attention here, men! Attention! Heed the words of our captain-general!”
Cabrillo stood on the quarterdeck with his back as lineal as the mast behind him, his chin high, and his countenance staid. “As each of your shipmasters has already informed you,” he said, knowing full well the men had initially heard the news from each other, “Chief Matipuyaut has provided a house and a selected number of women for our benefit.” Threatening glares from the shipmasters and boatswains kept the cheers clipped and muffled so Cabrillo could go on. “You have also been told that any man who has unapproved contact with a native woman will be dealt with harshly. The customs of these people will not allow unwanted advances to be made to their women, and I will not allow it. The penalty I would impose on any guilty man would be distinctly unforgettable.” As Cabrillo’s grave eyes swept the decks, the grinning faces before him sobered significantly. In the Spanish realm the sentence for the rape of a white woman varied little. Death. Lately, however, murmurings had circulated that some Spanish captains and magistrates had adopted the Moorish custom of castrating rapists. Though such defilement of the body was greatly frowned upon by the Church, something in Cabrillo’s tone and gaze brought these rumors to the forefront of his crewmembers’ supposition, and most understood the inference that this kind of sentence might be carried out in a tryst with an island woman.
Seeing that the men had grasped his meaning, Cabrillo continued. “We are here seeking shelter and replenishment. We must repay the granting of these by respectfully honoring their traditions and mandates, by trading fairly, and, if necessary, by defending their safety. Mark these words, men. I do not deliver them lightly.”
Nods and muttered acquiescence climbed up to him.
“Work hard and step carefully, and our stay here may be both peaceful and agreeable. That is all, men. You may resume your duties.”
Fully comprehending how his own manner and behavior set the expectations of the men, Cabrillo didn’t go ashore until after his morning watch had been fulfilled. Efforts on the ships were progressing well: water barrels were full again and newly caught fish were being salted and stowed. Already, their sick men were responding to the food provided by the island or brought here through trade with the mainland Chumash.
When Cabrillo’s launch slid onto the sandy beach, Viento lifted his muzzle and neighed in salutation. Approaching his horses with Vargas beside him, Cabrillo saw that Matipuyaut’s second son was brushing his mare’s coat with obvious gratification as Manuel stood attentively nearby. Although other Chumash warriors watched the advancement of Cabrillo and his Sergeant Major they showed no sign of aggression. The captain-general greeted the natives in their own language and went over to Mateo, who had taken up residence in the horse shelter along with Manuel. His nephew said, “Oh, sir, the horses are quite well. They love the island.”
After enjoying several minutes among his equine soul mates, Cabrillo was interrupted when Matipuyaut’s eldest son appeared with an invitation to come to the village, and they set off at once. Along the way they paused long enough to allow Cabrillo to inspect the house that had so recently been set up for the physical needs of his men. When he entered, six young women lowered their eyes respectfully. As he took in the well-ordered chamber, his eyes rested only momentarily on each of the maidens, none of whom appeared to be older than seventeen years, and he was impressed by Matipuyaut’s munificence. They were all attractive. The other four of their number must be out attending to errands that would further feather this nest in preparation for the arrival of his men in a few days. Sensing the uneasiness caused by his unexpected arrival, he bid them a polite farewell and left.
It was clear that word of his coming had reached Taya since she was waiting for him at the edge of the village, her eyes eager and her mouth smiling. He had thought he’d been asked to the village to meet with Matipuyaut, but he now wondered if Taya’s brother had escorted him here at her request. A glance at the young warrior’s studied nonchalance was enough to strengthen this assumption, but when Cabrillo’s eyes again found Taya his mind eased all other subjects to a more distant place.
The chief’s son, noting the expression on Cabrillo’s face, discreetly parted from them.
When Cabrillo and Taya had drawn close together, she said simply, “You have come.”
“I can stay...” he struggled to communicate the passing of numbered hours to one unfamiliar with the concept, and he finished by pointing to the sky and saying, “until the sun reaches there.”
She suppressed her dissatisfaction at so short a visit, turned, and led him to a small house not far from the dwelling of Matipuyaut. When Cabrillo entered, he saw Taya’s sons sitting cross-legged before a young woman weaving a basket. At his arrival they all looked up, wide-eyed with curiosity and apprehension. He smiled to reassure them and said, “Greetings Muhu and Alow,” and they returned the welcome courteously. Wanting to avoid confusing which boy was which, Cabrillo made a mental note of the short striped owl feather suspended from a thong and hanging down Muhu’s small chest.
Taya introduced the young woman as her sister, and, after a subtle signal that Cabrillo didn’t detect, the boys were gracefully ushered out of the house by their aunt.
“Do you wish to eat?” Taya asked.
Still standing, Cabrillo declined her offer as he took his time admiring the cleanliness and comfort of her home. He turned back to find that she now stood directly behind him. He hesitated, unsure of the next appropriate step, but Taya was looking meaningfully at his sword, and she said, “You may remove your weapon now, Cabrillo. There is no danger here.”
Not altogether certain of the truth of this statement when all forms of danger were considered, he nevertheless unbuckled his belt and hung it from a wall peg. He then voiced something he’d wondered about many times. “Your name, Taya, what does it mean?”
“My full name is Tasin Taya.” She thought for a moment, and then went to a deep narrow basket suspended by its handle from the wall and withdrew a small skin that had been painted with red angular markings. She pointed to several of these symbols, and then to the red garnet imbedded in an amulet he wore at his breast. “Tasin.”
“Ah, red.”
She then went to the cooking stone near her fire and brought back a bowl shaped from an abalone shell. Running her fingertips around the vessel, pointing out to sea, and then pantomiming how she’d pried the shell from a boulder, she again held it up and said, “Taya.”
“Red abalone? Tasin Taya.”
Gladdened by his comprehension, she replaced the bowl near the fire. She motioned for him to sit beside her on the furs, and when he had done so said with a slight hesitation, “Our elders say that the unions of our women and your men will bless the people of our island, because you are gods.”
The shadow of a grin, insinuating that he was all too human, appeared at the corners of his mouth. “What do you say?”
Her eyes took him in, searching his face as if trying to discern the depth and texture of his soul. When she spoke it was with an intensity that moved him as much as her words. “I want a man.” She placed her hand on his chest for a moment, and then continued to speak and gesture. “This man, not a god. You chose me over other women who were not marked by shame. You were not afraid of me or my sons. You and your holy men brought honor and safety to our lives.” Dispelling the last of his unspoken questions, she said, “I want you, Cabrillo, only you.”
She reached up and gently removed his flat, round-brimmed hat, and then started unfastening the buttons at the chest of his long-sleeved doublet. He did not still her hands. His mind surrendered and softened as his eyes took in every aspect of her hair, shoulders, and breasts, and his nose inhaled her sweet, smoky scent. His s
carred, thin, weary body absorbed and anticipated her questing touches at each of his many fastenings. When he made a movement to help her, she shifted his hands away, determined to gain proficiency through practice at this new task. As she worked, her glances constantly returned to his, observing his reactions and emotions. From her tightening concentration Cabrillo began to perceive a suspended hunger not wholly unlike that of a hunter nearing its prey, yet her agile fingers betrayed no outright sense of urgency as they moved steadily to his waist.
When the doublet was free she laid it aside and Cabrillo went to the bed of furs to remove his boots and hose. It didn’t take him long. Standing once more, he would have untied his breeches, but here again Taya took over. She loosened the drawstring at his waist and her hands slid the breeches from his hips to the floor. His thigh-length shirt was now his only covering.
Casting one more glance at Taya, her beautiful features beckoning, he felt any lingering uncertainties crumble away. He pulled his shirt up and over his head with a single smooth motion. Under unabashed intensity he’d never before encountered in a woman, he held himself still as her eyes moved from his head to his feet, pausing where they would. Very soon, her fingers began to explore what her eyes had found.
His curiosity about what she was thinking and feeling quickly gave way to the hungers of his own body, and he pulled her nearer. Her cape and skirt fell away. Their bodies met in a feast of exploration and sensual acuteness that weakened their knees and lowered them to the bed.
The skilled workings of his mouth upon Taya’s skin were new and enticing to her, and she responded with a fierceness of ardor that Cabrillo had not imagined possible. Here was neither the hesitant stranger giving her body in exchange for survival or reward, nor the virgin lady in love with him yet bound by doctrine and tradition to act chastely. No, Taya was different from any other woman he’d known.
As they moved upon the furs, as their bodies touched, and mingled, and tightened, Cabrillo vaguely sensed the depth of the emotion Taya was conveying with her body. She was offering herself freely, wildly, wholly, but this thought and every other was soon overtaken by the rising pitch of his passion. Neither of them uttered an intelligible word, and this only added force and intimacy as they reached and clung to the waves of their physical fulfillment.
In the first quiet moments that followed, as their bodies began to cool and their minds to calm, Taya lifted her head from where it rested upon his chest and said softly, “You are mine, Cabrillo, even if you have other women, even if you must go away. You are mine.”
Gazing into her lovely, intense eyes, he realized somewhat to his own surprise that her words were neither inconsequential nor, in a sense, untrue. Despite his inevitable departure, despite the love he held for his wife, a share of his affection and spirit would remain with Taya when he sailed from this island, as hers would stay with him. And in the years to come, his memories would undoubtedly return to this courageous, tender, lovely native woman.
They spoke for a while about her sons, and then about his. But talking of his other family became difficult for both of them, so she asked about how far away his voyage would take him and when he might return. This subject too was soon abandoned, and when words seemed unable to bring them comfort Taya’s hand began to glide gently across the hair of his chest. When she raised her lips to be kissed, inducing their lovemaking to commence again, Cabrillo’s awareness of his own feelings gave his movements a heightened intensity and poignancy.
This second sharing of their bodies left them fully satisfied, and for a while they held each other without the need for words, listening to the sounds of the village. It was then, with painful clarity, that the image of Beatriz rose in Cabrillo’s mind. He pictured her as she’d looked on the morning he’d left Santiago, standing before the window in her thin nightdress, and he remembered the words she’d uttered then. “I am not inexperienced enough to think there will be no other female to comfort you,” she had said.
Now, he wondered if on that morning he’d truly intended to withhold his body and mind from every other woman, for two whole years and while so very far from everything he knew and loved. Such a thing would have been rare, if not unheard of, among his peers, but perhaps he had intended just that. If so, he’d failed. Would she, as her words implied, be able to forgive him? He prayed that she would, though he hoped she’d never know. He would not tell her. Confessing simply to try to cleanse himself of some of his own culpability would cause her much pain and cost them much affection. No, the guilt was his alone to bear.
He and Taya had shared little more than an hour together when she said with regret, “My sister and my sons will return soon.” They rose and she led him to a large water basket, into which she dipped a cloth, and began to gently bathe him. When she had finished he took great pleasure in returning the kindness, so much so that his ministrations threatened to carry them both back to the furs. Restraint managed to prevail, however, and they were soon fully dressed.
Perhaps it was the sobering effect of being clothed again that awakened the sudden realization in Cabrillo that his visits to this house could bring unwelcome consequences, and he cursed himself for thinking so little of it before. If Taya conceived a child, perhaps even twins again, it might result in serious hardship, especially since he would not be here to care for them. The islanders might even feel compelled to take drastic steps. There were many potions, he knew, that the native women had discovered to prevent or halt a pregnancy. Placing his hand upon her belly, he asked carefully, “Taya, what if a child comes?”
Concern and perhaps shame colored her cheeks, and she lowered her head, and Cabrillo guessed that she had already taken precautions to prevent such an outcome. He lifted her chin and said. “If you have done something to stop a child from coming, it is good. I cannot stay with you for long. A child could bring you much pain.”
Her eyes shone with gratitude for his understanding. “If I had twins again, my people would be certain they, my sons, and I were cursed. We all might be killed.”
“Yes. That must not happen.” Cabrillo knew he spoke against the teachings of his faith, and that condoning the prevention of life was another sin he must shoulder, but he felt that God would rather a child not be conceived at all than be slain along with its family after its birth. He avoided dwelling on the obvious alternative of keeping his distance from Taya.
Much relieved now, she said, “You should eat.”
Although he was not hungry, Cabrillo accepted the acorn cakes she offered with thanks. He’d grown quite fond of their flavor, as had his men, and he chewed them pensively, gradually letting his weightier thoughts drift away. When his hands were empty, Taya handed him another cake, which was indeed delicious. Having seen no oak trees on the island, he asked her, “What do your people trade in exchange for these acorns?”
“Many things.” She walked to the edge of her bed, lifted a small woven pouch from a post, and brought the bag to him. Opening it, Cabrillo reached in and pulled out a handful of flat shell disks that were nearly uniform in size. A hole had been drilled into each so that they could be strung onto a chord. He had seen such shell beads several times on the mainland, and he understood them to be used as currency among the coastal Indians.
“My people make them from those shells,” Taya said, pointing to a small basket of Olivella shells near the firestones.
Quite curious now, Cabrillo nodded and asked, “What else do you trade?”
Happy to share something of their ways with him, she said, “Tools, made from our island chert.” She gathered up several items from around her home and brought him a knife artfully knapped from a piece of a lustrous gray stone, a scraper formed from chert of the same color as her otter skin cape, and a bead drill so white its source might be mistaken for polished ivory.
He nodded, admiring the translucency of the stones. “What else?”
She thought for a moment and then said, “We also trade baskets, bows and arrows, and otter skins.�
��
He nodded again. “Your people are very...” he fought to remember a Chumash word for “resourceful” and finally offered, “clever.”
“Acorn cakes are good to eat, and they help us through winters when fish and sea lions are scarce.”
He would have questioned her further but they were then interrupted by the entrance of Taya’s young boys, one of them cradling a small gray fox in his arms. When the animal spotted Cabrillo it let out a high-pitched yip and tucked its head into the crook of Alow’s elbow.
Chuckling, Cabrillo said in Spanish, “So this is what’s been making that sound in the night.” He asked Taya, “Are there many of these animals on the island?”
“Yes, many.”
Yet this was the first one Cabrillo had seen, so holding a tame one must be a rarity.
Seeming spellbound by Cabrillo’s presence, and perhaps a little uneasy that their mother remained so close to the strange warrior from the sea, the boys didn’t take their eyes from him as they and their aunt seated themselves several feet away.
Hoping to put them at ease, Cabrillo thought for a moment about what he possessed that might serve as gifts to two so young. Nothing came to mind and he was about to abandon the idea when he remembered the coins in the pouch at his belt, which he carried more out of long habit than in anticipation of their usefulness here. Fingering through several of the small silver disks, he chose a couple of half-real pieces. Since being struck, these coins too had been drilled with holes, allowing their previous owners to string their wealth and keep it tucked into their shirts or breeches. Through gestures, the captain-general asked Taya to bring him two thin chords about eighteen inches in length. Once these thongs had been provided he made each boy a medallion necklace, handed them to Taya, and indicated that she was to give them to her sons.
Fascinated, she studied the side of a coin that bore the image of the late King Ferdinand II encircled by letters, and then the other showing the simple striped shield of Aragon. When her eyes lifted they held a thousand questions but, for now, she kept them to herself. She returned the necklaces to Cabrillo and in an earnest manner asked if he would bestow them himself.
Aboard Cabrillo's Galleon Page 32
