Now back to the original script. I hope, thought Hunahpu, that there aren't too many more surprises like this.
He flung out his voice over the crowd. "Let Bacab touch this metal. Let Xocol-Ha-Man see it!"
"Black," said Xocol-Ha-Man.
The last of the spines was out of his body now. It made him feel pleasantly light, as if the weight of them had dragged him down.
He looked around at their faces. Awe, and surprise, and, here and there, resentment. Well, that was to be expected. The power structure in this village was going to be transformed many times over before this was finished. Somehow these people would become leaders of a great empire. Only a few of them would be up to the challenge; many would be left behind, because they were suited only to the life of a village. There was no dishonor in that, but some would feel left out and hurt. Hunahpu would try to teach them to be content with what was possible to them, teach them to take pride in the achievements of others. But he could not change human nature. Some of them would go to their graves hating him for the changes that he brought. And he could never tell them how their lives might have ended, had he not interfered.
"In my house!" cried Na-Yaxhal at once.
It was already midday, but impossible as the task might look to the people, Hunahpu knew that it was well within their capacity to do it. The story of the building of One-Hunahpu's house would spread, and it would make others believe that they were indeed worthy to be the greatest city among the cities of the new Kingdom of Xibalba-on-Earth. Such stories were needed in forging a new nation with a will to empire. The people had to have an unshakable belief in their own worthiness.
The people quickly left him alone as Na-Yaxhal organized them to build him a house. Able to relax at last, Hunahpu got the disinfectant out of one of his bags and applied it to his wounded penis. It contained agents to promote clotting and healing, and soon the flow of blood would become mere seepage and then stop. Hunahpu's hands trembled as he applied the salve. Not from pain, for that had not yet begun, nor even from loss of blood, but rather from relief after the tension of the ceremonies just past.
***
Cristoforo could hardly argue with him. Colba seemed vast enough to be the mainland of Asia, but the Indians insisted that it was an island and that another island to the southeast, called Haiti, was much richer and had far more gold. Could that be Cipangu? Possibly. But it was discouraging to have to keep assuring the sailors and, above all, the royal functionaries that untold wealth was just a few more days' sailing away.
"What does that matter?" said Don Pedro. "The greatest wealth of this place is before you in plain sight."
"And people," said Don Pedro. "The gentlest, most peaceful people I've ever seen. It will be no trouble at all to get them to work, and they'll obey their masters perfectly. There's no fight in them at all, can't you see that? Can't you imagine what price they would fetch as the most docile of servants?"
If God had meant these savages to be free Christians, he would have taught them to wear clothing instead of going about naked.
The others heard him without disagreement -- how could they argue with something so obviously true? Besides, they were still weak and weary from the illness that had swept through the crews of all three ships, obliging them to drop anchor and rest for several days. No one died from it -- it was nowhere near as virulent as the terrible plagues that the Portuguese had run into in Africa, forcing them to build their forts on offshore islands. But it had left Cristoforo with quite a headache, and he was sure the others suffered from it, too. If it didn't hurt so much, he might wish for it to continue forever, since it kept them from raising their voices. The royal functionaries were much more tolerable when pain kept them from becoming strident.
Tomorrow or the next day they would sail for Haiti. Perhaps there they would see some sign of the great civilizations of Cipangu or Cathay. And in the meantime, these miserable islands would at least be a source of slaves, and as long as the royal functionaries were willing to back him up, that might be enough to justify the cost of a second voyage, should they fail to find the Khan himself on this first trip.
Kemal sat glumly on the crest of the promontory, looking out to the northwest for a sail. Columbus was late.
Or worse. The gentle plague might have caused a change in behavior by the Indies. There might have been bloodshed, bad enough to make the Europeans head for home. Or Columbus might have been told something that led him to take a different route circling Haiti counterclockwise, for instance, instead of charting the north shore.
So it's a good thing, Kemal told himself. A good thing that Columbus is late, because it means that the virus is doing its work. We've already changed the world. We've already succeeded.
It wasn't until the third day that he saw a sail. Too early in the day. In the old version of history, Columbus had arrived later, which was why the Santa Maria wrecked, running against a submerged reef in the darkness. Now it wouldn't be dark. And even if it were, the currents and winds would not be the same. Kemal would have to destroy all three ships. Worse, without the the accident with the Santa Maria, there would be no reason for the Nina to drop anchor. Kemal would have to follow along the shore and watch for his opportunity. If it came.
He could whisper all these reassuring things, but they tasted like ashes in his mouth. If I fail, America loses its fifty years of preparation before the Europeans come.
That's out of my hands, Kemal told himself. The Pinta will either come back or it will not. I have the Nina and the Santa Maria, and I must make sure that they, at least, never return to Spain.
Kemal picked his way carefully down to the stand of trees near the water where he had concealed his inflatable boat. Unlike lifeboats, this one was not bright orange. Rather it was a greenish blue, designed to be invisible on the water. Kemal pulled on his wet suit, also greenish blue, and pulled the boat into the water. Then he loaded it with enough underwater charges to deal with both the Santa Maria and the Niha, should the opportunity present itself. Then he started up the engine and put out to sea.
Or perhaps not. Columbus would be anxious to sail east in order to beat PinzĒn back to Spain, and this time he might go out around Tortuga, tacking into the trade winds and completely avoiding the treacherous shore winds that would drive him onto the reefs. This might be Kemal's last chance.
He would wait and watch.
At first when the Pinta started slipping farther and farther away, Cristoforo supposed that PinzĒn was avoiding some hazard in the water. Then, as the caravel drifted nearer the horizon, Cristoforo tried to believe what the men were telling him -- that the Pinta must be unable to read the signals that Cristoforo was sending. This was nonsense, of course. The Nina also lay to portside, and was having no trouble at all staying on course. By the time the Pinta dropped over the horizon, Cristoforo knew that PinzĒn had betrayed him, that the one-time pirate was now determined to sail direct for Spain and report to Their Majesties before Cristoforo could get there. Never mind that it would be Cristoforo who was recognized officially as the head of the expedition, or that the royal officials traveling with the expedition would report PinzĒn's perfidy -- it would be PinzĒn who would reap the first fame, PinzĒn whose name would live through history as the man who returned first to Europe from the westward route to the Orient.
A good chance, but no certainty, and Cristoforo could not shake the sense of urgency -- and barely suppressed fury -- that PinzĒn's disloyalty had provoked. Worst of all, there was no one in whom he could confide, for the men were doubtless all rooting for PinzĒn to win, while in front of the officers and the royal officials Cristoforo could show no weakness or worry.
When Cristoforo finally got them moving, it was by sailing in the evening and hugging the coastline, where the breeze from shore counteracted the prevailing easterlies and carried them smoothly eastward. Even though the nights were clear, it was a dangerous business, sailing at night on an unfamiliar coastline, for no one knew what hazards there might be beneath the water. But Cristoforo could see no choice. It was either sail west and south around the island, which could be so huge that it would take months to circumnavigate it, or sail at night on the shore breezes. God would protect the ships, because if he didn't, the voyage would fail, or at least Cristoforo's part of it. What mattered now was getting back to Spain with glorious reports that concealed the disappointing amount of gold and the generally low level of civilization, so that Their Majesties would outfit a real fleet and he could do some serious exploring until he found the lands Marco Polo had written of.
Once, just once, Cristoforo caught a glimpse of light as if whatever it was had a glass of its own and was watching him as steadily as he was watching it.
Cristoforo was awake in his cabin. It was hard for him to sleep when the ship was sailing so dangerously close to land, and so he stayed awake most nights, studying his charts or writing in his log or his private diary. Tonight, though, he had done nothing more than lie on his bed, thinking about all that had happened in his life so far, marveling at how things had worked out despite all adversity, and finally praying, giving thanks to God for what had looked at the time like divine neglect, but now looked like miraculous shepherding. Forgive me for misunderstanding you, for expecting you to measure time by the short moments of a man's life. Forgive me for my fears and doubts along the way, for I see now that you were always at my side, watching over me and protecting me and helping me to accomplish your will.
***
Of course, it had always been the human factor, not the weather, that was expected to change. For all the talk of how a butterfly's wing in Beijing could cause a hurricane in the Caribbean, Manjam had explained to Kemal that pseudochaotic systems like weather were actually quite stable in their underlying patterns, and swallowed up random tiny fluctuations.
In the event, the only difference was that it wasn't the same ship's boy -- from his height and manner, Kemal could tell even at a distance that this time it was Andres Yevenes, a bit older. But whatever experience Andres had would hardly help him now -- no one had charted this coast, so even the most experienced pilot wouldn't have known that shelves of coral would be so close to the surface without making any visible change in the sea.
Kemal, studying de la Cosa from the beginning of his life to the end, was unable to discover why he did such an inexplicable thing. De la Cosa never told the same story twice, and obviously lied every time. Kemal's only conclusion was that de la Cosa had panicked at the prospect of the ship sinking and had simply got away as quickly and effectively as possible. By the time it became obvious that there was plenty of time to take all the men off without serious danger, it was far too late to save the ship. At that point, de la Cosa could hardly admit to cowardice -- or whatever his motive was.
***
One of the ship's boys -- Andres, the one that Nino fancied this week -- was offering his pathetic excuses. "I kept my eye fixed on the star he pointed at, and kept the mast lined up with it." He looked and sounded terrified.
We will sink, thought Juan. I will lose everything. "My caravel," he cried out. "My little ship, what have you done to it!"
And shouldn't the ship's master be asleep? Juan wasn't the pilot and he wasn't the navigator. He was just the owner. Hadn't it been made clear to him that he had almost no authority, except as bestowed on him by ColĒn? As a Basque, Juan was as much a foreigner among these Spaniards as ColĒn himself, so that he got condescension from the Italian, contempt from the Spanish royal officers, and mockery from the Spanish sailors. But now, after having all control and respect stripped away, it was suddenly his fault that the ship ran aground?
ColĒn was speaking, but Juan had trouble concentrating on what he said. "The stern is heavy, and we've dragged onto an underwater reef or shelf. We'll make no headway forward. There's no choice for it but to warp the ship off."
"Warp the ship off," said Cristoforo again. "Take the launch out, carry the anchor to sternward, drop it, and then use the windlass to draw us off the rock."
"Then see to it, man!" Cristoforo commanded. "Or do you want to lose your caravel here in these waters?"
Juan immediately set several men to lowering the launch. In the meantime, he heard ColĒn barking orders to furl the sails and free the anchor. Oh, what an excellent idea, thought Juan. The ship will sink with sails furled. That will make a huge difference to the sharks.
His feet found the boat but he could not pry his fingers away from the rope ladder.
I'm trying, thought Juan. Why aren't my hands working?
His fingers opened. It had only been a moment. No one could be expected to act with perfect control when death by drowning lurked only moments away.
As they began pulling, Bartolome, sitting in the bow, called the rhythm. He had once been a soldier in the Spanish army, but was arrested for stealing -- he was one of those who joined the voyage as a criminal hoping for pardon. Most of the criminals were treated badly by the others, but Bartolome's military experience had earned him some grudging respect from the others -- and the slavish devotion of the other criminals. "Pull," he said. "Pull."
"What are you doing?" demanded Bartolome, when he saw that the launch was pulling away from the Santa Maria instead of heading for the bow, where the anchor was already beginning to descend.
"We're supposed to lie under the anchor!" answered Bartolome.
The seamen's eyes widened. This was a direct contravention of orders. It bordered on mutiny against ColĒn. They still didn't resume pulling on the oars. "De la Cosa," said PeĪa, "aren't you going to try to save the caravel?"
Bartolome took up the chant, and they pulled.
But Juan looked fiercely at the seamen. "If you want to live to see Spain again, then all we can hear is the splashing of the oars."
***
I'm done with telling stories. I can only act out the end of my life. Who then will decide the meaning of my death? I will, as best I can. But then it will be out of my hands. They will make of me whatever they want, if they remember me at all. The world in which I discovered a great secret of the past and became famous no longer exists. Now I'm in a world where I was never born and have no past. A lone Muslim saboteur, who somehow made his way to the New World? Who in the future will believe such a fantastic tale? Kemal imagined what the learned articles would sound like, explaining the psychosocial origin of the Lone Muslim Bomber legends from the voyage of Columbus. It brought a smile to his face, as the crew of the Santa Maria rowed for the Nina.
Diko came back to Ankuash with two full baskets of water hanging from the yoke over her shoulder. She had made the yoke herself, when it became clear to them all that no one in the village was as strong as Diko. It shamed the others, to see her carry her water so easily when for them it was so hard. So she made the yoke so she could carry twice as much, and then she insisted on hauling the water alone, so that no one else could be compared to her. She made three trips a day to the stream under the falls. It kept her strong, and she appreciated the solitude.
"The white men's canoe was taken by the spirits in the water!" cried Putukam, as soon as Diko was close enough to hear. "On the very day you said!"
Diko squatted down to take the yoke from her shoulders. Others held up the water baskets and began to pour them off into other vessels.
One of the younger women immediately rushed to Diko's defense. "He must believe Sees-in-the-Dark! All her words come true."
The others fell silent, for none of them had ever understood why Diko would say something which was so obviously false. Who ever heard of a person who refused to admit what she did well? Yet she was the strongest, tallest, wisest, and holiest person they had ever seen or heard of, and so if she said this, then there must be some meaning in it, though it could not be taken at face value, of course.
"And what of the Silent Man?" she asked.
Another added, "They say these white people can't see him at all. Are they blind?"
"Still they're very stupid not to see," said Goala, a teenage boy freshly into his manhood.
Goala preened.
Goala went silent, while the others laughed.
"I want to see it," said Goala quietly.
"You make no sense at all," said Goala.
"Goala is thinking," said Diko, "that it is the thing that will only be seen once in five hundred years that a man should go and see. But I tell you that it is only the thing that a man can learn from and use to help his tribe and his family that is worth going to see. The man who sees the boat made of water and air has a story that his children will not believe. But the man who learns how to make a great wooden canoe like the ones the Spaniards sail in can cross oceans with heavy cargo and many passengers. It is the Spaniard's canoes you want to see, not the boat made of water and air."
"They are only men," said Diko. "Some of them are very bad, and some of them are very good. All of them know how to do things that no one in Haiti knows how to do, and yet there are many things that every child in Haiti knows that these men do not understand at all."
"I've told you all these stories about the coming of the white men," said Diko. "And today there's work to do."
Diko carried her yoke and her empty water baskets back to her house -- a hut, really. Thankfully no one was waiting for her there. She and Putukam were the only women to have houses of their own, and ever since the first time Diko had taken in a woman whose husband was angry at her and threatened to beat her, Putukam had joined her in making her house available as a refuge for women. There had been a great deal of tension at the beginning, since Nugkui, the cacique, correctly saw Diko as a rival for power in the village. It only came to violence once, when three men came in the shadow of night, armed with spears. It had taken her about twenty seconds to disarm all three of them, break the spear shafts, and send them staggering away with many cuts and bruises and sore muscles. They were simply no match for her size and strength -- and her martial-arts training.
Nugkui was no fool. Much as he might resent her authority, he knew that having her in the village gave Ankuash enormous prestige among the Taino who lived farther down the mountain. Didn't they send their sick to Ankuash now to be healed? Didn't they send messengers to ask the meanings of events or to learn what Sees-in-the-Dark predicted for the future? Until Diko came, the people of Ankuash were despised as the people who lived in the cold place on the mountain. It was Diko who had explained that their tribe was the first to live on Haiti, that their ancestors were the first to be brave enough to sail from island to island. "For a long time, the Taino have had their way here, and the Caribs want to do the same to them," she explained. "But the time is soon coming when Ankuash will once again lead all the people of Haiti. For this is the village that will tame the white men."
"I'm glad to hear that. Have you seen Baiku about that nasty bruise on your forehead? You must have bumped into a tree when you went out to pee in the dark."
"But if I do them, then they must be things that I believe a woman should do."
"I never teach anyone to be lazy. I work harder than anybody, and the best women of Ankuash follow my example."
"But they do almost everything that their husband ask them to do," said Diko. "Especially when their husbands do everything the women ask them to do."
"That cut on your arm looks ugly," said Diko. "Was somebody careless with his spearpoint on yesterday's hunt?"
Here was the crux of the negotiation. "Nugkui, you are a brave and wise leader. I watched you for a long time before I came here. Wherever I went, I knew that I would make changes, because the village that teaches the white men how to be human has to be different from all other villages. There will be a dangerous time when the white men are not yet tamed, when you may need to lead our men in war. And even in peace, you are the cacique. When people come to me for judgment, don't I always send them to you? Don't I always show you respect?"
"I have seen a terrible future, in which the white men come, thousands upon thousands of them, and make our people into slaves -- the ones they don't kill outright. I have seen a future in which on the whole island of Haiti there is not one Taino, not one Carib, not one man or woman or child of Ankuash. I came here to prevent that terrible future. But I can't do it alone. It depends on you as much as on me. I don't want you to obey me. I don't want to rule over you. What village would respect Ankuash, if the cacique took orders from a woman? But what cacique deserves respect, if he can't learn wisdom just because a woman teaches it to him?"
"The men of Ankuash are not animals. Sees-in-the-Dark came here because the men of Ankuash have already tamed themselves. When women took refuge in my tent, or Putukam's, the men of this village could have torn apart the walls and beaten their wives, or killed them -- or Putukam, or even me, because I may be clever and strong but I am not immortal and I can be killed."
"But the men of Ankuash are truly human. They were angry with their wives, but they respected the door of my house and the door of Putukam's house. They stayed outside, and waited until their anger had cooled. Then their wives came out, and no one was beaten, and things were better. They say that Putukam and I were making trouble, but you are the cacique. You know that we were helping make peace. But it only worked because the men and women of this village wanted peace. It only worked because you, as cacique, allowed it to work. If you saw another cacique act as you have acted, wouldn't you call him wise?"
"I also call you wise," said Diko. "But I won't stay unless I can also call you my uncle."
"Then I can't stay," she said, rising to her feet.
Diko had fallen to her knees before him then, and embraced him where he sat on the ground. "Oh, Nugkui, you are the man I hoped for."
Alone in her house, she took up the calendar she was keeping, and reviewed in her mind the events that would come in the next few days. Down on the coast, the Spanish would be turning to Guacanagari for help. In the meantime, Kemal -- the one the Indies called Silent Man -- would be destroying the other Spanish ships. If he failed, or if the Spanish succeeded in building new ships and sailed for home, then her work would be to unify the Indies to prepare them to beat off the Spanish. But if the Spanish were stranded here, then her work would be to spread stories that would lead Columbus to her. As social order broke down in the expedition -- a near certainty, once they were stranded -- Columbus would come to need a refuge. That would be Ankuash, and it would be her job to get him and any who came with him under control. If she had had to do a number on the Indies to get them to accept her, wait till they saw what she did to the white men.
Someone clapped outside her house.
The woven reed flap was lifted aside, and Chipa came in. She was a young girl, perhaps ten years old, but smart, and Diko had chosen her to be her messenger to Cristoforo.
"Pronta mas estoy con miedo." I'm ready but I'm afraid.
Interpretation was the one thing that Cristoforo had never had on his first voyage. What could be communicated by hand signs and pointing and facial expressions wasn't much. The lack of a common language had forced both the Indies and the Europeans to depend on guesswork about what the other side really meant. It made for ludicrous misunderstandings. Any syllable that sounded like khan sent Cristoforo chasing after Cathay. And at this moment, in Guacanagari's main village, Cristoforo was no doubt asking where more gold could be found; when Guacanagari pointed up the mountain and said Obao, Cristoforo would hear it as a version of Opangu. If it really had been Cipangu, the samurai would have made short work of him and his men. But the most disturbing thing was that in the prior history it never crossed Cristoforo's mind that he didn't have the right to go straight to any gold mine he might find on Haiti and take possession of it.
It was one of the hardest things for novices in Pastwatch to get used to, in studying the past -- the way that most people in most times were able to speak to people of other nations, treat with them, make promises to them, and then go off and act as if those very people were beasts. What were promises made to beasts? What respect did you owe to property claimed by animals? But Diko had learned, as most did in Pastwatch, that for most of human history, the virtue of empathy was confined to one's kinship group or tribe.
What am I expecting of Cristoforo, really? Diko wondered. I am asking him to learn a degree of empathy for other races that would not become a serious force in human life until nearly five hundred years after his great voyage, and did not prevail worldwide until many bloody wars and famines and plagues after that. I am asking him to rise out of his own time and become something new.
"You are right to be afraid," said Diko in Spanish. "The white men are dangerous and treacherous. Their promises mean nothing. If you don't want to go, I won't compel you."
"So you and I could tell secrets." Diko grinned at her.
Diko nodded, accepting her decision. Chipa was too young and ignorant to understand the real danger that the Spanish would mistreat her; but then, most adults made most of their decisions without a clear understanding of the possible consequences. And Chipa. was both clever and good-hearted-the combination would probably serve her well enough.
"Because in the white men's country, it is a shameful thing for people to be naked."
"It's very cold there sometimes," said Diko, "but even in the summer they keep their bodies covered. Their God commanded them to wear things like this."
"They say," said the boy Goala, "that the white men wear shells like a turtle."
The villagers fell silent then, thinking about what this might mean if it ever came to battle.
"These turtle men are dangerous, but they're also powerful, and some of them have good hearts if we can only teach them how to be human. Chipa will bring the white men here, and when they're ready to learn from me, I'll teach them. And the rest of you will teach them, too."
"They'll teach us, too. But not until they're ready."
"Nugkui," said Diko, "I know what you're thinking."
"You don't want me to send Chipa as a gift to Guacanagari, because then he'll think that this means he rules over Ankuash."
"Because he'll have to give Chipa to the white men. And once she's with them, she'll serve Ankuash."
"Your name may be Yacha," she said without turning around, "but you are not always wise, my cousin. But if I'm not a part of Ankuash, tell me now, and I'll go to another village and let them become the teachers of the white men."
***
In five minutes, the wood inside the hull burst into fierce flames. And still the heat from the incendiaries continued, helping the fire to spread rapidly.
Now everything depended on whether PinzĒn remained true to character and brought the Pinta back to Haiti. If he did, Kemal would blow the last caravel to bits. There would be no way to believe it an accident. Everyone would look at the ship and say, An enemy has done this.
Chipa was frightened when Guacanagari's women brought her forward. Hearing about the bearded white men was different from coming into their presence. They were large men, and they wore the most fearsome clothing. Truly it was as if each of them wore a house on his shoulders -- and a roof on his head! The metal of the helmets shone so brightly in the sunlight. And the colors of their banners were like captured parrots. If I could weave a cloth like that, thought Chipa, I would wear their banners and live under a roof made of the metal they put on their heads.
"Tell me exactly what they really say," said Guacanagari. "And don't add a single word to what I say to them beyond what I tell you. Do you understand me, you little snail from the mountains?"
"Are you sure you can really speak their awful language?"
"Then say this to them: The great Guacanagari, cacique of all of Haiti from cibao to the sea, is proud to have found an interpreter."
"Show respect, mountain slug!" shouted Guacanagari. "And that's not the chief, anyway, stupid girl. It's that man, the white-haired one."
Lying on the ground, she began again, stammering a bit at first, but still making the Spanish words very clearly. "My Lord Cristobal ColĒn, I have come here to interpret for you."
"What are they saying9" asked Guacanagari.
ColĒn finally stepped forward and spoke to her.
He spoke rapidly, and his accent was different from Sees-in-the-Dark, but this was exactly the question that she had been told to expect.
If they had been flustered before by her command of Spanish, these words brought consternation upon the white men. Again there was a flurry of whispered conversation.
"He asked me how I came to speak his language, and I told him."
"I didn't," she said. "I spoke of the God they worship."
"I'm not," said Chipa.
"This man is Rodrigo Sanchez de Segovia, the royal inspector of the fleet," said ColĒn. "He would like to ask you a question."
"How do you know of Christ?" asked Segovia.
Segovia smiled. "I am that man."
It was easy to read the expressions on the white men's faces -- they showed everything they were feeling. Segovia was very angry. But he stepped back, leaving ColĒn alone in front of the other white men.
"My teacher," Chipa answered. "She sent me as a gift to Guacanagari, so he would bring me to you. But he is not my master."
"No one is my master but Christ," she said -- exactly the statement that Sees-in-the-Dark had told her was the most important she could make. And now, with ColĒn looking at her, speechless, she said the one sentence that she did not understand, for it was in another language. The language was Genovese, and therefore only Cristoforo understood her as she said words that he had heard before, on a beach near Lagos: "I saved you alive so you could carry the cross."
"I don't speak that language, sir," she said.
"The cacique is angry at me," said Chipa. "He will beat me for not saying what he told me to say."
"Sir, don't provoke Guacanagari for my sake. With both your ships destroyed, you need to keep his friendship."
But it would be the first time, thought Chipa. In the white men's land, were they accustomed to beating children?
"Are you a slave, then?"
"You will never be a slave," said ColĒn. "Tell him that we are very pleased, and we thank him for his gift to us."
Guacanagari showed nothing on his face, but she knew that he was furious. That was all right with her -- she didn't like him.
She translated his words into Taino. Guacanagari's eyes widened. He reached out a hand.
"Rise to your feet, girl," said ColĒn. He gave her his hand to help her up. His fingers were long and smooth. She had never touched such smooth skin, except on a baby. Did ColĒn never do any work? "What is your name?"
"A new name," said ColĒn. "And a new life." And then, quietly, so only she could hear: "This woman you call Sees-in-the-Dark -- can you lead me to her?"
"Many people have given up many things," said ColĒn. "But now would you be willing to interpret for us? I need to have Guacanagari's help in building shelters for my men, now that our ships have been burnt. And I need him to send a messenger with a letter for the captain of my third ship, asking him to come here to find us and carry us home. Will you go back to Spain with us?"
***
Not the new one, though. Chipa. She wore clothing, and spoke Spanish. Everyone else was amazed by this, but not Pedro de Salcedo. Clothing and Spanish were to be expected from civilized people. And she was certainly civilized, even if she wasn't yet a Christian.
He had heard all her words to the Captain-General, of course, but when he was assigned to provide her with safe quarters, he took the opportunity to converse with her. He quickly found that she hadn't the faintest idea who Christ was, and her idea of Christian doctrine was pathetic at best. But then, she did say that this mystical Sees-in-the-Dark had promised that ColĒn would teach her about Christ.
Though, come to think of it, God spoke to Moses, too, and he was a Jew. That was back when Jews were still the chosen people instead of being the filthy vile thieving Christ-killing scum of the earth, but still, it made you think.
What was it? Her shyness? The obvious pride she felt when she said difficult sentences in Spanish? Her eager questions about his clothing, his weapons, the other members of the expedition? Those sweet little gestures she made when she was embarrassed at making a mistake? The sheer translucence of her face, as if a light shone through from beneath the skin? No, that was impossible, she didn't really glow. It was an illusion. I've been lonely too long.
He was also teaching her the alphabet. She seemed to like that most of all, and she was very clever about it. Pedro couldn't think of why she wanted it so much, since there was nothing in a woman's life that made reading necessary. But if it amused her and helped her understand Spanish better, why not?
"Where?" asked Pedro.
"He's going to the mountain," said Chipa. "To meet Sees-in-the-Dark. "
"Because Sees-in-the-Dark said he would come to her."
***
It was midafternoon when Cristoforo himself came into the clearing. But Diko was not outside to meet him. She listened to the noise from inside her house, waiting.
The preliminaries ended, Cristoforo was now asking for Sees-in-the-Dark. Nugkui of course warned him that it was a waste of tirne talking to the black giant, but this only intrigued Cristoforo all the more, as Diko had expected. Soon he was in front of her door, and Chipa ducked inside. "Can he come in?" she asked in Taino.
Chipa smiled at that, and ducked her head. "He brought his page with him. He's very tall and fine and he likes me."
"But he's a man," said Chipa, with a laugh. "Should I let them in?"
"All the big-house people," said Chipa. "Segovia, Arana, Gutiftrez, Escobedo. Even Torres." She giggled again. "Did you know that they brought him along to be an interpreter? He doesn't speak a word of Taino."
"Let the Captain-General come in," said Diko. "And you can bring in your page, too. Pedro de Salcedo?"
Diko could not help feeling nervous -- no, why quibble? She was terrified. To finally meet him, the man who had consumed her life. And the scene they would play would be one that had never existed before in any history. She was so used to knowing what he would say before he said it. What would it be like, now that he had the capacity to surprise her?
Even in the darkness inside her house, Diko could see how his face flushed at her lack of respect. Yet he had the good grace not to insist that she call him by his titles. Instead, he concentrated on the real question. "How is it that you speak the language of my family?"
Cristoforo was angry and frightened. Just what she was hoping for. "You know things that no one knows." He was not speaking of family details, of course.
"We don't need an interpreter, do we," said Cristoforo.
Cristoforo murmured to Chipa and Pedro. Pedro got up at once and went to the door, but Chipa didn't move.
Chipa got up at once and headed for the door. Diko noticed with pleasure that Pedro held the flap open for her. The boy was already thinking of her, not just as a human, but as a lady. It was a breakthrough, even if no one was aware of it yet.
"How do you come to know these things?" asked Cristoforo at once. "These promises -- that kingdoms would fall at my feet, that--"
She pulled a small solar-powered lantern from one of her bags and set it between them. When she switched it on, he shielded his eyes. His fingers also formed a cross. "It isn't witchcraft," she said. "It's a tool made by my people, of another place, where you could never voyage in all your traveling. But like any tool, it will someday wear out, and I won't know how to make another."
"I am an African," she said. "Not a Moor, but from farther south."
"Do you think you're the only voyager? Do you think you're the only one who can be sent to faraway lands to save the souls of the heathen?"
"This is not India," said Diko. "Or Cathay, or Cipangu. Those lie far, far to the west. This is another land entirely."
"If you think back carefully, you will remember that he never said Cathay or Cipangu or India or any other such name," said Diko.
"I saw you kneeling on the beach, and heard you take your oath in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost."
"You dream of a great victory for Christianity," said Diko, ignoring his question because she couldn't think of an answer that would be comprehensible to him. "The liberation of Constantinople."
"But I tell you that here, in this place, there are millions of souls who would accept Christianity if only you offer it to them peacefully, lovingly."
"How else? Already you have written in your logbooks about how these people could be made to work. Already you talk about enslaving them."
"You are not yet fit to teach these people Christianity, Cristoforo, because you are not yet a Christian."
"Oh, will hitting me prove how Christian you are? Yes, I remember all the stories about how Jesus whipped Mary Magdelene. And the beatings he gave to Mary and Martha."
"But it was your first desire, wasn't it?" she said. "Why? You are the most patient of men. You let those priests badger you and torment you for years, and you never lost your temper with them. Yet with me, you felt free to lash out. Why is that, Cristoforo?"
"I'll tell you why. Because to you I'm not a human being, I'm a dog, less than a dog, because you would not beat a dog, would you? Just like the Portuguese, when you see a black woman you see a slave. And these brown people -- you can teach them the gospel of Christ and baptize them, but that doesn't stop you from wanting to make slaves of them and steal their gold from them."
"Oh, that's a clever bit of wisdom. That's just the kind of argument that rich men make about men like your father. Oh, he can dress in fine clothing, but he's still a country bumpkin, not worth treating with respect."
"I tell you that as long as you treat these people even worse than the rich men of Genova treated your father, you will never be pleasing to God."
"I'm leaving," said Cristoforo.
"I know where the gold is!" cried Diko in Spanish. As she expected, it brought her the complete attention of all the white men. "It doesn't come from this island. It comes from farther west. I know where it is. I can take you there. I can show you so much gold that stories of it will be told forever."
"Take you there? Using what boat?"
"Even when PinzĒn returns, he won't be able to take you back to Spain," she said.
"ColĒn," she said. "Do you know when I will show you that gold?"
"When you love Christ more than gold," Diko answered.
"I will know when you love Christ more than gold," said Diko. She pointed to the villagers. "It will be when you look at these and see, not slaves, not servants, not strangers, not enemies, but brothers and sisters, your equals in the eyes of God. But until you learn that humility, Cristobal ColĒn, you will find nothing but one calamity after another."
"I do not curse you," she said. "I bless you. Whatever evil comes upon you comes as a punishment from God, because you looked at his children and saw only slaves. Jesus warned you: Whoever harms one of these little ones, it would be better for him to tie a millstone around his neck and throw himself into the sea."
"Remember this, Cristoforo," Diko said. "When all is lost, when your enemies have brought you down to the depths of despair, come to me in humility and I will help you do the work of God in this place."
"He will not be on your side until you have asked these people to forgive you for thinking that they were savages." She turned her back on him and went back into her house.
Besides, the Spanish were outnumbered. Cristoforo was nothing if not prudent. You don't commit to battle until you know that you'll win -- that was his philosophy.
"You don't want them as friends until they learn how to be human," said Diko. "Guacanagari will beg for them to be friends with someone else before this story is played out. But I tell you this. No matter what happens, let it be known that no harm is to come to the one they call ColĒn, the white-haired one, the cacique. Tell it to every village and clan: If you harm ColĒn, the curse of Sees-in-the-Dark will come upon you."
"Don't worry, Nugkui," she said. "I think ColĒn will be back."
How had she ever imagined that she could tame this man and bend him to her own plan?
***
Pedro looked at him with gratitude, and the girl, too.
"She's a heathen witch, just like that other one!" retorted Arana.
Sullenly Arana bowed his head in acknowledgment of Cristoforo's superior rank.
"Your page is learning their babble," said Arana.
"If anything happened to the girl," said Arana, "we could always come back up here and take that black whore and make her interpret for us."
Arana laughed. "Oh, by the time we were through with her, she'd obey, all right!" His laugh got darker, uglier. "And it'd be good for her, too, to learn her place in the world."
The thought made him shudder. These savages, his equals? If God meant them to be his equals, he would have let them be born as Christians. Yet there was no denying that Chipa was as smart and good-hearted as any Christian girl. She wanted to be taught the word of Christ, and to be baptized.
It was near dark when he returned to the half-completed stockade where the Spanish were encamped. He could hear the sound of laughter and revelry in the camp, and was prepared to be angry about the lack of discipline, until he realized why. There, standing beside a large fire, regaling the gathered seamen with some tale or other, was Martin Alonzo PinzĒn. He had come back.
"Captain-General, you can't imagine my dismay when I lost you in the fog coming away from Colba."
"But I thought, why not explore while we're separated? We stopped at the island of Babeque, where the Colbanos said we'd find gold, but there wasn't a bit of it there. But east of here, along the coast of this island, there were vast quantities of it. For a little strip of ribbon they gave me gold pieces the size of two fingers, and sometimes as large as my hand!"
Cristoforo still did not answer, though now he stood not five feet from the captain of the Pinta. It was Segovia who said, "Of course you will give a full accounting of all this gold and add it to the common treasury."
He might accuse you of treason, thought Cristoforo. Certainly of mutiny. Why did you turn back? Because you couldn't make any better headway against the east wind than I did? Or because you realized that when you returned to Spain without me, there would be questions that you couldn't answer? So not only are you disloyal and untrustworthy, but you are also too cowardly even to complete your betrayal.
"He accuses you of nothing," said Cristoforo. "How can anyone think of accusing you? The one who was lost is now found. If we had a fatted calf, I'd have it slaughtered now in your honor. In the name of Their Majesties, I welcome you back, Captain PinzĒn."
Cristoforo smiled, held out his arms, and embraced the lying bastard.
Hunahpu watched as the three Tarascan metalsmiths handled the iron bar he had taught them how to smelt, using the charcoal he had taught them how to make. He watched them test it against bronze blades and arrowheads. He watched them test it against stone. And when they were done, the three of them prostrated themselves on the ground before him.
"The lords of Xibalba have watched you for years. They saw how you worked with bronze. They saw the three of you working with iron. And they argued among themselves. Some of them wanted to destroy you. But some of them said, No, the Tarascans are not bloodthirsty like the Mexica or the Tlaxcalans. They will not use this black metal to slaughter thousands of men so that barren fields burn under the sun, without anyone to plant maize."
"So now I offer you the same covenant I offered to the Zapotecs. You've heard the story a dozen times by now."
"If you vow that you will never again take a human life as sacrifice to any god, and that you will only go to war to defend yourselves or to protect other peace-loving people, then I will teach you even more secrets. I'll teach you how to make this black metal even harder, until it shines like silver."
"I'm not here to be your king. You have your own king. I ask only that you keep this covenant. And then let your own king be as a brother to Na-Yaxhal, the king of the Zapotecs, and let the Tarascans be brothers and sisters to the Zapotecs. They are masters of the great canoes that sail the open sea, and you are masters of the fire that turns stone into metal. You will teach them all your secrets of metalwork, and they will teach you all their secrets of shipbuilding and navigation. Or I will return to Xibalba and tell the lords that you are ungrateful for the gift of knowledge!"
I've done it, thought Hunahpu, and ahead of schedule. Even if Kemal and Diko failed, I will have suppressed the practice of human sacrifice, unified the people of Mesoamerica, and given them a high enough technology to be able to resist the Europeans whenever they come.
***
It was not served by Indians, however. The men served themselves, and the ship's boys served the officers. There had been serious difficulties over that, beginning when Chipa refused to translate PinzĒn's orders to the Indians. "They're not servants," said Chipa. "They're friends."
"The girl, too," ColĒn had said.
When did PinzĒn become a gentleman? thought Pedro. But he held his tongue. This was a matter for the Captain-General, not for a page.
PinzĒn laughed insolently. "All brown people are servants by nature," he said.
That had been enough to silence PinzĒn -- at least in public. Ever since then, there had been no attempt to get the Indians to give personal service. But Pedro knew that PinzĒn had not forgiven or forgotten the scorn in the Captain-General's voice, or the humiliation of having been forced to back down. Pedro had even urged Chipa to leave.
"If something goes wrong," Pedro had told her, " PinzĒn will kill you. I know he will."
"Sees-in-the-Dark isn't here," said Pedro.
"Oh, yes, that worked so well this time." Pedro couldn't protect her and she wouldn't leave. It meant that he lived with constant anxiety, watching how the men watched Chipa, how they whispered behind the Captain-General's back, how they gave many signs of their solidarity with PinzĒn. There was a bloody mutiny coming, Pedro could see it. It awaited only an occasion. When Pedro tried to talk to the Captain-General about it, he refused to listen, saying only that he knew the men favored PinzĒn, but they would not rebel against the authority of the crown. If Pedro could only believe that.
As for Chipa, she would be destroyed. I will kill her myself, thought Pedro, before I let PinzĒn get his hands on her. I win kill her, and then I will kill myself. Better still, why not kill PinzĒn? As long as I'm thinking of murder, why not strike at the one I hate instead of the ones I love?
Suddenly a terrible blast shattered the quiet evening. Almost at once the earth shook under him and a shock of wind from seaward knocked Pedro down. He fell right across PinzĒn, and almost at once the man was hitting and cursing him. Pedro got off him as quickly as possible, and it soon became clear even to PinzĒn that it wasn't Pedro's clumsiness that had caused their collision. Most of the men had been bowled over by the blast, and now smoke and ash filled the air. It was thickest toward the water.
The Pinta wasn't on fire. It simply wasn't there at all.
"My ship!" cried PinzĒn. "What have you done to my ship?"
"My ship is gone and they were supposed to watch it!" cried PinzĒn, struggling to get free of the men who restrained him.
PinzĒn furiously nodded, and the men let go of him.