Nobody's Slave, page 23
‘I'll find a way.’
‘Not without me. Listen - I am Mani, you know, black man - like you say ignorant savage. I know how to live in forest, hunt animals, find water, even here. I speak Spanish, too - better than you. Don Carlo trusts me, lets me out alone. How you go without me?’
The cold, blue eyes watched him sullenly, as they had in his dream. But this was not a dream; he had the power to change it. And so did Tom.
‘Tomas! Madu! ¿Dónde estáis? Vamos, salid de la cama, perros holgazanes, antes de que venga y me mee encima de vosotros.’
Antonio's voice echoed down the corridor, but before they moved to obey it a look was shared between the two boys that was a promise, though nothing was said; and throughout the busy day each sought the other’s eyes more than once, to find the same determined look still there. The decision was taken; now they just had to work out what to do.
But no easy, obvious method of escape presented itself. On his errands in the city Madu saw the Indians unloading food - maize, fruit, meat, fish, live sheep and fluttering chickens in boxes - from the canoes that came across the lake every day and into the heart of the city. Could he persuade them to carry him and Tom out, hidden under sacks, when they left in the afternoon? Or perhaps they should just walk out, over a bridge, following a litter as though they were servants of its owner?
Neither idea seemed very promising.
Madu shuddered as he passed the massive stone colonnades of the palace that was reserved for the Inquisitor-General, when he arrived from Spain. No-one went in or out; it stood still in the middle of the city, like a tomb waiting for its occupants, a thing men wished to avoid. A grim, pious man in black robes glanced at Madu coldly, like a shark searching for someone weak, someone strange among the colourful inhabitants of the city. The fleet from Spain was due this month; any day the Inquisitors might arrive and come for Tom, yet still they had no plan for escape.
One afternoon Madu went with Don Carlo to see the Viceroy, and spent a long, dull time sitting in an ante-room outside the Viceroy's office. He tapped his hands softly on the marble bench, remembering the rhythms of the drums from his village. Could he really keep himself and Tom alive in the wild, as he had said? At least he could try! He had decided that if nothing happened before the end of the week, he would smuggle Tom out of the house one afternoon, and slip away over a bridge before they closed in the evening. It was a poor plan, Madu knew. They were likely to be caught, and killed if they resisted; but he did not care any more. Now that he had an aim he felt less like a slave, more like a man. His fingers beat faster, involved in the rhythms of an emotion he had long forgotten, that might have almost been happiness …
The door opened and Don Carlo stepped briskly out.
Madu sprang guiltily to his feet, convinced his thoughts had been heard. But Don Carlo's unusual energy came from something quite different.
‘Ha! Madu - come with me. We go straight home. I have news for the family – such news! And then the fox will be in the hen-coop!’
As they hurried down the steps into the dazzling sunlight of the central square, Don Carlo stopped dead, one hand poised in mid-air, as though he had suddenly thought of something.
‘I shall need another slave, I think, besides you and the secretary, for such an important journey as this. Yes, yes, - one must keep up appearances, look important. But is there anyone that can be trusted, and the ladies will not miss? I would like to take the English boy, Tomas, but he is too clumsy. Is there anyone else who could travel on board ship, care for the baggage and clothes?’
‘I …’ Madu was not sure he was meant to answer, so unusual was it for his opinion to be asked; but when he looked over his shoulder there was no-one there. What did Don Carlo mean? It sounded as though he was going on a journey, and needed two slaves to go with him. ‘I ... I don't know of anyone. But ...’
Don Carlo was already turning away. He must say it!
‘... the English boy is not so clumsy, now.’
‘No?’ Don Carlo half-turned back, as though considering the idea. Then he dismissed it. ‘But he still has a lot to learn, and then there is that trouble with the Inquisition. A vile business, that - at least we will be free from it in Panama.’ He strode off across the square, at the same terrific pace.
Panama! As he hurried in Don Carlo's wake, dodging some ladies' maids and an Indian with a string of donkeys, Madu wondered where that might be. Certainly it was not near here, if there was talk of a ship. It must be further than usual, for Don Carlo to show such excitement about it.
The excitement spread throughout the household that evening. The womenfolk fluttered and bustled around Don Carlo like hens, half upset, half overjoyed at the honour of the mission. For Don Carlo was being sent, it seemed, to write a complete report on the transport of silver bullion from Peru to Panama. It seemed there had been rumours of corruption recently. Later that evening at the dinner-table, Don Carlo assured his family that this was a most difficult and onerous assignment, which he had only accepted at the personal request of the Viceroy.
‘But what an honour! If you succeed, then surely you may become a Viceroy or governor yourself.’ Donna Anna's eyes were alight with pride, which Madu, standing discreetly behind Don Carlo's chair, thought was more concerned with a vision of herself as Viceroy's wife than with the wishes of her husband.
Don Carlo picked up his wine-glass in his thin, leathery fingers, and swirled the wine it in thoughtfully, watching the candle-flames through its ruby light.
‘If I succeed, perhaps. But there is always the possibility that I might fail, if the situation is as I have heard. There will be no prestige in that.’
‘Nonsense! You never fail at anything. There is no question of failure.’
Madu caught Tom's eye briefly across the table, and wondered if he, too, was thinking how strange it was that this powerful, respected man could be so bullied by his wife at home.
‘Papa, what is Panama like? Where will you live?’ At least Lucia, her chubby young face rosy in the candlelight, seemed to care something about the effect of the change on her father.
‘It is hot, I believe, with thick forests and mountains. I shall stay on a ship first, then in various governors’ houses.’
‘Why can't we go?’ The sudden fierceness of Isabella's question startled Madu, so that he spilt a drop of wine on the polished table as he refilled Don Carlo's glass. Don Carlo snapped at him irritably before he replied.
‘Because of the discomfort, my dear, and danger. Anyway, you have Rob....’
‘Danger? You didn't tell us of that. What danger?’ Isabella's strange, pock-marked beauty glowed with interest.
‘It is part of what I go to investigate. The men who have made these losses claim there are gangs of escaped slaves in the hills, and that they have allied, at times, with French and English pirates. If so, then it is indeed serious, though such stories are always suspect when local officials are also accused.’
‘But then I must go! I long to be there when my father is victorious in battle as you were before!’
‘Isabella!’ said her mother, astonished. ‘You …’
‘I shall not be fighting any battles, my dear,’ Don Carlo insisted. ‘And anyway, you surely do not wish to be six months or more out of the city now, when Roberto is ...’
‘I don't givea fig for Roberto!’ Isabella glared indignantly at the shocked faces of her parents, and softened her tone a little, pleadingly. ‘I mean, I am fond of him, Papa, you know that, but ... but I have come all the way here, to the New World, and all I have seen so far is this city, and the road from Vera Cruz. I want to see new, different places, like this Panama. I will never see it later.’
‘I too,’ said Lucia suddenly, in the brief silence. ‘I do not mind discomfort, or life on board ship. Besides, Papa will be gone for months - perhaps over a year. Didn't you say so, Papa?’
‘It is difficult to be sure,’ Don Carlo answered. ‘But ...’
‘Then surely, Mama, you will miss him as much as we shall! Isn't it better that we go all together to this Panama, and share the dangers, than ...’
‘Of course it is!’ For once, perhaps the only time in her life, Isabella was in agreement with her sister. ‘It would be impossible for Papa to survive for so long without his family! Don't you see, Mama, it would be the one way to ensure that he would fail - or at least, not succeed as magnificently as he otherwise would - if he were deprived of the comfort and pleasure of his wife and daughters for so long.’
‘I am perfectly capable …’ began Don Carlo in a withering, icy tone, which he used at work to terrify his subordinates; but his wife overruled him.
‘Of course you are, my dear, I should not have accepted you otherwise. But you must admit, the poor girls do have a point; and I should most sorely miss you.’
‘I have already said it will be most uncomfortable and dangerous.' But Don Carlo weakened his argument by looking as though he might actually enjoy leading a life of discomfort and danger away from the collective bosoms of his family; and that of course only made the owners of the bosoms more determined.
‘We shall not follow you into battle, Papa. That will be left to you ...’
‘Unless you need us ...’
‘But really, my dear, the discomfort will be all the greater if you arrive alone. They will shuffle you away into a couple of rooms in the governor's residence, whereas if you arrive with your family, they will be forced to give you a house, which at one stroke will add to your status and your comfort. Everyone will see you are a man of consequence, not to be ignored.’
‘But …’
And so it was decided. Two weeks later, Don Carlo's whole household, with slaves, servants, daughters, and clothes enough for a year, embarked at San Juan de Ulloa. The Spanish captain was outraged when he saw them, but he, too, was unable to resist Don Carlo's new-found status and the forceful enthusiasm of his wife.
32. Nombre de Dios
FOR TOM, the excitement was painful. They went on board ship at San Juan de Ulloa, the same port where the Jesus had been captured, and he had escaped in the Minion. One of the wrecked Spanish ships was still there in the harbour; there were charred timbers from the fireship at the far end of the island. As they stood out to sea his eyes searched the horizon. Surely Hawkins would come soon - why not now, today? It was not impossible.
As they sailed east and then south it became clear that the Spaniards were nervous. They talked a good deal of the English and French pirates along the coast; there were more than ever before, it seemed.
They had good reason to be afraid, Tom thought. The ship they were travelling in ship had very few guns, and none of them well-served; he was sure it could be taken in half an hour. But day after day the eastern horizon was empty, with the occasional faint green line of the shore to their right; and when at last they landed in Nombre de Dios, there was no news of English pirates. Instead, everyone talked of a band of escaped slaves who were living in the forest. Only the week before, a group of them had come into town and audaciously kidnapped a dozen female slaves who were washing clothes by the river.
As Donna Anna had said, the governor was forced to give Don Carlo’s family a large house in the centre of town, whose owner was on a journey to Peru. But Nombre de Dios was a small port, less than a quarter the size of Mexico City, and it was no more than five minutes' walk from their house to the harbour. Here, in a few months, the annual treasure fleet from Spain would arrive, to load the vast quantities of gold and silver ingots which had already travelled a thousand miles from Peru. For the moment, many tons of silver were stored in a treasure house in the centre of town. Every time Tom passed it, he thought, if only John Hawkins were here, or Francis Drake - they would be repaid a thousand times for all the ships and gold they had lost!
But Drake and Hawkins were thousands of miles away. They might never return; they might even be dead, for all Tom knew. As the days passed, Tom grew downcast, and thought more and more about the other possibility, the one Madu had mentioned. Every day they heard new stories about the escaped slaves – the Cimarrons – living in the forests nearby. The Spanish, clearly, were terrified of them.
‘Maybe no one will come for me,’ he said to Madu as they worked alone in the kitchen one night, clearing and scouring the great cooking pans. ‘But for you, it’s different. There are hundreds of free men in the forest only a few miles from here. A village - a whole town, as big as this, some people say! You could run any day you chose.’
Madu knew Tom was right. Each night he lay awake in bed, listening to the sounds of this tropical forest which were so similar to those of his childhood. In the day there were the screeches of monkeys and parrots; at night the coughing of something like a leopard. And once, he was sure, the distant mutter of talking drums. And yet, for all that, he hesitated. The language of the drums was strange.
‘You think because they black men they all same like me?’ He rinsed a pan, and passed it to Tom to dry. ‘Are Spanish all same like the English, because they all got red face and beards? No, they are different. I am Mani, remember. Perhaps these men Sumba. Escaped slaves, but enemies of my people.’
Tom shook his head in bewilderment. ‘Then if you think these men are your enemies, why not wait for Hawkins, like I say? And come with me?’
‘Because Hawkins is my enemy - I know that for sure. And anyway, he is over the sea; when will he come? Never, perhaps. And these men – these Cimarron – are here, now. No, Tom, you are right. If we want to be free we must trust them, and hope. I only say they may be Sumba to show that for me too it is - how you say? – a risk. But these men are free - we know that. So one night soon, we must go.’
But Tom was still not convinced. Later that night, as they lay in the dormitory which they shared with four of Don Carlo's servants, he listened through the open window, not to the sounds of the forest that fascinated Madu, but to the sounds of the soft breeze in from the sea. He smelt the tang of the salt, and listened to the insistent rattle of halliards against a mast, and the murmur of the surf breaking on the rocks at the harbour mouth. These were the things that drew Tom; the sounds of the sea. For the first time since he’d been captured, they were there, tantalizingly close, a few yards outside his window. He wanted to run away to sea, not join a renegade tribe of Africans.
After a while he slept, and he dreamed he was at sea again. The creak of the timbers and the rush of the wind were all around him. He was on a smaller ship than the Jesus - a pinnace perhaps - and there were other ships nearby. It was night, but some of the dim faces in the moonlight were those of his old shipmates from the Jesus. But the captain was not Hawkins but his cousin, Francis, and there were many other men he did not know. They were all tense, as though they were about to attack. Eyes peered into the gloom, picking out the white line of the surf against the deeper black of the shore.
He longed to speak to the sailors in his dream, to rejoice in his freedom and find out what voyage they were on, but every time he spoke the words came out strange and woolly from his throat, and the men did not hear. One walked straight through him, as though he were a ghost. Then Francis came near, the night breeze ruffling his curly hair as he leant forward over the quarterdeck rail to give an order, and Tom mustered all his strength to call out, to yell that he was there …
... and woke, instead, in the stuffy, stone-built dormitory, which did not move at all like the sea. He became aware that he was making strange throttled noises in his throat, and that a hand was gripping his arm urgently.
‘Tom! Tom! What is it?’
He sat up and stared, wide-eyed and sweating, into the black face so close to his own. ‘Get off!’ He lunged wildly at the face, but Madu’s hands gripped his, pushing them away.
‘Stop it! Tom, is only a dream. Be quiet, now.’
Slowly he subsided, and lay down again to a mutter of confused protest from the other beds in the room. His breathing steadied.
‘I'm sorry, Maddy. I thought ... there was a ship, a raid.’
‘Not yet, Tom. One day, maybe. Soon. Not yet.’
Tom lay back, letting sleep fold around his regrets. As he closed his eyes he heard a shout in the square outside, and the sound of a man running. But there were often fights and robberies at night; this was real life, not a dream.
Then the churchbells began to ring.
Clang! Clang! At first it was just one bell, alone, aloud in the darkness; then others joined in, peal upon loud, outrageous peal smashing the silence of the night. What was it - a fire, an attack? Everyone in the dormitory sat up, cursing, wide-eyed, amazed; and then, as the uproar went on, began shouting and scrambling for their clothes.
There were shots outside, shouts, the clatter of many feet, a dozen voices giving orders, the rattle of sword on sword. Then the sudden, shattering volley of arquebus fire.
‘It is a raid! Come on, Madu - quick, look!’ Buckling on his trousers Tom sprang onto a chair to peer out of the window, into the square - a square that was the very world of his dreams! The hair rose on the back of Tom’s neck.
There was fire there - lines of slow-match burning where arquebusiers must be standing in the dark. The firelight flickered on the steel blades of pikes which some men – raiders perhaps? - were thrusting at soldiers trying to oppose them. There was a tumult of voices, and there in the midst of it all some that were English! English voices out there in the square!
‘St George! God and St George!’ With a great cry a group of the raiders rushed upon the Spanish soldiers. There was a brief, confused, struggle; several men fell, and the rest ran. Two minutes, and it was all over; the square was controlled by the raiders. Raiders with English voices, and the loud, tumultuous warning of the bells!
‘Come on, Maddy, quick - out of the window!’ But the high windows of the dormitory were too small for easy movement, and Tom had to struggle to get his shoulders through. As he squeezed through, he saw a man just a few yards away. A short, arrogant, curly-haired figure of a man from his dream. A man he knew well. His cousin, Francis Drake.
