1636: Seas of Fortune (5 page)

“Why did you overturn the canoe? We’re going to have a devil of a time finding all our belongings. And some will be ruined, for sure.”

“We had to use the canoe so we could just breathe quietly in place. If you swam underwater, in a panic, your flailing about might have attracted piranhas.” He paused. “Some things will float down to where we are now, and in an hour or so, it’ll be safe to go back and look for the stuff that dropped to the bottom. Provided we don’t rock the log, of course.”

“How come we didn’t hear the buggers? Or see them flying into and out of their nest?”

“Those were
Acaba da noite
, night wasps. We disturbed their beauty sleep.”

“Jeesh. They should have a sign, ‘Night workers. Day Sleepers. Do Not Disturb.’”

* * *

“Trouble,” Coqui announced. “Some of the bad people are coming up this river.”

“How many?”

“Many.”

Henrique cursed the inadequacies of the Manao counting system. “How big is their canoe?”

Coqui thought about this. “It makes two of this canoe.”

“Okay, so call it eight of them.”

Maurício piped up. “How soon will they be here?”

“One day, perhaps,” said Coqui.

“Too close for comfort,” Henrique said. “They have a heavier canoe, so the logs will slow them down more than they do us. But they have more oarsmen, so in clear stretches, they’ll be faster.”

“If they come as far as the wasp nest log, Henrique, they’ll see where we cut around. Then they’ll be sure we’re up here.”

“We need to set up an ambush.”

“I know,” said Maurício. “We can half cut through a tree, then, when they reach the vicinity of the wasp nest, fell it. It drops on the log, and rouses the wasps. And they sting the bastards to death.”

Henrique sighed. “Have you ever felled a tree before? Can you imagine how hard it is to control where it falls in a forest like this one, dense, with lianas everywhere? And if the wasps didn’t kill them all, then the wasp swarm would be between us and the survivors.

“We’ll try to kill them with arrows, not wasps.”

* * *

Henrique, Coqui and Maurício had bows, but Maurício wasn’t a particularly good archer. He was a good shot, but the musket which they had carefully preserved over the months and leagues of their flight was now entertaining the local fish life. Kasiri only had a knife, and so she had been cautioned to stay back.

The slavers’ canoe came into view. Coqui gave a bird call, to warn the others to engage, and then fired. His arrow took down the rear man, who was steering. Henrique’s shot killed the poleman in front. That threw the crew into disarray. Coqui picked off another.

The slavers were returning fire now, and Henrique’s party had to take cover. In the meantime, the slavers beached their canoe on river left. That was Henrique and Maurício’s side. There, on the strand, another of Bento’s men fell, with one arrow in his chest, and another in his left arm. The others ran into the bush.

Coqui, on the right bank of the river, grunted, and set down his bow and arrows. “Wait here,” he warned Kasiri. “Stay out of trouble.” Coqui, armed with a blowgun and the steel hatchet Maurício had given him, went downriver, and around a bend, then swam across, out of sight of the pursuers.

Henrique and Maurício had dropped their missile weapons; there were too many leaves and branches in the way. The slavers likewise realized that the time for musketry was passed; they drew their machetes.

The slavers were at a disadvantage; they hadn’t walked this ground before. Henrique and Maurício took advantage of their ignorance, making quick attacks and then disappearing. In the slavers’ rear, Coqui aimed his blow gun at the rear man, the dart hitting him in the neck. He slapped, thinking it an insect sting. A moment later, he collapsed.

Coqui picked out his second victim, and fired. But the second one cried as he fell, giving warning to the others. One turned, and Coqui had to leap quickly out of the way of a machete swing. There was no longer any question of reloading the blowgun. And the hatchet was a good weapon, but not the equal of a machete. Coqui backed up rapidly, a move that would have been dangerous for anyone lacking his wilderness senses. The machete wielder followed and, in his haste, stepped in an armadillo hole, turning his ankle. Coqui finished him off.

One of the surviving slavers decided he had enough, and fled downriver on foot, running past the boat. Coqui hesitated, then decided he couldn’t take the chance that the man would summon reinforcements. He gave chase.

Henrique and his last opponent gradually shifted deeper into the forest, out of sight of the others.

Maurício and his foe wandered onto the beach. Both were tired, and bleeding from small cuts, but neither had been able to strike a decisive blow. They circled each other warily.

One of the slavers struck down on the beach earlier was not dead, as Maurício had assumed. As soon as Maurício’s back was to him, the injured man slowly crawled to where his musket had skittered earlier in the action. It was still loaded. He only had one good hand, so he braced the musket on a rock.

Maurício’s more obvious foe could see what was happening, and did his best to keep Maurício’s attention directed forward.

The musketeer took aim at Maurício’s back . . . then slumped, an arrow in his neck.

Kasiri was holding her brother’s bow in her left hand; a fresh arrow was already in her right.

Maurício’s other foe was taken aback, and just stood, open-mouthed. Kasiri’s second shot killed him.

A few seconds later, Henrique struggled out of the bush and gave Maurício a nod. Henrique grabbed a leaf and wiped his blade clean.

“Where’s Coqui?”

Kasiri crossed the river and told them she had caught a glimpse of him heading downriver, pursuing the last of the slavers.

“We better not take chances. Grab a musket, Maurício, and I’ll get my bow.” They all concealed themselves, not knowing if more slavers might be on their way.

Soon, Coqui returned, smiling. Until he saw Kasiri, still holding the bow.

They were soon screaming bloody murder at each other.

Maurício gave Henrique an anguished look. “What are they saying? They’re talking too fast for me to make out more than one word in three.”

“He’s angry at her, because she used his bow.”

“I’m not complaining! She saved my life.”

“He says, ‘Picking up a man’s bow makes a woman sterile, everyone knows that.’ And that means that she can never marry, because by Manao law, a man and woman cannot marry until she is pregnant.”

“What about Raleigh’s Amazons? They use the bow, according to legend.” Coqui turned to look at Maurício, his face suddenly a frightening mask. He shouted an insult, and brandished his hatchet. Kasiri shoved him and did some shouting of her own.

“Ouch, you shouldn’t have mentioned that. He remembers now that you spoke of them publicly once. He thinks that Kasiri must have overheard, that you put the idea of female archery into her head. Thereby ruining her marital prospects.

“He also says that the Spanish story of the Amazons is complete nonsense, that the Spaniards must have seen one of the tribes whose men wear their hair long.”

Henrique paused to listen to Kasiri’s response. “And
she
said that she made her own little bow years ago and has been sneaking off and practicing with it for years. And then
he
said that explains why she hasn’t ever gotten pregnant, despite, uh, never mind.”

Maurício said, “I’ll settle this.”

He confronted the quarreling siblings.

“So, Coqui, you think she’s unable to bear children.” The Indian nodded.

“Well, perhaps that means that only with an Indian father. But I’m not Indian.”

She ran over and hugged him. Then dragged him off into the bushes.

* * *

“Brother, when my tummy comes out, so you know I am right and you are wrong, I expect you to make me a real bow, not the toy I had to sneak around with.” The “real bow” was six feet tall, and used eight-foot arrows.

“You mean if your tummy comes out.”

“I said, ‘when.’”

“Fine. When. In the meantime, I’m going hunting.”

* * *

“Stop tickling my toe, Kasiri. Kasiri?” Maurício awoke to find a vampire bat feeding happily on the appendage in question. “Get the fuck off my foot,” he screamed, and started kicking, to persuade it to move along.

Kicking while in a hammock isn’t recommended. Maurício tumbled to the ground, and a well-nourished vampire bat flitted off.

Fall 1634

It was an awkward time to attempt to cross from the Takutu to the Rupununi. A few months earlier, the area was completely flooded, forming Lake Amuku, and Henrique and his companions would have had an easy time canoeing across. A few months later, at the height of the dry season, and they could have abandoned their canoe and just walked across the savannah. Unfortunately, this was the transition period. Paddle and carry; paddle and carry.

Visibility was surprisingly poor, given that they were in flat country outside the rainforest. The Rupununi savannah was pockmarked with “sandpaper trees,” each six to ten feet high, and appearing every twenty yards or so.

When they spotted it, they were already too close. What they had seen was a mound, a few feet from the edge of a creek. As Amazon dwellers, they immediately recognized it as a caiman’s nest. The question that came first to mind was, where’s Mama? Unlike, say, turtles, crocodilians were quite protective of their young.

Very, very softly, they set their canoe down on the ground. Kasiri climbed one of the trees, so she could see over the bank. After a few minutes, she spotted it. “
Jacaré açu
. Big one. Close.”

The black caiman. The largest crocodilian of South America. Unlike birds, caiman didn’t just sit on their nests. But if they left them, they didn’t go far off. Any suspicious movement, or sound, would be investigated. And Mighty Mama’s motto was, “bite first, ask questions later.”

They signed to Kasiri. “Leave?”

“No. Too close. Wait.” She would tell them when the caiman had moved far enough away that they could slip off unnoticed.

The three males kept watch on the mound. If the mother lay down on her nest, and went to sleep, that would work, too. They could pass, at a respectful distance. Even if their passage woke her up, she probably wouldn’t charge. Probably not.

What’s going on now?
thought Henrique. He had seen a disturbance on the side of the mound.
It’s too early for them to hatch, I thought.

A
tegu
, three feet long, emerged in a puff of dirt, a black caiman egg in its mouth. It did a little victory dance.

The last spasm of dirt movement had not gone unheard. Mighty Mama threw herself out of the creek, and saw the dastardly lizard. She—all fifteen feet of her—charged.

The
tegu
fled. Straight toward Henrique and his companions. With Mighty Mama in hot pursuit.

Maurício gallantly, and rapidly, decided to join Kasiri. He started climbing; Kasiri extended a helping hand. Coqui ran, at right angles to the track of the approaching behemoth, and then found himself a tree of his own.

Henrique hesitated for a minute. Could he grab the
tegu
and throw him back toward Mighty Mama? That would make a nice distraction.

It was also an insane idea. Henrique sprinted, picking the direction opposite Coqui’s.

The
tegu
ran past Maurício and Kasiri’s tree. Mighty Mama, still intent on the thief, ignored the humans’ scent and kept running. The
tegu
was normally much faster, but it refused to let go of its prize, and that slowed it down.

Maurício and Kasiri looked at the departing beasts, then at each other. In silent accord, they dropped to the ground and ran forward, in the party’s original direction. Mighty Mama, they hoped, was sufficiently distracted at this point.

The following day, the rest of their party showed up. First Coqui, then Henrique. Of course, there was one problem. No canoe. They had to circle back and, very stealthily, carry it off. It helped that they knew where the nest was, and, equally important, where Mighty Mama liked to lurk. This time, Mighty Mama was indeed asleep on her nest, and they took pains not to disturb her.

It wasn’t long before they wondered whether it had been worth the effort. The Rupununi fed into the Essequibo, as predicted. What they didn’t predict was what the descent of the Essequibo would be like. As the river dropped out of Guiana highlands, there had been a succession of falls and rapids. Most of which had to be portaged. In Kasiri and Coqui’s home country, they would have just left their canoe upriver and taken someone else’s canoe at the end of the rough water section. They couldn’t be sure that this convenient custom applied in the Guianas, unfortunately, so they had to carry their canoe whenever they couldn’t just unload it and line it down.

Eventually, they reached the calmer waters of the lower Essequibo and were able to paddle with fewer interruptions.

Soon, Fort Kykoveral came into sight, looming above Cartabo Point. It was really a glorified watchtower, with barracks, a magazine, a storehouse, and a few private rooms. It overlooked the confluence of the Essequibo with the Mazuruni and the Cuyuni.

Henrique’s party beached their canoe, and approached the fort. A bored-looking guard called down for him to identify himself. “I am Henrique Pereira da Costa. We come from Belém do Pará, in the Amazon.”

The guard’s boredom vanished. “Wait here!” He came back a moment later with several other Dutchmen.

“I am Commander Van der Goes of the Zeeland Chamber of the Dutch West India Company. You say you came from upriver, but ultimately from Belém do Pará?”

“Yes, we found the connection from the Amazon to the Essequibo.”

He was congratulated on this great achievement. The Dutchmen ignored Maurício, assuming he was a slave. And of course the Indians were equally uninteresting to them.

Maurício fidgeted. Henrique realized, suddenly, that Maurício might be uncertain of how their return to civilization would affect his status. Kasiri also seemed ill at ease, sensing Maurício’s discomfort. Coqui, on the other hand, appeared oblivious to their emotional turmoil.