Calling Crow

by Paul Clayton

  “Here!” came a shout. “We have him.”

  Mateo coughed weakly. “Tie him to the mizzenmast.”

  Three of the colonists dragged Roldan to the mast and quickly tied his hands to a ring set high in the mast. A man brought a lantern to Mateo, bathing him and the others in its yellow glow.

  “Diego Vega,” Mateo called out, “come forward!”

  Diego was startled out of his stupor upon hearing his name. He moved through the crowd.

  Francisco Mateo nodded sternly. “Diego. You shall administer the punishment. Give him twenty lashes as hard as your arm will allow.”

  Diego spoke softly, only loud enough for Mateo to hear. “But, Francisco, I have no experience with whippings.”

  The men shifted uneasily as they waited.

  Mateo coughed, then said quietly, “Diego, you were representing me when you tried to stop him. By disobeying your orders he disobeyed mine, and therefore you shall administer the whipping. I command it!”

  Roldan shouted out, “Mateo! I saved this ship!”

  Mateo ignored him. Instead, he nodded to a man who held out a whip to Diego. Diego took it tentatively. Roldan turned and smiled, attempting to unnerve him. Diego uncoiled the whip, drew back, then lashed Roldan on the back.

  “Ha!” said Roldan, “is that all the strength you have in that tired old arm?” Roldan’s men laughed nervously.

  “Diego,” said Mateo quietly. “Give him full measure. Nineteen more.”

  “Si, Francisco,” said Diego.

  Diego lashed Roldan two more times. Roldan’s voice boomed out, “Either Senor Vega is a coward or he is tired. I do not know which it is.” Again the soldiers laughed.

  “Coward?” cried Diego. “You, who kill women and children, call me a coward?” He lashed Roldan repeatedly. The men watching flinched visibly at the sound of the blows. Diego’s breath came heavily, and he paused to rest.

  “Indian lover!” Roldan called out hoarsely, his voice still full of venom, but lacking strength. “Indian lover! I shall make you pay for this.”

  “Shut up!” screamed Diego. He struck Roldan as hard as he could. “Shut up!” Diego moved closer, lashing Roldan repeatedly as he screamed. “You shall burn in hell for what you have done, do you hear?”

  One of the colonists came up behind Diego and grabbed his arms. “That is twenty, Diego. It is finished now.”

  Sobbing, Diego dropped the whip. He turned and walked away.

  Chapter 14

  The island of Hispaniola appeared to rise from the turquoise sea like a colossal moss-covered rock as the Guadalupe and Speeding Hound approached. The Indians locked in the dark, battened-down holds did not see the mountains, verdant green with tropical growth, nor the sheer black-rock cliff face, veiled by a white fall of water moving like a silk in the breeze. As the ships slowly drew closer, Senor Francisco studied the palm-dotted, white sand beaches and the gently rounded hills covered with green cane that undulated in the breeze. The beauty of it all failed to alleviate the melancholy that had descended on him like a fog since the night of the storm. The loss of the Indians was one thing, but Diego’s reaction made it all the worse. No matter what he said, Mateo had not been able to console his old friend. The next day Diego had taken ill.

  Mateo watched the progress of a tiny, insect-like horse and cart as it moved slowly along the red-mud scratch of a road. Soon the quay loomed close. He gave the order to furl the sails. His men were already bringing the Indians up from the below decks. The Guadalupe bumped gently into the stone quay and many of the Indians, weakened from lack of food and water, fell to the decks as a collective moan rolled across the ship. Men leapt onto the ship with ropes, while others in the rigging called out loudly as they secured the sails.

  As Mateo supervised the division and unloading of the Indians, Jiminez de Longana, a minor official who worked for the tax board of the Council of the Indies, came down the quay. Longana tightly clutched the handhold rope stretched across the boarding plank as he made his way aboard. Beneath his wig, his fat face was red and sweating by the time he came up to the poopdeck carrying a leather folder full of paper, stamps, ink, and candles.

  Mateo nodded and led the way to his cabin.

  “Sit, please,” said Mateo tiredly, hoping the man would be swift with his business.

  Bowing, Longana took a scarf from his pocket and dusted off the chair before sitting. “Now,” he said, puffing himself up with a great breath, “how many Indians did your ships bring in?”

  “Let us just say, thirty six,” said Mateo.

  “I see,” said Longana, winking.

  According to the charter of the colony of Hispaniola, the colonists were required to give to the Crown one fifth of any gold, goods, or Indians they acquired as a tax. Due to their great distance from Spain, everyone, from the lowest farmer to the colony’s governor, routinely understated their accounts to decrease their tax. The wide extent of the cheating contributed to a sense of entitlement. There was even a saying in the islands about it: The King is blind and far away, and there’s money to be made today.

  Longana set his papers on the end of Mateo’s desk. “May I?”

  Mateo nodded almost imperceptibly. Longana bent and scribbled his calculations on a piece of paper. He looked up at Mateo and waved his quill with a flourish and a wink. “With a catch of thirty six, the Royal Fifth would come to five men and two women.”

  Mateo shook his head. “For this vessel, one man and two women. You will find them waiting below. When the Hound docks, you will take the same from them.”

  “You drive a hard bargain, sir.” Longana scribbled some more onto his paper. Without looking up he said in singsong, “Paper, stamps, and sealing wax, without them Kingdom would collapse.”

  Mateo frowned. This jester’s foolishness, normally worth a quick laugh, merely vexed him “I am sure,” he said as Longana gathered his things.

  Chapter 15

  The strange sights made Calling Crow forget his pain and despair as he marched along the wide path, tethered to the other captives. The demon people lived in square houses with sharp edges. Most looked to be made of stone. That might account for their badness, for only round shapes gave power.

  All along the path, demon people pointed in curiosity or laughed at Calling Crow and the others who were tied up. The demon women were dressed in skins from their feet to their necks. Even their heads were wrapped up. Calling Crow wondered how they could stand the heat. Here and there among the crowds he saw people who were black as night. Some of them were also tied up with the stone like cords. Two large demon dogs passed, followed close behind by a crowd of demon people. They were seated in a thing which floated above two magic hoops that went around and around. By far, though, the last thing Calling Crow saw was the most fantastic. At the edge of the town, standing in a pool of water, was a woman of stone. She held a pot from which an endless stream of water poured, splashing at her feet. Despite their thirst, most of the people were afraid when they saw this thing and refused to go near it. Fire Hair’s Enemy and the other demon men laughed. Through their interpreters, they told the people to drink all they could of the water, for they would get no more for a long time.

  “Don’t drink the water,” said an old man. “They are trying to trick us. It is the bad magic which has turned this woman to stone!”

  When the interpreter heard this, he told the demon men and they laughed. “Look,” they said, as they dipped their hands in the water and drank, “there is nothing wrong with this water.”

  “Don’t believe them,” the old man shouted.

  Fire Hair’s Enemy grabbed the old man and dragged him to the pool, and pushed his head under the water. Sputtering and coughing, the old man was forced to drink.

  Calling Crow held back with the others. Then, after a few moments, they saw that the old man was unharmed by the water. Overcome by his own thirst, Calling Crow and the man he was tethered to, approached the pool and drank. Slowly, the others overcame thei
r fear and drank the water.

  “It is called a ‘fountain,” said the interpreter. “It is the Fountain of the Maid.”

  The demon men began cracking their whips again and pulling the people to their feet. After forming them up into a column, they marched them through a hole at the base of a large wall and left the town behind.

  They walked for the rest of the day past field after field of crops for which Calling Crow did not have names. One of the older men in the group fell over dead, and Calling Crow and the others asked to be given time to prepare him for his journey to the netherworld. The demon men told them to sit and rest while they talked it over. While the women wailed for the dead man, the demon men talked quietly among themselves, watching the people warily. After a short while they were again cracking their whips and shouting for the people to get up. The relatives of the dead man clung to his body, but the demon men pulled them to their feet. They walked on, leaving the dead man behind for the dogs.

  It was night before the captives reached the place where they would stay. After untying Calling Crow, they pushed him into a small house built with logs and mud, its mud floor strewn with dried grass. An old man sat in front of a small fire, chanting out a prayer. Three other men slept on the grass. They were all dressed in strange skins like the demon men, yet Calling Crow could see they were not demon men, but rather of the people.

  Calling Crow lay down on the grass in exhaustion. As the old man’s prayer filled the warm air, Calling Crow closed his eyes and remembered happier days. It was the first time he had hunted with Sun Watcher and Birdfoot. Sun Watcher had already killed a buck deer, and Calling Crow and Birdfoot had yet to catch any meat. They stopped at a beautiful pond under the shade of a big oak tree. Sun Watcher and Calling Crow went off to find firewood. After a while they heard the happy trill of Birdfoot’s flute. He played the song of the rainbow vision, one of the favorite tunes of their village. When Calling Crow and Sun Watcher returned, they saw Birdfoot sitting on a large rock in the middle of the pond, his image mirrored in its smooth waters. Oblivious to them, his flute shrieked and sang like a bird.

  Calling Crow heard much shouting. Someone kicked him. In the dim light of dawn, he sat up to see a man stooping to go out the entryway. He looked around the hut. It had no openings save for the entryway, and the ground was strewn with bulrushes. Two men sat against the wall, watching him curiously. One had a full moon face and large eyes. He was very thin, almost like someone who had been dead for a week. The other was fatter, with very wide shoulders and a small head on a short, thick neck. Another very thin man lay against the far wall with his back to Calling Crow. The old man Calling Crow had seen the night before sat in the center, eating. In the growing light, Calling Crow saw that the demon men skins they wore were filthy and the men were very dirty. Then Calling Crow noticed his own filth and he felt ashamed.

  He looked at the man with the full moon face. “Is there a stream nearby where I can bathe?”

  The man scowled. “You speak very strangely. What people are you?”

  “Muskogee,” said Calling Crow. “You also speak strangely.”

  The man seemed friendlier. “Yes. I am of the Guale People. The Spanish do not let us bathe but once every moon. They say daily bathing will make one sick.”

  “That is crazy,” said Calling Crow.

  The man nodded slowly. His wide shouldered friend frowned. “No, they are not crazy. But they smell bad.” He threw some of the strange, tan colored skins they wore at Calling Crow.

  Calling Crow ran his hands over them. He had never felt such things. “What are they?” he asked.

  “It is just cloth. Woolens. The Spanish make all the people wear them. Put them on like we have or they will beat you.”

  Calling Crow looked at the others to see how the clothes went on. He pulled them on, and the two men showed him how to secure the bottoms, which they called breeches, with a drawstring. The old man said nothing as he watched and chewed slowly.

  The moon faced man said to Calling Crow, “I am Born-In Storm.” He pointed to the man next to him. “This is No Neck. What do they call you?”

  “I am Calling Crow. I am a chief.”

  Born In Storm and No Neck laughed loudly. “A chief?” said Born In Storm. “Where are your people, chief?”

  “They are far away across the big water. The demon men came in their cloudboats and took my cousin and me away.”

  Born In Storm and No Neck laughed again. Calling Crow did not know why, but it was just another strange thing among many. Then Born In Storm took out a bright red stone and held it up to a shaft of sunlight streaming into the hut. The stone sparkled and lit up brilliant red, like fire. Calling Crow could not take his eyes off it as the man turned it about in the light.

  Born In Storm held out the red stone to Calling Crow. “Here is some Spanish magic for a chief. Someday soon you will need it.”

  Calling Crow took it and it cut into his finger. He dropped it as blood beaded on his fingertip. The other men laughed. Calling Crow carefully picked up the red stone again and examined it closely. Born In Storm and No Neck lost interest and grew quiet. Calling Crow looked around. The sleeping man against the wall did not move. The old man had finished eating. He sat watching, but did not say anything.

  Calling Crow went to the middle of the hut and held the magic stone that cut like a knife up to the light.

  “Put that down and eat,” said the old man. “Soon El Animal will come and we will have to go.”

  “El Animal?” said Calling Crow.

  “Yes. That is the Spanish word for the four-legged beasts. They call one of the guards by the same word. He is of the people, but he has gone over to the Spanish. He is very big and likes to use his whip. The four-legged beasts must hate him as much as we do, for his name is an insult to them.”

  Calling Crow smiled at the old man’s words.

  The old man held out some food. Calling Crow bit into it, finding it strange, but not unpleasant. “What is this food?” he asked as he chewed.

  “Cassava bread. The Arawak People are very fond of it.”

  Calling Crow’s brow furrowed. “Ara-wak?”

  “They are the people who originally lived in this place,” said the old man. “They are the Arawak, but the Spanish call them the Taino, or Gentle People. That may explain why there are hardly any left. The Arawak are small like the Caribs, and they look like them too. But the Caribs are fierce and sly. Many who have not bothered to learn the differences between these two peoples have paid with their lives.”

  “Isn’t there meat?” asked Calling Crow.

  The old man frowned as the two other men laughed loudly. “This island is full of their runaway animals and their offspring,” said the old man, “but they tell us there is no meat. Not even for the sick or the nursing mothers. They want to keep us weak.”

  Calling Crow looked over at the sleeping man. “Why doesn’t he get up?”

  “He is sick with what we call the Spanish disease. One can get it merely from being around the Spanish. I went to the spirit world to bring his spirit back, but it did not want to come back because this life among the Spanish is worse than death.”

  Born In Storm and No Neck went out the entryway. Calling Crow got to his feet and went over to look at the sick man. He had the same marks on his face as Big Nose had had on the ship before he died. “Both I and my friend had that same sickness. He died on the cloudboat, but I got well again.”

  “You had the Spanish disease and lived?” The old man’s eyes grew wide with wonder.

  Calling Crow nodded.

  “You must have a very strong spirit guide. No one who gets the Spanish disease survives it.”

  Calling Crow looked at the walls of the hut and saw himself as he was before ― strong and happy. “I lived because I had my medicine with me. But I have since lost it,”

  “I will make you some medicine after a while,” said the old man.

  Someone began shouting outside. “Com
e,” said the old man, “it is time to work.”

  “What kind of work?” said Calling Crow.

  The old man shook his head. “You will find out soon enough.”

  Again Calling Crow held up the magic stone to the light. It glowed red like fire. “What is this?” he said to the old man.

  “It is not magic. The Spanish call it glass and use vessels made out of it to contain their drinking water and their wine.”

  “Why did he give it to me?”

  “In case you want to leave this place.”

  “I do not understand.”

  “If you wrap it in some bread and swallow it, you will die. It is one of two ways out of this place.”

  “What is the other?”

  “Cassava root. If you do not soak it properly to take the poisons out of it, it will kill you. Many choose to go that way.”

  “There must be a way to escape.”

  “That is what everyone says when they first get here.”

  Calling Crow wondered, could the old man be right? Sadness pushed through him like wind through the trees. To never be able to find his way back to his people--. it was worse than death.

  Calling Crow wrapped the glass up in a corn husk he found lying on the dirt floor.

  The old man handed him a small medicine pouch made of smooth skin. “Here, you can put it in here. Later I will make you some medicine so you will have some protection.”

  “Thank you.” Calling Crow tucked the pouch into his breeches. “What is your name?”

  “I am Little Bear of the Guale People. I am a medicine man.”

  ***

  Outside, Calling Crow and Little Bear joined a small crowd of people. All the men were dressed in Spanish cloth. The women wore skirts of it and even covered their breasts with it. Little Bear picked up a basket from a stack that lay on the ground.