Encounters Unforeseen- 1492 Retold

by Andrew Rowen

  His demeanor was caciqual. Caonabó had exhibited a self-assurance that he was destined to be cacique from the day Uncle first met him as a teenager, and he now comported himself with a confident expectation that all should and would follow his every command. Uncle saw his sister’s hand in this. Caonabó’s naborias and soldiers adored him and would make any sacrifice he asked—as their honor. Almost thirty, he had taken only a dozen wives, each but one having been chosen wisely to augment his stature. For his first wife, he had returned briefly to Aniyana to marry Onaney, with whom he shared many thoughts. She was clever and also had adapted well to Maguana.

  Uncle took a sip of pineapple juice and sighed that his nephew did have shortcomings.

  Caonabó’s conduct and display at ceremonies always exceeded that of his peers. His entrance, attire, and accompaniments—be they warriors, gifts, or food—were always the most conspicuous, often ostentatious. Uncle didn’t understand what drove this—was it an insecurity born of his humble upbringing on Aniyana, a belief that ceremony itself augmented authority, or simply poor judgment? He made too much of ceremony and cared too little for the goodwill of his peers, and Uncle had told him so many times, warning that family members thought him arrogantly bent on upstaging them.

  More worrisome, Caonabó often was a stranger and mystery to his family, friends, and subjects. He had learned and observed Maguanan custom and tradition appropriately, yet many people, including Uncle, doubted he truly appreciated them, as opposed to merely craving power. He participated ably in spiritual life, including the cohaba ceremony, and he understood the spirits. But Uncle doubted that Caonabó sincerely believed that Yúcahu and other spirits affected destiny, as opposed to men. He was primal more than spiritual, concerned with domination and survival more than purity and goodness. There was a risk in anointing such a person, as disregard of the spirits inevitably would bring misfortune on Maguana.

  Uncle had agonized over these fundamental concerns for months, debating whether leadership or spirituality was more important for a cacique, and he now asked Yúcahu to guide his thoughts to the conclusion. He recognized Caonabó might not support the anointment of another person and, in that event, Uncle would have to order him to return to rule Aniyana, forsaking his military prowess.

  Uncle took another sip of pineapple juice, spoke softly to Yúcahu, and then resolved in favor of leadership and that Caonabó be anointed. He called for a naboria to summon his nephew before him.

  Caonabó entered the bohío deferentially. “Uncle, what can I do for you?”

  “You can worship the spirits with conviction. You can appreciate Maguanan custom. You can embrace modesty.”

  Caonabó was uneasy, unsure whether he had erred and of Uncle’s purpose. “Uncle, I do and I will.”

  “And you shall rule Maguana as my successor.”

  Caonabó flushed with triumph and fought to conceal it, but Uncle understood and smiled broadly, whereupon so did Caonabó. The nephew knelt to embrace his uncle, who remained seated, thanking him for his confidence and guidance for years. Caonabó recalled standing before Mother the morning he left Aniyana, and his eyes misted.

  “This isn’t a matter of thanking me, Caonabó. Remember to honor Yúcahu.”

  Within months, Uncle’s eyesight and hearing failed, and he no longer cared to rise from his hammock or even eat. One morning, he summoned Caonabó beside his hammock to murmur that the time for transition had come and contentedly bid his graven nephew to embrace him a last time. Uncle’s first wife convened the entire family in the caney, and Uncle affectionately whispered his blessing for the future, whereupon both were taken by litter to the secluded bohío to receive water—which Uncle declined—and cohaba. They sat reflecting on their long journey together through decades of marriage, understanding Uncle no longer provided to others what he took from them.

  Uncle’s wife placed the cemí of Yúcahu in his hand, and he remembered that, with Yúcahu’s protection, he had received Maguana from his uncle decades ago and would now pass it to his nephew. His wife watched him weaken in the afternoon heat and, as the sun set, offered him water for perhaps the last time, which he refused. As the moon rose, she helped him inhale the cohaba. His body succumbed to the narcotic, and his last vision was of his spirit passing through a rainbow.

  Caonabó rose anxiously in his bohío before dawn, prepared to wait perhaps days as Uncle lingered, but a messenger soon arrived to report that Uncle had died. The village behique came, together with Uncle’s nitaínos and other village elders, bearing Uncle’s feather crown and guanín medallion pendant to consummate the transition of authority in a simple ceremony prelude to Uncle’s funeral. Solemnly, the behique set the crown on Caonabó’s head and hung the pendant about his neck, and Caonabó assumed responsibility for interpreting and influencing the spirits for the benefit of his people. For an instant, he remembered Father teaching him years before how to seek and achieve this moment and, to his surprise, he was engulfed not with pride but awe, gratitude, and a recognition that, regardless of triumph, he had made mistakes as Father said he would. Messengers were quickly dispatched throughout Haiti to announce Uncle’s death.

  Caonabó understood that neither his crown nor pendant assured he would be a powerful ruler and that the funeral ceremony was his first step to that end. He dressed in his finest jewelry and ornaments—his head bearing a new crown decorated with golden eyes and brightly colored feathers—and greeted each guest in the plaza at Uncle’s caney, which was now his own, his warriors standing nearby.

  Guarionex was the first to arrive, hoisted on a litter by naborias and trailed by a band of nitaínos, all unarmed, his acclaimed spirituality so heralded. The two men were about the same age, acquaintances from prior caciqual gatherings and neither friend nor enemy, neighbors with a common boundary which each watched carefully but without animosity. Guarionex extended his sympathy and congratulations and presented an amulet that had been Cacibaquel’s. Caonabó was moved by the intimacy, particularly since the giver’s stature far exceeded his own. As he would with each cacique, Caonabó reciprocated with a finely carved wooden mask, adorned with golden eyes, ears, and lips, representing Caonabó’s most personal offer of his own soul in friendship to an equal.

  The Higüeyan cacique arrived next with his nephew Cayacoa and warriors, and presented a collection of feathers of many colors— azure, jade, hazel, onyx, turquoise, and others—plucked from parrots of the eastern peninsula. Caonabó promised he would include a few in his crown. They were followed by the cacique of Marien, to the northwest, and Guacanagarí. Caonabó had met both before and understood that Guacanagarí, while younger than himself, already had half a dozen wives and was perceived the successor to his cacicazgo. The Ciguayan cacique and a nitaino named Mayobanex then entered, their bodies painted black with charcoal, their warriors armed with bow and arrow. Caonabó couldn’t speak their language, Macorix, and an interpreter joined when he greeted them, complimenting their people’s military prowess, wary that the Ciguayans sometimes fought with their neighbors.

  The cacique of Xaraguá, the most esteemed Haitian cacicazgo, made the last entrance, preceded by both nitaínos and warriors and accompanied by a few nephews and nieces, including Behecchio and his younger sister, Anacaona, as well as other girls Anacaona’s age— ten or eleven years old. He greeted Caonabó solemnly, presented a cotton belt delicately inlaid with gold, and introduced Behecchio, who had just married for the first time. Caonabó afforded Behecchio great dignity, knowing through informants that he was the likely successor and well aware that neighboring Xaraguá was larger than his Maguana and could muster far more warriors. He showed Anacaona equal attention, as her beauty and charm were already spoken of throughout Haiti—and captured his eye instantly. Caonabó expressed his pleasure the girls had come, and the Xaraguán cacique promised Anacaona would sing for him.

  The village behique presided over Uncle’s burial at the village perimeter, together with—at her election—his first wif
e, heavily sedated by the cohaba. Caonabó spoke before their chamber was covered, praising Uncle and his peaceful relationships with those present. As he concluded, to Caonabó’s surprise, the Xaraguán cacique rose to offer an areíto lauding Caonabó’s anointment and the peace that had existed between Xaraguá and Maguana and throughout Haiti for generations. Caonabó graciously indicated he was honored.

  The Xaraguán girls advanced together to form a line before the assembled, their soft, naked skin radiating the warmth of the sunlight, and a lone drummer began a solemn and austere beat to which they began to dance. Anacaona stepped forward to sing alone. Womanhood was approaching, and all present realized the rumors of her allure and presence were not only true but understated. In unison with her chorus, she lifted her arms gently to one side above the shoulder, as if gently blown by a breeze, and then let them gracefully fall in an arc, swaying her hips to cross behind them and then replicating the motion on the other side, whereupon she began her story. She sang that Deminán had been born with disease, swept by flood, spat on, and sickened to near death, but had never given up. He had desired merely to live in peace and harmony with all, and eventually learned how. All present prayed that Yúcahu would lead Caonabó to achieve that goal for his people.

  She finished, and there was silence. It was impossible for a man not to want her.

  At Caonabó’s invitation, the caciques returned to the central plaza for a traditional feast and games of batey. His naborias offered chicha (corn beer), uici (yuca beer), intoxicating herb drinks, and tobacco to all. Caonabó recognized that each ruler present could be an ally or enemy, and he moved among the crowd to befriend each and his potential successor. The Xaraguán cacique moved similarly, silently judging each man’s mettle and ambition, as he knew they all would seek his niece’s hand in marriage. Guarionex approached the Ciguayans, his neighbors, and offered his own welcome in broken Macorix to Mayobanex, whom he had known for years. Guacanagarí approached Behecchio, eager to establish a relationship with the potential successor to Marien’s most formidable neighbor.

  Caonabó soon announced the commencement of the batey, and everyone removed to the perimeter of the plaza, revealing the boundaries of the ball court, which stretched perhaps a hundred yards in length and thirty yards in width, bounded on all sides by a slight ridge of earth and cornered with stones. Xaraguáns would play the Higüeyans, Maguans the Ciquayans, and so on, throughout the afternoon. All understood batey was to be played with full aggression without impacting the gathering’s goodwill. The caciques and their successors bet on their teams, wagering jewelry or exotic items, and occasionally played themselves.

  Anacaona watched the men compete. Throughout Haiti, batey was played as much by women and girls as men and boys, and she was disappointed women of the visiting cacicazgos were not present to field teams. She was a good player. She studied the caciques who had just complimented her and wondered if her uncle soon would bid her sleep with one or more of them when they visited Xaraguá. Uncle certainly would arrange for her to marry one of them.

  As the afternoon waned, Caonabó invited Guacanagarí to play and the Maguanans took the field against the Mariens. Each selected the best players of his cacicazgo present, almost twenty men a team, and Caonabó’s behique ceremoniously presented Guacanagarí with the large, firm black ball, compacted from the gum of rubber trees mashed with reed, to begin the game. Before beginning, Caonabó and Guacanagarí commended their opponents.

  As they spoke, Guarionex studied both men, musing silently over the choice presented. There was a pride in Caonabó that challenged harmony and an innocence in Guacanagarí that embraced it. As the teams lined at opposing ends of the court, Guarionex resolved it would be Yúcahu’s victory, and a sign of providence, if Guacanagarí’s team won. If his team lost, it would be Guabancex’s victory, and a sign of misfortune, and it would be necessary to pray for Guabancex’s forbearance more regularly the following year and to proceed cautiously, as the spirits might not be in alliance.

  Guacanagarí put the ball in play by kneeing it, and it bounded high in the air toward the Maguanan team. The Maguanans’ objective was to hit the ball back while in the air, using any part of the body except the hands. It was acceptable for the ball to bounce before returning it, perhaps a few times, and for members of the same team to pass the ball among themselves before returning it, but the serving team would win a point if the ball rolled to the ground without bounce, and either team would win a point if the other team drove it out of bounds.

  A player on Caonabó’s team brusquely jutted the ball with his shoulder to return it, and players from both teams rushed to gain advantage on its fall, one of them bounding high to strike it with his head. They exerted every limb, muscle, and joint of their bodies except the hands, and the great bounce and speed of the ball caused them to leap, dive, and contort to attack it at many angles. The players were panting within minutes and exhausted before the game’s end, which would occur upon a team’s winning a set number of points.

  When play became rough and a player hurt, Guacanagarí graciously inquired whether he was injured but Caonabó did not, and Anacaona wondered whether Guacanagarí would be the kinder husband. He was slightly shorter than Caonabó, but with more graceful movements, more tutored in conduct and, while not a cacique, confident he would be.

  But she would not get to play that day, and Anacaona’s thoughts wandered from the game. She puzzled over which of the caciques had best understood her areíto and would be most interested in her thoughts, which were as worthy as the thoughts of any boy she knew. She pondered whether men so much older would even listen to her. She surprised herself with the realization she would care more that a husband shared his power than listened.

  The Maguanans won the batey, and Guacanagarí congratulated Caonabó. Each was aware that Anacaona had been watching, and each glanced to see whether she remained watching. But by then she had been introduced and was talking to Guarionex.

  ISABEL

  Seville, Castile, 1477–1478

  In July, as Fernando remained occupied to the north, Isabel approached Seville determined to fulfill her duty as queen to cleanse it and Andalusia. The region’s lawlessness was renowned and seemingly perpetual. Its nobility fought among themselves and with the Crown, its religious groups simmered with hostility, the seafaring merchants from Palos and neighboring coastal towns paid scant attention to royal requirements, and criminals flourished. Seville itself was her kingdom’s largest city and a substantial port, teeming with over forty thousand old Christians, conversos, Jews, and Mujadin crowded in densely packed neighborhoods, with communities of foreign merchants—including Genoese—and a significant population of African slaves, imported from Guinea by the Portuguese and the merchants of Palos and other towns.

  Isabel affected a captivating display of her royal authority by entering the city on an ornately decorated barge, floating down the river Guadalquivir past cheering crowds to the city’s central bridge, where she was welcomed officially by Enrique de Guzmán, the Duke of Medina Sidonia and Andalusia’s most powerful nobleman, together with other noblemen, clergy, and representatives of the Jews. She explained to Guzmán that she, and soon the king, would remain in Seville for an indefinite period to rid the city and Andalusia of both tyrants and criminals. Guzmán thought to himself that a woman’s resolve was insufficient to deal with Seville without a husband. She completed her arrival by parading triumphantly through more applauding crowds to Seville’s great cathedral, where mass was held, and finally to its magnificent alcazar, where she would live and install her administration for over a year.

  Isabel was determined to cure Seville by administering justice quickly, severely, and omnipotently. She held a public audience in the alcazar’s great hall every Friday to hear civil and criminal cases, presiding on a platform above the petitioners, surrounded by clergy, judges, and royal officials, and directing her staff to resolve cases promptly. She often resolved them herself, determining g
uilt or innocence and punishment, comfortable in pronouncing the severest corporal punishments without qualm or need to consult the Lord. As she intended, word spread quickly that her justice was awesome, fierce, and unforgiving.

  Thousands of Sevillians fled the city to avoid her severity, and the bishop of Cádiz publicly appealed for clemency. Within days, Isabel pardoned those guilty of civil wrongs, if they made fair restitution, and all criminals except heretics. As she intended, word spread of her compassion. Thousands who had fled returned.

  Leading nobility quickly realized the queen viewed her authority as absolute—with or without a husband present. Rodrigo Ponce de León, the Marquis of Cádiz, had allied with Afonso V in the Portuguese war, and he approached Isabel to apologize and submit to her sovereignty. Enrique de Guzmán had fought against the Portuguese but retained crown property seized in the hostilities, and he approached Isabel to relinquish it. Both men’s private armies had fought each other, and Isabel reconciled each to the other, seeing it essential for domestic tranquility. She comforted Seville’s Jewish community by forbidding injury to them and reaffirming her duty to protect the Jewish aljamas in their property and possessions against attack.

  Fernando arrived in September. The couple had been separated for long periods during his extended visits to Aragón and tours on the battlefield, and they enjoyed their reunion. They made love in the alcazar, surrounded by its exquisite arches, facades, gardens, and pools, oblivious to her Castilian sovereignty and his infidelity. Isabel soon declined an invitation to board a ship to experience the Ocean Sea because she suspected she was pregnant. They delighted when that became apparent, and they prayed for the birth of a son, believing that the single most critical want of their kingdom.