by Andrew Rowen
Guacanagarí showed no reaction. “That’s a sound plan.” He was startled by the expertise involved and hesitated, doubting his scouts should accompany Mayobanex’s, anxious that being led was preferable to erring. “Your scouts should plan for both our troops.”
As the stars rose, the local cacique invited Guacanagarí and Mayobanex into his caney to rest. Their warriors slumbered in the village plaza.
Mayobanex steeled himself for the violence of the impending battle, embracing a warrior’s bravado, righteousness, and belief in invincibility. Guacanagarí also struggled to harness these feelings, but was overcome with a despondency that the battle—any battle— was a failure of human beings to achieve harmony. He was vexed that his goal of establishing a military reputation was at hand, yet he was neither proud nor eager nor content. For an instant, he doubted Yúcahu, Yaya, and other spirits—why had they conceived a world with violence? He was not cowardly, and he quickly quashed his doubts to resolve steadfastly that he would be the warrior. But it was not truly him. He was a Taíno. Uncle had been correct.
When the moon was high, Mayobanex’s scouts departed to reconnoiter the Caribe encampment and found trails leading to the ocean on either side of the mangrove thicket, which opened to the sea on a beach where the canoes would be lying. They left a small cotton sack of cocuyos glowing at each trailhead and returned to the caney. The Cigueyans would align along on the western path to storm the Caribe encampment, the Mariens along the eastern to charge the beach to attack Caribes fleeing.
As the moon descended, the Cigueyans and Mariens crept through the forest to the cocuyos and stationed themselves, invoked Yúcahu a last time and, when the general waved a cocuyo sack, shrieked their war cries and charged, the Cigueyans raining a volley of arrows into the Caribe encampment. Guacanagarí relished that ambiguity had vanished, the imperative of victory overwhelmed, and the fear of death scalded his soul to dispense death first.
The battle was fought hand to hand in the emerging twilight. The ferociousness of the Taíno attack terrified the Caribes, and they were unable to launch their arrows in a coordinated volley. Mayobanex stood with his troops in the center of the engagement, bearing a spear, and gouged the chest of his first attacker. Warriors with macanas stood by his side and mightily crushed the bones and skulls of other attackers who threatened him. Cries of agony replaced war cries as men on both sides writhed with wounds and in death. At the beach, the Mariens intercepted the Caribes as they fled, preventing even one canoe from escaping, and then circled inward from the beach, clubbing and spearing Caribes devastated to realize they were encircled. Blood covered the encampment and beach.
As victory became apparent, Mayobanex faced the surviving Caribes and raised his hands above his head, his bowmen ready to fell any attacker. The survivors dropped their arms, and the Taíno warriors dragged those not wounded to the beach to await their fate, tortured the wounded to death, and speared and bludgeoned the eyes and testicles of the dead so their spirits would be unable to return.
Guacanagarí surveyed the gore and death, and, for a moment, pride engulfed him. He and Mayobanex agreed the winner at batey would have the privilege of executing those taken captive.
The next day, the captives were tied to trees at the plaza’s perimeter so Mayobanex and Guacanagarí could interrogate them before the assembled villagers and troops, although the Caribes understood neither Macorix nor Taíno. Mayobanex approached to stand before the Caribe with the fiercest appearance, demanding answers. How many more attacks would come? How many Taíno women had he raped?
The captive, close to death from exhaustion and dehydration, did not reply. Mayobanex moved to the next and continued. How many Taíno boys had he eaten? No answer.
Mayonbanex turned to offer Guacanagarí a turn. Guacanagarí knew the interrogation’s purpose was not information but to instill pride and fear in the Taínos present of Mayobanex’s rule and, if Guacanagarí wished, his own. He remembered his last evening with Heitiana and her kindness in comforting him that they were safe from the nighttime spirits. She had been wrong and wronged, and vengeance for her seizure was now at hand. But remembrance of her serenity and gentleness, of her exemplary Taíno peacefulness, burst through his thoughts, and Guacanagarí responded simply, “There’s no need to belabor this. Your questions have been well put. These captives shall be put to death.”
That night the local cacique’s wives mustered the greatest feast they had ever prepared, and chicha and tobacco were shared by all. The warriors found women to lie with, and, for those warriors too shy, women took them directly.
Mayobanex and Guacanagarí spoke alone. The local cacique owed to Guacanagarí a portion of his naborias’ food production in tribute, and Guacanagarí agreed to share some of it with Mayobanex in the future in return for Mayobanex’s agreement to protect the area from Caribe raid.
The batey was played the following afternoon, with the warriors from Marien and Ciguayo taking the field against each other as Guacanagarí and Mayobanex watched. The play was vigorous and fair, and the Ciguayan team won. With the villagers cheering wildly, Ciguayan warriors then took turns executing the Caribe captives one by one. Mayobanex’s general watched contentedly, and memories of spearing sharks in his youth flickered through his thoughts.
Guarionex had heard through informants of the successful Caribe massacre and dispatched a messenger inviting Mayobanex to visit with him before returning home. The traveling distance was short, the men had been friends for years, and it presented an opportunity to discuss their cacicazgos’ relationship and the other Haitian caciques. Mayobanex was happy to accept and made the journey over the coastal mountains to arrive at Guarionex’s village, known now as Guaricano, within two days, arriving at dusk. The two men knew enough of the other’s language for informal conversation and were assisted by an interpreter.
After sunset, Guarionex offered his friend a fine meal and, as customary, village women danced before them in firelight and sang a short areíto praising the friendship of the Maguan and Ciguayan peoples and the peace between them. Both men had heard areítos to such effect many times.
“Our peoples are different,” Mayobanex remarked. “The areíto has described our peoples as friends, but there have been times of hostility. We haven’t led our people as peacefully as the areíto boasts.”
“Taínos compose areítos to record our history, knowledge, and beliefs,” Guarionex responded. “But they’re also informed by the spirits. You might say the peace spoken of is aspirational, the spirits’ own thought revealed, regardless of men’s shortcomings.”
“At this time, we do have peace throughout Haiti.” Mayobanex gazed at Guarionex to initiate serious discussion. “Has Caonabó’s marriage to Anacaona affected you?”
“I had feared Behecchio would begin to exert influence over Caonabó at my expense. Perhaps he has influence in ways I don’t understand, but my relationship with Caonabó hasn’t changed. Anacaona appears to be a wife in Maguana, not a cacique. Caonabó has proved as strong a ruler in peace as he is a warrior.”
“I’ve been surprised, as well,” Mayobanex replied. “But I was more concerned with Caonabó than Behecchio, afraid that Caonabó would be emboldened by the alliance to take his own liberties with you.”
“I watch that carefully. Caonabó has brought all his brothers from Aniyana, and some have been given subordinate villages to rule. There is a young brother, Manicoatex, who’s now a reputed cacique of a village directly on my border. Caonabó’s principal general, Uxtamex, has a reputation for crushing disloyal subordinate caciques, burning their caneys to the ground. But Caonabó has never threatened my border.”
Guarionex recalled Anacaona standing before him, refusing his symbolic demand to mount her. “Caonabó won Anacaona. But she seems a Xaraguán first before all else. Her people adore her and I suspect many Maguanans adore her, too. Perhaps she has more cunning than either her brother or husband. If there were a person to rule both Maguana and Xaraguá, I
suspect it would be her. To her credit, she is Taíno.”
Stars began to glimmer in the east and the two men quietly smoked tobacco for some moments. Mayobanex remembered his interrogation of the Caribes and chose his words carefully. “I see Guacanagarí as weak. He shies from ceremony displaying his power.”
Guarionex was mindful Guacanagarí had proven a friend. “Did he need to display his power beyond the victory? Guacanagarí is Taíno.”
“‘Taíno.’” Mayobanex twitched his eyebrows. “Anacaona and Guacanagarí are both ‘Taíno.’ You yourself are said to be the wisest Taíno living. For you, what’s the essence of this?”
“You know the meaning in everyday conversation. Taíno simply refers to a good man, just like caribe refers to a strong or brave man. But both words have larger meanings. A man is Taíno when he aspires to prosper in harmony with the prosperity of others, both giving to and receiving from them, with devotion to the spirits and without confrontation except if necessary.”
“That’s what I’ve always understood. But, as caciques, we both understand confrontation sometimes is necessary.” Mayobanex studied his friend’s expression. “I suspect you think my Ciguayans go to battle too quickly.”
Guarionex laughed and hugged Mayobanex’s shoulder. “We do think that. But you’re Taíno, my friend. While we differ on when force is necessary, you do believe in peace otherwise. That may not be said of the Caribes.”
Guarionex pointed to the stars rising on the horizon. “Taínos understand that rare things come from the heavens beyond the horizon. The guanín Guabonito and Guahayona gathered came from the heavens beyond horizon. So do the aspirations of our areítos.”
A memory of spying Caribes at sea flashed through Mayobanex’s thoughts, and he mused that Caribes also came from beyond the horizon.
FERNANDO
Málaga, 1487
As spring arrived, the sovereigns believed they had the military advantage to conquer Málaga. Al-Zagal now ruled from Grenada’s Alhambra, and his nephew Boabdil, whom Fernando had fought, captured, and released for a second time in 1486, now lived just minutes away on a neighboring hill. The sovereigns’ use of Boabdil had born fruit, as Al-Zagal and Boabdil’s loyalists fought and murdered one another daily, sapping the emirate’s strength.
In April, Fernando marched with an enormous army, well-equipped with heavy artillery and siege equipment, to surround Vélez Málaga, miles east of Málaga. Fernando demanded Vélez Málaga’s surrender on much the same terms offered the Rondans, and its Mohammedan leaders accepted.
Fernando then demanded Málaga’s surrender and directed an Aragonese fleet to blockade its port. Málaga’s leaders asked Boabdil for relief but he advised surrender. Neither Al-Zagal nor the North African principalities appeared willing to assist, either, and Málaga now stood alone.
But its leaders had anticipated and prepared for this very battle. The central city had garrisoned a squadron of North African soldiers for its defense and was well fortified with two formidable castles, the Alcázaba on the plain and the Gibralforo above it atop a steep hillside, the latter commanded by a veteran general known as al-Zegri. Fernando sought to pay al-Zegri a bribe of gold bullion to surrender his fort, but he refused. The civilian leadership, as well as the general populace, believed defending their faith and customs was worth the ultimate sacrifice. With popular support, the leadership rejected Fernando’s surrender offer, and Málaga’s residents fled within the forts, hoarding food for an extended siege and burning the homes abandoned near the fort to deny attackers strongholds.
Fernando’s army commenced the siege, unleashing continuous cannon fire on the fortresses’ walls, and Fernando soon recognized the Málagans’ determination to defend their city and life. Castilian cavalry rushed the walls to breach them, but, to their surprise, Mohammedan troops rushed from their fortresses to engage on the open terrain. For days, opposing soldiers fought hand to hand, and any yard or foot gained by the Castilians was paid for dearly in blood. Slaughter became both participants’ objective, not prisoners. Fernando realized that his enemy was prepared to die simply to achieve the blood and death of Christians and the vengeance of its God. He understood his troops had a more limited resolve—to face death so long as the great spoils of Málaga appeared achievable. As the summer heat surged, the wind bore the stench of the fallen, unburied bodies of both opponents upon both of them, and Fernando asked Isabel to come to Málaga. Her presence at the battlefield, her charity to the wounded, and her exemplary devotion would fortify the troops’ morale.
Isabel arrived with Princess Isabel, their lady attendants, Cardinal Mendoza, and Bishop Talavera, and visited the troops and their field hospitals, exhorting the glory, privilege, and duty of the conquest. The army’s morale did improve. The queen also expressed her resolve to the enemy. The pope’s silver cross, first displayed in Alhama, was raised before the fortress walls for defenders to behold and fear. The church bells destined to be installed in the mosques when converted were pealed for them to hear.
Isabel and Fernando dispatched messengers again proposing surrender. But the Málagans feared Isabel and Christ no more than Fernando. Al-Zagal did order a battalion to breach the Castilian encirclement and deliver supplies to the beleaguered defenders. But Boabdil sent troops provisioned by Fernando to intercept them, and Al-Zagal’s troops retreated.
Inside the fortresses, July and August brought hunger. Almost all the food stored had been consumed and the soldiers and citizens— men, women, and children—resorted to eating the flesh and hides of their dogs and asses and the leaves and bark of trees. The North African soldiers plundered Jewish households for their last supplies. Old and young began to die. Some citizens could bear it no longer and left the fortresses to surrender themselves into slavery. An African prince sent messengers bearing Fernando and Isabel gifts and imploring that they be merciful when they took Málaga. Fernando honored the messengers but explained that mercy had been offered but its time had passed.
In August, Málaga’s civilian leaders in the Alcázaba offered to surrender the city in return for their people’s submission to the sovereigns and freedom to leave—just as the sovereigns had agreed for Ronda and Vélez Málaga. Fernando replied that, after three months of war, those terms were not available. The Málagans had a singular choice: enslavement or death.
The civilian leaders consulted their people and replied that, unless the sovereigns guaranteed their liberty, they would kill every Christian captive held in Málaga, burn the city and their possessions to the ground, and die to the last man attacking the Christians, leaving Fernando and his troops with but blood for their spoils. Fernando replied that, if one Christian captive were harmed, every Málagan would die. Málaga’s leaders, with the support of most of their people, eventually chose enslavement.
The Castilian army entered the city, disarmed the remaining Málagan soldiers, released the surviving starved Christian captives from their jails, secured as loot the entire possessions of the city, and brought wheat for everyone to eat. The Málagans were herded into corrals and al-Zegri placed in irons, and Fernando and Isabel entered the city after the dead were burned.
Fernando gazed across the splendor of his conquest and the squalor of the vanquished and was reminded of the cosmology of the Sicilian abbot Joachim de Fiore, which he had studied as a boy. The abbot had postulated that God’s plan for history was divided in three ages—the Age of the Father, which had already passed, when God was first revealed; the current age, the Age of the Son, which had started with the incarnation of Christ; and a final age, yet to come, the Age of the Spirit. Christ would then battle the Antichrist and a last emperor would reconquer Jerusalem, whereupon the world would end cataclysmically and be reborn with heaven on earth, and with Christianity spread to all people of the world. Fernando had been taught this last emperor might be a king of Aragón.
Fernando and Isabel awarded one-third of the population as slaves to the conquering troops. They retained one-third a
s their own slaves to compensate for the campaign’s expenses, and Luis de Santángel augmented the war chest by selling many. They exchanged the lucky remaining one-third with the infidels in Africa for the release of Christian prisoners. As incentive for the Málagans to hand over all their jewels and gold, Fernando promised they could ransom themselves from slavery by raising an enormous sum within the following year, with the jewels and gold deposited as down payment. The enormous sum was never raised and the Crown kept the deposit.
The sovereigns gave special gifts of slaves: Pope Innocent VIII received one hundred of the African soldiers; Fernando’s sister, Queen Juana of Naples, one hundred maidens; Queen Leonor of Portugal, fifty maidens; and each of the principal Castilian noblemen who had participated in the siege, as well as ladies of Isabel’s court, up to one hundred slaves each depending on their prestige and contribution to the victory. The sovereigns’ Jewish tax collector Abraham Seneor was permitted to purchase the freedom of over four hundred surviving Jewish residents, further augmenting the war chest. Some conversos who had fled the Inquisition were burned at the stake.
As they consolidated their conquest, the sovereigns summoned Colón to Málaga. The Talavera commission’s conclusion did not surprise them but, as King João, they were reluctant to dismiss him entirely. Castile’s opportunities for overseas expansion were limited and, if they dismissed him, Colón might sail for another sovereign, including Henry VII of England, Charles VIII of France, or even João.
Fernando and Isabel told Colón that the Reconquista remained their greatest concern and highest duty. They could not divert attention or funding to his plan. However, they would consider it in the future when the war was concluded. The sovereigns could see the pain in Colón’s face as he listened and that his plan was his life and its limbo a purgatory. They authorized their accountant to disperse Colón funds for his subsistence at court while he awaited the war’s end.