Encounters Unforeseen- 1492 Retold

by Andrew Rowen

  “Conduct ourselves peacefully? The sovereigns care that we should conduct ourselves peacefully?!” Chachu laughed. “Bullshit! If they even knew we were here, the king and queen would expect us to trample over every one of these naked savages who stands in the way of hauling out the gold for their crowns. And they wouldn’t give a shit if we maim or kill as many as we want while instilling the faith—the sovereigns burn their own subjects at the stake every day to that end. Neither the king nor queen care if we denigrate this naked buffoon—the Genoese already took his island as the king and queen’s kingdom, and the buffoon doesn’t even know it.”

  Chachu’s followers cheered.

  Chachu reveled in the applause and turned to Guacanagarí. “Look you buffoon, you’re not even a man, you’re a beast.”

  The laughter and cheers subsided, as many wondered whether Chachu had gone too far.

  Guacanagarí looked directly into Chachu’s eyes and, while he did not understand the remark, said in Taíno, “I’m done, you fool.”

  Guacanagarí flicked his wrist a second time, and hundreds of warriors charged from the forest to surround the fort, the small bohío, and the pale men. The crew trembled in terror to behold the hundreds of spears and macanas poised to kill them and drew their knives and swords to respond.

  Slowly, Guacanagarí pointed to Chachu and then the ground, motioning for him to kneel. Chachu hesitated, and Guacanagarí flicked his wrist a third time. A dozen warriors immediately encircled Chachu, the tips of their spears within inches of his throat. Chachu saw death was inevitable if he chose to fight, and he knelt.

  The two men glared fiercely at each other, the crowd about them—olive and pale—hushed and breathless in awe of whether mercy or an execution followed. Guacanagarí slowly stared away, and, for an instant, all guessed mercy.

  But Guacanagarí pointed to the three lieutenants and then to the ground before him, motioning for them to step forward and kneel, too, and they complied. He spoke in Taíno, knowing they wouldn’t understand. “Should I kill all of you now?”

  There was silence. Memories of executing Caribes with Mayobanex flashed through Guacanagarí’s mind. He had known then that execution was his caciqual duty and justice. Caonabó’s warning to kill the pale men also passed through his thoughts, and he swelled with rage at the disaster that had befallen Guarico, the malice of these men’s conduct, and the unknown insults just delivered. His wrist quivered to snap but once more to order their destruction. Yet he recalled his resolve to achieve a trading relationship and his promise to Admiral, and he feared what Admiral might think of him or do upon returning if the men were killed.

  Guacanagarí hesitated a moment further and shut every one of these considerations from consciousness. He surrendered instead solely to his instinctual and unequivocal abhorrence of senseless death, which violated the essential Taíno aspiration of achieving harmony in existence. He relaxed his wrist and spoke to the lieutenants in Taíno. “Peace in Guarico. No fighting, no looting, no abuse of women. My patience has reached its limit.”

  Rodrigo responded. “Your Lordship, we agree and apologize. We agree and apologize on behalf of King Fernando and Queen Isabel, who would condemn the conduct of these men and severely punish them if they knew of it.”

  Hearing mention of Fernando and Isabel, Guacanagarí guessed the sense of Rodrigo’s remark and looked to Pedro and Diego to ascertain whether each would make the same promise, and they did. He pointed to Chachu and stared at Rodrigo.

  “Your Lordship, we will try to maintain order.”

  Guacanagarí pointed to the food. “That is your allotment. I trust you will honor your agreements.” He then turned and departed with his brother and his nitaínos. His warriors remained to watch the pale men allocate the food among themselves, whereupon all disbanded.

  Within days, Chachu led his men and boys out of Guarico east along the coast to find gold, or at least the site where some Indians said Pinzón had traded for gold. They discarded most of the women they had slept with, finding new ones in the villages through which they passed, seizing food from the Indians they met and looting their bohíos for jewelry. Guacanagarí instructed some nitaínos to follow them with troops. He remembered Guarionex’s admonition to punish miscreants and authorized the nitaínos to execute those engaged in egregious conduct as they would their own people.

  _______________

  1 Aeterni Regis of 1481.

  XIV

  SUMMER 1493

  CÓRDOBA,

  June 1493

  Cristóbal rose in Guadalupe on the morning following the pilgrimage to promise the friars he would name an island in the Indies for their monastery. Bakako and the other Taínos bathed in the fountain in Guadalupe’s central plaza.

  Cristóbal’s entourage then departed for Córdoba, descending along the same route he had traveled with the sovereigns seven years before. After another triumphant entrance and meetings with officials and friends, and after Diego and little Fernando had been put to bed, Cristóbal and Beatriz sat close together on a couch in her bedroom lit only by moonlight. He remembered the storms at sea and the Lord’s mercy, and he realized the Lord would desert him now. But the sins of deceiving and discarding women were forgiven daily, and even St. Augustine had done it. He told her they would not marry and their relationship was over.

  Beatriz surged with pain, humiliation, and rage and turned furiously upon him. “That has been the promise of seven years and caring for both your children! You’re not too important to honor that—no matter what your title!” She burst into tears.

  “What were these seven years for?!” she continued. “I have shared my bed, cooked your meals, washed your clothes. I’ve born your son and raised him as yours. I’ve been mother to two sons when you sailed, possibly forever if you never returned.”

  “Beatriz, you have done all that.”

  “I’m not done! I welcomed and stood with you when you were nothing! You came into my garden nothing but an impoverished agent hawking books and maps—a braggart, rejected by all—and I gave you love time and again while you suffered scorn and despair. I’m the one that lifted your spirits and made your life happy—although that word rarely could describe you!”

  “Beatriz, you did all that. We were lovers. But I never promised marriage.”

  “Promised marriage!” Beatriz recoiled furiously. “We’ve been married in fact, if not by the church! This wasn’t trysts in hideaways. I’ve raised our son and now both sons and given them a mother’s love—far beyond a lover’s love! I’ve been wife to you, Cristóbal, not a lover.”

  There was silence.

  “Beatriz, what you say is true, except we have never been married, by the Lord or the church, and we have both always known that. We are no longer suited.”

  “No longer suited! You’re the greatest pretender and hypocrite that ever lived! You weren’t born with nobility, and you walked into my garden lesser status than my own—and we both know that. For years, I listened to you rant and rage how noblemen and their courtiers treated you as an ignorant peasant, lacking title and crest—and I comforted you! And now, when you’ve found your own title and crest, you turn and say, ‘Beatriz, we are no longer suited—I have a crest with gold islands and you’re nothing!’ The Lord sees all insincerity and self-importance, Cristóbal. Yours are as vast as your Ocean Sea.”

  Beatriz wept further, and they sat motionless in the moonlight for some moments.

  “So you will not marry me. But why is it over?”

  “We are no longer suited, Beatriz.”

  “So you say. But being ill suited for marriage doesn’t mean we must part. Countless noblemen have mistresses, most without title or crest, most well beneath my own dignity and education. Some are whores! Your title and crest will not be tarnished if I remain your mistress—albeit the Lord will hold that a sin when he judges you.” Beatriz pleaded, “Won’t you stay, without marriage?”

  “No.”

  Beatriz was crushed. �
��I don’t please you anymore?”

  Cristóbal didn’t answer. He knew she didn’t, but it would be unjust to tell her so, because the fault was his, not hers. Nothing pleased him anymore but that which furthered his enterprise.

  “Is there another?”

  “No. There’s no other.” Cristóbal searched for words and beheld the utter baseness within. He would discard her just as he had been discarded for years. “Beatriz, we loved. But love is beyond me now. I am called by the Lord for another purpose.”

  Beatriz continued to cry, and, after some moments, Cristóbal continued. “I have made some arrangements. The queen has agreed that Fernando will become a member of the royal household and serve as page to Prince Juan. He will go to court when Diego goes, so the boys will be together.”

  Beatriz was shocked and dried her tears.

  “I’ve provided well for our son. Before going to court, the boys will live with Violante in Seville, in a house provisioned by the queen. You may visit them whenever you wish.”

  “You’re taking my son from me?!”

  Cristóbal angrily drew her to him, and she resisted momentarily and then relented. “Your son—our son—will be a member of the royal household, with education and opportunity far exceeding your wildest imagination.”

  Beatriz reflected. “But before then, you are taking him?”

  “Yes. The boys must live as brothers before they go to court so they well understand and love each other, and their brotherhood and trust become inviolable. You may visit whenever you wish.”

  Beatriz stood and walked to gaze through the window to her garden, where she and Cristóbal had first kissed. “May I visit him at court?”

  “I’m certain the queen understands Fernando will need his mother from time to time.”

  “So you have planned everything, Cristóbal, as if I had no say.”

  “You aren’t pleased that Fernando will join the royal household?”

  “Yes. Yes, I am.” Beatriz returned to sit beside Cristóbal. “Everyone will be satisfied but me. That is it, then—we are done?”

  “The queen gave me a small pension for life. It’s yours.”

  INTO THE CIBAO

  (Summer 1493)

  Rodrigo de Escobedo lay on his back on a makeshift cot within a bohío dimly lit by moonlight, surrounded by his harem of women and girls who slept. He ruminated about the conquest of Grenada and how the queen’s soldiers and administrators had profited with the booty seized. Other than rape, they had not lain with the infidels’ women.

  Rodrigo understood conquests relied on ordinary men and that booty was the essential fuel that sustained them, not the queen’s faith. He also recognized that the booty yet obtained in Española was insufficient for the hardship endured. He and Pedro had demanded that Guacanagarí bring more raw gold than jewelry, but they rarely received grains larger than sand. Guacanagarí had repeatedly denied entreaties to escort them to the Cibao to see the mines and rivers flowing with gold, and Colón’s boasts remained unproven. The only extraordinary reward of the voyage yet achieved was women, a temporary delight without value when they returned home.

  Compounding this disappointment, the conditions of daily existence at Navidad amounted to far greater privation than at the battlefront in Andalusia. There was no wine or Spanish food to confiscate, no clothing, shoes, or comforts to plunder, and no proper homes or houses to seize and occupy for shelter. There was, admittedly, no risk of combat death, and men hadn’t succumbed to plague. But many had grown ill from frequenting the women, a few so severely they could barely walk. The absence of churches, priests, and military leadership had led to a lawless and debilitating chaos. Distrust and contempt prevailed, both with Arana and his loyalists and toward Guacanagarí and his subjects.

  At sunrise, Rodrigo rose to share breakfast with Pedro and they resolved to advise Guacanagarí they would leave for the Cibao with or without him. They found him in Guarico’s central plaza, and he invited them to sit and summoned his youth to translate.

  “It’s been months since the Admiral departed,” Rodrigo said and gestured. “The Admiral ordered us to explore for Haiti’s gold mines in the Cibao with you, prior to his return. We’ve asked you to lead us there many times. We must go now, into the Cibao.”

  Guacanagarí listened to the translation and shook his head no. “As I have said—I’m bringing the Cibao’s gold to you.”

  Rodrigo and Pedro stared at him intently, shaking their heads with disapproval, and Rodrigo continued. “We ask you to escort us. But now we will go ourselves, with or without you. We will take our possessions and award them to those who lead us to the rivers and mines. If necessary, we will find the Lord Caonabó to take us to the mines.”

  Guacanagarí understood the ultimatum, if not all the words. The threat of trading with Caonabó both angered and amused him. For a moment, he reflected on his promises to Admiral and considered that it was better to lead these lieutenants to the Cibao rather than for Admiral to learn he had refused to do so. He had denied them many times now, and he studied their expressions to confirm their resolve to depart alone.

  “If you depart contrary to my advice, I will escort you—as promised Admiral. But I will not take you to Caonabó, and you best not seek him out. His tolerance for your men’s conduct is less than mine, and he may kill you.” Guacanagarí waited for his youth to explain with gestures.

  Rodrigo smiled to indicate gratitude. “Thank you, your Lordship. We will prepare our men to depart. We affirm King Fernando’s and Queen Isabel’s appreciation for your assistance, and it will be recognized.”

  Rodrigo and Pedro returned to the bohíos where they and their loyalists lived, glibly deriding Guacanagarí’s warning of Caonabó’s hostility as but an intrigue to forestall their establishment of a relationship with a competitor. The loyalists—then nine men— applauded the news, jubilant to become the first to locate the Cibao’s gold mines. Rodrigo cautioned that, before departing, they needed to retrieve weapons and trifles for trading from the garrison’s fort and bohío. That afternoon, Rodrigo, Pedro, and their band gritted themselves for confrontation and strode to the fort, their knives and swords sheathed but openly displayed.

  Diego’s loyalists—who had dwindled to eleven—studied the band approach and closed ranks outside the fort to defend an attack.

  Pedro addressed Diego’s loyalists. “We’re leaving for the Cibao with Guacanagarí. Those of you who wish to follow Escobedo and myself, rather than Arana, may join us. We come to take truck to trade, as well as arms from the fort. You may waste here with Arana, or come with us to be rich.”

  “I control the fort and our weapons and trading goods,” Diego responded, addressing his loyalists and Pedro’s. “It is I, not Gutiérrez or Escobedo, who decides what to trade and with whom. Those loyal to the Admiral and the king and queen must remain with me.”

  “You’re in command of nobody,” Pedro responded drily. “Escobedo and I are the Crown’s officers, and we are fulfilling the Admiral’s command to find the gold mines. We’ll take the goods and arms we wish, and I warn you to keep your weapons sheathed as we enter both the bohío and the fort.”

  “Stand back!” Diego retorted. “My men will deny you entry to both on the king’s authority.”

  But each man of both camps now had but one loyalty, to himself and his survival and enrichment, and each obeyed and ignored his leader’s instructions accordingly. Diego’s loyalists simply fell back to defend the fort and hoard the weapons within. Pedro and Rodrigo’s band took control of the bohío and ransacked it for the best trifles remaining, including a washbasin that Rodrigo envisioned giving to Caonabó if they met him. None of either camp deserted for the other, each man long since having selected the band he believed most likely to survive and profit.

  Within days, Guacanagarí escorted Pedro, Rodrigo, and their men southeast into the Cibao, accompanied by nitaínos and a few troops. Most of the band’s women also came along, some obediently, some in expec
tation of marriage, many visibly pregnant.

  Guacanagarí entered villages en route with honor, and he introduced Pedro and Rodrigo as nitaínos. The villagers had heard tell of the tensions simmering and erupting in Guarico and were cautious in greeting the pale beings. The sight of pregnant concubines from among their own people made them uneasy. But local caciques freely shared their bohíos, food, and water with both the beings and their concubines.

  Pedro and Rodrigo were captivated by the beauty of the foothills and mountains, which reminded them of Andalusia. Their band encountered streams and creeks frequently, and the men pined to stop to dig. But Guacanagarí advised to venture deeper into the mountains before doing so, knowing that the best sites found on gold homages were farther within, and the two lieutenants heeded his advice.

  Guacanagarí eventually halted the journey south of a large stream where he had always found gold, confident the lieutenants would be satisfied. The entourage lodged with a local cacique well known to Guacanagarí, and the pale men began to dig with the assistance of local naborias.

  As they dined one evening, Guacanagarí decided to teach the lieutenants of the gold homage and its purpose, expecting they would arrogantly dismiss the ritual’s significance but curious to explore whether the pale men’s lust for gold had any comparable spiritual aspect. With his youthful assistant, he explained that his male subjects purified themselves by vomiting, fasting, and celibacy for three weeks as they dug, honoring the spirits to reveal the gold, and then embedded the gold found in amulets and face masks to animate the spirits of ancestors.

  Pedro and Rodrigo listened to the translation, perceiving the mechanic of bodily purification savage and the gold’s usage idolatry, but nodded politely that they understood.

  Guacanagarí waited for a question, some indication of curiosity to understand more, but there was none. He asked, “Will you use the gold you keep for yourself to honor the Christ spirit?”

  Pedro despaired at the tortured journey that had brought him to this moment, place, and question. Gazing at the beauty of Haiti’s remote mountains and gorges, he revealed his innermost thoughts— perhaps to reciprocate the spirituality he then grudgingly recognized in Guacanagarí, perhaps simply liberated from the watchful judgment of his church—regardless of whether his thoughts could be translated.