A Parlous Battle
The Elephant and Macaw Banner ®
Novelette Series – Vol. 2
by Christopher Kastensmidt
Original novelette: “The Parlous Battle of Gerard and Oludara against the Capelobo” © 2008 Christopher Kastensmidt. First published in Portuguese in 2011 in Duplo Fantasia Heroica 2.
This revised edition © 2015 Christopher Kastensmidt. All rights reserved.
The Elephant and Macaw Banner® is a registered trademark of Christopher Kastensmidt.
Cover art by Ursula “SulaMoon” Dorada.
Cover design by Cristiane Viana.
All artwork © 2015 Christopher Kastensmidt. All rights reserved.
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For Roberto de Sousa Causo, my second editorial champion
A three-banded armadillo ambled along on her nighttime search for dinner. Every few steps, she clawed the ground and shifted her snout through the upturned dirt in a quest for ants, termites, and her favorite treat: grubs. She paused a moment when a breeze carried over an unusual scent—two of them, actually. The smells resembled those of the tall, two-legged beasts that lived in the forest, yet with a complex blend of unfamiliar, exotic odors: none of them pleasant. However, she sensed no immediate danger, and returned her attention to the nearest clump of dirt.
#
Gerard van Oost and Oludara lay motionless behind a patch of hibiscus. Some fifty feet before them, a squat, fidgety animal ambled through a clearing. Snorting contentedly, it paused its erratic wandering every few steps to plow the ground with its disproportionate front claws and sniff around.
Squinting in the fading twilight, Gerard studied the unusual beast. What appeared to be ochre-colored plates of armor covered it from head to tail. Coarse hair dangled from its underbelly and brushed the dry grass as it walked.
“What is it?” whispered Gerard, pushing back his wide-brimmed hat for a better look.
“It looks a bit like an animal we have back in Ketu,” replied Oludara, making reference to his African homeland, “the pangolin.”
“I’ve seen nothing like it in Europe,” responded Gerard. “Although it does remind me of a woodcut I once saw of the famed rhinoceros of India, with its overlapping plates of armor.”
“We have rhinoceroses in Africa as well,” replied Oludara, “which I have seen with my own eyes. I can tell you they have no plates of armor, just thick hides. And they look nothing like that!”
“Do you think it is one of the magical beasts of this land?”
“It is probably harmless,” said Oludara. “But the Brazilian wilderness has surprised us many times. We should be cautious.”
With a nudge on the flash pan cover, Gerard confirmed that his harquebus was primed and ready to fire. He left the weapon at his side for the time being; he disliked using force until absolutely necessary. Nevertheless, the hard ground felt none too comfortable against his stout frame, and he longed for a quick resolution to the situation. At his side, Oludara shifted his body enough to slip his ivory knife from his belt.
“We should attempt to capture it,” said Gerard. “Do you have any ideas?”
Oludara pulled a deep breath through his broad nose and studied the area around them.
“There are many vines nearby. I should be able to prepare a trap, and you can lure the beast.”
“Wait,” rasped Gerard, “it approaches.”
With one smooth motion, Gerard lifted his harquebus into firing position. He pulled back the cock and placed a finger on the trigger.
A high-pitched laugh screeched behind him.
The shrill noise made Gerard tense up and fire. The accidental shot passed high above the creature, but the sound of the blast caused it to curl up in self-defense, snapping into an armored ball.
Gerard and Oludara turned in unison to face the source of laughter. Gerard dropped his harquebus and grabbed for his rapier, while Oludara extended his knife arm.
At their feet, a black child hopped on his only leg and giggled uncontrollably: Sacy-Perey. His clothing consisted of only his hat and a pair of short red pants; he wore nothing upon his hairless, juvenile chest.
Gerard had once gained a favor from Sacy by stealing his pointy red hat—the source of his magic—and since then, the one-legged imp had appeared more frequently than they would have liked. He had both aided and tortured them, depending on his mood. The two men relaxed their weapons while Sacy continued hopping and laughing.
“Why do you laugh, Sacy?” asked Oludara.
Sacy spouted a final guffaw before controlling himself. He wiped a tear from his eye and responded, “Because of the way you reacted to that harmless animal.”
Gerard stood up and brushed the dirt from his cotton vest and leggings. “And what exactly is that animal?” he asked. He turned and motioned toward it just in time to see it unroll itself and scamper off.
“It’s a ‘tatu’. Although I believe the Europeans call it ‘armadillo’—the kind of ridiculous name your people give to everything. It is of no danger to any creature larger than a beetle, unless that creature happens to be dead, in which case the tatu will happily chew the rotting meat from its bones. So the question is, seeing how you’re not a corpse, how could a strong man like you be so scared of a creature no taller than your boots?”
“I’ve learned never to judge a creature by its size, Sacy,” responded Gerard. “Were it so, I would doubtless take you more lightly than I should.”
Sacy smiled at the compliment. “You make a good point,” he said, while sitting down on a fallen trunk. “And as long as we’re chatting, do you happen to have some of that wonderful leaf on you?”
Gerard sat on the log beside Sacy and removed a pouch from his backpack. Ever since his first encounter with the prepubescent demon, Gerard had learned to keep a stock of tobacco on hand. A smoke always seemed to make Sacy more amenable, and Gerard shuddered to think what the imp would do if he ever found him without. He grabbed a generous wad of leaf and handed it to the imp.
Sacy removed his red cap and shook it three times, causing his intricately carved wooden pipe to appear. He packed the pipe and, as always, lit it by merely taking a puff.
Gerard removed his hat and waved it back and forth, providing a momentary respite from the insects which hounded them relentlessly through the wilderness. In an effort to relax, he extracted two guavas from his pack, one of which he tossed to Oludara. Gerard retrieved a knife and peeled the bitter yellow-green skin away from the dark pink center. Oludara bit directly into the skin, eating both parts together.
After a few bites, Oludara said, “This is what I have been telling you, Gerard. We have been fortunate on our adventures so far, escaping peril by our wits alone. But the deeper we travel into the wilderness, the more vulnerable we become. We can no longer tell the difference between danger and deliverance. Our only hope is to live among the natives for a time and study their way of life. Their knowledge is invaluable to us.”
Gerard frowned, as he did every time Oludara broached the subject, and tugged nervously on his palm-length red goatee. “Oludara,” he said, “I’m not sure how much I can learn from naked, heathen cannibals. There is much in their culture that opposes my Protestant beliefs.”
“Would you not say the same of my people, Gerard? We do not share your faith. But have I not been a most trustworthy and steadfast companion?”
“Well, of course,” said Gerard, lowering his reddening face, “and I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just that, well, I mean to say...they eat people! Human life is sacred.”
“Do not your people war in the name of religion?”
Gerard conceded with a nod. “They do even now,” he responded,
sighing and looking away.
“Try to understand, Gerard. To the people of this land, the consumption of the enemy is a ritual: an honor for both the eater and the eaten. It isn’t like the herding of buffalo for meat; it is ceremony.”
“Well,” interrupted Sacy, “if you really want to speak with some natives, there’s a tribe of Tupinambá not far from here. I suppose you could visit them, although I wouldn’t recommend it.” He took a long pull from the pipe.
“And why not?” asked Gerard.
Sacy blew a series of six perfect smoke rings before responding. “They don’t take kindly to strangers.”
“We should go there,” said Oludara. “No matter their prejudices, we shall earn their friendship.”
Gerard sat thinking for a long time before responding. “Very well then. Your council I value above that of all others, even my own. Let’s make camp while there is still a hint of light in the sky, then leave first thing in the morning.
“And if you don’t mind, Sacy, please tell us the way to the village before you disappear again.”
#
Sacy left shortly after his smoke, lingering just long enough to hang Gerard’s hat from a bees’ nest in a nearby tree. Gerard and Oludara enjoyed a reasonable sleep before setting off in the morning, although the bee stings on Gerard’s hand did cause him some discomfort during the night. Following Sacy’s directions, they headed west.
Gerard had to admit, he did find the forest daunting. Vegetation surrounded them above, below, and on all sides. At times, the canopy closed so completely that he could not spot the sky. The odor of decomposing leaves mingled with the fragrant trees, the scents of death and life suffocating in the sweltering forest air. The seemingly endless forest, mighty and mysterious, made him feel insignificant.
They walked for six hours until arriving at what Sacy had called “the Black River”. There was no mistaking the murky, fifty-foot wide watercourse. From what Sacy had told them, they would find the village downriver, one league to the south.
Gerard bent down to splash water on his face when Oludara’s hand on his shoulder made him pause. Oludara pointed toward the other shore, a little ways upriver. Gerard followed the indication and spotted movement on the other side: a woman. He and Oludara watched in silence.
As with all Brazilian natives, the woman wore no clothing, just dye-painted designs to ornament her physique. She appeared to be around nineteen years old, her body young and fit. Straight black hair descended to her waist. In her left hand she carried a woven basket, but Gerard couldn’t discern the contents. True to form for the devout Protestant, he kept his succinct examination above neck level as much as possible, then turned away for modesty’s sake. That’s when he noticed his companion thoughtfully examining the woman up and down—repeatedly.
“Magnificent,” whispered Oludara. “Such beauty is rare indeed. Have you ever seen such curves, Gerard?”
“As a matter of fact, I haven’t,” he responded. “And I don’t plan on starting now.”
“Well, you should. Every part of her is perfect, from top to bottom. Her delicate feet, her firm legs, her well-formed...”
“Oludara,” Gerard interrupted, blushing, “perhaps we should speak with her? Isn’t that the reason we’re here, to make contact with the natives?”
Oludara nodded and stood erect.
“Excuse me,” he shouted in Portuguese, “we mean you no harm. We wish to parlay with your tribe.” Oludara made elaborate gestures as he spoke, trying to convey calmness.
The woman jumped upon hearing his voice. When she looked over at the two of them, her body tensed, as if to run. “Go away!” she yelled in heavily-accented Portuguese. “My tribe does not want your religion or your disease, whichever it is you bring.”
“Well,” mumbled Gerard, “at least she speaks Portuguese.”
Oludara spoke again to the woman, “May we cross the river and speak with you?”
“No! Come no closer, or I will call to my tribe.”
“Our only wish is to visit your tribe.”
“That would be foolish,” she said, “for they want no visit from you. Who are you anyway, that you search for us?”
“My name is Oludara, and this is my companion Gerard van Oost. Our banner is the Elephant and Macaw.”
“If you serve a banner, then I know why you seek my tribe—you are looking for slaves!” She spit on the ground.
“We formed a company because only those who serve one can attain the governor’s permission to travel the wilderness. Our desire is to confront the legendary dangers of this land, not to enslave its people.” Oludara held his arms wide. “I was once a slave myself, until Gerard rescued me. I would never put another in such a condition.”
The girl paused at the words. “Easy enough to say, but for the right price, a man will turn against even his own people. There are too many liars among the Pero,” she said, using the name given the Portuguese in the Tupi language, the one spoken by the Tupinambá and most other coastal tribes.
“We are not Portuguese,” said Oludara. “Gerard is Dutch. He is his own man, neither ally nor enemy of the Portuguese. And from the color of my skin, is it not obvious I was brought from Africa as a slave?”
“It is true you do not look or speak like the Pero I have met.”
“We have told you our names,” said Oludara, “what is yours?”
“Arany,” she replied.
“Arany, please let us accompany you back to your tribe. Our intentions are peaceful.”
“And where is the rest of your company?”
“It is just the two of us.”
“Now I know you are lying,” she scoffed. “I have never seen a banner with less than twenty soldiers.”
“Our banner might be unusual,” said Oludara, “but we face the same dangers nonetheless. May we accompany you back?”
“No,” said Arany.
“And what if we make our own way to your village?” asked Gerard. “We were told it is but an hour walk from here, following the river.”
“Who told you that?” asked Arany, squinting her eyes.
“Sacy-Perey,” replied Gerard.
“Ha!” she said. “You take me for a fool to believe such a story?”
Gerard looked at Oludara and shrugged.
“Lies upon lies,” she continued. “Walk to my village if you wish, but not by my invitation. Once you arrive there, the warriors will know what to do with you. Your presence will certainly give them cause for a feast.”
She sneered and headed off down the river.
“I don’t think that was a jest,” said Gerard. “If we go, they’re going to cook us.”
“Gerard,” replied Oludara, “I have never known you to shy from adventure. Did you not tell me one of your people said, ‘the greater the difficulty, the greater the glory’?”
“Not my people, some old Roman said that. But didn’t you once say ‘Whoever tries to shake a tree will only shake himself’?”
“Ha, very good, Gerard, you have been listening. But we also have a saying, ‘If you do not go to the market, the market will not come to you.’ We require the knowledge of the natives, and we must go to them and make our case.”
Oludara set off south along the river.
Gerard put his hands on his hips and said, “Don’t think you can just say something like that and lead us into danger. This isn’t adventure, Oludara, it’s suicide! Oludara?”
When Oludara made no sign of stopping, Gerard sighed and followed.
#
Oludara kept pace with Arany as she walked along the far bank. She looked back from time to time and shook her head when she saw them following. While Gerard kept his eyes always on the path ahead, obviously trying to ignore the girl’s splendid nakedness, Oludara found he couldn’t keep his eyes off of her.
Oludara still couldn’t understand his companion’s Protestant ways. Gerard could speak for hours about paintings by the masters of Europe, so why would he waste the ch
ance to study a beautiful woman with that same eye for detail?
After a while, Oludara could not help but voice his thoughts. “Do you not think she would make a fine wife?” he asked, breaking a long silence.
“Only if you’d like to be the meal at your own wedding,” replied Gerard.
Oludara laughed. “Perhaps. But, to speak the truth, she would make an excellent child-bearer. Her proportions are perfect. I wonder if her smell is as pleasing as her countenance.”
“Can we speak of something else?” grumbled Gerard. “Is that why we’re walking to our slow-roasting deaths, because you’re infatuated with the native girl?”
“Well, she is fascinating,” replied Oludara, not taking his eyes off of her. “But I have no fear for us. You are a good man, Gerard van Oost, and your sincerity shines through. I am certain it will charm even the natives. And the fact that Arany speaks Portuguese is a good omen. Who would have expected to find a native speaking Portuguese this far from Salvador?”
“That’s an interesting observation,” said Gerard, stroking his goatee. “Arany!” he shouted across the river, “how is it that you came to speak Portuguese?”
Without breaking pace, she called back her response, “My tribe lived with the Jesuits near Salvador when I was a child.”
Gerard raised an eyebrow at Oludara. Salvador lay some thirty leagues away, no small distance.
“Do the others of your tribe speak as well?” asked Gerard.
“Only a few of us still know the language of the Pero, and we do not speak it among ourselves. Most have forgotten it, or have sworn never to use it again.”
At that moment, Oludara caught sight of a fence made from ten-foot tall stakes placed at regular intervals. He could make out a closed palisade beyond them. Some round, white objects hung on top of the outer stakes. As they closed the distance, he recognized them as human skulls.
Gerard stopped in his tracks. “I don’t like the look of that,” he said.
“Not particularly inviting,” agreed Oludara.
“It’s not meant to be inviting,” came a voice beside them.
A Parlous Battle Page 1