‘I despise the rich just a little more than I despise slaves, particularly ones that have the nerve to voice opinions.’
Melchor was a bully but behaved according to the traditions and customs of the community in which he lived. He was though a survivor who you would want on your side at sea and in any battle. He had little motivation to anything other than acquiring his next meal, drinking and fornication. He had no intention to live his life as a Catholic and was content with his lot. Since life in the Spanish Navy paid well, it was his means of achieving his earthly comforts.
‘On this ship, you will both receive no prayers from me and my like. If you were horses, I would shoot you both to relieve you of your misery. We will all be dead soon, so take solace.’
Dominic responded to his pessimistic opinions
‘Sir, you can be sure of none of this. We cannot give up and resign ourselves to death.’
‘You are a fool, but what makes the difference is how we will die. Will you perish fighting for your life? Or will you croak as you are now whimpering in the corner like wounded dogs? Stop pitying yourselves and think how you can serve the boat rather than pray to a God who is either not with you or not interested. At the moment, your only worth would be to fuel the fire with your fat flesh. It could then provide me and the rest of the crew with a little more warmth before we too fail this world.’
Dominic chose not to make any further reply to Melchor as it would not achieve anything. He withdrew eye contact and looked toward his companion.
Both Cirilo and Dominic had a good physique and were well proportioned, considering their shared father was a large rotund man from Cadiz. In addition to colour, they both looked very different. Dominic had dark Spanish features with long straight hair with a black moustache and pointed beard. The young slave was a product of a mix of Spanish and African blood, but despite this, his African descent was unmistakable, with very little that could be attributed to his natural father. He kept his curled hair cropped and close to the scalp as did most slaves and used anything available to cut his hair, even naked flames would be used to singe it off. His eyes were adorned with thick and very long lashes, almost too long to be masculine, almost feminine, which bestowed him features that were strikingly attractive. At six feet, Cirilo was a relatively tall compared to Europeans, but this was mainly due to his African origins. The Spanish were much shorter and so the difference in height between the two men further betrayed the truth. Cirilo was not a sailor, soldier or even person of nobility. Despite his striking good looks, his appearances on board the Rata were of little importance to anyone and a life of slavery gave him little opportunity to consider looks, vanity and self-pride. He had never experienced the opportunity for attracting, let alone courting a woman. That was the privilege of the free and Cirilo was not.
He defied the temptation to look directly at Melchor for fear of provoking him further. As he gazed at the fire, his black irises reflected the flickering flames which were the only light in the lower deck.
Although their relationship was one of man over slave, there was an unmistakable bond linking their souls and even some measured respect between the two was apparent at times. Neither man had any knowledge of the slave’s origin, but they had a common descent. They were half-brothers sharing the same father, Don Antonio de Cortez.
On the eve of the birth of Cirilo, Don Antonio had arrived an hour earlier after being dressed by one of his servants in a fine ruff of pointed lace, a mustard doublet with jewelled buttons and hose. In every way, he looked the noble and rich businessman that he was. Since his arrival, he had socialised with as many elite guests as possible at the party given in honour of his birthday. Most were not genuine friends, but were interested in his wealth, influence and fame. After dancing with Ysabel, his wife, he had decided to cut-in with other women, including the wife of a friend who had been making eyes in his direction.
In the ballroom, De Cortez had been dancing to a quartet and lute when his dance partner, the wife of a business colleague, had whispered to him the news that one of his slaves was having her baby this very night. After the whisper, Ysabel had straightened her back and moved her head back to see his reaction.
Immediately after the dance, his mood changed and De Cortez was no longer celebrating. He had received some inevitable, but dreaded news, which had been passed to him in a disturbing manner.
The lady, an eternal gossip, had pointed out that De Cortez was about to increase his investment to the tune of one more slave. Looking troubled, De Cortez made excuses to his wife and went directly to the slave’s quarters through the scant and stony grove. After leaving the hall calmly, he stormed into the gueto town that his servants called home. De Cortez was about to commit a murder, or so it appeared. The families in the gueto were not just servants of the Spanish, but black slaves who had been captured from North Africa. These oppressed and helpless people had been sold at market to the merchants and the wealthy. In Cadiz though, they were allowed to commune in families, both to sustain stock and to maintain community and prevent unrest.
As he walked past the makeshift homes along the dusty track, they looked on with confusion. These people had been the lucky ones, allowed a reasonable amount of freedom and community; the alternative to being locked up like animals as some unfortunates were forced to do. Those who had not been born into slavery in Spain had been subject to many days of suffering at sea whilst being transported to the outer reaches of the known worlds. Only the fittest survived the ordeal.
They were surprised to see him, surmising there must be trouble concerning one or more of them. It was uncommon to see a noble in their quarters, let alone a man such as De Cortez. It was late into the evening and he was dressed in very formal wear for a walk through the small shantytown. One by one, the slaves all looked away to avoid eye contact as he passed them by. It was not uncommon for small misdemeanours to have been committed, and they all cowered at the possibility. His face burst with anger as he heard screams coming from Juana’s home. Both events had to be connected; usually very little happened in the slums with the mood being solemn. The slaves would be exhausted after a day of work in the mansión de Cortez and in the surrounding fields and goat farms and warehouses.
There was something he needed to say, something he had put off until this moment, but it had to be said before it was too late and the truth became known.
‘Fuera! Get out, all of you!’
Silently, but swiftly, the women who had gathered to tend Juana left the room, the last one quietly closing the wood and mud door behind her. De Cortez checked the room as he walked directly over to the beautiful girl on the flattened bed of hay in the intense heat. He wiped his brow, ripped off his ruff and shifted his heavy frame closer to the young woman who was recovering from her ordeal. She was sitting up on her back, exhausted and weak; her characteristically African hair damp with sweat and humidity. There was blood on her bed and her coarsely woven cotton clothing. The tired young girl cradled her new baby proudly, hoping to see De Cortez offer up a smile. Instead, after looking at the beautiful boy before him, he buried his chin into his chest to collect his thoughts and to console himself. The baby already had jet hair, black eyes with distinct lashes and brows.
‘Good, it is black, as black as its mother, there is no Spanish in him. He could be the issue of one of those outside.’
De Cortez looked around once more to check they were alone before kneeling down and uncharacteristically whispered into the ear of the exhausted woman.
‘I have important things to say to you, Juana, that you need to know well and remember even better. If I hear one more rumour connecting me with the production of this brat, then three heads will roll. Yours, your baby and the servant of the Señora at my party.’
Though to establish the latter will take some work, he thought.
‘Have I made myself clear to you? A man you no longer know fathered the baby. Do you understand me? Make sure that you skew the rumours.’
/> Juana nodded quickly and continuously until he murmured once more.
‘I am glad we are clear on this and you appear to understand, but I have just had a conversation with a tattler who took pleasure in telling me one of my slaves was in labour. Her face told me with little uncertainty she was enjoying giving me the news and checking my reaction. Do you know what that means?’
‘I promise you, sir, I have said nothing to anyone.’
‘It means there has been much wagging of chins by people who believe I fathered your child. It is gossip I do not want to hear of again if you are to keep your baby.’
‘I will not speak gossip. I want to keep my baby forever, I love him. I will make sure that no other servants will speak of these untruths, my lord.’
De Cortez did not consider the rumours might have been self-generating and only as a result of imagination and speculation. However, it was commonplace for owners to take advantage of their female slaves, which in the case of De Cortez had happened many times. Instead, in his paranoia he believed she must have spoken to people about the many rapes endured over the years.
‘Good, then we understand each other. I am now a little happier and he is black too, good, that is good, very good. Oh, and he shall be called Cirilo.’
Juana frowned as if about to challenge him, before modifying her expression slightly to conceal her disapproval. Then presenting a closed-mouth smile, she nodded in agreement. De Cortez sensed her despondence.
‘Do I detect a mope? Do I sense a slave of mine questions my decisions?’
‘No sir, I do not object. I welcome the name. It is your wish, and so it will be. It is not a name which is common amongst slaves but I agree with it.’
Juana had other names in mind for the baby and did not want her son being named after an old dog that had died under the wheel of a cart some three months earlier. Juana was not as anxious about the prescribed name as the loss of the one privilege she believed was her entitlement. She wanted to exercise her right to give her precious baby boy a name as special as he was.
‘Remember what I said, Juana, I do not want to hear any more of who the father is.’
De Cortez turned to leave the room and in the doorway was the figure of his wife, Ysabel.
‘My dear, how long have you been standing there?’
‘Long enough to hear the details.’
‘Yes, I was informing Juana of the name I wish for the new baby slave.’
‘No, my husband, you were informing her of the name for your son, were you not?’
De Cortez shrugged off his embarrassment.
‘Just remember, without me, you are nothing. I do not want anyone to bear false witness to these rumours.’
For a moment, Juana feared the worse for her baby, now that Ysabel had found out the truth.
De Cortez left the room first. Ysabel stayed in the room a few seconds. She gazed across at Juana and the baby before staring menacingly at them. Surveying the room further, she displayed an indignant poise of disgust. Ysabel was his wife and Juana was wise to remember it.
Even up to this point, Juana had been relatively privileged to be a domestic servant within the slave commune. She was hugely fortunate that De Cortez allowed her to keep her baby despite being denied the right to name the child according to her wishes. Things could have been so different so she was determined to keep the secret and deny any further rumours. For Juana, to divulge the real identity of Cirilo would literally mean death for them both and the other slaves knew it too.
De Cortez had been an entrepreneur, who was familiar with the colonisation and exploitation of unprotected and vulnerable resources in the new territories. He had travelled to many lands, following the recent monarchical alliances between Spain and Portugal. In addition, he had set up several businesses in the colonies, including the supply of slaves from Africa and saltpetre for the manufacture of valuable gunpowder. Despite this, the community of African slaves were under no doubt De Cortez had fathered the child. They also knew the truth of the child’s parentage would need to be protected for the sake of both mother and baby. Despite the silent knowledge that Cirilo was his son, the baby was born to a slave and a slave he would remain. In some foreign lands, not too far away, if parentage could be proven, Cirilo would have become his heir.
When his sexual cravings were high, De Cortez had forced his attractive black maid, Juana, into submitting to him many times and over several years. For Juana though, despite the attacks, life as a slave was much better for her than it had been. Juana was captured when she was 12 and had been raped, abused and beaten many times at the hands of Spanish merchants until finally being sold into the more stable environment with De Cortez. She could be beaten, raped or her life could even be snuffed out and it was a matter for no one but her owner. Her body was his property and no one would ever be there to help and respect her wishes. She had few rights and had only fellow slaves to offer her support or comfort in bad times.
Juana was just 16 when she became pregnant by De Cortez. Partly because of the Catholic community and partly because of the increase in slave “assets”, she had been allowed to keep the child. In five years, the child would be put to work too. She was under no illusion that she would have to conceal the identity of the father from everyone, but the rumours were not of her making, they were the result of the conjecture, albeit accurate from this tiny community. Juana’s cover story involved a brief encounter with another slave, which had resulted in the pregnancy.
Juana would remain the property of De Cortez and he did whatever pleased him, whenever he wished. At first, she was sickened by the abuse, but by the time she was in the ownership of De Cortez, she realised it was almost a given. Wiser women had made it clear she had no choice but to succumb – the alternative was unthinkable. When he came to her, it was frequently after his wife had refused him and often it was after drinks, debates or even fights. If the quarrel did not go his way, he would take his anger and frustrations out on his slaves, beating them and abusing the women for sadistic sport. Despite her inner hatred for him, Juana knew her ordeal would be over more quickly if she submitted, feigned pleasure and gave him the gratification he wanted. Every time, it disgusted her, but this was better than the life of cruelty she had known before De Cortez had taken her from the slave market some years earlier.
Juana would often romance of a happier life in Africa, where despite still being regarded as a man’s property, she existed in a culture where once a young child had become a woman they would then be chosen by warriors shortly after. As a woman, she was a giver of life, a potential mother and eventually afforded veneration. In Africa, devotion to a man would be rewarded with respect and protection. Here though in Cadiz, the abuse of Juana would go unpunished and continue for many years after the day Cirilo left Spain.
Juana prepared herself and her boy for the inevitable. De Cortez expected payback on his investment and he would become a working boy who would be employed as a slave on his estate. Juana’s blood was strong and the boy looked as black as his mother. He grew up to believe his father was also black with no idea his real father was a Spanish lord.
The nobleman was the owner of a huge empire of industry and shipping, which grew larger and more profitable despite the increasing attacks by the post-reformation English Navy.
As an infant, Cirilo was shielded from much of the abuse he would later come to expect. The society in which he was born was cruel for these people though and the relative happiness of his childhood would not last. The realities of life as a slave were stark, cruel and unjust. Juana hoped one day they could be set free and endure in a society of freedom and respect. For Juana and her generations, this would never be.
Despite the efforts of Ysabel to prevent Cirilo from associating with any of her family, he became more independent and adventurous. Cirilo befriended the son of De Cortez, a young boy five years older than himself called Dominic. Despite the age difference, Cirilo’s tall and slender appearance made him look ol
der than he was. In addition, his work regime developed his body to that of a much older boy. Juana had insisted on a firm and devout Catholic upbringing and so Cirilo was given Christian values and morals through teaching within the community of slaves. In Juana’s mind, a firm faith would be the only way he would be able to overcome discord and she was right. The adversities he would face in the future would require a maturity greater than his years.
In time, despite the differences of status, the unknowing half-brothers became good friends. Cirilo’s character and maturity benefited further from his friendship with an older boy. The culture in which they lived, decreed slaves should be treated according to their status and be kept at a distance. Many of their times together were alone and away from sight of others where they could play as equals. Dominic struggled with the notion that his friend was a slave. At times, he failed to understand the injustices which allowed merchants to subdue communities into slavery. Despite this, there were societal pressures that meant he had no power to change anything other than perhaps through his relationship with Cirilo. For both boys there were times when these values clashed. Privately, Dominic resolved to fight against the injustices of the slave trade when he was older.
One particular day when the chores were complete, Cirilo and Dominic met at one of their favourite places where they could play as sailors. They stood on a wooden bridge which spanned the sea bound river. At some times of the year, the river was completely dry, and at others, following heavy rains, it would swell and become a raging torrent. Despite the obvious dangers, the boys were drawn to the water, and the baking hot sun made it all the more attractive. They enjoyed watching objects float by and used branches to deflect and pull out items before they disappeared under the wooden slats of the bridge.
The Welshmen of Tyrawley Page 4