by John Speed
Hating himself, Da Gama nodded.
Just as they reached Victorio's tent, Geraldo came out, looking very satisfied. "Congratulations on being made a partner, senhor," Slipper said delightedly. Geraldo lowered his head, but clearly was quite pleased.
"My own congratulations," Da Gama said, his face cold. "You appear to have been busy these last few hours.
Geraldo shrugged. "I am humbled by my good fortune."
They glared at one another silently until Slipper burst in: "I was just .." explaining to Deoga that you and I have made up our differences.
"Yes, that's in the past. Senhor Slipper has graciously forgotten all about it." Geraldo swung his arm around Slipper's plump shoulder. "Master Victorio has decided to take dinner in his tent tonight," he said to the eunuch, ignoring Da Gama. "He wants to see Lucinda now, and then the nautch girl."
"I will fetch her," Slipper said and moved off, smiling warmly at Geraldo.
"What about me?" Da Gama asked.
"Oh, yes! I suppose you should go in now, before Lucinda comes." His offhand tone achieved its purpose: Da Gama bristled and with no further word strode into Victorio's tent.
The air smelled stale. Pierced shade lamps hung from the tent poles cast a soft light on the velvet walls. In the center of the spacious tent Victorio reclined barefoot on a camp divan. Da Gama noticed his yellowed, clawlike toenails. His gray hair fell loose around his shoulders; his linen shirt hung open, so low that it revealed his pale belly. But Victorio held a wine flagon in his thick fingers and appeared not to care. "Da Gama!" Victorio said in surprise. "What brings you here?"
"I'm the settlement man, remember? And your partner?"
"Of course, of course." Da Gama sat on the thick carpet at Victorio's feet. "Things have turned out well. Better than I hoped, in fact." He took a pull of wine. "What do you think of that Geraldo, eh?" Victorio didn't wait for an answer. "A true Dasana! The family blood runs in his veins, that's clear. A man with a future! So many excellent opinions! So many fine ideas!" Da Gama struggled to hold his tongue. "It's good you're here, Da Gama," Victorio said. His face was flushed, and his eyes red. "I've come to some decisions. I trust I can count on you." Victorio's thick tongue slid across his pale lips. "About the nautch girl ... it's settled. She'll go to the eunuchs, as we agreed with Whisper."
Da Gama nodded. "What about the vizier?" he managed to say.
"Yes. Well, I leave that part to you. You're the settlement man, eh? You deal with it. You'll figure out something. Aren't you the master?"
Da Gama lowered his head. "I shall do my best."
"Of course, of course. I place the matter in your capable hands. After all, that is what your fee is for, eh? Even your usual fee, eh?"
In the flickering lamplight, Victorio's face looked thick and heavy. Instead of looking at Da Gama when he spoke, he leaned to fill his cup with wine from a brass pitcher. Da Gama stared at him in silence. It was nearly empty, and Victorio shook the last drops into his cup and took a long draft. "I'd offer you some wine," he said to break the silence, "but you see ... it's gone.
"Yes." Da Gama rose and turned to leave.
"About that other matter-that special fee I promised?"
Da Gama turned and raised an eyebrow, waiting. The old man smiled wanly and then turned his head. "I may have spoken too soon. I must discuss it with my partner."
"Geraldo?"
"Of course ... since he stands to inherit the Dasana fortune, you know, he must have some authority. . ."
"Aren't you forgetting Lucinda? Isn't the fortune hers?" Victorio flicked his hand in answer, as if batting away a fly. Da Gama's mouth tightened. "And I thought I was to be your partner."
Victorio spread his arms-as if he were helpless, as if he would embrace Da Gama, as if he could not care. "Yes, yes, dear boy, of course. I will discuss that with him, too." He turned away. "Just send Lucinda in, won't you? And we'll sort things out tomorrow. There's a good fellow."
Da Gama thought to speak, but Victorio had now looked away, and Da Gama did not trust his tongue.
As they approached Victorio's tent, Slipper pointed out to Lucinda the many indications of his improved state: the fine clothing, the rich jewels, the guards at his command. "I am eunuch of the first rank now," he beamed.
"But I thought you already were of the first rank?"
"Oh, I said that. Once I had been, so it was not a lie. But now I truly am.
Lucinda gave a wan smile. The sunset faded on the horizon, and the darkening sky was filling with stars. She saw Da Gama coming toward them, and greeted him, but for the first time that she could remember, he did not answer her, not even to look up.
"What's wrong with Deoga, I wonder?" Slipper said as he held the tent flap wide for Lucinda to pass, and followed her into Victorio's tent.
Lucinda shivered when she entered, though the stale air of the tent was warm. She was glad for the dim lamplight, for she saw that Victorio had not aged well. She made a mental note to meet him only in darkness. "Lucy, dearest," the old man said, grunting as he stood to greet her. "How beautiful you've become. A grown-up woman now, and beautiful-quite, quite beautiful." Victorio's rough hands took hers. "You're bashful, I see. No matter, darling. Soon we shall be married, and there will be no more need for shyness." He glanced to Slipper. "Leave us," he said in Hindi. "And send in food."
When Slipper had bowed and left, Victorio beamed at Lucinda. "Some wine while we wait?"
Lucinda declined. While Victorio took another flagon and arranged himself on the divan, she stood and tried to make her face pleasant. "Too bad about your uncle Carlos," Vittorio said. "Poisoned, you know. Or so the doctor said." Victorio raised an eyebrow significantly.
"I thought he died of flux," Lucinda stammered.
"Anyway he's dead," Victorio went on. "So when we are married, you and I shall have the entire fortune, you know. It's quite a lot. We shall be comfortable."
Instead of a servant, as Lucinda expected, Geraldo came bearing plates of spicy roasted goat, and another pitcher of wine. He gave Victorio an affectionate smile; to Lucinda, out of the old man's view, he rolled his eyes. When he left, Victorio motioned for Lucinda to sit near his feet. He poured more wine from the new pitcher, and this time did not bother to offer Lucinda any.
While he talked, Victorio stared past her, toward a panorama only he could see. He told her that he'd sent word to Goa for their banns to be announced, and that as soon as a priest had come to Bijapur, the marriage would be performed. "A small ceremony. Private. Only the finest people will be invited-the grand vizier, the Khaswajara. Perhaps Commander Shahji." Victorio rambled on. She should plan to make a household for them there in Bijapur, worthy of their station. "Only the finest will do. But don't spend too much, mind. Anyway, you'll have plenty else to do, soon enough."
Lucinda realized that Victorio was speaking of a baby. They would hire an ayah to help. Lucinda imagined the future he described: she and a baby and a nurse in a strange house in a strange city, with a husband all too likely to sicken soon and die. Suddenly Geraldo's offer did not seem as horrid as it had a few days before.
"No." Lucinda found herself on her feet. "It shall not be as you say." She turned and was nearly to the entrance before Victorio realized she was gone and stopped his monotonous monologue.
"Lucy!" She turned. "What are you doing?"
"I'm leaving, Uncle."
Victorio chuckled, and then laughed so hard he began to cough. "And where will you go, dearest?"
"You think I am without resources?"
"You are a child. You are my ward. You are my wife, or will be soon enough. You are a Dasana and you'll do what you're told!"
"You are wrong. I have chosen a different path."
Before Victorio could say another word, she was gone.
Outside, Geraldo, Da Gama, and Slipper were eating near the fire. Farther off, she saw shadows of sentries standing watch. Geraldo leaped to his feet and joined her. "Well, dear cousin, how did you enjoy your
husband?"
Lucinda passed him without looking up. Through the dark clearing she hurried back toward her tent. She glanced behind her and saw that Slipper now followed her. "Leave me alone!" Lucinda shouted.
"I'm only coming for the nautch girl," Slipper whimpered as he followed her.
"Walk behind me, then," Lucinda said, and hurried on.
Maya looked up when Lucinda entered. "So," she said after a glance at Lucinda's face.
"So," Lucinda answered.
Maya rose and took her hands. "It is my turn next." She embraced Lucinda and whispered in her ear, "Do nothing until I return. Do you understand me? Do nothing! There is time, sister, there is time. Wait for my return. We'll talk and make a plan."
Slipper came in then. "This is pretty," he said. "You two have become friends." But he blanched when he saw the way they looked at him. "Do not harm me!" he cried, thrusting out his fingers as though to ward off the evil eye.
Maya stepped away from Lucinda. "Let us go then, master eunuch." She threw around her shoulders the silver shawl she'd worn as she left the dhow in Goa. "Promise, sister, that you'll wait for my return."
"I promise," Lucinda answered, her voice scarcely audible.
"What mischief have you two planned?" Slipper asked, barely able to contain his apprehension.
"The death of hypocrites," Maya whispered.
"What?" He gave a nervous giggle. "Oh, bless the Prophet, then I'm safe," he added, as if playing along with Maya's joke. But Maya did not laugh.
"By the Virgin's tits, you're beautiful."
Slipper had just shown Maya into Victorio's tent, and the old man, stretched out on the divan, gazed at her with frank amazement. "To think I own you," he breathed.
"Until tomorrow, master," Slipper said brightly.
"Yes. But mine tonight, eh? Come closer." In the lamplight, Maya's silver shawl shimmered like the moon. "Turn." She did, and let the shawl fall from her shoulders so Victorio could see her golden skin. "You are trained in tantra?" Maya now faced him silently, her face blank, but her eyes shining. "Leave us," he told Slipper. Victorio's face was flushed, and his eyes were bloodshot. "Leave us now!"
"Now, you two will be careful.. ."
"Go now!" Victorio shouted, rising unsteadily from the divan.
Slipper waited by the fire, too nervous to sit, glancing often toward Victorio's tent. Geraldo acted as if it were a great joke. Every time a muffled groan escaped the tent, he laughed, sometimes so hard he had to wipe his eyes. Beyond the fire, Da Gama had set out his pistolas in a line, and polished them, one by one, with his dark kerchief, never looking up.
At last Maya emerged, disheveled but no less beautiful. Her hair cascaded around her shoulders. She threw her shawl across her head. "Is he still alive?" Geraldo laughed.
"He was when I left him." As Maya walked past the fire, she for a moment caught Da Gama's eye, but both instantly looked away.
"Shouldn't we go with her?" Slipper asked.
"What for?" Geraldo said.
"Tell me," Lucinda said when Maya entered. Lucinda lay huddled on a bed of cushions, wearing only her slip as a dressing gown, and a rough blanket pulled across her shoulders. She'd blown out all the lamps but one, which flickered behind its pierced shade and cast eerie shadows.
Maya did not look at her. She let the shawl fall from her shoulders to the floor. "He did not touch me." She laughed bitterly. "He made me wiggle for him ... dancing, he called it. He said he preferred to use his hand." Slowly Maya unwrapped her sari, and stood for a moment naked before she slipped into a simple gown. Still silent, she pushed some cushions together to form a bed, and stretched on it with a sigh. At last she turned to Lucinda. "He wants me to train you, as I have been trained."
She said the words simply, as though they were not foul, but all the same Lucinda cringed.
"He's an old man," she continued, her voice carefully flat. "It will be quicker if you move; quicker still if you kick his buttocks with your heels, and nip his neck and suck his tongue." She said all this without a look at Lucinda. "This may not be pleasant for you, but it will get things over quickly. You might prefer quick. Or you can lie back, stiff and unyielding. Then it will take a long time to be over. But you will make him miserable. You will have to choose." Maya reached for her shoulder bag. "If it were up to me, I would make him miserable."
"Was it bad?"
"No worse than having congress with merchants in the temple. We spoke of that, did we not?" Lucinda nodded. "He could use a bath. Perhaps you can persuade him." Maya spilled the contents of her bag over the blanket in her lap. Maya found the twist of cloth that held the portion of arsenico Lucinda had given her. She pushed everything else back into her bag.
"I have mine, too," Lucinda said, holding out her silver box of arsenico. She clicked the lid open and the lamplight glinted red on the paste inside. "What shall we do?"
The women faced each other, eyes smoldering in the flickering light.
And then they heard the moans.
Around the fire, the men had barely turned their heads from Maya's swaying shadow when they heard a clatter from Victorio's tent. "He's still at it," Geraldo joked. "He hasn't realized the nautch girl is gone."
More clatter, more noise, and Da Gama rose to his feet, shoving his pistolas into his belt. "Something's wrong in there."
But before he could do anything more, Victorio, wearing nothing but his pantaloons, came stumbling through the entrance, clinging to the guy ropes. "I have to take a piss," he grunted.
"You look like hell." Da Gama moved to help him, but the old man waved him off.
"Too much wine. Too much woman." He managed a leering wink before grabbing the rope once more for balance. "I just need the bushes, that's all." He lurched forward, half-stumbling, and then leaned against a tree. Then a few more stumbling steps, until he crashed into a sentry. "Who the hell are you?"
The guard helped him to his feet. "I am your guard, sir."
Victorio squinted at him; his eyes were so bleary he could barely see. "Thank God," he said. "I thought you were Old Nick come to take me straight to hell." He began to laugh, so hard he fell to his knees. Da Gama rushed to help him. "Thought he was Old Nick," Victorio told him as if confiding a secret. "Thought my time was up. Not that I'd mind. I could die happy. My God, her calha squirmed on my fonte like a fish!" Da Gama heaved him to his feet, and helped him stumble to the bushes. "By God I showed her what a real man can do. She'd only had Hindis before, you know. They have little fontes, like this . . ." Victorio held up his pinky, curled limply, and began to laugh.
The laugh became a cough, a cough so fierce it brought him to his knees, gasping. Da Gama clapped him on the back, knowing it was useless. Victorio could scarcely breathe. His eyes began to bulge. The coughing mixed with heaving. Vomit gushed from his mouth and poured over his chest. A rank puddle of the stuff formed at his knees. Da Gama tried to lift him, and got sprayed for his trouble. Vittorio grabbed Da Gama's arms, eyes so wide they seemed about to burst, face red, neck veins roped and pulsing. Victorio's fingers squeezed Da Gama's arms tighter as his face contorted.
"Oh, God!" Victorio screamed the word, and it trailed into a high pitched squeal. His torso began to jerk, and he let go of Da Gama's arms to grab his belly.
Da Gama heard the sound like a tearing, and then smelled the foulness. Victorio tugged weakly at his pants but wasn't quick enough. His immense pale belly churned in the dim firelight; Da Gama could see it seething, like it was filled with eels. Victorio squeezed out more foulness. "Go get help!" Da Gama cried to the sentry.
"Yes, sir!" The guard turned, and then turned back. "What help, sir?"
"Geraldo, Slipper. Anyone!"
As his belly churned once more, Victorio gave an agonized, rattling moan. "Don't leave me, Da Gama!" he gasped. Then he moaned again. Da Gama knelt beside him. "I've been a fool," he whispered, and then howled in agony. "Da Gama, help me!"
Oddly, Slipper seemed unfazed. When he saw Vittorio, he c
lucked his tongue, rolled up his sleeves, and peeled off the old man's filthy pants. "Fetch water. A big basinful," he ordered the sentry. Victorio writhed naked on the ground, filling the night with moans, but Slipper knelt and stroked his forehead with a pudgy hand, humming a kind of lullaby. "He's dying," he whispered to Geraldo and Da Gama, but they'd already realized this.
When the water came, he made the farangs lift Victorio, and then sluiced him down, using his own hands to wash off the filth. Then, with Slipper's encouragement, they half-carried, half-dragged Victorio to his tent. By the time they set him on the divan, he was nearly empty. He heaved, and his belly spasmed, but he had nothing more to lose. "Dear me," Slipper sighed. "I knew I should have brought some opium."
They tried to keep him covered, but between the spasms and his anguished flailing, it was impossible. The sight of that old body squeezed by death's cold fingers made even Da Gama weep.
It took the old man a long hour to die.
Part Seven
Gokak Falls
They arranged the body on the divan. Geraldo, looking unusually serious, closed Victorio's eyes, and drew a blanket over his gray face. They stood in silence for a moment, and then Slipper snapped his fingers at a sentry. "Go to my tent and fetch one of my green plates. Now, oaf!" The sentry looked to Da Gama and Geraldo, but first one shrugged and then the other. At last the sentry made an uncertain bow and hurried off.
"The nautch girl was too much for him," Geraldo said as if in eulogy. "Poor fellow. Too much pleasure."
"Don't be absurd," Slipper answered. "It wasn't pleasure that caused his death."
Da Gama and Geraldo shared a glance. Da Gama suddenly realized how much the eunuch had changed since he'd first met him. He stood with his feet apart, arms crossed, staring up at them with grand authority. It was all Da Gama could do to keep from laughing.