by Robert Adams
Abdullah thought flittingly of rendering the former mercenary a military salute, but as he was not at all certain just what all of the arquebusiers and calivermen might do if he drew free his blade, he settled for making a leg, sweeping his hat plume across the grass matting that covered the floor.
"An old-fashioned gentleman," growled Otei, "with the inborn courtesy of his breed, a precious breed that seems to grow rarer as years go by. You are more than welcome here, comrade. Your stay in my holdings will be more than merely pleasant, I will see to that."
Then, turning back to Sancho, he said, "I hope you brought some decent rum, Sancho. The Portuguese who were here last had only a despicable brandy that would make a Kalmyk puke—the foul stuff is fit for no better purpose than treating saddle sores, I trow! My watchdogs"—he waved back at the ranks of black soldiers—"seem to dearly love the stuff, but then they have some other odd tastes, too." He chuckled.
At a word from Sancho, two of the seamen rolled a fat keg up to the foot of the dais, expertly started the bung, inserted a spigot of carved wood and cork, then heaved the keg up on one end. Squatting beside it, Sancho himself filled his belt-cup and took a long draught of it before handing it to the slave dealer.
Captain Otei sniffed, smiled, sipped, then threw back his head and drained the cup. Throwing the pewter mug at one of the great swordsmen, he growled a few words in a slightly nasal tongue, and the man left his sword stuck into the floor and hurried to refill the cup for his captain.
Another few, somewhat louder, growled words saw servants hurry in with a pair of beautifully carven and inlaid chairs for Sancho and Abdullah, as many large, footed silver trays of Moorish designs filled with wide assortments of nuts, fruits, and stranger foodstuffs. Another servant presented each of them with a heavy, magnificent goblet of solid silver enclosing a golden bowl and rim. Three additional servants brought in a keg-holder, installed the broached rum keg in place, then filled the goblets and Otei's cup, which was once more empty.
"I like this cup, Sancho," said Otei, bouncing it on his broad pink palm. "I'll give you those two goblets for it, eh?" He rumbled a laugh like the roll of distant thunder. "The Dutchman for whom they were fashioned tried to cheat this flamboyant, ignorant old savage, so he no longer has any need for them; indeed, I'm having a drinking bowl made of his thick skull, in the Tartar mode."
While Sancho cracked nuts, Otei asked Abdullah, "Where have you fought, sir knight?"
"A few little wars, short-term actions, mostly, while still I was in Spain deciding whether to follow my father into the priesthood or opt for some military career. Then, after arriving in Cuba, I went on an expedition against the indios of Mexico . . ."
Otei rumbled another laugh. "And it failed, of course. When are you Spaniards and Moors going to get it through your stubborn heads that the Aztec Empire is simply too tough a nut to crack? But, say on, sir knight."
Abdullah did, feeling more and more relaxed as he conversed with the knowledgeable and most amiable retired condottiere. Following the suggestions of his host, he tried several of the unfamiliar delicacies heaped in profusion on the silver trays and found that he savored most of them.
At length, Otei asked, "Well, from your experience, Don Abdullah, what do you think of my outer works here, those of them as you've had an opportunity to see so far, that is?"
Abdullah frowned and shook his head. "All that I can say, Captain Otei, is that I pray the Christ that no one ever orders me to lead an attack against your walls. Your riverside wall alone has four or five times the firepower of any castillo this side of Spain; not even the great castillo that guards the harbor of Habana boasts so many full cannon, demicannon, and tercero-cannon, I think. Pray tell, how did you manage to acquire so many this far from any cannon foundry, Captain?"
Otei smiled. "Curiosity—I like that in an officer, sir knight, it denotes an open mind; it is the ignorant and hidebound men who are not curious and accepting of new things, new weapons, new strategies and tactics. But such curiosity among most Europeans, especially among their nobility and gentles, is rare, alas; had I been gifted with more such as you amongst my commanders, I had still been far to the north of this barbaric place, leading my fine old condotta in the service of emperors and popes, kings and caliphs, princes and grand dukes and bishops and beys, living the hard and often penurious life of the professional soldier, not rolling here in wealth and luxury and growing fat."
"But, about my cannon, yes, I brought many of them, all of the older pieces, from Ghana, when first I and my original six partners sailed down here to go into this so very lucrative business, twenty-odd years ago. As for the rest, well, in the early years here, I let it become known in the trade that I would give good value from out my stock-on-hand for perfect, well-found guns of larger bores, iron balls, granite or basalt balls, cases of grape, swivel guns, and suchlike. It worked well, as you can easily see, and even now I can still be persuaded to take good guns, gunpowder of all grades, cast or wrought shot, small arms, bullet molds, bar lead, and similar military hardware in exchange for slaves, even small sailing ships, if they be sound and of relatively shallow draught, and I never seem to have enough sound longboats and whaleboats on which swivels can be safely mounted and, in necessity, fired. The recoil of a swivel of any size and power is like to spring the bow or stern of the native river craft, and no man—black or brown or white—wants to find himself swimming in a river full of crocodiles, you know."
Sancho, having eaten all of the nuts he could find, asked, "How many slaves have you got in the pens, Captain? Of what tribes?"
The fat man frowned and sighed. "Not a one, right now, Sancho. But if you'll anchor, bring your crews ashore so that you all may enjoy my hospitality, and have patience, there will be more soon. A great war took place in the highlands in the interior south of here, and one of my partners, Haroun al-Ain, is even as we speak on his way back here with a huge coffle of captives bought from the victors in that war."
"Also, my other partner, Ahmed al-Gahzahr ibn Zoultahn, went off on a little razzia of his own, some weeks back, up in the north, and these two absences are why there are so few troops hereabouts just now. Not that you or your men will be in any danger, for I still have enough men on hand to fight the fortress, should that become necessary. If you wish, you may stay aboard your ships out there in the river, but you'll be less comfortable there."
When, on their way back to the boats in which they had come ashore, Abdullah mentioned that he intended to take advantage of the slave dealer's generous offer, rather than remain on the cramped ship, Sancho shook his head and said, "Brother-in-law, you do what you wish, but I mean to stay aboard, cramped or not, for a coffin is even more cramped, I'm told. On board a ship, you can up anchor and let the current carry you back to the sea, even if there happens to be no wind for your sails. Nor do I intend to off-load one more stick of goods until I see a profusion of brown, two-legged cattle in Michael Otei's pens, with some hundreds more soldiers to guard them and the fortress. Do not be led astray by all you've seen and heard today, Abdullah—this is not in the least a healthful place in which to dawdle. What do you think happened to all six of Otei's original partners? Not a one of them died peacefully in bed. I'll tell you, come back aboard my ship with me for a little while, and I'll fill you in on what your father-in-law and certain others have told me, from time to time; then, if you still have the guts to want to take up Otei's offer . . . well, you'll be far braver a man than am I."
They waited, swinging at anchor for three weeks, sweltering in the sun by day, drenched and shivering in the nightly downpours, but preferring that discomfort to the stifling hell that lay in the enclosed places of the ships. Their few ameliorating comforts were a plentitude of fresh foods and cool spring water. The seamen and sea-soldiers were allowed to take turns going ashore in lots of a dozen or so at any one time while Abdullah and Sancho dined each day with Captain Michael Otei in his palace.
Finally, Sancho had himself rowed over
to Abdullah's vessel and, when they were in a place apart, said, "Look, Abdullah, there are good times to make the crossing back to Cuba and there are ill. We came over here, to Afriqah, near to the tag end of the good, to start, and do we delay for much longer, we'll be into the season of storms . . . and, my friend, you can't know the true taste of terror till you've been in the middle of the Ocean Sea in the howling midst of a full living, raging gale. I think we must up anchor on the morrow and beat out to sea."
Abdullah frowned. "You heard the Captain, Sancho—the parties could arrive tomorrow, either or both of them."
"Yes, and they could never come back, too, Abdullah. Even as we speak here, those Arabs and their soldiers could be bubbling in stewpots somewhere in the interior as did not a few of their predecessors. Otei knows that too, you know. Why do you think he is become so jumpy and irritable, of late, eh?"
"No, we up anchor tomorrow, Abdullah. There is another dealer with whom we've done business and been dealt with honestly. He's up north, a factor of the King of Bornu. Since we have to head north anyway, we might as well stop off there and see what he has on hand. Call your sailing master over and I'll give him his course. You should learn navigation, too, as I did. One can never tell when it might be the difference between living and dying, you know."
CHAPTER THE SIXTH
They were four days out when the storm struck, almost without warning. By the time the terrifying episode had ended, the mizzen was gone and the foremast sprung, three seamen, two sea-soldiers, and both the sailing master and the quartermaster were gone, swept away at one time or another. Worse, the Rosalita was nowhere to be seen on any quarter. They were wallowing, near unsailable in the midst of a pitiless salt sea with no single man capable of plotting a course, fixing a position, or navigating.
Abdullah decided that the first order of business must be to see to the balking of the numerous small but persistent leaks below the waterline, then to pump out the water collected in the bilge. These things done, he summoned the sailors and soldiers and addressed them from the quarterdeck.
"I know no navigation. Does any of you? Very well, then, we all must make the best of a bad situation. Afriqah lies somewhere to the east, possibly not very far, for we were only about a day's good sailing off the coast when that damned storm struck us. Therefore, we will rig some sort of sails and proceed eastwards until we sight that coast, then we will sail on northwards, keeping it always in our sight, even if that means halting with sea anchors rigged by nights. Eventually, we must find ourselves in this Bight of Benin, then we must seek the mouth of that big river flowing from the north. Even if we do not find another Spanish ship, still we have a plethora of trade goods, so we should be able to raise enough to pay the hire of a foreign navigator. I can just now think of nothing else to do. May God bless and keep us from harm."
They had sailed slowly, very slowly indeed, for another two days when one of the seamen placed himself before Abdullah, tugged at his forelock, and stood in silence until given leave to speak.
"My lord? If my lord will look over the side here, he will note the color of the water. This unworthy one dipped up a bucket of it and it is near to being fresh."
Tired and very worried, Abdullah snapped, "So, what of it, man?"
"My lord, offense is not intended, but . . . but, my lord, the water would not be brownish and near fresh were we not far off from the mouth of a river, a big river, and it please my lord."
Mounting the keen-sighted seaman on the bowsprit and ordering the steersman to take his direction from him only, Abdullah saw that the battered ship was kept in the most off-colored water, and, hours later, he saw the coast—a dim, hazy, dark line on the eastern horizon.
At a little past midday, a headland came into view . . . a familiar headland. They were back at the mouth of the Rio Kongo!
Captain Otei could not have been more sympathetic or attempted to be more helpful, remarking over and over how much safer and more predictable was a land-bound life, even that of a professional warrior, than one spent mostly aboard a frail craft always at the mercy of the fearsome vagaries of the cruel sea.
He suggested that the ship, still badly and inexplicably leaking, be run close inshore, so that should it go to the bottom, it do so in relatively shallow water wherein the work involved in raising it and effecting possible repairs would be the easier accomplished. He lent numbers of men and lighters to offload the cargo and the carriage guns, along with all else of real weight, to help keep the storm-damaged vessel at least partially afloat.
The barcagalòn and the carpintero reported to Abdullah with the bad, the very bad news. "My lord, a fully equipped shipyard could of a possibility repair this ship, make her once more seaworthy, but we cannot. She is old, this Ana Gomez, and has been in almost daily use for most of her fifty-odd years. Certain weaknesses and soft spots in her hull planking were ordered to be ignored when last she was careened, the Señores Gomez wanting yet another profitable voyage out of her before they would pay the costs of her proper overhauling."
"Is it so, then, hombres?" said Don Abdullah. If and when he ever did get back to Habana, there would be very strong words if not more in reference to his dear father-in-law's putting him in command of a less than fully sound ship for what was at best a long and dangerous expedition at sea. "She cannot be repaired here, then, you say?"
The carpintero shook his graying head. "No, my lord, no use in even trying. There be a crack in the keel that I can put all my hand into, and the wood inside it is not splintery but feels like a hard sponge. Moreover, at least three ribs are sprung from the keel in that vicinity. Masts and yards and sheathing, even, I can fashion from seasoned timber and replace, but, my lord, keels and ribs are the province of a true shipwright and his workmen, not a mere ship's carpenter."
Dispiritedly, Don Abdullah plodded back to the fortress to dine, as usual, with Captain Otei, only to find the bridge over the moat fully raised and secured. There was not a man in sight on the walls, and only his repeated shouting at last brought one of the white officers, who recognized him and ordered the bridge lowered. But no sooner was Abdullah across than he heard it being winched back up, heard the crash of the portcullis behind him, and saw black soldiers drop from someplace in the entry walls to close and bar the massive gates, then trot ahead of him to open those at the other end of the entry.
In the large central plaza of the fortress, turmoil reigned. A large party of black soldiers under command of a near-white had drawn the loads of the three huge bombards in battery in the center of the plaza and were engaged in recharging them with fresh powder. He recalled now, though it had not really registered at the time, having heard the unmistakable sounds coming through the walls of the entry passage of heavy guns being moved about on their trucks and carriages on the various levels of the front wall batteries, which had most likely been where everyone had been while he had been shouting for admittance to the fortress.
Outside the workshop of the Egyptian Cirujano and his apprentices, a heap of still-bleeding black bodies was already aswarm with flies and other insects, which prey had attracted several of the small, jewel-bright, insectivorous lizards and at least one big brown toad. A line of other blank-faced, wounded black soldiers waited patiently along the side of the building for their turns under the gore-clotted knives of the alcoholic surgeon, ignoring the terrible shrieks and screams coming out of the place. Abdullah just ignored them too; he had heard the like from battlefield surgeries in other lands and other places, and they all were the same, when surgeons were rushed and overworked and the laudanum was running low. As he passed on toward the sprawling palace, a slender man with a Semitic hook of a nose—Abdullah could not discern the tone of his skin, because of all the blood, both old and new; he looked as if he had been plunged full-length into a lake of the stuff—stepped to a window and heaved the shattered remnants of an arm, sawn off above the elbow, at the pile of fly-food. A white shard of ulna pierced the brown toad through and pinned him screami
ng to the blood-soaked ground.
All over the verandah and the full length of the corridor, the black soldiers were squatting or sitting on the floor, loading breech cups for swivel guns and horn or wooden load tubes for calivers and arquebuses, cleaning weapons, reaming touchholes, and checking the actions of wheel-locks.
Captain Otei looked worried and, moreover, was cold sober. "Don Abdullah," he said without preamble, "you must have your ship drawn out into deeper water and anchored at least halfway to the other side of the river. Don't bother with trying to reload your cargo and your guns and shot—I'll buy the lot, though I don't really know just what I'll do with those old, rusty, short culverins from your main battery, I'd be afraid to fire one of them fully charged, so aged are they, but I'll send out men to drag them inside, anyway."
Don Abdullah shook his head sadly. "Captain, alas, the ship cannot be repaired. If it is warped out into the main channel, it will surely sink, blocking that channel. I have come to ask employment and maintenance for me and my men until another Spanish ship comes and we can work our passages back home."
Otei frowned. "Of course, you don't understand the gravity of the situation here, today, sir knight. Haroun al-Ain and what is left of his force—more than a full third of our garrison left here with him—having had to fight and lose a battle, lost all of the slaves they had bought and then conducted a fighting withdrawal back to the river and their boats. Seven out of every ten of his original force was killed or wounded, and, worse, we can be almost certain that those larcenous, murderous swine will be on their way down here to try to take the fortress or at least force us to buy them off, as a similar big tribe did seven years ago. And we may have to do just so if Ahmed al-Gahzahr and his third of the garrison do not soon return. What little time we do have will be allowed us because this particular tribe are not boat-oriented people. They mostly don't swim and so they fear the river and will, therefore, be coming down here by land, which will take them somewhat longer. And that is also why you would be utterly safe from them anchored out in the river."