Grantville Gazette-Volume XI

by Eric Flint

  Father Amancio nodded. "One of my grandfathers was an Englishman, a member of the Frobisher expedition. Inuit women are promiscuous by European standards."

  A darkness flashed across Father Amancio's face once again. I was beginning to become fascinated by this man. What inner demons were kept contained inside his head?

  "So long as the woman does so with her husband's permission, it is accepted. But if the husband didn't know, the wife would be stripped, dragged outside the village, and beaten."

  "Well, we won't have to worry about any Inuit attacking us as happened with Frobisher," Luke said. "That is why we have Antonio and his soldiers, right, Esteban?"

  I snorted. "Just because a people are primitive does not mean they aren't intelligent . . . and dangerous." I pulled my shirt down and pointed to my left shoulder. "See this gash? Three times we butchered the Indians on the plains of Valdivia in Chile. And the fourth time? They butchered us. I had three arrows in me, and this from a lance. If reinforcements hadn't arrived, I and my brother and all our companions would have died there. Only the mercy of God permitted me to live."

  Esteban smiled. "The way I heard the story told, Antonio, was that you earned the gash chasing down the Indian chief who had stolen your company flag."

  I frowned. "And who told you that?"

  Esteban laughed. "You did, when you were drunk last week."

  Father Amancio and Luke joined Esteban in laughter and after a brief flare of temper, I did as well.

  "Well, whatever the truth of the story is, the moral is the same, gentlemen. We will not underestimate the Inuit."

  * * *

  Our expedition left the port of Pasajes in the middle of April, 1633. The miners, carpenters, stone masons and supplies were on the San Juan, a 450 ton whaling vessel that Esteban had picked up from a bankruptcy. Our escort was the Santiago, an eighteen gun, 300 ton cruiser from the Spanish Netherlands. Our scout ship was the 100 ton yacht Viscaya. The voyage to Greenland was uneventful except for the icebergs we had to avoid as we approached the coast near Cape Desolation. It took us almost a week to find the opening to Arsuk Fjord because of the weather, the ice and the fog. At the first protected flat area inside the fjord, we began construction of a stone fort, moving the six nine-pounder guns off the deck of San Juan and onto the shore.

  To protect the secret of what we were actually attempting, we had spread the story that we were setting up a whaling station to hunt whales in the Davis Strait with new technology obtained from Grantville. We had also spread rumors that we were hunting gold and silver deposits based on information from Grantville maps. Thus our hunt for cryolite was doubly secure, or so we hoped.

  The few Inuit we saw fled quickly, and after a week in the fjord Father Amancio went on the Viscaya to make contact with the larger concentrations we knew were in the year-round ice free areas two days sail north of us. It was the night after his return that I found him on the deck of the San Juan, staring across the water of the fjord.

  * * *

  A brief blizzard in the evening had been followed by a low sun in a dark blue sky, and I couldn't sleep with all the light. I found myself on the deck, settling in for a smoke with my pipe, when I noticed Father Amancio.

  "Did your expedition go well, Father?"

  It was then that I noticed the tears in his eyes.

  "Father?"

  Father Amancio took a deep breath. "What am I doing here, Antonio? What?"

  I sucked at my pipe. "From what you've said, you are here because Father Miguel de Seville thinks you should bring God to the Inuit."

  Father Amancio shook his head. "Yes, a promise I made to a dying man. My patron, my friend, for twenty years. But how am I to do that?" He shook his head again, only savagely. "They are heathens! Godless dwellers in darkness, as I was twenty years ago. Or rather, not godless, but with too many gods! Nerrivik, goddess of the sea. Sila, the weather god, who can only be appeased when a shaman flies into the sky and tightens his caribou-skin diaper. A whole array of pestiferous spirits! I have nothing in common with them anymore." He looked at his hands with disgust. "I can't even hunt seal anymore. All the skills I knew, everything I took pride in as a young man, are gone. Replaced instead by a knowledge of books, languages, and Catholicism."

  He looked into my face. "Have I ever told you what my name was among the Inuit?"

  I shook my head.

  "Seekoo Amaruq," he said. "Which means 'wolf who hunts among sea-ice.' I was the best seal hunter of my village. I was respected, sought after. One season I caught more seal than the next best five hunters combined."

  "What happened?"

  Father Amancio grimaced. "Hubris. I became vain, arrogant. Selfish." He looked down at his feet, than back up. "The Inuit are very communal, Antonio. Such selfishness cannot be tolerated, for the good of the village, no matter how expert the hunter. I was banished forever. I became . . . a kivitog. On the brink of madness, living alone on the edge of the ice. Where the Basques and Father Seville found me."

  I said nothing, watching Father Amancio struggle with his demons. Finally he looked up at me again.

  "Can I ask you a question, Antonio?"

  I nodded. "Of course, Father."

  "When did you know?"

  "Know what?"

  He waved his hands. "When did you know you were Antonio, and not Catalina?"

  I laughed. Not heartily. But with that brittle core you get in your voice when distant, painful memories come stalking through your mind.

  "Ah, now that is an easy question to answer, Father Amancio. For a year after my escape from the Dominican convent of San Sebastian the Elder I traveled around Spain, and it was in Estella in the province of Navarre that I became a page to Don Carlos de Arellano. It was a good life and I was well-fed and well-clothed. After two years in his employment I grew restless and found myself heading for San Sebastian. There I attended a mass at my old convent, the same mass as my mother attended. I don't know why, but deep inside I wanted my mother to recognize me, to see me for who I really was."

  "She didn't recognize you, did she?"

  I smiled. "Of course not. She saw nothing but a handsome young gentleman with a vague resemblance to a daughter she had placed in a convent at the age of four. It was then I knew that there was no going back. That I truly was Antonio de Erauso, not Catalina."

  Father Amancio was silent for several minutes, and I thought to leave him, but I knew I couldn't. Not without some word of encouragement. It doesn't take much. Many times I have been in despair, alone, wanting a touch, a smile or just a simple gesture from a friend that says "You are not alone, Antonio. We're here for you." I could not leave Father Amancio with nothing.

  "It is not black or white, Father Amancio."

  He looked up at me. "What?"

  "You don't have to just be Father Amancio or Seekoo Amaruq. If there is one thing that I have learned in my travels, it is that God really does give us free will. We can choose more than a single path in life, nothing is set in stone. You can be Father Amancio, or Seekoo Amaruq, or even someone else." I clasped his shoulder. "You decide. Not Father Seville, not me, not Esteban. The choice is yours. And whatever your choice, I will support you. You have my word as a Spaniard and as Antonio de Erauso."

  For a moment Father Amancio eyes bore into mine. Then he smiled. "Thank you, Antonio."

  * * *

  It was in the middle of July when Father Amancio returned from what we were beginning to call "New Seville" with a village elder, Uutaaq, and his three daughters, Apa, Pipaluk and Sigoko.

  They were exotic, attractive women dressed in light seal-skin jackets and breeches and tanned seal-skin boots that nearly reached to their hips. The youngest one, Sigoko, barely sixteen, kept smiling at me. I admit I found her attractive, despite the half-dozen black-blue stripes that extended from her lower lip to below her chin. I even wondered if what Father Amancio had said about their underwear being made of feathers was really true, and what it might feel like. But her smell
quenched my desire.

  "Comely wenches," I said to Father Amancio at the meeting that night on the Santiago where we were hosting a feast for Uutaaq. "But the smell . . ." I wrinkled my nose. "Especially the hair . . ."

  Father Amancio laughed. "I know. They wash their hair with urine. It is worse in New Seville. I had forgotten what it was like. In summer a village always stinks of seal guts, unwashed Inuit and dog shit. You get used to it after awhile."

  I shuddered. "Better you than me, Father."

  Uutaaq pointed in my direction and jabbered away at Father Amancio, who laughed and then turned to me.

  "Uutaaq says he noticed your interest in Sigoko. If you would like her for a wife, he is willing . . . and so is she. Or simply as a kifak, which means housekeeper, if you prefer." Father Amancio's eyes danced with amusement.

  "And how would she feel when she discovered the true sex of her husband?" I asked drily.

  Father Amancio waved his hand. "Not a problem, so long as you provided for her and her children." He smiled. "And so long as you followed Inuit custom and gave her permission to lay with men occasionally."

  I sighed. I admit, I was tempted, but three times in my years in South America I had been nearly trapped into marriage, which would have been a disaster for me. But I had always found a diplomatic way to avoid entanglements. Even if that "diplomatic way" was to get myself onto a fast horse at midnight.

  I shook my head. "Tell Uutaaq I'll consider it carefully. But what about you, Father? Apa certainly seems smitten with you."

  Father Amancio's smile vanished. Now it was his turn to sigh. "I know, and a relationship with her may be unavoidable, given the additional things that Uutaaq wants."

  Esteban had been listening. "Which is what? I thought you said Uutaaq would lead us to the cryolite in exchange for more harpoons, knives and mirrors?"

  Despite the fact that we had been actively searching for almost a month, we had not yet discovered the cryolite, the local word for which, Father Amancio had discovered, was orsuksiksaet, "the stone that looks like seal blubber." Both the weather and the terrain had hampered our efforts. Fortunately, the building of the fort at the mouth of Arsuk fjord had gone well. But if we were to depart Greenland on time at the end of August, we would have to find the cryolite deposit quickly to get even a few tons of ore out of the deposit.

  "Uutaaq will lead us to the orsuksiksaet," Father Amancio said, and at the sound of the word Uutaaq smiled, "But only if we help him banish the village's angakok, Kinalik."

  At the sound of the shaman's name Uutaaq scowled and a dozen sentences in the Inuit language blistered our ears. Father Amancio help up his hand and spoke softly.

  "Wonderful," I muttered. "I assume that means they aren't up to the job themselves?"

  Father Amancio shook his head. "They are afraid of him. He is said to practice black magic, especially with the ierqat, the mountain spirits." Amancio sighed. "He is also not happy with me, since I have converted several elders and a number of women to the Catholic faith. I think he feels that I am usurping his power." He waved toward the deck where the faint sounds of female laughter and singing could be heard. "Apa thinks he is preparing a tupilait to send against me."

  "What's a tupilait?" Esteban asked.

  "A tupilait is a potent evil made of animal parts. Very powerful magic. When I was a boy my own angakok said that a shaman had to have great confidence in his abilities or the misfortune intended for the victim would recoil and kill the originator of the spell."

  Esteban looked at me. "I think Antonio can arrange such a recoil, if this Kinalik gets feisty. How many soldiers would it take?"

  "Ask Uutaaq," I grunted. "He'll know how many followers this Kinalik has."

  Father Amancio sent the query at Uutaaq, who held up four fingers.

  "A dozen soldiers in armor should be sufficient," I said. "Three with muskets, the rest with swords, armor and helmets. Nice and shiny. It should look impressive. Being confident is sometimes more than half the battle."

  Esteban shook his head. "A dozen Bosqueros for four savages? That seems like overkill to me."

  I smiled. "And how many Indians have you killed, Esteban, in your many whaling adventures? Uutaaq may be merely underestimating to get us to commit to helping him. Suppose he has twenty or thirty followers instead? Indians are not stupid. Nor are they necessarily trustworthy. A dozen it shall be. And no young hotheads like Sanchez or your brother Christobal. Veterans, men I can depend on when all the plans go to hell." I thought for a moment. "Ricardo, Juan, Julio and Felix, for a start. They will form the core. I'll come up with the rest later."

  I looked over at Father Amancio. "But that's not all Uutaaq wants, is it?"

  Father Amancio nodded reluctantly. "There have been difficult times along the coast. Not as much ice, which means that more men have been killed seal hunting. In addition to helping to banish Kinalik, I will have to marry two of Uutaaq's daughters. Probably Apa and Sigoko, now that you've turned her down."

  I laughed. "So much for a priest's vows of celibacy. Assuming you are willing, of course."

  Father Amancio shrugged. "Father Seville told me I might have to make compromises to bring God to the Inuit. And if I am to stay with them, I must re-learn some of the old ways of thinking."

  Esteban shook his head in amusement. "Sounds like you may be going native on us, Father."

  "Perhaps." Father Amancio looked over at me and smiled. "Or maybe I am simply finding a different path to take."

  * * *

  We landed at high tide on the rocky beach in front of New Seville three days later. The location was close to the town of Fredrickshaab on the maps Luke Foxe had copied in Grantville. It was petty of me to think it, but I still took pleasure in the thought that perhaps our presence would prevent the dour Danes and their Lutheran heresy from making inroads among the Greenlanders.

  There were several dozen kayaks and umiaks on the beach. The village itself was larger than I had imagined, several score of rectangular buildings made of wood, stones and turf. As we passed by the large dance hall in the center of the village, however, I noticed that there were very few Inuit about; a few mothers with infants in the hoods of their jackets, a few small girls playing with ivory dolls dressed in fur, a couple of young boys with small bows made of caribou horn and sinew.

  As Uutaaq and his daughters led the way along a well-worn path through the willow scrub not too dissimilar from the birch scrub we were accustomed to on Arsuk fjord, I turned to Father Amancio.

  "Where are the Inuit, Father?"

  Father Amancio smiled. "Did you imagine that only rich Spanish nobles have separate summer and winter homes, Antonio? In the summer the Inuit here move into skin tents on a hill near the lake. Better access for caribou hunting, and breezes to keep off the mosquitos. It's less than two miles."

  "I don't like it," Felix Gonzalez, my sergeant, muttered next to me as a willow branch snapped against his helmet. "We can't see shit in this."

  "I know, a good place for an ambush, this scrub," I said, watching Father Amancio's back disappear around a bend in the trail. "Pass the word. Tell the men to keep the interval, be alert. Especially the musketeers."

  But the scrub soon disappeared and we found ourselves on a small ridge, headed northeast. Off in the distance we could make out the skin tents of the Inuit next to a large lake. When we were half a mile from the summer village, the path descended once again into willow scrub, only denser than what we had already passed through.

  The attack came less than fifty yards later.

  "Antonio!"

  A wave of spears flew from the scrub.

  My sword was already half-drawn when the spear aimed for my heart bounced off my breast-plate.

  Thank God, stone point, not iron.

  My sword was fully drawn as an Inuit came at me from the left, stabbing with one of the basque harpoons we'd sold them.

  Not this time, piglet.

  I parried the thrust with my sword and then s
pitted him in the stomach. He folded into a ball when I withdrew my sword.

  The muskets went off behind me and I began to turn to shout at my men when a blow to my helmet turned the world black and red and I fell to my knees, then onto my side. I rolled over onto my back.

  God, not like this, damn it.

  An Inuit warrior stood over me with his spear held high, eyes mad with pleasure, and my body refused to respond to my commands.

  The triumphant expression on the warrior's face turned to pain when the tip of a harpoon burst through his stomach.

  He fell across my legs.

  Father Amancio reached down next to me and picked up the dead warrior's spear just as my Bosqueros came forward along the path.

  "Father . . . Amancio?"