chapter 49

Ourselves Alone

At one time the great empire of the Amazon with its vassal kingdoms stretched from the foothills of the Andes to the Atlantic Ocean with a population numbering in the millions. They maintained a vibrant trade with their neighbors, the Incas, as well as with their distant Mesoamerican cousins, the Aztecs. But even before either of these great civilizations came into being, the Amazonian empire had emissaries in the courts of the early Mayans.

Crowning the valuable export crops of the empire was the rare black orchid. The Amazonians nurtured and protected the plant, grown in their Sacred Land, the heart of their empire. The orchid was treasured as a cure for all known illnesses—that is, until the white man came.

The first European explorers in the sixteenth century introduced new diseases to the previously unexposed indigenous population. Sickness spread uncontrollably in the warm, moist climate of the rain forest. Native remedies were completely ineffective against the new maladies. Both young and old of every class died horrible deaths; the few that survived were disfigured for life.

The rulers were forced to take extreme measures. A strict isolation was imposed: any explorers entering the Amazon were killed, as were any infected tribesmen. Indeed, anyone who showed the slightest sign of disease was put to death. Men, women, children—none were spared.

Still, the decimation continued until their once-great civilization withered to a single, decaying city.

The empire of the Amazon was teetering on the edge—one small push was all it would take for them to become just another lost legend of the jungle.

The king and queen entered their quarters in a small, well-kept section of the royal palace that had remained intact. The entire far side of the top floor of the once-stately stone structure had collapsed in one of the frequent quakes, crushing the two floors beneath giving it the appearance of a single story. The partially dilapidated building was a mere shadow of its former splendor.

The leader of the rulers’ personal guard checked the watch posted outside, front and back.

“Thank you as always, Ismerai, for your service,” the queen said, dismissing her. “The king and I will discuss your counsel regarding the barbarians.”

When her personal guard had left, the queen said to her husband, “Ismerai tells me they captured one at the border yesterday with the sickness, a cousin to the Jivaro.”

The king stood opposite the entrance and looked out over the royal gardens lit by the rising moon. When he spoke, his voice wavered. “The sun went its way for countless years, and our people flourished. The rains came and went and came again, and still we tamed the jungle and all its beasts.” He considered the smallpox scar on his arm. “Except one, it seems.”

The gently waving fronds of the tall palm trees surrounding the grounds cast faint moon shadows against the far wall of the royal bedroom. Sentries on their rounds strode past the broad stone stairway leading down to the garden.

“We were celebrated by our allies and feared by our enemies, but we have become a whisper of ourselves, struggling to survive in the ruins of our great works.” The king cleared his throat. “In the dark, I ask why. I am stunned by the silence.”

The queen had heard this lament from the king many times before—too many times. She gently touched his arm. “My husband,” she said patiently, “it is best not to ponder too much those things that don’t make sense to us. We must focus on what we can do.”

“But we are desperate,” the king protested. “We can’t keep the sickness out forever. It’s in the water; it’s in the air we breathe. We don’t have much time left.” He sighed.

“You are overly troubled, husband,” the queen reassured him. “We will find a way to protect ourselves from the scourge of the white men. The arrival of these new captives may be a sign the gods have not entirely abandoned us.”

“I don’t know why you think these invaders are any different from the others.”

“These men look different and act different,” the queen explained. “I had them watched as they came down the river. It’s said the gods of old who first visited the people of the mountains had hair of fire and gold, like the Englishman.”

“He seeks the god-plant,” the king said thoughtfully, “and he wears the golden talisman.”

The queen said, “He also carries red fever powder. He may be a shaman. And the dark one is more like us than any that came before. Ismerai’s spies tell her he’s a friend of the forest; he may even come from the land of the old ones.”

“Your grandfather allowed the Frenchman to leave when he promised to send more men who didn’t have the sickness. Perhaps the Frenchman sent these?” the king asked.

“I don’t think so, that was too long ago,” the queen pointed out. “But the Frenchman might have sent the other one.”

“Do you mean the young one who came before, whose companion brought us the god-stone?”

“Yes,” she replied. “The young man sought the god-plant like these ones. He also wore the same talisman.”

The king shook his head wearily. “That was unfortunate.”

“What happened had nothing to do with us. Fear drove him to his death. He must have listened too closely to the stories,” the queen said. “But take heart, My King.” She took his hand. “The greatest sign is that our captives have only one mark from the sickness.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means”—she kissed his hand—“our people’s suffering may finally be over.”

“Then we don’t believe what the Spaniard says?” the king asked.

“The evil one speaks through that fool. All that nonsense of the great father in this place he calls Rome, and his special god.” She sighed, letting the king’s hand drop. “But stay with the Spaniard, and give him drink to loosen his tongue. We need to learn more from our enemy before we are finished with him.”

The king said, “I’ll have Ismerai appoint a woman to the Spaniard as well. He will try to impress her, and she can keep a close watch on him.”

“A good idea,” she said, “but the others are the key to our survival. I can feel it.” They stared, silent and thoughtful, at the garden bathed in pale light.

The king abruptly threw up his hands. “If our priests spent more time with cures instead of indulging the superstitions of a terrified people, we wouldn’t need them at all.”

Below, the changing of the guard took place.

“Our religion used to make sense,” the queen agreed. “Not anymore, My King. Our priests and healers have fallen into delusion. And since we see the gods so seldom, it is up to us to decide what to do next.”

“Do you remember,” the king asked, “when our grandparents’ grandparents listened to the priests and consumed the flesh of the first invaders who didn’t have the sickness or the scars? Even though it was against everything they believed, there was no benefit. The sickness spread.”

“Husband,” the queen said firmly, “I no longer believe what I can’t see. The secret to the survival of the invaders must be carried within them,” she said determinedly, “and we’ll find it, even if we have to take them apart, piece by piece. But before weakening the Englishman with bloodletting, I wish to try potions made from his golden hair. We’ll use the other one first.”

She smiled, and again took the king’s hand. “Did you see their faces when the swarm appeared?”

The king laughed and shook his head. “Yes,” he said, gently embracing his queen, “a sight I shall never forget.”

She slid her arms about him. Then, with a fierceness that surprised the king, she drew him close, and kissed him.