chapter 55

Rio de Janeiro

The pilot champed on a cigar as he guided the ship between the headlands and into the harbor of Rio de Janeiro.

The first thing William intended to do after the ship docked was to look for the contact provided by the duke, a local merchant named Canning. He was an Englishman, which William hoped made him more trustworthy than Veeborlay. The British officer desperately needed an invitation to the king’s reception. This was the key to uncovering the whereabouts of the Spaniard and, possibly, the black orchid.

William also needed to know when the next ship would depart for England; in addition, he required funds, and a report on the local political situation.

From the sea, the city of Rio de Janeiro appeared grand. It was surrounded by impressive, forest-covered mountains and a shoreline fringed with vegetation that was occasionally interrupted by coves of sandy beaches. On the outskirts they passed plantations of coffee and sugar cane that competed with virgin woodlands thick with colorful orchids. Within the city boundaries churches, forts, and glittering white houses topped every hill.

But as soon as they set foot on the pier, this bucolic impression evaporated. Squalor, intensified by the excessive humidity, assaulted their senses. Piles of decaying trash littered the waterfront. In the fish market near the port, the afternoon shoppers casually competed with the rodents for the day’s haul, occasionally brushing away a particularly aggressive competitor.

Two squealing rats wrestled over a fish head. Pax growled.

“We’d be eating these things in the Amazon,” Nate said ironically.

“Somehow,” William said with disgust, “city rats aren’t as appealing.”

When the prince regent had landed in Rio over a decade earlier, he had opened Brazil’s ports—ports that had been formerly closed to all shipping except that from Portugal. Now vessels from all nations competed for berthing space. Despite the rats and the slave trade, Rio was not only the principal city but by far the most cosmopolitan city in Brazil.

After several inquiries, a storekeeper directed them to the address of a prominent British merchant just a short distance from the port. The Brazilians they passed wore every manner of clothing, from a wisp of material covering only the essentials to gaily colored turbans and swaths of brilliant cloth wraps. Many women wore simple skirts with vibrant cotton shirts. With such a kaleidoscope of colors, Nate’s and William’s outlandish outfits didn’t draw much attention; Pax and Cauã fit right in.

William’s contact resided in a two-story whitewashed stone house on the corner of a busy street. In response to William’s thumping, a servant opened the cheery canary-yellow front door. The servant gave the odd company a sideways glance and told them to wait outside. William brushed past him and led them inside, leaving the noisy street behind. The servant followed, wringing his hands fretfully, his brow creased with worry.

Halfway down the stairs, the startled merchant froze when he saw the two men, the native boy, and their large dog in his foyer. Assessing the oddly garbed, deeply tanned pair, the businessman quickly recovered. “It’s fine, Henry,” he said, addressing the servant, and turned to his guests.

“Traveling troubadours, I see,” he said lightly. “If you gentlemen will proceed outside and around the back, you’ll be treated to a fine meal.”

“Mr. Canning, we’re plant hunters in the employ of the Duke of Devonshire, on behalf of His Majesty.”

At the mention of the duke, the man’s eyebrows lifted and he put a finger to his lips. “Inside,” he said, with a nod of his head, indicating the next room.

The late-afternoon light streamed through partially shuttered windows. The sago palms resting in oversize planters complemented the local furnishings.

“Please,” he said and indicated for the men to take a seat on a blue divan bordered on either side by miniature bamboo plants. The merchant smiled when the boy settled on the rug next to the dog. A middle-aged man, Edward Canning had thinning gray hair and a friendly disposition.

William said, “We arrived on the coastal packet just a short time ago and came directly here. We’d been in the Amazon for a long time”—he sighed—“too long, before we joined a party of Portuguese explorers heading downstream.”

Canning listened intently. The British officer explained their appearance there, describing their mission as plant hunters on behalf of the British king.

“Right, and I’m the Queen of Brazil,” Canning replied.

“What are you saying?” William asked.

“I know my good duke likes his gardens, but he likes his intrigues ever so much more. Well . . .” The merchant took out his pipe and began to slowly fill the bowl and tamp the damp tobacco. “There’s more than enough scheming here at the moment to satisfy him.”

The servant returned, bringing hot tea for the guests, cocoa for the boy, and a bowl of water and sweetbreads for Pax.

“You gentlemen have arrived at a very touchy time—to put it mildly,” Canning said as they settled with the refreshments. He continued tamping his pipe as his visitors drank. “In hope of avoiding turning the Portuguese empire into a bloody shambles, King John is planning to go back to Lisbon to endorse a liberal constitution. In fact, at this very moment, I believe the king is attempting to quell a mutinous rebellion by the Portuguese troops stationed here.”

“Do you expect bloodshed?” William asked.

Canning chuckled. “You don’t know our king. He’ll probably ride out tomorrow with the queen to meet the mutineers. They’re at the regional barracks not very far from here.”

He leaned back in his chair, lit the pipe, and took a long draw. The smoke melted slowly out his mouth when he spoke.

“I tell you these things, my plant-hunting friend,” he said and smiled through the curling blue haze, “to give you some leverage with the king, if you’re fortunate enough to be granted an audience. Our consul hasn’t had that privilege. You see, officially, we’re personae non gratae, just so the king can please the other side for the moment. But I’m sure a quiet, unofficial meeting might be possible, even welcome. And I’m certain such a meeting would make our duke very happy. But first, may I say that a bath, shave, and change of clothing would not go astray.”

They spent that evening at the merchant’s house. At about nine o’clock Nate took his leave, saying he wished to get some fresh air.

“Mind yourself on these streets,” Canning warned, “Rio can be a dangerous place, particularly after nightfall. Take my cudgel lying by the door. Just the sight of it should dissuade any potential troublemakers.”

Nate made his way to the port. About halfway down the wharf he found the ship he was looking for. An American flag flew from the staff. He exchanged a few words with the quartermaster, who went below and returned with another man. Nate engaged him in a brief conversation, saluted, then handed him a packet addressed to the secretary of state. Hopefully, this would ease his way home.

Leaving the American ship, Nate’s attention was drawn to the preparations in progress across the quay for getting a vessel underway. Strange, at this time of night. Then he realized the ship was a well-armed Dutch East Indiaman.

Things are starting to make sense.

No one troubled the tall American, either going or coming.

The next morning, Canning confirmed it would be at least another six weeks or more until a ship left for England.

Distraught, William declared, “I’ll swim there if I have to.”

“That won’t be necessary, Captain. But you’ll have time to meet King John, if it can be arranged.”

“I haven’t come through hell and beyond to wait for anything at this point,” he said, picking up his borrowed jacket.

“What do you intend?” Canning asked.

“Once you give me directions, I’m going straight to the plaza and demand an audience. The king has to acknowledge a direct representative of His Britannic Majesty.”

“That’s a terrible idea, Captain,” the merchant said. “Be a shame for you to meet your end in the plaza after coming all this way.” Canning took a sip of tea, swallowed, then sighed. “And so close to returning home. I’m sure your loved ones would miss you.”

The merchant’s words found their mark. William said soberly, “I’m listening.”

Canning said, “You must not approach the monarch directly—that would be interpreted as a grave offense. Going to the plaza will only work if you quietly and respectfully petition the captain of the guard for a brief word once there’s a break in the negotiations. John may be amenable to seeing you, particularly if his parley with the rebel officers is going well. In fact, I agree that you should leave for the plaza immediately; the king is popular and usually concludes these things rather rapidly, especially if his son, Dom Pedro, is there.”

“Why his son?”

“Pedro is a favorite, not only with the soldiers, but with everyone.”

William took Canning’s advice and set off for the plaza accompanied by Bidwell; Cauã and Pax trailed behind. It seemed the only ones walking in the heat besides themselves were the poor. The preferred mode of transport for the gentry appeared to be carriages pulled by horses or litters carried by slaves. Those in bondage were everywhere and engaged in all manner of activities: carrying parcels and drums of fresh water, sweeping the sidewalks, and selling fish and vegetables from small roadside stalls. Slave overseers lounged in the shade, truncheons and whips close at hand.

Within minutes, Nate and William came to the square that served as the major market site in Brazil for the sale of slaves. They skirted the market and saw that preparations for an auction were in progress.

Confused at the sight of shackled people shuffling along under the beating sun, including children his age, Cauã paused and stared. “Let’s go, Cauã,” William said gently, wanting to avoid any trouble that might call attention to them. At his side, Pax growled at the slave drivers and bared his teeth.

Although the slaves had been bathed in preparation for sale, a faint residual odor wafted toward the men. Childhood memories of the stench from the slave ships moored on the Boston waterfront washed over the American.

“Human misery,” Nate said grimly.

Several coaches of customers waiting for sales to begin were drawn up on the opposite side of the plaza; countless others were still arriving. One particularly formal carriage, accompanied by guards, was forced to come to a halt by the traffic. The passengers, a striking woman dressed in a gray riding suit and her young companion, appeared uncomfortable and out of place.

At that moment, a slave child in chains sighed and collapsed with exhaustion. The overseer approached her.

Nate fixed the man with a loathsome glare; tension crackled about the American like a living thing.

The slaver brought his whip back as far as he could and growled in English, “Get up, you lazy little cur,” then struck the child a nasty blow. She shuddered and curled hard into herself, further provoking the man’s wrath. “I’ll teach you how we does things here!” He raised his arm to strike her again.

The blow never came.

A hundred and ninety pounds of lunging American hit the slaver in the small of the back: The blow knocked the wind out of him and drove him to the ground, skittering his whip across the square. Bidwell rammed his knee into the shocked man’s crotch, leaving the brute writhing in pain.

Breathing heavily, the American rose; behind him, another slaver was preparing to strike him in the back of the head with the butt of a pistol.

Two years in a Brazilian prison. Sarah will understand. William grabbed the man’s arm and twisted violently back until the pistol clattered to the ground. Pax joined in, savaging the man’s ankle. Cauã picked up the weapon.

“Stop!” ordered the commander assigned to patrol the slave market, his saber poised inches away from William’s chest. “Raise your hands over your heads! Now!” Beside him, half a dozen Brazilian soldiers had their weapons leveled.

The overseer who had hit the girl continued to lie on the ground, moaning.

Rubbing his arm where William had twisted it, the other slaver complained, “You saw it, Lieutenant,” he said, and added in a broad Yankee accent, “They was interfering with us controlling the merchandise.”

The rubbing ceased and the slave driver squinted at Nate. “Hold on there,” he suddenly exclaimed, his eyes widening. “I know you—you’re Simon Bidwell’s son.” He turned to the Brazilian soldier. “This man here’s wanted for murder in America! You’ve got to arrest them!”

The officer said to William and Nate, “You’re under arrest for interfering with a business operation and for attacking a merchant. And you, sir,” he addressed Nate, “to answer the charge of murder.”

“Officer, you will release these men!” At the edge of the square the beautiful woman in the open carriage frowned indignantly. Accompanied by an armed cavalry escort under the banner of the queen’s household guard, she insisted, “It’s illegal to harm a child, slave or not, Lieutenant, and that brute was whipping that girl. You’ll release them into my custody immediately.”

“Julia?” Mouth agape, Nate stared at the woman attempting to save them from being thrown in prison. With an almost imperceptible nod, Julia cast her eyes down.

William nudged the American; Nate followed the British officer’s lead and bowed his head.

“I cannot do that, Lady,” the officer said respectfully. “By law, I must detain them until a magistrate determines their fate. And this man stands accused of murder.”

“Has he been accused of murder here or elsewhere in our country? No.” Julia paused. “All you have is the claim of this swine. Do I need to send word to the queen herself?”

“I will not release them, my lady. You may accompany us to the plaza to see the king’s captain of the guard. I answer to him. He can decide their fate.”

“Very well. Unshackle that child and place her in my carriage, along with her parents; we will visit our king and queen together.”

The lieutenant and his soldiers marched Nate and William to the plaza; accompanied by the “Lady” Julia and her entourage, they made quite the parade.

Nate spoke out the side of his mouth. “My apologies, Captain.” William smiled—it was the first time he had addressed the British officer by his correct rank. “I saw red back there.”

“Nothing else for it, Yank. It’s only too bad those bastards can still walk.”

They arrived at a plaza flanked on three sides by military barracks. Companies of soldiers stood at ease. The troops stood in small knots, talking quietly; a group in the far corner was playing cards in the shade of a tree. Around a table under a white canopy in the center of the square, there was an ongoing discussion of some sort. It appeared that the king was in the midst of a meeting with military officers. Nate and William were onlookers to King John and Dom Pedro’s parley with the rebels.

There were several uniformed officers standing around the table, and perhaps two or three civilians. There certainly didn’t seem to be much tension, and at one point laughter could be heard from the group.

Pax decided this was as good a time as any to make his move. He launched himself at the officer who had arrested them. William yelled and made a grab for the big dog but tripped and knocked over the soldier next to him. Julia covered her face, embarrassed, while Nate dragged Pax away before the dog got shot. Cauã hugged Pax, stroking and whispering to calm him.

The commotion at the edge of the square didn’t go unnoticed.

Looking at the source of the disturbance, the king was amused. His wife, Queen Carlota, sat on his left; a young man sat on his right. Several other officers were off to the side having a discussion under the shade of the canopy.

Having successfully concluded negotiations with the officers, King John said, “Dear, I see your ever-alert companion Julia has found a couple of wild-looking fish. They appear to be of a different sort. I wonder why they’ve been taken into custody.”

The attractive queen was dressed in finery, and her long hair hung loosely about her shoulders. “John,” she whispered to her husband, “why don’t we see why my bodyguard has brought these men here?”

At a signal, the captain of the guard escorted the British officer and the American across the square, accompanied by Julia.

“What have we here, Julia?” King John asked his wife’s bodyguard with a kindly smile. Even in the warmth of the square, the clean-shaven king wore a regal white uniform jacket buttoned up to his neck and a red sash. He certainly wouldn’t be called handsome, but his eyes were intelligent and kind.

“Your Majesty.” Lady Julia offered a deep bow. “These men are simple adventurers. One is British, the other American. They were on their way to see you when they had a disagreement with a slave overseer mistreating his people at the market. They intervened.”

The captain of the guard interjected, “Your Majesty, one of the slavers said the American is accused of murder in his country.”

“Captain,” King John said politely, “no crime has been committed in Brazil. And seeing how we are presently surrounded by hundreds of my troops, I see no immediate threat from these two men.”

The king’s son, Dom Pedro, laughed, “Your Britannic Majesty is truly favored when he commands such noble men as you, who tour the world to entertain us. Surely you men are traveling minstrels?”

About the same age as William and Nate, Dom Pedro was handsome and clean shaven, with hazel eyes and dark-brown hair. He wore simple nankeen trousers, a high-necked white cotton shirt, and a striped tan jacket. Protected by the shade of the canopy, he had rested his straw hat on his lap.

Before William could answer, Pedro added, “Does your dog do tricks?”

William looked up. “No, Your Majesty, Pax is a hunting dog . . .” While William was speaking, King John had lifted his hand, and Pax sat. Then with a brief whistle, the king had him roll over.

“Bravo!” the queen said, and clapped her hands.

Astonished, William finished, “. . . and our constant companion. The boy is an orphan from the jungle, now in our charge. And please, Your Majesty, excuse our appearance. We’ve been in the Amazon for many long months and these ill-fitting garments were hastily borrowed.”

“But what could compel you to undertake such dangerous journey?” John was incredulous.

“I am searching for New World plants for the king’s repository, with the purpose of securing those of a particularly curative nature.”

The penetrating look of her bodyguard, Julia, intrigued the queen. She whispered to John that perhaps it was time to take leave of the military men with whom he had been negotiating.

The king addressed the gathered officers: “I thank you for your time, gentlemen, and your willingness to put aside your arms and speak on the friendly terms that we have always enjoyed. My minister will draw up the papers and present them for your signatures in the next few days.”

The rebellion was over.

From the outset of his regency, King John had demonstrated his adherence to the principles of the enlightenment. It was not unusual that he should end a rebellion without bloodshed, yet both William and Nate were impressed.

The king and queen stood.

“Captain, you will kindly arrange a carriage and escort the foreigners to the palace as our guests.”