THE FOLLOWING MORNING AFTER SERVANTS HAD FIXED OUR BREAKFAST, the yatika arrived to inform us that our presence was required by the Cofitachequi mico.
After a troubling night—filled with dreams of Pearl Hand suffering every indignity—I was desperate to see some evidence of my wife.
Blood Thorn and I dressed and used the last of our paints to re-create our lordly personas. Exploring the options available to a captive high minko, I ordered the servant to obtain more paint in all the colors. The man nodded and left.
It’s interesting. People just do things for the nobility. I had watched my family act like this for years. Only when you become a trader do you realize that everything has to come from somewhere—and that someone without choice has to surrender it.
Stepping out into the morning, I looked at the two litter chairs resting on the porch. The bevy of servants was lingering, not having much to do. So I gestured to Blood Thorn and went to sit in the closest one.
The servants immediately began to scurry, and Blood Thorn and I were borne forthwith to the crowded plaza before the palace.
White Rose, looking imperious, sat in an ornate litter on the hard-packed plaza just below the palace stairs. Her younger sister, wearing a white dress, rested in a second litter behind her. Both had servants holding feathered sunshades to keep them cool. Fire Otter and an assemblage of ynahaes, oretas, and attendants were lined up behind the litters and carriers. In the rear, servants and porters had formed three lines. The entire entourage before me consisted of over a hundred people.
White Rose gave me a smile, as if to say, “See? You could be here at my side.”
Crowded as the Cofitachequi mico’s veranda was, we weren’t getting a ride up the long stairs. The yatika indicated that we were to climb, so Blood Thorn and I stepped out of our lowered chairs and ascended the steps, a multitude of eyes upon us. I could only imagine the rumors passing from lip to lip.
At the top, the Cofitachequi mico waited in all her finery; swan-feather splays at each shoulder accented a striking white fabric dress adorned with pearls and bits of mica that glittered in the light. Her hair was pulled up with an eagle-feather spray, like rays behind her tightly coiled hair. She held a ground-stone mace; her face was painted in alternating bars of red and white.
The yatika indicated a place for us on the left, and I looked at the other ynahaes and oretas that crowded the veranda. They were all dressed in their best, looking suitably dignified, and stared down at White Rose’s party in the plaza when they weren’t giving me sidelong glances.
Two priests approached, attendants following with eagle-feather sunshades. These they skillfully held so their masters were spared the blinding sun.
Beyond the procession, the plaza still looked unkempt, and I came to the conclusion that but for a handful of onlookers and servants, only this collection of nobles and priests remained in the city.
The straits into which Cofitachequi had fallen couldn’t have been more apparent. Before the Death, this would have been an occasion for a thousand spectators or more.
Silence fell as the priests began singing, calling upon Power and the Spirit Beasts to bless the mission with success. Then the ancestors were invoked to ensure the safety of the travelers. Finally, the ten accompanying warriors—resplendent with shields, war clubs, bows, and arrows—knelt, palms up, to be blessed and instilled with courage and prowess.
The yatika blew a conch-shell horn; carriers lifted White Rose and her sister’s litters to their shoulders.
“May Power go with you,” the old mico called. Accompanied by the hollow boom of a pot drum and lilting flute music, White Rose’s little procession started for the avenue that would take her to the canoe landing.
We all stood in witness, the ynahaes and oretas mumbling prayers until the procession passed behind the Raccoon Clan house and out of sight.
I watched the old mico sigh, relaxing her shoulders so the feather splays slumped. She turned, making a gesture, and a chair was placed in the shade. Into this she settled and rearranged her dress with a fragile hand. The other still clasped her stone mace.
“Let us get to business,” she said, eyes on the priests as they started across the plaza, following one of the trails across the stickball field. They paused only long enough to lay reverent fingers on the World Tree pole with its faded red-and-white spirals.
Blood Thorn and I stood near the rear, me translating, as the old woman went through the morning business. Periodically the yatika called up a messenger from the knot of people at the bottom of the stairs. These were runners sent by subordinate micos from the surrounding talwas. We heard reports of the number of people returning to their homes after the Death, how many plots of land were being put back into cultivation, requests for seed corn, and the like.
And to think I could have been home, back in Chicaza, listening to many of the same reports—without the Death, I hoped.
And if White Rose has her way, someday you can listen to them here. But when I looked out at the great abandoned city, I wasn’t so sure.
How many people can a Nation lose before everything falls apart? Who coordinates the dispensation of tribute? Who cuts the wood? Who sees to the maintenance of all these houses? For the first time, I realized there is a point of depopulation beyond which a people cannot sustain itself. The more sophisticated a civilization, with its military, economics, artisans, and administrators, the greater its vulnerability.
Musing on these things, I was surprised when the yatika called, “High Minko of the Chicaza. Approach.”
I stepped forward, mindful of the circumstances, and dropped to one knee, palms up. But I stared straight into the old mico’s eyes, a symbol that I recognized her status and authority but remained cognizant of my own.
“Arise,” she said softly. “You others may leave us now. The high minko and I have things to discuss.”
The oretas shot irritated glances at each other, touched their foreheads, and slowly descended the stairs to plaza level. The knot of spectators immediately mobbed them, eager for gossip.
I motioned for Blood Thorn to come over.
“How can we be of service?” I asked, aware that the yatika remained standing to the side.
“Did you have an interesting talk with my niece?” The old woman watched me with hawkish eyes.
“I did,” I answered evenly. “We talked about the Kristianos and about Cofitachequi mostly.” How did I couch this? “She thinks there are opportunities here for a man like myself.”
The old woman’s eyes narrowed. “And what do you think, High Minko?”
“Your niece has the potential to accomplish great things in Cofitachequi. Assuming she has the opportunity to mature, learn, and avoid a crippling blow by the Kristianos.” I glanced down at the empty plaza. “And I pray that you have a long life, which will allow her the time to accumulate such wisdom.”
A thin smile came to her lips. “You’re not jumping at the chance to stand by her side?”
I thumped my copper mace onto my left palm. “My future is dedicated to one purpose only.”
“You didn’t at least consider it?”
“I did not. Nor did I tell your niece anything that would dash her hopes in that regard.”
“Why not?” she snapped.
“In the coming days de Soto is going to find his way to one of your border towns. The monster about to be unleashed on Cofitachequi is beyond White Rose’s comprehension. The girl’s half-convinced that Power has sent her some magical Chicaza high minko who can turn the tables on the invader. She has hope. Do you want to dash that?”
“And your gain in all this? Perhaps her bed, a nice empire to rule for your own?”
“If I wanted an empire, I’d be in Chicaza. Meanwhile I will do everything in my ability to harm the invader and protect your Nation. When we’ve bloodied him enough, or when he determines his accursed gold isn’t here, I will be racing him for the next Nation, then the one after that. That is my promise.”
Her smoldering eyes dimmed. “You always sound so convincing. Can you truly be so simple?”
“No, Mico. And you know it. My service here comes at a price.”
“And that is?”
“Evening Breeze. Just so there is no misunderstanding.”
“Out of the question.”
“De Soto comes.” I pointed my mace at the forlorn plaza. “But you already know the danger. Ayllόn occupied the coast for only a short time. Yet you live with his legacy: the Death. Defeating such evil comes at a price, Mico.”
“Sorry, I’ve promised to repay the pain she caused me.”
I shot a glance at Blood Thorn, who’d been struggling to keep up with the unfamiliar dialect. To the mico I said, “I don’t know what she did to your son or who she was back then. I know only the woman I found in the peninsula and the things she has done since. The iniha and I will continue to fight the Kristianos, but whether we help you depends on if you return Evening Breeze to us alive and unharmed.”
She laughed bitterly. “You think you can come here, demand things of me?”
“Respectfully, Mico, I do not demand. We are in negotiations for an exchange. The future is an uncertain place. You may take Kristiano captives, or the Adelantado may send a delegation to speak with you. In any case, who do you have who speaks their language? Or can interpret their treachery?”
“I could keep her for these things.”
“You could. The iniha and I shall cease to be of service.”
“And what is to keep me from ordering you confined as well?”
“The Power of trade.”
“Bah! Look around you. Cofitachequi is already in shambles. Who’d know?”
I gave her a delighted smile. “You are a worthy and great ruler, Mico. And it’s an artful bluff. I fear, however, that I’ve taken your measure, as you have taken mine. Having come in peace, as allies, you will not order us detained. We both descend from the ruling class. Traditions, protocols, and honor are part of our very blood and bone. You will—”
“Do not count on my honor. For the moment it shouts at me to hang your lovely Evening Breeze in a square just so I can listen to her screams.”
“I understand. But you did not rise to the high chair by surrendering to your emotions.”
“Actually I got the chair because I was the only surviving heir after my brother was taken by the Death. Me . . . and those two girls who just left.”
“You are plenty formidable, great lady. As much as I would enjoy the bluffs and feints, the offers and counteroffers, we don’t have time to make a game of this.” I pointed south. “The real threat lies out there, somewhere. And that leaves you facing your choice: You can take your vengeance on Evening Breeze or have our dedicated counsel in dealing with the Kristianos.”
“I need only to raise my voice to have you detained.”
I stepped to the head of the stairs. “And by the time the yatika could summon enough warriors to capture us, I could be at the canoe landing, telling White Rose that I think her offer is worth exploring.”
“Why do I put up with you?”
“Perhaps because a long time has passed since you had the opportunity to pit your wits against an equal, great Mico.”
She chuckled. Then her expression saddened. “Evening Breeze belonged to my brother. He got her as tribute from the Chicora. At first she was a frightened thing, as beautiful then as she is now. Pus and blood, he fawned over her. Made his wives half-silly with fury as he showered her with wealth, dressed her up, took her everywhere. Wasn’t long before she was putting on airs. And haughty. She enjoyed being the Cofitachequi mico’s woman. Gods, even the thought of it is enough to make a slug puke.”
She reminisced for a moment, lips twisted. “And then she turned her greedy little eyes on my son.”
We waited, Blood Thorn shooting me an uneasy glance.
“My son,” she whispered. “Tall, straight, muscular, with bright eyes and a quick mind. He’d been born for this chair, and what a way he had with the ynahaes. When the micos would come bearing their tribute he had them in the palm of his hand. Knew just how to compliment them, could play to their vanities as though he knew the most intimate quirks of their souls.”
“I don’t know when it happened, but I could see it. The looks they gave each other, the hidden little smiles. Then they’d catch themselves, see if anyone had observed.”
She wiped at her lips. “Don’t think I didn’t give the boy a lecture, for all the good it did. And he gave me that wide-eyed look, assuring me that he’d never think of touching the Cofitachequi mico’s woman. That even he knew better.”
“They were both young,” I said softly.
“Young,” she snorted. “Why is that always the excuse? Plotting little swamp witch, she got him into her bed, then led him by the penis wherever she wished.”
Her jaw worked, lips puckered. “My brother knew . . . saw it on my boy’s face. I thought he was going to thrash the lad to within an inch of his life, but I called him off. Barely kept the scandal from bringing down the whole clan.”
“So how did it go bad?”
She knotted her fist, staring down at the tendons under thin skin. “My brother had her locked in a room. Let some of his trusted warriors have at her for a while. Then he was going to hang her in a square”—she pointed—“right down there where everyone who passed by could spit on her, cut her, burn her.”
I arched an eyebrow.
“But my son . . .” She shook her head. “He couldn’t think beyond his aching loins. Late one night he let her out. And the cunning little sheath begged him to go with her.” She waved around. “Give up everything, all this . . . for her.”
Blood Thorn shot me a knowing look, as if waiting for a command. I shrugged, fascinated by the story.
“And your son?” I asked. “What became of him?”
“Dead,” she whispered. “Down among the Guale somewhere. Afraid to come home for fear of his uncle’s rage. Secretly I had his bones brought back.” A pause. “But for her, my son would be Cofitachequi mico today.”
I watched her gaze slide to where White Rose had vanished.
“She did me a favor once, though I didn’t know it at the time.” Yes, she did. Ran off with your cousin and left you the sole heir to Cofitachequi.
I bowed, touching my forehead respectfully. “Great Sun Ruler, your choice is more difficult than I would have thought. I offer you my most sincere respect.”
She squinted an eye at me, reading my honesty, knowing it changed nothing. “Go on. Get out of here.”
I nodded to Blood Thorn. “Iniha, we are excused.”
I walked slowly down the stairs, head high, acting every inch a high minko. The old woman was watching me the way a falcon does a sparrow.
Reaching the plaza I asked, “Play chunkey? We’ll have to pull some of the weeds first.”
“Have you lost your souls to the winds? I caught the gist of what she was saying about Pearl Hand . . . about her son. We’ve got to do something!”
“Men who were as upset about it as we are would run straight to their house and begin plotting to break Pearl Hand out of that palace and run for it.”
“But we’re going to play chunkey instead?”
“Proving that we are exactly who we say we are, that emotion is not a factor in the gamble we’re making.”
“Why is that important?”
“Because we’re lords, you and I. Remember? A lord doesn’t lose his head over a woman.”
“And neither should the current Cofitachequi mico,” he said, catching on. “Chunkey is not a Timucua game.”
“Then it’s high time you learn it.”
“You’ll win.”
“Don’t I always?”
The waiting began. For five days Blood Thorn and I were denied further contact with the Cofitachequi mico. To keep from doing anything stupid, we worked on the chunkey court, pulling weeds and practicing. As a Timucua iniha, Blood Thorn had been trained on the lance, and he was an athletic sort anyway. Within a day, he had the basics down, could run, roll the stone, shift his lance, and cast before overrunning the mark.
A week doesn’t make up for a lifetime of training, but he was good enough for a village competition. And it did keep our minds off the more pressing matters.
Knowing that our household servants were spies reporting everything we did, we attended to the rituals. I was observed praying to my sepaya, holding the pouch before me. We never forgot to offer bits of food to the fire.
And we practiced with our bows, having the servants collect old pieces of matting and lash them between two sticks as a backstop for our arrows. During these sessions we freely gave advice to the almost constant stream of spectators. Many of these included warriors who were becoming ever more evident. Apparently the word was out that the Kristianos were coming. What began as a trickle had turned into an intermittent flow as individuals gravitated to the capital. The warriors were most interested in where Kristianos were vulnerable and where their armor was impervious—which was just about anywhere there was armor.
Blood Thorn and I were playing a couple of the younger ynahaes at chunkey when the first runner arrived. The young man came pounding up from the canoe landing, rounding the Raccoon Clan house and panting his way to the palace. Within moments, the yatika had him up the stairs and on his knees before the mico.
“News?” Blood Thorn mused.
“Evidently.”
When nothing immediately happened, I turned back and watched the Eagle Clan man cast. The arrival of the runner had broken his concentration, and although we were up by two—my work, not Blood Thorn’s—he had been the most consistent competition. They’d bet a beautiful basket filled with silky blue mulberry cloth against a couple of our shell bracelets.
Throughout the week, our trade had increased substantially, compliments of chunkey and the occasional archery match.
Blood Thorn was taking his turn, balancing his lance, staring down the court, when the hollow blare of a shell horn caused us to turn.
“If you will excuse us?” the Eagle man said, his eyes going to the basket they’d wagered. “By the rules, because we must withdraw, the cloth is yours.”
“No, take it.” I offered it, hoping to gain goodwill. “We can play for it later, same stakes.”
The man’s partner smiled at that. “We thank you for your kindness, but it was wagered under Power. Perhaps later we can win it back?”
“We honor your offer.” I nodded humbly.
But they were already hurrying headlong for the palace. Ynahaes were coming from all over, climbing the stairs, taking their places on the large veranda.
“What do you think?” Blood Thorn asked.
I collected our marking sticks from the ground, hefting my stone. “I think the monster has arrived.”
And may Power help the Cofitachequi.