Nobody's Slave (28 page)

Madu dreamt of his stepfather, Nwoye. He, Madu, was coming back to the village with Temba, but they had not killed their leopard. He couldn’t remember why they had not killed the leopard, or what had happened, but at last the weight of Temba leaning on his shoulder became too heavy, and he turned and saw that Temba was dead. But the anguished face leaning on his shoulder had its mouth and eyes open, so that he knew it had been desperately trying to tell him something. Temba's dying face had been whispering in his ear for hours as they walked, and he had heard nothing. When he reached the village, Madu let Temba's body drop, carelessly, at Nwoye’s feet, and said he’d failed to kill his leopard, because he was not a Mani, but a slave, and the son of a slave.

To his surprise Nwoye was overjoyed, and hugged Madu to his chest, calling him his son, his only son, and Madu wept so much for joy that the heavens opened, and thunder roared, and he felt the salt water rising around his feet; and then Nwoye stood back and led him proudly onto his ship. Madu saw that Nwoye was dressed in a fine cotton shirt, embroidered doublet, trunk-hose, stockings and sea-boots, with a rapier at his hip. And down below in the hold were all the other men of his tribe, who had killed their leopards and could not accept that they were slaves, as he had.

But one boy was brought up from the hold to serve them at table - a young boy, so weak with hunger and ill his skin had gone pale and his eyes light blue like the evening sky, and when Madu asked him who his master was he said ‘Nobody. I am Nobody's Slave.’ Then he served them as meekly and gently as they could wish, but he was always more attentive to Madu than anyone else, until at last Madu realised that he himself was the boy's master.

Then they reached land and the free men in the hold were sold into mines to die; and when they were all sold Madu entertained the captains of the other ships to a banquet, and as he sat down at the table he saw that the other captains around him were Nwoye, and John Hawkins, and Don Carlo, who smiled at him and waited for his orders. And all the time the pale young boy who served them whispered that he was Nobody's Slave, and gave everyone food and drink but him.

L
UCIA AND Isabella were beginning to be a little bored by the discoveries of their new home and city, and were on the lookout for something of new interest to amuse themselves. For a while Madu, with his exotic good looks and unusually promising command of Spanish, had been a favourite of theirs. But then their interest faded, to Madu’s relief, and he was accepted as a normal part of the household, little different from any other slave.

Tom’s arrival had changed all that. From the beginning, he had been a cause of dispute between the two sisters, and Isabella, stung by Lucia’s defence of Tom and the other English, began increasingly to try to interrogate him, to trap him in the falsehood of his Lutheran opinions. But Tom's rudimentary Spanish meant that she needed Madu to interpret for her and gradually it began to dawn on her that by doing so she was exposing their heathen African to heretic ideas. So a sort of three-cornered family parlour game began to develop, in which Isabella tried to prove that Tom was an irredeemable heretic, Lucia tried to protect him, and both tried at once to convince Madu of the awful fate that awaited all those, even slaves, who did not uphold the pure Catholic faith.

One day, in the cool of the early evening, the family gathered in the shady courtyard of Don Carlo's house. The two daughters and their mother were sitting on the stone benches around a little artificial pool where a fountain splashed and gurgled out of the mouth of a dolphin. Lucia and her mother were quietly embroidering, and Isabella was trailing her hand in the water, watching the darting movements of the gold and silver fish in its depths. Every now and then she looked impatiently over to where her father strolled among the cultivated vines and flowers with a visiting priest, Father Perez, and Roberto Severinos, her young suitor. They were talking seriously about matters of trade and government. Don Carlos's earnest, short-sighted eyes focussed on the ground in front of him as he walked, and it was clear that Isabella longed to interrupt them.

Tom and Madu came into the courtyard with a tray of drinks - glasses of cool foaming chocolate, and
stole
, the milk of maize flavoured with spices, together with little cakes and fruit. They set them down by the fountain, and were about to go back into the house, when Isabella called to them.

‘No, wait! Tomas - I wish to hear if I am still to be served by a heretic, or whether you have changed your mind about the holy saints. For my father has assured me that he will never give you any preferment, unless you truly confess your error.'

Tom understood little of what she said, but Madu translated the rest. Tom had heard that several of the other English captives had been appointed stewards, or overseers in the mines; but it did not tempt him, and he knew that Don Carlos would deal with him as he pleased, whatever the ideas of his daughter.

‘I keep me ideas same,’ he said in Spanish, deliberately forgetting to add ‘my lady’ at the end. But Isabella ignored the insult; she answered gaily, hoping to attract the attention of the men.

‘Then you will burn in hell, with all the other English heretics. But at least your black friend will not. You say your prayers regularly, do you, Madu?’

‘Yes, Lady Isabella.’ Madu had long ago decided not to fight this new red-face imposition, pretending obedience while keeping his own thoughts to himself. It was another of the matters that bred conflict between him and Tom.

‘There, you see? Therefore it is right that he is set above you, Tomas. Don't you agree, Papa?’

‘What, my dear?’ Don Carlo looked up at her, irritated by the interruption.

‘It is right that Christians should rule over heathens, is it not? My confessor told me so only last week - it is the reason the Lord gave us victory over the heathen Aztecs who ruled the Indians before - so that good men of our church might civilize them.’

‘So it is, my dear. I should have thought that was obvious.’

‘Then it is right that Madu should have domination over Tomas. For Madu says his prayers every day, since Lucia and I converted him - while Tomas is an unredeemed heretic. You see what holy justice we practise here in this house, Father Perez?’

She smiled triumphantly at the visitor, yet the act was for her suitor, Roberto; and Madu noticed with a touch of pity how she had turned slightly to present the less pockmarked side of her face to him, holding her chin proudly aloft. But Tom's attention was on the priest, who was listening curiously, his thin, elegant hands playing gently with the golden cross that hung from his neck. No Englishman liked Spanish priests, and there was a quiet, menacing air of authority about this one which set him apart from ordinary priests.

‘Justice indeed,’ said Father Perez seriously, his gaze focussing on Tom with a cold, mocking deliberation which froze the blood. ‘It is to be hoped that this justice has some effect, and will help the young heretic to see the error of his ways.’

Roberto snorted. ‘There is small chance of that, Father, I am afraid. For my part I regret that the Viceroy changed his earlier decision. All the heretic pirates should have been hung!’

‘Oh come now Roberto, that is neither fair nor Christian,’ burst out Lucia, provoked as her sister had hoped. ‘Surely we were given care of these poor creatures’ souls to show them the error of their ways, just as we have done with young Madu here!’

Roberto bowed to her ironically, managing to convey in the exaggerated politeness of the bow his utter contempt for her opinions and her young, chubby body. She blushed as he said ‘No doubt you are right, young lady. But the Holy Fathers of the Inquisition will be able to confirm that, when they arrive on the next fleet from Spain.’

‘Ha! Do you hear that, Tomas?’ Isabella clapped her hands in triumph. ‘If you disagree with us the Grand Inquisitor will explain the true religion to you!’

Madu had not heard of this ‘Inquisition’ before, but he saw from the sudden pallor of Tom's face that he understood. Even Don Carlo looked shocked. He said ‘I hardly think, Roberto, that the Grand Inquisitor is likely to intervene in so small a matter as my daughter's treatment of my English servant. And anyway …’

‘Forgive me, Don Carlo.’ The cold voice of Father Perez interrupted, as though speaking of a matter he understood well, and in which all others present were children. ‘There is no matter more important than an Eternal soul, even that of a Lutheran English pirate. I think it highly likely that the Inquisitors would be interested in this young man. Do you not see what excitement his heretical opinions have already aroused in your daughters? Think of the effect of one rotten apple in a barrel, multiplied a hundred times throughout the kingdom. Even one heretic is one too many.’

Don Carlo bowed to him, and the subject of the Inquisition was dropped. Nonetheless, it intrigued Madu, the more so as it clearly worried Tom. But not until that night, when they undressed, side by side in the little white-washed cell which housed their two beds, did he find time to ask about it.

‘What is, this Inquisition?’ Madu asked as he lay between the rough blankets, watching a large beetle fly in crazy circles around their yellow tallow-dip, until it burnt its wings and fell with a crack on the floor.

‘A Spanish devilry,’ answered Tom shortly. ‘A monster of the Roman church.’ His own shadow loomed monstrously around the walls as he got into bed in his turn. Then he blew the wick out and there was only the brief smell of the smoke and the sight of a square framework of stars through the small high window.

‘What sort of monster?’

For a long time the words hung in the air between them, like a cloud of smoke that grows thinner and thinner until at last it cannot be seen at all. Only then, when the silence of the night had filled Madu's brain and he was almost asleep, did Tom answer.

‘It is a monster that lives in men's minds. It makes them like ... like sharks, that prey on men's souls.’

The sharks Madu always remembered were those which had devoured the bodies of Ezendu and Idigo after the mutiny on the
Jesus
. He saw them now, clear and bitter in his memory, cruising with their leisurely, invincible speed through the blue water by the ship, their eyes just visible below the surface, as grey and pitiless as pebbles. So had Hawkins' eyes seemed to him that day; like the eyes of a devil in league with those monsters. The cold, smiling certainty in Father Perez’s face had been similar; he did not wonder at Tom's revulsion.

‘What they do?’

‘Feed on men's souls, like I say.’ Tom's voice was brusque, dismissive in the dark. For a while Madu thought he would say no more, but clearly the need to talk was on him. When Tom began again his voice was quiet, hushed almost to a whisper, even though they spoke alone in their room in English.

‘They are priests of the most evil sort - devils even the Spaniards hate. Didn't you see how Lucia and Don Carlo were worried, when he spoke their name? You - you don't understand, but I heard Robert Barrett speak of it once. They take anyone they suspect of being a heretic - like me - or even you, if they was to think you was just playing at being a Catholic, like you are, to keep 'em quiet. They put you to the question, first - but devilish questions, that they can twist any way they want, so what you thought was good seems evil. And if you don’t answer right, there's the tortures - rack, thumbscrews, water - I don’t know what. They promise if you confess, they'll set you free, but they don’t – it’s just a trick with words. They say then your soul’s freed by confessing, but your body's still theirs to be punished, and so ’tis.’

Madu did not understand, but he was awed by the fear in Tom's voice. He asked: ‘How they punish?’

‘Many ways.’ Someone shouted in the street outside, and Tom paused until they had gone by. ‘If 'tis only a small sin they catch you in, 'tis the lash, and the galleys - ten or more years chained to a stinkin' oar, with no food nor drink but what they throw you. Or if they catch you in a worse sin, 'tis the stake.’

‘The stake?’ Madu could tell by Tom's voice that it was serious, but he did not know the word.

‘They tie you to a post and burn 'ee alive, boy. To the greater glory of God and his holy angels!’

Madu shuddered, and felt his eyes grow wide in the dark. That the red-face were savage and cruel, he knew well enough by now; but he had thought most of their cruelty was directed against tribes like his own, not against each other.

‘You think they come here?’

‘To this house? I hope not. But that Father Perez won't forget now - you could see it in his face. They want to keep this country clear of all Lutherans. Oh God, Maddy, if they come here I don't know what I'll do!’

Again, Madu understood Tom was afraid. But he could not think what to do. All this showed how little he understood of the red-face tribes. That the Inquisitors were evil he understood, but how they would trap someone with questions was beyond him. Nor how they served the red-face god. He had tried, briefly, to pray to that ironically named Jesus in the way Lucia had taught him, but he had noticed no result. He was sure he did it wrong. And anyway, the stories he had heard tonight added to his conviction that if this Jesus was a god of love, as people claimed, then he must be an extremely feeble and ineffective god, to have a slave ship named after him; to say nothing of servants like John Hawkins and these Inquisitors, who so clearly disobeyed him without punishment. He must be like the plaster god Huitzilopochtli of the Indians, who was so feeble that the Spaniards had long ago been able to cut his head off with one stroke of a sword.

But Madu wished he could do something to save Tom from this fate. It was a horrible death, to be burnt alive - even Temba would not have wished that on his enemy.

Madu dreamt again, the same dream in which the dead face of Temba whispered something important in his ear, but he was always too late to find out what it was. Again he was richly dressed, with Hawkins and Nwoye beside him in the great cabin of the
Jesus
, and again Tom appeared to serve him, as his slave. Only this time, in the middle of the meal, priests with dripping robes and the pitiless faces of sharks came slithering over the sides of the ship and dragged Tom and Temba and all the other black slaves away.