1636: Seas of Fortune (3 page)

Nonetheless, Diogo’s sense of duty demanded that he consider other possibilities. Such as Henrique taking refuge with one of the Indian tribes. One of the Tapajós tribes, perhaps. It was fortunate for Henrique that Bento was off on a slaving expedition, as Bento would be delighted to bring Henrique out of the rainforest, dead or alive. Probably the former.

But Diogo was obligated to cover that avenue of escape. Exercising appropriate discretion as to who he sent, of course. “Sergeant, call in all the soldiers who are on punishment detail.”

In due course, the sergeant returned, followed by six soldiers whose principal point of similarity was a hangdog expression.

“Ah, yes, I recognize all of you. And remember your records. Which of you
degredados
is senior?”

One of them slowly raised his hand. The others edged away from him.

“You are Bernaldo, right? I remember you, now.” Bernaldo winced. “You will be in command of this little patrol. You are hereby promoted to corporal in token of your good fortune. You are to go out into the Amazon and arrest Henrique Pereira da Costa, who has been accused of heresy.”

“But how will we find him, sir?”

“Did your mother drop you on your head when you were an infant? You are looking for a lone white man in a canoe. Or perhaps in one of the Indian villages. Or wandering a trail. It shouldn’t take long to locate him. Sail to Forte do Gurupa first, put them on alert.” The fort, which guarded the south channel of the Amazon Delta, had been captured from the Dutch in 1623.

“How long should we look for him?”

“If you come back in less than six months, you better have him with you. Or you will be on your way to where Brazil and Maranhãos send
their
undesirables. Angola.”

They slowly filed out. “Good,” said Diogo to the sergeant. “That solves more problems than one.”

* * *

“I still think we should make a sail,” Maurício said. “It’s not easy for the two of us to row upstream. With a sail, we can take advantage of the trade wind.” He let go of the paddle for a moment, opened and closed his hands a few times to limber them up, and took hold of the wood once again.

“And you brought the cloth, after all. You can cut some branches and vines for the mast and stays.”

Henrique shook his head. “A sail will be visible from a great distance. And the natives don’t use sails.”

“Not before Europeans came. But a few do.”

“Not enough, just those who are in service. It would still draw attention. Even if the searchers didn’t think it was our sail, they would approach the canoe, to ask if we had been seen, or perhaps to recruit more rowers. If they got close enough—” Henrique drew his finger across his neck.

“Then why don’t we just head upriver with the tide, and lie doggo in a cove the rest of the time. We need to conserve our strength.”

“It will be easier soon. We’ll leave this channel, then cut across the
várzea
, the flooded forest.”

Henrique wiped his forehead. “We’re lucky that we had to make our escape during the rainy season. If this had happened a few months later, we would have been limited to the regular channels, and they could catch us more easily.

“And there’s less of a current in the
várzea
, too.”

“Also, less in the way of anything to eat. The land animals have fled to high ground, and the fish are hiding in the deep water.”

“We have enough food to get us to a friendly village.”

“And another thing. It’s easier to get lost in the
várzea
.”

“I never get lost.”

* * *

“Okay, we’re lost.”

* * *

The good news was that Henrique and Maurício had made it back to the main channel of the Amazon. There, it was hard to get lost; you always knew which direction was upstream.

The bad news was that they had emerged, closer than Henrique had planned, to the fort at Gurupa. They had to worry about being spotted, not just by Portuguese troops, but also by the Indians who traded with the fort. They might pass the word on. And they would be a lot harder to avoid.

* * *

“You, there!” shouted Corporal Bernaldo. He was addressing a lanky Indian, sitting in a small canoe, and holding a fishing rod. His companion seemed to be asleep. “Speak-ee Portuguese? Have you seen a white man? About so tall?” He stood up, and gestured, almost losing his balance. The Indian shook his head.

“Ask him if he has any fish to sell?” one of his fellow soldiers prompted.

“You have fish?”

The Indian pulled up the line, showing an empty fishhook.

“Ah, let’s stop wasting time, we’ve got plenty of rowing to do.” They continued upstream, and rowed out of sight.

The apparent sleeper opened his eyes. “I thought they’d never leave,” Maurício said.

Henrique smiled. “Well, you were a cool one.”

“Cool? I’d have shit in my pants . . . if you had let me wear my pants, that is.”

Henrique and Maurício had hidden their European clothes, and Henrique had painted himself with black
genipapo
. The vegetable dye not only made him look like a native, at least from a distance, but also protected him from insects. Both wore loincloths, which observers would assume was a concession to European morality, but which would in fact conceal that they didn’t follow the native custom of having their pubic hair plucked.

Now that the pursuit was in front of them, they could take it easy for a while. But not
too
easy. There were other soldiers, after all.

* * *

Corporal Bernaldo and his men, with six impressed Indian rowers, strained at the oars of their longboat, fighting against the current. They had set aside their helmets and cuirasses, so their heads were bare, and their torsos protected only by leather vests. These exposed the sleeves of their shirts, cotton dyed with red
urucum
.

As the western sky darkened, they beached their craft and wandered inland, looking for a suitable campsite. They couldn’t see more than fifteen feet or so in front of them, so it wasn’t an easy task.

They gradually became aware of a rumbling sound.

“Sounds like rapids,” João suggested.

“Perhaps it’s an elephant,” said António.

“There are no elephants in the Amazon.”

“That’s what you think.”

The Indians became agitated. Bernaldo tried to figure out what they were talking about, but their excitement made them more difficult to understand, and Bernaldo was the sort of person who felt that if you couldn’t understand his question, the solution was to repeat it, louder.

After a few verbal exchanges which satisfied no one, the Indians fled.

“What’s was that all about?” João asked.

“What do you expect?” Bernaldo shrugged. “They’re cowardly savages.”

António wondered whether the natives knew something that they didn’t. He also knew better than to say anything.

They could now hear a clicking sound.

“Giant crickets?”

“What’s that stench? Some kind of skunk?”

Several dozen white-lipped peccaries burst out of the undergrowth. They were piglike animals, each about two feet high and about fifty pounds. They weren’t happy to discover the Portuguese party. Had they not been clicking their tusks to warn other creatures to get out of their way? The herd included several youngsters, which made the adults especially temperamental.

Peccaries are also known as javelinas, because of their formidable weaponry. They charged. Manuel stumbled, and was gored to death. António and João tried scooting up the same tree. António, already on edge, had made his move earlier, and made it up without difficulty, but João lost his hold, and slid down. An angry male swung its tusks, slicing open his leg. João screamed, but was able to get hold of António’s outstretched hand, and was pulled out of the immediate danger. The other three soldiers were on the periphery of the peccaries’ stampede, and they simply ran out of the way.

It was hours before they were reunited. The survivors congratulated each other on their narrow escape.

“Where are the Indians?” asked Bernaldo.

António was studying the riverbank. “More importantly, where’s the boat?”

“
Dios mio
!” Plainly, the Indians had decided to row off without them. The five survivors were stranded in the rainforest.

* * *

Despite his perilous situation, Henrique was happy. According to his reckoning, today was a Friday, and at sunset he intended to celebrate the Sabbath as best he could. He had improvised Sabbath candles from the stems of a resinous plant, and he had allowed a fruit juice to ferment to make wine. He would have to use the concavity of a stone as a kiddush cup.

He had no bread, let alone challah, unfortunately. But he had a
tortilha
made from manioc flour, and that would have to do. The Lord would understand when Henrique uttered the prayer, “Blessed are you, Lord our God, King of the universe, who brings forth bread from the earth.”

“So, do I pray, too?” Maurício asked.

“Sure.”

“I don’t know. Is it a good idea for me to call God’s attention to us? You’re a heretic, after all.”

“Maurício . . .”

“He might send an angel to tell those idiot soldiers where to find us.”

“Maurício . . .”

“Or perhaps he’ll just hurl down a lightning bolt.” Maurício darted a quick look at the threatening sky.

“Or—”

Maurício’s mouth was open, and Henrique deftly thrust a
tortilha
where it would do the most good.

* * *

“Just a little farther,” Henrique said.

“Are you sure you know where we’re going?”

“Of course I’m sure.”

“That’s what you said about the ‘shortcut’ through the
várzea
.”

“This is different.” Near the mouth of the Maicuru, they had made a detour north, to find a small hill overlooking the Amazon. There, in a patch of upland forest, Henrique had prudently secreted a cache of trade goods and other useful items. Just in case he ever had to make a run for it.

“I wonder if this hill of yours should be considered an outlier of the Serra de Tumucumaque. According to that fabulous map of yours, the source of the Maicuru is there, about one hundred miles to our north.

“You know, perhaps we should backtrack to the Paru. We could cross the mountains over to the Litani, and the Maroni, and end up in what the map called French Guiana. Not that the French are there yet.”

Henrique grunted. “Keep walking, I want to reach the cache by nightfall.” The sun was just setting. And night came quickly in the tropics.

“Or perhaps,” Maurício continued, “we should head up the Trombetas and the Mapuera, cross the Serra do Acarai to the Essequibo, to Dutch territory.”

“Serra up, serra down,” Henrique muttered. He stopped for a moment to adjust his
warishi
, his backpack. Maurício walked past him; they were on a well-defined game trail.

“According to the maps,” Maurício said, “they can’t be much more than three thousand feet high. That can’t be hard, can it? Hannibal took elephants across the Alps, after all.

“Not that I’ve ever climbed a mountain, mind you. Unless this hill counts. Have you, Henrique? Climbed a mountain, I mean?” Henrique didn’t respond.

“Henrique? Did you hear—”

“Freeze!” Henrique shouted.

Maurício froze.

“Don’t move your arms, or your head. Not even a muscle. You can move your eyes . . . slowly. Look a little above, and slightly to your left.”

Maurício scanned the foreground. Then he saw it, a
jararaca verde
, a leaf-green-colored viper, perhaps two feet long, hanging from a branch nearby. Close enough to grab. Not that grabbing a fer-de-lance of any kind was one of the options Maurício was considering.

“Very slowly, put your left toe back . . . not so far . . . now slowly, bring your heel down, without bobbing your head. Good, now, same with the right. Keep your eyes on the snake at all times.”

The fer-de-lance, untimely awakened by Maurício, was eyeing him suspiciously.

“Can’t you kill the snake?” The words were mumbled; Maurício was trying not to move his jaw as he spoke.

“With a machete? While it’s hanging on a tree? Not a chance. Need to club it on the neck, while it’s on the ground. With a long club, mind you.

“Keep up your little dance backward, please.”

Gradually, Maurício inched away from the serpent.

“Okay, you can relax.”

Maurício fainted. Henrique poured a bit of water on his lips and forehead. After a few minutes, Maurício revived. “How did I miss it?”

“In the rainforest, you can see perhaps fifteen feet ahead. But you can cover that distance in ten seconds, even at a walk. You can’t afford to relax your vigilance, even for a moment.”

Maurício, his spirits somewhat restored, harrumphed. “You’re just looking for an excuse to keep me from talking.”

* * *

Bento grinned. “So dear Henrique is a pig-loving Jew. Well, it is my duty, my
sacred
duty as a son of the Church, to bring him home and teach him the error of his ways. Or perhaps the other way around, yes?”

His fellow thugs laughed. Bento had just returned to Belém from a slaving run down the Tocantins, and in town there was much gossip about Henrique’s disappearance, and the stymied search for him.

“We’ll take three boats, I think. Might as well do a little enlistment of native labor, while we’re up the Amazon. Be ready to leave at the crack of dawn tomorrow.”

* * *

“Sing, Maurício.”

“I thought you didn’t like my singing.”

“I don’t. But you have a loud voice, and that’s what we need right now.”

“How come?”

“We’ve never been in this part of the
sertão
. This is a well-marked trail, almost certainly leading to a village. We want them to know we’re coming.”

“But wouldn’t the Indians sense us? Being wise in the ways of the bush, and all.”

“Let me rephrase that. We want them to know that we know that they know we’re coming.”

“I am not sure that was an improvement. You are as clear as a philosopher.”

“If they think we’re trying to sneak up on them, they’ll think we are up to no good. And either flee, or prepare an ambush for us. Whereas, if we approach them openly, they’ll assume we’ve come to trade.”