Aboard Cabrillo's Galleon (48 page)

Moments after Matipuyaut's arrival Captain Correa's launch came to the flagship, his accompanying prisoners grim in their chains. The shackled men needed assistance to board, which was given none too gently by the
San Salvador's
crew, and as they stood before the assembly Gaspar's face showed defiance but the others' eyes were unwilling to meet Cabrillo's.

The Captain-General asked, “What is the sentence, Captain Correa?”

“For Gaspar, Captain-General, sixty lashes and for the others, half that number. With your permission, sir, Gaspar will go last.”

Cabrillo and several others had seen men die under such castigation, but the sailors had put the satisfaction of their own lust above the safety of the entire fleet, not to mention the injury they'd done to the island women and their families, and such a penalty was not too harsh. He was not about to overrule Captain Correa's decision. Too much was at stake. “Father Lezcano,” he said, “please translate the sentence for Matipuyaut and his people.”

As he did so, the warriors shifted uncertainly, never having witnessed any kind of public physical punishment and not fully comprehending what was about to take place. They didn't have long to wait before becoming all too aware. The first of five men was led to the mainmast, his wrist shackles tied to a line, his arms hoisted high above his head, and his feet braced as far apart as the chains allowed. At Correa's signal the
San Miguel's
well-muscled boatswain stepped forward wearing an expression more fervent than reluctant and carrying his long-handled cat-of-nine-tails. Cabrillo never allowed a man to be flogged with a cat that had been made lethal by tying metal fragments to the ends of each leather strip, as many captains did, and even this occasion would be no exception. Even without the brutal enhancements, when the boatswain swept his arm back and then whipped it forward the nine knotted tentacles hit the bare back with a sharp “snap” that sliced into the flesh of the sailor. His piercing cry mingled with the stunned exclamations of the Chumash but the boatswain was already making his next swing. As the first few blows fell, most of the native faces showed satisfaction at the harshness with which their women were being avenged, but as the assault continued to rain down and thin crimson streams flowed in increasing number down the sailor's back, breeches, and legs, their expressions grew bleak. When the man was finally released, badly weakened but still able to stay upright on shaky legs as they hauled him away, Matipuyaut turned eyes on Cabrillo that mingled respect and abhorrence at what he'd just witnessed.

The next man was tied and the whippings began again, and this time the islanders did not utter a sound. It was the same with the two prisoners that followed. Only when Gaspar was brought forward did any of them mutter in anger and glare with a renewed hunger for retribution. But when the number of lashes that the others had received had been inflicted on Gaspar and still the blows continued, Matipuyaut glanced again at Cabrillo, questioning.

Gaspar had stopped slinging profanities and insults after twenty lashes, and had passed out at forty-three, but Captain Correa did not dismiss his boatswain until every prescribed lash of the whip had fallen. The boatswain, now dripping with sweat and swaying from exertion, stepped back so his shipmates could take what was left of Gaspar back to the
San Miguel
.

Father Lezcano, who'd been watching Cabrillo with concern during the entire process, saw now that he was losing his battle to remain attentive. As soon as Gaspar was released, the captain-general began to sag in his chair, and Manuel was there in an instant.

Addressing Matipuyaut loudly enough for his warriors to hear, Father Lezcano said, “Cabrillo is in need of care, but he would not be healed until he had avenged your people. You may go back to your village and tell your women that they will not be harmed again.” Aside, he added, “We must take him to his cabin now, Matipuyaut. I will send you word of him.”

As Manuel and another sailor lifted Cabrillo and carried him away, the Indian chief took from beneath his cape a leather pouch, which he handed to the priest. Aiming a look of genuine disquiet at the departing Cabrillo, he said, “This is from his woman, to make him well.”

Father Lezcano listened keenly to the short instruction Matipuyaut relayed for the curative's preparation. He then offered his thanks and left the Indians to board their canoes.

Cabrillo had neither the strength nor will to object when they placed him on a wooden table already set up for his surgery. While his commander was being settled, Dr. Fuentes detained Pilot San Remón as he was about to leave and said softly, “Sir, will you send some men to collect any snow or ice they can find.”

“Snow, doctor?”

The physician confessed, “I have read that a cold environment around a wound may help slow bleeding during surgery. Snow has never been at hand when I could have used it before, but it may help today.”

“I will send men at once,” the pilot said, already stepping away.

It was again necessary for the doctor to clear the captain-general's cabin of anyone not needed, leaving only Manuel and Father Lezcano to assist him. Paulo protested vehemently at being ordered away but Dr. Fuentes barked loudly, “I will not be distracted by a servant whose nerves are tempered with anything less rigid than steel, no matter how devoted he is. Out! Mateo, station yourself on the other side of the door and let no one come in.”

Father Lezcano now showed Cabrillo and Dr. Fuentes the herbs that Taya had sent. Cabrillo eyed the pouch through a thickening haze and nodded, then he let his head fall back upon the table and asked in a whisper. “Do you know what it is, doctor?”

After examining the colors, textures, and smells of the contents and taking a tiny taste on the tip of his tongue, Dr. Fuentes frowned and said, “It seems to be a mixture of several ingredients, sir, only a few of which I recognize.”

“I leave it to you, Dr. Fuentes, to use or not.”

“Sir, I must ask you again if you—”

“Wasted breath, doctor. My decision is made. Put the leg back together. Please begin.”

Begin. So simple a command. Dr. Fuentes knew his best chance of success was dependent on immobilizing his commander, but how does one adequately restrain a powerful man when his mangled leg is about to be restructured? Sherry was only minimally effective and frustratingly temporary when it came to killing pain and anesthetizing. Should he instead opt for native drugs with properties he could only imagine and which he'd never previously prepared or tested?

Father Lezcano saw Dr. Fuentes' mental struggle and asked, “What do you fear is in the herbs, doctor?”

“They may contain Datura.”

“The drug that killed the Chumash boy? But why would Taya send that to us?”

Quietly, Cabrillo said, “She thought it would be useful.”

Dr. Fuentes leaned over Cabrillo and said, “Matipuyaut explained how to prepare it, sir. But I am uneasy about what it might do, and for how long. Should I send for Taya?”

It took a moment before he said, “I doubt they would let her come, not after what has happened.”

“Then, sir, may I send one of our men to her, so we can learn more?”

Cabrillo was about to say it was too dangerous but before he could utter a word Father Lezcano was already heading for the door. “I will go, sir,” he said, and left without waiting for permission.

Dr. Fuentes gave Cabrillo another glass of sherry and, after he'd taken two large gulps, the drink seemed to help a bit as the doctor and Manuel removed clothing and loosened bandages from the wounded areas. Swallowing the last of the crimson liquid and waving the glass at Manuel, Cabrillo said in a manner meant to sound matter-of-fact, “Doctor, my personal papers are in a small chest inside that larger one there. In addition to my will and my letters, there is a document that confirms Manuel's freedom. Please see that it finds a safe home.”

Manuel stared at him, unhappy at this turn of the conversation, but Cabrillo went on. “It would please me if you agree to make certain of that, and that my other documented wishes are carried out, Dr. Fuentes.”

The physician paused as he laid out the last of his wooden and iron tools and said, “Forgive me, sir, but that is quite enough of such talk. Manuel and I will see you dancing again in Santiago and likely many other places besides. However, to put your mind at rest, if for whatever reason God grants me and Manuel a very old age that happens to extend beyond your own, I will honor your wishes.”

“I thank you, doctor.”

Dr. Fuentes had Manuel help him as he slid a square of canvas beneath Cabrillo's leg, and he was just rearranging his cleaning cloths, bandages, and splints, when Mateo stepped inside and announced the arrival of three sailors toting a small barrel filled with hard-packed snow and ice. They explained that they'd dug it from a deep crevice in the rocks and informed the doctor that there were three more barrels outside the cabin, which Mateo would watch over. Though it seemed much longer, Father Lezcano returned only minutes later and began to brew Taya's herbs just as she'd instructed him.

“Is she well?” Cabrillo asked.

“She is concerned for you, sir,” he said, although this was an extreme understatement, “but she is otherwise well.” He did not mention that she'd pleaded with Matipuyaut to allow her to come aboard the ship, or that her father had instead posted three men to guard her just before Father Lezcano had left the lodge. Though she neither screamed nor lashed out at those keeping her from Cabrillo, the emotional distress she was suffering was terrible to behold.

Although Taya had been very specific in her directions for the quantity of water and herbs to be used, under Dr. Fuentes' watchful eye, Father Lezcano took the precaution of adding a measure less of the potent plant mixture than she'd described. The priest didn't know how Cabrillo's body might react to a drug it had no resistance to, and he took the easy choice of erring on the side of pain versus possible death. He'd been allowed to question Taya only in the company of her father, Kipomo, and several other men, and he knew that it was forbidden for anyone to administer Datura but the shaman, so he dared not ask her if she'd added this plant to her mixture. Instead, he questioned her about its curative powers, how it was to be prepared, and how often it should be administered. Something in her manner told him that she was measuring her responses carefully, and when she held his gaze and said that her husband was to be held down tightly while his leg was treated, and that he must be watched closely during his recovery, the priest's suspicion that the hallucinogen was present in her medicine was strengthened.

The brew was soon ready, and Cabrillo emptied the cup in three swallows. Its strange tanginess hung at the back of his throat and almost made him cough, but he felt its first effects very quickly. Within minutes his eyes began to dull and his responses to slur.

Watching the patient intently, waiting just a little longer to allow the drug to gain its full power, Dr. Fuentes lay one end of a long leather strap across Cabrillo's waist, passed it under the table, and brought it up again, where he buckled both sides together, cinching his commander in place. He had Manuel and Father Lezcano lift Cabrillo's leg, quickly scooped snowy ice from the barrel onto the canvas, and placed a woolen blanket atop the snow before allowing the leg to be lowered. During these movements Cabrillo moaned loudly, and those tending to him heard Mateo's back bump in empathy against the cabin door. Dr. Fuentes then removed the bandages and dropped the blood-soaked strips on the floor.

Dr. Fuentes had boiled his instruments clean while he'd awaited the priest's return, a peculiar precaution he'd learned from a Moorish physician he'd met in many his travels, and he now took up a large glass syringe with which to purge the wound, and filled it with sherry. But before washing the torn flesh with the fortified wine, he turned to Father Lezcano and Manuel and said, “Hold him firmly.”

Father Lezcano took a position that would provide him leverage and grasped the captain-general's shoulders well above his wounded arm as Manuel captured his thighs. Though the medication had allowed Cabrillo's mind to drift deeply into another realm, he could still feel too many of pain's sensations. His body tolerated Dr. Fuentes' cleaning without dangerous protest, but when this step was finished and the doctor lowered his knife and began to cut skin and muscle, the captain-general gave a sudden lurch in an attempt to shift out of reach, which might have done much damage if strong men hadn't restrained him. For some time afterward Manuel had to use much of his massive body to pin Cabrillo's legs to the table. Rather than crying out the patient muttered breathless, incomprehensible words as his semiconscious body rebelled with each new attack of the physician's tools.

Dr. Fuentes had worked carefully to wash the wound free of dirt, but his cleaning had set off a new surge of blood that he was forced to continually dab away. Soon the floor was strewn with sodden, red rags. Minutes trickled away as the doctor worked to remove what was irreparable and repeatedly tried to compress the useful pieces of shattered bone back into their proper positions. His fingers grew slick with blood, and every time he attempted to clear the sweat from his eyes he left another red streak across his face.

When Dr. Fuentes had nearly finished, he ordered Manuel to hold the set bone while he stitched the muscle and skin in place. At last he began to wind the bandages around the leg and splint it tightly to wooden slats. Exhausted, his shirt and face awash in sweat and blood, the doctor straightened his stiff back and lifted his head. Arching his back for a moment to relieve the muscles, he then sank into the nearby chair and let his chin sag to his chest. Manuel stayed at the table with his own bloody arms hanging heavily at his sides. He took a deep breath, and as he let it out he turned his head to stare out the portal toward the harbor's mouth. For a moment Father Lezcano seemed unwilling to release his hold of Cabrillo, not yet trusting that he would keep calm and still. He stared at Cabrillo's face, his closed eyes still pinched with pain, and marveled that his body, any body, could withstand such torture. Praise God and Taya for her medicine, which had surely eased the worst of it. At last the priest moved his hands away and walked slowly to the door. As he opened it, his eyes fell on the tear-streaked, fearful face of Mateo. Against every dictate chiseled through the ages by stalwart men of the sea, he bent down, picked up the child, and held him. “You may see him soon, my boy.”