Lord of Darkness

  I met his terrible gaze, and I nodded when he spoke, and gave him no gainsaying. And he did go on, expounding his vision of the purity and virtue of the Jaqqa realm when extended to every nation of the world, that I had heard before, but he said it much grander this time, with the zeal not of a demon but of an archdemon. I was engulfed in it. You may laugh, to think of the cities of Christendom blotted from being and replaced with wild forests full of dancing painted cannibals, and you may say it can never be; yet I tell you that as Calandola spoke, painting for me once again that vision of all our vices abolished, all our crooked streets and soiled lanes ploughed under, all our encrustations upon the skin of the earth purged away, saying all this in the most level of tones in that deep and magical voice, it seemed to me almost as if it would be mankind’s great gain to surrender all that we had built since Caesar’s day, and yield ourselves up to the whirlwinds of pure nature. It was madness. I felt the philosophy of Imbe Calandola running anew like quicksilver in my veins, and it burned me like fire, for that it was foreign to my nature but yet had impinged itself deeply into me. I knew it to be folly. I knew he could never extend his sway beyond the forests of this wild land. Yet out of the dusty plains of deep Asia had come the Khan Genghis of the Tartars with much the same dream, riding down upon the settled nations of the world like a whirlwind of scimitars, and had he not made all of Europe tremble in his day? And who could rightly say but that it would not all happen again, under this Calandola? For the moment, if only for the moment, I saw the Imbe-Jaqqa marching in triumph at the head of his black legions through the streets of London, and on to Canterbury for wild bacchanal amid the tumbled paving-blocks of the cathedral, and I did feel the hard chill of that dread fantasy, and the frosty beauty of it.

  Then he said, “Would you have another woman, Andubatil, or do two serve you sufficiently?”

  “Quite sufficiently, Lord Calandola!”

  “Good. Good. I would not have you suffer for the lack. You are most valuable to me, Andubatil, you are cherished deeply by me. When we march on São Paulo de Loanda, you will lead the column beside me, and I would see your hair gleaming like a beacon in the hot sunlight. Is your musket in good repair?”

  “Aye, that it is.”

  “And with powder, with shot? I gave orders that the weapons of those Portugals were to be given unto you.”

  “That has been done,” I said. “I have enough powder now for all my uses, and great store of ammunition.”

  “Good.”

  “And when, Lord Calandola, does the march begin?”

  “In four days’ time, I think. Or five. I must consult with Kakula-banga, whether it be four days or five, and have him read the omens.”

  He turned, and took my hand in his, and squeezed it in that ferocious way of his, that conveyed his love; and once more the Imbe-Jaqqa’s eyes met mine and had my measure; and then he strode away.

  I stood looking toward him, wondering. What power was it he had, that was so compelling over me? Not just his size, for there are many big men that are but oafs, and not just his voice, and not his visage alone, nor the vision that possessed him, of world dominion and destruction; but it was all of those at once, I suppose, that drew into one thick cable that could bind entire nations. Certainly he did bind me, though I have never otherwise felt myself to be a man easily led; this Calandola did ever impress his will into me in a way most mysterious, and reduce me to something far less than my true self, so that I moved often not of my own accord but in the general frenzy and thrust of a larger and irresistible mass. And so I give my thanks to God Almighty that He made Calandola an African, and kept him far from our shores. But one day, I do fear, a man of that sort will arise closer to home, and take all the civilized world in his grip and do the Devil’s own work with it, and it will go hard for us. May God preserve us from the coming of that man’s day.

  When Calandola was gone from me, Dona Teresa returned.

  “That is Satan himself,” she said.

  “Perhaps. Or Satan’s own son.”

  “Why do you not slay him while he stands so comradely beside you, and spare the world from this monster?”

  “I would not live an hour, an’ I do any such thing,” said I. “And I think he is less monstrous than he chooses to appear.”

  “You have become a fool, Andres.”

  “Have I, then?”

  “You defend him ever, him that is indefensible. Which marks you as a fool, and a gull.”

  I shook my head. “Beyond doubt he has a sway on me, yes. But I think I see him more exactly than most. It is easy to say, He is a monster, He is a monster, and in some ways indeed he makes himself monstrous. It takes a keener perception to find the philosophy beneath the frightsome surface.”

  “Philosophy!” cried she most scornfully. “Aye, I know his philosophy. Kill and eat, kill and eat, carve and gorge, carve and gorge! It is a wondrous thoughtful philosophy! Have you come to like the flavor of man-meat, Andres?”

  “You are wife indeed, if you beshrew me this way.”

  “I seek only to know your soul. Are you yet a Christian? Or do you give yourself over fully to these cannibal revels?”

  “Let me be, Teresa,” I said wearily.

  “You have eaten of the forbidden flesh, have you not?”

  “By whom forbidden?” I asked.

  “By the mouth of God and the laws of man,” said she. “But you have dined of it. That I know. And you will again, and the love of its savor does possess you, and make you mad.”

  “Nay, Teresa, I am no madman at all, but only a poor lost sailor, who longs for his home.”

  “You delude yourself.”

  “It is so. I ship myself under whatever flag I must, until the day I am free of Africa.”

  “So you have been saying. But I think a deeper sea-change has come upon you, and your talk of homegoing is now mere talk, that you repeat because you have long repeated it, which has lost its urgency for you some years back.”

  “That is not so,” said I, but I did not say it with conviction.

  With much fire she said, “That man is no man, but a devil, is he not? And you are ensorcelled by him, I think, and transformed into something accursed. And you do not see it, but believe you are only pretending to serve him, while biding your time. Or else you lie to yourself as well as to me.” She glared into my eyes, and I compelled myself not to flinch. “Of what were you and he talking, I ask you, pray?”

  I said, “Of his brother Kinguri: for I have caused a rift between them. And we talked also of the war that Calandola would make against all the world, and his hopes for conducting it. He dreams of invading Europe.”

  “Which is madness.”

  “So I would not deny. He will never achieve that. But soon will he march against São Paulo de Loanda, at any rate.”

  She grasped my arm. “How soon?”

  “I cannot say.”

  “So you told me before. But that was because you did not know. Now you know. How soon, Andres?”

  I drew deep my breath. “Four days. Or maybe five. The time depends on the horoscopes his witches cast.”

  “We must send warning!”

  “We will do nothing of the sort,” said I bluntly.

  “It is monstrous, that he would burst into the city. Fie, Andres, let us escape this place, and carry the word to the governor, before everyone is slaughtered!”

  “There is no escape from here. They would have after us, and we would be in the kettles by nightfall of the day we are caught.”

  “But we cannot stand idly by, and let the city be destroyed,” she said.

  “We will.”

  “This war must not be!”

  “I am not convinced of that,” said I. “I think it might be well, if São Paulo de Loanda perished.”

  “What, Andres? Now comes forth the truth! You are wholly of them!”

  “I have my reasons for what I say.”

  “Reasons of madness!”

  “I have no cau
se to love the Portugals. What love did they ever show me, except Barbosa, that is dead? And Don João, who spoke sweet of one side of his mouth, and traitored me with the other? And you, Dona Teresa, who did the same?”

  “I have had forgiveness for that.”

  “Aye, so you have. But the others? Those who chained me, those who beat me, those who mocked me, those who kept me from my home for all these years? Am I Jesus, that I should embrace them, and ask God to spare them?”

  “You need not destroy them, though.”

  “Ah, but perhaps I welcome such a vengeance.”

  She stared long at me. “You are not a man in whom such hatred is natural. Of that am I certain.”

  “Perhaps I have changed, Teresa.”

  “Then it is a mighty change indeed, I think. Come, Andres, forget this wrath, and join with me to save the city. We must do something! I will devise a way.”

  “I remind you, Dona Teresa, that I have pledged myself for your good behavior. Whatever you do, it will bring down catastrophe upon me. Will you betray me a second time?”

  “The city, Andres, think of the city!”

  “Aye,” said I. “I do think of the city.”

  She scowled at me, and tossed her head, and strode away in the direction of our cottage. I did not follow her thence, but paced like an anxious lion, throughout the Jaqqa camp, and my mind did swim and flutter with the chaos that was in it. I scarce saw where I was going; but as I wandered freely I came to a place where the musicians of war dwelled, and they were tuning of their instruments, or whatever it is they do with them. These men grinned at me most amiably and offered me their fifes and viols to play, but I shook my head, and walked on, and from behind me in ten discordant tunes at once came the wild and jangling sounds of Jaqqa harmonies.

  ELEVEN

  FOR SOME several days the preparations for war went on at an increasing fervor. Weapons were gathered and made ready; war-chiefs met in council to construct their web of stratagem; Kakula-banga the high witch did busy himself in the casting of omens and the lighting of foul-smelling witch-fires on the borders of our camp. In this time I had my role to play as lieutenant to Calandola, and spent much time with him, sketching for him maps of the city of São Paulo de Loanda, showing the approach routes, the location of the citadel, the quarters where the soldiers dwelled. I saw little of Dona Teresa except at night; but she was more calm now, with that wrath and anxiety gone from her, and a new serenity over her countenance.

  Then on a night a few days thereafter was I awakened suddenly in mid-sleep, and pulled roughly to my feet, and caught from behind by both my arms. Greatly did I struggle, but it was useless: I was held fast, a prisoner, still half befogged by slumber.

  “What is this?” I cried. “Help! Assassins!”

  Our cottage was full of Jaqqas. By their torches I saw their scarred and gap-toothed faces, and they were men I knew, Golambolo and some others who had served me in the wars. But now they seemed forbidding and hostile, and as much like demons as were the first Jaqqas I had ever seen, long ago, when I had known nothing of these folk but their fearsome repute. They gripped me so I could not break free, and gripped Dona Teresa, too, whose face in the torchlight was a stark mask of fear. Kulachinga lay untouched, at my feet, on the straw couch that the three of us had so cozily shared together until just moments before.

  They swept me off, and Dona Teresa as well, through the camp to the inner fortification behind which the Imbe-Jaqqa dwelled. And there I saw all the high ones of the man-eater tribe already assembled, with their visages seeming most grim and somber. Imbe Calandola sat upon his high throne, garbed in a necklace of whitened bones and holding in his hand a scepter that was of bone also, a shin perhaps, and beside him was Kinguri equally solemn, and other lords. And on the ground before them, trussed and bound so that his body was arched most painfully in the manner of a bow, was a blackamoor I did not know, one of the Bakongo slaves that the Jaqqas did keep about them in their camp. At the sight of this man, there came from Dona Teresa a little hissing sound, and then a deep groan of pain or of sorrow. The which served to provide me with the unraveling of this mystery that encumbered us and with a melting feeling in my legs I came to understand what must have occurred. In shock and anger did I look toward Dona Teresa, but she did not meet my gaze. Then those who held us did lead us to separate sides of the council-hearth, far opposite one another. My heart beat with frightsome force and I glared across the way at her, knowing she had betrayed me yet again and not being willing to believe that of her; but she would not look at me.

  Kinguri said, “There has been treason here.”

  Ah, then it was so! Yet was I determined to separate myself from the deed, for I had had no part of it.

  “Good brother, what has happened?” I asked. “And why am I restrained this way? I have done no wrong.”

  “That shall we discover,” said Kinguri. He gestured toward the Bakongo slave. “Is this man your creature, Andubatil?”

  “Never have I seen his face.”

  “Aye. But perhaps you have spoken with him through some intermediary, to give him a commission on your behalf.”

  “I do not take your meaning,” I said. I looked toward Calandola, who sat above this assemblage as remote as Zeus, and seemingly as uncaring, his eyes far away, and I said, “Mighty Lord Imbe-Jaqqa, I ask you what this proceeding may be.”

  “Address yourself to me,” coldly said Kinguri, Calandola making no response to my words.

  “Then I ask you again—”

  “You have not hired this man to undertake some task for you?”

  “I have not.”

  “Nor your Portuguese woman?”

  In sore rage I looked across to Dona Teresa, who met my gaze for an instant, and her eyes were hard and bright with terror.

  “I do not know what dealings she has had with this man, if she has had any,” I said. “I have, as you know, been preoccupied of late with the planning of the war.”

  “Ah,” said Kinguri. “Of course: how could I have overlooked that? But there has been treason here, Andubatil.”

  He made gesture to a hulking Jaqqa, who stepped forward and tightened the bonds on the Bakongo slave, the which did draw a yelp of distress from the tormented man. Then Kinguri said, in the slave’s own tongue, “Tell us once again what you were hired to do, and by whom.”

  “To go—to São Paulo de Loanda—” the man said softly, for he was so bent and strained that he could scarce get out the words, this being the Jaqqa approximation of the rack upon which more civilized folk do stretch their inquisitions.

  “For what purpose?” demanded Kinguri.

  “To warn—Portugals—Jaqqas coming—”

  “Ah. To give warning! Do you hear, O Imbe-Jaqqa? Do you understand the man’s words?”

  Calandola scowled most darkly.

  Kinguri leaned close by the slave, and signalled for another twisting of the trusses, and said to him, “And by which persons were you charged with this message?”

  “Woman—Portugal woman—”

  “The one you see there?”

  “That one.”

  “And by which other person?”

  “Woman—the woman—”

  “The woman, yes, but who else?”

  Naught but moans and whimpers came from the slave.

  “Ease him a little,” said Kinguri, and this was done. Then, as severe as any Cardinal of the Holy Office, the longshanked Jaqqa did hover above the sweat-drenched man and say again, “What accomplice did the Portugal woman have?”

  “Spoke—only with—woman—”

  “Name the other!”

  “Don’t—know—”

  “Tighter again,” said Kinguri, and the cords were pulled, and the slave did cry out.

  “Enough,” said Imbe Calandola.

  “He has not yet confessed fully,” Kinguri did protest.

  Calandola waved impatiently. “It is enough. He knows no more. Destroy him.”

  “My
Lord Imbe-Jaqqa!” cried Kinguri.

  But there was no halting the order of Calandola. A Jaqqa that was one of the headsmen of the tribe stepped forth, and with a stroke of his immense blade, that whistled as it fell, he cut the hapless slave in twain. There was a sharp sound of metal against bone, and a dull sound of metal against earth afterward, and the severed parts of the dead man, released so instantly from the taut strings that held him, did fly apart most horridly, with a scarlet spraying going most wondrous far, even to the feet of Calandola’s throne. Kinguri, at this, did whirl around and throw up his arms in expostulation, for he was maddened by this hasty slaughter of his source of confession.

  Calandola looked downward toward Dona Teresa and said, “You are named by this slave as treasonous toward us. What statement do you make?”

  “None,” said Dona Teresa, when the words were explained to her in the Kikongo tongue; but she said it with throat so dry that no sound emerged, only the silent mouthings of her lips, and perforce she had to say the word again.

  “You will not deny the charge?” asked the Imbe-Jaqqa.

  “Why waste the breath?”

  Even now I could not let her so doom herself by acquiescing thus in the indictment. Even now I felt constrained to defend her, though she had put my life in jeopardy.

  “Lord Imbe-Jaqqa!” I burst out. “I pray you, forgive this foolish woman! Whatever she may have done, it was done rashly and without thought, and was only an idle thing, for she has no understanding—”

  “Silence, Andubatil. This nonsense ill becomes you.” To Teresa he said again, “You stand accused of treachery, by the words of this dead bondsman here, that we all did hear several times over since we captured him by the edge of our camp. He said you promised him many shells, to carry your message to the Portugals. Is this so?”

  “I say nothing,” she replied, with a flash of wrath in her eyes, and an imperious look, for her courage seemed to be returning even though to me it was plain that all was lost.