Londônia’s youngest son Gustavo — emerald eyes, skin white as moonstone, a swan’s neck, impressive height: all recessive traits, all valued highly by the Court society in Lisbon. Fluent in gestures, languages, charms. A career in royal law is predicted for him. By the age of twenty-four, he has infected several women in his social set before dying of the same blood-borne illness himself.
Maria Piedade, the only Londônia daughter, finding no adequate suitors, married back into another branch of the Figueiras family. The other children, as was common even among the rich in those days, died before reaching adolescence, except for the middle son, Lázaro Inocêncio, who possessed his father’s tendency towards resolute action, his high self-regard, his inflexibility.
Lázaro Inocêncio
After two years at the Jesuit college in Salvador, where his classmates alternately nicknamed him “the Colonel” because of his assurance and hair-trigger temper, and “Guiné” as a result of his thick, expressive features, swift tan, and woollen locks, he chose a career that placed him near a center of power. He was by birth a Figueiras, nothing less was expected. He gained a commission in the King’s forces, serving as vice-commander of a regiment based in Itaparica. During the final Portuguese invasion to recapture the capital city of Salvador, in 1625, he held steadfast against repeated charges. After the commanding officer had taken shot to the chest, Lázaro led his men in a daring advance through the rump of the lower city that resulted in the capture of a small batallion.
Despite the fact that his captives were all found mortally wounded, as soon as the Dutch retreated he was duly commended and promoted. His sense of superiority and bellicosity, however, caused problems in the context of the general state of peace. Continued battles with his superiors led him to abruptly resign his commission. A star does not orbit its moons. He returned to Salvador, and in a moment of even greater rashness, married the sickly daughter of an immigrant physician. He found the situation of his marriage and his estrangement from the army intolerable, and headed south, his goal the distant coastal city of Paranaguá, essentially abandoning his ill wife, who was, unknown to him, with child.
Fortunately for heroes fate’s hand is surest. In 1630 a fleet led by the Dutchman Corneliszoon Loncq seized Pernambuco. Londônia, who had gotten no further than the town of Vila Velha, north of Rio de Janeiro, was located and recalled. His commission involved his resuming leadership of the remnants of his former regiment — Souza, Antunes, de Mello, Madeira — which was now under the general command of Fonte da Ré. The Portuguese forces were intent on retaining their patrimony, so adequate plans were being drawn up. Lázaro Inocêncio, however, pressed to participate in the first battles in Olinda. A farsighted man, Fonte da Ré recognized the looming catastrophe and ignored Londônia’s agitation to take the field.
But Londônia did have a reputation for bravery, so Fonte da Ré, after receiving word that an official fleet was already bound toward the seized northern capital, ordered his commander to head west, up the Rio São Francisco, moving in a pincer movement into the rear flank of Pernambuco. He was to press into the leaner, bottom portion of that colony, then head back southeastwards, tracking the southern rim of the unforgiving sertão, then moving north again towards Olinda, which was under Dutch control. Rivercraft awaited him on the Sergipe d’El Rei side, provisions at the post west of the thriving town of Penedo in Pernambuco. He was not to attack any Portuguese colonials unless they declared allegiance to Nassau. In order to preserve manpower, he was not to engage in any other combat unless absolutely necessary. This course of action would keep him out of the main campaign, Fonte da Ré hoped, until Londônia’s enthusiasm could be put to direct use in a clean-up operation. Two other batallions were added to his command.
After a journey by horse along the coastline to the mouth of the São Francisco, Londônia and his men set off on pettiaugers up the deep and refractory river. On the northern shores, past the sandy banks and the falls, settlements and plantations periodically appeared. The aroma of cane and the sight, from his boat, of engenhos and mills, goaded him like a spur. There was no genius comparable to that of his people; the greedy Dutch must pay. Within a day he and his men had passed Penedo and reached a small Portuguese outpost from which they would proceed into the interior.
As they moved inland on foot, Londônia’s men realized he was as unfamiliar as they with the difficult, nearly impassably dense forest terrain. Unlike them, however, he was indefatigable. He wanted to drive forward, forward. A few of his men, however, began to fall by the wayside, to fevers and periodic attacks by Indians, who had been living somewhat undisturbed in the vicinity. Londônia demanded that his soldiers not flag: here we see history repeating itself, though in a guise bearing professional validation. One mutineer he shot outright, another he threatened with similar summary judgment. On they proceeded, through forest to clearings of scrub-land and then to forest again: soon, hunger, thirst and questions about the validity of the mission enjoined the men. Though they marched, there were no Dutch to be found anywhere.
One night, at camp, as the Colonel paced a brook in the distance, several of his men whispered among themselves the unspeakable word: desertion. The plan became moot at dawn, however, when yet another band of Indians launched an assault. Arrows and stones swarmed their armor like locusts. The Colonel’s men had no choice; how quickly we forget the repellent aspects of personality in moments of crisis, which permit the illusion of unity against more dangerous foes. The clergy had one method for dealing with the Indians, soldiers another. The Colonel, no Jesuit, urged his men to pursue the last of the savages until they were incapable of staging even the memory of a surprise.
There were therefore no natives who could be pressed into serving as guides. As far as anyone could tell, they were well beyond the region of Portuguese settlements. As a result, the Colonel was unsure about the land on which he now stood. Sheer, green walls of trees that smothered the sunlight rose before them. An interminable carnival of beasts and birds crisscrossed the canopies above, while insects spawned in the pens of Satan swarmed the ground beneath their feet. The regiment had lost the curves of the river, but an impromptu compass devised by one of the men seemed as if it might guide them toward their goal; even the Colonel knew they could and should avoid the sertão, the graveyard of mortals, and trek back southeast along the river’s line to reach Penedo, which he was sure was a staging ground for other units. This would ensure their participation in the expulsion of the heathen Netherlanders.
After a day of marching, they appeared to have returned to their initial spot. They were obviously lost. The men sat in frustration, enraging the Colonel. He ordered his adjutant, Pereira, to devise a new compass as quickly as possible. Wasn’t there a man among them with Tupi or Xororó or other indigenous blood or experience who knew this region? A mulatto scout, dos Santos, meanwhile set out with a dowser, marking trees with twigs and hacks to guide his return. After a while, he heard an unusual noise. An infinity of unusual noises surrounded them, but he recognized this one: a berimbau. Having grown up on a sugar plantation, he knew instantly what he was dealing with. Africans. Were they allied with the Dutch? Were they escaped slaves living under Indian protection?
Dos Santos spotted a clearing, just on the other side of the creek at the bottom of the low hill on which he stood. Lying prone in the brush, he could see beyond a fringe of mahogany trees a tiny settlement. Further observation showed that though the community was no larger than a cane field, it hummed with considerable industry. Small buildings, in the thatched style, formed a circle; several handfuls of men, women and children moved back and forth among tethered animals at its center. It was, he realized soon enough, a quilombo. Perhaps the residents, whom he figured to be independent in their allegiance, might lead his regiment back towards the river, or even provide a few warriors for the coming battle. He tried to recall the phrases he had learned from his mother: she had secretly practiced the Mina rites.