They were all of them oiled with loathsome greases, whether the fat of animals or of men I could not tell, and they were painted and bejewelled, and their mouths, that did gape so wide at me, were missing all of them two top teeth and the two bottom, that is such a mark of beauty among them. I felt myself at the center of a great whirlpool of strangeness, that might be sweeping me downward and downward to the far circles of Hell. It was as if in all my time in Africa I had been pulled through jungles and deserts and swamps and rivers toward this place and this time and these people, the wild man-eaters whose prince the Imbe-Jaqqa was surely of the substance and being of the Lord of Darkness. And now here I was, my weird destiny fulfilled.
As this dance proceeded there came a sudden sharp outcry from the rim of the circle, and it widened and fell apart entirely, admitting a Jaqqa of great height and poise. I recognized him after a moment to be Kinguri, the brother to Calandola. He embraced me as though I had been his brother also, and bade me be welcome at their camp. When he spoke everyone else fell silent, so that there was a great hush, against which we could make out every sound of the forest that lay close beside the town.
Kinguri said, “What is your purpose, white one?”
“To live among you.”
“Ah, and will you be a Jaqqa?”
“I will no longer be a Portugal,” said I. “For they have given me only pain, and loaded many treasons upon me, and now I make them my enemy.”
“Then our enemy is your enemy also, which makes us kin,” Kinguri said. “For we do purpose to bring deep grief upon the Portugals your enemy, and we will place you beside ourselves when we undertake that thing. How are you called?”
“Andrew Battell is my name.”
“Andubatil,” said Kinguri.
I thought to correct him. But then I smiled, and told myself nay, for that I was beginning a new chapter of my life in this sultry forest, or indeed a new life altogether, and I could readily take on a new name here in the same bargain.
“Aye,” I did answer most ringingly. “Andubatil am I!”
“Come to the Imbe-Jaqqa,” he said.
Thereupon was I conveyed to the dwelling-place of the Jaqqas in a far part of the town. For they had built a habitation of their own alongside the settled place of Calicansamba, opening into it, so that they could go freely from the Jaqqa town to the village-folks’ town. It is the custom of the Jaqqas, wheresoever they pitch their camp, although they stay but one night in a place, to build a strong fort around their resting-place, with such wood or trees as the place yieldeth. So when they arrive at a place, the one part of them cuts down trees and boughs, and the other part carries them, and builds a round circle with twelve gates. Each of these gates is in the charge of one of the captains of the Jaqqas, being twelve in number, and all of them pledged forever to loyalty to their prince and general Imbe Calandola. In the middle of the fort they place Calandola’s house, which is severely entrenched about, and fortified by a triple hedge of thorns.
So was it done here. I think it would have been a valiant army indeed that could have thrust itself to the inner sanctuary of the Imbe-Jaqqa.
At the lone entrance to Calandola’s place there were warriors in double rows, well armed and very frightful of size and strength. Though these were eager to look upon me and touch me, they held their positions as I went past them. To the innermost place I came, where great sharpened stakes were thrust into the ground, that had points at both ends, and embedded in the tops of each stake were lopped-off arms and legs, withering and shriveling and parching in the heat, with whitened bones showing upon their nether sides. And each of these was of an enemy, and displayed here like a banner of triumph. And beyond this stark palisado was Imbe Calandola, in the midst of all his household people, his lieutenants and his man-witches and his wives, to the number of twenty or thirty, for I do think all those women were his wives.
Even though this was the second time I had laid eyes on him, I felt the same shivering surprise and astound that I had felt the first, so overwhelming was his presence.
He was dressed as before, in a strip of palm-cloth about the middle, though this was bright yellow now, and not scarlet; and he had the shells knotted in his hair and the copper pieces thrust through his ears and nose and the beads about his waist, and the painted ornaments on his shining skin. He sat in a kind of saddle half as high as a man, that rose on three legs of some very fine jet-black wood that looked almost like stone. In his hand he held a cup brimming with palm-wine, the which cup had been fashioned most artfully from the top part of a human skull.
When I entered, the Imbe-Jaqqa nodded very calmly to me and plunged his face into the bowl, taking so deep a draught of the wine that I thought he would drain it all at a gulp. When he lifted his head he was dripping with it, and it ran down his cheeks and jowls, like the slaver that runneth down the face of a wolf when it has bitten deep.
Kinguri said, “This is Andubatil.”
“Andubatil, welcome.” The voice of Calandola was like the growling of a bear. “Drink, Andubatil!”
To me he handed the cup, which still held some half its wine. I took it as he had, with the weight of it against both my hands and the smoothness of bone to feel, and I put my lips to it. The beverage was even more sweet than other palm-wine I had tasted, as if honey had been put into it. But it was not honey, as I understood after a moment. For the wine had a red tinge of hue, and I realized what substance it was that had been mixed in it to give that color. And I did shiver, though I strived hard to hide it. Aye! The muzzle of a wolf, lifted bloodied to bay the moon!
Kinguri said, “Does the wine please you?”
“That it does.”
“It is the royal wine, that only the Imbe-Jaqqa may drink. You have a great honor upon you.”
“I am grateful,” said I to Kinguri, who repeated my words to Calandola. At that time I knew just a scattering of Jaqqa words and Calandola did not deign to speak Kikongo, nor did he comprehend Portuguese.
Calandola smiled his frightful smile, all coccodrillo-teeth of a great sharpness and evil length, except where the four were missing and made holes black as jet. He stared me as he had stared me before, deep as a blade into my soul.
“Drink, Andubatil,” said he again.
I did not hesitate.
Let them mix blood with my wine, I would drink all the same, and drink me deep, and feel flattered by the great honor. Ah, I thought, I have done the Papists one better! For they drink wine and pretend it is blood, while I drink blood encumbered in my wine and pretend it is mere wine! Yet something in my gut did recoil at it, or perhaps it was in my mind and not my gut, and on the second draught I felt myself on the verge of retching, which would have been a deadly insult. God be thanked, I did find means to control that movement, and put the nausea wholly away from me, and smiled, and drank again, lightly but with great show of willingness and pleasure, and handed the wine-skull back to Calandola.
He clapped one great hand against the heavy muscle of his arm, which was his way of showing approval.
Then he said, “What is your nation, Andubatil?”
“English, O Lord Imbe-Jaqqa.”
“Angleez?”
“Aye, Imbe-Jaqqa.”
Kinguri said, “What nation is that?”
“Of an island,” I replied, “far away in the western sea.” I waited to see if the Imbe-Jaqqa’s brother had understood that, which seemed to be the case, and I went on, “Where the people are as fair-haired as I am, and do stand tall and square, and go to sea and travel far, with the finest of courage. And where our ruler is a great prince who is also a woman, and a virgin, and the finest master that Heaven ever did send our people.”