Now the musicians did play, now the nganga-men did dance and shout and invoke their mokisso the Devil. And the slaves of the Jaqqas brought forth great leathern sacks of palm-wine, enough of the stuff, God wot, to set afloat the entire Spanish Armada, and they passed among the Jaqqas, filling their cups again and yet again. And all this while did Dona Teresa stand naked in the midst of this barbarous multitude, awaiting her death most calmly with her hands together behind her back.
Let it be a lengthy ceremony, I prayed. Let them dance and prance for hours and hours, so that the rescuers, if they are to come, will have time to come. I put great faith in that rescue. I was confident of God’s own providence that would spare Dona Teresa from her death.
But yet—what was that speech of Faustus?
They will not understand Kulachinga’s message, I thought; or they will not believe it, thinking it to be a deceit; or they will ignore it. Why did I not go myself? Why did I not send to the Portugals earlier? I belabored myself with a thousand such whys, every one of them futile.
My brooding was broken by the touch of the Jaqqa Kasanje against my arm, and he said, “Calandola would speak with you, O Andubatil.”
Terror! O mountains and hills, come, come and fall on me, and hide me from him! For I was sure he knew of my betrayaclass="underline" that Kulachinga was taken, that she had confessed all, that I would be reproached for my treason and sent down below to die beside the Portugal woman.
I did make my face firm and unrevealing, and went me down the high table to the Imbe-Jaqqa. Who greeted me in somber fashion, most stark and grim; and when his eyes met mine it was needful that I call into play all my strength of will, so that I did not go down to kneel before him and babble forth my contrition.
To me he said, “When this festivity is at an end, Andubatil, I must speak most urgently with you.”
Ah, then, he knew my treachery!
But no: it was another matter entirely. For he said, as I so stonily faced him, “I have learned much that is important to me, this day. The conspiracy against me that I feared, and of which I have spoken to you: it is real, it is ripe. Its leader is known to me. He is planning shortly to strike. But I will strike first, Andubatil, and you will be at my side in the slaying of my foes.”
Then he knew nothing at all of my betrayal, for which I felt vast relief.
“Ah, then, who is the enemy?” said I.
“Afterward will we talk, in private.” He clasped my hand between his great paws. “You alone can I trust. You alone are my brother.”
Which filled me with shame, that he should have such love for me and I having done such treason against him. And also it made clear to me who the enemy must be, from Calandola’s words, “You alone are my brother.” So this night would be a night of many reckonings.
But one above them all was primary. Thinking that out of need of me, or out of love, he might yet grant me that one great boon, I said in a low voice to him, “May I ask you now one more time, O Imbe-Jaqqa, to relent toward the Portugal woman, and—”
“Nay!” he roared, like an angered lion.
“I beg–”
“Nay,” he said again, more quietly, shaking his great head to and fro. “It may not be, Andubatil. I ask you, plague me not on this score. She is doomed. Nothing can save her. Nothing! She has done treason against us; she must die, or my power will be wholly without credit here.”
“Ah.”
“Forget her. She is lost to you. Go, now: to your place. But afterward, come to me, and keep ready your sword, for tonight I think you will need it.”
There was no hope. He was fixed upon her death.
And what now, how did I halt time? Of Portugals there was no sign. There was no one to whom I could turn but Calandola, and he had refused me, and short of some madman’s deed that beyond doubt would cost me mine own life, I could do naught but stand and watch, and pray, and wait. Ugly hell, gape not! Come not, Lucifer! Yet could I not turn back the striking of the final hour, which was all but upon us now.
The wine-bibbing had reached a high moment, and the Jaqqas did mill about, spilling the stuff down their chests and bellies in their wild surfeit. Imbe Calandola arose, and gave his signal, and the giant black headsman of the tribe stepped forward with his titanic blade, and the drums went still and the fifes ceased an instant, long enough for me to hear Dona Teresa say most sorrowfully, uSancta Maria ora pro nobis” and some other like phrases.
Now, Portugals! Now erupt, and fall upon this heathen band!
But they did not come. And, I came to see, they would not come, and the clock could not be halted, and the last moment was at hand. And I was helpless.
I looked toward Dona Teresa and had my final sight of her bare supple body, still so beautiful and full of life, and I thought me of Anne Boleyn the Queen’s mother, and of Katherine Howard, and of many another whose death had early been inflicted in this fashion, for truly this is a vale of tears: and there was a sudden frightened cry, “Andres!” and she bent forward.
And the huge Jaqqa did strike from her her head. I did avert mine eyes for the pain of it in my soul, but I heard the terrible sound of it; I cannot ever forget that sound. And when I looked again I would have rejected the awful evidence of my vision, but I could not.
So it was done, the which I was witness to, and yet even after I saw it carried out I did not fully believe it, so sharp was my memory of her in my arms, so warm was the impress of her upon my soul. I could not associate the sundered thing lying bloody in the clearing with the slender girl who had come to me in my prison, or with the noble woman who had gone striding so queenly through the avenues of São Paulo de Loanda, or with the companion of my arms of only a few days past. It was done.
“Give me wine!” I cried, and pulled a cup toward me, and gulped it down to ease my pain.
“So it will be,” said Calandola, “with all the Portugals of that city. You will see it, Andubaticlass="underline" we will take them prisoner while they slumber, and we will cut from them their heads, and we will swallow them back into us and they will be gone from the land. You alone will wear the white skin on these shores, Andubatil. We will have no others here.”
And he did call for wine, and pound his cup until he had it. And when he had it he poured for me, and then for him, and for Kinguri; and I saw Kinguri smiling with special joy for the pain he had brought upon me by the death of my beloved.
“We will wrestle, you and I,” said Kinguri, “after we have eaten. Eh? Will you face me in the match, Andubatil?”
“With the Imbe-Jaqqa’s leave, that I will,” said I.
He turned to Calandola. “What do you say, brother? Am I to wrestle the Christian tonight!”
Calandola stared at him a long while, and finally he said, “Yea, you will wrestle with him, Kinguri. So be it, you and Andubatil.”
Kinguri’s eyes gleamed. “I have waited long for this, Andubatil.”
“As have I, brother,” I said to him.
“Ah,” said he. “You will call me brother no longer, after tonight!”
I shrugged and turned away. My soul was still stunned by the death of Teresa, and I wanted no bickering with Kinguri to intrude on my grief, not now: there would be time later to wrestle him, and, if God gave me the strength, to break him in pieces, and pull his long limbs from his trunk, and cast him like offal into the bone-pit. But that would be later.