Of course, that was before Danny got fed up with winters so cold that ink froze in the bottle even by the fireside. And it was before Danny got tired of fist-fighting and wrestling, and adopted the tomahawk, and became unwelcome among the Mohawks, who, like any civilised people, understood the difference between youthful high spirits and murderous violence. So One-who-understands was obliged to seek other amusements — and ran away to sea.
Nevertheless, it was Danny Bentham who'd arranged the great council of Charlestown harbour. He'd been the one who'd chosen presents that the Patanq sachems would appreciate: fine shirts with ruffles at neck and cuff, body-paint of Chinese vermillion and verdigris, Stroud blankets in rich colours, and good hand-mirrors in strong frames… that and the powder, shot and rum that any fool would have given.
And months earlier it had been Danny Bentham who had acted as intermediary in finding ships to take the Patanq nation on its wanderings. Naturally, he had taken a slice of the Patanq's money in the process, for it had been hard work; most shipmasters — especially good seamen with prime vessels — refused outright, unwilling even to consider taking Indians aboard ship. Of those that said yes, the majority were desperate or in command of worn-out vessels. So, even if he had dipped his hand in their purse, he'd not dipped too deep, and he'd acted fairly on their behalf… or at least as fairly as he was capable of.
For their part, the Patanq leaders were also desperate, though Dreamer and Dark Hand gave no indication of this when Captain Bentham came to them proposing a solution to their present problems. They were prepared to trust him… within limits… and to meet Captain Flint for a great council.
The bargaining had been long, and hard. It had lasted all day. For the white men it had been maddeningly slow, with eloquent speeches by the two Patanq sachems using formal and poetic words. But agreement was now close, and a tobacco pipe was passing from hand to hand, giving each man his chance to speak. The whites were shifting and fidgeting to ease limbs unused to sitting cross-legged on a hard wooden deck. But Dark Hand and Dreamer were impassive; they spoke in steady, deep voices seemingly devoid of emotion.
"So," said Dreamer, "we are agreed that this cause is not part of the coming war that the English will fight with the French." The whites nodded. "Because the English are sending messengers across the land to find allies for this war, and the Patanq will not be part of it." The whites nodded. "Good," said Dreamer, "then I ask the sachem Flint to tell us again what it is that we must do. And for what reward…"
The pipe was passed to Flint, who drew on it, and spoke.
"I shall lead the Patanq nation — the entire nation, in their ships — to an island where there is buried a great quantity of gold and silver. Only I know the location of the island, and only I know where the gold is buried. But the island has been stolen by others. There are about seventy of them. They are well armed, with powder and muskets, and maybe cannon. They are strong men who will fight hard, and who know that we are coming." Flint looked at the two Patanq, and each nodded briefly. So far so good. There was no point in pretending it would be easy.
"I propose," said Flint, "that we fight these men, and kill them, and recover the gold…" He blinked. "And… and…" he paused, "I promise that I will share the gold equally with the Patanq nation." With this Flint stopped, as if exhausted by heavy labour. He looked down. He frowned.
Charley Neal held his breath. Every other white man present held his breath as Flint faced the last fence: the fence that had blocked all agreements so far.
"I believe," said Flint, "that the value of this treasure… in English money…" he took a breath. He made the effort: "I believe the value to be… over eight hundred thousand pounds."
There was a united gasp at this colossal figure. Only the two Patanq remained unmoved — at least externally.
Dreamer stretched out his hand, seeking the pipe.
"Here," said Flint, and handed it to him so he could speak. Dreamer took a long, slow time, thinking and smoking. Then:
"Good," he said. "It is my word that we should do this thing." He turned to his companion: "What is your word, my brother?"
Dark Hand took the pipe.
"I say yes.'" He looked at Flint. "The Patanq nation puts three hundred warriors into the field. They are yours for this cause."
Flint sighed. He closed his eyes and nodded. Charley Neal dared to breathe, Danny Bentham and Brendan O'Byrne grinned, and Van Oosterhout closed his eyes, the better to make the delightful calculation of what his own share might be, when converted into Nederlanse Gulden.
"There are other matters…" said Dreamer.
"Oh?" said the white men.
"Yes," said Dreamer, and pointed at Van Oosterhout: "Men say that you, Red Beard, are skilled at finding a way across the waters. You will take command of this ship and the Patanq fleet. You will bring the women and children safe to the island. And you — Sun Face — " he turned to Flint "- you that have secrets to find this island: you will share them with Red Beard. For I tell you, Sun Face — " he fixed Flint with his eye — "if Red Beard does not come to the island, then you and I shall not be friends."
Flint bade farewell to his plan to lose the Patanq women and children at sea, and nodded.
"And," said Dreamer, "we shall go tomorrow to all the ships of the fleet, taking Red Beard to the shipmasters that they shall know him as the leader who shall bring them to the island of gold, where they shall be kept from the fighting but shall be richly paid. For without this, why should they obey Red Beard?"
"So be it," said Flint, amazed that he'd ever thought Dreamer a savage.
"Good," said Dreamer. "Meanwhile, I and Dark Hand, and the three hundred warriors, will sail. Some in your ship — " he pointed at Flint. "And some in your ship — " he pointed at Bentham. "And some in your ship — " he pointed at Parry. "I have spoken!"
A great argument followed, for it had never occurred to Bentham, O'Byrne and Parry that they would be outnumbered aboard their own ships, so there was much shouting and pointing. But Dreamer sat impassive and the agreement was breaking apart when Flint spoke. In that dire moment, facing failure of all his plans, he thought of other days and imagined how someone else would have resolved this impasse: someone whom he'd greatly admired.
"What does it matter?" he said. "If we can't rely on one another, there's neither point nor prospect in this expedition. We're either jolly companions or we're not!" He reached across to Dreamer. "We've followed your customs all day, sir, so now here's one of mine. It is my word that we should sail as you ask, and I offer you my hand on it as a gentleman of fortune…"
The gesture was so splendid, and Flint's prestige so great, that Bentham, Parry and O'Byrne shut up, and held their breath to see what should happen next.
There was silence as Flint and Dreamer looked at each other across a poisoned wasteland — a sea of scars — ruined by the collision of two races that were opposite in culture, incompatible in spirit, and utterly mutually hostile. Physically the two men could not have been more different: the thin, sickly Patanq hook-nosed, tattooed, dark and wrinkled, with his shaven skull, and his rings and his feathers and his dangling lock of hair… and Flint the smooth, menacing white man with his beautiful face, and his shining smile and immense charm.
Then Dreamer slowly reached out his hand and clasped Flint's, and the white men cheered. Agreement was reached.
So toasts were drunk, and Flint, Bentham, Neal and the others stood up and smiled, and stretched their legs, and nodded and told one another what jolly dogs they were and what a fine deal they'd made. Many more of the Patanq came up from below and then… a sudden and dreadful transformation took place. The immensely dignified Dreamer took up one of the rum bottles that had been given as a present, knocked off the neck with his hatchet, and up-ended the bottle over his mouth. Dark Hand did the same. The other Patanq warriors yelled and squabbled for their share of the drink. They drank to be drunk. They drank to oblivion. They screeched and hollered and staggered and fought and fell. It was bedlam and chaos aboard Lucy May.