would be thirty pounds. He knew Ruyters' bargaining practices all too
well. The sight of the Zeelander's decks sickened him almost as much as
the slaves. He wanted to get to sea again, to leave Barbados and its
greedy Puritans far behind.
But this time, he told himself, you're the one who needs them. Just a
little longer and there'll be a reckoning.
And after that, Barbados can be damned.
"Thirty pounds then, and may God forgive me." Ruyters was slapping
Briggs genially on the shoulder. "But you'll be needing a lot more for
the acres you want to cut. Why not take the rest of this string at a
flat twenty-five pounds the head, and make an end on it? It'll spare
both of us time."
"Twenty-five!"
"Make it twenty then." Ruyters lowered his voice. "But not a shilling
under, God is my witness."
"By my life, you're a conniving Moor, passing himself as a Dutchman."
Briggs mopped his brow. "It's time for the candle, sir. They're
scarcely all of the same quality."
"I'll grant you. Some should fetch well above twenty. I ventured the
offer thinking a gentleman of your discernment might grasp a bargain
when he saw it. But as you will." He turned and spoke quickly to his
quartermaster, a short, surly seaman who had been with the Zeelander
almost as long as Ruyters. The officer disappeared toward the Great
Cabin and returned moments later with several long white candles,
marked with rings at one-inch intervals. He fitted one into a holder
and lit the wick.
"We'll begin with the next one in the string." Ruyters pointed to a
stout, gray-bearded man. "Gentlemen, what am I bid?"
"Twelve pounds."
"Fifteen."
"Fifteen pounds ten."
"Sixteen."
As Winston watched the bidding, he found his gaze drifting more and
more to the Yoruba Briggs had just purchased. The man was meeting his
stare now, eye to eye, almost a challenge.
There were three small scars lined down one cheek--the clan marks
Yoruba warriors were said to wear to prevent inadvertently killing
another clan member in battle. He was naked and in chains, but he held
himself like a born aristocrat.
"Eighteen and ten." Briggs was eyeing the flickering candle as he
yelled the bid. At that moment the first dark ring disappeared.
"The last bid on the candle was Mr. Benjamin Briggs." Ruyters turned to
his quartermaster, who was holding an open account book, quill pen in
hand. "At eighteen pounds ten shillings. Mark it and let's get on with
the next one."
Winston moved slowly back toward the main deck, studying the first
Yoruba more carefully now--the glistening skin that seemed to stretch
over ripples of muscle. And the quick eyes, seeing everything.
What a fighting man he'd make. He'd snap your neck while you were still
reaching for your pistol. It could've been a big mistake not to try and
get him. But then what? How'd you make him understand anything? Unless
. . .
He remembered that some of the Yoruba in Brazil, still fresh off the
slave ships, already spoke Portuguese. Learned from the traders who'd
worked the African coast for . . . God only knows how long. The
Portugals in Brazil always claimed you could never tell about a Yoruba.
They were like Moors, sharp as tacks.
His curiosity growing, he edged next to the man, still attempting to
hold his eyes, then decided to try him.
"_Fala portugues_?"
Atiba started in surprise, shot a quick glance toward the crowd of
whites, then turned away, as though he hadn't heard. Winston moved
closer and lowered his voice.
"_Fala portugues, senhor_?"
After a long moment he turned back and examined Winston.
"_Sim. Suficiente_." His whisper was almost buried in the din of
bidding. He paused a moment, then continued, in barely audible
Portuguese. "How many of my people will you try to buy, _senhor_?"
"Only free men serve under my command.'
"Then you have saved yourself the loss of many strings of money
shells,_ senhor_. The _branco _here may have escaped our sword for now.
But they have placed themselves in our scabbard." He looked back toward
the shore. "Before the next rainy season comes, you will see us put on
the skin of the leopard. I swear to you in the name of Ogun, god of
war."