Hector was on the other side of the river, hidden by the dense foliage that skirted the banks. He was perched on a low branch of a tree that had trunk wider than he was, and Hector was an imposing figure. He was described as husky, more powerful than overweight, and sported a black beard that was wispy in places. He wore a beard because shaving seemed unnecessary and inconvenient on a long sea voyage, and when he had reached their destination it seemed even more unnecessary. He was short in stature, Hector thought it was this that gave him more agility than anyone expected. The livid white scar running just below his left eye made him look tough. He told everyone he got the scar in bar fight but told no-one he’d slipped on a paving stone while running away when he still thought he could.
Hector, sturdy as an ox, fleet as a fox, a scout beyond compare, was running again; but this time he was being followed. By a gangly youth, perhaps a few years before he gained the weight of adulthood. The youth was hunkered at a bend in the stream, where a clay embankment had been worn by animal generations into a watering place. The youth slathered copious amounts of the river water on his face, arms, and legs before drinking a little from his cupped hands.
The youth had perhaps lived in this jungle his whole life and it showed. He was comfortable enough to wear no more than he had to; only a loincloth was thought necessary here. He carried little with him, he was probably close to his village. Hector couldn’t see it, but he thought the thick undergrowth of this endless forest could hide an entire village. His wiry frame and sparse clothing were like most of the local people, but many of the ways in which he behaved were different. The differences were subtle, most people perhaps wouldn’t notice, but Hector had a knack for seeing veils for what they were. The boy hid the truth well for his age, but he held back something of himself. Perhaps it was the slow and careful way that he drank, Hector could easily recognise someone else who didn’t fully trust the river and drank only to fulfil a basic need. Where Hector went, he gladly followed, humming and whistling his songs when the birds stopped theirs. Hector had travelled the world and had witnessed the almost universal attraction of community; someone happy to be alone was a rare and confident figure.
‘New Spain will bring new riches to our kingdom and vast wealth to our king, but first that kingdom must be tamed and free from tyranny,’ the captain of Hector’s ship had said, ‘this is what we must do our to bring the king’s glory to new lands.’ Hector would have preferred to stay with his wife rather than undertake this treacherous voyage, but she would understand.
There had been 5 galleons in their fleet, packed with supplies for the fledgling communities to the west. The waters were calm when they left Spain, but once they had left the Mediterranean, the swells of the Atlantic made their ships like toys, fragile things at the mercy of untamed nature. But the ocean voyage was the price of New Spain; Hector would endure. There were many days when he saw nothing but unbroken sky and ocean; he thought that witnessing such enormity might split his mind in two. When he was able to see land on the horizon again, it gave him such a spring in his step that he felt he could jump over the side of the boat from the centre of the deck.
He’d heard stories of what he could expect in New Spain, but what he had pictured bore no relation to the reality. The stories had painted a vast land of unlimited wonder, where great cities floated on water, of gargantuan pyramids that stretched towards the heavens, and of course of places where gold was in such abundance that even the streets were paved with it. This new world was indeed vast, he could see the coast on the horizon for days before his was the first ship to drop anchor in that sheltered bay. This land was a world apart from the manicured gardens and terraces he had pictured; it was a place where the land did not seem to have been sculpted by true civilisation. This was a land that seemed to lack any kind of order, where jungle spilled over the margins between land and sea, where dense undergrowth prevented any view of the interior’s secrets.
He wished that he had not been so enthusiastic to join the rowboat crew for their expedition in their search for a good place to make a camp; a staging post where they could hold supplies before marching onwards into the interior. But it had been months since he had been able to go anywhere, to do anything but look at the whales and wandering birds with envy. Hector felt his urge to explore keenly, he might have jumped at any chance to be anywhere else.
As the dinghy travelled from ship to shore, he spent as much time looking through the crystal-clear waters of the tranquil bay as he did the land he was approaching. He could see the bottom easily, allowing him to gauge when he would jump. The beach was steep, the opportunity to jump came late to Hector. The water was chest high as he pushed himself away from the boat, ducking under the water and feeling all his stress fade to nothing. His enthusiasm was rewarded was with thousand tiny cuts to his feet as they sought firm ground to bear his weight. The coral was intricate and delicate, a boon for pristine waters, but the chalky spines and hard edges punctured his soft flesh with ease. Everywhere he looked Hector could see examples of this kind of sly malevolence, in this land discovery seemed to bring many pleasant surprises, but soon became unpleasant. Hector grumbled that he missed Cadiz, that for once he yearned for the familiarity he had so often tried to be free from.
The captain of his ship admitted that he also had a small measure of home sickness when he said, ‘I too long for Cadiz,’ but he had more to say to Hector on the matter, ‘but we have all been asked to undertake this voyage to perform a duty for Spain. I have guided this ship across the ocean and am free to dream of our return. But your duties have not yet begun, you have an important role in unravelling the mysteries of these lands.’
Unravelling these mysteries would be the key to bringing the order and civility of Spain. There was an air of tranquility in a society formed around the word of Christ, without spreading his words and faith bringing enlightened thinking to these lands would be impossible. Here it was hot, it was wet, it was chaos. Hector had no doubt then that the barbarous edges to the many stories were the truest parts.
The beach he landed on consisted of white sand and added calm to the wild fringes of the forest. But he would ignore this tranquility and bring order and mastery to this land, to bring to pass those things that nature attempted to subvert with every plant that grew as it pleased, every insect that crawled and bit, with every animal that did not yet no man as a special kind of danger. He kissed the cross he carried on a necklace and offered a silent prayer after he had pleaded for protection. His scouting partner was a few steps ahead, but already almost obscured by the thick undergrowth.
‘I think the howls are coming from those monkeys,’ said his scouting partner, Juan. He was pointing to dark figures perched on the tree branches, bobbing their heads to look in every direction, but paying particular attention to the strangers eyeing them from the forest floor, ‘I don’t think we need to be wary of them.’
‘Perhaps not,’ said Hector, ‘but perhaps something is making them nervous, so we must be careful.’
‘I think maybe it us who are making them nervous,’ laughed Juan, ‘and listen to the birds also, they wouldn’t produce such rich and complicated songs to warn of danger.’
‘Who can say for sure? This world is wrong in many ways; perhaps those birds are guiding a greater danger to us.’
As they travelled further into the forest the noise changed, but it never stopped. The calls from the animals in the trees changed, the tones became higher; birds sang but perhaps not the same varieties. In wetter places frogs and toads belched, in the trees the primates held court. Everywhere ants crawled across their boots as they busily surveyed the forest floor.
A man mimicked a bird call, booming more loudly than a bird’s little lungs could ever achieve. Juan and Hector both spun round. The man appeared in an instant, it was clear he had been tracking them and had chosen this moment to reveal himself. The scouts looked at each other, in silence expressing their incredulity at being tricked in such way.
‘We have failed,’ said Hector to his companion, who nodded his head to recognise this was true, ‘but God will provide a way to redeem ourselves.’
At that moment they heard another bird song in front of them, then turned around to see another man blocking their path. Then another man appeared to the left, and another to the right; soon they were surrounded. Ahead of them, the warrior screamed as he raised his axe above his head. He charged forward and buried the blade in Juan’s skull. Hector swung wildly as he dropped to the ground, cutting several men before he ran off into the forest. In the thick foliage of the forest Hector was lost within minutes; he understood how the hunters had remained invisible for so long. Soon he felt he could hide and catch his breath.
He found a moment of respite when he rested in a nook between the roots of an ancient tree with a trunk as hard as iron. He listened for signs of his pursuer’s whereabouts, quickly learning the subtle differences between genuine bird song and the chatter between one tribesman and another. Sometimes they would use language that was too rapid for Hector to place, he supposed it must be their native tongue. But he was surprised that any man would speak to another in that way; even the very sounds of this language seemed unnatural to him.
To speak in this way must be a burden to these people, thought Hector, Spanish is a superior language, they will be glad to benefit from it.
The voices became more distant, Hector found the confidence to move away from his knotted sanctuary. He slowly crawled up an embankment behind him, hoping that he could remain unseen as he moved towards a better view of his surroundings. He thought he saw movements in the distance; the hunters used axes and fearsome clubs to beat heavy undergrowth as they searched for him, working with the rhythm and order of a practiced farm labourers gathering wheat.
Hector found comfort in watching these honed manoeuvres, he had so many of his own, but the fantastic and bizarre plants that surrounded him were enough to restore his tension. Giant waxy leaves and a multitude of flowers growing from every tree trunk, every space for life occupied and jealously defended. Even the insects of these forests, each bigger than Hector’s thumb and a constant irritation, didn’t seem to affect his pursuers. It was as if they could communicate with the insects and warn them to keep their distance.
He noticed one at the back of the group was remaining silent. He appeared to somewhat younger than the rest, a youth on the brink of maturity. He moved more slowly and with less confidence, he was at turns ignored and berated by the others. He was treated like an animal where Hector could see no others. As the light began to fade the rest of the group left that part of the jungle. The youth continued his search, those who seemed oldest shouted and pointed as they left.
Soon the forest was covered by the blue-grey light of dusk, and then the dark night crept over, but this was a land that never slept. That night the clawing heat and humidity didn’t relent, moths continued to drift from flower to flower while the chirps and hisses of lizards reverberated through the forest. Hector couldn’t sleep. He imagined he was in the eye of a storm. In the small clearing where he was resting, he saw a temporary peace and tranquillity, but all that he heard reminded that this peace could quickly turn to chaos, a chaos he had no power to avoid. He closed his eyes and tried to get some kind of rest, but he couldn’t forget the fear that those hunting for him could be lying in wait just yards away.
True sleep was impossible, but Hector was sure he managed to doze a few times during the night. Nevertheless, when dawn’s early light began to play on his eyelids, he was ready to face the challenges that the day would bring with a steel and determination thought would make his countrymen proud. Today he would begin anew, that land did not contain anything that could strike fear into a heart that belonged to his European home.
He looked around, looking for signs his pursuers. He found the youth easily enough, but all signs seemed to indicate that he was alone. He never looked over his shoulder never gave an indication that he was trying to maintain contact with anybody else. He didn’t appear to be taking anyone else’s orders, and most telling was that he seemed happy and at ease to make his own route.
That certainly a nice situation for a person to be in, thought Hector.
Over the next few hours, Hector began to see it as a game, a test for this young man. Wherever Hector went the youth was sure to follow. Hector never stopped moving, he thought that he went back on himself but wasn’t sure. Every now and then the youth would allow Hector to hide within the thick vegetation, giving him the opportunity to observe his tracker. The youth always stayed close, but not too close. It was clear he had been given he wanted to keep a watchful eye on Hector but to engage him in any way.
That’s sensible, thought Hector, I must seem very strange to him, and he wants to see how I behave before they decide what to do with me.
Hector tried to absorb as much detail about the youth as he could from his vantage point above on the opposite side of the stream. This was part of the game between the pair, it was clear that the tracker enjoyed being seen, and Hector wondered why this was.
Perhaps the youth has put some thought into his method, perhaps he hopes that the knowledge I am being followed, no matter what I do, will add to my fatigue.
Sometimes it was hard to identify a gap in the leaf cover that would give him the space needed, but Hector was able to console himself with the thought that if he was struggling to find gap then he didn’t need to worry so much about being watched.
But he was always able to find a space without too much movement, always able to find a way to be content with his observation. He found the appearance of the youth completely fascinating; he was taller than his compatriots, didn’t share their rounded features. His nose and chin were the sharp features with which Hector was more familiar. The other men in his group seemed to have straight hair, but the wavy hair of the youth was more akin to the types that were more familiar to Hector.
As Hector studied the youth, he could recognize more of himself than he hoped; so much so that he even began to fear he was losing his memory of civilization. He had experienced these sensations in many of the wilder places he had visited; he was always mindful of how quickly those gifts could be forgotten when a person was so far away from their source. Hector began to ponder an idea; perhaps giving this young man an experience of civilisation would be enough to allow him to benefit from a more civilised outlook on his life. Until that moment the game had been directionless, the path treaded by Hector was circuitous and vague. But now Hector had a duty to be a saviour, to lead the youth to the light. He would lead him back to the ship’s crew. Hector was close to the bank, surely if he followed the river downstream, he would find himself at the coast, and therefore closer to his crew.
The novice stopped, rested on dark wood log, and picked his teeth with a twig. Hector smiled, thinking that following him downstream for hours had been more effort than the youth bargained for. He didn’t show it, but Hector knew the youth must be feeling the same strain he was. Hector wasn’t exactly sure where he was, his innate sense of direction told him that all he would have to do was follow the course of the river and it would guide him to the bay and the fleet of galleons. The river had to join the sea at that bay, even this strange land, where nothing was quite what it seemed, had to follow that rule.
Nevertheless, Hector’s heart skipped a beat when he first heard the roar of the ocean. He did have to climb a tree above the thickest of the undergrowth to hear it, but that confirmation that he might soon be free of the jungle, that he was steering the pursuit to an end, gave him an inner strength he never knew he had. He imagined his arrival in that familiar haven; he would soon camp for the evening, and he was sure he would dream of that greater respite. He had done something to help the expedition that would bravely follow him into the unknown, and the youth who had pursued him through the jungle. The Spanish soldiers who had sent him on this mission needed guidance through this maddening forest, and the tracker behind him needed perhaps more important guidance of a spiritual kind. His follower was a primitive man, but Hector could see enough humanity in him to see that he was worthy of assistance. He smiled as he could offer the man – from the wild forest to the sanity of civilised Spain.
Hector’s dreams, once so tangible and so inevitable, became childish fairy tales in an instant of inattention. Following a trail of collapsed earth had been a mistake, but the allure of a familiar trail of dirt within this alien landscape had been irresistible to him. He cursed the errant vine that tripped him, causing him to spill forward and catch his face on a jagged tree-trunk. He was dazed but unhurt. Though, when he had shaken off his stupor, he realised that he could no longer hear the Sea. This is a clever form of torture, thought Hector, always changing my surroundings so that I never become comfortable; every misstep is compounded.
Hector desperately needed a good place to sit down. But he couldn’t find a good place, so he just sat down. He guessed the driest place would be against a tree, but he could only tolerate all the tiny creatures crawling over him and biting him for about a minute. He jumped up screamed, frantically brushings his arms. Hector realised his head was bobbing all around him, just like the monkeys he had seen earlier. The tribesman, where-ever he was, couldn’t be seeing this and considering the scout a threat to his people. Hector could never have predicted the jungle would turn into a swamp, hopefully at its coastal fringe. He had to go there; the sea was his only target now. Hector found himself navigating towards that hellish place where worlds collide, half-way between land and water. He took some comfort from seeing that he was still being followed, at least that tribesman showed no hesitancy in following him there and following him there.
The swamp was the deepest part of his nightmare, a place where the most unpleasant facets of the Jungle, a final assault on the senses before finally released him from its grip. Exhausted by the heat and humidity, harassed by thorns and flies, still he battled against the mud that sucked and pulled at his feet. Every step forward became a feat of strength, his legs strained to be released from the mud with every step forward. He tired quickly and soon reached the point when he could continue forward no longer. He lost his rhythm; he was sinking to the realisation that this folly could be his last. He was stuck fast, feeling himself sink further into the mud, ready to be consumed by nature and her lengthening shadows. In that moment he thought of his company and what little he had done for them; he did the unthinkable and called out to his foe.
‘Help!’ Hector thought this was stupid thing to call to a man who didn’t know his language. Any word or sound would do, although at that moment he could think of no other and had to express his only thought.
Slowly the youth appeared from the undergrowth, pushing leaves and branches aside to make space for himself. He was unhurried, still relaxed about being seen by Hector, climbing through the trees seemed merely to be a way of avoiding the noxious sludge that festered between the gangly tree roots. As he carefully moved between the overhanging branches the tracker rarely cast his gaze upon anything but Hector for several minutes, his hard eyes trying to burrow into Hector’s soul. Hector responded likewise, he doubted that his stare had the same effect on the stranger. Hector knew he looked pathetic to the youth; even though he was a novice he still had enough wit to avoid becoming embroiled in the mud.
Hector called out again, ‘help,’ trying to reinforce the message of his pleading eyes.
The youth stared at Hector for moment longer, wrinkling his forehead and then tilting his head from side to side, eventually offering him a stick to hold on to. He pulled Hector free from the clawing mud. Hector’s carelessness had embarrassed him and made him show weakness to his foe; he was a child who got into trouble playing in the mud.
Hector managed a weak smile when the novice fell backwards. He pulled Hector towards the trees and a surer footing, then the youth lost his own. But he regained it quickly, using with the twigs and green branches of the tightly packed trees. The dappled light that had broken through the leaves fell on the stranger’s face; Hector thought the youth was in camouflage as he pulled himself up to the low-hanging boughs. Hector spread his open palms to the man and stood away from him as he spoke,
‘Thank-you,’ Hector bowed slightly to the tribesman, ‘you have saved my life and I mean to do the same would for you.’
The young man tilted his head and looked towards Hector with a blank expression. But Hector’s confidence was growing, he was sure that on some level the youth could understand the spirit of his words. Hector gave him a gift, a simple wooden cross he tied around his neck with string, to emphasise his point.
‘This is the light, this is the son of god that will enrich your people,’ said Hector, ‘all you must do is follow his teachings and believe in him.’
‘God?’ The man smiled as Hector handed him the gift, then beckoned Hector to follow him.
I must follow him, thought Hector. I am lost, and this man has just saved my life. I must be ready for what may come.
The man glided through the trees, within minutes they had left the swamp and were in the thick of the jungle, again. Without civilised knowledge the youth could only lead him to hell.
The two men passed through the trees in silence, almost like strangers; the space between them was filled with the patter of heavy raindrops smacking against leaves. The youth never looked back as they travelled for the rest of the day, until he stopped beside fallen tree. His eyes tracked the movements of Hector until Hector reached the clearing.
‘Adan,’ said the youth as he pointed to his chest, ‘Adan.’
Hector pointed to the man as he replied, ‘Adan.’ Like Adam but not quite, thought Hector.
This clearing was where the two men would camp for the night. It was too hot for a fire and Hector seized the opportunity to take off some of his extra layers, his tunic and his boots. He noticed Adan looking curiously at them, so he offered him the clothes to examine more closely. Hector also produced his knife, and it was in this that he seemed most interested. The youth held the knife up to the moonlight creeping through the canopy, glinting off the blade and in his eye. The youth had probably seen similar tools in his tribe, but naturally they would be less sophisticated, thought Hector.
As Adan tried on the clothes Hector was again reminded that this man could pass unnoticed in any area of Spain; he could pass along cobbled streets lit by fractured sunlight, drinking, and relaxing with friends in Tavernas as he passed a sweet evening. The idea started to form.
Hector shook his head, as if he was trying to free himself from an unseen grip. But the idea stuck, he dreamed of what Adnan could be in a different place.
He awoke. In the first few seconds of disorientation Hector was not afraid. He saw something that could only be Spanish, he wondered when he’d arrived back in the camp of his countrymen. Then the maddening cries and clinging forest closed in on him, he was still within the deepest realms of the devil’s trickery. Adan, the once not-quite-Adam who was now not-quite-Hector, danced and posed to complete his mockery.
Hector scrambled into the darkness of the unknown forest while Adan was still dancing and parading along the fallen tree. He didn’t know how long he could survive in the jungle alone, perhaps the devil would catch him in another form, but Adan would not be the one.
For hours he struggled through the around the forest. When Hector arrived back in the clearing Adan was still there, sitting on the fallen tree in shining steel armour, picking his teeth. Hector’s face dropped as Adan continued to relax, only raising his eyes for a moment to recognise the soldiers coming into the clearing. Hector’s company greeted Adan as if was an old friend.
‘Where is he?’ Hector’s captain said to Adan.
Adan barely raised his eyes as he pointed directly at Hector.
The captain smiled at this as he gave his fine steel sword to Adan.
‘This man has been following me for days.’ Said Hector, pointing at Adnan. ‘Why do you know him?’
‘If men are to be successful in any place they need friends,’ replied the captain, ‘And those who can keep them on the right path.’ He put his hand on Adnan’s shoulder, ‘Adnan’s tribe was the first tribe to be encountered in Hew Spain, the first friendly tribe at least. Without their help a colony might not have been established. They taught us to survive gathered us to the land we would find favourable. Their actions made them the enemies of less welcoming tribes; they were attacked, and Adnan was taken prisoner. Now he keeps his tribe alive in secret; the tribe that you saw him with a few days ago where his captors. When the time is right, we will see to it that he can get revenge, but for now he can guide our scouts back to us when they have lost their way.’
‘We can reward him in another way,’ said Hector, ‘would it not be better that Adnan returns to Spain and helps to spread the word of our conquest?’
Adnan was sitting on his log, listing carefully to the conversation frowning at the mention of his name.
The captain grinned the at this suggestion, ‘we’ve had our deal with Adnan for several years, and he has declined a visit to Spain. This is his home with inspite his troubles he has no wish to leave. Adnan is happy to play games with his enemies and see how it ends. In time he will be a king in this land, a leader of men. He gives old Spain an anchor that will allow our civilisation and our humanity to spread through the grateful peoples of the new.’
THE END
Words:5000
Ciaran J McLarnon
Ciaran J McLarnon 