* * *
“Sing, Maurício.”
“I thought you didn’t like my singing.”
“I don’t. But you have a loud voice, and that’s what we need right now.”
“How come?”
“We’ve never been in this part of the sertão. This is a well-marked trail, almost certainly leading to a village. We want them to know we’re coming.”
“But wouldn’t the Indians sense us? Being wise in the ways of the bush, and all.”
“Let me rephrase that. We want them to know that we know that they know we’re coming.”
“I am not sure that was an improvement. You are as clear as a philosopher.”
“If they think we’re trying to sneak up on them, they’ll think we are up to no good. And either flee, or prepare an ambush for us. Whereas, if we approach them openly, they’ll assume we’ve come to trade.”
A couple of dogs came down the trail and barked at Henrique and Maurício. They stopped, and let the dogs sniff them. Then they continued walking, and the dogs, still barking occasionally, followed.
The village was just a circle of conical huts. Various animals milled about the central clearing, but no people were there. Occasionally, a head would look out of a hut, then pull back in.
“Hey, that was a pretty girl, over there,” Maurício exclaimed. “Hope she comes out again.”
And, a moment later, “Ugh, look at that crone. Hope she’s not the mom, wouldn’t want her for a mother-in-law.”
Henrique didn’t respond; he was studying the village. “Maurício, we need to leave. Now.”
“What about trading for food? What about getting better acquainted with the young ladies?”
“Didn’t you notice? There are only women in this village.”
“Hey, you’re right. Wow, we found the village of the Amazon women warriors. The ones Father Cristobal de Acuna wrote about. And Sir Walter Raleigh. There are only two of us, so we will certainly enjoy favors of their queens. For a whole month. And—”
Henrique grabbed Maurício by both shoulders and forcibly rotated him about-face. “What it means, Maurício, is that their men are off on the warpath, and we really, really don’t want to be here when they come back.”
* * *
Henrique and Maurício made it safely back to their canoe, and pressed on. They felt safe enough, at this point, to erect a makeshift sail, so they could travel more quickly. It didn’t seem likely that they were still being pursued.
A few days later, they saw a large canoe overtaking them from the south. They hastily took down their mast, but it was a false alarm. The canoe was crewed by Manao Indians. The Manao were great traders, criss-crossing the central Amazon. The Portuguese had first encountered them on the Solimoes, the “River of Poisons”—so-called because the tribes there used poison arrows. Rumor had it that the Manao came from far to the north, way up the Rio Negro, but no Portuguese had visited their homeland.
Henrique raised his hands, palms open, signaling peaceful intent. The Manao greeted him, and, politely, asked his business in their region. He said that he was looking to trade and, perhaps find a path to the Great Water in the north. He gave them a few beads, and they offered him some cachiri to drink.
This particular trading party was returning from a run up the Madeira, one of the tributaries on the right bank of the Amazon. That night, Henrique, Maurício and the Manao camped together, on an island, and Henrique questioned them about what tribes lived along the Madeira, and what goods they had to offer.
Maurício had other concerns. He eagerly asked them whether they had seen any women warriors there, and they told him that it was a nonsensical idea. “No more cachiri for you,” one suggested kindly.
Maurício whispered to Henrique. “Perhaps these Manao haven’t traveled widely enough. Someone else at the village may have heard of the Amazons. After all, Acuna and Raleigh reported them.”
Henrique was unimpressed. “Perhaps Father Cristobal de Acuna and Sir Walter Raleigh were a pair of bald-faced liars.”
The Manao invited Henrique and Maurício to follow them to their village. This was located near where the Solimoes joined with the Rio Negro to form the mighty Amazon. The site had been abandoned, for some mystical reason, by the local Taruma Indians. The Manao had first used it as a trading camp and it had gradually evolved into a village. It was definitely a good location for traders.
And for refugees from Portuguese law, it was a place to gather news of pursuit.
Summer 1634
Henrique raised his eyebrows. “You sure you want to go through with this?”