On a personal level, Maria was overjoyed when David brought word that her brother Adolph and his wife Catarina had survived the Spanish invasion. Her cup of happiness overflowed when David gave her a letter from Adolph.
This reaction was somewhat tempered once she had read the letter. Adolph was a professor of medicine, and the curator of the Leiden Botanical Gardens.
He complained about the damage the Spanish troops had done to the garden. He complained that the students weren’t paying attention in class. And he complained that the administration had unfairly reprimanded him for not showing more activity.
It was, he pointed out, all Maria’s fault. He would have sent his Catalogus plantarum to Elzevier for publication two years ago if Maria hadn’t sent him all those new plants from Grantville, thus throwing him off schedule. And then made matters worse by sending him exotic specimens from Suriname.
To add insult to injury, since she was gallivanting around the New World, without the slightest regard for her reputation (and for the damage she was doing, by association, to his dignity as a professor), that meant she wasn’t back home drawing the plant illustrations for him.
At the end of this litany, he closed by hoping she was well.
Maria crumpled up the letter and tossed it into the Suriname River. “If it isn’t one thing, it’s a brother,” she announced.
* * *
David digested the news without any more change of expression than an up-timer might have seen on the faces carved upon Mount Rushmore. But he knew that the Imbangala couldn’t be allowed to get away with killing colonists, even ones who foolishly ventured into their territory.
“All right, this is what we’ll do. First, we need to fortify the town and Fort Lincoln. Fortunately, I brought cement, and instructions on how to use it to make concrete. Concrete is stronger than wood, and doesn’t need to be carved like stone. Besides cement, we need sand, gravel and water, but I believe this country has those materials in abundance.
“I also have the materials for a proper gatehouse, that is, I brought a portcullis and the like. And I have cannon in ballast. They are pedreros that were being sold off and replaced by newer designs, but they should be fine for fighting these Imbangala.
“We will need the Africans or the Indians, or both, for fighting in the forests. While the colonists are seeing to the defenses, we will send out emissaries. Heyndrick and Maria, you’ll take the Eikhoorn upriver to talk to the Coromantee. And see if Captain Marshall, or his Indians, are willing to offer any assistance.
“Henrique and Maurício, you’ll go to the Mandinka and the Eboes.”
“The Ndongo are much more numerous, and they are already at war with the Imbangala,” interjected Maurício. “Wouldn’t I be more use talking to them?”
“Perhaps, but we know that they are also more hostile to Europeans, thanks to what the Portuguese have been doing in Luanda the last hundred years. I can speak Portuguese—I was Jan Pieterszoon Coen’s right-hand man in Asia. But I can tell them honestly that I am Dutch, and the Portuguese are my enemies. Present company excepted, of course.
“Also, we hear that they’ve moved pretty far to the east. We’ll need a big ship like the Walvis to force its way back to windward, find them, and move them some place more useful. And I’d be needed to skipper the Walvis in any event.
“Coqui will come with me, to talk to the local Indians. And also—what’s her name?”
“Tetube?”
“Right. The lass who witnessed Imbangala atrocities first hand. Anyway, we’ll organize a Grand Alliance, and put down the Imbangala for good.”
* * *
“He’s coming, he’s coming!” the Mandinka children shrieked, running up the path to their village.
“Who’s coming, children?” said the adult on guard duty.
“‘He Who Talks’!”
The Mandinka had quickly realized that Maurício was one of the select few who had more than the usual mortal allotment of nyamo, the secret energy that allowed one to practice sorcery. It was held by great hunters, skilled blacksmiths, gree gree men, and of course the nyancho, the hereditary warrior aristocracy from whom they drew their rulers.
Had not Maurício presided over the ceremony in which their shackles were removed? No doubt his nyamo had subdued the cruel whites who had crewed the slave ship, forcing them to yield up the key and accept the loss of their property.
When they learned that Maurício spoke the languages of all the Europeans, and seemingly all the Africans, that was further proof of his power. The Mandinka did argue as to whether this was a natural, spontaneous manifestation of his nyamo, or whether he actually cast a spell when he wanted to learn a new language. But either way, he was a man to be respected, even feared.