Emperor of Gondwanaland (12 page)

Kane broke the Awe-full Silence occasion’d by his entrance with a curt speech: “I have arrived as agent of thy solace, Brethren.” Then he set foot on the Gangplank and began his descent.

Our Leaders were already moving solemnly toward the base of the Plank to usher Kane ashore, and the Visitor had nearly reached their warm Solicitude when the unexpected happened.

From the wat’ry gap twixt Wharf and Ship, a long scaled green Arm shot upward, and clamped its Mossy, Long-nailed fingers around the ankle of Kane’s right Boot!

Before anyone else could summon up the Wits to react, Kane had whipped forth one of his Antique Pistols, and instantly primed and fired it straight into the Form of his Attacker!

The Unearthly Hand convulsed and withdrew, releasing Kane. Women screamed, and Men hastened to peer over the edge of the Wharf to descry the Nature of the Assailant. By virtue of my small size, I managed to push to the Vanguard.

The Humaniform Creature had been mortally wounded, staining the Harbor’s Water’s with its dark blood. Its Mortal Frenzy made Full Apprehension of its Lineaments impossible amidst the Froth, yet I thought to Glimpse a Barbed Tail and Webbed Hands. Upon its Expiration, the Chthonic Creature floated for a Short Moment, revealing its Naked, Reptilian Backside, before sinking like a Stone.

Kane had calmly replaced his matchlock. No expression of either Dismay or Triumph clouded his stony features. He uttered his assessment of the Attack with plainspoken Certitude. “A child of Dagon. Your suspicions of Indian complicity with ancient demiurges were not misplaced, my friends. Let us adjourn to some quarters affording more safety than the open air, and we can begin to plot our campaign against these abominations.”

Major Pynchon was the first to regain his Composure. “By all means, Master Kane. We have adopted the house of one of our most esteemed husbandmen, Benedict Arnold, nigh to Spring Street, as our headquarters. Refreshment awaits us there.”

En masse
then, I staying close to my Father’s side, so as not to be summarily dismissed from the Council of Greybeards, we set out up the Low Slope toward Spring Street, leaving at our back the waters of Newport Harbor, once so innocent and accommodating, yet now revealed to be the Lair of the Unspeakable.

All cram’d into the Narrow Quarters of the Keeping Room in Benedict Arnold’s stout gambrel’d House hard by the Old Stone Mill (which some averred had been builded by Norsemen before e’er White Men arrived on these shores), we Settlers held Solomon Kane at our Worshipful Center as if he were the precious Beating Heart of our Body Politic. After his Masterful Display at the Wharf, he had commanded all our Respect. I was reminded of the passage in Luke, where the Christ is led into the council of priests and scribes and asked to furnish proof of his identity. Our Lord replied engimatically then: “If I tell you, you will not believe; and if I ask you, you will not answer.” Yet still He carried the Day amongst the Disbelievers, and just so did Kane, despite his Stern Silence, evoke our Affections and Belief. And even the most Curious Statements he was later to make could not shake our Reliance on him.

Arnold’s demure wife and dainty daughters served a modest Collation of Small Beer and Pasties, which were but sparingly consumed. Truth to tell, no man among us was particularly an-hungered, as the ennervating Heat of this most ungodly August robbed one of all Appetite, and the Closeness of the Room only accentuated the oppressiveness. I myself was able to down only three or four of the handy Meat Pies, whereas under other circumstances my Youthful Stomach—a Demanding Master whose Mature Edicts would lead to a later Corpulence of Frame—would not have been sated without Twice that Number.

Drinking only from a Tumbler of Well Water, his Stomach apparently set Sharp only for Fighting, Kane surveyed us silently, as if we were but Tools arrayed for his Handiwork, and he deeming how best to employ us.

The first order of Business was to make Suitable Introductions of all the Figures of Some Account in the Affairs of the Colonies to our Honored Visitor. We had here assembled men from Plimoth, Connecticut, Massachusetts, Rhode Island, and the Providence Plantations, each of the Polities that had suffered from the Depradations of the Salvages. Major Pynchon took this Affair into Hand, and Singularly Conducted each Colonist to shake the hand of the Brooding Puritan. Soon ’twas my Father’s turn, and I trailed expectantly in his Wake.

“Mr. Kane, this stalwart man of the cloth is the Reverend Increase Mather, Pastor of Boston’s North Church and President of Harvard College.”

Father shook Kane’s hand, and I awaited Acknowledgment of my Presence in turn. When such Token was not shortly forthcoming, I thrust forward and offered my own Hand, speaking boldly to the Corvine Adventurer from abroad.

“Cotton Mather, Sir, and most delighted to meet you.”

To my surprize, Father discharged no Public Rebuke upon me, but smiled at my Presumption.

“You will forgive my son, I hope, Mr. Kane, for he is something of a prodigy. Already enrolled in the College at his tender age, he exhibits more wit than many an elder I could name.”

Kane fixed upon me then a Stare of such Directness and Probing Intensity that I felt like moist, defenseless soil beneath the Farmer’s Plough. I fancied he was reading a direct Impression off my very Soul, estimating the Cut of my Inner Qualities and Weighing ’em in some Obscure Balance.

Evidently I passed Muster, for Kane gripped my outthrust Hand with fervor and replied, “The blood of righteousness flows strongly in this one. Let him be a part of our councils.”

Elated at this warm reception, half-dazed by Kane’s Glory, I somehow retreated to the Periphery of the Crowd, where I watched and listened attentively to the following Discourse.

It fell to my Sire to give a Concise Summary of the Atrocities conducted by the Salvages, clothing the Stage of the Debate as it were with the Gory Curtains that would frame our Final Campaign. He spoke as Fervently as if he stood behind his wonted Pulpit, blasting Sinners.

“Many an innocent soul has lost his very scalp to these barbarians after being cruelly struck down from behind. Defenseless babes have had their brains dashed out upon tree trunks. Women have been trammeled and dragged at several removes across the harsh countryside as mere chattel of their redskinned captors. Why, recounting the tragedy at Nine Men’s Misery alone would keep us here all day! And occasionally the cruel ingenuity of the tawny tygers has surpassed all boundaries of the imagination. There was one harmless fellow named Wright, whose strange conceit was that so long as he held his Bible, no harm would befall him. A praiseworthy belief, yet one that should have been supplemented by more practical measures. For when his salvage assailants understood the tenor of his defense, they but laughed coarsely, then slit open poor Wright from waistcoat to windpipe and inserted the Holy Book into his very guts.”

The whole Room was Aghast at the repetition of this oft-told Tale, and one of Arnold’s daughters swooned, dropping a Pewter Pitcher upon the stone floor with a loud Crash. But Kane evinced no comparable Reaction, instead admonishing us in a matter-of-fact yet grim Manner.

“Citizens, you may spare me your accounts of the simple grotesqueries that limited mortals may inflict on one another. I have stood beneath the Moon of Skulls and climbed the black stairs of an eldritch ziggurat to a sacrificial altar where an unnatural beast slavered over a naked princess. I have trod the streets of a city of vampires, the lone living man. I have wrestled with a murderous ghost who inhabited an English moor and was wont to rend his victims into small shreds. I have lived for months among a race of winged demons, fanged like wolves, who yet came to call me brother. Man is ever the sport and sustenance of titanic beings of night and horror. These primitive assaults by your rude tormentors are as piss in a tempest, compared to other bloody insults the cosmos holds in store for us. No, what matters most is not the atrocities performed upon you, but your manner of reply.”

The Host of Militiamen and Counselors was taken aback by Kane’s Implicit Diminishment of all the Wrongs they had so long Clasp’d close to their Breasts, and were silent awhile. Then Major Gookin spoke.

“Why, we have but answered ’em in kind. Upon capturing the lowest Indian soldier, we have performed upon ’em apposite punishments, such as the breaking of their fingers and other bones, and the pressing of their chests with heavy weights. Oft-times we employ our allies the Mohegan as our sanctioned executioners, for they know precisely what excruciations will justifiably extract the most pain from their stoic renegade compatriots. When possible, such as during our magnificent success last year in the Great Narragansett Swamp, when we attacked the winter encampment of the salvages, we have slaughtered their women and children and destroyed all their stores, the selfsame indignities they have inflicted on us. And of course, we regain some small measure of our lost economy by selling some captives as slaves in the Indies.”

Kane smashed his pewter Tankard down hard upon the Board, causing all of us to jump as if Pitchforked. His face expressed naught but Disgust.

“This is not how you conduct a war, my brethren, but rather how infants wage a childish game of tit-for-tat. No wonder this petty conflict has persisted for so many years. Simple foot soldiers have no say in the duration or direction or intensity of the campaign. Abusing them earns you only the increased enmity of their race. But if ye make the leaders your target, you cut the problem off at the head. Champion against champion, that is how such a matter must be resolved, and how I myself intend to settle it.”

Major Sanford took Offense at this Upbraiding. “Think you us utter nincompoops? We have chased Philip and his fellow sachems up and down the countryside, and we slew each pint-pot Caesar as directly as we could. Now only Philip is left, and our best intelligence has him hiding within a few leagues of our very seat here. But he is proving impossible to corner, thanks to his extraordinary assist from powers beyond our ken. That is why we have enlisted your aid, relying on your vaunted experience with matters arcane.”

The Starkfaced Puritan accepted this Counterblow with a surprising Temperance, cogitating upon Sanford’s words for a full minute before finally saying, “Still and all, I maintain that ’tis your own unwise conduct that had prolonged this altercation.”

Now stepped forward a man from the Ranks who had till this moment held Silence. People parted for him, opening a Path to Kane. Some gave way out of Deference, others out of Disdain, as if reluctant to let this man’s touch Ataint ’em.

When the man had approached close to Kane, he extended his hand and offered his name.

“Roger Williams, Sir, and glad I am to hear you second the very sentiments I have been long pouring into the deaf ears of my peers. Their stubborn brutality has watered the thirsty root of this needless conflict with copious blood. And now my beloved Providence, that lively experiment at the head of the Salt River, is all burnt, save for three dwellings, because of the arrogant insensitivity of my comrades. I had parole from Philip himself for the safety of my settlement, but such treaties were expunged by a surfeit of betrayal, pain, and unnecessary cruelty.”

Kane studied Williams for a moment before clasping his hand. “You are the fabled heretic, Sir, cast out of the Massachusetts colony for your deviant preaching.”

Williams faltered not, neither in Glance nor in Grip. “Indeed, such an ignorant label has been applied to me, among others even less charitable. But what I preach is merely a brotherhood and equality of all the races, a sensible chariness toward all earthly authority, and a reliance on our inner voices in matters of conscience and action.”

Releasing Williams’s hand, Kane uttered a Judgment that ill consorted with the Prejudices of fully half the Audience. “Your ways are not mine, Sir, but I fully respect them. You are an authentic gentleman and visionary. I will not seek to enlist your help in this crusade, but I ask that you do nothing to hinder us from accomplishing the destruction of your erstwhile salvage netop.”

With his use of this Aboriginal Word meaning friend, Kane gave some hint of the Depth of his Intimacy with New World Matters.

Williams sighed in a Dis-spirited Fashion. “I acknowledge your tact and good will, Sir, and altho’ I could have wished you might be dissuaded from your bloody pursuit, yet will I give my bond not to stand in your way.”

“In return,” Kane replied, “you have my vow that when I am in striking distance of Philip, I will endeavor to withhold a mortal blow. Let us snaffle him and bring him to justice in a civilized manner, proving that our virtue is the greater. There will be no torture enacted upon Philip’s person, so long as I can help it.”

“My thanks, Goodman Kane. This is the most I could expect.”

Williams departed the Arnold Lodgings then, and Kane made a request we found most curious.

“Is there one among you who has stood in Philip’s actual presence? If there be more than one, let me speak to the one who has done so most recently.”

A buzzing Consultation ensued, and finally a Verdict was reached. Major Pynchon said, “Sir, there is a goodwife now resident in this town named Mary Rowlandson. In February of last year she was taken captive by the Indians in a raid upon her garrison, and at one point was interviewed by Metacomet himself, all before attaining her present liberty. Shall we fetch her?”

“By all means.”

A Messenger was Dispatched, and men took the occasion to venture outside, to stretch their Legs or enjoy a Bowl of Pipeweed, altho’ little enough Relief from the Actual Heat was to be had, with the fully leafed Trees unstirring in the heavy stagnant Atmosphere. I myself remained inside, casting sly but constant Glances upon the Object of my Worship. Kane bided the interval like a patient predator, a Wolf or Catamount with an Eternal Perspective upon Events, or even like God Himself, Who, as we read in Peter’s
Second Letter to the Romans
, regards a day as a thousand years and a thousand years as but a day.