Apalachee

CHAPTER FORTY

‘‘That man they killed,’’ she said, nodding toward the smoke from the burning house. ‘‘This is his name.’’ She pointed to the scars on her cheeks, one at a time. ‘‘I buried a poison root to kill him and now he is dead. But that woman who died with him was someone I loved. This same thing has happened to me before. Now I am afraid of killing. It cannot be controlled.’’ ‘‘Your friend was not afraid,’’ said Carlos. ‘‘She knew the danger but was not afraid.’’ Lucia nodded. ‘‘She had the courage of a mother cat when a dog has killed her young.’’ ‘‘We are all like that now,’’ said Carlos. ‘‘I know that is true.’’ She let the grass fall from her fingers and sat for a moment watching the ground. Then she looked up beyond him to the cabin. ‘‘What will you do with Sam Clutterbuck?’’ she asked. ‘‘Is that his name?’’ ‘‘Yes.’’ ‘‘We will leave him here when we go.’’ ‘‘Your men do not like sparing an Englishman.’’ ‘‘Nor do I,’’ he said. ‘‘It surprises me that you would have such feeling for a man who has enslaved you.’’ ‘‘Yes,’’ she said. ‘‘It is surprising. But I can remember when you cared for the priest.’’ ‘‘Ana cared for him even more. Was it like that with this man?’’ She looked up at him, his eyes intent on her. She wanted to say no, it was not like that. But she only shook her head and looked away. 336 chapter forty Lucia sat with Daphne and Juba just outside the tiny, bark-shingled lean-to that they shared in the hidden camp of the Yamasee women. Nearby were the shelters of the other Fairmeadow slaves. The mosquitoes from the swamp swarmed thickly in the spring heat, and Lucia concentrated on the basket she was weaving, trying to ignore them. ‘‘No good,’’ said Daphne, brushing the mosquitoes from her face. ‘‘This place is no good. How far to Saint Augustine?’’ ‘‘There are mosquitoes there, too,’’ said Lucia. ‘‘Mosquitoes like this? I never hear that.’’ ‘‘Not like this,’’ said Juba, who was sitting on the other side of Daphne. ‘‘If Saint Augustine be like this, we would hear. How far?’’ Lucia shook her head. ‘‘Ten days. Twenty. Far enough.’’ All that the Fair- meadow slaves thought of now was how to get to Saint Augustine, the sanctuary they had always dreamed of reaching for as long as they had been in Carolina. The Spaniards would let them live there in freedom. They would not be slaves anymore. ‘‘PeoplestarveinSanAugustı́n,’’saidLucia.‘‘CarlosandIalmoststarved.’’ ‘‘Long time ago,’’ Juba said stubbornly. Lucia shrugged. It was true. And who could say where they should go? Maybe they would be safer with the Spaniards than with her own people. At least San Augustı́n would always be there—the English could never overrun the fortress. But her own people might lose their war and the slaves be taken back again. And she with her scars was as vulnerable as they. Her skin might as well be black. ‘‘If you truly want to go,’’ said Lucia, ‘‘someone will show you the way.’’ ‘‘When?’’ asked Daphne. Lucia shook her head. ‘‘I don’t know that.’’ ‘‘When this war be lost,’’ Juba said bluntly. Lucia said nothing. It was only a week since the uprising began and already the English militia was advancing toward the river, pressing against the Yamasee country. The Indian men were trying to turn them back, but if they failed, the Yamasee country would have to be abandoned. These lands were too close to the English, too hard to defend. The fight would have to be carried on from a greater distance, where the English would not dare to come after them. This, at least, was the talk from the men who came daily to the camp, a few at a time, bringing plunder, visiting their families, relaying news. Carlos was never among them, nor were any of his men. Lucia had heard nothing from him since that morning at Fairmeadow almost a week ago. ‘‘If they lose this war, where you go?’’ asked Daphne. She rubbed her hands over her arms, chasing mosquitoes. ‘‘I don’t know,’’ said Lucia. ‘‘To the Creek country, I suppose.’’ ‘‘Come with us,’’ said Daphne. ‘‘We stay together.’’ ‘‘You come with me,’’ said Lucia. Daphne shook her head. ‘‘There be ships in Saint Augustine. Maybe someday we go home.’’ Lucia made no reply. In the silence she worked...