"Guacanagari, I share your anger," said Diko. "You and your village have done nothing but good for these white men, and see how they treat you. Worse than dogs. But not all the white men are like this. The white cacique tried to punish the men who raped Parrot Feather. That's why the evil men among them have taken away his power and given him such a beating --"

"So he wasn't much of a cacique after all," said Guacanagari.

"He is a great man," said Diko. "Chipa and this young man, Pedro, both know him better than anyone but me."

"Why should I believe this white boy and this tricky lying girl?" demanded Guacanagari.

To Diko's surprise, Pedro had learned enough Taino to be able to speak up and say, clearly, "Because we have seen with our eyes, and you have not."

All of the Taino war council, gathered in the forest within sight of the stockade, were surprised by the fact that Pedro could understand and speak their language. Diko could tell they were surprised, because they showed no expression on their faces and waited in silence until they could speak calmly. Their controlled, impassive-seeming response reminded her of Hunahpu, and for a moment she felt a terrible pang of grief at having lost him. Years ago, she told herself. It was years ago, and I've already done all my grieving. I am over all feelings of regret.

"The poison will wear off," said Diko. "The evil men among them will remember their anger."

"We will remember our anger, too," said one of Guacanagari's young men.

"If you kill all the white men, even the ones who did no harm, then you are just as bad as they are," said Diko. "I promise you that if you kill in haste, you will be sorry."

She said it quietly, but the menace in her words was real -- she could see that they were all considering very carefully. They knew that she had deep powers, and none of them would be reckless enough to oppose her openly.

"Do you dare to forbid us to be men? Will you forbid us to protect our village?" asked Guacanagari.

"I would never forbid you to do anything, " said Diko. "I only ask you to wait and watch a little longer. Soon white men will begin leaving the stockade. I think that first there will be loyal men trying to save their cacique. Then the other good men who don't want to harm your people. You must let them find their way up the mountain to me. I ask you not to hurt them. If they are coming to me, please let them come."

"Even if they're searching for you to kill you?" asked Guacanagari. It was a sly question, leaving him an opening to kill whoever he wanted, claiming he did it in order to protect Sees-in-the-Dark.

"I can protect myself," said Sees-in-the-Dark. "If they are heading up the mountain, I ask you not to hinder or hurt them in any way. You'll know when the only ones left are the evil ones. It will be plain to all of you, not just to one or two. When that day comes, you can act as men should act. But even then, if any of them escape and head for the mountain, I ask you to let them go.

"Not the ones who raped Parrot Feather," said Dead Fish at once. "Never them, no matter what way they run."

"I agree," said Diko. "There is no refuge for them."

Cristoforo awoke in the darkness. There were voices outside his tent. He couldn't hear the words, but he didn't care, either. He understood now. It had come clear to him in his dream. Instead of dreaming about his own suffering, he had dreamed about the girl they had raped and killed. In his dream he saw the faces of Moger and Clavijo as they must have seemed to her, filled with lust and mockery and hate. In his dream, he begged them not to hurt her. In his dream, he told them he was just a girl, just a child. But nothing stopped them. They had no mercy.

These are the men I brought to this place, thought Cristoforo. And yet I called them Christian. And the gentle Indians, I called them savages. Sees-in-the-Dark said nothing but the simple truth. These people are the children of God, waiting only to be taught and baptized in order to be Christian. Some of my men are worthy to be Christians along with them. Pedro has been my example in this all along. He learned to see Chipa's heart when all I or anyone else could see was her skin, the ugliness of her face, her strange manner. If I had been like Pedro in my heart, I would have believed Sees-in-the-Dark, and so I would not have had to suffer these last calamities -- the loss of the Pinta, the mutiny, this beating. And the worst calamity of all: my shame at having refused the word of God because he didn't send the kind of messenger I expected.

The door opened, then closed again quickly. Quiet footsteps approached him.

"If you have come to kill me," said Cristoforo, "be man enough to let me see the face of my murderer."

"Quiet, please, my lord," said the voice. "Some of us have had a meeting. We'll free you and get you out of the stockade. And then we'll fight these damned mutineers and --"

"No," said Cristoforo. "No fighting, no bloodshed."

"What, then? Do we let these men rule over us?"

"The village of Ankuash, up the mountain," said Cristoforo. "I'll go there. The same with all loyal men. Get away quietly, without a fight. Follow the stream up the mountain -- to Ankuash. That is the place that God prepared for us. "

"But the mutineers will build the ship."

"Do you think mutineers could ever build a ship?" asked Cristoforo scornfully. "They'll look each other in the eye, and then look away, because they'll know they can't trust each other."

"That's true, my lord," said the man. "Already some of them are muttering about how Pinzўn was interested only in making sure you knew that he wasn't a mutineer. Some of them remembered how the Turk accused Pinzўn of helping him."

"A stupid charge," said Cristoforo.

"Pinzўn listens when Moger and ClaviJo talk about killing you, and he says nothing," said the man. "And Rodrigo stamps about, cursing and swearing because he didn't kill you this afternoon. We have to get you out of here."

"Help me get to my feet."

The pain was sharp, and he could feel the fragile scabs on some of the wounds break open. Blood was trickling on his back. But it couldn't be helped.

"How many of you are there?" asked Cristoforo.

"Most of the ship's boys are with you," he said. "They were all ashamed of Pinzўn today. Some of the officers talk about negotiating with the mutineers, and Segovia talked with Pinzўn for a long time, so I think maybe he's trying to work out a compromise. Probably wants to put Pinzўn in command --"

"Enough," said Cristoforo. "Everyone is frightened, everyone is doing what he thinks is best. Tell your friends this: I will know who the loyal men are, because they will make their way up the mountain to Ankuash. I will be there, with the woman Sees-in-the-Dark."

"The black witch?"

"There is more of God in her than in half the so-called Christians in this place," said Cristoforo. "Tell them all -- if any man wishes to return to Spain with me as a witness that he was loyal, then he will get away from here and join me in Ankuash."

Cristoforo was standing now, and had his hose on, with a shirt loosely thrown over his back. More clothing than that he couldn't bear, and on this warm night he wouldn't suffer from being so lightly dressed. "My sword," he said.

"Can you carry it?"

"I'm Captain-General of this expedition," said Cristoforo. "I will have my sword. And let it be known -- whoever brings me my logbooks and charts will be rewarded beyond his dreams when we return to Spain."

The man opened the door, and both of them looked carefully to see if anyone was watching them. Finally they saw a man -- Andres Yevenes, from his lean boyish body -- waving for them to come on. Only now did Cristoforo have a chance to see who it was who had come for him. It was the Basque, Juan de la Cosa. The man whose cowardly disobedience had led to the loss of the Santa Maria. "You have redeemed yourself tonight, Juan," said Cristoforo.