Part 17 – Court
Three days later, as clean as Danilo's battered wash basin could manage, clad in colourful motley of many different nationalities, and barbered into civilized mien, Arch Askwyth is escorted across a sandy lot and into the second public building. He walks beneath a large sign declaring 'O Casa da Leis'.
He leans over ever so slightly and mutters to Frédéric, "What does that mean?"
Frédéric mutters back, "It is… um… the house of laws. Here, the Magistrate rules."
Archie nods, remembering the big man with the deep voice who had put him under arrest as if from a dream. Since then, he's slept and eaten and he almost feels normal again except for the anxious dread over what's to come. The Magistrate. That implies judgement. Am I to be judged? What if I'm found wanting? Will I remain under arrest? That is unlikely as these people can't afford to house and feed a useless person. Somehow, here, today, I must prove my worth and earn my freedom. But how?
As they walk through a large doorway and into a plain room with a desk on a raised dais at one end, Archie rubs at his cheek. The barber had done his best but Archie's skin was so burnt and chapped that a clean shave had been impossible. He now sports a very short full-face beard including his first ever mustache. He doesn't mind (except for the itching) because now he is completely unrecognizable. All he needs is an accent and he could be anything but English.
He's also racking his brains trying to think what skills he might have that would be acceptable to these people. I'm a sailor… but they have no ships. I'm literate… maybe I could give English lessons? Perhaps they could use a conscientious accountant? Is there a bank? A law office? As he stands before the dais, as Frédéric seats himself, as Archie's thoughts swirl, he hears the murmur of voices and people begin to file in, filling up the benches all along the remaining three walls of the room.
Archie smooths down his hair (now tied neatly back with a black leather thong) and glances about, looking for a friendly face. He spots Yvette who smiles encouragement but no one else will meet his gaze. He frowns. Oh, right, the evil eye. I forgot. I must keep my eyes down when addressing the Magistrate. He seemed like a reasonable fellow but you never know.
The crowd fills the room now. Court must be a favourite event; everyone has come to watch the entertainment. Idly, Archie wonders about public hangings. Do they have them here? Suddenly the crowd hushes, craning to peer at a curtain behind the dais. Archie lifts his chin and peers too.
The curtain twitches aside and the Magistrate heaves ponderously into view; solemn, enrobed, bewigged, a worn leather folder under his arm. He walks with great dignity to the dais, lays down the folder then looks sternly about the room as if searching for malefactors. The already quiet room hushes even further, eyes dropping as the magisterial gaze passes over them, then popping back up to stare at Archie with avid anticipation.
Oh, this is wonderful, Archie thinks, keeping his own eyes down. If I lose my case maybe I'll find out about those public hangings after all!
The Magistrate holds up a thick hand. "Ahem, silence, silêncio," which seems redundant since Archie can't even hear people breathing. The Magistrate beams another glance around the room, sees he is the sole centre of attention, and begins.
"We congregate here today to hear the case for one Arch Askwyth, English sailor, ship-wrecked on our shores and thrown upon the mercy of this Court." Here he fixes Archie with a forbidding glare but Arch keeps his eyes down and merely nods as the Magistrate repeats himself in other languages, probably French, Portuguese, and whatever the local people speak. After a moment, the Magistrate continues, "Do you understand that this is a most serious situation, Mr. Askwyth, and that you must abide by whatever decision is reached here today?"
Arch nods. "Yes, I do, your eminence, er, your grace. Pardon me for not meeting your eye but I understand that my gaze is uncomfortable for some people. Please do not think I offer disrespect."
This seems to amuse the big man as he huffs a breath, "Indeed, thank you for your concern. Now, what have you to say in your defense?"
This makes Archie look up in surprise then down again. "Um, in my own defense? Is there no one to speak for me?"
"Well, no, everyone here has earned their place on the island either through birth or worth..." the Magistrate begins but then a whisper from the crowd is heard...
"... or by marriage..."
The Magistrate freezes mid-sentence, leans down onto his desk, and shoots sharp looks about the room. There is the sound of shuffling feet and shifting bottoms but the whisper is not repeated. Finally, the Magistrate straightens up and settles his robes, "Yes, quite, as I have been reminded, or by marriage. However, since you have not been on the island for any length of time, I cannot see how such an option could be offered you, Mr. Askwyth."
Archie hears a quiet little laugh from Yvette's side of the room and his ears heat up. Marriage?! No one mentioned marriage! Off-hand, considering my experience with wedlock, I think I'd rather work in the fields as a beast of burden. He bites his lip and nods in agreement with the Magistrate and hopes like hell nothing else is said about that third option.
"Let us continue," the Magistrate intones implacably as if daring anyone else to interrupt him! "Come, Mr. Askwyth, what skills or talents can you offer us?"
Archie swallows, "Well, I'm a sailor, trained on the astrolabe, sextant, compass, and quadrant as well as the cross and back staff. I can read maps. I can outfit and command a ship." The big man nods but doesn't say anything. Well, Archie thinks, it was a long shot. Time for plan B. "I could teach English? Translate documents?" The big man nods again. Archie begins to sweat and darts quick looks about the room, looking for inspiration.
And his eye falls upon Danilo. An errant memory flashes through Archie's brain and he feels desperate strength enter his voice, "AND... I learned the art of brewing at my maternal grandfather's knee." Archie hushes and waits, for it was only last night that Danilo had apologized for the totally inadequate 'beer' sent in with Arch's supper and complained bitterly of his own disappointment with this most important facet of a working man's life.
Deepest silence falls once more and this time it has nothing to do with the Magistrate's gravitas. Danilo is sitting bolt upright, eyes fixed on Archie as if seeing the promised land. The Magistrate clears his throat, "And when you say brewing..."
Arch nods with growing confidence. "Oh, yes, my grandfather was brew-master for all his region; ales both dark and pale, stout, lager, porter. Nothing smells more wonderful than the yeasting vats on a warm summer's night." He pauses as he hears appreciative mmmms coming from several points in the room, most notably from Danilo's corner.
After a moment, the Magistrate rumbles back to life. "I see. Well, as you can probably tell, this notion sits very well with many people here today." He lifts his voice, "And surely, the colour of a man's eyes cannot possibly affect the beer he makes, can it?"
Several voices speak up in the eager negative. Arch dares to lift his eyes and sees that not as many people flinch from his gaze. That's when Yvette stands up and Archie's scalp tightens. Marriage? Is she actually going to propose marriage? Here? Now?
But Yvette has something else on her mind and marriage can come later, tomorrow perhaps. "Magistrate, I have long wished for a quiet cool place in which to serve proper beer. If this good man can make the beer, I will serve it. I have the shaded portico outside my house. All I need are chairs and patrons."
Danilo pipes up, "We bring chairs, you bring beer, good show!"
Excited conversation breaks out in several places and the Magistrate looks slightly bemused as he raps his desk for order.
Arch just can't help himself. "Order! Order in the Court!" he barks and an immediate hush falls.
The Magistrate studies Arch then gives a small smile. "Thank you, Mr. Askwyth. Now, as to your immediate circumstances..." but that's as far as he gets. A small child dashes in past Arch and runs right up to the dais to tug on the Magistrate's robe. The big man leans down, listens to the child's message, then stands back up. The child wheels about to stare at Arch as if he's a Wyld Welsh Man, then claps both hands over his eyes. The big man reaches down, takes the child by the shoulders, and guides him to a seat before returning to the dais to once more magister.
He waits until all is quiet again. "Well, this IS a day for surprises, one and all. It seems 'ela que ensina' is calling for a private audience out in the courtyard. Everyone please remain where you are. I will return shortly." An immediate low hubbub starts up as people now crane to watch the big man walk out the doorway and exit the building.
Arch himself turns to look but all he can see is some sort of sedan-chair draped in heavy dark cloth, flanked by two brawny young men and a figure draped and veiled in black. He can see a faint shape sitting within the sedan-chair but that's all. The Magistrate leans forward to listen to whatever the black figure is saying then straightens up with a nod. He glances back in through the door, sees Archie's regard, and gestures for him to come out.
Archie puts a hand to his chest. Do you mean me? The robed man nods and patiently gestures again. Archie gulps and marches outside, feeling like he is walking to the gallows. He comes to a halt about 3 feet from the chair and just stands.
"Please turn around," the Magistrate says. Archie, at a loss, does so slowly. "Now speak."
"What should I say?" Archie asks.
The Magistrate shrugs. "Tell us your name and where you're from."
"Um, my name is Arch Askwyth and I'm from Woolwich in north-west Kent. I've been a sailor all my life and bound for South America when I was washed overboard in a storm."
The black figure leans towards the chair, listens, then bend towards the Magistrate who in turn listens. The Magistrate then stands back up. "I see. And why were you bound for South America?"
Archie flushes, looks at his boots. This is something he hadn't thought he'd ever have to tell another living soul. "I, um, I hoped to find someone, someone I lost, but it's been five years and I despair. If you grant me freedom and I must stay here then that hope is finally dead." He drops his chin in grief.
A gentle murmur drifts out from behind the cloth. The black figure nods, murmurs to the Magistrate who also nods. The black figure then turns and leads the chair away, taking its mysterious passenger with it. "Come," the Magistrate says to Arch, "let us finish our business inside."
Arch follows him back inside and they take their places once more. The Magistrate raps on the desk three times for quiet and he gets it. Everyone is agog to find out what's going on, including Archie. "It is my decision that Mr. Askwyth be granted full freedom as the newest citizen of our fair island. He will be our brew-master and long may he brew." He then translates again.
This announcement is met by muted cheers and much laughter. Yvette is congratulated by those sitting around her and Danilo makes his way to her side with alacrity where he settles most happily, but the festivities are forestalled as the Magistrate calls for order once more.
"But – also – 'ela que ensina' has laid claim to Mr. Askwyth even without his skills as brew-master." The entire room fills up with round eyes as he translates before turning to Archie and pronouncing, "Today, at noon, you shall be taken to 'a casa na colina' and given over into the care and protection of 'ela que ensina'. You will abide by the rules there until such time as you are given permission to leave in order to begin setting up our brewery. We are adjourned."
"Yes, aye!" Danilo agrees firmly as he rushes Archie and claps him on the back.
Frédéric steps up, takes Archie by the arm. "Come, you must wash and make ready. I will take you to my house." He looks up to the Magistrate, "I will take him to the hill, no fear."
The Magistrate nods once, claps his folder shut, raps three times for formality's sake, frowns at the milling crowd, then ducks back through the curtain and out of sight.
A Casa na Colina
Arch takes a deep breath and follows Frédéric out the front door, trying not to notice the eyes on him from all corners. A moment ago it looked like smooth sailing ahead; now the squalls are closing in again. The Doctor said there was no slavery here but if that is so, how can I be 'claimed' by this – this…? When they are clear of the crowd, Arch whispers, "Who is El Casina and where is Acasa Nacole?"
Frédéric gives him a speculative look. "It is 'ela que ensina', 'she who teaches', and you are going to 'a casa na colina', 'the house on the hill'." He gestures off to his left as he guides Archie towards a small hut where a woman stands with a small child on her hip.
Archie follows Frédéric's gesture and spies a much grander house which looks like cream adobe with an orange tile roof. There is a small tower at the east end with what looks to be a railed-in viewing deck. This house seems to hover above the town on a verdant lush hill. He thinks he sees velvety lawns and perhaps gardens too but he is now at the hut's door and his view is obscured.
He ducks his head, nods to the woman, and is ushered inside to wash and comb himself afresh. He straightens his clothes and tries to shine his boots but it's a lost cause, since he is a world away from the nearest boot-black. It probably doesn't matter. Slaves don't worry about their own boots. When he is as ready as he'll ever be, he turns to Frédéric and says resignedly, "I'm ready. Lead on."
Frédéric nods, kisses the woman and baby in passing, and takes Archie up a steep path to whatever future awaits him.
END – part 17
