SUSANNA

18| THE SLAVE WARRIOR

Gogosoa stood up with great difficulty.

'When I look around this fire I am happy. This turnout proves that we, despite our differences as Caapmen, recognise there is a problem.'

'We are here to deal with our common enemy. We must take back the land of the Caapmen,' interrupted the leader of the Gorachouquas.

'Our land. Choro,' he responded to the interruption, beating his bare chest.

Choro, lifted his assegai in agreement. A multitude of teeth threaded into a necklace hung around his neck. As the leader of the Gorachouquas commonly known as the tobacco thieves around the Peninsula, he was capable of a fair amount of of mischief, and dubious ally.

'Choro brought enough tobacco to keep our pipes burning for which I am pleased, for a long night awaits.'

Choro was in high spirits. 'To be of service to my chief is my life's mission,' he replied. 'For tonight, I, Choro traded for only the best green weed my tobacco could buy.' On his nod one of his men placed the bundle of weed at Gogosoa's feet.

'I thank you and the Gorachouquas for this gift of daccha. It is most appreciated on an occasion like this.'

Another figure did not escape Gogosoa's observation. Autsumao was unusually sour. It was glaring that he came only with his sons and a few of his closest advisors, bearing no gifts.

Autshumao's exterior was stoic, hostile even, despite being shown up by Choro's public display of generosity with a sought-after commodity among the Caapmen. Whether he felt the sting of Gogosa's veiled discontent was uncertain until he spoke. 'Times are hard. I have many mouths to feed. Dwindling cattle supplies make no allowance for generosity. Not anymore.'

Autshumao's response, abrupt and laced with sarcasm, caused a stir of muffled murmurs. By the time he sat down it had morphed into a silence trembling with unspoken thoughts and pensive sighs. Autsumao was the bad omen, the pariah that invited the uncomfortable silence that hung around the fire. This silence prompted Gogosoa to beckon one of his warriors to put more wood on the fire.

When the young warrior settled into his spot alongside Nommoa, the fat chief resumed. 'You can no longer trade cattle with them. Not anymore. It is time we stop feeding them and their ships from our land, and our cattle.'

'We are not ready, Gogosoa. For now we must keep them out of the interior. Imprison them behind the walls of that fort. Under our eyes. We must see them. We must hear them. We must know their plans. Most important. They must remain dependent on us for cattle.'

'And that will make them go home?'

Autshumao nodded. 'It is simple. No cattle, no meat for the ships, or them.' He grimaced, lifted his assegai and shouted. 'Starvation or dependence. The choice is the Commander's.'

Gogosoa shook his head. 'They are already sending their men on expeditions into the interior. They have built up alliances for cattle and sheep. Your plan is as weak as a newborn human. Your friendship with your brothers in the interior are not strong. They have cattle as numerous as their blades of grass. They will not fall in line with your plan.'

Autshumao was not convinced. 'We know this land. We can make sure those expeditions are not successful.'

Gogosoa studied the older men who were sitting close to the fire. Most sucked on their pipes while staring into the flames. Their faces revealed nothing to guide the opposition coming from Autshumao. Instead, they stroked their grey beards and sucked on their pipes as if they were alone, in a different place. The younger men stood on the outside of the circle, listening.