As she looked around, a door to an inner room opened, and a man entered slowly. Once again Janine fought down an impulse to cover her breastband with her arms and elbows. But a single glance at the remarkable creature who was approaching her with a slow, dignified walk was sufficient to convince her that he would not molest her.
The commander of the Maroons was a very old man, and his short, kinky hair was a dead white. Shorter than Janine, he was exceptionally frail and weighed no more than one hundred and twenty-five pounds. His once black skin had faded to a deep mottled gray, and in his face it was possible to see the outlines of his skeleton. Barefooted, he wore the inevitable Maroon trousers, and over his shoulders was thrown a brilliant cloak of reds and oranges, greens and blues and purples, made from the feathers of many hundreds of birds.
His face indicated both sensitivity and intelligence. His dark eyes were large, shrewd, and sympathetic, and he wore metal-rimmed spectacles which rested a short distance down the bridge of his sharp nose. His lips were rather thin, somewhat pale, and heavily lined at the corners. There was an intricate network of wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, too, as well as across the broad expanse of his high forehead. His hand, as he extended it to the French-English girl, was long and thin, and on the index finger he wore a great ruby ring.
"I bid you welcome. Mademoiselle Groliere," he said in faultless English, then turned to the other girl before Janine could recover from her surprise. "Thank you, Bella," he added. "You will not be needed any longer."
The half-breed bowed low and departed quickly without a backward glance. She had spoken no word in the commander's presence, but the expression in her eyes indicated the respect, even awe, in which she held him. The old man waited until she had closed the door behind her, then turned to Janine again with a broad, tolerant smile.
"If you will be indulgent for a moment," he said, "I think I can make you comfortable." Without waiting for a reply he darted into the inner room and returned carrying a large split-bamboo chair, which he placed near his throne.
Waving her toward it, he was about to seat himself in the large gilded chair but thought better of it and first unfastened the cape of feathers, which he handed to her. "Your customs are different from ours," he said with seemingly casual indulgence, "and I believe you will feel more at ease with this to cover you while we talk."
Overwhelmed with gratitude, she donned the cape and hugged it to her. For the first time in many minutes she felt comparatively secure. "Thank you, sir," she said, near tears. The commander reached down and patted her hand. "I must apologize to you for what has undoubtedly been an ordeal for you, mademoiselle. But I acted in your interests when I ordered that you be attired in a manner similar to that of our own women. Although the scarf you wear is not the customary attire here, our women are known to don such a garment on occasions, so your dress is not so unusual by our standards that it will cause particular comment or notice. I have permitted you to have it, of course, so that the break with the conventions of your own world will not be too great. It has been my observation that the unusual arouses interest while the commonplace does not. You are new here, and it appears likely that you will be our guest for some little time. It may eventually be your desire to spend your life here. But until our people come to know you, there is little question that you will be the subject of considerable curiosity. Had you been seen in clothes such as those worn by the women of your world, our men would have lusted after you. That would have resulted in fights between them, perhaps bloodshed—and the need on my part to administer punishment. It might have meant harm to you as well. But when you conform to the Maroon pattern, they lose their desire to molest you."
Janine could only stare at the old man; never would she have believed it possible to find such wisdom, such gentle understanding and authority in this unlikely and outlandish place. But neither his race nor the semi-savage decor of his wilderness "palace" mattered. In a few short minutes she had become convinced that here was truly a leader of men. "You—^you make it easier for me," she said. "And I must thank you—and all of your people—for being so kind to me and to Master Jeremy Stone." She searched his face as she mentioned Jeremy's name, but as he was watching her with the same intent look of sympathy and concern she plunged on: "Is there any improvement in his condition? May I see him? Is he "
The commander removed his spectacles and blew an invisible speck of dust from the right lens. "Master Stone is a very sick man, and as you can imagine, mademoiselle, the arduous journey of last night did not help him. But he will recover in time, for the signs are favorable and the gods will smile on him."
Janine felt as though the breath had been squeezed out of her lungs. This man who only a few seconds before had seemed so intelligent was now talking sheer gibberish. "Signs?" she asked faintly. "Gods?"
Smiling benignly, the commander folded his arms across his thin chest. "I know what you are thinking, mademoiselle. You are a Christian. Many of our Maroons are also Christians. But there are occasions when they heed the call of Obeah, particularly in times of distress. Your Master Stone is gravely ill, and if your Christian doctors bled him and your Christian preachers prayed over him, he would die as surely as I have seen many others die from the Yellow Death. But our obeah man is already preparing him for the ceremonies. And I believe he will live."
"Do you believe in occult magic, Commander?" Janine was growing indignant, and if necessary to protect Jeremy from superstitious nonsense, she would take a strong stand.
"Let us say that I believe he will recover." The old man compressed his lips and stared out over the top of her coppery hair. "In another night's time he will be ready for the ceremonies. In the meantime he is comfortable, for he does not know if he is in this world or another. Who is to say whether his spirit is with us or whether it has fled elsewhere for a time? Let it suffice that he will return to us in full consciousness of himself and of this world."
"Please—may I see him?" The girl felt trapped, and her voice rose shrilly.
"Indeed you may not. The spell induced by our obeah man permits none but those versed in the arts of deep obeah to approach the sleeping one. I say this for your own protection, mademoiselle. It is too dangerous for you."
"A man has been cruelly abused," Janine snapped, "and he is critically ill. Surely he will have a better chance to live if he is treated by a competent physician. And I can place no faith in the brews of an ignorant witch doctor "
"Those who do not know the power of Obeah may scoff at it," the commander replied evenly. "But those powers are not diminished because you fail to recognize them. There are many in Port Royal who do not believe the black man or the red man to be the equal of the white man. But we who live out our lives in the Land of the Maroons have proved that all are equal. I am the commander here, yet I was once a house slave in London, bending my back before a tyrant who taught me to read when he was sober but who beat me with a whip when he was drunk. And when my time comes to join my ancestors in the glades, I will be succeeded by Arnold. He is the man who greeted you when you arrived here this morning. Arnold was once a felon and was held in chains for many months. Though his skin is as light as your own, he was considered unfit company for other whites. Yet he will be a courageous and wise commander of the Maroons. I tell you these things so you will understand, mademoiselle, that life is not always what it appears to be, and even those things which we know are true often prove false."