Chipa ran light as a deer across the clearing and dodged into the undergrowth at the forest's edge without so much as disturbing the leaves. By comparison, Pedro felt like an ox, clumping along, his boots pounding, sweat flowing under his heavy clothing. His sword smacked against his thigh and calf as he ran. He thought he could hear footsteps behind him, closer and closer. Finally, with a killing burst of speed he broke into the underbrush, vines tangling around his face, gripping his neck, trying to force him back out into the open.

"Quiet," said Chipa. "Hold still and they won't be able to see you."

Her voice calmed him. He stopped thrashing at the leaves, and then discovered that by moving slowly it was easy to duck through the vines and thin branches that had been holding him. Then he followed Chipa to a tree with a low-forking branch. She lifted herself easily up onto the branch. "They're going back into the stockade," she said.

"Nobody's following us?" Pedro was a little disappointed. "They must not think we matter."

"We have to get Sees-in-the-Dark," said Chipa.

"No need," said a woman's voice.

Pedro looked around frantically, but still couldn't see where the voice was coming from. It was Chipa who spotted her. "Sees-in-the-Dark!" she cried. "You're here already!"

Now Pedro could see her, dark in the shadows. "Come with me," she said. "This is a very dangerous time for Colўn."

"Can you stop them?" asked Pedro.

"Be quiet and follow me," she answered.

But he could only follow Chipa, for he lost sight of Sees-in-the-Dark from the moment she moved away. Soon he found himself at the base of a tall tree. Looking up, he could see Chipa and Sees-in-the-Dark perched on high branches. Sees-in-the-Dark had some kind of complicated musket. But how could a weapon be of any use from this far away?

Diko watched through the scope of the tranquilizer gun. While she was busy intercepting Pedro and Chipa, the mutineers had stripped Cristoforo to the waist and tied him to the cornerpost of one of their cabins. Now Moger was preparing to lay on the lash.

Which were the ones whose anger was driving the mob? Rodrigo de Triana, of course, and Moger and Clavijo. Anyone else?

Behind her, clinging to another branch, Chipa spoke quietly. "If you were here, Sees-in-the-Dark, why didn't you help Parrot Feather?"

"I was watching the stockade," said Diko. "I didn't know anything was wrong until I saw Dead Fish run in and get you. You were wrong, you know. Parrot Feather isn't dead."

"I couldn't hear her heart."

"It was very faint. But after all the white men left, I gave her something that will help. And I sent Dead Fish to get the women of the village to help her."

"If I hadn't said that Parrot Feather was dead, then all the rest of this--"

"It was going to happen, one way or another," said Diko. "That's why I was here, waiting."

Even without the scope, Chipa could see that Colўn was being flogged. "They're whipping him," she said.

"Quiet," said Diko.

She took careful aim at Rodrigo and pulled the trigger. There was a popping sound. Rodrigo shrugged. Diko aimed again, this time at Clavijo. Another pop. Clavijo scratched his head. Aiming at Moger was harder, because he was moving so much as he laid on with the lash. But when she got the shot off, it also struck true. Moger paused and scratched his neck.

It was the weapon of last resort for her, firing these tiny laser-guided missiles that struck and dropped off immediately, leaving behind a dart as tiny as a bee sting. It took only seconds for the drug to reach their brains, quickly damping down their aggression, making them passive and lackadaisical. It wouldn't kill anybody, but with the leaders suddenly losing interest, the rest of the mob would cool off.

Cristoforo had never been beaten like this before, not even as a boy. It hurt far worse than any physical pain he had ever suffered before. And yet the pain was also far less than he had feared, because he found that he could bear it. He grunted involuntarily with each blow, but the pain wasn't enough to quell his pride. They would not see the Captain-General beg for mercy or weep under the lash. They would remember how he bore their treachery.

To his surprise, the flogging ended after only a half dozen blows. "Oh, that's enough," said Moger.

It was almost unbelievable. His rage had been so hot only a few moments before, screaming about how Colўn had called him a murderer and he'd see what it felt like when Moger actually tried to hurt somebody.

"Cut him down," said Rodrigo. He, too, sounded more calm. Almost bored. It was as if the hate in them had suddenly spent itself.

"I'm sorry, my lord," whispered Andres Yevenes as he untied the knots that held his hands. "They had the guns. What could we boys have done?"

"I know who the loyal men are," whispered Cristoforo.

"What are you doing, Yevenes, telling him what a good boy you are?" demanded Clavijo.

"Yes," said Yevenes defiantly. "I'm not with you."

"Not that anyone cares," said Rodrigo.

Cristoforo could not believe how Rodrigo had changed. He looked uninterested. For that matter, so did Moger and Clavijo, the same kind of dazed look on their faces. Clavijo kept scratching his head.

"Moger, you keep guard on him," said Rodrigo. "You too, Clavijo. You've got the most to lose if he gets away. And you men, put the rest of them into Segovia's cabin."

They obeyed, but everyone was moving slower, and most of the men looked sullen or thoughtful. Without the fire of Rodrigo's rage to drive them, many of them were obviously having second thoughts. What would happen to them when they got back to Palos?

Only now did Cristoforo realize how much the lash had hurt him. When he tried to take a step, he discovered he was dizzy from loss of blood. He staggered. He heard several men gasp, and some murmured. I'm too old for this, thought Cristoforo. If I had to be whipped, it should have happened when I was younger.

Inside his cabin, Cristoforo endured the pain as Master Juan laid on some nasty salve, then laid a light cloth over his back. "Try not to move much," said Juan -- as if Cristoforo needed to be told. "The cloth will keep the flies off, so leave it there."

Lying there, Cristoforo thought back over what had happened. They meant to kill me. They were filled with rage. And then, suddenly, they were not even interested in hurting me anymore. What could have caused that, but the Spirit of God softening their hearts? The Lord does watch over me. He does not want me to die yet.

Moving slowly, gently, so as not to disturb the cloth or cause too much pain, Cristoforo crossed himself and prayed. Can I still fulfill the mission you gave me, Lord? Even after the rape of that girl? Even after this mutiny?

The words came into his mind as clearly as if he were hearing the woman's own voice: "One calamity after another. Until you learn that humility."

What humility was that? What was it he was supposed to learn?

Late in the afternoon, several Tainos from Guacanagari's village made their way over the wall of the stockade -- did the white men really think a bunch of sticks were going to be a barrier to men who had been climbing trees since boyhood? -- and soon one of them returned to make his report. Diko was waiting for him with Guacanagari.

"The men who are guarding him are asleep."

"I gave them a little poison so they would," said Diko.

Guacanagari glared at her. "I don't see why any of this should be your concern."

None of the others shared their cacique's attitude toward the black shaman-woman from the old mountain village of Ankuash. They were in awe of her, and had no doubt that she could poison anybody she wanted to, at any time.