Washington and Caesar Read Free Page A

with scars was watching him from the group of slaves at the base of the mainmast. It was a polite regard: the youth didn’t stare, but simply glanced his way from time to time, as if inviting him to speak. King settled into the shade of the sail with the other crew on deck and accepted a draw from another man’s pipe. There were sailors who wouldn’t smoke with a black man, but not many around King. Gibson preferred English sailors to Americans. King had noticed that Englishmen seemed easier with blacks. It didn’t stand to reason.
    “You gonna jabber some more o’ that black cant, King?” asked Jones, the mate.
    “I might, then.” King looked at Jones, who was smaller but loved to fight.
    “Now then, King, boyo, don’t you glare at me. I’m all for your talkin’ any lingo you like. It’s just funny to hear from you, that’s all I’m saying.” Jones was from a part of Britain called Wales, where they seemed to sing instead of talk. King was on the edge of a retort about Jones and talk, but he smiled to himself and let it pass. Instead he motionedto the scarred youngster, who rose from his squatting position against the mast in one fluid, athletic movement and walked across the deck to the sailors.
    “Speak the King’s English, boy?”
    “Little, ya.”
    “The better you speak it, the better you will be treated. You have a name, then?”
    “Cese. Cese Mwakale. My father commands a thousand warriors —”
    “Not here, he doesn’t. What were you called in Jamaica?”
    “Caesar.”
    King nodded. He knew a dozen Caesars in Williamsburg. “How long ago were you taken?”
    “Four years, older cousin. You?”
    “Twenty-five years, young one. But I was a fool, and walked to their landings to see the world. Who was king when you left?”
    “King of Benin, sir? Or of my province?”
    “Benin will do.”
    “Callinauw was king when I last heard, sir.”
    “And where do you hail from?”
    “Eboe, in Esaka. My father commanded the regiment there.”
    King nodded, curtly. It took him back to hear the words, to know that a man he had hated once was lording it in Benin, but it all sounded very far away. He smiled at the young man and held out the other sailor’s pipe.
    “Smoke, Cese?”
    The lad seized the pipe greedily and sucked a great draught into his lungs. Jones watched in amazement as the inward breath went on and on. Cese held the breath for a moment and returned the pipe with more gravity than he had taken it.
    Jones looked into the bottom of the pipe bowl and mimed using a glass. “Tobacco is cheap in Virginny, but not that cheap, Blackie.”
    “Call him Cese.” King smiled at the boy.
    “How were you taken?”
    “My father’s regiment was away in the north. You know of the Northern War?”
    “I had heard. It was a small trouble in my youth.”
    “It is a great war now. So many young men are away that kidnappers, criminals, can steal children and young people from their homes; larger towns have militias of old men and women.”
    “And the king tolerates this?”
    “The king fears Muslims more than he cares for us. Listen, then. I was at the camp with the youngest men, those unblooded, just training. We were drilling with spears when the shots were fired, and our officers led us straight out after the raiders. The old men and women turned out with swords and shields, but the raiders shot them down with muskets.”
    “Where were your own muskets? We had hundreds in my youth.”
    “All our muskets were away with the regiment. Nor had we ever fought against men armed as our men were. So we charged them, like fools. In moments they were all around us, in the brush on our flanks. Some of us were shot, and some stopped charging and ran. When I saw that, I knew we were done. I determined to die, and charged on. My spear bit deep into one, and then I was clubbed down. When I awoke, I was a slave.”
    “You killed one. That’s good.”
    “I paid. Perhaps I’m still paying. Some of the men who