EXILIUM REX

Chapter 16

“Change begets change. Nothing propagates so fast. If a man habituated to a narrow circle of cares and pleasures, out of which he seldom travels, step beyond it, though for never so brief a space, his departure from the monotonous scene on which he has been an actor of importance would seem to be the signal for instant confusion.”

- Charles Dickens

Back in the Suyo islands long, long ago.

“Assalamualaikum mualaikumwasalam!”

Loncoise stands from his chair and beams. He expects the native translator and guide Anggulyo to be this early, but is still surprised by the greeting. The two men, both diminutive in size physical, have a fairly large intellectual relationship.

The Corregidor of mainland Suyo starts.

“A simple mayad nga adlaw would have suffice, amigo. But, as you very well know already, I also share your passion for creativity and for innovation. I trust that the clothes you are wearing are the same gifts I bought for you, Señor Anggulyo.”

The man of culture pores over the apparel of his erstwhile understudy and grins. The sandals have been worn-out already; the light-blue camiso finely suits the burliness of the man of many languages; the salakot narrows a bland style more than Anggulyo’s peripheral vision; and, finally, the walking cane called the baston made of native hardwood completes the somber air of courtliness. And who even dares call him a dedeng anymore – what with the hand carriage of a history book he has borrowed from Loncoise’s private collection. It not only completes, but fulfills Anggulyo’s image as an estranged descendant of the Amianan hero Antonio Surabao; and, for a moment, reminds the Colonel of that new invention touted by some of the European tourists visiting the capital city of the colonies – that strange-looking technical device used for that new-fangled art called photography.

The prodigal descendant of Surabao, meanwhile, has the skilled modesty and extrasensory perception to reciprocate the admiration by describing his host’s own style of dressing.

“Coronel, you haven’t lost your fondness for all things native to this island fort. That swivel g*n must have been manufactured by our local Amianan metal smiths.”

Corregidor Loncoise Rivera, commander of this military fort in Gapusan beach, which is actually a church built with mighty cannons all around its thick defensive walls to protect the island against naval attacks by pirates and conspirates alike, is awed by the mixed-bred character’s astute grasp of knowledge of things. Many things. Sensing that he has impressed the Spanish military officer, Anggulyo continues.

“Ah, your own baston complement the cold steel of your sword, Coronel. Would that fine blade be also a production here by our respectable firebuilders? I mean, I hoped no one duped Your Honor in partaking of the elaborate ritual based on ethereal conjectures? Ayi, all that was just the passage of the sword from the maker, the firebuilder, all pamahiin! And your rayadillo tunic…”

The military officer tries to maneuver his way out of a blush.

“Ah, Señor Anggulyo, but you must tell me about your greeting. I thought the book you borrowed was about the Spanish Habsburgs.”

“And I am proud to return it today, Coronel. For I have finished reading the entire thing already. Gracias, Coronel.”

“I am really impressed, amigo. I trust that your retirement last evening had been filled by stories of these… royal exiles?”

Anggulyo silently nods. Soon as he hears the phrase royal exiles escape the Coronel’s lips that the descendant of Antonio Surabao begins swearing to his gods in a rather emasculated form of silence.

Loncoise cues his guest for them to each take their familiar respective seats in the small library so that they may proceed to the more serious matters of business.

“Havana?”

The Corregidor thrusts a cigar to his friend, but Anggulyo readily rejects the offer.

“Anggulyo, my friend,” the Coronel changes his tone of voice to a more candid one, “I have something delicately important to tell you. Very delicado.”

“What is it, Coronel? You have your full trust and confidence in me, in the name of San Agustin de Suyo!”

“I am aware of that, amigo. You see this Catalogo on the table, Anggulyo? This is the new decree that the esteemed Governor-General Narciso Claveria had ordered to be completed as soon as possible. Of course, instructions for my provincial command would only be to assist the Recolletos in this endeavor of finishing the provincial census. Anggulyo, you are the only person next to me who truly knows why this has to be done as soon as possible!”

Anggulyo nods in silent agreement. The translator-c*m-guide then takes out a small pouch which has been hanging from his waist and has been hidden from view by his over-sized camiso. He places it on the officer’s table.

“Coronel, I have done what you have instructed me to do. I have identified all the family of the conspirators against the Crown and the Queen of Spain, and have listed down all their names here,” Anggulyo shows Loncoise a piece of folded paper, “I have but one request, sire.”

80

“Speak up, my friend, you are my brother in this fight for our dear European royal exiles who have been defiled by those illiterate Subanon lowlanders. Speak up! Is it about my sponsorship of your initiation to the Royal Society of Friends to the Crown? It is already proceeding as planned, amigo.”

“Not really that, Coronel Rivera…”

“Well, what is it? Speak up, hijo.”

“It is… it is about Lerma and her newborn… I would want to spare her… them…”

Suddenly, the good Corregidor stands from his chair and paces the floor behind where Anggulyo is sitting. The corregimientos have been agitated by the intermittent raids by the poor Subanon lowlanders in the granary of the highland Amianan tribespeople.

The Amianan tribe, however few its population is, has been supported by the secret society of European royal exiles. These royal settlers have hired mercenaries and pirates from all over – the marauders south of the Sea of Light, the Dutch pirates and Koxinga hold-over band of thieves and rogues, the British pirates, and even the Japanese samurais. These royal exiles also get some help from the Sakai merchants, but the lowlanders strangely have their support from a very strong legendary ally – the Sultan of Brunei. And from a powerful traitor both the Coronel and Anggulyo are desperate to expose, but has so far successfully evaded the long arm of Castillian law and the full brunt of justice as provided by the Crown and the Queen of Spain.

But not for long, as far as the two are concerned.

Not for very long indeed.