EXILIUM REX

Chapter 17

In the collective mind of the colony’s general public, the Claveria Decree issued last November 21 shall merely be a simple census instrument. But for Corregidor Loncoise Rivera, and now for his so-called friend, too, it has been revealed by the Governor-General himself that all this has been an elaborate roost to expunge the names of the enemies of the Crown and secure the very existence of the royal exiles which the Corregidor cannot afford to be put in any form of danger ever since the Carlista wars began.

It has been Loncoise’s secret prayers that the royal exiles shall live their lives in these remote Palawan islands peacefully, harmoniously with the natives. But, somehow, he realizes how he was very wrong to harbor such expectations. A clash of worlds is inevitable. And, like a valuable chess piece to the Crown, the good Colonel shall unavoidably be nudged front and center into this impending conflict.

“I know what you mean, Anggulyo, I as your brother and amigo shall accede to your request. I shall spare whosoever you want me to spare. Only the names on the list shall matter to me. The two hundred ocho reales you have given me this morning shall also prove its worth for the Crown’s defense of our royal sovereigns. Tell me, Anggulyo, how did you manage to have the two leaders of the conspiracy – this Langalan and this Oflodor – meet in the bangwas?”

“I made up an elaborate story about who they really believe is their common ancestor from the faraway Kingdom of Tondo on the island of Lusong. I made them believe that the blood of the Prince of Tondo, Pitonggatan, runs through the veins of their blood.”

“Ha, Señor Anggulyo, it seems I have underestimated your clout among these two tribal leaders. I think I shall not need to dwell anymore on your mastery of story-telling. That is your forte, being a translator and guide for me and my men for such a long time already. Oh, but I remember, my friend, I have another gift for you…”

Anggulyo widens his eyes as Colonel Rivera proceeds to a nearby tocador and reaches for a carefully placed book among the stashes. He returns to his seat and cautiously places the piece of literature on the table.

“This, my friend, is a rare copy of the Remarks on the Philippine Island, and on their capital Manila. 1819 to 1822. By an Englishman. Would you care to please read aloud the passage from Lord Byron’s Essays printed below?”

Anggulyo, the estranged descendant of Antonio Surabao, starts.

“When a traveler returneth home, let him not leave the countries where he hath travelled altogether behind him.”

Loncoise’s friend carefully scans the other pages of the old book; then unconsciously turns to the one opposite the title-page: it is a folding map, entitled “Map of the province of Tondo.”

“Manila!” The Amianan outcast exclaims. He studies the red triangular flag of the Kingdom of Tondo. Suddenly, his visage turns pale and sullen.

“What’s the matter, Anggulyo, hijo? I think you need an agua de copita. Are you sick?”

“No, sire, Coronel. I just remembered the legend of Pitonggatan being spread by the Subanon elders.”

“What legend? Tell me please.”

“The reason why the Sultan of Brunei is supporting their cause against the Amianan trsibespeople.”

“What legend, Anggulyo?”

“That among the Subanon lowlanders shall be born a leader – a direct descendant of the brave and mighty ruler of an ancient austronesian city fortified by walls. Pitonggatan, to avenge the death of his comrades in the Conspiracy of the Maharlikas and to fulfill the covenant of the datus to be rid of the Spanish colonists for good.”

“So?”

“And that this heir of Datu lineage, being the son of one of the seven legendary chieftains of the so-called Conspiracy of the Maharlikas three centuries ago, shall be able to unite the different datus of the islands from Lusong to far down south in the islands situated around the Sea of Light.”

Corregidor Loncoise Rivera bursts into laughter.

For a moment, the military officer is wont to believe that the malaria virus endemic to the island must have already overtaken the shrewd senses of the mountain gods.

But – for the immediate present – the Corregidor knows, there shall be an ambush which has to be consummated at the bangwas. The conspirators shall face their maker soon!

Assalamualaikum mualaikumwasalam.

*

Lerma bursts into tears.

For a moment, the motherling is wont to believe that the malaria virus endemic to the island must have already taken the innocence of her mountain child. The unusual creaking of the abaca ropes which serve to hang the bamboo wicker bassinet inside the prayer hut somehow distracts and focuses the attention of the ancient high minister’s daughter all at the same time. The planned reunion could not have come to be set at a better time for her.

And for Yno.

But where is Oflodor? Where has he gone to?

The maiden princess of the Amianan tribe surveys the place hidden deep inside the Subanon forest where no soul has dared to roam. Aside from the bassinet, a few pieces of salumbahag, and some sacks of cotchiam, the hut has been mostly bare empty.

Where are the supposed provisions for her journey with her son? Where are the holy jars which shall serve as the vessels of their escape?

Outside the small native bungalow, she hears the winds slap the waves. She imagines listening to the familiar creaking of the bamboo keels of the painted boat built for the pangabas. Clutching Yno on her warm and waiting breasts, she imagines getting out of the cottage to see the vessel. Her hunch shall soon bear her correct. All the provisions, food, everything, should be neatly stored in the boat already. What she fears may happen may not happen after all. In a time when gods are mountains and mountains are gods, there is a time for truth and there is a time for imagination.

And, like this final tryst, Lerma understands it is time for both truth and imagination to guide her, Oflodor, and their newborn Yno to their quest for a new life far, far away from the cursed islands – and from Langalan!

Yes, an escape. An escape to the province of the gods. North of the Sea of Light, onwards to

Lusong. But the get-away, as planned by Lerma’s father, is different. Very.

First, Oflodor shall have no direct participation whatsoever.

Second, it shall be Anggulyo who will be helping both native priest and daughter together with the child to their exodus not to the capital city of walls, but to the province of Panahay, the heartland of Langalan’s forebears.

And, third and last, they shall be leaving the clutches of the foreign royal exiles who have virtually taken over the entire governance of the Amianan tribe with such impunity; and they shall be taking with them the symbolic crown of their ethnic highland race.

The Comb of Lerma.

The Lai Mabinta-Nong may herself have approved of such valiant undertaking.

If, for the Europeans, this year would be the year of the revolutions, then, for Lerma and her family, it would be their year of explorations.

Conscious of the act or not, the motherling stares at the innocent eyes of her newly-awakened baby. Within Yno’s eyes, Lerma can see the suckling young mind of a future born ruler of their tribal community. The union of the two warring factions – the Amianan tribe and the Subanons seem possible in the universe created by her child’s innocent eyes. The motherling touches the nape of Yno’s neck and feels the fresh shallow marks of seven small dots. These marks shall bear a new beginning. The much-needed sanduguan between the two native leaders – Langalan and Oflodor. The pact between two worlds – the wealthy, intermarrying half-breeds of the highland and the poor but hospitable tribe of the full-blooded Suyonon lowlanders.

All the more, Lerma clutches her newborn child close to her breasts. Yno’s lips instinctively makes for one of his nurturer’s suckling n*****s. Lerma decides to breastfeed Yno before they board the religious sailboat for the pangabas. She estimates there is enough time to ready herself and her baby.

The sun has already marked the quarter of the day and the milky froth of the sea has already parted her arms to embrace with her mighty waves her waiting and willing waifs.