…A lot had happened in the meantime.
“Grapes… five hundred bunches?”
“That’s right. You did tell the neighboring tribes you would distribute more to them, didn’t you?”
“Well, yes, of course the tribes around us are clamoring for even one more bunch, but…”
“Then take them.”
“…”
Seeing my relieved expression, Manteo tilted his head as if something was wrong and went outside. Soon, countless natives began carrying five hundred bunches of grapes away in baskets.
That, too, was a spectacle.
Yes.
If I had to name the biggest event of the past three months, it would be this.
The Shine Muscat gift economy network.
All this time, countless tribes had tasted Shine Muscat grapes and been unable to recover from the shock, like Chileans witnessing automatic taxi doors for the first time.
It was only natural. The Algonquians in this area did farm in a basic sense, but they were also half hunter-gatherers. It was their first time encountering fruit bred to such a high degree.
The surrounding tribes, after experiencing Shine Muscat just once, reached out to Manteo and asked if he could spare them just one more bunch.
In the end, Manteo’s tribe built a large-scale gift economy network, importing grapes from me en masse and distributing them.
Since Manteo’s tribe stood at the center of it all, Manteo and his mother’s authority had apparently risen quite a bit. At this rate, Manteo’s succession as chief would probably proceed without much difficulty.
Thanks to that, our village was now steadily filling up with all sorts of pearls, coral, animal hides, and various vegetables and fruits.
As if they had never worried about food at all, the settlers now spent their days cheerfully, proudly fluttering fur cloaks about.
“Excuse me, can we eat that plant?”
“It’s poisonous! Don’t go near it!”
“What about that fruit?”
“That’s… That melon should be edible.”
As exchanges increased unexpectedly, Manteo sent three or four people to our settlement to use them almost like diplomats, and thanks to that, the settlers’ knowledge of the plants and animals around here increased.
And one more thing.
“Mr. Brown, you said you were a goldsmith, didn’t you?”
“That’s right. I did fairly well for myself in London, too. I came here thinking there would be a land of gold, but…”
“Oh dear. You must have been terribly disappointed.”
“What are you saying? Did I not gain something more precious than gold? I thank the Lord for it instead.”
“Hahaha, yes. The friendships and experiences gained in a place like this are worth more than gold…”
“No. I mean that ‘metal that does not rust’! The thing you gave me back then! You still have it, don’t you?”
“…Pardon?”
“…Pardon?”
Only then did I realize that the Englishmen who, after drinking canned beverages, had insisted on piling them up in front of my house were not racist wrecks of human beings.
No, aluminum was more expensive than iron. But was it really precious metal material?
A metal that, at a glance, would never rust for all eternity.
A metal that was absurdly difficult to produce naturally.
A metal sturdier than iron, yet lighter than iron.
Ah.
That night, I searched until dawn for the aluminum cans I had buried in the backyard.
Here was the sudden question.
Then would aluminum foil be treated in this house as a “consumable” with infinite quantity? Or as a “permanent item” with infinite durability?
The answer was “consumable.”
A metal more precious than gold comes out of my house infinitely!
However.
“…Is this all the yaluminum foil?”
“It seems so, Mr. Brown. And it’s aluminum.”
“Al…”
“…uminum. Aluminum.”
About three grams come out per day.
Damn it. I should have bought more aluminum foil before it ran out.
In any case, the goldsmith, Mr. William Brown, excitedly set up a workshop and developed a taste for aluminum craftwork. He grinned from ear to ear, saying things like “the gold of the New World” and that all that remained was for him to become rich.
Thanks to that, I was able to have a statue of Mr. Choi, about the size of my palm, made and set up at the head of my bed.
…And just like that, I suddenly became rich.
A tide of all sorts of daily necessities and luxury goods was pouring in from every part of North Carolina and Virginia.
On top of that, aluminum, which back home had been only slightly more expensive than iron, had become an enormous precious metal-to-be.
“Truly, you are an immensely wealthy man.”
“Is this… really going to become that valuable?”
“Of course. I was already troubled because, goldsmith though I was, I had far too little work to do. Now my worries are over. Hahahaha!”
In any case, so he said.
And one more thing.
The settlement, having become immensely wealthy and comfortable, could now turn its gaze away from mere survival and deal with another urgent matter.
“We must prepare our defenses before the Spaniards arrive!”
“Um… Didn’t we leave our muskets and gunpowder on Roanoke Island? And we left behind iron rods and lumps of lead to make guns and bullets too…”
“There should be many other weapons left there as well. We ought to go there at least once.”
“That’s right! Besides, Father surely has no idea we’re here! Wouldn’t it be better to leave a clearer sign behind?”
“Hmm… You have a point. Go and make a trip, then.”
And so, the settlers organized an expedition, borrowed boats from the natives, and went as far as Roanoke Island, their original colony. When they brought back all sorts of weapons from there, everyone seemed greatly relieved.
Well… of course they were.
If the Spaniards came attacking, there was a high chance everyone here would be wiped out.
But I did not have the courage to belatedly say, “Teehee, actually, that was a lie!” so I merely smiled contentedly. The settlers, who had at some point begun to regard me as something like the village chief, seemed to interpret my smile in a generally positive way.
And so, beside the goldsmith’s workshop, a blacksmith’s forge was built, and the work of making muskets and lead shot proceeded quickly.
The settlement, which had been expanding without end, eventually slowed its growth, and they began tying logs together nearby to build a large palisade and prepare its defenses.
Before long, people grew used to the routine of carrying muskets as they patrolled the surrounding area, keeping watch for Spanish warships making landfall.
By this point, I really couldn’t say anything.
Because if I said it had actually been a joke, I felt like I might get shot.
Lastly…
“It’s delicious, isn’t it? I heard the Spaniards say it tasted awful.”
“Those bastards must have been spoiled, Mr. Hewet. Born in a country with weather that fine and land that vast, how could they not end up picky about food?”
We harvested the potatoes.
…And I’m sorry, but the truth is that potatoes really are tasteless. People in the twenty-first century eat sweetish potatoes that have been strenuously improved over hundreds of years, but potatoes at this point are literally flavorless.
Whatever the case, the potato farming was a great success.
It seemed I had underestimated people of the sixteenth century. People of this age must have at least tended kitchen gardens, after all.
Far fewer potatoes than expected had rotted underground, and the yield was not bad either. This time, without making a mistake, I chose only those suitable for seed potatoes and stored them in the cold storage.
Later, when the time came to plant them again, I would carry out chitting by exposing them to diffused light and let them sprout. Then, the following year, we would be able to harvest far more potatoes than this year.
In any case.
The fact that we had succeeded in harvesting potatoes held a particularly special meaning for us.
First of all, with Christmas, the greatest holiday of Christians, approaching, it was one thing that we had become abundant in food.
We had succeeded in becoming self-sufficient in food.
“So… this colony has finally succeeded.”
The sight of the settlement’s people holding a festival, roasting meat, and singing was enough to make me happy just watching them. I watched them with a genuinely contented expression, then turned to look beside me.
Sitting close by my side was Eleanor.
“We succeeded in self-sufficiency, and we’re exchanging gifts with the natives and getting along with them. Everyone is tending their own fields and living ha-happily.”
I noticed Eleanor’s pronunciation falter.
“…Just like my father promised those people…”
She was covering her face with both hands. Tears leaked through her fingers.
“I, I thought everyone was going to die… My husband died that way too… and the others…”
Her husband had been a dissolute, ill-reputed piece of trash, or so I had heard. Even so, death was death.
“…Among them, there are people who wanted to become gentry, and people who fled London because they did not want to become whores. So many people came all the way here with dreams… and they achieved those dreams.”
Then she looked at me. Her face, her eyes, shone with tears.
“Th-thank you, Nemo.”
“…Not at all. It was thanks to all of your efforts.”
“No. If you had not saved us, then back then we would all have…”
“…”
I gave her time. Time to sort out her emotions alone.
Only after the sound of her sniffling continued for a long while did her trembling voice come again.
“…Why?”
“…”
“Why did you save thirty-some dangerous people like that, without asking for anything in return? Wh-why…”
“…”
I pondered my answer for a moment.
I wondered what I should say. Wondering what would make me sound like a “mysterious helper,” I answered.
“…If one must search for a reason when a person saves another person, isn’t that too sad?”
“…Pardon?”
“Let’s just say, ‘because.’”
“…”
I mulled over the words I had spoken, and realized that they were, in fact, the truth.
I had just saved them.
There had been no particular reason.
Hearing my words, Eleanor cried again. She kept crying.
“You mustn’t cry.”
“…Pardon?”
“Isn’t Christmas coming soon?”
So I tossed out a joke.
“You won’t get any presents.”
Naturally, it was a joke that no one except me understood.
***
Thud.
Several boats passed through the dangerous sea filled with wetlands and whirlpools, and at last reached land. They strode forward, stepping through tall grass and foul marshland that sank beneath their feet.
Every one of them had wariness in his eyes, and their bodies were tense.
“Everyone, move inland!”
When the last boat reached land and the warship they had come on gently touched the island, a fiery command rang out. The soldiers cast aside any further hesitation and began to move.
“Your Excellency?”
“What is it, Fernando?”
“Forgive me, but according to the charts of this vicinity, the colonists have already withdrawn from this small island. Would it not be better to search the Chesapeake Bay area thoroughly instead…”
“Have we not already searched Chesapeake Bay? All manner of strange rumors circulating among savages, vague tales with no substance… I am already tired of it. It would be better to go to the place where everything began.”
“…Understood.”
Vicente González, governor of Santa Elena in Spanish Florida, gave his orders in a solemn tone and looked around.
More than a hundred soldiers prowled about, searching this barbaric land.
Even after hearing the rumor that the Roanoke Island colony had moved to Chesapeake Bay, His Majesty the King had been unable to set aside his concerns.
The colonial government of the West Indies, too, had been gripped by fear of colonies that might be used as military bases and way stations by the English.
And so, several months had already passed since González had been dispatched.
As a result of their tedious search in Chesapeake Bay, they ultimately found no trace of the colony. It seemed clear that they must have fled to avoid Spain’s fleet.
In other words, the expedition had failed.
‘After bringing warships all the way here, I cannot end with nothing but chasing the Englishmen’s tails. I must, no matter what, create something worth reporting to the colonial authorities…’
Thinking so, Vicente González unconsciously bit his thumbnail in agitation.
Somehow, somehow, if this expedition failed to produce results, it was obvious that those damned English pirates would once again suck away the wealth of great Spain like mosquitoes.
It was a possibility that made irritation surge up in him just imagining it—
“G-Governor! Please come here!”
“Hm?”
Rustle.
Deer fled in fright at human footsteps, and birds that had been pecking at broken melon pieces took flight.
The flapping sound broke the silence, and Vicente González immediately leapt over the bushes and headed toward the place from which the soldier’s shout had come.
And then…
“Oh… my God.”
They saw traces of a place where some hundred people had once lived.
They saw a surrounding palisade, and huts left abandoned, half-collapsed.
On one of the logs, these words were carved:
—“CROATOAN.”
Beneath it, more detailed content had been written small, but legibly.
—“Settlement successful. If this message is found, come to Croatoan Island.”
An arc formed at the corners of Vicente’s mouth.
Soon, more than a hundred armed men left Roanoke Island once again.
They had gained a new destination. And also a new mission bestowed by God.
The English heretics who had forsaken His Holiness the Pope were all no different from beasts.
Therefore, they would kill every two-legged beast that lived there.
It was quite a tidy conclusion.