White ought to have been savoring the finest mood of his life.
“M-my name is Wi-Wikwasi… My family numbers four. My tribe is…”
“Go to the western farm for now. There, you will be given tools to build a house, land, and seeds. Ah, and do not forget to ‘get the needle.’”
“U-understood!”
Natives by the thousands were flooding into his territory, the Chesapeake Bay, and petitioning to settle there.
Even if they were only barely communicating through Manteo’s tribesmen, the sight of countless laborers each taking potatoes and grains of wheat and beginning to establish farms could not help but be pleasing.
“This way! Like this, like this—point the plow down at the ground!”
“Ah… like this?”
“No! Like this!”
Thousands of people had gathered like that, plowing fields with some hundred horses and grazing more than two hundred milk cows. White had never even dreamed that he would receive such lavish support.
Right now, White was a great lord with thousands of subjects under him. Naturally, he ought to have been delighted.
If only…
“…In that short span of time, you succeeded to this extent? Does that even make sense? Thomas! What did they say?”
“They say that someone called the ‘Great Chief’ among the natives ordered their migration here. He told them to follow John White and pay taxes to him.”
“Is that true?”
“…”
“…”
Had his superior not been beside him, White might well have been able to rejoice.
How was he supposed to explain this?
Had they already found out about “Him”? No. Judging from their reaction, they seemed to think of “Him” as some powerful local figure.
“…It is true. He has been… giving our settlement a great deal of help.”
Having swiftly made his judgment, White nodded and barely managed to force out an answer. At those words, Raleigh’s eyes lit up once more as he spoke.
“So this ‘Great Chief’—no, this ‘Emperor’ of the region—is your ally?
Don’t tell me… those Shine Muscat grapes from last time, and the aluminum as well, were his? You obtained them through trade with him?”
“…”
“My God…!”
Raleigh grinned so broadly the corners of his mouth nearly reached his ears, and hopped about in an undignified little jig.
“John White! Just what incredible thing did you do to make the Emperor of this region help you? To receive so many jewels, precious metals, and even sweet grapes as gifts!
Did you save his life? Did your daughter marry him? Or did he convert to Christianity—”
“Khm.”
Did I save His life?
Did He marry my daughter?
Did He “convert” to Christianity?
Could Christ “convert” to Christianity? Or could a mere human save the lives of Gabriel and Michael?
Every question was so absurd that John White could not hold back a cough. Only after he had spent a long while coughing did he see Raleigh’s expression.
He was half in ecstasy.
And at the same time, he was serious.
“…Tell me. Why is it?
Just how powerful is his empire that he can command thousands of subjects to cultivate another man’s land? And why is the master of such an empire so merciful to you?”
Oh, my foolish superior whose eyes have yet to be opened.
He is not an emperor but a minister, and yet the empire He governs covers the entire earth—so why do you ask such things?
His mercy extends to all mankind, so why do you look only at the grace He has bestowed on me alone? Can you not see it? That those thousands have gathered here because they believe in His protection?
White swallowed hard.
There was so much he wanted to say. He wanted to confess it as though wailing, and he could have talked all day about His overflowing mercy.
But he did not.
Because He had commanded silence.
Instead, John White said only this.
“He is… simply a being of boundless mercy. That is all.”
“…”
Still, an explanation was necessary.
“And He worships God.”
“…What did you say?”
An explanation in which falsehood and truth were cunningly intermingled—one that would sound plausible even to someone who did not know Lord Nemo’s true identity.
“I do not know the details, but He did not believe in Catholicism or anything of the sort. Though not a single missionary was visible in His ‘empire,’ He was already serving the Lord in the proper manner.”
“…So, you are saying he helped a fellow Christian?”
“…Yes.”
“My God… It reminds me of the fools who went searching for Prester John in the East! My God… My God…!”
Walter Raleigh’s eyes rolled, and his hand rapidly drummed against the wooden table. It was as though he were flicking the beads of an abacus and fitting together the shards of a broken bowl, piecing together logic atop White’s words.
“C-certainly, if he speaks English fluently… then someone from England must have come here before us. He must have taught the Emperor English and Christianity!
Hallelujah! It is nothing short of a miracle! Who was it? An unknown great missionary? Or sailors left behind from a voyage a few years ago? I do not know. Nor does it matter. The fact that he is hostile to Spain and friendly to England only makes it better!”
“…”
White said nothing. He merely watched in silence as Sir Raleigh spun a plausible web of lies atop his own ignorance.
“Did he possess a proper Bible? No, that cannot be. That cannot be. Speaking and knowing orthography are entirely separate matters, so he must struggle to read as well.
Then we must gift him a Bible. And at the same time, if we baptize him and preside over a coronation ceremony for him as a subject of the English monarch…”
“Let us not go too far, Sir Raleigh. You must remain calm.”
“How can I remain calm? In a situation like this!”
Devout Protestant Walter Raleigh’s eyes were full of hope.
And in the eyes of the skeptical atheist Thomas Harriot, doubt could be seen.
But in that both were lost in their own thoughts and failed to notice John White’s eyes, which had gone cold, they were alike.
“Ahem, John? Could you perhaps… ah… arrange a meeting with His Majesty, the Indian Emperor of this place?”
“…Me, you mean?”
“Yes…! You! You, my lord, my vassal, and my governor!”
Raleigh, who had only just managed to sit himself down in a chair, sprang back up in excitement as he spoke.
“I have reported your merits to Her Majesty the Queen in detail. Do you know? Your paintings are selling like wildfire in England. When you return later, you will be able to make a tidy sum!”
“…I see.”
“If this conference proceeds properly, I shall bring you even a thousand pieces of gold! You will become the true lord of this land! What do you say?”
“…”
“…John? Are you not pleased?”
“Not at all. I am very pleased. It is merely that I find it hard to contain my joy…”
“Is that so? Do not worry. Am I not a man who always keeps his word once it has left his mouth? You will surely enjoy wealth and glory. So, allow me, as the ruler of Virginia, the opportunity to have an audience with the Emperor—”
“I cannot decide anything.”
“…Is that so?”
“He moves only by His own will.”
John White spoke more proudly and more firmly than ever before.
For the authority standing behind him was mightier than that of Walter Raleigh, and even mightier than that of the English sovereign he served.
“I will ask Him.
But please do not expect that a positive answer will necessarily return.”
“Very well. I hope at least my desire to maintain friendly relations will be conveyed. Is there an Englishman by his side who can interpret writing? I would like to send a letter.”
And so the Nautilus departed and reached Croatoan Island.
Two letters fell into the hands of “Emperor Nemo.”
One was a letter filled with Sir Walter Raleigh’s ornate and ceremonial turns of phrase. Long passages brimming with poetic praise for the wealth, glory, and mercy of the great Emperor.
And the other was John White’s.
He had written only a single line.
—“No matter what happens, I will follow only your decision.”
***
—“…O Great One, your sacred decision shall become the foundation stone of every church newly established upon this land.
O Great One, I see your glorious future. I see a future where all Christians praise your name and give your name to their children.
O Great One, I praise you. Not because you are wealthy, nor because you command many people, but because your soul is radiant and noble.
Your soul shall now be born anew through holy baptism…”
Flutter.
As I chewed over Walter Raleigh’s letter, filled to the brim with flowery rhetoric, I turned it page by page before pushing it aside.
Then I lightly skimmed John White’s letter, which required far less time and effort to read.
—“No matter what happens, I will follow only your decision..”
Reading Raleigh’s dazzling letter and White’s brief single line in turn… made me sigh.
“Huuuu…”
Before I knew it, I was clutching my head. My head throbbed, and I lowered it.
Having put down the letters, I sat in the quiet living room with no one else around, keeping silent.
In the end, what had to come had come.
Until now, I had moved only according to what each moment demanded as events came upon me.
I saved the Englishmen because it felt unpleasant to leave people to die.
I expanded vineyards across the entire island because I wanted to grow grapes.
I gave the surplus grapes away to people because I did not want to throw away grapes I had worked so hard to cultivate.
And as a result, I had now become an “angel,” become a “Great Chief,” and now even reached the point of being an “Indian Emperor.”
…What comes next?
I am no longer the idiot who blindly drove an excavator and charged at Spanish soldiers. I know what I am.
I am an immortal.
I do not die.
I am the master of a farm from which infinite resources flow.
Will I live forever? Most likely.
I am a “miracle” itself.
Then, in this age—in the sixteenth century, when “miracles” are regarded as either the work of God or the schemes of Satan—how am I to survive?
For now, I could deceive Walter Raleigh. If I play the role of some ridiculous “Indian Emperor” a few times, dressed somewhat scantily, he will be satisfied and return.
And then one day, if someone discovers that this “Indian Emperor” never dies, the play will be over.
Therefore, deceiving Raleigh and hiding the secret… is only a stopgap measure. Not meeting him is merely avoiding the problem.
Because the white men will always covet this land.
Thus, there are no eternal secrets.
Before the day comes when the hands of the white men reach out in earnest, I must decide.
For my own safety, and…
“Eleanor, Thomas, Manteo, Vicente, John…”
For the safety of those who follow me.
“England is necessary.”
For my daily life to be maintained, this Croatoan colony must be maintained. And there is no way Spain will leave this place, where the English live, alone. Have we not already fought once?
As expected, I need England as an ally.
“And Raleigh is necessary as well.”
And the one who has been entrusted with governing Virginia by that England is Walter Raleigh. If I am not going to kill him, then I must draw him in.
Yes.
I must draw him in.
And now, I know myself.
I am an immortal, and the master of infinite resources.
A person with such conditions… I already knew very well what he must do to draw in and subjugate a man of the sixteenth century.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
“…Is that you, Eleanor?”
“Y-yes! May I come in?”
“No. I will go out.”
Creeeak.
When I opened the front door, Eleanor looked up at me.
With eyes full of awe and respect, with a face flushed red from excitement and pupils trembling in nervousness, she looked at me.
“Um, well… Father said the farm management needs more potatoes. We are thinking of sending over a little more seed potatoes…”
“…”
“…Would that be all right?”
Yes.
Walter Raleigh must look at me with those eyes as well.
He, too, must revere me.
He, too…
Must think of me as an “angel.”
A piece of the puzzle I had long put off inside my head fell into place.
A key figure in English politics, the Queen’s most beloved favorite, the most loved and most hated man in London.
I will make him submit.
And I will take him into my hand.
I will survive.
As an angel.