It so happened that they had placed their "loads" in one of the huts where they would not be seen by Cæsar as he entered the village. It was all Crouch could do to explain to his "blood-brother" that they desired to hide, that the Fire-gods must not be told of their presence in the village. After a while, the man seemed to understand; but, indeed, he stood in such dread of the Portuguese that it was extremely doubtful whether he was wholly responsible for what he was saying.
Crowded together in one of the small huts the three Englishmen and the four Fans awaited the arrival of the Fire-gods. They were astonished at what they beheld--the abject consternation and alarm of the villagers, who now appeared a cowered and servile race. Never for one moment did it seem to occur to the few men among them to take up arms, in spite of the fact that the Pambala--to whom they were obviously related--are a warlike and courageous people.
The reason for their cowardice was obvious. They did not fear the Portuguese without a cause. They had learnt to their cost that Cæsar was a man to be dreaded.
Crouch made a little eye-hole in the wall of the hut, whence he obtained a good view of the street. It was through this that he caught sight of Cæsar and de Costa, the moment they entered the village.
It was Cæsar himself who led the way. He strolled forward, with his rifle under his arm, and his black eyes shooting in all directions, as if he were doing no more than taking an afternoon walk in a neighbourhood where there was much to be observed. He was followed by four Arabs, in robes of flowing white; and the last of these conducted a negro, of the same tribe as the villagers, who wore an iron collar round his neck which was made fast to a chain. The rear of the party was brought up by de Costa, slinking forward like some mongrel cur, fever-stricken and afraid.
The party halted in the village street, some little distance from the hut where the three Englishmen were hiding, but not so far away as to make it impossible for Crouch to overhear the conversation that ensued. The chained negro was brought forward by the Arab who had charge of him; and it was this man who acted as interpreter. Cæsar spoke to him in Portuguese, and he translated. Crouch made a mental note of every word, for he had a far better knowledge of the Portuguese language than the interpreter himself.
"As you know," said Cæsar, "it is my custom to state my business in a few words. I come here to give orders. I expect those orders to be obeyed."
He lifted his sombrero hat and mopped the perspiration from his forehead, for the afternoon was hot, and he walked up hill. The four Arabs stood around him--proud, arrogant, handsome men, upon whose features were stamped an unmitigated contempt for the simple savages who stood in awe before them. It was the headman of the village who answered, an old man, with a short, grey beard, who wore a helmet made of a monkey's skin, and surmounted by the green covert feathers of a parrot.
"The great Fire-god," said he, "has but to speak."
"Good," said Cæsar. "You know who I am. You know my power. You know that to disobey me is death."