"What do you think, Captain? Should an African be made a Christian?"
"Theology's not my specialty, Miss Bedford." He walked past her. "Tell me first if you think a Puritan's one." He was moving toward Serina, who stood silently skimming the top of the first cauldron, now a vigorous boil. She glanced up once and examined him, then returned her eyes to the froth. Katherine just managed to catch a few words as he began speaking to her quietly in fluent Portuguese, as though to guard against any of the planters accidentally overhearing.
"Senhora, how is it you know the language of the Africans?"
She looked up for a moment without speaking, her eyes disdainful. "I'm a slave too, as you well know, senhor." Then she turned and continued with the ladle.
"But you're a Portugal."
"And never forget that. I am not one of these preto. " She spat out the Portuguese word for Negro.
Atiba continued methodically shoving cane tops into the roaring mouth of the furnace.
"But you were speaking to him just now in his own language. I recognized it."
"He asked a question, and I answered him, that's all."
"Then you do know his language? How?"