Cody and Yax were drenched in sweat beneath the sun and the thick jungle humidity, hauling the boar—which seemed to grow heavier with every step—as they followed Kenda, who pressed on ahead with steady strides through branches and undergrowth.

  “Excuse me, Miss Kenda,” Cody said, panting. “Is it much farther to the settlement? I feel like we’re going to end up all the way at the Gulf of Mexico.”

  The woman glanced back at them without breaking her pace.

  “Oh, come now… you mean to take a Spanish stronghold, and you can’t handle the weight of a single piece of game?”

  “I was honestly wondering how you planned to carry it yourself,” Cody replied, “or whether you were planning to find us.”

  Kenda laughed.

  “The more you complain, the faster you’ll tire yourselves out… we’re almost there.”

  After a few more leagues, they finally emerged from the jungle. Before them rose a palisade encircling the entire perimeter of the maroon settlement. Both boys stopped short, nearly dropping the boar as they stared in disbelief.

  “I was expecting… tents,” Cody muttered, “…and huts made of branches.”

  “Welcome to Saloum,” the woman said, turning to face them. “Listen carefully: only Africans live in this settlement. Do not expect a warm reception—and do exactly as I tell you, to the letter. Do you understand?”

  Both boys nodded and followed her. They crossed the clearing between the jungle and the gate of the palisade as Kenda let out a sharp whistle, answered from within. A man appeared atop a crude watchtower made of logs. Cody was startled to see a falconet mounted beside him.

  “It’s Kenda,” she called. “Open the gate.”

  “And who are those two?” the guard demanded.

  “Just a pair of boys. A Maya and a Briton.”

  The guard frowned.

  “You know the law. No outsider who isn’t maroon sets foot inside.”

  Kenda pressed her lips together.

  “Jimmy… open the damned gate, and I’ll see to explaining it.”

  The guard hesitated, then, with clear reluctance, shouted the order. The gate swung open—a solid wooden door reinforced with iron fittings. Carved crosses suggested it had once been taken from a convent.

  The three entered and immediately became the focus of every eye in the settlement. The camp consisted of round, Maya-style huts with thatched roofs of palm and branches. People wore jackets, loose blouses, and boots—some fashioned from cured bladders like those used by buccaneers. Children played between the huts while elders tended small garden plots.

  “Good heavens…” Cody murmured. “This… this is a city.”

  “Why did we never know about this?” Yax asked.

  “Because Rafael and his accomplices always drew a line between us,” Kenda replied.

  After setting down the boar, Kenda became embroiled in a heated discussion with several men, speaking in a Senegalese dialect mixed with English and a few Spanish words. An elderly man approached the boys. He wore a jacket, cotton breeches, and tall boots, and carried a ceremonial staff in the Maya style.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  “You wish to speak with His Majesty, the King,” he said.

  The boys exchanged glances and nodded.

  “The King sets conditions before granting an audience.”

  “Sir, please,” Yax said. “Allow us to speak with… the King and present our case.”

  “It would do no harm…” Kenda murmured. “Dorcas, they’ve suffered greatly. The Spaniards attacked Xul-Kan and took everyone prisoner.”

  A murmur rippled through the crowd.

  “Our relations with Xul-Kan were never good,” the elder continued. “By Rafael’s orders, we were forbidden from approaching them. If not for Kwame, who discreetly made certain concessions…”

  “Mr. Kwame is one of the prisoners I wish to help,” Cody said.

  The man shrugged.

  “May the gods help him. Though we sympathize, he is still one of Rafael’s people—and of the English.”

  The crowd murmured in agreement.

  “Sir… my crew has also been taken prisoner by the Spaniards,” Cody added.

  The elder studied him.

  “So they caught you as well? Bad luck. If that is all, you may leave.”

  He gestured for them to be escorted away.

  “Please,” Cody insisted, “allow us to speak with the King. There are innocent people—natives, Africans, many others… and besides…” He hesitated, then pressed on. “There is a great prize. Yes—a vast treasure from a great galleon called the Santa Carmen.”

  Yax turned sharply toward Cody, startled, but chose to remain silent.

  “There are wines, luxury goods, brocades, and all manner of valuables.”

  The maroons exchanged looks. The elder sighed with irritation and motioned for them to wait. He walked along a packed-earth causeway toward a large wooden house with a palm-thatched roof. The boys stood under the stares of the settlement; time seemed to slow to a crawl. Moments later, the elder returned, leaning on his staff, and beckoned them forward.

  “Listen carefully. When you enter, you will bow until your forehead touches the ground. You will remain kneeling and wait until the King looks upon you and addresses you. Is that clear?”

  Both nodded.

  They entered a wide hall with crates and barrels stacked along one side. A French chandelier hung from the ceiling, and the furnishings were unmistakably Baroque. Upon a raised platform sat King Checo, seated on a gilded Gobelins chair set atop a matching rug. He was a large, powerfully built Black man, dressed in a velvet jacket and breeches, finely crafted tall boots, and a tricorn hat. A scar ran across his face, extinguishing one eye, which was covered by a black patch.

  At his side stood his four wives, wearing blouses and corsets; one had a wide skirt, while the others wore lighter garments suited to the heat.

  “Good luck,” Kenda whispered before stepping onto the platform and seating herself at the King’s feet.

  Cody took in the room. On a richly decorated chest adorned with shells and baroque leaves stood a clock, its ticking loud in the oppressive silence. The King fanned himself slowly, studying them as though weighing conclusions.

  “Dorcas tells me there is a cargo of considerable value,” he said at last.

  Yax cleared his throat.

  “Yes, Your Majesty, it consists of—”

  Kenda signaled him to be silent, and he obeyed.

  The King rested a hand on his hip and began conversing in gestures with Dorcas and other men. The women nodded and murmured among themselves. Finally, the King spoke.

  “To earn the right to be heard, you must pass a test.”

  Cody and Yax glanced at each other, but Kenda warned them again to remain silent.

  “The King wants a song,” Dorcas said. “From the fair-haired one.”

  Cody flushed.

  “I don’t know how to sing,” he admitted. By now, nearly the entire settlement had gathered to watch.

  “If you do not sing, you will be cast out,” Dorcas declared.

  “Sing,” Yax urged him.

  Cody drew a deep breath, searching his memory for a melody. Then, somewhat awkwardly, he began:

  “When Britain first, at Heaven’s command,

  Arose from out the azure main…”

  Jeers erupted from the crowd.

  “Silence!” the King commanded. “Let him continue… the rest of you will hold your tongues.”

  Cody inhaled again and resumed:

  “When Britain first, at Heaven’s command,

  Arose majestic from the azure sea,

  This was the charter, the land’s decree,

  And guardian angels heard her sing…”

  When he reached the chorus, he straightened and sang out:

  “Rule, Britannia! Britannia, rule the waves!

  Britons never, never, never shall be slaves!”

  Some among the crowd—clearly from former British colonies—joined in, clapping along. When he finished, applause followed. Kenda smiled and gave him an approving nod.

  The King rose, and silence fell at once.

  “You will sing it while I eat,” he said, and left the hall, followed by all.

  Cody turned to Kenda.

  “Forgive me… but did I understand that correctly? He wants me to sing while he eats?”

  “That’s right,” she replied. “And he takes four hours to dine. So I wish you strength, boy. Don’t falter.”