Chapter 46
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: volt
Chapter: 46
Chapter Title: Great Chief
-----------------------------------------------------------------
"I'm Rolly. Rol-ly."
"Rolly? That's a funny name."
"You're quite perceptive, Usamequin. To pick up the basics of English in just a month."
"Sim...ple. You all speak a language similar to ours."
Usamequin chuckled as he spoke to Rolly and Vicente.
"Similar language, talk like this. English, talk like this. Same thing. Easy to understand."
"Excellent. That's very good. We must give a gift to a friend who learns our language so quickly."
Rustle. Rustle.
As Rolly pulled something from his bag, Vicente hurriedly drew out his Bible. Rolly placed a scepter in Vicente's hand and crowned his head. Vicente recited a Bible verse as he spoke.
"Do you now acknowledge Nemo of Croatoan as the Great Chief?"
"...Of course. If he is the wealthiest among us."
"Do you swear to receive the gifts Nemo bestows upon you, send gifts in return, and pledge your faith and loyalty to him steadfastly?"
"Gifts... must continue, after all."
"Perfect! Now you are a faithful vassal of Lord Nemo!"
Originally, he would have had to invoke the name of the Queen of England, but there was no way the Queen would send someone all this way just to behead Rolly for treason.
Rolly extended a confident handshake to Usamequin and spoke in Algonquian.
"You are now one of us as well. Let's work together for the Virginia commonwealth!"
"Well... I don't see myself ever going there in my lifetime, but..."
"Who knows what the future holds? Shall we take you there?"
Usamequin shook his head firmly. He replied in his native tongue, not English.
"This is my home. I'm not leaving."
"..."
"You called this place 'Massachusetts,' didn't you?"
To be precise, Nemo had been the one to mention Massachusetts in front of them. The two remembered him well.
"I will not leave Massachusetts. So you should go back."
"...Farewell, then."
Rolly smiled and nodded to him.
"Glory to our Emperor, Great Chief, Angel—whatever you call him. May we meet again."
And so Rolly and Vicente departed the shore and boarded their boat. They resumed their journey.
This was a tale from well after they had left Chesapeake Bay.
"..."
"..."
"..."
My fellow Europeans and I were speechless, staring holes into the map Manteo had drawn.
The natives, many of whom couldn't read maps anyway, didn't know what was happening and just exchanged uneasy glances among themselves.
But I could tell just from Manteo's expression.
Even if the other chiefs knew how to read maps, they wouldn't have been so shocked.
To them, it was just a 'natural' state of affairs.
We had organized a vast gift-exchange network with immense resources, successfully bringing countless tribes under our influence. All achieved through grapes, aluminum, and more.
...Why does my head get it, but my heart refuses to accept it?
It felt like those kids' cartoons where the fate of the world is decided by a card game or soccer match.
No, even if Shine Muscat grapes are delicious, conquering a land the size of Korea with them?
Impossible.
"Ah, uh, well..."
"...You didn't know?"
"No, I didn't."
"..."
"..."
But it turns out it's not impossible after all.
Yes. No matter how unbelievable, reality is reality.
"So... those outsiders lurking around during council meetings?"
"They gathered because the 'Great Chief' had called a council. I explained the situation and sent them back, but they must have had some grievances. I'll mark them with slashes on the map."
I see.
Anyway, I fought off the dizziness threatening my head and barely wrapped up the meeting. Then, scanning the maps Manteo had drawn of the various regions... I let out a sigh.
"So, they're all within my 'sphere of influence' now."
"Yes."
"But they're not members of our community."
"Correct."
Since they're in my sphere and acknowledge me as Great Chief, am I their king?
No. To them, I'm more like...
The UN Secretary-General, maybe.
You know, present but not really. Until Oiotan called me Great Chief, I didn't even know I was one.
Can I, as Great Chief, order them to fight for me? No. Can I issue commands as their monarch? No.
Whether chief or Great Chief, around here it's more of an honorary position. Somewhere between group project leader and village head.
...Anyway, no matter what, resources are pouring in like crazy. Turns out I've been distributing grapes across an area the size of Korea.
"Everyone, we've missed you! You can't imagine how much we've longed for Chesapeake!"
"If you knew how many places we've adventured through, you'd be shocked!"
"...Oh."
And shortly after realizing that, Rolly and Vicente returned.
"Welcome back. Now you should head to England."
"...Pardon?"
"Yes? I'm Spanish, though."
"Then Vicente stays, and just Walter goes."
We needed all sorts of spices, sugar, tools, clothing for the settlers—everything.
After offloading pearls, coral, and all sorts of jewels in England, by the time Walter Rolly returned, several months had passed, and it was nearing September.
September... grape season...
Grapes overflowing everywhere.
This time, we harvested most of the grapes at peak ripeness without worrying about freshness. And the ambitious new varieties we'd cultivated!
Ruby Roman! My Heart! Cotton Candy!
Plus luxury grapes fit for department stores blooming endlessly across Croatoan and nearby islands!
Some we'd originally bought paying royalties, but now there's no one to claim them! Not even the US Department of Agriculture or Japan's Ministry of Agriculture can stop me!
"Come on, Walter! One more trip, please."
"...I've spent half the year at sea."
"Your spirit of adventure is truly remarkable, Walter."
And the fickle North Atlantic weather can't stop me either!
Now I can ship peak-ripeness grapes across the ocean in perfect condition!
With a thrilling sense of 'I'm going to wreck every British noble's gums,' I steadied my pounding heart and sent Rolly off.
Rolly complained about the clipper's difficult handling, the nightmare piloting difficulty, the grueling labor grinding down even seasoned sailors...
But all that just convinced me I needed to send a 'skilled captain.'
"...Fine, then this time I'll stay in England a while. I should attend Her Majesty's coronation anniversary feast for old times' sake."
I granted Rolly his vacation.
And so Rolly departed.
I sat munching on the abundant Shine Muscat grapes, lost in thought.
Already my sixth year on this land. I'd replanted relentlessly, experimented with flat-bed cultivation, poured everything into maintaining quality for these Shine Muscats.
Hmm, grapes.
Even as Great Chief, I'm not some figure with real power like other Great Chiefs of this era. To most people, my grapes are closer and more familiar than I am.
Just like most grape farmers to their customers.
Yeah. I'm just a grape farmer. One with a pretty big market, that's all.
Thinking that way eased my mind.
I chewed and swallowed another grape.
"Father, the jewels are dwindling. Even the foxes providing our furs are becoming scarce around here."
"Is that so?"
The drought had dragged on. With farming and hunting both suffering, fewer foxes wasn't surprising.
And jewels don't grow like grass or beasts; pick and dig them up, and eventually they run out.
You can't cling to vanishing things forever.
"Father, why did our tribe abandon our old ways? Why did we accept that so-called Great Chief's grapes and those 'potatoes' instead of discarding or burning them?"
"...To survive."
The chief smiled at his son's words.
'Gifts' weren't originally like this.
Traditionally, gifts were mostly symbolic, valuable in a sense, but roughly speaking, useless things shared among people.
Like passing around necklaces of coral and shells, or ornate feathered headdresses.
Time was plentiful, but food never was. No one was that wealthy.
No one shared months' worth of food so casually as a 'gift' like now.
No one offered rare fruits to the starving amid drought and famine like now.
This tribe couldn't believe it every time the Great Chief sent gifts. While everyone starved for lack of food, they endlessly produced fruits as if molding them from dirt.
After the envoys left, from chief to tribesmen, they devoured potatoes and grapes ravenously.
Overlooking the massive initial gift had started it all.
Years of famine, hunger, disease changed them again.
Many tribesmen now skipped farming altogether—just roamed for precious furs. Easier to trade with the Great Chief for food.
The days of crafting gift trinkets in spare time after farming and hunting were gone. Now they made trinkets first, then farmed or hunted if time remained.
It wasn't just them.
Some spent days diving for pearls.
Others ground coral into beads all day.
Still others groomed furs beautifully every day.
It was unprecedented.
Europeans called it 'division of labor,' but the local Algonquians didn't even have a word for it—this was so alien.
Of course, they still didn't 'buy and sell' like Europeans. They just exchanged gifts.
More furs for more potatoes and grapes, then more furs for even more potatoes and grapes. No binding contracts.
They remained free.
But everything had changed.
No more wars that famine inevitably sparked.
They raised threads, needles, and traps instead of bows, spears, and clubs.
And so... they gained peace over battle.
"And life over death."
"Don't say that. Don't we have to venture deeper into the forests for furs now? Fighting other tribes there too."
"Hmm... True."
"And gathering jewels is getting harder. Soon we'll starve! We must leave this area!"
"...No. That's not it."
The chief shook his head at his son's worried words.
"I've heard the Great Chief's people don't kill large beasts recklessly. They keep them penned, breed them, then slaughter."
"...Pardon?"
"Why not us? Tame foxes and eat their meat. Bonus: get the fur too."
Domesticate foxes as livestock.
From the perspective of someone who'd only tamed small animals, the idea seemed absurd to the son.
"N-No one's ever done that! Foxes are carnivores, aren't they? And whether they'd adapt to our enclosures..."
"We try. We'll fail for years, sure."
The chief's eyes gleamed.
"Unprecedented things keep happening, don't they? We must change too. Or at least adapt our hunting."
"But..."
"Have you ever seen a being like the Great Chief before? Why respond to the unknown with what you know?"
"..."
"If it really fails, lead the tribe to the Great Chief's lands. Remember: a chief's duty is saving his people above all."
"..."
Anxiety flickered in his son's eyes.
The look of one fearing change.
But no tree keeps fresh summer leaves when days shorten and snow falls.
Everything must adapt when change comes.
That's survival.
No matter what his son thought of the Great Chief he'd never met... the chief felt strengthened just thinking of him.
"Normally... by now, you'd have died in battle."
"Pardon?"
"And I'd have starved."
"..."
"But look. We're both alive, enjoying the night. The fire blazes, moon and stars blaze in your eyes.
You know who we owe that to, right?"
No one starves. No one dies.
Even if every fox vanished and roadside ruby mines emptied, they wouldn't starve.
The Great Chief by rumor always welcomes new folk.
He lets no one in his fold die carelessly.
So they would survive.
Thanks to a grape farmer they'd never met.
Rumors said he was a spirit descended from heaven, bringing celestial treasures—hence his wealth.
More unbelievable rumors claimed he experienced no death.
Honestly, the chief believed half of it at most.
But fact or fiction...
Hundreds of thousands owed that grape farmer a massive debt.
Normally, by now, smallpox would wipe out the local population.
Mississippi basin populations die from Spanish-imported plagues, survivors migrate north amid freak weather starving more, chaos deepens here.
Powhatan Confederacy swells rapidly warring against strangers fleeing drought and famine from north New York and Pennsylvania.
Decades later, tribes fall to whites: defeat, massacre, forced relocation, extinction, decline. That's the summary of local native history ahead.
They vanish into history's footnotes. In lavish American histories, they occupy mere pages—like losing homes and being chased out.
Exiled not just from space, but time.
But not anymore.
Thanks to one grape farmer.
A debt no gifts could repay.
If this unprecedented drought persists...
Refugees to Nemo's lands would swell to hundreds of thousands overnight.
Thus, he was called their Great Chief.