Tamati (not a pirate)
After the evening meal, Trajan leaned back as he often did and listened as the three former pirates debated, usually taking separate positions on the evening’s topic and Trajan found the conversations fascinating, though he had little to add.
Archard and Inigo had passionate opinions about painting, so much so that during that discussion, Inigo had pounded his fist on the table more than once.
Tonight, Trajan was busy trying to keep up as all three of them and Quidest argued about someone called Euclid and another chap who went by the name of Pythagoras – obviously foreigners, Trajan surmised, perhaps inventors, based on the parts of the conversation he managed to follow. But his interest was piqued by Inigo’s descriptions of the battle systems of another foreigner, a man called Archimedes.
“I tell you, he would place the large mirrors like so,” Inigo stood up several small items on the table, “and use the sun’s light to ignite the enemy ships.”
“Where could he find mirrors of such size?” Westley asked.
“Or manage to concentrate them so precisely?” Archard joined in.
“And wouldn’t it take a long time to ignite the cold hulls of a ship at sea?” Quidest asked.
Inigo stood. “I tell you, the man was a genius. He made machines that lifted ships out of the sea.”
“Quidest, dear,” Westley said, “I think our friend has had enough wine for one night.”
“Bah!” Inigo turned to help himself to another piece of bread. “Science is lost on farmers.”
“Well, Trajan,” Archard asked, “you are young and untainted by the prejudice of old men. What is your opinion of Inigo’s fantastic weapons?”
“I’m afraid I became rather lost in the details.” Trajan looked into his glass.
“Enough of our tall tales,” Archard continued. “What are your thoughts this evening?”
Trajan hesitated before speaking. “In your time as Roberts,” he asked in a low voice that caused the four of them to lean in, “you each chose to spare men on the vessels you attacked, yes?”
They nodded.
“So I…” Trajan paused, scared to complete the thought he’d been asking himself for weeks.
“Go on,” Westley said.
“Well, I was wondering if perhaps the current Roberts may have chosen to spare my father.”
The question hung in the air for a moment.
“That would depend on what kind of man your father was,” Inigo said.
Trajan looked into Inigo’s eyes.
“Put yourself on his ship, in his boots, as a pirate ship bears down upon him. What would he have done?”
Trajan looked to each of them for a moment then answered in a firm, proud voice. “He would have immediately brandished his sword and met the first man who dared step foot on the ship.”
A heavy silence followed, and Inigo locked eyes with the young man.
“Then he would have been the first one to die.”
Trajan absorbed the words, nodded, and looked at the table. “I…um,” he forced a weak smile, avoiding eye contact. “I think I’ll take a look at the stars before turning in,” and walked away from the table.
Soon afterward, Inigo found Trajan sitting on the deck watching the dark sea slap against the sides of the ship below him. “Your father sounds like a remarkable man.” He waited for a response that didn’t come, so he continued. “I would have been honored to have met him.”
Trajan wiped his eye and tried to conceal a sniff. “Yes,” he weakly offered.
Inigo sat. “Tell me more about him…if it pleases you.”
Trajan watched the water. “He used to let us ride on his back…like he was a horse. When we were younger, of course. That was long ago.”
Inigo smiled.
“He didn’t want to leave, but we were desperate. At the time, our land was substantial but the taxes were breaking us. We had several tenants who couldn’t pay and just left.” Trajan fiddled with a scrap of rope. “Mother couldn’t help with the management, what with all of the young ones, and we could no longer afford servants.”
He stood and leaned both arms on the edge of the ship. “I offered to go to sea instead of him, but he wouldn’t have it.” Trajan smiled and looked over his shoulder at Inigo. “He actually would have let me, but mother forbid it. I overheard them one night before he left.”
Inigo rose and stood next to him.
“She said…I have too much growing up to do.” Trajan tossed the rope into the sea.
They watched it float on the water until Inigo spoke. “I would tell her that is no longer the case.”
Trajan scoffed. “I’m little help to her now. Once I’m dead she’ll have two men killed by pirates to avenge. She’ll probably put a sword in my younger brother’s hand and send him to Pilbrick next. Guilderian honor and all that.”
“You will see her again.”
“No. I won’t.”
“You fought well, you learn more every day. You will face Roberts, and I am confident –”
“No!” Trajan cut him off. “I won’t.”
Inigo stared at Trajan as he continued.
“My father was three times the swordsman I will ever be, not a master like yourself, but he was powerful, brave. I once saw him beat three ruffians off our land with nothing more than a riding crop and his fists. If he couldn’t…” Trajan teared up again and fell silent, hanging his head.
Inigo pulled Trajan close and put an arm around him.
“I miss him so much.”
After a few moments Inigo pulled back to look at Trajan. “Mastan has a son to be proud of. You will not fail.” Inigo pulled his sword from its sheath and held it for Trajan.
“I can’t.”
“Take it. Go on.”
Trajan hesitated, and Inigo pulled his hand up and placed it on the handle of the six-finger sword. “Feel the grip. Feel its weight, its perfect balance.”
Trajan reluctantly took the beautiful weapon. “It’s so light,” he said, surprised. “But firm.” He held it out and looked down its length. “Not flimsy at all.”
“It is the last work of the greatest swordsmith who ever lived. It is his masterpiece, perfect in every way. It took me a lifetime to master its use. You don’t have that long.”
Inigo reached over and unsheathed Trajan’s own sword.
“What are you doing?”
“Come,” he said leading Trajan to a more open area on deck. “You will fight Roberts with it and you will have your revenge. And I will not let you fail.” Inigo assumed his customary opening stance.
Trajan looked around at the dark of night. “Now?”
“As long as it takes.”
The next morning, Archard and Westley woke to the sound of clanging swords. As they gathered on deck they saw Inigo and Trajan clashing, both men sweating from the exertion. Archard gasped, put his hand to his mouth as he watched Trajan meeting and countering Inigo.
“Magnificent. Westley, do you see?”
Westley smiled and shook his head. “Astounding.”
Trajan and Inigo locked swords, each man using his strength to best the other, and Inigo’s voice carried across the ship. “Yes! Yes! You are younger than me, stronger than me! Use your advantage!”
Trajan thrust his knee into Inigo’s stomach, extended his leg causing Inigo to fall backward. Trajan turned on his boot, spun, landed his other boot on Inigo’s hand and in a flash had the point centered on Inigo’s chest. In a quick move, Trajan speared his blade through Inigo’s shirt and pinned it into the wood of the deck.
Inigo looked at the blade, then back at Trajan standing over him, and smiled. “Ah, ha! Yes!” He tried to lift himself up and tore his shirt further. “Westley, Archard, do you see?” Inigo called as he lay on the ground. “He pinned me! Ha!”
“Yes, we see,” Archard said. “Well done, lad. Well done!”
“Trajan, my boy,” Westley said, “Let your fallen teacher know that if he were to stand he’d see land on the horizon.”
“What?” Trajan said, removing the sword from the wood and turning.
Inigo scrambled up to see. “Ah yes, at last we have arrived.”
“So this is the land of your giant?” Trajan asked.
“And a beautiful sight to see.”
A party of very wide men waited for the newcomers on the dock with smiles. Trajan sensed cordiality, but the moment the first dignitary saw Inigo he burst into a cheer and began shouting in a language Trajan had never heard. Almost immediately, more men and women poured out of huts and other dwellings, bells began to chime, women started singing, and dozens of people rushed toward the dock.
String instruments strummed music that accompanied huge smiling faces that multiplied by the minute. The ship’s deckhands threw the lines to large, eager children who secured them.
“Talofa! Talofa! Roberts, you return at last,” one of the older men said as he effortlessly pulled Inigo off the ship, lifting him in a bear hug as if Inigo were as light as a doll.
“Thank you, my friend,” Inigo said gasping for breath. “It…has been so…long.”
“Matautia! You must let him breathe,” Archard laughed.
“My eyes!” Matautia said, dropping Inigo. “My eyes, they see double. Another Roberts!” He blinked and looked at Westley. “Three! Roberts everywhere! Ah ha! What a day!” he clapped his hands as men and women crowded to pat the men on the backs, distributing hugs, beaded necklaces, and drinks.
“What fortune leads so many friends here at once? Is the world coming to an end?”
Westley answered, “Not hardly, it’s this fellow.” He motioned for Trajan. “We come on an errand on his behalf. Trajan, meet Matautia. Are you not king by now, friend?”
“Me, no, I was merely caretaker in your time, until the true heir was old enough. There can be only one king and he comes now, along with his mother.”
They turned, and the islanders parted to make way for a much larger man and an older woman at his side. The woman saw Inigo, let go of her son’s hand, pulled her long skirt above her ankles and ran to the dock, not stopping until she buried her head in Inigo’s chest. She wept as she alternated between hugging him and kissing his cheeks over and over.
“There there, my dear,” Inigo said finally. “You must reintroduce me to this fine son of yours. He is your son, no? The last time I saw him you still carried him in your arms, but now…” Inigo gestured to the king.
“Yes, yes! It is he. Inigo, this is our firstborn, the king. Tamati.”
Tamati came forward and Inigo bowed; the rest of the newcomers did likewise. Tamati took Inigo’s hand and pulled him in close. “Inigo Montoya need never bow to me or anyone on this island again. And you,” Tamati looked at Westley. “It is an honor to meet the man my father spoke so highly of.” He raised his voice and addressed the crowd. “The very Roberts who bested the cursed Humperdink across the sea, the only man who ever bested my father in hand-to-hand combat, and yet honored him enough to spare his life.” He put his arm around Westley and turned him so they both faced the people. “Brothers, sisters, meet the man who made all of this possible!”
The people cheered and rushed forward to hug Westley and affectionately slap him on the back.
“Ugh. Thaaank you. Ughhh. My pleasure.”
Trajan watched the revelry and was amazed; Tamati moved on to Archard like they were old friends. “And who have we here?” Tamati asked. “Surely not another Roberts, as he was just here less than a month ago.”
Trajan was startled. “A month?”
“Yes, and a ripe strong fellow, indeed. Much more formidable than some of his predecessors, I should say.” Tamati laughed and rubbed Archard’s shoulder. “I jest. I jest!”
“My lord,” Inigo said, “Let me introduce you to Trajan of Guilder.”
Trajan bowed again.
“This, Trajan, is Tamati, king of this island and eldest son of Fezzik, my most beloved friend.”
As they moved inland, Trajan saw a massive statue of a man, the same giant from the painting in Inigo’s home. Inigo paused at the inscribed rock at the base of the monument.
“Westley, can you read it?”
“I’m afraid not.”
Tamati noticed they had stopped and turned back to them.
“None of us can read your language, sir,” Trajan said. “Can you tell us what the inscription says?”
“It’s not our language,” Tamati said. “Our people have no written language, and only some of us can read your words. It was delivered to us by a group of large, ugly men we first took for invaders. They dragged it up to this spot and left with hardly another word. They were a grumpy lot.”
Archard came up behind them. “What is this?”
“We were just discussing the inscription,” Westley said. “I don’t suppose you can translate it for us?”
Archard examined it for a moment. “To he who vanquished. We salute you. And it’s signed, The champions of Sandiki, Ispir, Simal, Bolu, Greece…there are quite a few locations listed. Would you like me to read them all?”
Once the visitors were settled around a huge table, Tamati asked, “Now, what on earth would cause three former Roberts to visit us at once?” He looked at Trajan, but Inigo answered.
“He seeks the current Dread Pirate Roberts. He intends to kill him.”
Tamati’s eyes opened wide and he looked from Inigo, to Archard, and finally to Westley.
“And you intend to assist him?” Matautia asked, horrified.
“We have agreed to help him locate Roberts,” Westley answered.
“I intend to let him kill him,” Inigo said.
Tamati stood and slowly paced the room before speaking. “I admit, I don’t know what to say to this.”
“My lord,” Trajan said, “I would have no quarrel with Roberts – indeed, I have no quarrel with any man except for Roberts in that he killed my father, and for that,” Trajan looked at Inigo, “he will die. I do not ask you to assist me, and I’ve placed no bond on these men to do likewise.”
Tamati pondered the issue and sat back down. “Trajan, was it?”
“Yes.”
“What do you know about the Dread Pirate Roberts?”
“Only about his exploits as a pirate.”
Tamati leaned forward and clasped his large hands together. “The people of this island have known about the Roberts lineage since before my time. It’s possible the original Roberts may have been one of their own, but of course you’ve heard the oral history gets a little muddy.”
“Long have these fine people assisted Roberts in times of need,” Inigo added.
“And he us, even more so since my father died.”
“What can you tell us about that?” Inigo asked. “All my days, I could never get a straight answer as to how Fezzik was killed.”
“Oh, he drowned when I was near six years old.”
“That I know, but how?”
“Well, in the battle, of course.”
“I must know the details.”
Tamati stood, his presence and demeanor commanding respect as he cleared his throat and began his tale.
The following account is the tale of Fezzik’s death as told by his son Tamati in the grand storytelling manner of his people and was later transcribed, although owing to the fact that his people were limited to oral histories, nobody can be certain of its accuracy. Most historians who’ve ventured to validate the story have either agreed with its plausibility or have been too afraid of Fezzik’s descendants to dispute it.
The Tale of Fezzik’s death
Fezzik stood on the shore as a group of warships prepared their onslaught. At the sound of a horn, a great volley of arrows loosed from the ships. He watched them in their arch, and as they got closer their flaming tips were clearly visible.
“Water! Get buckets of water!” he shouted to the men around him, who a moment earlier had been cracking their knuckles, itching for a fight.
The arrows fell and ignited the dried palm leaf roofs of villas and huts around them, others ignited scores of crops and hay bales. Some hit the islanders, and men, women, and children flew to pat down the flames, or screamed as they became engulfed themselves.
“The cowards knew they couldn’t take us hand to hand,” Matautia shouted. “They will burn us to ashes. What can we do?”
Fezzik paced in a circle and scratched his head. “We must sink their ships.”
“How do you propose that? We can barely fit three men on one of our rafts. What can we do against warships?”
“I don’t know yet. You put out the fires, and I will go out to the ships.”
Fezzik walked down to the shore and grabbed one of the double-hulled catamarans. He pulled it into the water and lay down on it, pushing off as more flaming arrows were loosed on the shore around him. Though the raft was finely constructed from dugout palm trees and could support three large men, it creaked under the giant’s weight and barely remained afloat.
Laying face down on the canvas that connected the hulls, Fezzik used his hands like oars to paddle his way out to the closest ship, kicking his feet in the water behind him.
The sight of a lone raft approaching caused laughter on the deck of the invaders. Their commanders silenced them. “Fire on that raft!”
Several archers took aim with conventional arrows and fired at Fezzik but missed him, tearing through the canvas. The bay’s current was now in Fezzik’s favor and carried him into the hull of the first warship, slamming him against the wood planking. There was no rope ladder, the anchor was not in reach. He was at a loss of what to do next, and he bashed his fist against the side of the hull in frustration.
It gave a slight crack.
An arrow hit him in the shoulder, and several other tore through the raft, causing it to break apart under him. He thought of his people battling the fires behind him. He thought of his wife and Tamati and his other children on the flaming shore. He thought of his parents who encouraged him to use his great advantage, his strength, even as a child. He thought about all of the champions he had bested all over the world until he’d taken up with Vizzini, and of all the exploits he and Inigo had endured at sea.
Fezzik heard his mother’s voice in his head. “Use your strength, sweetie. Just punch it real good.”
He wound up and punched the small crack in the hull. He punched it again and the wood splintered. Fezzik reached into the hole and tore away the board above the waterline, then tore away the one under it.
Water poured into the boat and he heard shouts from above.
“He’s breeched our hull! We’re taking on water!”
Fezzik smiled and used a scrap of the raft to paddle toward the next ship. He repeated what he had done to the first ship but this one was stronger, and he bloodied his fists as he tore a hole into it.
He moved onto the third ship, but as he did so the rest of the raft fell apart, and he clung to a board as it capsized and spun in the water. He gripped it with one hand and used his other hand to paddle his way to the last vessel.
Behind him he heard the splashes of men abandoning the first ship, and shouts of frenzied activity from the crew of the second as they tried to save theirs from sinking.
Fezzik was now close enough to the anchor of the third to grasp it, and he did. He tried to climb the rope but was already exhausted and couldn’t grip it. He held the anchor’s rope with one hand and punched and kicked at the hull underneath the water, but the angle was awkward. He needed some leverage.
Fezzik summoned the last of his strength to put two hands on the anchor rope, and with all of his might he kicked with both legs into the ship’s hull repeatedly until his feet burst through the wood.
The vacuum of the water rushing into the ship sucked Fezzik partially into the hole and he let go of the rope, trying desperately to free his feet from the now sinking ship. With a great surge he pressed his arms against the wood and extricated himself, swimming as best he could to the surface.
As he bobbed in the water, he saw the first ship almost entirely sunk, and the second leaning far to its side. Most of the flames on shore were being extinguished, and through the clouds of smoke he saw enemies wading onto the beach and surrendering to his people.
He turned around to see the third ship sinking, and tried to swim away. But the great giant’s strength, legendary in lands the world over, was spent. With nothing left to hold on to and no ability to bring himself to shore, he sank below the waves forever.
“How tragic,” Westley said to the somber room after Tamati had seated himself. Inigo wiped his tears, and the rest of them sat in silence.
“Yes,” Tamati said looking down. “He was one of a kind, my father. The strongest man who ever lived, but…” he paused, looking around the room. “To the end of his days, he could only ever dogpaddle.”
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