Chapter 9
Tamati (not a pirate) continued…
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.”
Come back Monday as Tamati wrestles with the decision of whether to help the former Robertses or remain loyal to the current one.
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