At sunset, Hosa was brought into a mountain valley. A stream wound through its lowest point, and along the banks stretched wide patches of wheat. Judging from the crops' uneven growth, their farming techniques were crude. Their only true advantage was the abundant sunlight.
His arrival stirred the entire valley. Residents poured out from caves carved into the cliffs on both sides and crowded around him, gawking as if he were some rare beast from a traveling show.
"Don't touch me—stop pulling my hair!"
"Hey! That's my shoe!"
From Hosa's perspective, the islanders were of medium build, with light brown skin, resembling people from southern Iberia or North Africa.
They dressed in goat skins. The men wore bone ornaments around their necks; the women draped themselves in cloaks woven from plant fibers.
After much shoving and prodding, Hosa was pushed toward a domed stone house in the center of the valley. The common folk lived in cliffside caves. These round stone structures on the valley floor clearly belonged to the upper ranks.
Inside the largest house sat a middle-aged man on a carved seat. Five family members stood behind him. Six spear-bearing warriors flanked the hall, their spearheads dark and glossy—apparently carved from solid obsidian.
"%￥#!"
The chief barked harsh words, issuing threats in a language Hosa could not understand. Then a Viking stepped forward from the corner to translate.
"The chief asks your identity and your purpose."
Hosa stared in shock. "You're a plantation deserter?"
The Viking nodded. "I couldn't stand cutting cane all day. I escaped into the forest and was fortunate enough to be accepted into the tribe."
"Then you know our strength," Hosa demanded. "Why stir these natives to attack the plantation?"
The man gave a mocking smile. "Our tribe didn't attack. Another tribe did. You should consider yourself lucky. If they had caught you, your fate would have been far worse."
Then recognition dawned on him. He realized who Hosa was—a shareholder of the sugar company, the queen's own brother. His face paled. Instinctively stepping back, he quickly explained Hosa's identity to the chief and advised caution.
The chief, Chavatu, who had lived on Sunlight Island all his life, knew little of the outside world.
"Adrian," he said, "even if this man is the brother of the British chieftain's wife, what of it? I do not fear him. Tell me—how many people does this British chieftain command? Is his land greater than Tenerife?"
Adrian had no knowledge of such matters and turned to Hosa.
After half a minute, he relayed the answer.
"Britain has 2.3 million people—equal to a thousand of your tribes. To walk from south to north would take over a month."
Fearing retaliation if Hosa were killed, Adrian embellished the tale with dramatic exaggerations. The chief's children gasped in astonishment. Chavatu felt a tremor of unease—and relief that he had not attacked the foreigners himself.
Tenerife held over ten thousand Guanches in total. Chavatu's tribe was the largest, with more than two thousand members.
In recent years, however, the second-largest tribe had grown rapidly, worrying him. So he had deliberately spread rumors to incite that rival tribe to attack the outsiders, hoping both sides would weaken each other.
Instead, the Vikings' combat power had shattered all expectations. A single cavalry charge had routed more than four hundred Guanche warriors.
"It seems I chose wisely," Chavatu muttered. "Their 'cavalry' is too strong. The Guanches must never leave the forests and mountains…"
As darkness fell, he ordered Hosa locked in a cave for further questioning the next day.
Because of his special status, Hosa was fed well—wheat porridge and a slab of roast mutton. Starving after a long day, he devoured it without hesitation. Before Adrian could leave, Hosa called him back.
"Help me escape. Money, women, estates—whatever you want."
"My lord, you overestimate me." Adrian rolled up his sleeve. "As you see, I'm a thin Viking with little fighting ability. I can't carve a path through this place for you."
Hosa refused to give up. "Then at least keep me company. Tell me where these Guanches come from."
"As you wish."
Having lived among them for over a year, Adrian had pieced together their origins from tribal legends, their appearance, and cave paintings.
"They likely migrated from North Africa—or perhaps southern Iberia."
Hosa frowned. "If they came by sea, why can't they build ships?"
Adrian shrugged. "Perhaps because the island lacks iron ore. Without iron nails, saws, or axes, they cannot construct seaworthy vessels. And they have no written language. Over time, knowledge and skills were simply lost."
For days, Helgi failed to find any trace of Hosa. He captured one enemy warrior and sent him back with a proposal—cease hostilities and exchange prisoners.
To show sincerity, Helgi even offered grain, wine, and iron tools in exchange for their captives.
But the tribe that attacked the plantation had taken no prisoners. Though Chavatu attempted to stall, Helgi sensed deception.
Gathering his retainers and plantation workers—1,030 men in total—Helgi addressed them.
"Gentlemen, Hosa is likely dead. To lessen the queen's wrath, we must act."
Leaving three hundred men to guard the plantation and harbor, he led seven hundred in a sweeping assault on the hostile tribe.
Thanks to overwhelming superiority in equipment and tactics, the battle lasted less than half an hour. The enemy camp, inhabited for generations, fell swiftly.
Despite a thorough search and interrogation of captives, Hosa was nowhere to be found.
He was probably dead.
News of the slaughter spread rapidly. Across Sunlight Island, Guanche tribes were seized by fear. Chiefs and shamans climbed Mount Teide—the island's highest peak—to pray for divine protection.
After the ritual, Chavatu returned to his valley, shaken by reports of the massacre. Any thought of driving out the Vikings vanished from his mind.
"Bring the prisoner—and Adrian," he ordered.
His original plan was simple: return Hosa and negotiate peace. The eastern coast would belong to the Vikings for sugarcane. Hostilities would cease.
But after further reflection, Chavatu conceived an even better idea.
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