Chapter 105: Pray
All the scouts had returned by Monday morning, and they painted a clear picture for us.
Don Contreras’ report was accurate—Florentino was the mastermind behind the plot. As it turned out, he had been planning this since last month. He had coordinated with the leader of the Pulajanes—a man who fancied himself Papa Hilario, in imitation of the Pope in Rome. It was no surprise. Señor Paras had never been known for his piety, so it made perfect sense that he could stomach forming a pact with heretics.
The rebellion had ignited in Buenavista, the poorest of Marinduque’s towns. According to the reports, nearly everyone there was either a Pulajan or a sympathizer. Señor Paras and his allies had, in effect, held de facto control of the town for weeks. Unbeknownst to us, the gobernadorcillo and parish priest had long been executed—probably quietly, to avoid drawing attention.
It was only recently that they decided to extend their reach into Torrijos—another neglected and underdeveloped town. Just like in Buenavista, resistance was minimal. The only opposition came from the gobernadorcillo, the town priest, and a handful of principales—most of whom were slaughtered. The rest of the town, either out of fear or conviction, had seemingly joined the cult overnight.
Perhaps they had also tried to bring Gasan into the fold. But there, they had found Isidro already at work—winning over the townspeople in my name. That, I suspected, was the reason for the attack on Gasan.
Still, that part remained only a theory. Strangely enough, none of the scouts had heard a word about Isidro’s abduction. No reports of a prisoner. No signs of a chase. It was as if he had vanished without a trace.
Later that day, I gathered nearly every commissioned officer in Boac. Inside the conference room of the Casa Real, I laid out our next move. The long table was flanked by uniformed men with strained faces. At the far end hung the Spanish-commissioned map of Marinduque. Until now, it had been more decoration than utility. Today, it would become the centerpiece of a war plan.
"We will not be fighting mere pirates," I began, placing my hands on my waist as I scanned the determined faces across the table. "Pirates are glorified bandits—only in it for money, the thrill, and perhaps a story to tell. But the Pulajanes? They are driven by ideology. They believe they are fighting for a divine cause. So we should expect them to fight harder—more desperately."
There were nods. Others stiffened in their seats.