Marronage begins with the first cargo of Africans, and Ovando notices

Fouchard fixes the start of marronage, which he defines as the condition of enslaved people who chose to be free, at the first importation of Africans into Hispaniola. He reports Governor Ovando's complaint that the Africans had contaminated the Indigenous population with their ideal of freedom, and notes that Columbus had written to the Spanish governor asking that the noses and ears of enslaved people who resisted be cut off. Fouchard builds his whole interpretation of Haitian history on this date. Flight persisted through the entire colonial period alongside poisoning, abortion, sabotage and arson, which means that people on this island stood up for freedom two centuries before the encyclopaedists and the ideologues of the French Revolution began writing. On his account the Haitians did not receive the idea of liberty from Europe; they preceded the French Revolution by two hundred years. Where this account departs from the standard one: Fouchard rejects the standard genealogy in which Haitian freedom descends from French revolutionary thought, dating the practice of freedom on the island to 1503.

In 1492 an Italian navigator sailing for Spain reached a green Caribbean island and named it La Isla Espanola. Africans came to the Americas on that first voyage, but the year normally cited as the official entry of African slaves into Hispaniola is 1502. They were taken from villages and cities along the Gulf of Guinea and brought in to replace the Taino and Arawak, whom the Spanish had subjugated and enslaved and who were disappearing fast. Fleurant's point about what arrived with them is precise. They carried their religion, and the religion carried the historical memory of where they had come from, preserved in a form that could survive transport. A people can be stripped of language, lineage and name and still keep a working account of its own origin, provided the account is lodged in ritual rather than in writing. That is what happened on this island.

Daut retells the killing of the Xaraguan queen as nineteenth-century Haitian writers told it, which is the point of her whole method. Anacaona, whose name joined the Ayitian words for flower and for gold, accepted an invitation from the new Spanish governor Nicolas de Ovando along with three hundred of her people, was accused of treason once inside, and was hanged. Half a year of near indiscriminate slaughter of the Xaraguans followed, leaving orphans including her daughter Higuemota. Her husband Caonabo had already been seized in 1496 and, in the Haitian accounts, died aboard the ship deporting him to Spain. Daut stresses how Vastey drew the parallel that mattered to him, comparing Caonabo's end to Toussaint Louverture's death in a French prison. For these writers the island's Indigenous dead were not a separate prehistory but the first chapter of the same continuing crime.

Nzinga Nkuvu died in 1506. He was said to have named Afonso as his heir, but the great chiefs at Mbanza Kongo picked another son who had not converted. Afonso marched on the capital with the Portuguese who had been with him in Nsundi, defeated and killed his brother, and took the throne. His supporters claimed a vision of St James had helped, in the Iberian manner. He ruled until 1543. He fought few wars and expanded no borders, spending his reign instead on schools, churches, craftsmen and medicine, and Lisbon treated him as an independent Christian king to be trained in the habits proper to one, including living in a house with two storeys. From the moment he won that fight the Kongo monarchy never publicly renounced Christianity again for more than three hundred years. Afonso had made a new kind of legitimacy, and it became part of what the kingdom understood itself to be.