The King's Fifth

  "Love one another, this is what He said," Father Francisco answered. "He told the people many things, but what He told them mostly was this—Love one another."

  We left the cross standing on the altar. As we neared the grove the three men ran out of the trees, clasping their helmets. When we gathered round they held them up for us to see. In the bottom of each was a handful of gold—bright nuggets the size of a pea and larger.

  Chief Quantah took one of the nuggets from Mendoza's helmet. "I have seen these things before," he said. "Our stream has many." He dropped the gold, as if it were of no value, and pointed to the north. "Near the city of Tawhi, there is a stream that flows into our stream. It has many such bright pebbles. Many more than we have. But gather what you wish."

  "There are few pebbles here," Mendoza said. "Most of the gold is in the form of dust, which is too small to gather."

  "And the water is too cold," Roa said. "It chills the bones."

  Wet to the waist, teeth chattering, the three men looked frozen.

  "We need a dozen fleece," Mendoza said.

  "The sheep already have been shorn and the wool combed," Chief Quantah said. "Why do you need the fleece?"

  Mendoza told him that it was a way of gathering gold, that fleece were anchored in the stream and, as the water flowed over them, dust and flakes clung to the wool.

  "I would like to see this," Quantah said, "but I have no fleece."

  "We can use hides instead."

  "I have no hides."

  "Then," said Mendoza, drawing from his doublet a gaming card, a dog-eared rey of swords, "I pay you for a dozen slaughtered sheep."

  Quantah refused the card. "In Nexpan," he said, "sheep are not slaughtered for their hides. Nor for any reason."

  "Hundreds of sheep graze your pastures," Mendoza said. "What do you wish, two cards?"

  "None."

  Quantah then gave a long speech. All Zia translated was that among the people of Nexpan it was a crime to kill sheep and those who did were banished from the city.

  Mendoza stood staring into his helmet at the pile of bright gold.

  Little did the cacique know that he was speaking to a man who had journeyed thousands of leagues across seas and mountains and deserts, who had faced thirst and starvation, death itself, all for the gold which now lay close.

  I feared that by some rash word or act Mendoza would make us enemies in the city. But he said nothing more about the fleece, and with Roa and Zuñiga went off toward the camp.

  As I watched them go I was suddenly aware that I gripped something in my hand. It was the gold nugget, which I still held. I kept my fingers tightly closed and did not show it.

  "The nugget is larger than any that Mendoza or Zuñiga or Roa dug out of the stream," I said to myself. "It is five times as large."

  17

  I FOUND A FIRE burning in camp and three pairs of boots set out to dry, but the men had gone.

  Now that I was alone I opened my hand and looked at the nugget. Before, when I had seen it at dawn, the color was subdued, but in the sun the whole thing glittered and shone. Carefully I wrapped it in a piece of cloth cut from my jerkin.

  "It is bigger than a chestnut and pure gold," I said to myself. "It must weigh twenty onzas. Perhaps more!"

  I laid the nugget away, at the bottom of the small pouch used for paints, and put it out of mind. I spread my materials on a stone, thinking to start on the map I had planned. But as I began to work my thoughts kept returning to the stream, to the gold I had seen and had not picked up. There might be other pieces lying on the sandy bottom as large as the one hidden in the pouch.

  At last, because the work did not progress, I decided to make a small and simpler map, of the Abyss and the river and the location of Nexpan. The other could wait for a better time. But this one was also slow to take shape and I was about to give up when Zia came out of the grove and threw herself down at my side.

  "Chief Quantah and Father Francisco have talked since you left, never stopping," she said. "Each one spoke for himself, but I had to speak for both of them. First one and then the other. My tongue is dry like a stick."

  Silent for only a moment, she sat up and asked what colors I would use for the map, what it was about, and could she help. Montezuma stared out at me from her pocket, twitching its sharp nose.

  I did not tell her that I was getting ready to go down to the stream. "The map concerns the Abyss," I said. "The blue dots are the pines that grow high on the rampart."

  "Where are the cottonwood trees?" she asked.

  "Lower down. By the river. I have not come to them yet."

  "When you come to them, will they be blue?"

  "No, yellow. Because their leaves have begun to turn."

  "For the river you will use blue."

  "No, amiga."

  "But the river is blue."

  Zia liked this color best of all. To her the most beautiful map in the world would be one where everything was blue.

  "The river is green," I said.

  She shook her head so hard that the bells on her hat sounded more like the buzz of a rattlesnake.

  "If the cottonwood trees that are green you make yellow," she said, "and the blue river you make green, then the map will not be a true map of this country."

  "It is not necessary," I said, "for a map to look like the country. It needs only to look like a map."

  She turned her back upon me and raised her face toward the high, thin line of the ramparts, pale against th sky.

  "The map you will make I do not wish to see. Nor do I wish to help with it." She was quiet a moment or two, thinking. "What I wish is that I could be there with Señor Torres."

  "And the foal?"

  "Yes, with the horse which is called Blue Star. And I would ride around on its back through the pine trees. And..."

  "The river," I broke in, "will be ultramarine, just for you, which as I have said is the most glorious of blues. There is more. Do you remember the small island in the river which we passed? Well, to that island I will give a name."

  She glanced at me. "What name?"

  "I will call it La Isla de la Señorita."

  "For me?"

  "For you."

  She bounded from the grass, laughing, and threw her arms around me and pressed her forehead against my cheek. Montezuma, caught between us, gave out a small squeak.

  It was then that the three men came staggering into camp.

  "More fire," Mendoza whispered through lips stiff with cold.

  I stirred the fire and they clustered around it. In each of the helmets was a double handful of gold, but when I spoke about their good fortune no one answered. In the silence I heard the chattering of teeth.

  At last Roa said, "I could fill a dozen helmets."

  "And freeze unto death while you fill one," Zuñiga said.

  "We shall fill a dozen," Mendoza said. "But hear me. We shall not freeze."

  He left the fire and in a short time returned with his dirk and a small stone. He sat down, thrust his bare feet toward the blaze, and began to sharpen the knife.

  "You risk our lives," I said, "if you kill Quantah's sheep."

  "We die from cold if we do not," Mendoza answered.

  "The Chief will remember how the tree was toppled," Roa said. "We can topple him also."

  Mendoza said nothing more, but the knife slid back and forth across the stone. The honing ceased. I saw Father Francisco emerge from the grove, singing in his cracked voice. Mendoza hid the knife in his jerkin.

  Father Francisco glanced at the gold. "You have reaped much," he said, "but I have reaped more. When the sun rises tomorrow it will shine on a new cross. We have built one from oak and it stands eight cubits high."

  The little priest spread wide his arms to show us how the cross stood.

  "It has a crooked shape as I have," he said, "yet it is a cross." He moved around in an awkward jig, the skirts of his gray robe flying. He did this always when he was struck with happiness. Abruptly
the dance ended and he pointed to each of us in turn. "I will need your help with the mass. Also with the baptism. There are more than nine hundred souls."

  Mendoza said, "Nine hundred. That requires a week. Our days here grow short. I will think of a quicker way to baptize than one at a time. I will make a mop of river rushes and with such a mop and a big gourd of water all may be sprinkled at once."

  Father Francisco turned a fierce eye upon him.

  Mendoza feigned surprise. "Surely you know of that. It is a very old method. Used when my grandfather was a young man in Granada, as I recall by a Bishop Cisneros. When the Moors were driven from the city, to save their lives and possessions they rushed to accept the Faith. So many infidels filled the churches that it was necessary to baptize them by mops twirled over their heads. If a bishop can employ a mop, so can you, dear Father."

  Not waiting for an answer, Mendoza rose and motioned to Roa and Zuñiga. "We go now," he said, "to gather rushes for the mop."

  I watched them disappear, knowing their true purpose, but powerless to hold them back.

  Night fell and they did not return. We ate supper with Chief Quantah and again he asked why Mendoza was hungrier for gold than for food, to which Father Francisco gave the same reply as before. We went back to camp and built up the fire and sat talking. Still the three did not return.

  I woke near midnight to the sound of footsteps. It was the men coming up from the stream. They threw more wood on the fire and stood around it, talking in whispers. The firelight shone on their doublets. It was the shine of blood.

  18

  BEFORE DAWN the Indians of Nexpan gathered in front of their ancient altar and the tall, oak cross that had been newly made for them. Beside the cross stood Chief Quantah and Father Francisco, and behind the priest stood Zia and I. The three men were also there, though they had come late, in doublets carefully cleaned of blood. They had slept little that night and wished to sleep more, but feared Father Francisco's wrath.

  While we waited for the sun to rise, Zuñiga whispered in my ear, "The fleece are anchored on the stream. Six of them. Thick ones which will collect much gold."

  The sun rose and with it came the cry of wonder. Chief Quantah spoke the three words.

  Waiting stiffly as the incantation was three times repeated, Father Francisco suffered the pagan ceremony because he must. But as it ended he made a gesture, a quick jab of his forefinger into the air, which he often used to drive away the devil.

  After he had read a brief service, which Zia translated as best she could, he began baptism. With the rush mop that Mendoza had made he soaked up water from a gourd and swung the mop back and forth. Drops sparkled in the sun and fell on the upturned faces of the Indians who stood near. At first they shrank away, then laughed and drew closer. Again he swung the mop, but this time he flicked the water towards those who stood far in the back.

  Above the whispering and laughter, I heard a shout and the running of feet. From the edge of the grove, a voice cried one clear word. I had never heard the word before, and yet do not know its meaning, but in the space of a breath it silenced the crowd.

  Over the heads of the people, I made out the man who had uttered the cry. He was emerging from the grove and in his hand was a shepherd's crook, which he held aloft. He cried the word once more and pointed the crook towards the altar.

  "Sancta Trinidad" Roa said.

  "La Trinidad," Zuñiga said, "y todos los otros."

  Mendoza said something under his breath.

  The crowd moved forward slowly, as a spent wave moves upon the shore. There was no sound. I heard nothing except my own heart beating.

  The Indians came closer, until the first reached the altar. Chief Quantah held up his hand to stay them. But quickly Mendoza seized his matchlock and fired over their heads. On the edge of the grove branches came crashing to earth. At the sound everyone turned.

  The next moments I do not remember well, so confused they were. I do recall that Mendoza forced Father Francisco down from the altar. With Roa and Zuñiga brandishing their long dirks, we then made our way around the crowd, skirted the grove where we could be ambushed, and thus reached our camp.

  We might have gone safely through the throng, for not a stone had been cast, nor a word spoken. I do not know. The only thing I heard was a sound of distress, a lament of sorrow and loss. I heard it still while we stood around our fire, deciding what to do. It came softly through the trees on the morning wind.

  The decision was made to break camp. At most we had only another two days to leave the Abyss. Before we started, Father Francisco said he was going back to talk with Quantah.

  "I go to ask his forgiveness. Although I myself do not forgive this act."

  Mendoza was sullen. "It is not a matter of forgiveness," he said. "The cacique owns a thousand sheep and more. We have killed six."

  "If he owned ten times that number," Father Francisco said, "and did not wish one killed, it would be wrong to do so."

  "You go at your own peril," Mendoza replied. "And I do not go with you. We are greatly outnumbered."

  "I wish to go alone," said Father Francisco. "There is no danger."

  Zia went and stood beside him, but telling her to stay he hobbled off by himself. As he disappeared into the grove, Mendoza gave orders to collect our things and to put all the gold in one helmet. The nugget, which was larger than a large chestnut, indeed thrice the weight of a stone of the same size, which lay wrapped in cloth at the bottom of my pouch, I left there, saying nothing.

  "What happens to the fleece?" Roa asked.

  "We take them," said Mendoza.

  "But they have not yet had time to gather much gold."

  "We take them anyway. If we delay, even until noon, it will give the Indians a chance to close the defile. Rocks rolled into the mouth would trap us here forever."

  "I worry about that," Zuñiga said.

  "I likewise," said Mendoza. "It is a matter of importance."

  "I shall go and stir the sand," Roa said.

  "Take Zuñiga," Mendoza said, "and when you are done drag the fleece out on the bank to dry."

  The two men left for the stream and Zia and I began to put our few things in order. Mendoza paused to scan the meadow, the grove, the defile through which we would have to leave. The sound of lamenting could no longer be heard, possibly because the wind had changed and now blew in gusts from the north.

  In a short time Father Francisco returned to say that the cacique had absolved us of wrongdoing. "Quantah offered food for our journey," he said. "It is waiting in the grove."

  "We go without food," Mendoza answered. "I do not trust him nor his people." He pointed to a line of dark figures far off in the west, moving slowly toward the defile. "If you look carefully, esteemed Father, you will see some of them now. Can you assure me that Quantah has not sent them to bar our passage?"

  "To me," Father Francisco said, "they are grazing deer."

  I thought the same.

  "It is your duty to save souls," Mendoza said. "It is mine to save lives. Our lives." He put on his helmet. "We go now and without the food. Pray that we reach the defile before it is closed."

  As we set off, Mendoza hung back. When we came to the path that followed the stream, I turned to see where he was. He had not left the fire. He stood with his eyes fixed on the line of dark figures, moving at the base of the cliff.

  Suddenly, while I watched, he seized a burning faggot and threw it into the dry grass. He threw another and ran. I looked for Father Francisco, wondering if he had seen, but he was hidden by a willow copse.

  "That will give the Indians something to think about," Mendoza said, overtaking me. "Both those in the grove and those skulking along the cliff."

  Small rings of flame surrounded the two faggots, as we stood watching, and I thought they would die out. Mendoza thought so too for he was on the point of going back to rekindle them when they were caught up by a gust of wind.

  With a roar that seemed to shake the
earth beneath my feet, the flames joined and in one vast sheet, which covered most of the surrounding meadow, leaped skyward. Actually, the fire had crept stealthily through the grass, unseen by us, until it was struck by the wind.

  Hurrying on, we came to Roa and Zuñiga. They had just driven a small flock of sheep across the stream, thus to stir the sand and float the gold flakes over the anchored fleece. They now stood on the near bank, watching the fire.

  "Drag out the fleece," Mendoza shouted. "You can observe the fire afterwards."

  It took time to do this, for the fleece were heavy with gold. From them we pressed the water as best we could, but even so we could carry only four, one to each of us.

  Zia and Father Francisco, who were farther along the path, had stopped to watch the fire. Staggering along under our burdens, we overtook them.

  Mendoza said, "The fire is a great misfortune, revered Father. I thought that it had died out. But the wind, the wind searched around in the ashes and found a spark."

  Father Francisco looked at Mendoza, squinting his eyes. But so regretfully had the captain spoken, so humble were his words, that if any doubts crossed the priest's mind they were fleeting.

  "The wind found a small spark, Father. A very small one. Now behold it!"

  "I behold it." Father Francisco crossed himself. "What can be done?"

  "Nothing," said Mendoza. "It will soon burn itself out. But let us go and quickly."

  He gave the helmet, which was half-filled with gold, to me and we started off.

  The fire had raced through the meadow, through a field of unharvested corn, and had nearly reached the south bastion. Sheep and deer and other animals that I did not recognize fled before it. Three boys, whose task it was to guard the corn, were fleeing also.

  We had traveled most of the distance to the defile when suddenly Zuñiga dropped his fleece and said that he would go back for another. Since he had the strength of two men, Mendoza permitted him to go.