The King's Fifth

  "I think of the maps. Someday you will make another map and I will help you mix the colors."

  "Someday," I answer. "You always liked the maps. That is why you went with us from Háwikuh, because of them and the blue foal."

  She looks at me as if I had become a fool.

  "Not for one nor the other," she says.

  "And when we made the maps no more, after Tawhi, you left me."

  "I left because of something else, which I told you about. Because I hated Captain Mendoza and what he did to the Indians of Nexpan and the Cloud City. Because, when he died, you were much like him."

  "Then why did you come here?"

  "Because I heard, everybody heard it, that you had buried the gold. That is why I came to speak for you."

  I am aware that Don Felipe is scraping his feet on the stones. Before I can answer, he has me by the arm and is leading me away.

  A long night stretches before me. The candle burns well. Through the barred window the star shines over a calm sea. Now I must write down the story of Father Francisco and the journey we made together into the Inferno from which few ever return, for it is this story that has brought me here to the Fortress of San Juan de Ulúa.

  30

  WE WENT SOUTHWEST that day, Father Francisco and I and the eight mules and the four horses of the gold-laden conducta. Zia and the Indians were in front of us, but we went so slowly that they soon disappeared from view. Late in the afternoon we came to a place where their tracks curved off to the east. Here we encamped.

  I lay awake that night, thinking of what I would say to Father Francisco when morning came. For I had already made up my mind that I would not take the gold to Háwikuh.

  All that day, while we had skirted the high mountains, watched the Indians grow small in the distance and at last disappear, I had thought of the gold.

  If I carried it on to Háwikuh, there would be trouble. Torres would claim a share, which was not due him. Velasco, who had loaned Captain Mendoza two mules, and was known as a usurer, would claim more than his share, perhaps a fifth of the treasure. And there were others who would make claim upon it for one reason or another—the loan of powder and lead, a matchlock, a breastplate, or merely a pot to cook in.

  But it was not that I feared the trouble Torres, Velasco and others would cause so much as I feared Roa. At the moment of Captain Mendoza's death, though he was away on his journey to Háwikuh, he had become the leader of the conducta. The treasure was therefore his.

  Aware of my small part in the gathering of the gold, that I did not favor the breaching of the dam and was not even trusted to help with it, Roa would consider a bag, one small bag—if that much—ample payment for what I had done. It was not fair, I thought, that I should receive so little. I therefore had decided to take the gold to the King's officers in Culiacán, where I would have a better chance of getting my rightful share.

  In the morning I rose in the dark. Working like a madman, I had packed six of the mules by the time Father Francisco awakened.

  "You are in a hurry to get to Háwikuh," he said.

  I said nothing, but went on loading the mules.

  "Roa should be here today," Father Francisco said. "He will bring mules and men to help. Why kill yourself? We will take the day to rest and look for what we can find in the way of flowers and insects. Yesterday I came upon one that I have seen before near Jerez. A fuzzy little fellow with eight legs."

  Mendoza's death gave me an extra horse, so I was able to lighten each of the loads. The sun was more than two hours high before we started off and I was so tired I could scarce mount the saddle. To Father Francisco I said nothing of my plans. Passing the place where the Indian tracks curved away, I headed the conducta south, for the Valley of Hearts and Culiacán.

  Father Francisco lagged at the end of the line. He stumped along with his eyes turned up to the sky, watching the flight of an eagle. I waited for the moment when he would see that we were traveling not toward Háwikuh but in the opposite direction. Minutes went by. An hour. It was mid-morning, as I stopped at a stream to rest and water the animals, before he spoke.

  He came up to me, holding a bag filled with flowers he had gathered along the way. Even then I wondered if he knew that we were not traveling toward Háwikuh.

  "Where is it that we go with our evil burden?" he said.

  "With the gold," I answered, "we go to Avipa. Then down Coronado's trail to Culiacán."

  "Why?"

  "Because the treasure belongs to us. Not to the leeches in Háwikuh."

  He began to sort out his flowers. "The gold," he said, "belongs to the people of Tawhi."

  "To Roa," I answered. "To him first. Afterwards to the rest of us."

  "If the gold belongs to Roa, then give it to him. Wait here until he overtakes us and put it in his keeping."

  "That means trouble in Háwikuh," I said. "Everyone will demand a share of the treasure."

  "It is not your problem. It is Roa's."

  I swung into the saddle. There was no point in further talk. The morning was almost gone and we had made only a league. Father Francisco went on sorting out the flowers.

  "Do you go?" I said.

  He glanced up at me. In his eyes was a look I shall never forget. I see it now. I shall always see it. It was a look of compassion and pity. But it was more. It was a look of fear, as if he saw my soul poised on some noisome brink.

  "I go with you," he said. "With you and the devil's burden. We go together and may God go with us both."

  The country was open, with no mountains that I could see. At noon I took a reading on the cross-staff, and made a slight change in our direction. We had traveled less than two leagues since morning, so riding back and forth, I urged the conducta along. I had a strong feeling that Roa had met the Indians and learned that we were behind them, that he would come to the place where we had curved off to the south, and follow us. Whenever we reached the crest of a hill I would look back, thinking to see him.

  The country continued open and grassy. We passed through vast fields of wild flowers, yellow and blue and red, bright as the paint the Indians used. Father Francisco was beside himself with joy. He ran everywhere, plucking blooms until his sack was full.

  "What do you do with all the flowers?" I asked, for some reason annoyed, though I never stopped for him and he always caught up. "What," I asked, though I knew very well.

  "I press them between slabs of stone or wood," he answered.

  "What then?"

  "I put them in this."

  From the sack he drew forth a book with thin, wooden covers, two spans across, which I had noticed before, but never asked about.

  "That is all you do?"

  "That is all I have done. But someday when I reach Culiacán or Compostela I will send a letter to my brothers in Toledo and tell them about the book and the flowers I have gathered in the Land of Cíbola."

  "That should please them," I said, still annoyed.

  "I hope so."

  We came to a ridge from which I could look back along the way we had traveled. I saw a herd of deer grazing, but no sign of Roa. Yet I urged the conducta on, traveling until dark, in fear that he was somewhere behind me. If he were, and caught up with us, there would be a bitter fight, for I was determined that I should receive my share of the treasure.

  31

  ON THE SIXTH DAY, having traveled some thirty leagues, as nearly as I could tell from the cross-staff, with no trace of horsemen in the country we had left, I made camp beside a stream and for a day rested the animals.

  Traveling southward, we left the rolling country, thick grass, and numerous springs. On the tenth day we entered a plain that stretched away beyond the eye's reach.

  We found no water here, used all that we carried, but two days later came to a brackish hole, where I watered the animals and refilled our casks. Both mules and horses needed rest, yet fearing that Roa followed us, I decided to press on and rode until late.

  The morning of the fifte
enth day we reached a shallow stream of mud-colored water. Thinking to throw Roa off our trail, I led the conducta into the stream and traveled westward for more than a league, along its many windings, leaving no tracks. I then cut back to our southward course again.

  After this I lost some of my fear of being overtaken. Still, at night I never slept well and in the morning I woke uneasy.

  We came upon the Inferno without warning.

  At the crest of a steep rise, I saw beyond me a sink, a vast hole in the earth. It lay directly in our path, a distance of a league or more, extending east and west beyond my vision. It was a great depression in the earth, flat, naked of trees or brush, and stark white in color.

  The way into it was gentle, except that the slope here was many-colored—yellow, ochre, all shades of red, and even purple. In the far distance stood a high sierra covered with snow.

  "The sierra," Father Francisco said, "is like the one you see from Toledo."

  He had grown weary, walking beside the conducta. "That one you will see again," I said to cheer him. "And when you are there once more, you will have no need to go through the streets and alleys asking for maravedis."

  "It is not maravedis I will ask for," Father Francisco said. "It is for kindness and love."

  I ignored his "kindness and love." "There is gold for both of us," I said.

  "My share is yours," Father Francisco answered.

  "There is gold also for gifts to the Capilla de Santiago. And for those of Reyes Nuevos and San Ildefonso."

  Father Francisco was silent.

  It was a windy morning and cool, but as we traveled downward the wind ceased and the sun grew hot. When we reached the bottom the air was dead and the sun even hotter than during the days in Cortés' Sea.

  There seemed to be an opening to the southwest, so I set out in this direction. The earth was drifted over with a white, dustlike powder, bitter to the taste, and soft underfoot. Because of the softness and the heat we made poor progress, less than four leagues from early morning until dusk, three leagues of it before we reached the Inferno.

  That night I gave the animals half-rations of water and some feed from the bags, but we drank little ourselves, though our throats we dry.

  We broke camp before dawn. I felt certain that by traveling hard until an hour after the sun came up we would leave the Inferno and be in open country.

  The sun struck us midway to our goal—the sun beating down upon us and the burning, soft-white earth underfoot and the air so hot that it seared the lungs to breathe.

  The animals began to stumble. Father Francisco, who insisted upon walking as he had on the whole journey, became partly blinded by the white, bitter dust so that he had trouble keeping up. Sighting a ledge of rocks which jutted into the sink, I led the way there, and in a thin strip of shade tethered the animals.

  The shade lasted until past noon. Then we dug a pit in the soft earth and climbed in, resting there until the sun went down.

  Father Francisco said, "This is the place to bury the gold. We cannot go farther with the burden."

  "The burden is not one you carry," I replied. "You only need to carry yourself."

  "The gold is evil," he said.

  I gave the animals the rest of the water, save a little which we did not drink, and led the conducta out from the ledge. A waning moon cast light on the white dust. By it, moving slowly, we made another league and halted.

  In an hour we moved off again, traveling until sunrise, when we passed a row of sand dunes. To their far edge, shaded from the terrible sun, I led the conducta. The Inferno ended about a league to the south in a grove of willows, which meant the presence of water. But we could not hope to reach the grove until after sunset, for at least two hours after nightfall.

  Gazing off to the northeast, to the ridge from which we had entered the sink, I saw a flash of light. I made out a group of small objects clustered there. The flash, I was sure, came from the sun striking a breastplate. The objects were Roa, his mules and the muleteers.

  Roa's mules were fresh and lightly burdened. By the next morning he would overtake us. Yet I could not move until the cool of night.

  At noon the sun bore down upon us. There was no shade. A light wind sprang up, which shifted the sand around. At the edge of a dune, we again dug a hole and crawled into it. I wondered if ever we would have the strength to crawl out.

  Father Francisco lay a long time without speaking. Then he said, "Here, at last, we must bury the gold."

  He spoke so softly that I scarce could catch his words. I pretended that I did not hear them.

  When the sun cast shade I moved the animals, staying with them because they were restless, and because I could not drive a picket into the sand and make it hold.

  From time to time, through waves of heat and blowing sand, I caught the flash of a breastplate as Roa and his band dropped down from the ridge. Far off the sun shone on the snow fields. I watched it sink, then went to rouse Father Francisco.

  The hole was empty. On the bottom lay the cask, with what water there remained—a few mouthfuls. I took up the cask and shook it. The few mouthfuls were still there. Propped against the side of the pit, beside his breviary, I saw Father Francisco's book of pressed flowers.

  I crawled from the pit and called his name. The wind had increased. Sand was moving everywhere, but I made out three steps towards the dunes. I followed where they led and found him lying on his back, his arms outstretched.

  He breathed as I picked him up, but by the time I had staggered back to the hole and lifted the cask to his lips, he was dead.

  I waited until nightfall. I had little strength left, but with it I lifted Father Francisco's body and placed it across the saddle. He was as light as a boy. With empty cask and his book of flowers, I climbed up behind him.

  At midnight I reached the willows. Long before, the mules had begun to prick up their ears, so I was not surprised to find a good spring there. I laid Father Francisco on the ground. I watered the animals, drank my fill, then tethered them in tall grass, and being too weak to unload the packs, lay down and slept.

  The sun awakened me. Frightened, I jumped to my feet and glanced toward the Inferno that lay behind. The white, bitter dust glittered. There was no sign of Roa.

  I dug a grave in the grass beside the spring and buried Father Francisco, placing his ivory cross upon his breast. Then I walked to where the animals were tethered and looked at the bags of gold, which I had not been able to unload. As I stood there, I heard the little priest speak again, saying, "Where do we go with this evil burden?"

  "Where, indeed?" I asked myself.

  "The gold is evil," I heard him say. "Here, at last, we must bury it."

  "It is evil," I answered. "It is the cause of your death and the guilt for your death is mine."

  The sun was very hot and I went back to the spring. I sat down in the grass and closed my ears against the voice that was speaking to me. Across the stream, in their wooden saddles, were the bags of gold. I counted them and changed the gold into golden coins, but the numbers got confused in my head because the voice kept speaking. Then I realized that the voice was no longer Father Francisco's. It was my own that I heard and the words came from deep within me.

  I looked back at the path the train had made in the white dust. Sand was blowing and the horizon wavered before my eyes, yet I noticed no more than a furlong away, on the very edge of the Inferno, rows of yellow craters, which I had passed in the night and not seen.

  Crossing a stretch of white dust, I made my way among them. There were fifty or more, all much alike, most of them a long jump across and filled with poisonous-looking water. The green bubbles, which rose from them, gave off a sulphurous stench.

  I went back, mounted my horse, and led the conducta out. Picking the largest of the craters, I took the nugget I had found at Nexpan and tossed it into the yellow water. I then untied the saddles and one by one I began to drop the bags into the water. They sank fast and for a long time, since
the crater was deep, bubbles rose to the surface. Each bag that I dropped into the crater was like a heavy stone, which I had carried on my back and was now Tree of.

  I led the train back to the spring and tethered the mules and all the horses save two, for Roa. I filled the cask with water, strapped Father Francisco's book to the saddle, and rode south. I rode hard all morning, until the gold and the Inferno were far behind me.

  The third day I came to a wide river. Currents were strong where I stood, so I moved east for a league or more. There at a good place to cross I saw a tall tree, the only one I had passed on the journey.

  Across its broad trunk, carved deep, was a message. The message read:

  ALARCÓN CAME THIS FAR. THERE ARE LETTERS UNDER THE TREE.

  I found no letters, though I searched, digging in a wide circle around the tree. But the message carved on its trunk I read many times before I left. I remembered it as I crossed the river and rode south to the Valley of Hearts and Culiacan. I remembered it when I told my story in that city and was put under arrest. And I remember it now as I write of it in the Fortress of San Juan de Ulúa.

  The Fortress of San Juan de Ulú

  a Vera Cruz, in New Spain

  The thirteenth day of October

  The year of our Lord's birth, 1541

  I AWAKEN EARLY, though I have written most of the night. The sky is overcast and a wind blows from the north. It has the feel of winter.

  Don Felipe's Indian brings my breakfast, a large platter of chorizos and a mug of chocolate. I eat little but drink the chocolate, which is hot and frothy.

  At mid-morning Don Felipe himself appears. He closes the iron door and stands against it, his cudgel chin thrust out. He seems to be worried about something.

  "Hidalgo," he says, very cheerful, which is always a bad sign with him, "you must have slept well, for you look as fresh-cheeked as a rose in the Queen's garden. Ah, to be young once more. When every day is a sweet confection to be popped into the mouth..."