—Grandmother, would you like to sample some more of the wedding foods?
—Of course, my son. I am very hungry.
This time Marcos sent the lion with the same instructions he had given the tiger. As before, when the lion entered the dance hall everyone fled, including the carbonero.
The princess greeted the lion with great affection and sent him back with an even bigger package of food. Marcos, the old woman, and the animals ate every morsel.
—Grandmother? asked Marcos, are you still hungry?
—Oh yes, I could eat dessert.
Marcos sent the bear to the wedding feast, and the bear, who was a good dancer, even danced a waltz with the princess. He returned with an even larger package filled with cakes and sweets.
—Father, said the princess to the astonished king, have you seen the three animals that came to the fiesta?
—Yes, sputtered the king. But I don’t know why they are so friendly to you.
—The man who is sending his animals to me is the one who saved me from the serpent, not the carbonero. Sending his animals to me means I can reveal him. The bear told me he stays in the hut of an old woman at the edge of the city.
—Go and bring this young man to me, the king told his guards. As for the carbonero, tie him to a wild horse and exile him from my kingdom.
The king’s guards brought Marcos before the king.
—You saved my daughter and therefore she is yours to marry tomorrow.
—Will you have me? Marcos asked the princess.
—With all my heart, she replied.
The dancing continued all night and a happy Marcos and princess danced every dance together.
As it turned out, María was a serving maid working for the king. When she learned Marcos was to marry the princess she grew mad with jealousy. Hadn’t Marcos long ago promised never to marry? The brother and sister had vowed to stay together.
And Marcos had killed the giant who had promised her many worldly pleasures. Why should he marry and enjoy life while she had no future?
She waited until he was alone in his room, knocked on his door, and entered. Marcos was overjoyed to see his sister. He invited her in, embracing and kissing her with love. He wanted to hear everything that had happened to her since he had left the cave.
After hours of listening to her story, he laid his head on her lap and fell asleep. Then María drew a large, magical pin she had hidden in her skirt and drove it into his skull. When she saw what she had done she was overcome with grief. She ran out of the castle, down to the river, crying out the name of her brother.
The next morning the king found Marcos dead, but he couldn’t see the pin so he didn’t know how the young man had died. When the princess heard the news she cried the entire day. Then she ordered a wake to be held so everyone would come and say goodbye to her savior, the man who was to be her husband.
In the stable the lion, bear, and tiger could be heard weeping for their master.
—It is time to take Marcos to church for his funeral, said the king. Release the animals so they can go up into the mountains. In a royal litter of gold we will carry Marcos to church.
When the animals were freed, instead of running for the mountains, they followed the funeral procession. When the princess sat with head bowed, the bear, lion, and tiger wept and licked Marcos’s face, so great was their loss.
The bear held Marcos’s head in his paws and stroked it. As he caressed his friend he discovered the head of the pin. He drew it out and Marcos opened his eyes.
—Thank you, kind friends, he said and rose from the gold litter. The animals cried with joy.
The princess ran to Marcos and embraced him.
The wedding was held and Marcos and the princess lived a long and happy life. Marcos took good care of the bear, lion, and tiger, his three magical friends.
María was never seen again, although often workers coming home late at night say they hear her weeping mournfully along the riverbank. Some say María is doing penance for betraying the love of her brother.
THIRTEEN
The Governor sighed. “A tale of misguided love,” he murmured, staring at the ceiling. “The cuentos of the people are exemplary. Sometimes even the most faithful lovers part. Something comes between them and not even love can withstand the feelings that erupt in the heart.”
“If love is true, can it be destroyed by other emotions?” asked Serafina. She knew a little of the Castillos’ concept of love, and the importance they attached to it intrigued her.
“I have read some of the writers of romances. Spain was full of writers who wrote of courtly love … that is, before Cervantes put a hole in their sails. Love is a theme in their poetry. Can it be true and strong and last forever? Ah, the romantic fabulists say yes. But in this case, the sister was tempted by the giant. The flesh is weak; she wanted the comfort, food, and fiestas the giant offered.”
“What does the giant represent?” asked Serafina.
The Governor thought a moment. “Perhaps the Devil. He is powerful, and she is attracted to his power.”
“But what if it’s not the Devil?”
“Then it must be something in her own nature. She wants to be a queen. Seeking power is coupled with greed. I have seen those emotions affect both king and humble peasant. Those who came to the land of the Aztecs before us, the conqueror of Mexico himself, lusted for an empire. Once a man or a woman tastes power, he or she wants more and more.”
“And you?” asked Serafina.
The Governor was, at first, startled by the question, but, yes, he thought, I have sought status.
“Yes. I confess I made my career a careful study. I came from a well-to-do family, received the best education in Spain, and returned to Mexico City with the new viceroy. I have courted favors, and returned favors, sought advancements—”
He paused. “I paid a price to become governor of New Mexico. My desire to be governor was so great I would have sacrificed anything. There were dozens of men in New Spain who wanted this post. Why not? Here one can create history. Be part of history. But every man must be part of his time, and exact from time his true destiny.”
“Have you?” asked Serafna.
“I thought I had. Then things began to turn against me. My wife died, the drought came, the Apaches grew bolder in their raids—”
He stopped short.
“Why am I telling you this?”
“Perhaps there is no one else to trust.”
“You are wise beyond your years, Serafina. Yes, whom can I trust? I have political enemies who say I am too much like Governor López. They make false reports to the Viceroy. Ah, why trouble you with my problems?”
He looked directly into her eyes, finding there the same soft gaze he remembered his wife’s eyes held. An openness, a willingness to listen and understand.
“Perhaps you are right! I speak so openly because I feel I can trust you—”
Gathering courage he took the thought further. “I feel I can trust you like a daughter.”
With that said he felt a relief, and her eyes told him she did not find the idea ridiculous.
“I would never reveal your feelings,” she replied. “But a daughter I could never be. I must return to my family, my people.”
“I understand,” he said, standing and letting a soft sigh escape his lips. “But talking to you has been good for me. I confess that just days ago I wanted to leave this place. I looked forward to my term as governor ending so I could return to Mexico City. But now I am a changed man. I feel a new commitment. Something you have said, or something in the stories, tells me to stay and make this colony grow and thrive—”
He paused and looked at her. “But I impose too much. Forgive me.”
No, she wanted to say, but checked herself. Their talks were not impositions at all, but something she had begun to cherish.
“It is late and I must excuse myself.” He turned to go, pausing at the door. “Good night, Serafina.”
“Good night, Your Excellency.”
The door closed and Serafina returned to stitching her colcha. Moments later she heard someone talking to Gaspar, then a knock on the door.
“Enter,” she said, and was surprised to see Capitán Márquez enter and close the door behind him.
“May I have a moment of your time?” the robust captain asked, standing at attention. Serafina noticed that his blonde beard and hair were slicked down with buffalo grease. The cotton shirt and trousers he wore were clean and pressed.
“How may I help you?” asked Serafina, standing.
“I am Capitán Antonio Márquez y Gómez,” he replied, bowing slightly, awkwardly. “I have come to help you prepare your defense. If I may.”
Serafina smiled. “I appreciate your offer, and what you have done for my countrymen, but do I need to plan a defense?”
“Yes, you do,” he replied stepping forward. “You do not know the danger you’re in. Granted, the Governor is your defender, I know that, but he is very distracted with the recent Apache raids. He’s not aware of the new charges being planned against you.”
“New charges? I don’t understand.”
“Ay, and a bundle of lies they are.”
“Explain.”
“Forgive me if I speak frankly, but I only have your best interest in mind. I want to help you.”
“I thank you, but it is the Governor who must free the prisoners.”
“Yes, and many of the people in the villa support the Governor’s actions. The charges against the men are thin. It would be cruel punishment to send them as slaves to Zacatecas, to divorce them from their families forever. But with you it’s different.”
“How?”
“There is a small group of colonists who thoroughly hate the Governor. They feel that to keep the natives subdued they must be intimidated and punished harshly. These people say you have bewitched the Governor.”
Serafina started to laugh, then looked closely at the captain’s eyes. He was serious.
“They say I am a witch?”
“Yes.”
“That’s not true.”
“That may be, but every whisper uttered in the villa is known. There is little to do in winter. People gossip, it gets exaggerated. Already a few men have gone to the prelate of the Holy Office of the Inquisition at Santo Domingo Pueblo. They will come to question you.”
“But Fray Tomás has already questioned me. I prayed with him and he cleared me of any suspicion.”
The captain stepped forward, and as he did the full beauty of Serafina was illuminated by the candle. He had two daughters her age, and when he had discussed Serafina’s situation with them they had convinced their father that she was imprisoned falsely. It was they who pushed him to do something drastic. In short, he must help Serafina escape.
“The agent for the Inquisition will come to question others here in the villa, and there are some who hate the Governor enough to lie. Through their confessions the Inquisition will get to you. There is one man—” he paused momentarily. “One man who claims he followed the Governor when he rode into the hills. There, the man swears, the Governor took off his shirt and beat his back with thorny cactus. This is taken as a sign he is possessed.”
Serafina turned away. She had noticed the Governor sat as if in great discomfort, but she had said nothing.
“It is common for penitents to perform such acts,” Serafina finally said. “Some of the Catholics do this on Good Friday. What has the Governor’s act of penance to do with me?”
“The Governor is not known for doing penance. So those who would destroy him say the strange behavior proves you have put a curse on him. That is why he is releasing the prisoners.”
“What can I do about these false accusations?”
“Nothing. Fray Mateo, who is the agent of the Inquisition, will come to question you. He will call witnesses, and they will say the power you have over the Governor is demonic. There’s only one solution.”
“What?” she asked, holding her breath.
“You must escape.”
“Escape?”
The word left her breathless. Of course this is what the pueblo children had been taught since childhood: when taken captive by the enemy, one plans to escape. Even now she knew that her father and friends were just outside the villa, keeping watch in the hills.
But the Governor was pardoning the men. The solution that had presented itself was far better than an attempt to escape which might jeopardize the lives of the other prisonsers.
“But how? There is the guard—”
“Gaspar? He is with us. You see, I have two daughters. One of them will dress like you, and sit here in the evening. That will give us time to get to the horses.”
“Us?”
“I will ride with you as far as Santa Clara. We know your people are waiting for you.”
“But—”
“Please hear me out. I swear by the Bible and on my honor that I only wish you well. My family and I have discussed the escape. We only wish your freedom.”
“But if you are found out you will be punished.”
The captain nodded. “I am a poor captain in the service of His Most Royal Highness, the King of Spain. I have served well, I am honest. Yes, following the orders of my superiors I have led raids against your people. But my daughters, who have been present at the trials, have convinced me to take this step.”
Serafina stood astonished. This was not a trap. The man was sincere. And he promised her freedom. What should she do?
“When would we go?”
“Tomorrow night. When we heard what they intend to do to you, we knew we had to act quickly.”
“But they would send soldiers after us,” she stammered. The idea of escape made her thoughts rush in many directions. Should she take the offer?
“No. I would be back here at the villa before morning. Believe me, it is better to die free than a prisoner of the Inquisition? You know what they can do.”
Yes, she knew. Her family could be rounded up, sold as slaves. The pueblo itself would suffer as soldiers were ordered to destroy the kivas, the masks, all the holy objects of the elders. Would it not be better to flee?
“I cannot,” she whispered.
“Why?”
“You have promised me deliverance. Anyone in my situation would gladly accept your offer. But I must stay until all the men are released and are safely back with their families.”
The captain sighed. “You plead for their freedom, but who will plead for yours?”
“I must learn to defend myself,” she answered.
The captain smiled. “Very well, if that’s your decision. I will help if you allow me. I have little learning and less jurisprudence. But I will help.”
“I thank you for the great risk you propose to take,” Serafina said. “I thank you and your daughters.”
“Ah, yes,” the captain smiled. “As long as we have young people like them perhaps the future will be right. I wish you a good night.”
“Good night, captain.”
He bowed, turned, and left the room.
Serafina sat for a long time, thinking of the captain’s offer. The freedom of the men meant more to her than her own. Finally, assured she had made the right choice, she snuffed out the candles, filling the room with the aroma of the burned wax, and slipped under the buffalo robe. In the dark winter night the coyotes called in the hills.
What a strange night, she thought. I have bewitched no one. Are the stories I tell bewitching? With this thought, she fell asleep.
In his room the Governor lay awake. He was beginning to see the thin line that separated the storyteller from the story. The stories Serafina told belonged to everyone, but whoever told the cuento could weave nuances into the plot. So at each telling something slightly new was woven into the story, and the audience responded as if the cuento was being told for the first time. The themes in the stories were like musical strings, and they played on the emotions of the
listener.
But Serafina, ah, she belonged to no one. She belonged to her people because their welfare was her goal. Certainly she could never be the daughter he longed for. But having entertained the thought meant he had a certain kind of love toward her, a love expressing itself in the release of the prisoners.
We must love one another, he thought. That is the solution to our problems. Then he laughed. I, a man trained in war, thinking love will dissolve this animosity between us and the Pueblos? Yes, I can continue to show mercy toward the prisoners, but I must remain strong in my duty to protect the villa.
He awakened to a clear and warm morning, the kind of morning the Santa Feans called a blessing. The trial was perfunctory, the sixth prisoner quickly freed. The crowd gathered for the trial was smaller, as most people preferred to spend time gathering wood or hunting in the hills when the days were warm. The release of the prisoners had created a feeling of safety.
Children played in the plaza, women cooked meat, beans, and chile, and by noon the aroma of tortillas browning on comales filtered from the homes of the small villa of Santa Fé.
That evening the Governor knocked on Serafina’s door in a very good mood. He had brought her a present.
“It is nothing,” he said, “a brooch my wife wore. Please accept it as a token of friendship, a small reward for the stories you tell.”
“Thank you, kind sir. In my culture we cannot refuse gifts, but I am not in a position to accept this one.”
“I understand your situation, but this is the only way I have of thanking you.”
Serafina looked into his eyes. He is sincere, she thought, and to refuse a gift, even from he who holds you prisoner, is contrary to our teaching. She took the brooch, a beautiful silver filigree with green stones that reflected the candle light.
“It is lovely,” she said. “I thank you.”
“Allow me,” he said, taking the brooch and pinning it on her garment.
When he was finished he drew back. “It is the work of a famous silversmith from Toledo.”
“In friendship,” she whispered.
“Yes.” He sat on the bench by the bed. “And tonight? What cuento have you to entertain me?”