The King's Fifth (10 page)

They also said that to the northwest was a province called Tusayán, where there were seven cities. Surely, they said, these were the cities the Spaniards sought.

Coronado doubted the cacique and his chiefs, but when he told them that the army would camp at Háwikuh the rest of the summer, cities or no cities, they still swore that they were saying the truth.

He told them that men would be sent to seek out this place of Tusayán and return with word of what they found. Did the ruler and the chiefs still speak the truth? Did they wish to change their story of the Seven Cities now, before it was too late?

No, there existed to the northwest a province called Tusayán, a place of many people, of gold and turquoise.

Coronado sent Captain Pedro de Tovar with twenty picked men to look for it. In a different direction he dispatched Captain Cárdenas to find a river where, the cacique said, there lived a nation of giants.

Mendoza could have joined either of these expeditions, but he was jealous of both these officers. Instead, with Roa and Zuñiga, he decided to visit villages nearer at hand, which were said to be like Háwikuh though much smaller, thinking to discover something by chance. If not gold, then he might find turquoise or precious stones.

He had been gone about a week when for the first time I was able to leave my pallet, to sit outside the tent for long hours in the bright summer sun. In another few days I was on my feet, and only because of Zia's care.

From the best spring in Háwikuh she brought me a gourd of cold water thrice each day. If there was a special viand cooking on a fire anywhere in camp, like a haunch of venison, she would manage somehow to bring me a piece of it. She even fetched a barbel fish that Señora Hozes had caught.

"You bring these things," I said, making a joke with her, "so I will become strong enough to work on the map."

She smiled her quick, shy smile. "Because of that
alone," she said. "When is it you begin?"

Montezuma, the aguatil, peered out at me from her pocket.

"Tomorrow," I said.

"You have the strength now."

"This evening," I said, "if you fetch me one of those flavorsome fowls the Cíbolans raise."

"I will bring it."

And she ran off through the camp, to the silvery ringing of the bells that hung from the brim of her corncake hat. Out of breath but within the hour she was back with a plump fowl which we spitted and set to roast over a piñon fire.

The map, with Zia's help, went quickly. When Captain Mendoza returned from the six villages it was complete and we began another.

The men returned without gold or turquoise, but the moment I saw Roa's face, which could not keep a secret, I felt that somewhere among the villages the three had come upon good news. And that whatever the news might be, Mendoza was determined that the rest of the camp would not know about it. My suspicion was soon borne out.

The next morning he left to talk with Coronado. He came back late that afternoon with permission to make a long journey into the northwest.

The following day we spent packing the leather panniers with maize and beans, horseshoes, horseshoe nails, bullet bags, two small casks of gunpowder, lead and fire-stones, steels and match cords and tools. As gifts to the
Indians we would meet, three panniers were filled with hawk bells, bits of mirror, old gaming cards, trinkets and gauds.

It was only an hour before our departure that Captain Mendoza decided upon a guide. And it was I who changed his mind. He preferred an old man who had gone with him to the six villages, as being more experienced than Zia, and less trouble.

"Maps," I reminded him, "are important to you, or at least that is what you told me when we talked aboard the galleon. In the making of maps on this journey, Zia has been of help."

"In what way?" he asked. "Tell me of one."

"In the mixing of colors. The cleaning of brushes. The gathering of soot, which is necessary but not pleasant. She even can draw a map by herself. A small one."

He was surprised at this, but not convinced. "She is a girl," he said. "We are starting on a long journey."

"She has just finished a long journey," I said, "and in better health and spirits than any of us, except Father Francisco. Recall that Cortés, conqueror of Mexico, was guided by a girl. By Marina, without whom he would have been lost. Who not alone guided him but also won him friends among hostile Indians."

It was this last argument which, I think, weighed with him the most, for he held Cortés in high esteem.

On the morning we left, Zia came to my tent with a gift of farewell. She handed me a deerskin case, soft and beautifully sewn.

"This is for your maps and paints," she said. "And for the thing you look at the sun with."

There was sadness in her eyes, but she tried to smile. I thanked her and said, "Do you wish to go with us?"

She tried to speak.

"Then go and talk to Captain Mendoza," I told her. "He wants you to come. He thinks you are the best guide in all of New Spain."

Without a word, she ran skipping and jumping toward the Captain's tent.

At noon we rode out from Háwikuh.

The sun shone on helmets and breastplates. Roa beat on his drum and Zuñiga played his flute. Torres carried a yellow pennon that fluttered in the wind. Father Francisco carried his small wooden cross. Hooves and tinkling hawk bells made a merry sound.

In the lead on the blue roan rode Captain Mendoza. He sat erect in his high, Spanish saddle, elegant in scarlet doublet and buff-colored jackboots, shining cuirass and gilded morion. At his heels trotted Tigre, the big gray dog, which he had bought for a peso.

Zia walked behind him, not minding the dust, as close to the foal as she could. I wondered whether it was the colors we would magically mix and the maps we would draw from them, or this black little beast that had lured her to go with us, when well she might have remained with Coronado, the great Captain-General. It was neither one nor the other, as I was to learn, but late.

Zuñiga, Roa and I rode next. Father Francisco and
Torres brought up the rear, Torres leading four good horses and eight sturdy mules.

We passed through the crowded camp. Señora Hozes again put her fingers in her ears at the sounds our musicians drew from drum and flute. Watchers wished us good fortune. One or two gave tongue to unseemly taunts.

The taunts did not disturb me. Tied to my saddle, in the deerskin case Zia had made for me, were my maps, supplies, and cross-staff. The sound of rowel and bell and hoofbeat quickened my blood. Far off rose mysterious mountains, watching over a land no map maker had yet set eyes upon. Already a map began to take shape in my mind. It would be the first map ever drawn of Háwikuh and this country to the north, one which the printers of Seville and Madrid would marvel at.

"It will be black and gold," I shouted to Zia. "With a red windrose."

She knew what I meant. "A beautiful one," she called back.

The Fortress of San Juan de Ulúa
Vera Cruz, in New Spain
The sixth day of October
The year of our Lord's birth, 1541

C
OUNSEL GAMBOA
comes to my cell early in the morning, his third visit in as many days, and his fourth since the last session of the trial. At that time we decided to give the notes, when they arrived from Mexico City, to the Audiencia. My decision to do so was based on the belief that no one, even a skilled cartographer, could make head or tail of them.

"They have not come," I tell him, "though Don Felipe expects them today or tomorrow."

Counsel Gamboa looks more frayed than usual. I hope that from this trial, which must be his first, he will gain a reputation and some ducats.

"It would be better today," he says. "But I can explain."

"With the notes, what will be my sentence?" I ask him. This has been much on my mind.

Gamboa is thinking and it takes him time to reply. "Five years, possibly."

"Without them?"

"As I said before, it could be as much as fifteen years.
As little as ten. But here in San Juan ten would be like fifty years elsewhere."

"Yes, you have told me this," I answer. "I had forgotten."

We climb the stairs together, Don Felipe at our heels, and cross the esplanade. Before we reach the courtroom, Counsel Gamboa says, "If the royal fiscal asks you to describe the size of the treasure—in all likelihood he will not, for an excellent reason, but if he does—what do you plan to say?"

"The truth, as I remember it."

Under his breath, Counsel Gamboa says, "What is the truth?"

I am about to reply, but we have reached the door of the courtroom, and as I begin, Don Felipe steps between us and gives me a gentle shove through the doorway.

The courtroom is filled with a throng of the curious. They stand three rows deep around two sides and the back of the room. It is very hot. The three judges sit with their robes pulled up to their knees, to catch what air there is. In their black robes trimmed with fur, and their wigs which are worn well back from their foreheads, they remind me of the three black
zopilotes
perched on the ruined walls of Red House, the morning we marched away to Háwikuh. It is not a good omen.

I am shown to a bench and there I sit for a long time while Counsel Gamboa talks to the royal fiscal. The fiscal seems to be in a pleasant mood, for he smiles now and then, and once even laughs. Again I am called to swear upon the cross, which I solemnly do.

The first question surprises me.

"This hoard of gold," the fiscal says, "which you have hidden, and by so doing have defrauded the King of his royal fifth, this treasure is of what size?"

"It was never weighed," I answer.

"Gold is heavy," he says. "How was it carried?"

"By pack train."

"Horses?"

"Horses and mules."

"How many of each?"

"Eight mules and four horses."

"Twelve animals carried how many pounds?"

"I do not know."

"How many pounds does one animal carry?"

"A horse, two hundred. A mule, three hundred."

"Each animal was loaded with all the gold it could carry?"

"Yes, sir."

The lips of the royal fiscal move soundlessly, adding figures in his head. Everyone at the table is adding figures, as well as my counsel. The clerks use their quills. I am certain that Don Felipe, standing quietly behind me, is adding figures—everyone in the chamber, for that matter, even the three judges.

"The treasure train," the fiscal says at last, "consisted of some sixty thousand
onzas
of gold?"

Silence falls upon the courtroom. It is so quiet I hear the breaking of waves against the fortress walls. Everyone is now changing
onzas
into gold
castellanos
or double doubloons.

The royal fiscal repeats his question.

"The gold was never weighed," I answer.

"But if it had been weighed, the amount would approach the sum of sixty thousand
onzas?
"

"More, sir, or less."

The fiscal walks to a table and drinks from a small pitcher.

"You have testified," he says, "that this treasure was in the form of fine dust. How was it contained?"

"In leather bags."

"And when you hid the treasure, it was of course in the leather bags?"

"Yes, sir."

"And where you hid the gold, the place, is shown in the notes which will be presented to the Royal Audiencia?"

"Yes, sir."

"Who was with you when the treasure was hidden?" the fiscal asks.

"I was alone."

"How many were in the party before the gold was hidden?"

I name them one by one, beginning with Captain Mendoza.

"There were five, including yourself?"

"Yes, sir."

The royal fiscal turns his back, walks to where the three judges are seated, and talks to them in a low voice, about what I do not know. When he again faces me, after a long interval, he asks me only a few questions and the session ends. The questions are so foolish that I have forgotten
them, though they may turn up later to my discomfort, you never can be certain.

Back in my cell, Don Felipe looks at me in silence. At last he says, speaking with difficulty, "Sixty thousand
onzas.
Of gold! Think of it!"

I say nothing and suddenly, struck by suspicion, he draws near and thrusts out his cudgel-like chin.

"You spoke the truth to the Royal Audiencia?" he demands. "The hoard is of that enormity? Twelve animals were needed to transport it? Sixty thousand gold
onzas?
"

"The truth," I answer.

This does not satisfy him.

"There are prisoners," he says, "who have confessed to crimes, heinous ones, which they did not commit. They have confessed simply because they thought to gain importance in the eyes of the world."

From his neck he takes a silver cross and holds it out to me.

"Swear before Mary, the Virgin, that you have spoken the truth."

This I do, to his satisfaction. Yet there is still something that worries him. He strides up and down the cell, three steps forward, three steps back. The cell is too small to stride in. I wonder if he himself has ever been imprisoned in this fortress, for the walking back and forth is the mark of one who was once a prisoner.