The King's Fifth Read online

  "Nothing."

  "If they ask you to read the notes, to explain them, what do you say?"

  "I say nothing."

  "No, señor, this is what you say. You say, 'Sirs, these are the observations I made at the time I hid the treasure. There is nothing more, Your Excellencies, which I can add to them.' Do you understand? If you do, be so kind as to repeat all that I have just said."

  I repeat it, word for word, and add a phrase or two of my own.

  "Excellent," he says.

  When he is gone (again I help him to close the door) I dig out the notes and, crouching in the corner, examine them. They have been stained in many places, likely at the time the messenger was caught by the flood. Still they can be read.

  I look at them carefully—comments, figures, the two small sketches. They are more complete than I remember them. Yet they are misleading, even to a good cartographer.

  Water is coming through the window from rain and the heavy seas. I decide to put the notes in my own hiding place in the wall, lest they be further damaged. It occurs to me that if the seas increase the whole cell will be flooded, but there is nothing I can do.

  Shortly after my jailer leaves, I am visited by the commander of the fortress, Captain Martín. He has been blown about by the storm, though, like Don Felipe, he has apparently come by a secret passage.

  "I shall deem it an honor," he says, "to go before the Royal Audiencia and testify in your behalf. To your good character. To the fact that I have known you on the frontier and think you incapable of murdering Mendoza. Though I must say, judging from what I have seen of him, that the temptation might have been great."

  Captain Martín stays for more than an hour. We talk about the summer in Háwikuh and the grand jornado he later made into the east. Not once does he mention the treasure, nor even hint at it. I enjoy his visit, as much as the first, and tell him so. The captain, I feel, is a friend, the only friend I have in the fortress of San Juan.

  Now that night is here the wind has diminished, though seas still crash against the fortress walls. Waves rise nearly to the height of the window.

  The sky is covered with thin, scaly clouds, so I cannot find the western star, whose name I should know.

  It is two days before the trial starts again, scarcely time to write the story of our winter on the mesa, and that of Tawhi, as well. Since the sun shone there on the mesa, which was a day's journey from the cave, and food was plentiful, since one day was much like another, with Zia and me busy on our maps, Roa off hunting, Mendoza training his big dog, Tigre, and Father converting to the true faith the Indians who wandered by, and all of us at times making deerskin bags to carry the gold which Mendoza thought we would find, there is no need to do this.

  It is better to begin when spring came and the snow melted on the mountains, when, traveling into the northwest, we came within sight of Tawhi, for then much happened to us that will never happen again.

  21

  ON THE TWELFTH DAY of April we reached the Cloud City.

  Late in the afternoon of that day we forded a stream where snow-water ran swift between greening banks. We followed the stream across a pretty meadow and through a canyon and toward evening came out into open country. The sun was down but the light was still good. There before us, less than a league away, jutting up from the plain, we saw a small mountain.

  The base of the mountain was covered with patches of pine and aspen, but halfway up the trees ended in purple cliffs. The cliffs were curiously shaped and as I looked at them against the pale sky they seemed to form the outlines of a ship. A ship afloat on a purple sea, moving into the west under full sail.

  The light faded, the purple cliffs grew black, the ship disappeared from view. Then as we made camp I saw close above the mountain, resting upon it like a coronet, what I took to be faint clusters of stars.

  They were instead the fires of Tawhi, for at dawn as the sun rose and shone on the mountain top, we saw before us the glittering walls of a city. The glitter, we knew from our experience at Háwikuh, was caused by mica and not by gold. Yet there was much excitement among us.

  Before the sun was an hour high, we reached the wooded slopes and a well-worn trail which led through the forest to the base of a cliff. Here the trail climbed abruptly over stony slides, too rugged for our animals. Leaving them with Roa, the rest of us set off on foot, taking food for two days and all that remained of the trinkets.

  Now as we climbed, the walls of the city were clearly in view. The sound of voices drifted down to us, and the fragrance of burning piñon.

  The trail grew steeper until at last it came to an end upon a wide ledge. Directly above, at the height of eight or nine varas, we made out a gap in the walls. It was seemingly an entrance to the city, but between us and the entrance rose a sheer stone barrier, without crevice or handhold.

  Mendoza shouted a greeting, using an Indian phrase which Zia gave him. He would have fired his matchlock had we not run low on powder, for this never failed to catch attention.

  At once, two men appeared at the top of the barrier. They made gestures of friendship and then let down a ladder of woven reeds and creepers, which swayed perilously from side to side as we crept aloft.

  Seen from the plain, the city looked huddled and small, not so striking to the eye, except for its location, as Háwikuh. But once we were through the entrance and had come to the end of a crooked byway, we stopped in amazement.

  We stood facing a spacious plaza, more than two furlongs in circumference. It was roughly oval in shape, of earth packed hard and smooth, and dark red in color as if mixed with blood, as is our custom in Spain. At the western end, on the very edge of the cliff, was a mass of mud houses one and two stories in height. In the center of the plaza a spring gushed forth from mossy rocks.

  The most amazing aspect of the city, however, lay to the east. Facing the sun when it rose was a small lake of deep, blue water, on which birds of many colors were floating. A path bordered with pinon trees circled the lake and added further to the parklike appearance.

  We were soon surrounded by Indians, their black eyes darting here and there, taking in everything about us.

  And what a strange sight we must have been to these people who had never seen a white man before. Father Francisco with his tonsored hair and long, gray robe, a wooden cross slung upon his back. Mendoza and I dressed in glittering cuirass and gilded helmets. Even Zia, though an Indian herself, must have astounded them with her leather jacket and skirt and the corncake hat hung with silver bells.

  At last from among the throng a man, who had the bearing of a cacique, stepped forth and gave a lengthy speech of welcome. To which Captain Mendoza, through Zia, replied with his oft-repeated greetings and pronouncements.

  The cacique, whose name was Tlascingo, or so it sounded, wished to know about our great king and about our travels, whence we came and whence we were going.

  Then he said, "Below, near to the forest, there is another man whose skin is white. With him are twelve animals, which look like the deer, but are much larger. Tell me about these animals. Are they good to roast over a fire and eat?"

  "Their flesh is tough like these," Mendoza said with a straight face, pointing to his boots. "And what is worse, they poison the stomach."

  "Why then do you have these animals?" the cacique asked.

  "We have them to carry burdens and to ride upon."

  The cacique did not understand, so Mendoza straddled his matchlock and galloped around in a circle.

  Tlascingo nodded his head but did not smile. "Are these animals wild like the deer?" he said.

  "Wilder than deer. Wilder than antelope. Wilder than the wolf coyote."

  "What is it that this animal eats?"

  "It eats many things. But like you and me it prefers meat, either fresh or roasted."

  "Meat of the deer?"

  "Of the deer. Also of the rabbit and the antelope. But better than all else it likes the flesh of humans."

  The cacique
was silent awhile, thinking this over. We always lived in fear that our animals would be stolen. To the Indians who asked about them, therefore, Zia or Mendoza told this same lie. And always it had served us well.

  "These animals are very strange," the cacique said.

  "Strange," said Mendoza. "And of very strange habits."

  "Where does this animal find humans to eat?"

  "He finds them only when we kill our enemies," Mendoza said and repeated his words to be certain that the cacique understood. "The animals are very thin now." He held up one finger to show how thin they were. "They are thin because many moons have gone since we have had enemies to kill."

  Chief Tlascingo pointed to himself, to those around him, to the houses huddled at the far end of the plaza, where women and children were hiding from us.

  "In Tawhi," he said, "here everyone is a friend."

  "This I observe and make note of," Mendoza replied.

  From time to time while the two men were talking, Tlascingo had stolen a glance at Mendoza's matchlock and at the crossbow I carried. He now asked about them.

  Mendoza handed over his heavy weapon and showed the cacique how to aim it, but, thinking of our lack of powder, did not allow him to fire. Instead, he clapped his hands and made a loud sound to imitate an explosion.

  "It speaks with the voice of thunder," Mendoza explained.

  "With a loud tongue," the cacique said.

  "With the tongue of thunder."

  "Against your enemies?"

  "Against them only," said Mendoza.

  He then took the crossbow and from my quiver a quarrel feathered with boar's hair. Slowly turning the ratchet, he spanned the bow and aimed at a wall three times the distance the cacique could reach with an arrow. The quarrel sped on its way, thudded into the mud wall, and buried itself so deeply that a youth sent to retrieve the iron bolt could not dig it out.

  "Also against our enemies," Mendoza said, holding up the crossbow. "Those who have evil hearts and speak from crooked mouths."

  This act at an end, Mendoza took from his doublet a small deerskin pouch filled with gold dust and nuggets he had gathered in Nexpan, which Torres had not stolen because the Captain wore it around his neck as a charm. On the ground Zia laid out a row of glass bangles, necklaces, thin bracelets of Toledo steel, and other oddments.

  Mendoza emptied the gold into his hand. "For this I will trade what lies before you."

  The cacique's eyes lighted up, though they were deep-set and almost hidden by a bang of hair, coarse as a horse's tail. A jerk of his head sent two men running off across the plaza, to return shortly with a small pouch.

  In the past Tlascingo had spent many years at the business of barter, if I can judge from what now went on. And among those tribes with whom he bartered, he must have gained a wily reputation. No matter how Mendoza tried, with patience or without, no trinket brought more than ten pinches of dust (with thumb and forefinger the cacique himself did the pinching). Many brought less. Indeed, so clever was the cacique, that by late afternoon the trinkets were gone and all Mendoza had gained were some thirty onzas of gold.

  From his doublet Mendoza then drew forth four well-worn gaming cards—a deuce of coins, a seven of cups, a caballero of swords, a sola of cups—and placed them in a row at the cacique's feet.

  "These," he said, "for the gold that remains."

  Tlascingo grunted. "Half," he said.

  Mendoza picked up three cards and put them away, leaving the caballero of swords.

  It was the fairest card of all, bordered green and yellow, with a fierce-eyed hidalgo astride a rearing stallion. It caught the cacique's fancy. He stooped and from his deerskin bag drew out a dozen careful pinches of gold, placing them on the card. But Mendoza in disgust turned his back.

  After a long silence the cacique added three pinches to the pile.

  Mendoza held up two fingers. "More," he said.

  Tlascingo did not move. Shadows lengthened, the sun began to sink below the cliffs of Tawhi. Still the cacique stood with folded arms, as if he might stand there forever.

  At last Mendoza poured the gold into his bag, and handed the prized card to Tlascingo.

  "Tomorrow," the cacique said, looking well pleased with himself, "we bargain again. Now I take you to a place where you can rest."

  The place was nearby, a windowless hut without furnishings, and a dirt floor covered with corn husks.

  "When the sun is gone my men will give you food," Tlascingo said. "Tomorrow we bargain again."

  "Tomorrow," Mendoza said, "bring a large bag of gold. The card you have is of less value than the others." He then asked a bold question. "Whence comes this gold, mighty Tlascingo?"

  "From far mountains," Tlascingo answered.

  "Much?"

  "Gold to last my life and the life of my son and the life of his son and the life of his son," the cacique said, boastfully.

  "If you possess gold in these quantities, why do you measure it out in pinches?"

  "I do so because it pleases me. If I wish I could give you more gold than you can carry. More than your animals with the long tails can carry."

  "This I will remember," Mendoza broke in. "Tomorrow when you offer a dozen thin pinches for a thing that is worth the weight of a man."

  Tlascingo started to speak, but paused, aware perhaps that he had gone too far in his boasts. Then a second thought passed swiftly across his face. Suspiciously he glanced at the crossbow and the weapon which made a noise like thunder.

  "I keep little gold in my storehouse," he said. "The gold is far away."

  "Where?" Mendoza asked.

  "In the mountains," the cacique answered, making a sweeping movement of his hand that took in the east, the south, the north. "In a mountain known only to six of my warriors. Those who gather it there are prisoners I have captured in battle. The prisoners are blind. I blinded them so they cannot tell my secret."

  He looked straight at Mendoza for a moment and without further speech walked away.

  I wondered what use Tlascingo had for all the gold he boasted about. He could not use it in barter, for the Indians we had met on our journeys did not value it. The answer to my question was soon forthcoming.

  22

  THE CACIQUE LEFT BEHIND two of his retainers, young men of serious mien who seated themselves on either side of the doorway. Whether they were there to care for our wants or to guard us, we did not know. But when we went out into the plaza, after making a brief survey of our new abode, they did not follow.

  "I have an idea that Tlascingo's storehouse is filled with gold," Mendoza said. "Heaped up from floor to roof."

  Father Francisco with his cross was walking ahead of us, out of earshot.

  "But how do we lay our hands on it?" he continued.

  "Or carry it down from the mountain, if we do," I said, though the thought of stealing Tlascingo's gold was far from my mind.

  "Perhaps it is stored in deerskin bags, like the one the Indians brought from the storehouse. They were scarcely gone long enough to fill a bag. Bags of gold we could toss down over the cliff."

  "Easily," I said, not serious about the matter. "One bag after another."

  "I watched the two men Tlascingo sent for the gold," Mendoza said. "I saw where they went. The doorway they entered. It is just beyond the place where the spring comes forth."

  We crossed the plaza, stopping for a drink at the spring. But as we came to the storehouse Mendoza did not pause nor look through the doorway, though he let me know in a whisper which one it was.

  "We will have a look on the way back," he said.

  Leisurely we strolled to the far end of the plaza, past sheds where corn was stored and ground, a large open room in which several old women were weaving, where Zia and Father Francisco left us. Slowly we returned along the way we had come. The two young men still sat against the wall of our hut, apparently not watching us.

  "Here it is," Mendoza said. "Walk to the spring and do not look back. I will be with
you in a moment."

  I did as I was told and by the time I reached the spring Mendoza overtook me.

  "A small room," he said. "With no windows and only the one door. In the center of the room is a pile of gold, fine as dust, but no more than would fill a helmet or two."

  "No bags?"

  "None."

  We drank again from the spring and then followed a well-worn path which led toward the lake.

  "The floor is covered over with a sprinkling of gold," Mendoza said. "Which means that at some time the small pile was a large pile. Gold must have filled the storehouse."

  We had reached a stone terrace that ran for a dozen varus along the marge of the lake. From it there was a fine view of a mesa below us and a half-circle of dark mountains beyond.

  Mendoza said, "If Tlascingo's gold comes from far off, we could search a year and not find the place. But what if we camped on the mesa? Somewhere out of sight, where we could see anyone coming from the mountains or going to them? We might surprise Tlascingo's men with a load of gold. Or trail them to where it is being mined."

  I heard most of what he said, but my thoughts were on the surpassing xene that lay before me. The mountains changing from purple to black. The clouds that rose above them lighted by the fires of sunset. The shadowed mesa rolling away in all directions. The city itself and the rock it was built upon afloat together in the sky, like a great ship.

  Yet as Mendoza talked and I stood looking down at the beauty before me, wondering how I could capture it all in a map, I suddenly remembered the gold nugget, bigger than a chestnut, that I had found in Nexpan. And again, as it had before, the curious fever, the sickness seized me.

  Mendoza was pointing northward. "About halfway between us and yonder tall peak you can see a stream," he said. "One bend of it where it makes a circle around a wooded hill. We could travel there by night, camp on the far side, and use the hill as a lookout."