The King's Fifth (19 page)

"They scramble to the roof tops, of course."

"The young ones and the old?"

"All of them. For all are nimble as goats, else they would not live on a crag. And as they sit on the roofs we shovel gold and fill the bags."

"Those on the roof tops," I said, "what do they do while you fill the bags?"

"They sit."

"And do nothing?"

"No, they sit and think of the weapon which makes the noise of thunder. The shaft that sinks itself so deep that it cannot be found. Of the little iron houses that protect us from their stones and arrows. Of the army waiting behind us. They think of these and do nothing."

"The people have courage, like those at Háwikuh."

"Also, they have much gold," Mendoza said. "Enough there at the bottom of the lake to burden the backs of a thousand mules. Do you think that they will risk their lives because we take a few bags? And remember,
hidalgo,
the mine, of which the cacique boasted, so rich that a hundred years will not exhaust it!"

Mendoza went on, speaking quietly but in a sort of frenzy. At last, aware that he could not change my mind, he shrugged his shoulders and walked away.

On the second afternoon, when the bags were finished, Mendoza scoured the camp for things he could trade to Tlascingo—an iron bar, a worn-out surcingle, a shirt lacking buttons, a mirror of Zuñiga's, which he broke into five pieces. These he packed each in a separate bag. The rest of the bags he divided in two parts, stuffing one within the other, to make it seem that he brought many things to barter.

At dawn he made four bundles and wrapped the digging tools in a hide. He then called me away, out of the hearing of Zia and Father Francisco.

"I leave you with the animals," he said. "For you are better here than on the mountain. See that they are watered. And have them ready at sunrise tomorrow. Pack saddles. Everything."

"I understand."

"And take care that you say nothing to Zia or Father Francisco. Is all of this clear,
señor?
"

"Yes."

"May you go with God."

"And may you, also," I said.

But as the two men left the camp and went up the trail with the bags and implements loaded on a mule, I said to myself, "I shall never in this life see them again."

I
WAITED
while Roa and Mendoza climbed the ladder and disappeared into the Cloud City. Then I went to the meadow where the animals were tethered and curried each one, except the colt.

As I worked, taking most of the morning to do the task, I made my plans for the next day. I decided that before dawn I would break camp, pack all of our baggage, and when the sun rose have the train ready beside the cliff. If by mid-morning the men had not come down from the mountain, I would leave and travel east until nightfall. There we would stay for two days. Then, if the men did not appear, I would go on to Háwikuh by the trail we had broken.

Near noon, as I started back to camp with the train, Zia came running through the trees. Her eyes were fixed on the animals plodding along behind me.

"Where is Blue Star?" she cried.

"In the meadow, grazing."

"You have combed the others, I see."

"And Blue Star also," I said to tease her. Never a day passed that she did not curry the colt. This was her task
and no one dared to undertake it. "She was in need of the comb," I explained.

"I combed her yesterday."

"Not well."

Her eyes took fire and she scolded me in the language of Nayarit. Whenever she was angry, forgetting her Spanish, she always spoke to me in this outlandish tongue.

Zia had changed. She was not a child any more. In the six months or so between winter and spring, she had become a young woman. She was no longer all arms and legs and awkward movements, but filled out, more graceful, and more serious.

I think there was a moment, an exact time, when she put her childhood behind. It was on the trail moving away from our winter camp on a spring day. We had passed a nest of twigs and leaves, into which at our passing a half-dozen or more creatures much like her aguatil had scurried. Returning to the nest, she took Montezuma from her pocket, and with a little ceremony, set him on the ground, said something under her breath, and left.

The mules went by as she spoke. Blue Star, recognizing her voice, came trotting up the path. The colt understood Nayarit better than I did, for she spoke to it only in that language. If she had not, still the colt would have understood more than I. Words of the Nayarit country make a soft hissing sound, like steam in a pot.

In a glance Zia saw that the colt had not been combed that day. She fell silent and a small smile hovered around her lips. Yet I knew that she was not ready to forgive the teasing.

"Look," I said in the tone of a conspirator. "I have been thinking a big thought. All day it has been tumbling around in my head."

She had snatched up a handful of grass and flowers and was about to feed it to the colt. She paused but did not look at me.

I walked over to the colt and threw a halter around its neck.

"Today," I said, "you ride Blue Star."

Zia stepped back. Her eyes grew large. She took another step backward.

"The Captain has forbidden it," she said. "Many times I have asked him."

"The Captain is not here. Nor Roa. Only Father Francisco and he will say nothing."

Zia cast a frightened look over her shoulder, as if she expected to see Mendoza bearing down upon us.

I brought the colt to where she stood and cupped my two hands into a stirrup.

"Your foot,
señorita.
"

Slowly she put out her foot, the wrong one. She was trembling.

"The left foot, young lady. Or else you will ride facing the rear."

She changed feet and with a quick thrust I boosted her to Blue Star's back. I grasped the halter, which was looped over my arm. Mendoza and Roa had taken turns that spring at breaking the colt, yet I was not certain what would happen. The forest around was thick with pine
needles. If she falls, I thought, it will be upon a soft bed.

To my surprise the two walked off together, girl and colt, as if this were the way it had been always. I walked along beside them, ready if Blue Star took the notion to stand on her hind legs or to lie down or bolt through the trees.

"Give me the halter," Zia said, after a short distance.

With misgivings I handed it up. "Watch for the limbs of trees," I warned her. "Hold tight and do not trot. Recall that you are not yet a
vaquera.
"

We had nearly reached the camp, without mishap, when Zia slid down from the colt's back. She held the reins and walked to where I stood admiring her. On her toes, she reached up and, to my immense surprise, kissed me on the cheek.

"Before you ride again," I said to cover my embarrassment, "help me with the cross-staff."

"But I helped you yesterday," she replied, holding tight to the halter. "Since we have not traveled anywhere, why do you need to use it again?"

"Yesterdays reading may be wrong," I said and fetched the cross-staff from the case she had made for me.

Zia had helped me many times on the trail and was now expert at this difficult task. Holding one end of the staff on her shoulder, she stood, scarcely breathing, while I placed the peepholes in line with the sun and the horizon.

"May I ride away now?" she asked.

Usually, she waited until I had made the notations.

I helped her into the saddle and she set off along the
path we had just traveled. This time she rode without grasping the colt's mane. With her free hand, she waved to me. I have never seen anyone so happy. If I had not told her to return in time to help me with the baggage, I believe that she would have ridden until dark.

M
Y READING
with the cross-staff proved to be the same as the one I had taken the day before, and with it I laid out what I thought would be a shorter route to Háwikuh. I spent the afternoon doing this. At dusk I watered the animals and laid out the pack saddles, ready for morning.

When I reached camp, dusk was deepening into night. It was the hour when the two men would be in their hut, waiting for darkness.

Zia and Father Francisco had roasted a rabbit in the pit, which the three of us ate with fried corncakes. As I sat beside the fire I thought, this is the time Roa and Mendoza have begun to dig the channel across the top of the dam. They take turns, one pushing the earth aside while the other loosens it with spade and bar. They work fast, pausing to listen, talking in whispers. I could see them clearly, as clearly as if I were there on the mountain.

Father Francisco was talking about the people of Tawhi, and how he hoped to save many of their souls.

"They are like the people of Nexpan," he said. "Devout but misguided. Tomorrow I will go again to talk to them and raise the cross I have spent this day in making.
They are stubborn, yet I will wear them down."

"Tomorrow," I said, "we leave Tawhi."

He looked across the fire, cocking his head to one side, like a bird.

"By whose command?" he asked.

"By the command of Captain Mendoza."

"He said nothing to me."

"I am sorry, Father, it is my fault. He told me to tell you that we are leaving. But I forgot. In the morning he and Roa return. Everything is to be ready. That is the command."

Father Francisco fell silent. In a short time, he rose and hobbled off to bed, mumbling to himself. Zia, exhausted by excitement and the five leagues she must have ridden back and forth, followed him.

I walked out from the trees. The air was clear and the moon had not risen. The fires of Tawhi glowed against the darksome sky.

I went to where the animals were tethered and tried the picket ropes. Everything was secure. I stretched out in the grass, but did not sleep.

The moon came up. It was the shape of a bitter orange and pale gold. By its light, I thought, the men will be able to work faster. They have been digging for more than two hours. The channel, wide as a man's body, now must be a fourth of the way through the earthen dam.

The fires of Tawhi grew faint and died and the stars above the mountain shone bright, red Antares in particular, and two small stars in the Scorpion's tail.

I dozed, but not long, for Antares had moved no more
than the breadth of a finger. It was very quiet. From the mountain I heard the barking of a dog. Mendoza and Roa hear the barking, too, I thought. They have stopped their work and are listening.

Minutes went by, but the dog did not bark again.

"The men have gone back to work," I said to myself. "They dig faster now, to make up the time lost."

The two small stars in the tail of Scorpion disappeared behind the mountain. A chill came into the air and dew began to cover the grass. I threw more wood onto the fire and went again to look at the animals. From somewhere near a wolf coyote called. From far off it was answered. I was tired yet I dared not lie down for fear of falling asleep.

Faint light showed along the horizon. Quietly, I began to saddle the train, taking care that the pack frames sat evenly and secure. From time to time I looked up at the mountain. All was dark and quiet.

The first breakfast fire showed on the mountain. Now the time is near, I thought. It was still a half hour before sunrise, but the men would not wait much longer. I stood away from the trees, where I had a better view of the mountain, the houses, and the western cliff rising sheer to meet them.

The horizon grew brighter. The Indians of Tawhi would soon be leaving their homes, walking across the plaza and up the terrace to the lake.

I watched the cliff and the houses huddled on its edge. Minutes passed. It is too late now, I thought, already the Indians have left their homes and are on their way to the
lake. Yet, it is possible that this is the very moment Mendoza has waited for.

Suddenly, the thought came to me that something had gone wrong with their plans. Had they been attacked as they worked there on the terrace? Unmindful of my warning, had Mendoza tried to dig a tunnel through the dam and been trapped by a fall of earth or rushing water? With such a mad scheme, many things could go amiss.

Above me and seemingly from a long distance, as if it came from the sky itself, I heard a sound. It was like the soughing of a strong wind or the movement of great wings. The sound did not come from the sky, but from the mountain. It was no longer the sound of wings or wind, but a roar.

The roar grew. As I stood transfixed, a plume of white water broke from the mountain, hung in the bright morning air, and fell sparkling to earth.

I ran through the forest and, gathering the pack train, set off toward the cliff. Zia and Father Francisco stood awestruck beside the fire, but I passed them without speaking. I rode up the trail to where it ended in a pile of rocks, some fifty paces from the cliff and the dangling ladder.

By the time I had dismounted, turned the train around, and faced each animal down the trail, the first bag of gold had fallen. It lay at the foot of the cliff in a grassy swale. A second, a third bag thudded into the grass, as I was loading the first. I saw Roa standing on the cliff. He waved and disappeared.

Above me, not a sound came from the City of Clouds.