The King's Fifth (7 page)

A sigh ran through the army. It grew louder and became a shout of triumph thundering over the hill. Eldorado was finally at hand, the land of turquoise and gold, the first of the Seven Cities.

Our way wound downward to a stream, on a trail long unused. We entered the grove of ancient trees and came upon a wide opening, circular in shape. Before us were the ruins of what once had been a city.

Vast red walls still stood, but the earth-and-timber roofs had collapsed in a mass of rubble. Weeds grew everywhere. Among them lizards scurried and snakes lay coiled. On creaking wings black
zopilotes
soared into the air.

A man and a woman crawled out of the ruins. They were old and toothless, the color of the rubble they had
left. In their withered hands they held out to Coronado a gift of dried grubs and grasshoppers.

"Gold," someone shouted. "Where is the gold?"

"Where?" other voices echoed.

The man and woman drew back in bewilderment. But Coronado silenced the soldiers and took the gifts. He then asked about the Sea of Cortés.

"In which direction does it lie?" he asked the old man, Zia translating his words, "and how distant?"

Father Marcos, in his gray robe of Zaragoza cloth, stood listening. "I have been to the Sea of Cortés," he said. "It is only five short leagues from here."

The readings I had made on the coast were with me, as well as the reading I had made that day at noon.

"With all respect to you, Father Marcos," I said, holding out my notes, "I believe the sea to be farther. Perhaps as far as sixty leagues, though I could well be wrong by ten or more."

The old man spoke. "I do not know a sea by that name. But there
is
a sea very far away. When I was a young man I went there to net fish. I was on the trail ten suns going and ten suns returning."

Coronado turned away. His trust in Father Marcos had long since gone, for many of the things Marcos had told him about the trail had proven wrong. The old man's statement, and mine tallied closely. It was dire news. It meant that while the army was traveling toward the northeast, the coast and the Sea of Cortés was trending in the opposite direction, away from us. It meant
that he must give up all hope of meeting Alarcón and his ships.

That night men went to parley with Coronado. The fainthearted threatened to turn back. Some wished to strike out for the Sea of Cortés on the chance of finding the ships. Bolder spirits, like Captain Mendoza, wanted to continue on the trail to Cíbola. Some, like Señora Hozes, had no plan yet gave shrill tongue to their anger.

Coronado heard them all. He sat at the door of his tent and listened patiently. He was a man just thirty years old, but in the firelight he looked twice that age.

When the last had spoken, he rose and said in his quiet voice, "You have endured much, and so have earned the right to do what you want. Those who wish to may go in search of Admiral Alarcón or return to your homes. Yet, many or few, the army goes forward. Nor will it stop until it reaches the Land of Cíbola."

Officers and soldiers cheered, but there were some who grumbled. Whereupon Coronado sent for the old man and asked him if he had heard of the Seven Cities.

"In twenty suns," the Indian said, as Zia translated, "you will come to Háwikuh, the first of these." He pointed toward the northeast.

Those who grumbled fell silent. The rest of us moved closer, better to hear Zia, as the old man's words came faint and halting from withered lips.

"In the City of Háwikuh," he said, "there in that city, gold is so common that everyone who uses it is looked down upon."

There was not a whisper from the hundred men and more who pressed around the old man.

"The people of Háwikuh," he said, "possess wash basins of gold but keep them hidden where they cannot be seen. Rather than bathe in them they go and wash in the river. Gold is so common that only the poor eat from gold plates, while the nobles and the king use wooden plates because wood is so rare."

The old man said more, but this was enough to set tongues to wagging. When he had finished and hobbled off to his home in the ruined city, men began to recount the stories they had heard, adding new ones of their own.

I marveled to hear them, at their willingness to believe any tale they heard so long as it dealt with gold. Had not the Indians of Popi lied to them? Were they not on this very night camped beside the ruins of a place that had been described as a thriving city filled with treasure?

There were some, however, who did question the truth of the old man's words. One of these was Captain Mendoza.

When the campfires burned low he summoned Zia and me. Carrying a torch, he led us into the ruins of Red House. There we went from room to room, climbing over piles of rubbish and rotted timber, through narrow halls where rats scurried, into dark places where things of the night squeaked and fluttered, to a room at last that smelled of smoke.

In one corner was a cavelike dwelling, dug into the floor and partly roofed with brush. Into this hole Mendoza thrust his torch. The eyes of the old man stared out at us.

Mendoza gave me the torch and with one hand grasped the Indian by the throat. As if he held something made of faggots and rags, he snatched the old man from the hole and set him on his feet.

Zia put a hand upon Mendoza as if to hold him back. "Do not harm him," she said quietly. Then to the old woman who crouched in the hole squealing like a small animal, she said something that calmed her.

"I will not harm him if he speaks the truth," Mendoza answered. "But tell him that I demand the truth about Háwikuh. Not tales that people wish to hear."

Mendoza took the torch from me and while he waited for Zia to translate, thrust it close to the Indian's face.

"I have spoken with a straight tongue," the old man replied.

"Ask him," said Mendoza, "when it was that he saw the city of Háwikuh."

"I have never seen this city," the Indian said. "But I have spoken to many who have seen it."

"Why have you not seen Háwikuh?" Mendoza demanded. "If this is a place where gold is so abundant, why have you not gone there?"

"For the reason," the Indian said, "that gold means no more to me than to those who live in the city of Háwikuh."

Mendoza raised the torch. I thought for a moment that he was about to strike the old man.

"Tell him that gold means something to me, if not to
him," he said. "Tell him also that if I do not find gold in Háwikuh and in the amounts he has described, I shall come back to this place and cut out the tongue he uses so freely."

Mendoza waited while Zia spoke to the Indian. Then, with a thrust of the torch, he shoved the old man back into the hole.

Next morning when the army marched away from Red House I saw the Indian standing among the shadows of a fallen doorway. As Mendoza rode by the old man glanced out at him and with two crooked fingers made a sign of ill omen.

Whether or not Mendoza saw the sign I do not know. I do know that I saw and many times in the days to come remembered it.

The Fortress of San Juan de Ulúa
Vera Cruz, in New Spain
The twenty-seventh day of September
The year of our Lord's birth, 1541

T
HE WIND BLOWS HOT
from the jungle. It tosses the candle flame about but still I can see to write down those things that happened during the first day of my trial.

Two hours after dawn Don Felipe comes to the cell, bringing comb and razor, a fresh doublet which is too small for me, and a word of advice.

"In a short time," he says, "you will stand before the Royal Audiencia. When you face these royal gentlemen, what do you say?"

"I answer the questions asked of me."

"Truthfully?"

"Truthfully."

He snorts through his long, crooked nose. "Then, young señor, you will live here in the Fortress of San Juan for the rest of your days."

"I have wronged the King," I answer bravely, braver than I feel. "But it was not my purpose to do so."

Don Felipe laughs. "Say that as much as you wish. But about the gold, say nothing. Nothing,
señor.
Like your counsel, they care little whether you are guilty or not. What they wish to know is about the treasure. Does
it fill the hold of one galleon or perhaps two? Or is it only the size to fill a king's hollow tooth? Where was it found? Where is it hidden? The gentlemen will ask a hundred questions to get the answer to one. Therefore, guard well your tongue."

Before we leave the cell, Don Felipe places a hand on my shoulder. "I think of you always as a son," he says. "When you stand in front of the Royal Audiencia I shall pray for you to the Holy Mother."

I am sure that he will. He wants the treasure for himself.

We climb the stairs together. We pass the sentry box, a sleeping sentry, whom Don Felipe rouses with a kick, and the holes where prisoners are kept.

"One more thing," he says as we cross the esplanade. "One of the judges is as deaf as a stone. Therefore speak up and do not mumble your words."

We reach the chamber of the Royal Audiencia, where two guards stand at the door. Inside I can see nothing, blinded as I am by the sun on the esplanade. Then I make out a small window, which has not been cleaned for months.

In front of the window at a heavy oak table sit three old men who look very much alike, whose faces are the same color as the underside of a sturgeon. They wear well-kempt wigs and black robes trimmed with fur. On their right is the royal fiscal, on their left the fiscal's assistant. The royal notary and two drab-looking clerks sit at another table, near Gamboa, my counsel.

Don Felipe has left me and I stand blinking my eyes.
Then one of the clerks sidles forward, carrying a cross, and halts a step away.

"Do you swear," he says, "to tell the truth before God, the Holy Mary, and the sign of the cross?"

I give my reply in a firm voice and touch the sacred symbol with my right hand, according to the law.

The second clerk rises and begins to read. He runs his words together so that they sound like pebbles falling down a chute. Yet I hear the final accusation.

"...to defraud and to deceive His Cesarean Majesty, to withhold the King's Royal Fifth, a rightful share of treasure, whose whereabouts is presently unknown, Estéban de Sandoval, a native of the city of Ronda in the Province of Andalucia, and a subject of the true Emperor, stands guilty of a crime against the Crown."

I already know the accusation, but to hear it spoken aloud in the courtroom gives it a different and more serious meaning. Since I have not been asked for my opinion, I say nothing.

The judge then asks if I am to be defended by counsel. Before I can reply, the young lawyer in the shabby doublet is on his feet. He bends forward, making a meek bow which I am certain he has practiced beforehand, and announces that I wish to plead guilty to the charge as read, with one exception.

My plea of "guilty" seems to surprise the royal fiscal, for suddenly he leans forward to whisper to the judges. After a time he slowly rises from behind the black oak table.

He is a squat-faced Spaniard with a protruding lower
lip that reminds me of the King's. He bows to the judge, glances carefully at the window, at the stone walls, at the royal coat of arms, at the stone floor, finally at my boots, the doublet which is too small for me, and the medal which I wear around my neck. He never meets my eyes.

"Your crime," he says, "is great. Are you aware of this?"

I sense that he is laying a trap. "I am aware of the accusation," I answer, "but not of any crime."

He begins to look around the chamber again. "Then you deny that you have deliberately deprived the King of his rightful share of treasure?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do you deny that you found such treasure?"

"Yes."

"Do you deny that a treasure exists?"

In truth, I am forced to answer, "No."

"A treasure exists?"

One of the judges, who has been sitting with his eyes closed, now opens them and looks at me.

"A treasure does exist?" the royal fiscal asks again, raising his voice.

"Yes, sir."

"Treasure exists, but you did not find it?"

"No."

The royal fiscal's glance now has reached the window, but suddenly he looks at me. His eyes are the shape and color of round leaden pellets.

"Since there is a treasure and you did not find it," he
says, "it was therefore found by someone else. Who?"

There is no sound in the chamber except the scratching of a quill.

"Who?" he repeats.

"Captain Bias de Mendoza," I answer.

"Who is this man?"

"He was a member of Coronado's army."

"Captain Mendoza," the royal fiscal says, "found the treasure which you now possess?"

Again, the trap. "The gold," I answer, "is not in my possession."

"Was it ever in your possession?"

Behind me I hear Don Felipe cough. My counsel is gazing at the ragged lace cuffs of his doublet. One of the judges admonishes me to be more prompt with my answers.