Aztec Autumn

'Not the wealth of that fabled Antilia?'

'Oh, but yes!' he said sarcastically. 'Our river indios said that they traded animal hides and river shells and bird feathers with the inhabitants of those elegant cities, and got in return great riches. What they called 'riches' being only those cheap blue and green stones that all you indios so revere.'

'Nothing, then, that would arouse the avarice of a Spaniard?'

'Will you hear me, man? We are talking of a desert!'

'So your companions are not withholding anything from the friar?'

'Withholding what? I was the only one who comprehended the indios' languages. My master Dorantes knows only what I translated to him. And that was little enough, for there was little to tell.'

'But suppose... now... you were to take Fray Marcos aside and whisper to him that the white men are being secretive? That you know the whereabouts of really rich cities.'

Esteban gaped at me. 'Lie to him? What profit in lying to a man known as the Lying Monk?'

'It is my experience that liars are the persons most ready to believe lies. He already seems to believe in that fable of the Antilia cities.'

'So? I tell him they do exist? And that I know where? Why would I do that?'

'As I suggested a while ago, so that you can return to those lands where you were not a slave—where you found the native women to your taste—and return there not as a fugitive.'

'Hm...' murmured Esteban, considering this.

'Convince the friar that you can lead him to those cities of immeasurable wealth. He will be the more easily persuaded if he thinks you are revealing to him something the white heroes will not. He will assume that they are waiting to tell their secret to the Marques Cortes. He will rejoice in the delusion that he can get to those riches— with your help—ahead of Cortes or any treasure-seekers Cortes may send. And he will arrange for you to take him there.'

'But... when we get there and I have nothing to show him? Only laughable mud hutches and worthless blue pebbles and...'

'Now it is you, my friend, who are being estupido. Lead him there and lose him. That should be easy enough. If he ever finds his way back here to New Spain, he can only report that you must have been slain by the vigilant guardians of those treasures.'

Esteban's face began almost to glow, if black can glow. 'I would be free...'

'It is certainly worth the trying. You need not even lie, if that troubles you. The friar's own greedy and dishonest nature will supply to his mind any exaggerations necessary to convince him.'

'By God, I will do it! You, amigo, are a wise and clever man. You should be the Marques of all New Spain!'

I made modest demurrers, but I must confess that I was fairly glowing myself, with pride in the intricate scheme I was setting in motion. Esteban, of course, did not know that I was using him to further my own secret plans, but that would not lessen his benefiting from the scheme. He would be free of any master, for the first time in his life, and free to take his chances of staying free among those far-off River People, and free to browse as much as he pleased—or dared—among their womenfolk.

I have recounted much of our night-long conversation in detail, because that will make clearer my explanation—which I will provide in its place—of how my meeting with the heroes and the friar did redound to the furtherance of my intended overthrow of the white men's dominion. And there was yet another encounter in store, to give me added encouragement. By the time Esteban and I finished talking, the morning was dawning, and with the morning came one more of those seeming coincidences that the gods, in their mischievous meddling with the doings of men, are forever contriving.

Four new Spanish soldiers on horseback came suddenly—from the direction Tiptoe and I had come— clattering into the camp and startling awake everyone else there. When I heard the news that they bawled at the Teniente Tallabuena, I was again heartily relieved; these men were not pursuing me and Tiptoe. Their horses were heavily lathered, so they had obviously been riding hard, and overnight. If they had passed that empty outpost away back yonder, they had not paused to pay it any attention.

'Teniente!' shouted one of the newcomers. 'You are no longer under the command of that zurullon Guzman!'

'Praise God for that,' said Tallabuena, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. 'But why am I not?'

The rider swung down from his horse, flung its reins to a sleepy soldier and demanded, 'Is there anything to eat? Our belt buckles are rattling our backbones! Ay, there is news from the capital, Teniente. The king has finally appointed a virrey to head the Audiencia of New Spain. A good man, this Viceroy Mendoza. One of the first things he did was to hear the many complaints against Nuno de Guzman—his countless atrocities against the slave indios and Moros here. And one of Mendoza's first decrees is that Guzman be removed from the governorship of New Galicia. We are galloping to Compostela to take him in charge and fetch him to the city for his punishment.'

I could have heard nothing that would have pleased me more. The news-bringer paused to take a massive munch at a cold chunk of deer meat before he went on:

'Guzman will be replaced by a younger man, one who came from Spain with Mendoza, un tal Coronado, who is on his way hither as we speak.'

'?Oye?' exclaimed Fray Marcos. 'Would that be Francisco Vasquez de Coronado?'

'It would,' said the soldier, between bites.

'?Que feliz fortuna!' cried the friar. 'I have heard of him, and heard only praise of him. He is a close friend of that Viceroy Mendoza, who is in turn a close friend of Bishop Zumarraga, who is in turn a close friend of mine. Also, this Coronado has recently made a most brilliant marriage to a cousin of King Carlos himself. Ay, but Coronado will wield power and influence here!'

The other Spaniards were shaking their heads at this abundance of news coming all at once, but I sidled out of the throng to where Esteban stood apart and said in a low voice:

'Things are looking better and better, amigo, for your soon getting back among those River People.'

He nodded and said exactly what I was thinking. 'The Lying Monk will persuade his friend, the bishop—and the bishop's friend, the viceroy—to send him thither, ostensibly as a missionary to the savages. Whether he tells the bishop and the viceroy why he is really going does not matter. So long as I go with him.'

'And this new Governor Coronado,' I added, 'will be eager to make his mark. If you bring Fray Marcos by way of Compostela, I wager that Coronado will be most generous in providing horses and equipment and weapons and provisions.'

'Yes,' Esteban crowed. 'I owe you much, amigo. I will not forget you. And if ever I am rich, be sure I shall share with you.'

At that, he impulsively threw his arms around me and gave me the crushing squeeze that is called in Spanish the abrazo. A few of the Spaniards were watching, and I worried that they might wonder why I was being so exuberantly thanked, and for what. But then I had a more immediate worry. Over Esteban's shoulder, I saw that Tiptoe was also watching. Her eyes went wide, and abruptly she made a dash for our horses. I realized what she was about to do, and wrenched myself loose from the embrace and pelted after her. I got there just in time to prevent her snatching one of our arcabuces from the packs.

'No, Pakapeti! No need!'

'You are still unharmed?' she asked, her voice trembly. 'I thought you were being assaulted by that black beast.'

'No, no. You are a dear and caring girl, but overly impetuous. Please leave any rescuing to me. I will tell you later why I was being squeezed.'

A good many of the Spaniards, now, were eyeing us curiously, but I smiled a reassuring smile in all directions, and they turned back to the news-bringers. One of those was telling his listeners:

'Another news, though not of such portentousness, is that Papa Paulo has established a new bishopric here in New Spain, the diocese of New Galicia. And he has elevated the Padre Vasco de Quiroga to a new and august station. Another of our couriers is riding to advise Padre Vasco that he is now to wear the miter, as Bishop Quiroga