And he would again, if he could only find enough gold to buy his way home.
The sun sank below the horizon and there was hurried movement across the plain as the soldiers scrambled to make camp. Nearby, a Maya woman shrieked with joy as she reunited with one of the Spanish crossbowmen. Benicio watched as they shared a long, deep kiss. Even in the driest, most desolate place in the world, love bloomed.
Scanning the slope, Benicio spied Big Tree amongst the soldiers nearby. The stout-hearted porter was unloading bedding for one of the soldiers he served. He spotted Benicio and waved enthusiastically. He was now the grateful owner of Benicio’s doublet, though each time they met he insisted that Benicio take it back.
Benicio would not hear of it. The night of the snowstorm, many of the porters had died from the cold, and Benicio was resolute that this man, at least, would survive. Still, he wished that Big Tree’s burden was not so great. And now, with their water and food stores depleted, he and the other Totonac and Taino porters would suffer more than the Spaniards, even as they worked harder. Cortés asked too much of the strong, tireless men.
Benicio returned his gaze to the area where Tula had been wandering. He searched in vain for her figure amongst the pointy agave cactus limbs and feathery branches of scrub. Far below him, a large blue lake spread out like a mirror. But it was a mirror of deception, for the scouts had discovered the lake’s water to be briny and undrinkable.
The small lagoons they had passed during that afternoon were equally salty and unfit for consumption, though some of the soldiers drank from them anyway. Those men had quickly fallen ill, retching and heaving on the side of the trail. It was a grave situation, for as far as Benicio could tell there was no end to the desiccated wasteland.
One thing was for certain: this was no island. Benicio had read enough about the geography of the world to recognise that snow-capped volcanoes, interminable jungles and saline seas were not the closed, compacted features of some isolated isle. They trod upon a mass of land whose scale could not be comprehended—not the land described by Marco Polo, but something altogether different.
It was, quite simply, a new world.
Benicio felt the chill of night prickle his skin. A porter arrived to distribute Benicio’s two sets of blankets and sleeping mats. ‘Do you have a bit of water?’ asked Benicio, making the motion to drink. The man laughed bitterly and shook his head, and Benicio coughed in an attempt to rid himself of the dryness that plagued his throat.
There was still no sign of Tula, so he busied himself arranging their separate sleeping places, stacking rocks around them as a makeshift windbreak. He found himself hoping for a frost, so that he might have a reason to take Tula in his arms once again. He laughed aloud at the outlandish wish, trying to dismiss it from his mind.
But where was Tula? Daylight was fading, and Benicio could hear the distant yelping of coyotes heralding the night. He had resolved to begin his search for her when he heard a familiar voice over his shoulder.
‘Cold comes quickly to the high desert, does it not?’
Without turning, Benicio let the blanket fall from his shoulders. He unsheathed his dagger and held it pointing at the ground. ‘Come no closer,’ Benicio growled, ‘or I shall not hesitate to use this.’
‘Peace, Brother. I come in peace. And with a proposition for you.’
‘I do not wish to hear it, Rogelio,’ said Benicio. ‘Be gone.’
‘I suppose I can just ask your woman directly, in that case.’
Benicio turned around and beheld the red-headed demon himself. ‘If you even look at her ever again, I will kill you.’
‘Calm yourself, Brother,’ said Rogelio, favouring his left leg as he shuffled closer. ‘Have we not known each other long enough to dispense with such idle threats?’
‘Get out of my camp.’
‘When you departed Spain, did you also depart with your manners?’
‘I owe no manners to the man who tried to take my treasure...and my life.’
Benicio surveyed Rogelio’s defences: two steel vambraces on either arm, a single broadsword and a chest and back plate. Benicio was both better armed than Rogelio and, in his new cotton armour, could easily outrun him. He glanced quickly at Rogelio’s injured leg. It wept blood through his thick hose.
‘You will not take anything of mine,’ stated Benicio. ‘You are overmatched.’
‘I shall take everything, for I have seen the map.’
‘The map of the West Indies?’ Benicio feigned, looking around him. ‘Believe me, it is incomplete.’
‘Don’t play the idiot,’ barked Rogelio. ‘I am talking about the map the Maya priest gave you at the battle of Potonchan. The diamond with its four circled points. The map to the gold.’
‘A piece of rubbish. I care not that you have seen it.’
‘You care not? Then it is nothing to you that I know what it depicts.’
Benicio was careful not to react. Chances were that Rogelio had been given the same information that Benicio had—that the map showed the ceremonial centre of Tenochtitlan.
Rogelio propped his foot on a rock as if he were Cristobal Colón himself. ‘I will tell you what the map depicts and we can seek the treasure together.’
Benicio laughed. ‘Seek treasure with you? The Devil incarnate?’
Rogelio pretended not to hear. ‘And as a symbol of our partnership, we shall exchange women.’
Benicio’s laughter increased. ‘¡Que bueno! Trading women as we might trade horses. Shall I have mine reshod before the exchange?’
Rogelio growled. ‘She tried to kill me that day, you know.’
‘What?’
‘Your Totonac woman tried to kill me that day on the beach.’
‘I believe it was you who tried to kill me on the beach.’
‘I was not trying to kill you, Brother, only to wound you.’ Rogelio laughed. ‘I knew the blade would not penetrate deeply.’
‘Ah! So you did not try to kill me, but she tried to kill you?’
‘She did, the little witch.’ Rogelio’s eyes scanned the surroundings, searching for her. ‘She stuck me hard in the thigh with one of her arrows.’
And that is why you limp, Benicio realised.
In truth, Benicio remembered very little about that day on the beach. All he knew was that he’d been too exhausted from carrying his valuable armour to outrun Rogelio any more.
He remembered collapsing beneath Rogelio’s weight and sustaining a sharp blow to his chest. The next thing he knew he had awakened to find a beautiful woman in the act of stealing the golden ring right out of his mouth. ‘She may be a thief, but she is not a killer,’ Benicio stated.
‘It is understandable that you should think so. You want to believe that you are safe.’
‘Convince me that I am not.’
‘I spied her in the forest at the edge of the beach that day. She was soaked with water and appeared to be in distress. But when I approached to aid her, she sent arrows flying, followed by a barrage of stones. The final arrow stuck right here.’ He pointed to the middle of his thigh.
‘But you were wrestling with me. How did you know she was there in the forest?’
‘She shrieked.’
‘Shrieked?’
‘After I stabbed you, she shrieked. That’s how I knew she was there.’
‘And then she impaled you with her arrow?’
‘She did not throw with her hand, but with a throwing tool. She could have killed me.’
‘If she is such a killer, then why do you wish her for yourself?’
‘I seek justice, Brother. The wound she made has festered and does not heal. I have lost my ability to run. I fear that soon I will not walk. She must be punished for what she has done.’ Rogelio glanced down at the bed mats. ‘She must be put
in her rightful place. She must be...conquered.’
Benicio gripped his daggers so tightly that his knuckles ached. He wanted to kill Rogelio right then. He wanted to stick his blades into Rogelio’s neck and watch his evil blood bubble out on to the hardpan. But if he did that, then he was no better than Rogelio, whose lust for gold and power had twisted him into something that no longer resembled a man.
Benicio took a long, steadying breath. ‘If you have seen the map, then why do you march with this tired company? Why not simply retrieve the gold and return to Vera Cruz where you can wait for some seaworthy brig to take you back to Spain?’
‘It is my intention to do just that,’ said Rogelio. ‘Though you and I both know the punishment for mutineers.’ He shifted on to his right leg and cringed in pain.
It was as Benicio suspected, then. Rogelio was bound for Tenochtitlan just as Benicio was. He would seek his treasure inside the Templo Mayor, the double temple at the head of Tenochtitlan’s sacred square, which Benicio had learned was the tallest and most important temple in all Tenochtitlan. But Rogelio could not extract the treasure alone. His injured leg prevented it. That was why he needed Benicio.
There was a sudden rustling in the bushes behind Rogelio and Benicio’s heart leapt. He hoped it was Tula and prayed it was not all at once. But it was merely one of Cortés’s mastiff hounds foraging for game. The giant dog sniffed the air, then bared his teeth at Rogelio.
‘Leave us, stupid dog,’ said Rogelio, but the creature growled menacingly.
‘¡Fuera!’ shouted Benicio. Get out of here! Startled, the dog yelped and dashed off into the brush.
Rogelio gave Benicio a disingenuous bow. ‘Can you see now? I need you and you need me.’
‘I don’t need you for anything,’ snarled Benicio, ‘for I too, know where the treasure is hidden.’
‘Do you know exactly where it is hidden?’ asked Rogelio. ‘I did not think so. Besides, there is another reason you need me: I have something of yours.’
‘What could you possibly have of mine?’
‘You skipped away so quickly the morning Captain Saucedo arrived that you neglected to retrieve your second letter.’ Rogelio reached beneath his breastplate and produced a small envelope. ‘What was her name? The woman you spoke of so incessantly on our voyage to Hispañola? It was Luisa, was it not?’
Rogelio flashed the envelope before Benicio’s eyes and the long, elegant ‘f’ of Villafuerte told Benicio all that he needed to know. He felt a lump in his throat.
‘Ah, now I see that I have your attention.’
Benicio leapt forward to take the envelope, but Rogelio snatched it away, and grabbed the nape of his water bag. ‘I can destroy this letter in two seconds and you will never know what it contains.’
‘That letter is worth more than a thousand pounds of gold.’
‘Then we are agreed. We shall join forces to pursue the treasure of Tenochtitlan. I shall give you your second letter and we shall swap our Totonac women, to solidify the pact.’
Benicio stepped backwards. ‘I would never join forces with a man who would seek to...conquer my woman.’
‘Your woman?’ spat Rogelio. ‘What about this woman?’ He waved the letter in the air. ‘I met her once, don’t you recall? She loved my papayas.’
‘Go to Hell.’
Rogelio scowled. ‘If you will not give your Totonac woman to me, then I will take her myself.’
‘Over my dead body.’
‘Let us hope it does not come to that.’
‘I am not afraid of you.’
‘You should be, for I have nothing on this cursed earth to lose. You, on the other hand...’ Rogelio fanned himself with the letter. ‘Think about my proposition, Brother. Why not let my Totonac woman caress your pretty face for a while? Then you can get your treasure and return to your dear Luisa. Let us not squander this opportunity to make our fortunes.’
‘I do not need your help to make my fortune.’
‘We’ll see,’ said Rogelio, flashing a devilish grin. ‘Tomorrow we shall reach the rebel city of Tlaxcala. Let us seal our own alliance there, Brother, and after we succeed, I will give you this fine little missive—on my honour.’
Benicio spat in the dirt. ‘You have no honour.’ Rogelio did not respond, for he had already begun to walk away. ‘Rogelio?’ asked Benicio, feeling the bile of hate bubble up into his throat.
‘Yes?’
‘Do not ever call me Brother again.’
‘But brothers we are,’ said Rogelio. ‘The world has fated it.’ Then Rogelio disappeared into the twilight.
Benicio stood unmoving. There was another letter.
When had she written it? If she had penned it before the first letter—before Armando’s proposal—then it was likely some sweet outpouring of her fealty. But if it had been sent after the first letter, it was surely some important news. Either her engagement to Armando had ended, or the wedding had taken place.
Which was it? An outpouring of love, or a quiet severing of their unwritten pact?
He was so lost in his contemplations that he did not notice Tula lumber into camp, the mastiff following cheerfully behind her. She was carrying a stalk as long as a tree trunk, but green and pliable, its layered tip bending as she hauled it across the ground. In her face he read exhaustion and something else. A kind of pride, perhaps—like the dignity of a huntress lugging her hard-won bounty into camp.
She bent and tilted the stalk to the dog’s lips and a clear liquid trickled out into her cupped hand.
Tula patted the dog on the head, then held the stalk out to Benicio, who could still not quite believe what he had just seen. The stalk was as large as his arm and many times as long. It had scars near its tip—a memory of trimmed branches—and a middle composed of loosely woven fibres. Benicio could not imagine where she had discovered such a verdant, succulent thing in this grey place.
She held out the limb beseechingly now and he felt much like the panting mastiff. He took the stalk and held it to his lips.
The taste of the liquid that poured forth was earthy and slightly sweet, like tea flavoured with honey, and Benicio could feel his body’s almost instant revival. He drank greedily, seizing upon the liquid relief. His limbs grew lighter. His thoughts, clearer. Even his eyes seemed to see better in the waning light. Forcing himself to cease, he motioned for Tula to take his place beneath the heavenly trickle.
She shook her head. I have already drunk, she appeared trying to say. Still he insisted, and finally she capitulated, kneeling down beside him while he tilted the remaining liquid into her mouth.
He should not have looked down at her in that moment. Her cheeks were too flushed, her lips too red and bright with her exertion. His mind rollicked with forbidden thoughts of her and he had to turn away.
Luisa, Luisa, Luisa, he thought.
Thankfully, the stream of liquid finished. She took the stalk into her hands and stood, smiling up at Benicio triumphantly. God save him, he wanted nothing more than to take those rosy cheeks in his hands and kiss her hard.
She sighed, then pulled the stalk towards her. Benicio felt his arms being yanked, and he realised that he had not let go of the stalk himself. He looked down. There were his hands, right next to hers, almost touching them. And there, just above her hands was her taut stomach, and above that, her breasts. He felt himself growing hard with lust. He knew he should release the stalk. Instead, he pulled it towards him.
She stumbled forward, keeping her hands firmly in place. Now she was only a hand’s length away from him. With a single pull, he knew he could have her body pressing against his. She peered up at him, lifting a single brow in curiosity. She was not going to let go of the stalk.
His heart pounded in his ears until it was the only thing he could hear. His lust for her tore through his body and
he squeezed the plant until he felt it collapsing inside his grip.
‘Benicio?’ she asked. She looked down at the broken stalk and he saw her notice the evidence of his desire stretching beneath it. He stepped backwards and turned his body in shame.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, trying to compose himself. He stood looking out at the grey plateau for many long moments. Finally, he cleared his throat and turned to face her. ‘Thank you,’ he said, glancing at the broken stalk. ‘I did not mean to do that.’
She shook her head as if to tell him not to worry. ‘Octli,’ she said, dropping the stalk upon the ground.
‘Ah!’ Benicio exclaimed, understanding that the liquid they had drunk was the source of the intoxicating drink that the Totonacs poured for the Spaniards so generously. Thank God that it had not yet begun to ferment, Benicio thought wryly, for then he would have certainly pulled her atop him and ravished her in the sand.
She patted the mastiff once more on the head. Their thirsts sated, there seemed to be nothing more to say. She settled herself on the mat that Benicio had placed for her many paces away. She rolled herself up in her blanket and turned her back to him.
‘Goodnight, Benicio,’ she said.
‘Goodnight, Tula.’
He felt like he had been spun around a hundred times, then told to walk straight. Where was he? And what was he doing?
Ah, yes, Luisa.
He pulled his book from beneath his cotton armour and stretched out on to his own mat. He shook his head, trying to eradicate the vision of Tula that had invaded his mind. Mechanically, he opened Luisa’s second letter—the one he had received in Vera Cruz—then realised there was no longer enough light to read it by. When had it become so dark?
He returned the letter to its place and sat up, unable to sleep. He noticed the small, shadowy figure of the mastiff curled up at the base of Tula’s feet. The dog had begun to snore rhythmically.
Benicio smiled at the peaceful scene, glad that the fearsome animal had made himself her friend. With Rogelio’s intentions now apparent, Tula would need all the protection she could get.
The Spaniard's Innocent Maiden Page 14
