By now, Xanca, Anan and Rogelio were surely back in Cempoala, resting in the comfort of her father’s cool stone house. Tula had been reluctant to part ways with them at the salt lake, but Xanca had assured her that it was the right thing to do.
‘Treasure is treasure,’ she had reasoned. ‘It can be used in place of much tribute.’
Tula and Benicio had promised to return to Cempoala within twenty days, their empty maize sacks filled with the untold riches Tula was sure they would find.
‘Yes, go!’ Rogelio had urged, his eyes bright with greed, and Benicio had snapped Big Deer’s reins, steering the mare southward.
And now here they were, in the land of the Maya, so close to their goal, yet so completely lost. Tula wandered beneath the trees and vines, praying that some Maya hunter might find them and point them to the ancient city where Tula knew they would find what they sought.
‘Are you sure?’ Benicio asked suddenly. They had stopped to let Big Deer dip its head into a small stream. ‘About the circles, I mean. The ones on the map?’
‘I am sure,’ Tula said.
She stared down at the water trickling in its small channel. Streams such as this one were common in Maya territory, but large rivers were not. For the bulk of their water, the Maya relied on cenotes, natural round wells that pockmarked the jungle. ‘It is the only answer. The circles on the map are cenotes.’
‘And the dot in the middle of the map?’
‘It is the temple of Kukulcan.’
The priest who had drawn the map had been wearing the sacred ring of the Wind God, Quetzalcoatl. To the Maya, Quetzalcoatl was known as Kukulcan. Long ago, Tula’s father had taught her that Kukulcan’s holiest temple was located in the abandoned Maya city of Chichen Itza. It had been constructed between four sacred cenotes.
‘Are you certain?’
Clearly Benicio no longer trusted a word Tula said. She had lied to him, after all. For many long months she had deceived him, telling him that the treasure lay in Tenochtitlan. All the while she knew the truth: It did not lie in the greatest city of the Mexica, high in the mountains. It lay in the greatest city of the Maya, deep in the jungle.
‘But why locate a temple in the middle of four cenotes?’ asked Benicio.
Benicio had barely spoken to her since their departure and only to ask doubting questions such as these. By lying to him for so long, it seemed that she had destroyed all his confidence in her.
‘I do not know the minds of the ancients,’ Tula said, stroking the mare’s long neck.
Benicio had not ridden with her atop Big Deer at all that day. Instead, he had chosen to walk—something he did as often as he could. He did not sleep near her in the night, even when it was cold. He had even grown back his beard, as if he wished to return to the man he was before he met Tula. And that was for the best. Despite their strange attraction, he had remained true to Luisa and she admired him for it. It was the least she could do to keep her distance from him and do her part to reinforce the wall that had grown between them since that moment atop the temple.
‘Why not build four temples around a single cenote instead?’ he puzzled now. ‘Are temples not the most sacred sites in your world?’
Tula shook her head. How could she explain it in a way he could understand? To the Maya, cenotes were like temples beneath the earth. They were sources of power, portals to the world beyond. A Maya priest on his death bed would not draw a circle in his own blood unless he was depicting a cenote. He had probably been drawing some kind of map for his soul—a way for his holy essence to find its way home.
‘The Maya culture is old, very old,’ Tula explained once again. ‘The Maya know that men can build great temples, but the earth will always...eat them. The Maya remember this. Other people forget.’
There was a sudden rustling in the jungle behind them and Tula turned to discover a large, colourful quetzal bird perched on the branch of a broad-leafed mahogany tree. She placed her finger upon her lips and pointed to the elegant bird, its long blue-and-green feathers nearly touching the ground.
‘It is a quetzal,’ whispered Tula. ‘A sacred bird.’ She remembered the day she had visited Benicio in the cenote near her home. A bird very much like this one had appeared and led her away, just as the priests were arriving. It had saved her life.
The bird hopped to a more distant branch. ‘We must follow this bird,’ said Tula. She tugged the Big Deer’s reins.
‘What are you doing?’ Benicio bristled.
‘Trust me,’ she said. The bird hopped from limb to limb, seemingly unafraid, and they followed it through the jungle. Suddenly, they broke through the undergrowth to behold the sun-bleached stones of an ancient city.
‘We are here,’ Tula said, overcome with relief. ‘We have arrived in Chichen Itza.’ She turned to look for the bird, but it had disappeared into the jungle. Tula called softly after it in Totonac. ‘I am humble.’
‘What did you say?’ asked Benicio.
Tula dismounted Big Deer. ‘I cannot say it in your language. The word does not exist.’
Benicio frowned, taking Big Deer’s reins.
‘It is like to say gracias, but it is bigger,’ explained Tula, ‘and also smaller.’
Tula stared out at Chichen Itza’s stone ruins—a rabble of chalky, collapsing buildings covered in bushes and strangled by vines and tree roots. The Temple of Kukulcan rose up among them like a ghost, half-covered in a carpet of green plumage, the headdress of the jungle.
‘There is the sacred temple.’
It appeared totally abandoned. Not a single holy soul traversed its high platform, not a speck of blood sullied its stones. Tula pointed at its steps. ‘My father tell me there is one for each day of the year,’ she explained to Benicio. ‘Two times in the cycle of the sun, a serpent goes down.’
‘The Feathered Serpent.’
‘Yes. He goes from the Temple to the Sacred Cenote.’ Tula pointed from the pyramid northward down a long, raised cement road. ‘The Sacred Cenote is down that road,’ Tula said. ‘The Maya Rain God, Chaac, lives there.’
‘Is that where the treasure lies?’
Tula scratched her head. She retrieved the map from beneath her belt and opened it. ‘The Maya priest, he speak to you?’ she asked Benicio, puzzling over the map.
‘What?’
Tula looked up and studied Benicio closely. ‘The Maya priest say something to you before he die?’
Benicio paused. ‘He said the word for gold.’
‘Taak’in.’
‘Yes.’
‘Any other word?’
Benicio seemed to be thinking. ‘Ma tu’ub. He also said ma tu’ub.’
‘Ma tu’ub!’ exclaimed Tula. ‘Why you not tell me?’
‘I...forgot,’ said Benicio. ‘What does it mean?’
‘It means do not forget,’ said Tula, her lips twisting into a mocking smile.
For the first time in many days, Benicio smiled back. ‘Well, that does not help very much, does it?’
Tula shook her head. ‘It changes everything!’ She stuffed the map beneath her belt and began walking south, away from the Sacred Cenote. ‘The treasure is not inside the Sacred Cenote.’
‘But how do you know that?’ Benicio asked, dragging Big Deer behind him.
‘Because nobody can forget the Sacred Cenote. Just look at the road.’
Unlike the Temple of Kukulcan and the other buildings nearby, the road heading to the Sacred Cenote was clear, not a single bush or vine encroaching its stone cobbles. It was obviously kept that way, probably by Maya pilgrims and local priests.
Tula’s southbound path took them through the rest of the ancient holy precinct of Chichen Itza. Tula did not try to conceal her wonder as they passed through the dense collection of temples and gathering halls, many o
f which her father had taught her about when she was a child.
Soon they came upon a strange, half-finished temple with a large, round tower protruding from its wide base. Tula knew this building, for her father had described it once: it was the place where the ancient Maya studied the heavens.
‘What is this place?’ asked Benicio.
‘It is where the old Maya come to watch the gods at night.’
‘You mean the stars?’
‘Yes, the stars,’ said Tula absently. ‘The beautiful ones. Mixcoatl’s sons and daughters.’
Benicio stared at the building in wonder. ‘An observatory.’ He tied Big Deer off on a nearby tree.
Meanwhile, Tula had spread the map upon the ground. ‘What is this?’ she asked. She pointed to a trickle of blood that made a kind of path down from the map’s central dot.
‘I do not know,’ said Benicio, his attention consumed by the spectacular domed building.
‘This is the last place he touch?’ she asked.
‘I think so, yes,’ Benicio said absently, his gaze still fixed on the snail-shaped dome. ‘Why does it matter?’
‘Within everything lies its opposite,’ said Tula and she continued southward, this time at a slow run.
‘Where are you going?’ Benicio called after her.
‘South,’ she cried, ‘to find the treasure!’
Chapter Thirty-Four
Big Deer reared up, almost stumbling into the small round pool of water, which appeared without warning amidst the thick undergrowth. Benicio guided the horse backwards and dismounted, tying her off on a tree. He picked his way through the tangle of bushes and vines and peered over the edge.
The clear, clean water rippled outward in undulating waves—evidence of Tula’s dive. She was down there already, propelling herself through the depths. Benicio had only spent a few moments inside the observatory, but when he had returned, he had quickly lost her path through the dense jungle. Then, just moments ago, he had heard the splash.
Thank God he had found her, for the cenote would have been easy to miss. Its waters were high, but tree limbs and vines criss-crossed the open space above it, shrouding it in shade. Peering over the edge, Benicio saw several rocks exposed just beneath its rim, creating natural resting places in the cool shade. Benicio removed his boots and stepped down on to one of the rocks.
She had chosen not to wait for him, just as she had chosen not to visit him all those days he had stood on lookout. And on their journey to Chichen Itza, she seemed glad that he had stayed well away from her. She had even helped him wedge the blanket between them in the saddle every day, as if she despised his touch as much as he feared hers.
And she had every right to despise him, he reminded himself, for he had forced himself upon her that night at the top of the Templo Mayor. She had every right to keep her distance and continually remind him of Luisa.
Clearly Tula did not want Benicio. She wanted him to return to Spain and reunite with his lost love. The sooner she could find the treasure, the sooner she could be rid of him and move on with her life.
Perhaps that was for the best. Clearly she could not stand to be with him. And he could not stand to be with her any more, either—at least, not when she wore her hair down like she had begun to do, in long dark ropes that looked like silk. And not when she kept mounting the horse on her own, as if it were nothing, her strong, shapely thighs flashing naked with the flare of her skirt. And not when she smiled at him in that way, when the sun was in her face, just as she had done that night beneath the glow of the moon.
It was unbearable. He had tried to purge her from his mind, but it was impossible, for there she was, alive and radiant. And when he tried to flood his mind with thoughts of the past, all he could remember was the moments they had shared together. They had burned into his limbs like a disease, making him weak, destroying his resolve, turning his goals to ash. He had become her servant that night on the steps of the Templo Mayor, her most devout apostle, and he knew that from that moment on, he would do anything for her.
So that day at the lookout, when she had told him that she had lied to him and reminded him once again of his duty to Luisa, well, he had to obey, even though she had quietly crushed his heart.
He stared down into the dark waters, wondering if she could see anything at all. His heart pounded. How could she still be holding her breath? He was twice her size and would certainly be choking for air by now. She was in danger, he could sense it. He dived in.
He tried to keep his sense of direction as darkness enveloped him. Down, down he dived, flailing his arms about in the hopes of touching her, but she was nowhere to be found. ‘Tula!’ he cried through the water, swallowing a mouthful.
He thrust out his arms and probed all around him until he came upon a wall, then felt his head bump against hard rock. ‘Tula!’ he called, his lungs beginning to convulse. His body wanted to rise, but there was some kind of ceiling above him. He did not know how to escape. He sucked in another lungful of water and realised that he was drowning.
Suddenly, he felt her hand upon his arm. She was dragging him towards her. She placed her arm about his waist and kicked upwards. Soon, the ceiling above him had disappeared and he saw that he was floating towards a dim light. Then everything went black.
* * *
When he awoke, a stream of water was shooting out of his lungs. He was lying on the ground on his stomach, sputtering back to life. He felt her hands upon his back as he coughed more water, then collapsed. He breathed in the air and felt her hands caressing his back.
He lay there for many long moments, aware that she was saying something in her language, some angry string of words that none the less caressed his ears. He rolled over.
There she was—his goddess. She was kneeling before him, and the sun shone behind her in a halo of light. She had saved his life and now she hovered beside him like some heavenly vision.
‘You almost die,’ she said. ‘Why do you go in the cenote?’ The tears streaming down her face caught the light. He reached up and wiped them with his thumb.
‘I was worried about you,’ he said. ‘You saved my life. Again.’
‘You save my life many times,’ she responded curtly. ‘I am sorry I lie to you, Benicio. I owe you a debt.’
‘You owe me no debt,’ said Benicio, but she seemed not to hear.
She pointed at the cenote. ‘I pay it now. I find treasure.’
He tried to pretend enthusiasm, but he could not think past her big, dazzling eyes, her abundant lips and her long, elegant neck, which he studied for a long while before noticing the large jade necklace hanging heavily around it.
She unclasped the necklace and placed it into his hands. ‘You see? I find gold, Benicio! Much, much gold. And rings. And plates and masks. I touch with my hands!’ She was shouting with excitement and no small measure of pride. ‘I find it for you, Benicio. For you and Luisa. Treasure!’
Tula jumped to her feet, her eyes glittering with the certainty of success. ‘I bring treasure now for us.’ She stepped towards the cenote and prepared to dive.
‘No!’ shouted Benicio. ‘Please, do not go.’
‘I bring treasure. It is good, yes? You give to Luisa.’
Benicio frowned. Why must she always remind him of his return to Spain, when all he wanted to do was forget it? ‘No, it is not good.’
‘What? Why?’
‘Because I do not wish for gold—not any more.’
She stared at him in stupefied silence. ‘I do not understand.’
‘I do not want to return to Spain.’
‘But your Luis—’
‘Shh!’ he snapped. ‘Please do not say her name.’
Tula cringed at his sharpness, then shook her head in confusion. ‘I do not understand the words you say. We come to fi
nd gold for you. I bring it now.’
‘You are not understanding me,’ said Benicio, but it was too late. She stepped over the edge of the cenote and Benicio heard a splash. Without thinking, he lunged over the edge after her.
He kicked fiercely, hardly believing that he had willingly plunged himself into the very same pool in which he had almost drowned. But he did not care. He needed to make her understand the truth: that his heart did not wish for Luisa, or to find Luisa’s gold—not any more. It wished for Tula. Tula was the woman he loved and he would fight for her until the end.
Chapter Thirty-Five
She dived into the depths, letting her confusion propel her. Surely he mocked her. Either that, or he had truly gone mad. She had seen it happen before. After the battles in Tlaxcala, several of the Spanish soldiers had simply stopped fighting. They had unbuckled their armour plates and staggered off into the forest.
And now, Benicio was in essence doing the same. He was abandoning his dream: to return to his land with a horde of treasure to present to his woman. He was forsaking everything he had set out to do.
But she would not let him succeed. She dived ever downwards, angling to a small alcove where the enormous concrete jars had been wedged. She plunged her hand into the wide mouth of the first jar.
There was so much treasure—plenty for the both of them. She could feel the smooth gemstones, the elaborately designed loops and clasps. She trod water as her fingers traced along the outlines of heavy metallic plates and bowls, and into the hollow eyes of dozens of sacred masks.
It was an incredible horde and she wondered for a moment why the Maya priest had told Benicio about this place at all.
It was said that holy men could see into people’s souls. Perhaps the priest had seen the goodness in Benicio’s. And Benicio was a good man, despite all his efforts to convince Tula otherwise. She knew that he loathed killing, and loved the people of the world. He could have abandoned Tula and the Totonac captives that night atop the pyramid, but instead he had risked his life saving them. She suspected he had risked his life trying to save the Maya priest, as well.
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