The Cortés Trilogy: Enigma Revenge Revelation

by John Paul Davis

  “It’s this way.” Cortés headed right as the approach road split in two, leading them to a small road called Calle Zanja, lined with a handful of houses and countless trees.

  “I take it you’ve been here before?”

  Cortés looked at Ben. “Yes. A long time ago.”

  *

  The hamlet was quieter than Ben had expected. There was no hum of traffic, no bustle of a local market or people running errands; instead, the place felt as though it served only as a gateway to the wilderness.

  They found the church in the south-east part of the hamlet, along a small road listed on the map as Calle Iglesia. Ben saw the four-by-four located outside a rustic guesthouse with a wooden door and a farmhouse-style façade.

  The perfect weekend getaway, he mused.

  There was someone standing near the church, an expression of disdain etched across weary features. As the figure moved out of the direct sunlight, he recognised her.

  “Abuela.”

  Maria’s face lit up on seeing her grandmother, who was standing in the shadow of the main doors, clothed in her usual dress and shoes, and holding a rosary tightly in her hands. She took one look at her granddaughter walking with bound hands between Danny and Eduardo and almost exploded on seeing Cortés.

  “You?”

  Ben could tell from Juan’s expression there was no love lost on either side. He folded his arms and stood with a rigid posture, seemingly bracing himself for the moment when all hell would be unleashed.

  “Your granddaughter made a grave mistake coming to my castle. I should have thought you of all people might have known better.”

  Elena spat on the ground. “I heard you were dead.”

  “And I heard you have become senile. By now you should have learned not to take rumour at face value. Where is your granddaughter?”

  “Are you blind? She is standing right next to you.”

  Maria laughed, her smile immediately fading on seeing Cortés’s stern frown look strongly upon her. He turned again to Elena.

  “Where is Valeria?”

  Elena held his gaze but offered no response.

  “I must say I am surprised. After all these years, I would have thought you of all people would have known better than to dig up the bones of the past.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “You know why.”

  “My father was a noble man, not prone to flights of fancy. What secrets existed here once exist no longer.” She folded her arms, her expression relaxing slightly. “Why are you really here?”

  Cortés maintained his concentration, his eyes fixed in an inquisitive stare, as though he were trying to find a gateway into her soul. Ben could tell that the woman was having an effect on him; the type only an elderly relative or nemesis ever could. The woman, meanwhile, glared at him in a piercing, unblinking manner, reminding him of his experience in the dining room of the lighthouse.

  Quietly he feared the woman more than Cortés.

  Cortés broke eye contact first. He turned to Danny and Eduardo and removed his gun from his pocket. “Go tie her up. She will make a useful guide of the monastery.”

  *

  They bound her hands with the same white nylon Danny had earlier been forced to use on Maria. Ben watched uncomfortably as the woman spat out insults at Danny in her native tongue, making Danny shake and Cortés smile. The Spaniard waited until she was secured before approaching her, their faces now almost touching.

  “Where is the entrance to the monastery?”

  “The mountain is hollow; all the great things have been taken. There is nothing left for you here.”

  Juan remained sceptical. “Show me to your granddaughter.”

  *

  They headed east across the mountain pass. Ben noticed the path continued in two directions: east into the dehesa or north alongside the hill.

  It was the only way to approach the castle.

  “You’re really going to take them with us?” Ben asked, looking over his shoulder at Elena and Maria. Neither of them were appropriately dressed to venture into underground tunnels. While Elena seemed surprisingly unmoved, Maria was devoid of hope. Her head was down, her eyes directed firmly to the ground. As she looked up, Ben saw redness had returned to her eyes, her make-up smudged from recent tears. He held her gaze; she looked away.

  “Juan?”

  “The old woman knows these mountains as well as any. Trust me, her expertise will benefit us greatly.”

  The pathway veered to the left, at which point it followed the natural curvature of the hill. On reaching the top, Ben paused for breath, awestruck by the superb scenery.

  “This was really once the home of a religious order?”

  Cortés ignored him, instead passing the ruined tower and heading off towards the west. Eduardo walked alongside him, carrying his electronic tablet. The second blue dot was still flashing.

  The evidence indicated they should be almost alongside them.

  Juan led the way across the bare, rocky outcrops using the flat surfaces to maintain his balance. He continued for over ten metres before stopping suddenly, his gaze fixed on something below.

  Ben approached from a different route and came to a sudden halt. There was a hole in the ground, among the rocks on the north-west side.

  Cortés removed a torch from his pocket and shone it into the void. There was evidence of an iron grid, long ago forced open.

  “Get the others. Quickly. We will not be far behind.”

  44

  The tunnel had a dark and ominous atmosphere about it, as though it led directly to the centre of the earth. Small insects and others not so small lingered in the darkest recesses.

  Even with the torch, Chris couldn’t easily identify them.

  The darkness was imposing, the surrounding rock generally absorbing more light than it reflected. The circular beams from their torches revealed that the passageway curved from left to right, declining at a steady angle. The ground was hard, muddy in places. As the minutes passed, he sensed the air begin to thin.

  After five minutes of walking, he noticed the walls change in character. There were drawings etched into the surfaces on both sides, unlike anything he had seen before. His first impression was that they were prehistoric, but as the walk continued, he realised they were more modern. Studying them under torchlight, he could tell that it was only the subject matter that was old. The pictures appeared to be Mesoamerican. Images of forgotten mythology.

  Another treasure brought back from the New World.

  Up ahead, the route was blocked by something that clearly didn’t belong naturally beneath the earth. The walls that had previously curved at a consistent angle straightened unexpectedly; the ground beneath them was flatter and reinforced with blocks of stone. Two ancient statues flanked the blockade, standing with rigid expressions on top of carved pillars and armed with sharp war swords clutched tightly in oversized hands. To Chris, their appearances were clearly in keeping with the wall decorations.

  Most likely designed to pay homage to gods or high priests.

  Chris centred his torch on the statues before shining it at Valeria. Her wide eyes appeared timid in the extra light, like a lost kitten scared of the dark. She had been concentrating on the right wall, where evidence of rotten wood and metallic torch holders was clearly visible; a reminder that whoever created the tunnel had done so without the luxury of electricity. The ceilings were high, vaulted like a church nave and with gaps placed at equal intervals.

  He guessed they had been put in as a primitive ventilation system.

  *

  The blockade before them was of granite construction; it reminded Valeria of the one that had barred their way in the Cornish mine. She kept the memory to herself as Chris ran his fingers along the smooth exterior and attempted to push against it.

  Unsurprisingly it didn’t budge.

  Chris retreated a few steps and took a deep breath, studying the surroundings closely. He noticed a series of gro
oves across the middle, each of identical shape and depth and littered with cobwebs.

  He turned and faced Valeria. “Did the manuscript say anything about this?”

  “Not exactly,” she replied, shielding her eyes. “Not that it was necessary.” She removed her rucksack and took out the first of the four stones before shining her torch at the first groove.

  Chris was gobsmacked. “You’ve gotta be kidding me!”

  She lined up the green stone with the first groove and studied it carefully. The crystals within it glowed at the centre, its light possessing an almost hypnotic quality as it shone against the dark backdrop. Pushing away the cobwebs, she noticed there were similar patterns engraved inside all of the various recesses, each slightly different.

  She studied them in turn, identifying the correct order.

  She inserted the green stone into the third opening; it entered as though it were a key. Next came the blue into the first.

  Then the gold into the second.

  And the purple into the fourth.

  She took a step back and held her breath as an ominous rumbling sound emanated, seemingly from behind the door. It reminded her of cogs turning on an unoiled mechanism, identical to what she had witnessed at Godolphin. They listened, awestruck, as the sounds became louder before stopping suddenly.

  The wall separated.

  45

  The discovery I was soon to make, I must confess, shocked me greatly. Having spent several pleasant hours examining the castle in some detail the previous evening, which at the time had been for the sole intention of allowing my tired mind to unwind before turning in for the evening, I had neglected to pay any great attention to the surrounding sights and remained in complete ignorance of even the slightest possibility that the bare crags could possibly conceal anything of value.

  Having spoken at length to my host, whose generosity during our stay had already eradicated any doubts I may have had prior to our arrival on staying in such a remote location, about the history of the area, I was, to my great surprise, recommended with much passion to make a visit to the barren areas that surrounded what I understand had once been a mighty tower on the west side. In between what had originally been the corner stones, I saw to my great amazement evidence of a forgotten tunnel, perhaps the entrance to what had once been a dungeon. Unfortunately, a great many iron bars, whose appearance reminded me of a place of incarceration, prohibited access.

  Having discussed the problem with the leader of our company, it was decided an effort would be made to enter the strange tunnel. Having received the assistance of many local men, all of whom seemed equally ignorant of any reason for such a blockade, we were able to enter the passageway for the first time. Many pretty flowers lined the interior that echoed with a forlorn silence that reminded me of my days in Scotland. After no more than about ten minutes of making our way through the narrow passageways, we came before a doorway that, although accessible, was lined by many things similar to those I had recently seen in the country’s capital several days earlier. Their appearance, nevertheless, was a great shock to me, as they concerned things not native to this nation, yet relevant still for a different reason, as such items had once belonged in the land across the sea . . .

  The sights were exactly as TF had foretold, down to the most minute detail. The iron bars that had once guarded the entrance had been cut away during his visit; Ben guessed no one had thought to replace them since. The air was thin, but breathable. In the darkness, his sense of smell was growing stronger, compensating for the lack of visibility. A peculiar aroma lingered; Ben associated it with some form of incense.

  Strange for the location.

  Cortés took the lead, Danny following with the largest torch. Eduardo, on Juan’s orders, took up the rear, his gun pointed at Maria and Elena.

  Ben walked alongside Eduardo, keeping his voice to a whisper. “You ever been here before?”

  The young man shook his head.

  “What the hell does he expect to find down here?”

  “I don’t know. Knowing my uncle, it must contain something.”

  At the front, Cortés came to a sudden stop, provoking a rebuke from Maria.

  “What the hell’s your problem?”

  Cortés ignored her, concentrating instead on the passageway. Two stone statues had been placed some three metres apart, like guards on sentry duty; round eyes had been chiselled out of the perfect stone, complementing stern mouths and oblong noses, like masked warriors prepared for war. Ben stopped alongside Cortés and examined them. He smiled to himself, immediately understanding their significance.

  TF had mentioned them in the diary.

  Beyond the statues, a set of imposing double doors had already been opened. The first thing Ben noticed was a series of lights coming from the midsections, four similarly bright minerals glowing like lanterns. He approached the right side and studied the source, the torch no longer necessary. He recognised the purple stone from the mine in Cornwall; the others matched the descriptions he had already heard.

  Juan eyed him from the left door. “Come. They cannot be far ahead.”

  *

  There was something about the layout of the passage that made it almost impossible for Chris to accept it as genuine. The feeling was similar to what he had experienced on entering the model room beneath Cortés’s castle, only the walls were colder, less smooth.

  He sensed it had not been visited for a long time.

  Ten minutes had elapsed since they had passed the previously locked door. The passageway continued as before, its width narrowing and widening without warning and descending in a gentle curve. Sounds and shadows came and went, the majority caused by their own movements in the torchlight. A gentle aroma pervaded; it reminded him of the scent given off by some kind of plant or herb that instinctively made him want to close his eyes. The wall drawings continued in an increasingly more random array. The subject matter was grim; Chris recognised the sights of Tenochtitlán’s temple district, the steps decorated with a river of blood. A band of conquistadors waited at the bottom, the leader addressing Montezuma carried on a litter.

  It reminded him of the tapestries he had seen the night before.

  *

  Valeria waited as Chris studied the walls, reminding herself he was less familiar with them than she was. After allowing him a few seconds to take in the sights, she grabbed his hand and led him onwards, doing her best to ignore the strength of his warm, powerful fingers overwhelming her gentle grip.

  The passage wound from left to right and straightened again, ending with a jaw-like archway. Beyond it, she saw the outline of what she guessed was a natural cavern; she reasoned it was far too large to be man-made. She could hear the ripple of moving water somewhere nearby, as if from a small waterfall or stream. Strange, she reflected.

  Other than the nearby Almonte, nothing of the kind had ever been recorded within the vicinity of the hamlet.

  Valeria waited for Chris before venturing tentatively through the archway. The circle of light from her torch made little impression on the rock above, confirming only that it rose to a great height. The floor was paved with blocks of stone, the surface in surprisingly good condition. The nearest walls confirmed evidence of masonry, which she associated with the religious military orders.

  She sensed the designs were in character for the castle above.

  The source of the water became suddenly clear. Within ten metres of the archway, a fast-flowing stream, approximately five metres in width, formed a large moat-like circle around what appeared to be a small island. In the torchlight, she could see further statues beyond the water, their designs unmistakably Aztec.

  She concluded that the layout was man-made.

  “Hey, check this out.”

  She heard Chris’s voice about ten metres away, his torch pointed down at the water. The sound of water falling was greater than it had been, confirming its source was close by. She shone her torch on the area around her feet and then d
irectly in front of her. The paving continued for about a width of three metres.

  Crossing the stream like a causeway.

  *

  Ben knew exactly what to expect. TF had described the way in impeccable detail, right down to the gradient of the curves.

  Curiously, unlike his own experience, the way for his ancestor had not been sealed.

  Passing by the warlords with their dead eyes and sharpened swords, he walked the passage with heightening anticipation, waiting for the moment he would see the wonders of the underground monastery for the first time.

  The walk took precisely ten minutes. It ended exactly as TF had described, with the passageway lined with the wall art that he had judged to be authentic, before passing through a wide archway, clearly the work of a master stonemason.

  Ben couldn’t believe something so ambitious had been constructed in an area so dark and remote.

  He heard the sound of water falling, as though cascading from a waterfall or a spring. There was something about the location that seemed almost spiritual; that he was entering the fountain of youth or the wells of salvation. He shone the torch and saw water several metres away, flowing around a circular island.

  Cortés appeared alongside him, his ever-enquiring mind quietly assessing the surroundings. In the dim light, his face looked timeless, as though his famous ancestor had returned to visit the setting that he and his men had been instrumental in constructing. Ben directed his own torch at the water, somewhat puzzled by the way in which the channels were lined by small, slightly raised banks.

  He looked at Juan. “What is it?”

  “Listen.” Cortés placed his free hand firmly on Ben’s shoulder and turned in the opposite direction. Danny and Eduardo stood either side of Maria and Elena, all four of them displaying expressions of varying degrees of incredulity.