The Cortés Trilogy: Enigma Revenge Revelation

by John Paul Davis

  “I can’t really talk right now.”

  “Then just listen.”

  Ben lowered the phone, afraid of looking beyond his own lap. Juliet had entered the pew behind him, whispering something in his ear. At the front of the church, the third pew was now vacant, as was the central aisle. He saw the door to the cloisters swinging gently on its hinges.

  Valeria and Maria had disappeared.

  *

  Valeria moved quickly across the church to the south side. Though the importance of leaving was a preference rather than a necessity – even if they had been alone, she knew Ben wouldn’t try to hurt them – after everything she had experienced since leaving England, she could no longer bear to look at him. As far as the congregation was aware, they were still to do anything wrong; yet, thanks to Ben, they were in danger of attracting attention.

  Causing a scene in public would have been unthinkable.

  She saw Ben look away, taking the phone call. There was a woman behind him, with him: blonde, elegant, obviously an academic.

  The man had clearly wasted no time.

  She knelt gently before the main altar, then quickly passed the door. Maria followed her, not looking back.

  Maria broke the silence. “Oh my God.”

  Valeria took a deep breath, trying to control her thoughts. Now outside the church, reality began to dawn on her. She had not been seeing things. Ben was there. Behind her.

  In Salamanca.

  As expected, they had entered the cloisters, a typical airy walkway lined with familiar orange stone. At the centre was a gardened courtyard with blooms of all colours being admired by groups of tourists.

  It felt lonely, despite not being deserted.

  She turned to Maria. “If he is here, so is the stone. This may yet be in our interests.”

  Maria’s eyes were open wide. “Even if we find it, he knows we’re here. This is terrible.”

  “No.” Valeria was resolute. “He won’t hurt us. Even if we were alone, he would never cross that line. Soon he will come. Perhaps this could yet work to our advantage.”

  *

  Colts was growing impatient. Only seconds earlier he had heard Ben’s voice.

  Now, again, he heard nothing.

  “Ben?”

  At the other end, the crisp, sharp sound of Colts’s voice helped Ben regain his concentration. Valeria and Maria had disappeared, presumably to enter the cloisters.

  He heard the voice again. “Ben?”

  “I’m here, Colts, but I can’t talk. We’re currently in the monastery in Salamanca. We just saw Valeria.”

  Mention of her name was the last thing Colts wanted to hear. “Look, never mind all that. I’ve finished the translation. There was more.”

  Ben wasn’t paying attention. The preacher was still speaking, his audience captivated. Juliet was sitting so far forward she was practically alongside him.

  Again he ignored her attempts to get his attention.

  Colts continued to speak. “Ben, will you listen?”

  “I really can’t talk right now, Colts.”

  “Ben!”

  Juliet reached forward and snatched the phone from Ben’s hand. “Colts, we’re in the monastery. He’s just seen Valeria . . .”

  “Never mind that. There was more to Cortés’s codex. There’s a second section written by Ben’s ancestor.”

  Juliet couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Disguising the phone with her hand and long hair, she spoke into her chest. “Are you serious?”

  “TF found everything; he took it back from Spain.”

  A flood of emotions hit Juliet like a battering ram, answering so many questions. “But what about Salamanca?”

  Back on the boat, Colts felt as though he was about to explode. “There’s nothing in Salamanca. It’s all here. TF found everything in Seville, Valladolid and the convent. He retrieved everything.”

  Juliet looked around in every direction, grateful the congregation was currently looking elsewhere. Ben’s attention remained on the door to the cloisters; the preacher’s was on Juliet, though he continued to lead the prayer.

  She ended the call and tapped Ben on the shoulder. “Ben, we have to leave. Colts just confirmed it. There’s nothing here.”

  Ben didn’t answer; his concentration seemed unbreakable.

  “Ben!”

  “Shhh.” He turned towards her, but his eyes remained on the same point. “They must have gone through that door.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Colts just told me there was more to the codex. TF found everything. There’s nothing here.” She noticed he was hardly listening. “Ben?”

  “They must have entered the cloisters. Maybe they know something we don’t.”

  “Ben, didn’t you hear me? TF found everything!”

  Ben turned to face her, now fully focused. “What do you mean TF found everything?”

  “Colts just told me there was a second part to the codex.”

  Ben put his hands to his face, lost for words. He had previously considered numerous different possibilities concerned with establishing which part of the building he would have to investigate.

  Never once had he considered that TF had already found them.

  “Ben.”

  “Okay. Let’s go.”

  Ben rose to his feet and hurried towards the main doors. He waited until they were outside before speaking.

  “Give me that.” He took the phone, said, “Hello,” and realised the call had already ended. He grabbed Juliet by the shoulders. “What exactly did he say?”

  “There’s nothing here. There was a second part of the codex. TF dug up everything.”

  “What do you mean dug up everything?”

  “The stones in Seville, Valladolid and Salamanca have been found. He took them.”

  “Where are they now?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Ben quickly navigated his phone and called Colts back.

  *

  Colts was still on the boat. He had given up on his attempts to have a conversation with Ben.

  He was pleased to hear his phone ring minutes later.

  “Hello?”

  “What do you mean TF found everything?”

  Colts laughed into the phone. “I thought that might interest you.”

  “This isn’t funny, Colts. Tell me everything.”

  “Like I’d do anything but. You’re wasting your time in Salamanca. Everything has already been found.”

  Ben felt a surge of adrenalin. He sensed that something momentous was about to be disclosed to him, that the answer to the many riddles, questions and possibilities would at last be made clear.

  “Where are they now?”

  “Well, between you and me, I’m not entirely sure; your ancestor reburied them.”

  “What do you mean you’re not sure?” Ben replied, exasperated.

  “Just calm down a second. He gave clues, just like Cortés did. The first eighteen pages had all been written in Spanish, converted later into Aztec code. The last two pages were different. They were written in English. But using the exact same cipher.”

  Ben laughed so hard he thought he was about to cry. “Didn’t I tell you he was a genius?”

  “The plane will be waiting for you back in Valladolid. I suggest you start making your way back.”

  “What about Valeria?”

  “I’ve told you already, she’s not important. All that matters is this.”

  Ben agreed. “I understand. Where are we headed?”

  At the other end, Colts rubbed his bearded face abrasively and began to smoke his pipe.

  “The Isles of Scilly.”

  *

  Valeria and Maria made their way around the cloisters, hoping to find a different route back into the main church. As far as they could see, there was no obvious access through either the cloisters or the portico.

  They returned to the south door, tentatively at first. The congregation remained attentively focused on the preach
er; other visitors were coming and going on both sides.

  Ben and the blonde woman had disappeared.

  “They are not there.” Valeria turned to Maria. “Go and find them. Follow them. Speak to them if you must. I will stay here and look for the emerald.”

  “But . . .”

  “No buts. Just do. I will call you.”

  Maria stood by the doorway, hoping Valeria would elaborate further. Instead, she was already moving away, heading east into the chapter room.

  “Valeria . . .”

  “Go. I will meet you.”

  Wiping her eyes, Maria walked through the doorway and genuflected in the direction of the altar. There was no sign of Ben in the church or in any of the side chapels.

  She concluded he had probably left.

  On reaching the main door, she saw them walking across the nearby footbridge, Ben apparently talking on his phone. Both were facing away from her.

  Feeling awkward, she ran across the stone plaza, hoping to catch them up.

  *

  Ben grabbed Juliet’s hand and headed west, back across the bridge towards the old town. He had ended his conversation with Colts.

  “We need to go back to Valladolid. The plane will be on the runway. After that, we need to return to the Isles of Scilly.”

  “Personally I haven’t been there at all; for me, it’s just heading there.”

  Ben grinned wryly at her. “Trust me, you’ll love it.”

  “What exactly have they been doing over there? What did he say?”

  “I really have no idea. One thing’s for sure: TF found at least three of the five emeralds, and rather than hand them in to any authorities like a good teacher, he decided to bury them.”

  “Where?”

  Ben delayed offering a response, ensuring they crossed the road safely first. In the last fifteen minutes, the streets had become even warmer; he could feel the rays of the sun burning his skin as they radiated off the stone pavement.

  “I guess we’ll figure that one out when we arrive.”

  *

  Maria found Valeria again in a large library located below the main church. She had located the entrance, discreet and out of the way, after rushing up and down the staircase of Soto, situated between the new chapter room and the sacristy.

  Valeria was standing in the middle of the floor, arms folded. The library was old, ornate; it could have easily belonged to the nearby university. Wooden staircases provided access to a second flight with matching elegant bannisters decorated with panelled carvings and reliefs, mostly depicting scenes from the Old Testament.

  “I followed them until they reached their car,” she said, coming close. “I don’t think they saw me.”

  Despondent, Valeria turned to face her. “There is nothing here. That is why they left. Whatever was here has already been taken.”

  Maria detected certainty in the remark. “How can you tell?”

  Valeria showed her to an area below one of the bookcases at the north side of the room. The shelf was filled with literature, all concerning Cortés and Columbus.

  Below it was an area constructed out of heavy stone, at the top section of which there appeared to have once been a well.

  “It was here,” she said, her eyes beginning to water. “Someone has already taken it. Come on, let’s leave.”

  “And go where?”

  “The Cathedral of Seville also appeared on the wall of the inner sanctum. We must head there now. I only hope we are not already too late.”

  39

  Lights guided the way from the floating wreck. Holding the largest of the portable battery-operated halogen lamps as high as he could, Cortés was able to see that the cavern continued in one direction – north. The only things visible were water and rock; the water level appeared to be rising.

  In the distance, he could hear the sound of it cascading from somewhere.

  Eduardo stood on the opposite side of the boat, his eyes focused on the rear. Like his uncle, he carried a large halogen lamp, while further light shone from the torch installed in his hard hat.

  “What is this place?” he asked, the words echoing.

  “According to legend, when the holy man arrived on the island, he discovered a great pool beneath the surface, which he believed to be of great spiritual importance. During his hermitage, a serpent sent by Lucifer is said to have tormented him ceaselessly, just like the Son of God in the wilderness. It is the reason the nearby bay is named after hell.”

  Eduardo remained quiet, his attention on the nearby walls. Unlike the smaller cave that had apparently once contained a shipwrecked schooner, there was no evidence of primitive sea life clinging to the walls, nor silt or sediment covering the ceiling.

  “Did he survive?”

  “Yes. In fact, he’s still alive.” He looked intently at his nephew. “Keep your eyes open.”

  “What exactly am I looking for?”

  “Anything that may hinder our chances of leaving this place alive.”

  Eduardo rolled his eyes, again choosing silence as a preferable alternative to further discussion. The cavern had an atmosphere to it; he put it down to the darkness and the cold. He felt a bitter chill go up his spine as he placed his free hand into the water; it tasted fresh with just a very slight hint of salt. The surface was black like oil, the walls like those of a castle constructed of coal. Up above, jagged rocks stuck out like stalactites, decorating the natural ceiling like primitive, lightless chandeliers. He knew the darkness couldn’t continue indefinitely. The island was small: from south to north no more than two kilometres.

  He guessed they were presently around the halfway point.

  Unsurprisingly the Maps app on his phone offered no assistance.

  The boat glided towards the right side of the cavern, east. The water seemed to be flowing from the south-west, the currents guiding them. Assisted by the light, Cortés made out an area of jagged rocks ahead, sensing if they were not careful the boat could be dashed to pieces.

  “Give me some more light.” Cortés put down his lamp and fought the undercurrents with his solitary oar. “More.”

  Eduardo moved alongside him and picked up Juan’s lamp, doing his best to illuminate the surrounding blackness. The course of the raft was veering slowly towards the sharp group of rocks; fortunately they were far enough away to avoid contact.

  There was something in the water beyond the rocks, partially concealed as if human hands had created a discreet second channel. Looking beyond the sharpest of the rocks, he noticed something unexpected. The cascading sound was becoming stronger, its source now identifiable. Water was falling into a pool. There were markings on the nearby walls, accompanied by evidence of a former dwelling.

  Juan smiled. Eduardo’s confusion soon turned to realisation. “The hermitage.”

  Juan nodded. “Keep the light raised. Let us take a closer look.”

  Cortés maintained a tight grip on his oar. He allowed the natural drift to guide them right, at which point the curved sides of the rocks were less abrasive than before. Looking back over his shoulder, he noticed the walls seemed to curve in a similar way on the opposite side.

  Giving the cavern a strange cross-like shape.

  The sound of the water was becoming louder, the view clearer. Concentrating on the walls on the east side, he made out a strange enclave, possibly once used as a shelter. Alongside it appeared to be the entrance to a tunnel.

  Eduardo raised the lamps, illuminating the walls. The colour, though dark, was less saturated than before, a murky battleship grey, clearly still granite. Beyond the nearby ridge that contained evidence of a man-made shelter and the entrance to a winding tunnel, he noticed the markings were similar to those he had seen recently in Spain.

  Guiding the boat towards the opening of the tunnel, Cortés grabbed a particularly large and slippery rock and tied the rope around its sharp end. There was a horrible smell in the air, damp, acrid, possibly decay.

  It reminded him of rott
ing meat.

  Eduardo heaved as if to vomit.

  “I know. The air is rancid. Something disturbs it. Breathe through your nose, not your mouth.”

  Eduardo pulled the top of his jacket above his nose, making sure the zip was done up as high as possible. Leaving the boat, he followed his uncle along the wet ridge, looking around as he did so. The man-made shelter was predictably basic; four large wooden planks made up the structure, with evidence of the possible use of hay or straw as a bed.

  It looked like a primitive stable.

  Juan, meanwhile, headed in the opposite direction, studying the wall markings closely for the first time. What began as a series of illegible squiggles at the base of the wall, eroded by past exposure to the tides, was clearer higher up, better preserved. The more he saw, the more he started to recognise patterns.

  He felt sure they were more recent than the fourth century.

  Eduardo joined him, starting with the oldest of the markings. “Early Christian,” he mused. “They could be a thousand years old.”

  “Newer.” Juan retained his familiar aura of academic superiority that Eduardo had seen time and again. Holding his lamp aloft, he continued to study the higher section, taking his time to read everything carefully. Like those that decorated the hidden monastery at Cabañas del Castillo, they seemed to possess a strange Mesoamerican character that seemed out of place in the present location.

  He blew on the wall, causing dust to rise, and rubbed his fingers against the exterior, removing grime. The wall was drier higher up, yet still had a slimy, greasy feel that further soiled his fingers. Peering in close, the light of the torch causing his shadow to move like a spectre, he concentrated on a more remote area, illuminating every detail. Unlike the previous section, there were diagrams as well as symbols: pyramids, temples, mountains.

  European words.

  Eduardo also saw them. “Is that Latin?”

  A shake of the head. “Spanish.”

  “What does it say?”

  Juan concentrated in silence for a short time, assessing what he could see. “They are directions. The story of the hidden city.” His face broke into an intrigued grin, one of complete disbelief. “This was the work of Lady Catalina.”