Soul of the Sacred Earth

by Vella Munn

  Somewhere out there in the dark were Cougar and the other Navajo, alive and boastful, maybe laughing at him this very moment. Morning Butterfly, too, was somewhere beyond his reach.

  “What do you believe I do not understand?” he finally asked.

  Gregorio leaned forward, so their foreheads were mere inches apart. “When I told Bonita that I had decided to come to Oraibi, she demanded to be told why; she is direct in that way, is she not? I explained the obvious: that I wanted you to know you have a son and so we could talk about that son’s future as my potential heir.”

  I see, he almost said, then stopped himself. “The obvious? Then you have other reasons? Reasons that also concern me.”

  “Yes, they do, but probably not in ways you suspect.”

  This sparring had gone on long enough. If it had been anyone else, he would have ordered him to speak his mind. However, no one, not even a viceroy or governor, ordered Gregorio de Barreto to do anything.

  “Good,” Gregorio said, breaking the silence. “You have patience.”

  “This land has taught me that.”

  “The land?”

  “It has secrets buried deep within it. Great mineral wealth. But I have learned that that wealth will reveal itself in its own time, its own way.”

  “Hm. Fascinating. I am tired of sitting. Come, walk with me.”

  Aided by the candles they each held, they made their way from the military camp to the nearest farming plots. As they walked, Lopez explained how the crops were planted and grown and how they managed to survive despite limited rainfall. He even touched on the Hopi’s dependence on ceremonies, but made it clear that he considered them primitive and barbaric. Gregorio asked enough questions to let Lopez know he was more than casually interested in the natives’ thinking processes.

  “They are indeed a simple people,” Gregorio said as they looked at the impressive pile of blankets, baskets, animal hides, dried corn, and other foodstuffs that would soon be on its way to New Spain. “When I first began to educate myself about this territory, I assumed all Indians were alike, but they are not, are they?”

  “No. The Hopi are quite manageable while the Navajo are a savage lot.”

  “A savage lot with no earthly use.”

  They were getting somewhere with this conversation, finally. Lopez waited.

  “I am pleased with what I see here.” Gregorio indicated the impounded possessions. “It appears we did not underestimate the number of horses that would be needed to carry what you have found here.”

  “No, we did not. As soon as I feel secure in assigning at least three men to travel with the pack animals, I will have them loaded and on their way. Unfortunately, they have already eaten much of the grass here.” He said nothing about the horses the Navajo had stolen.

  Gregorio walked in silence for several seconds. “There are other crops,” he said. “Other produce, if you may. A commodity much more valuable than squash and beans.”

  Had Gregorio heard about the emeralds? “Oh?”

  “Indeed. I am speaking of a useful workforce. Slaves.”

  • • •

  From his perch on the church wall, Angelico studied the two flickering lights. That Captain Lopez and Gregorio de Barreto had excluded him from their conversation shouldn’t have caused him consternation, but it had, not because he cared what they said privately to each other, but because if Gregorio had caught wind of the complaints he’d registered against Lopez, the powerful man might at this very moment be discussing his letters to the governor with the captain.

  Too upset to fall asleep, he slid off the wall and began an aimless pilgrimage. When he’d first realized who their guest was, he’d engaged in several fantasies about conversations with Gregorio de Barreto. He would modestly show him around Oraibi, not so much as hinting that more supplies such as a reinforced wagon or adequate tools would make the process of building a mission much easier, because surely Gregorio would see that on his own. He might admit that, yes, conversion of the heathens would go smoother if they had a greater understanding of Spanish power, but he wouldn’t have to do more than that because Gregorio would assure him he had every intention of bolstering the military presence.

  But if Gregorio knew he didn’t believe Lopez fit for command—

  With a start, he realized how close he’d walked to the two men. His first reaction was to slip off into the night, but that would only postpone the inevitable.

  “Padre,” Gregorio boomed when he stepped forward, “we did not interrupt your evening prayers, did we?”

  “Not at all. Not at all. I confess, I have so little knowledge of the outside world these days that I hoped you would have a few minutes in which to educate me.”

  “Of course. I should have done so already. It is just that I first wanted to tell my son-in-law that he is a father. My daughter has given birth to a son.”

  Angelico congratulated both men, and if his gaze lingered on Lopez, so be it. Lopez knew he didn’t approve of his liaison with Morning Butterfly’s sister. The captain probably was concerned he might say something to Gregorio.

  Lord, please forgive me. Humility is a virtue while to engage in manipulative concerns is not. I beg You, keep my heart clear and clean.

  “I imagine you are anxious to see the infant,” he said to Lopez. “Do you think you may return home any time soon?”

  Lopez shrugged, and if Angelico thought he saw a wistfulness in the captain’s eyes, it was probably due to the inadequate light.

  “I do not see how that is possible.” Lopez glanced at Gregorio, who nodded. “Not with the proposal we have been discussing.”

  When Gregorio looked at him, Angelico drew himself as tall as possible. Just the same, he remained nearly a foot shorter than the landowner. Gregorio said, “I believe it would be counterproductive to be anything but totally honest with Fray Angelico. Padre, my son-in-law and I are of one mind about this land’s greatest resource.”

  “Souls?”

  “Souls? Indeed no. Slaves.”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Morning Butterfly had been wrong to fear returning to Oraibi, because when she reached it, her senses told her that what was going on made her absence unimportant by comparison. Yet more newcomers had arrived, four of them waiting patiently in a small group while the fifth, a large man dressed in rich, deep blue clothing and black boots that looked as if they’d never been touched by dust, walked with Captain Lopez.

  Although she wanted to see her family, she decided to first present herself to Fray Angelico. She found him just outside his tent, his well-worn Bible open on his lap. He glanced up when she approached, surprising her with his haggard if determined look.

  “Where have you been?” he demanded.

  She’d already decided to tell him the truth and did so as concisely as possible, leaving out only what had taken place between her and Cougar.

  “You believe the Navajo?” he asked when she told him that no Indians had been killed or even injured during their confrontation with the soldiers. “Their natural boastfulness and need to save face might have caused them to lie.”

  “I believe. If you do not, so be it.”

  Angelico started to say something, then shrugged dismissively. “I cannot think about that now. I take it you saw Gregorio de Barreto?”

  Guessing that was the big man, she nodded. “Is he looking for gold and emeralds?”

  “It would be easier if he was, but no, he is after what he considers far more valuable.”

  Feeling light-headed, she settled herself on the ground. “Not more of our food stores? Surely he can see how little is left.”

  “No. Not that.”

  Even more alarmed, she asked him to explain, but long before he’d finished, she wished he’d never said a word. Gregorio de Barreto, Captain Lopez’s father-in-law, owned so much land that Angelico could only speculate at the extent of his holdings. Gregorio believed all his leagues capable of growing fine crops, but in order to make full u
se of it, he needed a large number of hands to work the land. He’d commandeered much of the local labor force, but the Mexican Indians were a poor lot, highly susceptible to disease, and far from willing workers.

  Angelico sighed. “He is after slaves. Not just for his own use, either. He intends to sell the surplus to other landowners.”

  “Slaves?” The word wasn’t new to her, but the thought that armed men would kidnap and exploit others was almost more than she could comprehend. “Hopi slaves?”

  When Angelico shrugged, she shivered. “No! He cannot—”

  “Not him alone, no, but with Lopez working at his side . . . When they first told me of their plans, I warned them they would incur the Lord’s wrath, but greed—greed is indeed the devil’s work.”

  “You cannot stop them?”

  Angelico gave her a look she couldn’t comprehend, and she was again struck by how weary he looked. “The matter is much more complex than I could possibly expect you to understand.”

  “Then you will do nothing?”

  Anger briefly contorted his features, but although she wondered if he might try to strike her, he only gripped his Bible tighter. “If I turned my back on this vile practice, I would be failing my duties as a member of the clergy. And more than that, I would be failing myself.”

  The time she’d spent with Cougar had been like a spring morning. She would give anything to be back with him as they watched a hawk play with the air currents and their bodies whispered to each other, but he had returned to his people and she to hers.

  “You are but one,” she said. “How can you stand in the way of two?”

  “Two? There are many, many more involved in the slavery trade, and much as it appalls me, I can understand de Barreto’s position.”

  She didn’t care what the oversized man did or thought. She simply wanted him gone.

  “He will remain wealthy only if he is able to exploit his land, and what more productive way to accomplish that than by making use of free labor?” the padre went on.

  “And you embrace his words?”

  “No, of course not.” Although quiet, his words held determination. “What I am saying is that I understand why he and others like him are so committed to this course of action. My vows call for me to forsake all personal property, but a life embracing poverty places me and my fellow priests in the minority. Wealth, Morning Butterfly, is power and position.”

  Once a Hopi had grown enough to feed his family, he joined the other men in the kivas and participated in religious ceremonies. A Hopi woman was known for her basket-weaving skills and her children’s health; nothing else mattered.

  “I would not be here if it was not for the generosity of men like de Barreto. It is not an easy position to be in, and determining what I must do now has caused me a sleepless night.” He rubbed his eyes. “However”—he lifted his gaze to the sky—“I have only one true loyalty and that is to the Lord. He is my master.”

  Trying not to call attention to herself, Morning Butterfly shifted position and rubbed an aching instep.

  “No matter what the personal consequences,” he went on, “there is only one course of action for me.”

  “What is that?”

  “I must remain true to my calling.”

  “How?”

  “I had already set my course by penning a most strongly worded letter to the governor.”

  A letter, Morning Butterfly knew, was words placed on paper, but how could that stop Lopez and his father-in-law from doing what they wanted?

  After she’d asked him that, Angelico looked at her in astonishment. “Morning Butterfly, surely you know you and your people are under the Church’s protection.”

  “That is what you have told me.”

  “Yes, I am sure I have. My child, the soldiers have no jurisdiction over the Oraibi Hopi. If Lopez and de Barreto attempt to place your people in slavery, they will be in direct conflict with Catholic mandates. In a struggle between Church and State, there can be only one victor. The Lord God would not allow it to be any other way.”

  But what about my people and the Navajo? Are they the losers?

  • • •

  Lopez wasn’t surprised when Gregorio handed him a copy of the letter Fray Angelico had sent to the governor. What caused him the most consternation was that his father-in-law obviously believed he had little influence with the padre.

  “I am disappointed,” Gregorio told him, his lips barely moving. “I had hoped you had been more successful in your dealings with that man. His opposition to my endeavor, although not unanticipated, cannot he tolerated. But to have to personally set myself to the task instead of trusting you to take charge—perhaps I was wrong in assuming you would be instrumental in supplying the necessary workforce.”

  Lopez hadn’t asked Gregorio how he intended to deal with Fray Angelico, not because he didn’t care, but because he had seen Morning Butterfly. Thoughts that might, with nurturing, become the solution to a great deal flooded him.

  Despite the cost to his nervous system, Lopez forced himself to bide his time until evening. Then he took leave of Gregorio by informing him that he needed to tend to the stationing of guards. The assignments took only a few minutes; after that, he hurried to the plot owned by Morning Butterfly’s family and, using now familiar signals, made it clear he wanted Singer of Songs brought to him.

  Waiting was hard, not just because he’d have to explain to Gregorio why he was gone so long, but because he still hadn’t fully formulated his plan of action. Not one but two women arrived, Singer of Songs walking behind her older sister.

  “She does not want to be with you,” Morning Butterfly announced. “She knows you wish to make slaves of our people.”

  “How quickly news spreads. Has Angelico not already enslaved you?” he scoffed.

  “You think we are sheep,” she countered, her body so taut he half expected it to shatter. “We are not. Our hearts”—she pressed her palm against her breast—“our hearts are not those of animals.”

  No, they aren’t, he thought, his attention torn between her and Singer of Songs. He suspected Singer of Songs was pregnant because her breasts felt swollen to his touch and she’d twice thrown up around him. So he was going to have not one child but two, was he—not that this bastard counted.

  “I do not recall asking for you,” he told Morning Butterfly. “Suppose you tell me why you are here.”

  “Gregorio de Barreto is a powerful man, is he not?” she asked without emotion.

  “Yes, not that it is any concern of yours.”

  “The padre says that what he wants to do—making slaves of my people—is wrong, but it is not easy to oppose him.”

  The relationship between Morning Butterfly and Fray Angelico had been complex from the beginning and was becoming even more layered; he would be wise not to forget that.

  “I repeat my question,” he prompted. “What concern is it of yours?”

  “A powerful man, more so than you.”

  “What are you getting at?”

  She stepped closer, a silent shadow. He thought he detected a certain nervousness in her demeanor but couldn’t be sure. Singer of Songs’ attention went from him to her and back to him.

  “If you rape my sister again,” Morning Butterfly said, “I will go to your father-in-law.”

  “The hell.”

  “And tell him what you have been doing to her, satisfying yourself with her instead of as a man should with his wife.”

  “Do you think he has not done the same himself?”

  She blinked, then nodded. “But you are married to his daughter. Besides, what you do with my sister, what you allow your men to do as well, is against the Church’s teachings. I see how de Barreto conducts himself around the padre. When your father-in-law hears how you have fallen in the priest’s eye, he will turn against you. Cast you out.”

  Despite everything, he had to admire her. She was in over her head and couldn’t possibly understand the complex rel
ationship between Church and State or the unique position someone like Gregorio de Barreto held within that society, but she was willing to risk a great deal—her life—defending not just her sister but the rest of her people as well.

  “You came here so you could threaten me, did you?” he said, sliding closer to Singer of Songs.

  “Not threaten. It is a promise. Leave my sister alone and have nothing to do with the taking of slaves or I will go to him.”

  On the tail of an oath, he lunged, wrapped one arm around Singer of Songs’ neck, and hauled her against him. “You aren’t the only one with an agenda,” he informed Morning Butterfly. “I have my own. And ways of tipping the scales to my advantage.”

  She started toward him with her hands uplifted and already fisted, but although he had no doubt she’d like nothing better than to attack, she didn’t.

  “Stay right where you are,” he warned her. “And if you have a knife on you, I’d better not see it, because if I do, your sister is going to have a broken neck.”

  “No!”

  “Yes.” For the first time since his father-in-law’s arrival—before that even—he felt in control. “I have a damn good idea where you have been,” he continued. “With the Navajo.” He kept his choke hold on Singer of Songs, studying Morning Butterfly as she stared at him with eyes of cold fire. “You were wrong in thinking I wanted your sister tonight. Actually, it was you I was after.”

  “Why?”

  “We will get to that in a minute.” Singer of Songs put up no resistance; it might be because she was half unconscious, but maybe she was too afraid. “First, it is time you learned something about me. All my life I was groomed for one thing, a career in the military. As a soldier of the Crown I have rights and responsibilities you cannot possibly comprehend, and I am not going to waste my breath explaining them to you. What I will say is that those rights and responsibilities have become valuable assets.”