"We shall be sorry to leave here."
"Leave?" I asked. "Why leave?"
"We must return to Yakóreke. The time approaches for all us sea-fishers to embark upon our annual oyster-harvesting."
I smiled reminiscently, and more than a little sadly, thinking, "Ayyo, happy men!" But what I said was, "If you are going north again, friends, would one of you do a favor for me—and for the widow of your late Káuritzin?"
"Assuredly. What would that be?"
"Go the twelve one-long-runs farther north—to Aztlan. It has been a very long time since I was last there, and my cousin Améyatl may be thinking that I have died. Simply tell her that you saw me, that I am in good health and still pursuing my mission. That I hope shortly to be bringing it to fruition, and once I have accomplished that, I will report to her in Aztlan."
"Very well. Anything else?"
"Yes. Give her this fur mantle. Tell her that—just in case my mission should fail somehow, and she should find herself imperiled by the white men or any other enemy—this mantle will afford her lifelong sustenance and protection."
The man looked puzzled. "A simple sea-doe skin? How?"
"A very special sea-doe skin. There is magic in it. Améyatl will discover that magic when and if she needs it."
The man shrugged. "As you say. Consider it done, Tenamáxtli."
I thanked them all, said good-bye and set off inland, toward Compostela.
I was not particularly apprehensive of danger in so boldly returning to the town from which I had made my rather memorable escape. Of those who might recognize and denounce me, Yeyac and G'nda Ké were dead. Coronado was apparently being too busy to be paying much heed to stray indios in his streets. And so, presumably, was that Fray Marcos, if he was in residence. Nevertheless, I remembered the piece of advice I had been given long ago—carry something and look purposeful. In the slave-quarter outskirts of the town I found a balk of timber, roughly square-hewn, lying unattended on the ground. I hefted it to my shoulder and pretended it was heavy, so I could walk hunched over a bit, to disguise my tallness.
Then I made for the center of the town, where stand its only two stone-built structures, the palace and the church. The palace had its usual guards at the entrance, but they paid me no notice as I slouched past. At the church's unguarded door, I dropped the timber, went inside and accosted the first shaven-pated Spaniard I saw. I told him, in Spanish, that I brought a message from his superior's fellow bishop, Zumárraga. The monk eyed me somewhat askance, but he went away somewhere, came back and beckoned, and led me to the bishop's chambers.
"Ah, Juan Británico!" cried that good and trusting old man. "It has been a long time, but I would have known you on sight. Be seated, dear fellow, be seated. What a pleasure to see you again!" He called to a servant to bring refreshments, then went on, not a whit suspiciously, "Still doing Bishop Zumárraga's evangel work among the unconverted, eh? And how is my old friend and colleague Juanito? You say you bring a message from him?"
"Er, he thrives and prospers, Your Excellency." Padre Vasco was the only white man to whom I would ever accord that title of respect. "And his message—er, well..." I glanced around; this church was far inferior to Zumárraga's in the City of Mexíco. "He expresses the hope, Your Excellency, that you will soon have a house of worship befitting your high station."
"How kind of Juanito! But surely His Excellency knows that a grand cathedral is already being planned for New Galicia."
"Perhaps he does, by now," I said lamely. "But I, what with my constant traveling..."
"Ah, then rejoice with me, my son! Yes, it will be built in the province your people call Xalíscan. There is a fine new town rising there, currently called by the native name of Tonalá, but I think that name will be changed to Guadalajara, to honor the city in Old Spain whence originated the house of Mendoza. Our viceroy's family, you know."
I asked, "And how fare your Utopia communities around the Lake of Rushes?"
"Better than I might have expected," he said. "All about that area have occurred uprisings of disaffected Purémpecha. Of Purémpe women, can you imagine that? Amazonas, they are—vicious and vindictive. They have caused many deaths and much damage and every sort of pilferage among the Spanish settlements. But, for what reason I know not, they have spared our little Eden."
"They probably recognize and esteem you, padre, as an exemplary Christian," I lied, but with no irony intended. "Why did you leave there?"
"His Excellency the Governor Coronado had need of me here. He will shortly be undertaking a venturesome journey that could greatly increase the wealth of all New Spain. And he asked me to administer the governing of Compostela in his absence."
"Excuse me, my lord," I said, "but you sound not entirely approving of that venture."
"Well... mere wealth..." said the bishop with a sigh. "Don Francisco aspires to the stature of the earlier conquistadores. And with the same rallying cry: 'Glory, God and gold.' I only wish he would put God first. He will be journeying—not as you do, Juan Británico, to evangelize for Holy Mother Church—but to find and plunder some far-off and reputedly treasure-filled cities."
Feeling a twinge of shame at my imposture, I murmured, "I have traveled far and wide, but I know of no such cities."
"It seems that they do exist, though. A certain friar was led to them by a Moro slave who had been there before. The good Fray Marcos has but recently returned, with his soldier escorts but without the slave. Fray Marcos affirms that he saw the cities—they are called the Cities of Cíbola, he says—but he saw them only from a distance, because they are of course vigilantly guarded against discovery. He had to turn back when that poor loyal slave guide was slain by the guardian savages. But the staunch and valiant friar is now about to lead Coronado there, this time with an invincible host of armed soldiers."
It was the first time I had ever heard any human being say a commendatory word for the Lying Monk. And I was willing to wager that Esteban was still alive, at liberty now, and that he would likely spend the rest of his life—when he was not enjoying the desert women—laughing at his greedily gullible former masters.
"If the friar saw the cities only from a distance," I said, "how can he be sure they are full of treasures?"
"Oh, he saw the house walls gleaming, sheathed in gold, studded with sparkling gems. And he was close enough to descry the inhabitants walking about, clad in silks and velvets. These things he swears to. And Fray Marcos is, after all, bound by the vows of his order never to tell an untruth. It seems certain that Don Francisco will return from Cíbola in triumph, laden with riches, to be rewarded with fame and adulation and the favor of His Majesty. Still..."
"You would prefer that he brought souls instead," I suggested. "Converts to the Church."
"Well, yes. But I am not a pragmatic man of the world." He gave a little laugh of self-deprecation. "I am only an ingenuous old cleric, piously and unfashionably believing that our true fortunes await us in another world altogether."
I said, and sincerely, "All of Spain's vaunted conquistadores combined would not equal the worth of one Vasco de Quiroga."
He laughed again, and waved away the compliment. "Still, I am not the only one who questions the wisdom of the governor's hastening headlong toward that Cíbola. Many think it a rash and reckless venture—that it may work more harm than good to New Spain."
"How so?" I asked.
"He is collecting every soldier he can muster from the farthest corners of the land. And he needs not to conscript them. Everywhere, officers and rankers alike are pleading to be detached from their customary duties, in order to join Coronado. Even nonsoldiers, city merchants and country planters, are mounting and arming themselves to join. Every would-be hero and fortune hunter sees this as the opportunity of a lifetime. Also, Coronado is collecting remount horses for his troopers, packhorses and mules, extra arms and ammunition, every other kind of supplies, indio and Moro slaves to be bearers and drovers, even herds of cattle to be provisions along the way. He is seriously weakening the defenses of New Spain, and the people are worried about this. The depredations of those Purémpe Amazonas here in New Galicia are well known, and the frequent sallies of savages across our northern frontiers, and there have been distressingly bloody incidents of unrest even among the prisoners and slaves in our mines and mills and obrajes. The people fear, with good reason, that Coronado is leaving all of New Spain uncomfortably vulnerable to despoliation, both from without and within."