Yahya was the first to understand and his eyes widened with terror. But Yusuf caught on soon enough and he cried out, No! He snatched the money from my hands and tried to give it back to the Portuguese clerk, but the clerk watched us with dispassionate eyes, eyes that had grown used to such displays in his office. Yusuf, who had always been the more sensitive one, started to cry. He pulled me by the sleeve of my tunic, told me to go home with him.
I pulled both of my brothers into my arms. I will be back, I said, not because I believed it at that moment, but because I did not know what else to say. I would never hear their playful bickering in the bed next to mine at night, I would never shake them awake for the morning prayer, I would never sit beside them to eat from the same plate, I would never watch them running toward me when I turned the corner of our street — all these things and more, I would miss. I entreated them to be faithful guardians to our mother and sister in my absence, to be good sons to our uncles, and to spend the money wisely. If it lasted until the next fall, my family might be saved.
I still remember how they cried, how their bony chests trembled against mine, how their warm breath felt against my cheeks. Looking back now, I wonder where I ever found the strength to let go of them and walk away, but that is what I did. Perhaps some things can never be truly explained.
I stepped onto the ship’s plank, following the other slaves. Some of them had been captured in cavalgadas in Dukkala or in Singhana. Others had been bartered by their families to pay for the Portuguese levy. But a great many of them — one hundred and thirty on that ship alone — indentured themselves for no money, only the promise of a meal a day. In the end, whether we were abducted or traded, whether we were sold or sold ourselves, we all climbed onto that ship. A soldier led me to the lower deck, where I was shackled to other men, facing the row of women, with children in between us. On one end of the deck were animal stalls and on the other were crates full of goods. And everywhere, everywhere, hung the stench of bondage and death.
7. THE STORY OF APALACHE
During the march to the capital of Apalache, I distracted myself with daydreams. I conjured up images of a splendid entrance, not as glorious as that of Tariq ibn Ziyad in Toledo, no, nothing like that, because the signs we had seen since our landing on the coast had been more modest, but a splendid entrance nonetheless, a victory for my master and a chance for me. I did not always succeed in losing myself to the fantasy, and I remember that the beating of my heart would quicken at the slightest sign of a foreign presence — the sudden flutter of wings, the snap of a tree branch, or the call of an unknown animal in the distance — but I tried.
Oftentimes, arrows were shot at our company, startling us and forcing us to stop. These arrows were a wonder to behold: they were quite long, and so sharp that they could penetrate a pine tree by as much as a hand’s span. The soldiers would run into the bushes to look for the archers, but the wilderness always closed behind them like a curtain, concealing them from our sight. The Indians never prevented our procession from going deeper into their territory, so it was unsettling to know that we were watched, without knowing who was watching us or how many of them there were.
One morning, the governor’s scouts, two Indian prisoners and a Spanish soldier from Cuba, reported that they had sighted a very large town, larger than either Portillo or Santa María. They believed it was Apalache. Apalache! The news traveled down the procession, borne on the lips of soldiers and settlers and slaves, instantly reviving the ambitions, whether public or private, that we had nurtured since we had first heard about the gold. When Señor Narváez ordered us to take a break, the mood of the company turned to impatience. Why? the men asked. Now is not the time for breaks.
But once again, the governor assembled all his advisors. The commissary, the notary, the treasurer, and all the captains gathered around the governor, their backs turned to us, shielding him from our curious stares. My master had ordered me to feed and water Abejorro, so I could not hear what was said at the council this time. The sky was a magnificent blue, I remember, and a soft breeze softened the effect of the summer heat. All around us were sweet acacia trees, whose scent mercifully cloaked that of the soldiers and the horses. Unusually, I did not hear the men argue over a needed article, like a knife or a length of rope, or even a small luxury, like a wide-brimmed hat. I think everyone was simply anxious to get to the city now, and the governor’s council seemed like an unnecessary delay.
Señor Dorantes returned after a few moments, accompanied, as he always was, by Señor Castillo. Fetch me something to drink, he said.
I brought him a flask of water — we had run out of wine a week before — and he drank from it in very careful sips, looking into the distance at the group of officers still talking to the governor. Beside me, Abejorro whinnied fearfully. I patted his neck and checked behind me for what might have scared him, but all I could see was an oak tree, its leathery leaves weighed down by the heat. Sshh, Abejorro, I said. Sshh.
Señor Dorantes chewed on his lower lip, which was burned by the sun, and licked the beads of blood that appeared. Why him? he asked. Why him? What skill or trait does he possess that I do not?
I followed my master’s jealous gaze — it was fastened on Señor Cabeza de Vaca. Holding his helmet in the crook of one arm, the treasurer was pointing with the other at a crate filled with musket balls. Everything about him conveyed his earnestness: his sincere face, his calm voice, the zeal with which he carried out the governor’s orders. It was this earnestness that made him less popular among the men, even though he never spoke roughly to them.
I fought for the king against the Comuneros, Señor Dorantes said, his thumb turned toward his chest.
So did he, Señor Castillo replied evenly.
But this is precisely what I mean. Why Cabeza de Mono and not me? I have just as much experience.
Abejorro whinnied again. There is nothing there, I whispered to him, rubbing his flank, but just to be sure I looked searchingly at the cluster of trees behind us.
And what about Capitán Pantoja? Señor Dorantes said. Everyone knows you could trust that man with your life. Or Peñaloza? Or even Tellez? Why him?
Until then, Señor Castillo had been indifferent, but now his voice became tainted by resentment. Amigo, it must be because Cabeza de Vaca agrees with the governor.
What about?
About continuing the march inland without securing the ships.
But Pantoja agreed with him, too. And he is not going on the mission either.
Señor Castillo ran his fingers through his brown hair. Maybe it is because he is the treasurer.
All the more reason he should stay behind. It is too dangerous for a man like him. He should guard the royal fifth, not fight for it.
Señor Castillo did not reply. He took off his gloves and slowly began to untie his boots. News of the planned raid on Apalache had already traveled around the camp, and the soldiers stood in animated throngs, waiting to see who would be chosen for the mission. When Señor Cabeza de Vaca asked for ten horsemen, twenty-five men, one elbowing the other, volunteered. For his foot soldiers, he chose forty men from among those who had come with him on his ship, and with whom he was already familiar. They departed before the almuerzo.
WHILE MY MASTER PLAYED CARDS with his friend, I retreated under the shade of a tree, my thoughts inevitably drifting to Apalache. What would it look like? Portillo and Santa María had simple huts covered with thatch, but this was the capital and its homes were bound to be larger and better. I wondered if it had the kind of fortified walls that Moctezuma was said to have built around his capital or if it was more modest, with only one or two lookout towers from which sentinels could warn about intruders. I was relieved that Señor Dorantes had not been chosen to lead the mission into the city because it meant that I did not have to go without armor or weapon into another bloody battle, but in a strange way I was also disappointed — his victory in battle would surely result in greater goodwill toward me.