I had settled myself for a long wait, but it was only the middle of the afternoon when a soldier sent by Señor Cabeza de Vaca galloped back into camp to announce that the city had been secured. There was no resistance, he said.
At these words, the company began its feverish preparations to enter Apalache. The governor put on his blue sash; the friars dusted off their robes; the soldiers grabbed their swords or muskets; the settlers tied their bundles; everyone lined up in a thick procession. All this was done swiftly and without complaint.
Even now, writing these lines many years later, it is hard for me to describe the anxiety and excitement I felt when we began that final march to Apalache. Although we had to walk only one and a half leagues, it seemed to me they were twenty. The trail was sandy and, in places where it was exposed to the sun, it was also hot against my sandaled feet, but I did not mind it. We passed by a small lake, over which there were fallen pine trees, and two open shelters that were likely used by the Indians when they were out on long hunts. At last, I heard a horn, announcing our entrance into the capital.
Apalache.
It had fifty houses.
I had expected that they would be opulent, but they turned out to be simple homes made of straw and brown thatch, with animal skins drawn across their doorways. They were arranged in neat little rows, under a canopy of tall trees, which provided respite from the sun as well as cover from the rain. Each one could accommodate perhaps a dozen people, making it suitable for one family. The air smelled of warm pumpkin, perhaps in a soup or a stew, but it puzzled me that there were no firepits anywhere — how had it been cooked?
Nor was there a well, which meant that water had to be drawn from some spring or river nearby and carried back to the homes or to a storage tub. Here and there were instruments of ordinary life: mortars and pestles for grinding corn, containers and cooking pots, simple looms made of wood and tendon, a few dolls and rattles. On the eastern side of the square were work stalls, where cut timber of various sizes was kept, along with some carpentry tools. And beyond the houses were cultivated fields, large swaths of yellow and orange and green.
As we proceeded toward the center of Apalache, we came upon an earth mound, shaped like a small pyramid, though its peak was flat. A wooden staircase led up the slope to a thatch-roof structure, which I took to be a temple. It was much grander than the temples in either of the villages through which we had passed. I remember there was a bracelet on the fifth or sixth step of the staircase, at eye-level, and that one of the soldiers picked it up to examine it.
Around the corner from the temple, armed soldiers from Señor Cabeza de Vaca’s company were standing watch over a group of Apalache women, some eighty of them, who were huddled together. These were the first women we had seen anywhere since our landing in La Florida. They had been pulled away from whatever tasks they were completing that afternoon: some carried baskets filled with corn, others had brushes dipped in a red dye, and yet others held on to whimpering children. I noticed that all of the women had exceedingly long hair, either woven in braids or wound in thick knots high above their ears, and that on their chins they bore a single tattoo in the shape of a circle. The older among them wore blankets or painted deerskins, but the younger ones were uncovered, their breasts, arms, and legs completely bare. My heart filled with a sudden and fierce desire, a feeling for which I was unprepared, and I caught myself openly staring at their nakedness. It took all of my willpower and years of scholarly training to avert my eyes. Behind me, the men began to make obscene comments, comments that the women could not understand and that the captains did nothing to stop.
The governor cast only a brief look at the women before dismounting. Search the town, he said.
The captains, the soldiers, and most of the settlers fanned out through the city, but Señor Dorantes went straight to the temple. I followed him into the earth mound, my gaze traveling helplessly to the women as we passed them. The temple had very high walls and a coffered wood ceiling. It could easily have accommodated three hundred people, so it took a long while for us to walk the full perimeter. Along the eastern and western walls were short platforms, upon which sat magnificent red baskets, made from a woven fiber I did not recognize. On the northern wall were wood and stone idols, all of them adorned with feathers, beaks, and claws, giving them the lifelike appearance of birds of prey. I examined these idols most carefully. Whenever I lingered over a statue or a gilded weapon, my master would ask: Do you see anything, Estebanico?
But I had no luck. I found no gold or silver charms. No brass or copper. No precious stones.
The search of Apalache lasted until the sun completed its descent to the west. From every corner of the city, soldiers returned with their loot, although no one reported finding any gold. Instead, they spoke of granaries filled with corn, beans, squash, nuts, and sunflower seeds — the city’s winter reserves — as well as fine woven blankets, tools for farming or cooking, and some weapons. Where was the gold the Indian prisoners had all spoken about? Even if it were mined far away, there should be traces of it somewhere here, in the capital. Drops of sweat trickled down my face and along my back. Mosquitoes swarmed around me and I swatted at them furiously for a while, as if I were the sole subject of their harassment, before giving up and turning my attention to the governor.
The captains had gathered around him now, and it appeared to fall upon Señor Cabeza de Vaca to deliver the results of the search, a task he did not relish. Don Pánfilo, he said softly. We found no gold.
Señor Narváez stood with his fists resting on his hips. He had not yet taken off his armor, and he looked piercingly at the royal treasurer. That is impossible, he said.
The soldiers looked everywhere. There is no gold.
No gold at all?
No. Not even copper.
But this is the town the cacique — what was his name?
Dulchanchellin.
Yes, him. This is the city he told us about.
Indeed it is.
The governor took off his gloves and looked beyond Señor Cabeza de Vaca at the city, darkening steadily now all around us. Apalache has gold, he said.
There is no gold, the treasurer repeated.
The governor slipped a finger under his black eyepatch and rubbed forcefully underneath it. The Indians saw us coming, he said. That is why all their men are gone. They went to hide the gold.
All around the city square, the settlers were lighting the evening torches. Slowly, the fading light of the day gave way to the yellow glow of the torch. In the trees, an owl began to hoot.
My son, the commissary said. He spoke kindly, as if he were about to invite a confession or comfort a gravely injured man. My son, I do not believe the Indians are hiding gold. If they did indeed have gold, their dwellings would not be made of straw and their women and children would not be naked.
Señor Narváez looked confused, as if the friar had spoken to him in a foreign language. The notary started to bite his nails — it was a nervous habit that seemed to have grown worse over the last few days, because the tips of his fingers looked raw. My master took off his helmet and handed it to me without looking back.
There is no gold, Señor Castillo said with finality.
Of course there is gold, the governor replied. Where else did the fisherfolk get the pebble that Dorantes found in Portillo? Or the charms that you yourself found in Santa María?