The Moor's Account (13 page)

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.

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.

W
HILE 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.

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.