Captain from Castile (34 page)

"Amen!" said de Vargas.

"Moreover," added Garcia, free now to turn to his own ills, "I renounce the horse, Soldan, and curse the rascal who sold him to us. A more blistery, jag-paced beast never hopped on four feet. It's a mercy I can sit on this stool talking with you."

A swinging step sounded in the courtyard outside, and Escalante entered. He held a couple of papers in his hand.

"Coria must have given a sad report of you, Sefior de Vargas." Pedro was struck by a new ceremoniousness in his manner. "The General feared you might be dying. But Escobar and I took care of that, didn't we?"

He tapped the papers he was holding. "Here's news. A ship from Cuba, Francisco Salcedo commanding, just put in at San Juan de Ulua but, finding us gone, is making now for Villa Rica. A runner brought word to Cortes. She may come in tomorrow. She carries Luis Marin, a notable captain, with ten other soldiers and two horses. So far, good; the rest is bad. It seems that the Governor of Cuba has been appointed adelantado from Spain. Governor wasn't enough; he's now governor-in-cliief with the right to colonize these lands."

Pedro caught his breath; Garcia muttered an oath. The news meant that if Governor Velasquez had received this right, they, the conquerors of the country, had no right at all except under him; it meant that the new colony of Villa Rica did not legally exist; it meant, above all, that Velasquez must have the lion's share of the winnings.

"The General won't take it lying down," exclaimed Pedro.

Escalante agreed. "No, things will be humming from now on. The treasure ship has got to leave for Spain at once, and no other ship must leave at all until we hold the entire country for the King—for the King and not for a beggarly governor. As the General says, it's a royal domain."

As the General says had become the stock phrase in the army for settling disputes.

"You made a lucky stroke last night," Escalante added; "but we can't always depend on luck. The next ship may get away."

Pedro ruminated. "You know, as the General says—suppose there weren't any ships?"

"Yes," repeated the other, "suppose there weren't any ships?"

Garcia, whose wits moved slowly, burst out, "No ships? What a fool idea! No means of retreat or communication?" But he broke off. Gradually his eyes lighted up. "Hm-m. No ships? Yes, as the General says, who can't retreat must go forward. And there're plenty with us who would like to go back. The Gallega crowd aren't the only ones." He smacked his knee. "By the Lord, yes! No ships! Scuttle them! Have done with shillyshally! It's a great idea; it's the only idea!"

"Spread it around," said Escalante, exchanging a glance with Pedro. "See what the men think of it."

Because of his great popularity, Garcia was a force among the rank and file.

"Think of it?" he boomed. "They'll think well of it, as Spanish hearts should. We'll go to the General."

By this time, Garcia had forgotten—perhaps even Escalante and Pedro had forgotten—the origin of the idea. It was now Garcia's idea. It would be imposed on Cortes.

"Take it up with the captains," Garcia went on to Escalante. "I'll handle the men."

The other nodded. "I'll do that. . . . Which reminds me." He handed a sealed letter to Pedro. "From the General," he continued. "It was to be returned to him in the event of your death. ... By gad, I'll never forget you on that table, de Vargas, . . . From what he wrote me, I think I know what's in the letter."

Still weak from his ordeal, Pedro broke the seal with a trembling hand. What would the unpredictable General have to write him? Pardon or censure?

Son Pedro [It wasn't a bad beginning],

Bernardino de Coria has given me what I think is a reasonably true account of your conduct in last night's affair. What he said of himself J I do not wholly believe; but he has no reason for lying with regard to you. He tells me that you promised him five hundred pesos on my part if he would assist you in preventing the flight of the ship. He says that, ever loyal to me, he would have assisted you in any case, and I accepted this assurance with thanks — and complete understanding. He tells me also that you pledged your share in the horse, Solddn, for the payment of this money.

Son Pedro, in all this, you did well and showed great prudence and management. Have no fear for Solddn, as I gladly accept this debt. Indeed, I have increased it to a thousand pesos. Senor de Coria may have to wait awhile; but, alas, do we not all have to wait until the end of our venture?

De Vargas chuckled. If Cortes ever paid his promises, the Golden Age would begin again.

Now, as to the emeralds for His Majesty, I am informed that you recovered them and that Juan de Escalante has them in keeping, so that score is canceled.

Of your desertion from camp last night contrary to orders, I will say this. Disobey any order for the sake of the army, but let disobedience be justified by success. If you had failed last night, I would have hanged you. Since you succeeded in a way greatly to the profit of this company, I promote you.

Pedro's cheeks flushed; the writing swam in front of his eyes.

/ promote you for energy and initiative to the rank of captain in command of exploradores when we march inland. Ton will be the eyes of the army. And may your wound, Senor Captain, be speedily mended, for we march presently. May you long live to emulate the deeds of your father, whom God preserve!

Pedro looked up into the round eyes of Juan Garcia, fixed on him in suspense.

"Holy Virgin!" he breathed.

"Come, boy, what is it? Speak out. No great matter, I hope?"

"Congratulations!" bowed Escalante.

"Me, a captain!" gasped Pedro. "A captain!"

XXXVIll

Next morning Pedro awakened to the sound of thunder. Or was it thunder? Boom, boom, close at hand. Boom, boom, boom, from the harbor.

Cannon. An Indian assault.

He stood up dizzily. But there was no sound of haste in the fort, no shouting of orders—in fact, nothing; a peculiar silence between the salvos of artillery. Then, fully awake, he understood. The ship from Cuba.

The recent loss of blood had left him weaker than he could have believed possible. He tottered to the embrasure in his room, which opened on the harbor, and looked out.

Yes, there she came standing in, her painted sails billowing, a bone in her teeth as she cut the water, her gilded round-tops catching the morning light, the royal standard of Castile at her mainmast. Other pennants, doubtless those of Salcedo and Marin, fluttered from the fore- and mizzenmasts. Smoke puffs floated from her sides, and a moment later came the muffled report of her answering salute.

Pedro's eyes smarted. Here she came out of the sea, a token of the world beyond its vastness, the ever-remembered world in contrast to tliis remote country. Cuba might not be home; but it was closer to home, was settled and secure and Spanish.

Boom!

In the new responsibility of his rank, he questioned the waste of gunpowder. But who could blame anybody? Five months of silence, of wondering about this and that, as if the ocean stream were Lethe itself. And now a sail. News perhaps of friends and parents, perhaps even a few letters; news, however old, of Europe. Of course, residents of the Islands had most to expect; but—who could tell?—there might even be a scrap of news from Jaen.

He could see the whole garrison, men and women, streaming down to the beach; Garcia by the side of Escalante; the gunners, who had fired the salute, running to catch up. A small boat was being got out. Several Indian canoes raced toward the new vessel. She stood pointed

in as far as possible, no doubt for convenience in landing the horses. Then at last came the rumble of her anchors.

At that moment, Pedro would have given anything to be on the beach. But his head swam even from the effort of standing up; his knees turned to cotton; and he just managed to reach his mat before they gave way like springless jackknives.

After a while, unable to resist, he got up and dragged back again to the embrasure. He could see the horses, who had been swum ashore, shaking themselves and taking a few cautious steps after their long confinement. The garrison and the newcomers formed a milling group on the sand, the bright headpieces of the strangers and their new equipment contrasting with the makeshift rags and tags of the Villa Ricans. Even from that distance, the clatter of tongues drifted up. Pedro could make out the lean figure of Escalante, standing a little to one side with two other men, one of whom formed a vivid spot of yellow and crimson against the tawniness of the beach. That must be Salcedo, nicknamed "the Dude" on account of his elegance. Garcia, who had friends everywhere in the Islands, had evidently found acquaintances and was embracing and back-slapping.

De Vargas regained his mat. No fun for him in any of this. Nothing to do except languish and swat flies until Garcia remembered him enough to drop in with a few scraps of gossip. He wasn't presentable anyway. A bandage on his head; his torn shirt, carelessly washed, still looking pinkish from the bloodstains; his breeches, ripped by the crossbow bolt, gaping indecently; his boots lost in the Gallega adventure and not yet replaced; his toes sticking out through the undarned extremities of his stockings.

"A lazar," he reflected. "Nothing but a lazar! Dirty as a pig! Forgotten, while everybody else enjoys himself! Hell's blisters! I look like a captain now, don't I?"

The approaching sound of voices and footsteps announced the procession up to the fort. But in his self-pitying mood, the arrival no longer interested him. Then, to his surprise, embarrassment, and gratification, Escalante entered with the two officers from the ship.

He identified them at once: Francisco Salcedo, dark, splendid, and foppish, the typical overdressed adventurer with too elaborate manners; Luis Marin, squat, bowlegged from a lifetime in the saddle, red-bearded (as were many Spaniards of the time), pockmarked, and with strangely mild ways that concealed a lion's courage.

"Captain Pedro de Vargas, gentlemen," said Escalante, introducing them, and Pedro thrilled at his new title. "You will see that the gentle-

man is temporarily indisposed. A recent wound"—Escalante hesitated: it was not wise perhaps to mention the mutiny so soon—"has caused the Captain much loss of blood. No, sirs, not a duel. An affair of hotheads with whom Senor de Vargas had to deal almost single-handed."

Propped up on the mat, Pedro did his best to return the compliments and express thanks for sympathy in a way to do credit to Villa Rica de Vera Cruz. He noticed the surprise in Salcedo's expression at Captain de Vargas's rags and lamentable quarters. But civilities were exchanged with grace and decorum as if the palm-thatched cell had been a palace. Of course, when it transpired that this was the son of Francisco de Vargas, the surroundings hardly mattered.

Luis Marin said, "I had the pleasure once, sir, of watching your father at the jousts in Seville. A more accomplished man-at-arms I have never seen. It does not surprise me that his son should be promoted to a command at so early an age."

He spoke with the Andalusian lisp that reminded Pedro of home.

"It's a young army, sir. Captain Gonzalo de Sandoval and Captain Andres de Tapia, whom you perhaps know, are little older than I. . . . But, seiior, since you come from Seville, perhaps you have news. Jaen isn't far off."

Marin shook his head. "No, I've been a long time in the Islands."

The call ended, they left Pedro once more to his tedium and impatience. No news. At least it was a relief that the strangers had not learned of the disgrace of his family, which would not have improved matters here. But unreasonably he had hoped for some echo from Jaen, something to bridge the gap between here and there.

In his fretful mood, it irritated him that Garcia didn't come. He ought to realize that a fellow hated to be left out of things and was keen to hear the small talk. But the big man remained jabbering in the courtyard. Pedro could hear the distant rumble of his voice above the come-and-go outside. At last he could stand it no longer and struggled up from the mat to the door.

Garcia was standing at the opposite corner of what might be called the plaza in jocular conversation with two of the new arrivals—one of them a stocky, bearded man; and the other a youth, dressed in black, with a cap on his head, and a white feather.

"Popinjay!" grunted Pedro, conscious of his own damaged appearance. "I'll back the army to take some of that sleekness off of him. . . . Hey, Garcia!" he barked.

The conversation broke off. The three looked around.

"Ta voy! I'm coming," Garcia shouted.

Aware that he must be making a scarecrow impression and that it did not befit one of Cortes's officers to be clinging to a doorpost and bawling for attendance in full view of the fort, Pedro tottered back to his place with as much dignity as possible.

But even so, he did not hear Garcia's lumbering footsteps crossing the courtyard. It was a lighter tread. Apparently he had sent the page to ask what was wanted.

"Now, my word!" thought de Vargas. "I like that!"

The youth appeared in the doorway.

"The Captain desires?" he smiled.

"Nothing," Pedro snapped. His distaste for the figure in black, with the square-cut bang, deepened. "Tell Senor Garcia, if you please, not to hurry. When he's at leisure, if he can spare me a few moments of his attention, I should like to see him."

He broke off, staring at the boy's face. A sudden fear for his own sanity struck him. Perhaps that wound—

The youth took a step toward him and smiled again, a generous, unmistakable smile.

"God in heaven!" Pedro whispered. ''Am I dreaming? Catana! Ca-tana Perez!"

"Didn't you really know me, seiior?"

She sank down beside him. He continued to stare, open-mouthed.

"God in heaven!" he repeated. "Catana! Querida mia!"

He kissed her again and again on the mouth. His eyes devoured her.

She drew her hand gently across his face. "You've changed. All burn and bone. Even a beard. And wounded. I'll have to take care of you."

He caught her in his arms again.