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‘How may I compensate you for such a gift?’ the King would ask him and Benicio would humbly request a small allotment of land, a place where he might run cattle and plant orchards and keep his noble wife in the way of life she deserved.
And thus it would be done. A dream that he had all but abandoned, suddenly fulfilled.
How strange and unpredictable life was.
Where had he put his breastplates? Ah, there they were, just a few paces away. Steel armour was highly valued among the people of the West Indies and could be traded for essentials like food and transport. And where was his book? Where was Amadís? He touched his chest. There it was—right where he always kept it, covering his heart.
He heard a sudden rustle of maize leaves upon the ground. Sensing danger, he popped the ring into his mouth and threaded his tongue through its golden hoop. He turned to behold Rogelio, who remained where he had fallen not three paces away. His eyes sparkled with greed.
He had witnessed everything.
Benicio jumped to his feet and secured his armour. He found the place on the horizon where the sun had risen. He would only need to make his way west, to the coast. There he would find one of the friendly coastal villages. Surely there would be some native man willing to trade his canoe and some supplies for the shiny armour Benicio now wore.
It would be a fast journey across the short stretch of ocean that separated Cuba from this strange island, if an island it was. He would arrive upon Cuba and seek passage to Hispañola, where he would board the next ship returning to Spain. There, he would present his precious ring to King Charles and come what may.
Rogelio was struggling to his feet. He eyed Benicio with a simmering rage, then lunged towards him.
But Benicio would not be caught. His future was in reach. It glittered like diamonds, like Luisa’s green eyes in the noonday sun. He stretched out his long legs and broke into a run. All he needed to do now was reach the coast.
‘Luisa,’ he breathed. ‘I’m coming home.’
Chapter Three (#ulink_9cc6412b-9f05-58d9-a1ea-ae75c3553e32)
When Tula reached the coast, the day was still new. The Sun God glowed white in his victory over the night. She was glad to see that the remote beach remained empty, its quiet cove still untroubled by the wind. She had planned her visit for this day because she knew that Goddess of the Sea would be asleep, her blue waters rolled up like a blanket. The moon charts said it would be so.
Tula retrieved a single spear from her basket. She told herself that she was not lying to her father. Not really. She was simply waiting until the time was right to make her secret known. ‘Within each thing exists its opposite,’ her father always told her. She knew that all her people would soon know the mystery she held inside her heart.
But for now, it was only hers.
She pulled off her shawl and skirt and stuffed them away inside her basket. She placed her belongings at the edge of the jungle, tightening her loincloth as she skipped bare-breasted down the beach.
She felt like a child misbehaving. It gave Tula such a thrill to step out on to her empty beach alone, as if she were the only person in this crowded world. She savoured the moment, knowing that it would not endure.
Her father, who sat upon the Totonac Council of Elders, would be obliged to tell the Totonac Chief of Tula’s discovery. When her secret became known, Totonac nobles would be swarming this beach like fire ants. Tula did not pretend to understand the affairs of the men who ruled the Totonac nation, but she knew well enough that she had found something important.
She also knew that if there was treasure to be had, she wanted to find it first.
She stepped into the clear blue water, sending a prayer to God of the Hunt, Mixcoatl, to help her find treasure in the form of gold. The strange yellow metal was so very rare and to Tula’s mind held little practical use. But the Mexica Takers would accept it in place of many cloaks, and if she could obtain even just a small amount she knew she could bring great relief to her family.
She gripped her spear and peered into the underwater world. It was more likely that she would find a fish. Over the past few cycles of the sun, she had become an excellent fisher, though she would never let the fault of pride weight her steps. Her people believed that fish had once been human and she entered their blue-green realm with humility and reverence.
‘Forgive me, fishes,’ she intoned, letting the water of the Endless Sea pool around her knees. She spied the black spots of a mature jaguar fish, a Totonac delicacy.
With a quick downward thrust, she impaled the magnificent swimmer, then finished its life with her blade. ‘I am humble,’ she whispered to Mixcoatl. With a great heave, she tossed her family’s dinner on to the shore.
She journeyed deeper into the water, stepping past a group of boulders and sighting a polished tree trunk protruding from the depths. She sucked in a breath, then slipped beneath the water.
She followed the tree trunk downwards, kicking past where the seafloor made a short drop, until she reached the hulking wooden temple.
This was her secret, her true quarry. She had discovered the submerged structure half a moon ago in search of new fishing grounds. She suspected it belonged to the bearded god Grijalva, who had journeyed through the Totonac waters many cycles past. He had forged a friendship with the Totonac Chief and the Council of Elders, but he had said nothing about sacrificing a floating temple in this quiet cove.
Though clearly it was a sacrifice—a worthy gift for any god. And today, with the water so clear, she could see the details, including the finely carved rungs of the large calendar wheel, which perched on its central platform.
She envisioned the bearded gods consulting the wheel as they journeyed from their homeland. If temples like this could split the seas, Tula thought, then the world was wider and more varied than ever she could have dreamed.
But she could not allow herself to think of such things now. There was only so much breath inside her and scavenging work to be done. She propelled herself to the main platform and tugged futilely at a thick metal handle she found there. A nearby iron hook proved even less yielding. The last time she had visited the ghostly temple, she had cut a length from one of the thick ropes that floated around the central trunk. Her store of breath quickly decreasing, she decided to simply cut herself another strand.
She propelled herself to the surface to take another breath, then hurried back to cut the rope. As she worked, she gazed down the length of the structure and noticed that something had changed. The last time she had visited, there had been another large tree trunk further down the deck. But that second trunk no longer stood upright: it had fallen on to the sand.
Abandoning her work on the rope, Tula pushed to the surface once again and took another large breath. Her chest full of air, she propelled herself to the site of the collapse.
As she neared, she saw that the falling trunk had ripped the planks that had been fixed beneath it, creating an opening in the central platform. The light of mid-morning was now shining perfectly down into that opening, illuminating the mysterious space below. Her heart beating wildly, Tula followed that shaft of light like a path.
Soon she found herself inside a small chamber. There were large wooden crates piled everywhere, some with blurry symbols painted upon their sides. Several chairs floated against the ceiling, but a small table remained fixed to the floor, its single support thick with barnacles. The room was so littered with debris that it was difficult to discern the purpose of it, but Tula guessed that she was in a place where the bearded gods had prepared their food.
She could not believe her good fortune. She wanted to gather all of its strange objects and rush back to her home, where she would spill them before her father and sisters and watch their faces light up with awe. But already her breath was running low. She reminded herself to stay calm. She had plenty of time to make the many dives needed to gather up this trove of treasure.
She turned to begin her ascent, then spotted the glint of an object beneath a fallen plank—a metal object. She bent to lift the plank but couldn’t move it. To create resistance, she squeezed her foot inside a small hole in the ceiling of the space. The foothold steadied her and she grasped the object in her hand.
Her chest convulsed. She was dangerously out of breath. With the object now in hand, she tugged her wedged foot, but it would not come free. She gulped, sucking in a breath of water and expelling it with a gagging cough that only caused her to take in more water. She filled with a sudden dread. She wiggled her foot again, feeling the planks pinch her skin.
She was drowning.
Suddenly, an image of the flyers came to her mind. The brave Totonac pole flyers swam like Tula, but in the air. Every sun cycle, they would climb to the top of a tall pole, strap their ankles to long ropes, and face possible death as they twirled to the ground like the Sun God’s rays.
Now Tula imagined she was flying through the air like a pole flyer, only she was much higher above the land. She stared down and saw her city like a tiny dot amidst the jungle. To the east was the Endless Sea, that vast, watery realm that led to the first level of the Underworld. To the north was the Great Desolation, where the wandering tribes lived and died. To the west were the Fiery Mountains, and beyond them Tenochtitlan, where the terrible Emperor Montezuma ruled from his throne of gold. Only to the south, where the green jungle stretched into infinity, did people still live free. In the land of the Maya.
Tula twirled her body around to look south. Suddenly, her foot came free.
She darted upwards, breaking the surface in a storm of coughs. Water spewed from her chest in a dozen violent spurts and she could hardly move her limbs for the exhaustion she felt. But she was alive, thank the gods. She pulled herself on to the flattest of the nearby boulders, then closed her eyes and lost her awareness.
* * *
When she finally regained her senses, she could see that much time had passed. The Sun God’s battle with the Women Warrior spirits had already begun and, as they pulled him towards the western horizon, long shadows reached across the beach.
Tula was amazed to discover that she still gripped it in her hand—the object that had almost taken her life. She held it up against the sky, studying it. It was not gold, but silver. Its single shaft was as long as her hand and terminated in a thumb-sized concavity from which extended three equidistant prongs. It appeared to be the specially designed tip of a deadly spear.
Tula compared it against the tip of her own spear and tried to imagine the kind of animal the object might be designed to kill. She pictured a tiny, three-headed beast that scuttled about in some distant jungle. Or perhaps its three prongs were designed to prick a special kind of fish?
She resolved to show the object to her father, whom she was certain would be able to present it to the Mexica Takers in place of many cloaks. ‘I am humble,’ she whispered to the gods, marvelling at how perfectly the small weapon fit into her hand.
Lost in admiration of her prize, Tula did not notice the sound of the men’s voices until they were very close. She slid into the water behind the largest boulder just as the bearded gods exploded on to the sand.
Chapter Four (#ulink_c3245c9b-d399-5575-9604-daed5939b4e2)
There were two of them: a fleshy, naked-chested god with hair the colour of flames and a tall, muscular god clad in a sleeveless hide wrap. The red god shouted at the tall god and chased him some distance down the beach.
Tula peeked out from behind her boulder. Had a new army of bearded gods arrived in Totonac territory? But how? The Totonac kept close watch along their coasts. There had been no sign of any bearded gods for many cycles. Besides, the bearded gods came from the sea on floating temples, not staggering half-naked from the depths of the jungle.
Tula snuck out of the water and dashed across the beach, leaving the jaguar fish as an offering to Mixcoatl. She slipped back into her skirt and blouse, placed her weapons inside her basket and stole closer to the two gods, keeping herself hidden amidst the tangle of trees and vines at the edge of the jungle.
She knew it was foolish to approach them, but her curiosity blazed. She had heard tales of the battles between gods—if gods these were. The God of the Morning Star and the God of Earth had fought together long ago, much like these two were doing, producing the Fifth World—the world in which she now lived. In her studies, Tula had learned that the Fifth World was soon to come to an end. Was this contest a harbinger of the new world to come?
The two rolled over and under one another, fighting for supremacy. The red god punched the tall god in the face, then groped at the tall god’s mouth. But the tall god, whose muscular arms Tula could see even at this distance, thrust a punch upwards into the red god’s stomach.
The red god tumbled on to the sand, coughing. The tall god placed his fingers upon his nose and bent over in agony. It was enough time for the red god to take hold of a silvery dagger and place it against the tall god’s neck.
The tall god stood still while the red god shouted menacing words in a strange, rolling tongue. He seemed to be demanding the answer to some question he had posed. The tall god did not respond. Instead, he held his mouth tightly shut.
Enraged, the red god plunged his knife into the tall god’s chest and the tall god fell backwards on to the sand.
Tula shrieked.
She slapped her hand over her own mouth, shocked by the noise that had come out of it.
Meanwhile, the red god had jumped to his feet and was peering into the jungle. Tula cowered behind a rubber tree. Why had she made such a noise? She had revealed herself for certain. She could not see him, but she began to hear his footfalls. He was coming towards her.
Shaking in fear, Tula pulled her atlatl and a single arrow from her basket, though she knew that it was useless to try to kill a god. If he was a god, then her only chance against him was the aid of another god. She braved a quick glance at the tall god, who remained motionless on the beach. She would receive no heavenly help from him, it seemed.
The red god’s footfalls grew louder. Closer. If she could create an illusion, perhaps she might confuse the red god enough for him to cease his approach. She gave a high-pitched battle cry, then a low-pitched one, then sent her first arrow flying. The red god swerved behind a tree, but he was not quick enough. The arrow’s jagged point grazed past his leg, ripping the tight cloth he wore.
Fuming, he ran towards her, his knife held high. There was nothing she could do but step out from behind her tree and launch her second arrow.
It was even better aimed than the first. It caught in the sleeve of his wrap, sending him backwards on to the ground. She had not injured him, but she had grounded him well.
Tula scanned the forest floor, finding several fine, fist-sized stones. She threw them at him, one after another, darting among the trees to make it seem as if the stones were coming from many different directions. She needed him to believe that an army lurked amongst the trees, ready to strike.
He shouted angrily, struggling to stand above the cloud of dirt and debris that she was kicking up all around. Just as he was finding his balance, Tula fixed the peg of the atlatl into the notch of an arrow and launched it. It stuck him directly in the thigh.
He howled in agony and his blazing eyes found hers. His blade in hand, he staggered to his feet. She loosed her final stone.
It hit him in the head and sent him to the ground where he remained motionless.
Tula stood in stunned silence. Had she just defeated a god? Impossible. Gods could not be defeated by humans.
At least, that was what her father had taught her. When she had asked him how he knew that Grijalva and his men were gods, he had told her that the bearded ones did not abide by the sacred law.
‘Which law?’ Tula had asked.
‘The law between gods and humans.’
‘They do not make sacrifices to the gods and for that reason you believe them to be gods?’ Tula frowned.
‘Either that, my dear Tula, or they are most certainly doomed.’
Tula wondered which was true. Were these bearded ones verily gods? Or were they merely strange, warlike men doomed to die?
The other god was still lying on the beach. If he was truly a god, then he was not dead and it was possible that he could help protect her against the red god, who would be returning to his senses soon.
She rushed from the jungle and on to the beach, trying to think of a way to rouse the tall god. When the god Grijalva had visited, he and his crew had remained inside their floating temples, revealing little but their love of gold and their devotion to the strange, naked spirit they called Cristo.
‘Cristo,’ Tula said tentatively, hoping the word held some kind of magic. But the tall god did not respond. She stared down at his face. It was so very pale, like the inside of a chayohtli fruit. He was like a beast, in truth, his wiry brown hairs growing all around his large face and down past his chin. Crude, thick bushes of it grew over his eyes and tangled around his ears.
Tula took a deep breath. Within each thing exists its opposite, she told herself.
She looked closer. Beneath his moustache, his lips were red and plump, and appeared almost soft. The skin of his high cheekbones was clean and smooth, as if it might be pleasurable to touch. She wondered about his eyes. Were they blue like the sea? She hoped not. Many of the god Grijalva’s men had such eyes and it meant that their souls had deserted them.
‘Cristo,’ she said again, but the god did not stir. Perhaps he was dead.
But gods did not die.
Tula bent to her knees and studied his face more closely. His nose was like a coati’s—long and strong and prominent. It was bent to the side slightly, and a small trickle of blood flowed out of it.
But gods did not bleed.
She wondered if his mouth held teeth or fangs. She let her finger graze across his lips. They were soft and slightly moist. She gently traced their contours, feeling an unusual thrill.
Man or god, he was fascinating.
She tilted his lower jaw downwards and peered into his mouth. Not fangs—he had teeth. They were the imperfect, slightly yellowed teeth of one who had seen much of life and the set was not even complete. Tula suppressed a smile. If a god, he was quite a besieged one.
The Sun God was nearing his defeat. His last rays shot across the sky, illuminating the man’s large pink tongue. She peered deeper into his mouth. For the second time that day, she noticed the glint of metal. It was O-shaped, like a ring. A gold ring. The god’s tongue squeezed through it like a finger.
Tula knew that the bearded gods hungered for gold, but she had no idea that they actually consumed the yellow metal.
Tula looked closer and saw that the ring was the perch for a large gemstone of some kind. Its wide circular base extended across the roof of the god’s mouth, stirring her imagination. Maybe it was a moonstone, or even a precious jade. Tula reached for the gem, but his mouth closed suddenly.
Tula jumped backwards. The man’s eyes remained shut, but Tula was unnerved. She heard a rustling sound at the edge of the jungle. As she squinted for a better view, she saw that it was just a monkey swinging between tree branches. Still, she knew the red god would be returning to his senses soon.
‘Ooa-k-k-k,’ the monkey croaked, as if in warning. But now Tula did not want to leave without the ring. To return to her family and community with such a treasure was beyond her wildest hopes. The Mexica Tribute Takers would certainly accept the heavy prize in place of much food and many cloaks’ worth of tribute. She remembered what her father had told her about the upcoming festival of the fifteenth month. Perhaps the Takers would accept this jewel in place of Tula herself.
She tried to open his mouth again, but he held it shut. His eyes remained tightly closed and they danced beneath his lids, as if he was living inside some important dream. Clearly he was not dead, just asleep. If only she could somehow enter his dream and coax him into opening his mouth. But how to enter the dream of a god?
On impulse, she placed her lips upon his.
She pressed down softly, hoping that he would imagine some beautiful goddess kissing him and open his mouth just enough for her to retrieve the gem. She moved her lips gently against his and, amazingly, he began to move his lips in response.
Her deception was working—it seemed that he had accepted her into his dream. Softly, she let her tongue slide into his mouth. It touched the hoop of the ring, which remained wrapped around his tongue. She tried to coax it free with her own tongue, but it was so tightly wedged against the roof of his mouth that it would not move. It was several moments before she realised that the tiny hairs upon her arms were standing on end.
She shivered, though it was not cold, and breathed in his musky scent.
This was not her first kiss—if a kiss it was. As a younger woman, she had participated in her share of maize festivals and there had always been plenty of young men eager to join lips with her among the stalks.
That was before the Mexica Tribute Takers had taken her older sister’s husband and two boys, when life was still joyous and full of possibility.
After Pulkho’s family was taken, the idea of closeness with a man had become terrifying to Tula. Why enter into the sacred union if it could so easily be destroyed? Tula had stopped going to the maize festivals, and had determined never to get close to any man. There was simply too great a danger of losing him.
This was different, of course. This kiss had nothing to do with closeness and everything to do with theft. The excitement she felt was not the excitement a woman felt for a man: It was merely the danger of the situation mixed with the possibility of success.
