The Flute of the Gods

Half the Castilians marched in order in the rear and formed for guard at a respectful distance under Capitan Gonzalvo. Seeing that all was well, he mounted the steps to the roof, and was the last to descend into the sanctuary.

One Te-hua sentinel stood on guard for his people at the place of council, and the serene life of the village went on as if no mail clad men were within its walls, only the children who were small, and the boys who were curious, loitered close and wondered of what the men of the beards wove their armor, for the water bottles woven of reeds and plastered with gum of the piñon had that same glazed surface. Strange things must grow where these men grew!

In the circle of the council home it was an impressive line of men who faced each other in silence. Chico half in earnest, announced in a whisper to Don Ruy that the ladder of the entrance would be his choice of a seat;–so as to be nearest the outside world in case of trouble.

Shadowy it was in the great room where only the way of the sky gave light, and the only seat was that built around the wall–and to Don Ruy was like to pictures of the old Roman ruins. The walls were white, and there were lines and strange symbols in pale green, and in yellow:–the colors of the Summer People. An altar of stone was directly under the ladder, and the light from above fell on the terraced back of it–typifying the world of valley, and mesa, and highest level. A ceremonial bowl of red ware echoed this form on its four terraced sides. It held white and yellow pollen, and the sacred corn of four colors formed a cross with the bowl as a center;–all this was placed before the statue of a seated god carved from red stone. The arms were folded and the pose was serene–waiting! But as fragrant bark was tossed on the sacred fire below him,–and a flame awoke for a moment, the eyes reflected the light in a startling way–as though alive! Then the strangers saw that the eyes were of iridescent shell set in the carven stone,–and more strange than all was the fact that the god of the altar was a weeping god, and the tear under each eye was also of the strange shell mosaic. It was the Earth-Born God who had been driven out by the proud hearts of the Lost Others. Weeping, he waited the Sign in the Sky by which he was to return. His name meant Dew of Heaven–and the Dew and the Sun must work together for the best life of growing things, and of human things.

Among all the swart elderly faces it was an easy matter to pick the man who had given back to him the steed. The eyes of Don Ruy sought him eagerly, and more than ever wondered at the youth of him, and the countenance fairer than many a Castilian of their land. The other glimpses of him had been brief, and when kneeling by the horse, his face had been all but hidden.

He wore no ceremonial festive garb as did the others. The white robe of deerskin was folded about him, and he gave no heed to the different visitors who entered. His eyes were on the floor as though in meditation, and in silence he accepted the sacred smoke, and then glanced towards the place where the governor sat always when in council. After that one little look there was no longer silence. The padre, watching the impassive young face, observed that one glance was all that was required of command. And the governor of Povi-whah arose and spoke.

He told to the brothers and neighbors of the coming, and the kindly coming, of the Castilians to bring back in safety one Te-hua man who had been carried far south as a slave. The man of the grey robe was the priest of the Castilian god, and that god had sent him to say that all men must be brothers, with the god in the sky for a father. These new brothers brought good gifts and tokens from their king. The king said his children would also help fight the wild Apache and Navahu and Yutah in the day when they came to kill and take captives.

Smiles went over many faces in the circle. Nods of approval gave good hope for the Castilian cause.

Then the governor of Kah-po arose.

This coming of the strange brothers was good, he agreed. It was much for nothing. How many fields for corn would the Castilian brothers ask for such help in battle?

The padre lifted the cross, and stood up, and the Castilians knelt on the stone floor with heads low bowed.

“Of fields of mortal man we ask no more than the corn we eat–” he said–“but the great god decreed that each soul for salvation must be written by the priest in the great record. Baptism must they accept,–and new prayers to the true god must they learn. Out of the far land had the true god made the trail that the faith be carried to the Te-hua people. Under the cross he wished to give the sacrament of baptism.”

The kneeling Castilians impressed the pagan men more than might have been hoped. They were strong–yet they were as bidden children under that Symbol. It was big medicine! Ka-yemo found his own head bowed lower and lower–the spell of the older days was working!–when he lifted his eyes, it was to see the brief glance of Tahn-té rest on him. He sat erect again as though a spoken command was in that look. All this saw Don Ruy, and all this saw the padre, and his teeth locked close under his beard.

Many were the exchange of thought over faiths old and faiths new in the land, also of the ancient republics, the Pueblos, and the interest of the majestic ruler who was king of Spain and the Indies was made manifest by his subjects. Of many things did they speak until all the old men had spoken, and it was plain to be seen that the Castilians were not unwelcome. The winning courtesy of Don Ruy made many friends, and the wise brain of the padre made no mistakes. Yet of the one central cause of the quest not any one had spoken, and the silent Cacique had only designated by a glance or a motion of the hand who was to be the next spokesman. He was the youngest of all, and he waited to listen.

Then, when the smoke had been long, and silence had been long, Tahn-té the wearer of the white robe arose. For a space he stood with folded arms wrapped in the mantle of high office, and quietly let his gaze rest on one after another of those in the circle, halting last at Ka-yemo whose glance fell under his own–and whose head bent as under accusation.

Tahn-té smiled, but it was not a glad smile–he had seen that the old magic of the gray robe was holding the war chief in thrall to the strangers.

Then Tahn-té stepped forward from the seat of council–and threw aside the white robe, and slender and nude as the Indian gods are nude but for the girdle, and the medicine pouch, he stood erect, looking for the first time direct and steadily into the eyes of Padre Vicente. The circle of the council room might have been an arena and only those two facing each other and measuring each other.

While one might count ten he stood thus silent, and Don Ruy could hear his own heart beat, and Chico clutched at the embroidered doublet of Don Diego, and wished for the sound of any man’s voice.

Then Tahn-té smiled as the eyes of Padre Vicente wavered, as Ka-yemo’s had wavered–the boy who had tamed serpents felt the strength of the hills with him. Always he felt strong when he stood alone!

From the medicine pouch he took the gift of the rosary, and held it aloft that all might see, and the silver Christ on it caught the light from the opening in the roof, and swung and circled like a thing alive.

“Señores”–he said in Spanish though slowly, as one little used to the speech–“one of those among you has done me the honor to send me a gift and a message. I was making prayers at that time,–I have not been free to return thanks until now in the council. I do so, and I speak in Spain’s words as this is not a Te-hua matter. It is a gift from a Christian to a Pagan, and the message told me a king would be proud to wear this strand of carven beads. Señores:–I am no king, kings give royal bounties to each giver of a gift. I stand naked that you see with your own eyes how little I can accept,–since in return I can give not anything! Take back your kingly gift, Señor Priest:–I cannot exchange for it even–a soul!”

He stepped lightly as a panther of the hills across the open space and let fall the beads into the hands of Padre Vicente.

“That you may save it for the king, Señor!” he said gently, and bowing with more of grace than a courtier who does homage, he returned to his place.

Padre Vicente turned gray white under the tan. Don Diego crossed himself and muttered a prayer. Juan Gonzalvo uttered an expletive and half smothered it in a gasp as the face of Tahn-té caught the light for one instant.

“Blood of Christ!”–he whispered–“look at his eyes–his eyes!”

Don Ruy caught the arm of the man and pressed it for warning to silence. When he turned a more composed face to the circle, the secretary was looking at him and there was something like terror in the face of the lad. Each knew the thought of the other–each remembered the words of Juan Gonzalvo at Ah-ko,–also the basket of the sacred first fruit at the portal under the dove cote–also the blue eyes of the Greek–blue with lashes so long and so heavy that black might be their color. The pagan priest would need all the help of his gods if Juan Gonzalvo caught this thought of theirs!

Padre Vicente recovered himself, kissed the crucifix and slipped it within his robe.

“The words of this man are the words Satan is clever in coining when the false gods speak and reject the true,” he stated quietly. “My children, we must not hold this against the weak human brother. The devils of necromancy and sorcery are stubborn–but ere this the stubbornness has been broken, and the saints have rejoiced! It is plain that devilish arts could not prosper where the Image remained–hence it has been given back! Make no mistake my children, where the word of God, and the Image rest,–there the pagan powers must ever grow weak. Thanks be that this is so! Remember it–all of you when you pray!”

Don Diego started his prayers at once, while Juan Gonzalvo leaned forward and stared at the pagan sorcerer like a hound held in leash.

The Te-hua men had heard only gentle tones from Tahn-té and thought little of the strange change in the faces of the Castilians.–Tahn-té many times said surprising things–that was all!

But Tahn-té, listening closely to the priestly admonition as Padre Vicente grasped all the meaning of it. He was being branded as a worker of evil magic–a sorcerer– the most difficult accusation of all to fight down in an Indian mind!

He looked from face to face of the strangers–halted at the secretary, but seeing there either fear or sympathy–his eyes sought further, and rested on Don Ruy.

Then he drew from his medicine pouch a second rosary, a beautifully wrought thing of ebony and gold.

“Señor” he said,–“if I mistake not, it was your animal I helped but yesterday. Is it not so?”

“It was in truth–and much am I in your debt for that help!” said Ruy Sandoval with heartiness–“it is no fault of mine that I am late in rendering thanks. You deny that you are king–yet I have known majesty easier to approach!”

“And the animal is now well, and shows no marks of the Christian’s Satan?”

“Sound:–every inch of him!”

“Thanks that you say so, and that you do not fear to say so,” said Tahn-té. “Since it is so, it makes clear that the printed word, or the graven image is no weight to True Magic, even when taught us by pagan gods! For ten years I have read, day time and night time, all there is to read in the books of your church left by Padre Luis–also all the other books left by the men of Señor Coronado’s company, and by Padre Juan Padilla who died at Ci-bo-la. Side by side I have studied the wisdom of these books, and the wisdom of our ancient people of the Te-hua, as told to me by the old men. One has never held me from seeing clear that which I read in the other, and the graven image has only the Meaning and the Power which each man gives to it! It was with me when I took away the sting of the Brother Snake. Padre Luis was a man who would have been a good man in any religion–that is why I kept this symbol of him–not for the crucified god on it! But for the sake of the god, is it sacred to you because your heart tells you to think that way. It is right to be what a man’s heart tells him to be. I give you the prayer beads. I give it to you because your horse helped me to show your people that the pagan gods are strong, if the heart of the man is strong!”

In the “Relaciones” Don Diego wrote that–“The horrification of that moment was a time men might live through but could not write of.–For myself I know well that only the invisible army of the angels kept the beams of the roof from crushing us, as well as the poor pagans, who sat themselves still in a circle with pleasant countenances!”

Ruy Sandoval knew courage of any kind when he saw it, and he met Tahn-té midway of the council and accepted the rosary of beauty from his hand.

“My thanks to you, Señor Cacique,” he said–“the more so for the care given this relic. The Fray Luis de Escalona was known of my mother–also was known the lady from whom this went to his hand. A goldsmith of note fashioned it, and its history began in a palace;–strange that its end should be found here in the desert of the Indies.”

“The end has perhaps not yet been found, Señor,”–said the Indian,–“thanks that you accept it.”

Then he spoke in Te-hua to the people as if every personal incident with the Castilians was forever closed.

“You have listened to fair words from these men–and to sweet words of brother and brother. I have waited until all of you spoke that I might know your hearts. You are proud that they come over all the deserts and seek you for friends. Have you asked them why it is so?”

No one had asked why all the other tribes were left behind, and why the strangers had come to camp at the Rio Grande del Norte.

“We are good people,” stated one man, and the others thought that was so, and a fair enough reason.

Tahn-té listened, and then spoke to the Castilians.

“You have come far, Señores, and my people have not yet heard the true reason of the honor you pay them. The priest always goes–and the tale told is that it is for souls–(Father Luis truly did believe it was for souls!) But your books tell plainly one thing, and the Christian men I knew taught by their lives the same thing, and it was this:–For gold, for precious stones,–or for women–are the real things which your kings send out companies of men in search of. Women you could find without crossing the desert. This Te-hua man who was first captive, and then slave, would have come in gladness to his people if let go free, yet for five summers and winters did the Castilian priest hold him servant and at last comes with him to his home. Is this because of love? His reverence, the padre, is wise in much with men,–but great love is not his; I cannot see him starving in a cave, and blessing his tormentors as did Fray Luis. So, Señores, the reason must be made more clear. Señor Coronado sought gold–and full freedom was given him to find gold–if he could! Why is your desire to fight for us against the Apache and the Yutah–and what is the thing you ask in exchange? Not yet have we had any plain word as from your king.”

Don Ruy smiled at his logic. Here was no untutored savage such as they had hoped to buy with glass beads–or perhaps a mule the worse for the journey! However it ended, he was getting more of adventure than if he had built a ship to sail the coasts!

“Games have been won by Truth ere now even though Truth be not popular,” he said to the padre.

“It is not fitting that his Reverence should make reply,”–put in Don Diego with much anger. “Holy Church is insulted in his person. If this were but Madrid–”

“To wish for Paradise takes no more of breath,”–suggested Don Ruy, “and if it is beneath the dignity of any else, perhaps I could speak–or Chico here.”

But the latter silently disclaimed gift of logic or oratory,–in fact the turn of things was not toward gaity. Don Diego was shocked at everything said. Gonzalvo and the padre were plainly furious, yet bound to silence. Only Don Ruy could still smile. To him it was a game good as a bull fight–and much more novel.

“I shall speak, though it be a task I elsewhere evade,” he said, and looked at the Cacique–a solitary nude bronze body amidst all the gay trappings of the assembly. “Señor, it is not women we seek–though a few of us might make room for a pretty one! It is true that the men in armor would help guard your fields, for they have heard that you are the Children of the Sun as were certain people of the south. In the south the sun sent a sign to his children–it was gold set in the ledges of the rock, or the gravel of the stream. If these people of the Rio Grande del Norte can show these signs that they be given as proof to our king–then men in armor of steel will come many as bees on the blossom and guard your land that your corn and your women be ever safe from the wild Indians who make devastation.”

Tahn-té repeated this to the Te-hua men without comment of his own, and the dark faces were watched by the Castilians. They could see no eagerness–only a little wonder–and from some a shrug or smile,–but–not from any of them anger or fierce looks!

The padre drew a quiet breath of content and leaned back–the game was at least even. The Navahu had been bad for two years–very bad! The appeal of Don Ruy might prove the right thing, and the simple thing. It would take time, for the Indian mind was slow;–the quickness of the naked sorcerer proved nothing otherwise, for every god-fearing man could see that he was more than mortal in satanic strength. Against this one man alone must the battle for the Trinity be fought!

Together did the Te-hua men of council speak much–and to Ka-yemo they turned more than once and asked of the Tiguex days of the other Christian men. But between the devil of the padre and his symbols and the deep sea of the eyes of Tahn-té, not much was to be remembered by a man, and he could only say that his stay in the south was not long–that he was only a boy, and without the understanding of things done and seen.

“I have spoken,”–said Tahn-té when the older men turned to him for council as to the wisdom of throwing away so powerful a friend as the men of iron. Some were concerned lest they should turn away and offer help to their enemies!

In the land of the Yutah the yellow stones were found in the stream–also in the heart of the Navahu desert. No people used these stones because they were sacred to the sun, and strong for prayer, but–it was well to think what would happen if the men of iron were brothers to the Navahu!

“Never more could we sleep under our own roof–or plant corn in our own fields,” said the man from Te-tzo-ge,–“our daughters would be wives to the Navahu and mothers of Navahu, and the grass would grow over the walls we have builded.”

They smoked in silence over this thought, for it was a dark thought–and it could come true!

“We could kill these few, and then sleep sound for a long time with no trouble thoughts,” suggested one, a patriarch from Ui-la-ua.

“That is true,” said Tahn-té–“but if we do that way we would be no better than these men of iron. Their god talks two ways for killing, and their men live two ways. Our god when he taught our fathers, gave them but one law for killing, it was this:–‘Go not to battle. A time will come for you to fight, and the stars in the sky will mark that time. When the star of the ice land moves–then the battle time will be here! Until then live as brothers and make houses–use the spear only when the enemy comes to break your walls.’ That is the world of the Great Ruler. To kill these men only holds the matter for your sons to decide some other year.”

“What then is to do?” demanded a man of Naim-be–“they do not break the walls, but they are beside the gates.”

“When the Yutah and the Navahu traders come with skin robes, what is it you do?” asked Tahn-té.

“We trade them our corn and our melons and we get the robes.”

“And,”–added Tahn-té–“the governor of each village gives them room outside the walls when the night comes, and the chief of war sees that the gate is closed, and that a guard never goes down from the roof! If these men are precious to you, make of them brothers, and send prayer thoughts on their trail, but never forget that they are traders, and never forget that the watchers must be on the roof so long as they stay in your land! They come for that which they can carry away, and once they have it you will be in their hearts only as the grass of last year on the hills–a forgotten thing over which they ride to new harvests!”

“You talk as one who has eaten always from the same bowl with the strangers,” spoke one man from Oj-ke–“yet you are young, and some of these men are not young.”

“Because–”–said Tahn-té catching the implied criticism of his youth and his prominence–“because in the talking paper which their god made, there is records of all their men since ancient days. They have never changed. Their gods tell them to go out and kill and take all that which the enemy will not give,–to take also the maids for slaves,–that is their book of laws from the Beginning. Since I was a boy I have studied all these laws. It was my work. By the god a man has in his heart we can know the man! Their god is a good god for traders, and a strong god for war. But the watchers of the night must never leave the gate unguarded when they camp under the walls.”

All this Padre Vicente heard, all this and much of it was comprehended by him. Plainly it was not well to seek converts when the pernicious tongue of the Cacique could speak in their ears.

“It may be that we abide many days beside you,” he said gently and with manner politic–“also it may be that we visit the wise men of the other villages, and take to them the good will of our king. The things said to-day we will think of kindly until that time. And in the end you will all learn of the true god, and will know that we have come to be your brothers if you are the children of the true god.”

Upon which he held up the cross, and bent his head as in prayer, and went first up the ladder into the light. He was pale and the sweat stood on his face. It had been a hard hour.

The others followed in due order, but Don Diego eyed the wizard Cacique with a curiosity great as was his horror.

“Alone he has studied books without a tutor–sacred books–since his boyhood!” he said to Don Ruy–“think of that, and of the grief we had to persuade you to the reading of even the saintly lives! There is devilish art in this–the angels guard us from further sorcery–without a tutor! A savage magician to study strange tongues without a tutor! It is nothing short of infernal!”

But despite all opinion, Don Ruy waited and approached the man of the white robe and the cruel logic.

“You have been my friend,”–he said–“will you not eat with me and talk in quiet of these matters?”

“You do not fear then to be marked as the comrade of a sorcerer?” asked Tahn-té. “You must be a man of strength in your own land, Excellency, to dare offend your priest by such offer. Is the Holy Office no longer supreme in Spain?”

“How do you–an Indian–know of the office, of the duties of the workers there?”

“Two years of my life I lived in the camp of Coronado. To listen was part of my work. Strange and true tales were told in the long nights. They are still with me.”

“But–you will come?”

Tahn-té looked at him and smiled–but the smile held no gladness.

“My thanks to you, Señor. To you I give the prayer beads–it is good to give them to you. More than that is not for me to do. My work takes me from where the feast songs are sung.”

Then he wrapped about him the white robe made of deer skins, and it was as if he had enshrouded himself in silence not to be broken.

With reluctance Don Ruy went up the ladder and left him there. The sweetness of the outer air was good after the reek of many smokes in the kiva–and the adventurer stood on the terrace and drew great breaths and gazed across the tree fringed water, and thought it all a goodly sight well worth the jealousy of the pagan guardian.

Don Diego had accompanied the padre to their own quarters, but Juan Gonzalvo was across the court speaking quietly to Yahn Tsyn-deh whose vanity required some soothing that she had been shut out by Tahn-té from council and her coveted official tasks.

At the wall of the terrace waited the secretary in some hesitation, yet striving for boyish courage to speak the things outside the duty of his office.