Feathered Serpent by Colin Falconer Page B

treasures I believe to be here.”
    Leon leaned both fists on the table. “The governor told us to explore the coastline and trade where we could. He expressly forbade us from sleeping on the shore. Yet you have had us sitting on this accursed beach for weeks, leaving ourselves open to an attack from these treacherous Indians while our comrades die of the fever. We cannot stay here forever. We have already won far more gold and precious things than we could have ever hoped. We should return with it immediately to Cuba and present it to the governor.”
    A vein pulsed in Cortés’s temple. Go back to Cuba? Going back to Cuba would ruin him. Velásquez would take the gold for himself and he would not even be left with enough to cover his expenses. He had mortgaged all his possessions and exhausted all his lines of credit to finance this expedition. Moreover, the governor would probably arrest him and send him back to Spain in chains. He would not go back disgraced and bankrupt after fifteen years of toil in the Indies.
    An extravagant sigh: “I mean only the best for you and all of the men who have placed their trust in me. I am a Christian soldier and a loyal subject of the king, and I shall do whatever you think is best. If you and your men wish to return to Cuba, then that is what we shall do.”
    “You cannot agree to this!” Alvarado snarled, his golden smile suddenly vanished.
    Cortés spread his hands, a helpless gesture. “It seems there is nothing more to be done. As these gentlemen have pointed out, the governor’s orders were plain.”
    “You would listen to these two ... ninnies?” Alvarado said, staring at Leon and Ordaz. The two men reached for their swords and had to be restrained by the others.
    No one moved.
    Finally Benítez said: “They are right about one thing. We cannot stay here and do nothing.”
    “If we go back to Cuba,” Puertocarrero said, “we shall not see any of the gold.”
    Cortés held up a hand. “As I said, gentleman, it appears we have no choice.”
    Leon and Ordaz exchanged glances. They had not expected to win so easily. Ordaz straightened. “I shall tell the men,” he said.
    With a glare in Alvarado’s direction, Leon followed him out of the tent.
    “You gave in too easily to those Velásquistas,” Puertocarrero said.
    “Am I to believe then, that the rest of you do not wish to return to Cuba?”
    Jaramillo looked sullen. “As you yourself said, what choice do we have?”
    “Of course we have a choice,” Cortés said. “Should you gentlemen wish to stay, there is another way we might play our hands.”
      ———————
    Without the Lord Tendile’s slaves on hand to bring them food the Spaniards were faced with the possibility of starvation. After weeks in the holds of the ships, the cassava bread they had brought with them had turned to a foul and glutinous starch, crawling with maggots.
    It meant they had forage for themselves. The soldiers set out every morning to hunt birds and game with their crossbows while the Tabascan camaradas were sent off to scour the shore for crabs and wild fruits. Each day the hunt for food took them in broader sweeps, further away from the camp.
    Late one afternoon Rain Flower was alone collecting wild berries when she heard sounds from the rock pool where she and Malinali came each evening to bathe. Curious, she crept closer and peered through the ferns.
    It was one of the thunder gods, the one they called Norte. He was naked, standing waist deep in the cool green water. She was astonished. She thought that the Spaniards never bathed. Malinali had said it was because they did not need to. Rain Flower did not agree.
    Norte, she had noticed, was different from the others. They seemed to hold him apart; only the priest called Aguilar ever spoke to him. It seemed curious to her that Aguilar was their priest, because it was Norte who sported the tattoos and ragged earlobes of a holy man.
    Water streamed off his skin as he rose