* * *
He should have let her rest. He should have peppered her with kisses and sweet reminders of the love he felt for her. But he was too far gone. Her ecstasy was his and when he felt her come apart on him, it was all he could do to keep from exploding himself. Now he thrust into her with a need beyond thought.
‘Yes,’ she said, in her sweet voice, with her sweet accent, with her damn sweet scent wafting into his nose. He thrust into her again, a little harder, trying so very hard not to harm her, but feeling his need like a monster crossing the sea, threatening to destroy the lovely ship they had built.
He thrust again, and again, lost in a sensation so exquisite that he never wanted it to end. It was not that he was merely making love to a woman, but that he was making love to her, the woman he wanted, the woman he had always wanted, the woman whom he had been waiting for the whole of his life.
She raised her hips to meet his, cringing and sighing in turn, struggling to accommodate him. Her body was so warm and luscious. It whispered to his body of its yearning and closed around him like a swaddle. He thrust deeper inside of her, feeling his excitement increase.
‘Do I cause you pain?’ he gasped, as if he could possibly stop himself now. He bent to kiss her and found his answer in her lips. Go on, she told him. Find your bliss. He thrusted and thrusted while she continued to kiss him, her mouth moving in rhythm with her hips. So much hot wetness. He felt surrounded by it, bathed in it. His breaths came in fierce, desperate gulps, as if he was again choking for air.
There was only her, all around him, urging him to find his truth, his place in the universe. Then he felt it—the beginning of his extinction. He was running towards it, on strong legs, feeling that sweet but painful surge, of everything he was.
His release took him. He spilled himself on to her stomach, his body convulsing with more power and violence than he had ever known. He felt her soft hands upon his thighs, encouraging him, and he took them and placed them firmly on his pulsing shaft.
She held him tightly and he moved in an accelerating rhythm, propelled forward by the sight of her and the waves of pleasure that would not cease. Finally, he collapsed atop her, nuzzling his nose in her hair and breathing her scent, utterly conquered.
Then he rolled off her and lay on his back beside her, already missing her nearness, already wishing to return to her.
She reached over to hold him and nuzzled her face beneath his arm. He gazed up at the tangle of trees and vines that shaded their small sanctuary, protecting it from the world. He wished he could stay this way with her for ever.
A howler monkey croaked, a green parrot flew overhead and the moment passed. She was kissing his chest and breathing in his scent. Soon she had stretched her leg over his chest and was straddling him once again. She remained fully clothed, yet she appeared naked to him, and when he looked at her, he felt as though he could see into her soul. It shone so very bright.
She stared down at him with big eyes, a smile playing at the sides of her lips. She bent down to kiss him and quietly passed the ring back into his mouth, giggling softly at her triumph.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
They followed the coastal trade routes back to Cempoala, each night making their camp at a different beach. Tula would catch their dinner while Benicio found water and they would watch the moon rise up over the mystic waters.
Benicio made love to Tula every night beneath the stars. In the morning, when the spray of surf hit their skin and the cries of shore birds filled their ears, he made love to her again. He studied her, like the scholar he was, and learned what she liked and what she loved. He tasted every inch of her, from the tips of her fingers to the bottoms of her feet. He showed her what it meant to be loved and she melted into him and they became one.
* * *
On the last day of their journey, they came upon the beach where they had first met. The tide was out and the cove was clear and tranquil in the morning light. ‘How long can you hold your breath?’ Tula asked Benicio suddenly.
‘Longer than you,’ Benicio chided.
‘Come and try to prove it!’ Tula exclaimed, and dove into the water.
When the sunken ship rose up before him, he could scarcely believe it was real. It was a fine Spanish galleon, fully equipped, and Benicio wondered if this was the legendary ship that the explorer Córdoba had lost in a storm. Or perhaps it was one of Grijalva’s famous vessels. Tula grabbed hold of its loose rigging and floated around its tall mast, and he could see her delighted smile as she danced beneath the waves.
They explored the galleon all morning, then collapsed on to the shore together and stared up at the cloudless sky. ‘It is the greatest fish I ever find,’ Tula explained. ‘I share it with you so I can keep it as my own.’
‘Thank you,’ Benicio, still breathless from the swim. ‘You are such a good swimmer.’
Tula sighed. ‘To swim makes me happy,’ said Tula. ‘What makes you happy?’
You, thought Benicio. You make me happy. He wanted to say it and to tell her he loved her, but the words caught in his throat and the moment passed. ‘The stars,’ he said at last. ‘The stars make me happy.’
‘You mean the gods?’
‘Stars are not gods. They are worlds. Some are made of rock, others of fire, and others of nothing but clouds. They do not go away. Even in the daytime, still they are there. The Maya of Chichen Itza studied them closely.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Do you remember the round building?’
‘Yes.’
‘You were right. It was made to study the stars.’
‘You went inside it, yes?’
‘I did. While you were diving into the cenote, I was discovering an observatory.’
‘What did you do there?’
‘I looked up at the sky and said what was in my heart.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I wish to keep it always there. So I had to give it away.’
‘You are learning,’ said Tula.
* * *
When they reached the outskirts of Cempoala the next morning, Tula was twittering like a bird. ‘You will meet my father,’ she explained excitedly. ‘And my sister, Pulhko. She does not speak, but she listens. Do not be afraid. They will like you.’ When they finally reached the central plaza, she jumped off the horse and broke into a run.
Soon she was standing on the doorstep of her house, taking long, deep breaths. ‘Open the door and go in!’ Benicio called, approaching at a gallop. ‘What are you waiting for?’
But before she could enter, a woman appeared in the doorway. She was tall and dark, with long black hair that she wore in a single braid at her back. When she recognised Tula, she shrieked with delight and the two women fell into each other’s arms.
They stayed that way for many long moments, hardly noticing Benicio dismount Big Deer. He took a breath and walked to the base of the porch, catching the dark-haired woman’s eye.
‘Hello, Benicio,’ she said in perfect Spanish. ‘I am Pulhko. I am Tula’s elder sister.’
Tula stared at her sister in awe and Benicio wasn’t sure if Tula was surprised to hear her sister speak Benicio’s tongue or to hear her speak at all.
‘It is an honour to meet you,’ said Benicio, giving a low bow. When he rose, he saw a man’s familiar round shape inside the doorway, though it was perhaps not quite as round as before.
‘Rogelio?’
‘Benicio, you devil,’ Rogelio said. He walked through the doorway with barely a limp. ‘We were starting to worry.’ He took Benicio in a warm embrace.
‘You look well,’ said Benicio, regarding Rogelio’s slimmer frame and healed leg. ‘But what are you doing here? Why are you not in Vera Cruz with the other men?’
‘I was just...visiting,’ Rogelio said,
smiling curiously.
‘You will not like the news I bring,’ Benicio said. ‘We return without a single bit of treasure.’ Benicio gripped the hilt of his dagger, bracing himself for Rogelio’s wrath, but Rogelio only nodded.
‘Is that so?’
‘Are you not enraged, Rogelio?’
‘Not quite.’
‘Are you not going to attempt to stab me?’
Rogelio rubbed the place upon his chin where his beard used to be and gave a playful smirk. ‘It is not necessary.’
‘But the Maya treasure—it is all you have been waiting for. Por Diós, Rogelio, it is all you have ever lived for.’
‘It was,’ admitted Rogelio. ‘I have found something better to live for now.’ He glanced behind him to Pulhko, who was talking excitedly to Tula. Pulhko looked up momentarily and caught Rogelio’s gaze, and there was a smile in her eyes.
‘She has scars like me,’ explained Rogelio, touching the gash across his face, ‘but they are hidden from view.’
Benicio stood in stunned silence, trying to absorb the news.
‘Ah! That reminds me,’ said Rogelio, pulling an envelope from beneath his belt. ‘This arrived on a galleon from Cuba not a week ago. The Overseer of Vera Cruz gave it to me to give to you. It seems that news of our mutiny has not yet arrived.’
Benicio stared at the small, beige missive as if it might bite him. He narrowed his eyes at Rogelio. ‘I assume you have read it already?’
‘No, man,’ said Rogelio, his eyes shifting towards Pulhko again. ‘I fear I may have developed a bit of a conscience since we last met.’
‘I may have had a change of heart myself,’ Benicio said. He plucked the envelope from Rogelio’s hand and in exchange offered his own. ‘Thank you for bringing Xanca and Anan safely to Cempoala.’
‘It was nothing,’ said Rogelio casually. ‘I only had to fight off a few jaguars.’
Benicio laughed. ‘Please, call me Brother.’
Rogelio’s eyes took on a liquid sheen and he began to speak, but the door swung backwards and suddenly Xanca was bounding out of the house in a fit of excited shrieks. She was followed by Anan, who marched right up to Benicio, embraced him, then unleashed a tirade of angry words. ‘He is asking why you took so long to return,’ said Rogelio.
‘You speak Totonac now?’
‘Just a little,’ said Rogelio. He turned to Anan and said some incomprehensible thing.
‘Remind me, I need you to teach me how to say something in Totonac,’ said Benicio.
‘I will teach you whatever I can, Brother. I am at your service.’
‘Then tell me why Anan stares at me with daggers in his eyes.’
‘He says that he and Xanca have waited patiently for your return. Almost two cycles of the moon now.’
‘But why is he so enraged?’ asked Benicio.
‘It is Totonac tradition for an engaged couple to sleep apart. Anan recently announced that he and Xanca have been engaged to be married for a little over a year now,’ said Rogelio, winking.
Benicio burst into laughter, slapping Anan on the back. ‘I am very sorry my friend,’ he said. ‘Your problem shall be remedied soon.’
Chapter Thirty-Nine
The wedding of Xanca and Anan was the talk of Cempoala, for it was said that the gods themselves had spared their lives. And they were not alone. Almost all the former captives had managed to return home since that fateful night atop the Templo Mayor. It was considered a great miracle and the citizens of Cempoala rejoiced.
Xanca and Anan held hands as they marched to the base of the Great Temple of Cempoala while the whole city looked on. ‘Behold these radiant young souls,’ the High Priest pronounced. ‘Even as the Mexica falter, the gods favour the Totonacs still!’ The people cheered and Benicio’s valour was all but forgotten.
Tula, however, did not forget. As the High Priest tied Anan’s robe to Xanca’s skirt and pronounced their holy union, Tula reached for Benicio’s hand, for she knew his selflessness and bravery against the swarm of priests was the real reason that any of them had survived.
* * *
That night at the wedding feast, Benicio, Pulhko, Rogelio, Tula and Tula’s father took their seats next to Xanca and Anan before a great fire. Behind them, Cempoalans of all ages wandered about eating ears of maize and dancing to the team of drummers thrumming out their exultant beats.
Those who were not eating or dancing were speaking of the news: a messenger had just arrived from Tenochtitlan to announce that Cortés had taken Montezuma captive. ‘Does it not seem like another sign from the gods?’ Xanca commented, her eyes glinting. ‘Soon the Spanish will rule and the Totonacs will finally be free.’
Anan sprang to his feet. ‘Shall we dance, Wife?’ he asked, holding his out his hand. ‘To celebrate the liberation of the Totonacs?’ The guests hollered and whooped until Xanca took Anan’s hand and they joined the throng of undulating bodies.
Tula smiled, though her heart could not rest. That morning, she had spied a Spanish messenger crossing the central plaza. She watched in alarm as he halted his horse, overcome by a fit of coughs. A hundred small white balls had colonised his skin and he appeared too sick to ride, yet he composed himself and continued, bent on his mission to Tenochtitlan.
When Tula had described the scene to Benicio, all the colour had left his face. ‘It is a grave sickness, Tula. It cannot be cured. You must stay far away from anyone who is sick.’
Tula studied the throng of dancers, relieved to find none with the terrible spots. Benicio had told her that it would not be long, however. ‘I do not think the Totonacs are yet free,’ she said now, trying not to sound too grim.
‘I am with you, Daughter,’ Tula’s father affirmed as he stared into the bonfire. ‘We must take care not to let this fleeting joy blind us.’ A shadow flickered across his face.
‘The bearded ones bring sickness,’ Tula whispered.
She glanced at Benicio. He had grown back his beard and now he tugged at it solemnly. ‘It is called the smallpox,’ he said. ‘It is more deadly than any gun or sword. It destroyed the people of Hispañola in only a year. It will destroy the Mexica. It will also destroy us.’
Tula’s father threw the turkey bone into the fire. ‘They have stolen our gods, now they wish to steal our lives,’ he snarled.
‘Not all of them,’ said Tula. She nodded at Benicio, grateful he still could not understand most Totonac words.
Her father took a breath. ‘No, not all,’ he conceded. ‘But there are many more bearded ones across the sea. Soon they will come like a swarm.’
‘What is to be done?’ whispered Pulhko.
‘In the land of the Maya there is safety,’ Tula said. ‘There is refuge. The Maya will survive this...this new world.’
‘And what is so special about the Maya?’ asked Pulhko.
Tula shot her father a look and he nodded solemnly. ‘The Maya do not forget.’
* * *
The next day, Tula rose from her bed mat, walked out into the garden and headed for the mango tree. The wedding had lasted late into the night and Tula’s father had invited Benicio and Rogelio to sleep in the hammocks strung beneath the mango tree’s ancient branches.
One of the hammocks was empty and Benicio was nowhere to be seen. ‘He has gone to Vera Cruz,’ said Rogelio, opening a single eye.
‘Why?’ asked Tula.
Rogelio gave a long, luxuriant stretch. ‘Does Pulhko wake yet?’
‘Why Benicio go to Vera Cruz?’ Tula repeated, betraying too much emotion.
‘To send a letter,’ said Rogelio. ‘But do not fear—he will soon return.’
‘How do you know?’
Rogelio seemed to read the concern on Tula’s face. He spoke in Totonac. ‘Because I have seen how he looks at you
, Tula.’
Tula turned away, a tear tickling the inside of her eye. ‘It means nothing.’
‘A clever woman once told me that within everything is its opposite,’ said Rogelio gently. ‘Perhaps he has gone so that he might return.’
Tula bowed to Rogelio, unable to speak. She ran from the garden and stumbled out into the central plaza, choking back her tears. She had witnessed Rogelio give Benicio a paper packet the day they had arrived. She knew that there was only one person in the world who would have sent it. Luisa.
Since then, she and Benicio had had little time together alone. Why had he not told her about the letter? And why had he left without telling her where he was going?
Tula wondered if Benicio had had a change of heart. Was there something on the small piece of paper he had stuffed so quickly beneath his jerkin that could pull him back to Spain? Some unexpected news, perhaps? She was sure that there was, or he would not have concealed it as he had.
Her stomach churned with a growing dread. Tula had seen how carelessly and falsely many of the bearded ones used words and Benicio was still a bearded one.
‘You do not think he will return,’ stated Tula’s father. He was standing on the front porch, not six paces behind Tula.
‘Father, I did not see you there,’ Tula said, wiping her eyes and forcing her brightest smile.
‘You do not have to hide your tears from me, Tula.’
‘He goes to Vera Cruz,’ she blurted. ‘To write words on a page and send them away to the woman he loves.’
‘That woman is right here, standing before me.’
‘I fear it is not so, Father.’
‘It is so.’
‘He has not said the words of love.’
‘Words mean little. It is deeds that show what is in a man’s heart.’
‘The people we come to love always leave us in the end. It is the way of the world,’ said Tula.
Tula spied the tamale woman making her morning journey around the plaza, a scarf swaddling her head to protect from the morning cold. Tula searched her skirt pocket for cocoa beans, though she did not have an appetite. She only wished to share a tamale with her father and feel normal for a moment, to pretend that the world was as it had always been.
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