Michener, James A.

by Texas

  When Garcilaco heard this lie he remembered the honest voice of Cabeza as they had talked on the way to Guadalajara: 'Lad, understand. This Indian woman, she had never seen the Cities, her mother claimed that she saw them. Nor had the Indian man ever seen them, a friend had reported that he had seen them. And certainly none of us Spaniards had come close to seeing them.'

  But it was obvious that Bishop Zumarraga wanted to believe that everyone had seen them: 'So Cabeza de Vaca, wily man that he was, kept the secret of their wealth to himself?' As this question was asked, Garcilco could see Esteban smelling out the situation and identifying what those in authority wanted to hear, so in response to sharp questioning, the Moor divulged these supposed facts: 'The Cities have enormous wealth, the Indians assured us. When I asked about gold and silver, they cried "Yes!" Jewels, cloth, cows twice as big and fat as ours. Cabeza himself saw them, didn't he?' When everyone looked at Garcilaco, the boy had to nod, for this one small part of the statement was true. Cabeza had told him of the large cows with humps over their shoulders.

  'Let us speak with the viceroy,' Zumarraga said as he called for his carriage, and off they hurried to meet the man who ruled Mexico.

  Few men in history have looked more imperial than Don Antonio de Mendoza, Count of Tendilla, did that day. He was tall and properly lean; his mustache and beard had been neatly trimmed that morning by the barber who visited him each day, and when he looked at his visitors he seemed to regard everyone but the bishop as a peasant. He had sharp eyes which penetrated

  nonsense and a deep, resounding voice accustomed to command. He was keenly interested in everything relating to New Spain, and even before his visitors were seated he plunged into discussion: Tell me, Bishop, what facts do we know about the Seven Cities?' and Zumarraga replied:

  'Some say it was in a.d. 714 when Don Rodrigo of Spain lost his kingdom to the Muhammadans, but others with better cause say it was in 1150, in the reverent Spanish city of Merida. In either case, seven devout bishops, refusing to obey the infidel Moors who had conquered their city, fled across the ocean, and each bishop established his own powerful city. We've had many reports of the riches those good men accumulated and the wonders they performed, but we've not known exactly where they went. Many have searched for them, and I've even heard it claimed that the Italian Cristobal Colon was seeking the Seven Cities when he discovered our New World. All we know for certain is that the Seven Cities are grouped together.'

  The viceroy pursed his lips, reflecting on what the clergyman had said. Then he asked bluntly: 'Do you believe the Cities exist?'

  'Of a certainty.'

  'Ah, but do they? Dorantes left a deposition which I read again only yesterday. He said he had met no one, not a single soul, who had actually seen them or known anyone who had.'

  For some moments that November day no one spoke, and finally Bishop Zumarraga uttered words which summarized reasonable thought on the matter: 'God never works accidentally. It stands to Holy reason that if He placed Peru far down here, with its golden treasury, and Mexico here in the middle, with its wealth of silver, he must have balanced these two with some great kingdom up there. The Rule of Three, the rule of Christian balance, requires the Seven Cities to be where Cabeza de Vaca's Indians said they were. Excellency, it is our Christian duty to find them, especially since the seven bishops probably converted the area, which means that Christians may be there awaiting union with the Holy Mother Church in Rome.'

  'My view exactly!' Fray Marcos cried, with the enthusiasm he always showed, after he, like Esteban, had decided what his superiors wanted to hear, but the viceroy made a more sober comment: 'If we send a conquistador north to the Seven Cities to bring them back into the fold of the church, who will pay the vast expense? Not the emperor in Madrid. He never risks a maravedi of his own money. I pay, from my own fortune and my wife's, and before I do that I want reasonable assurance of success.'

  Suddenly his manner changed, his voice brightened, and he

  asked: 'What have you heard about this young nobleman Francisco Vasquez de Coronado 7 ' and the bishop said quickly: 'He could lead your expedition. And he could help with the costs.'

  'But we must not mount a great expedition—all those men and horses—before the region has been properly scouted.'

  'That's why I sought this audience/ Bishop Zumarraga said, and with a bold sweep of his arm he indicated that Marcos, Esteban and Garcilaco were to leave the room.

  As soon as only he and Mendoza were together, the bishop said: 'By the greatest good fortune, that friar who just left us is an excellent man with wide experience in the conquest of Peru. I find him a man of prudence and one to be trusted.'

  When the viceroy asked if there was aught in the friar's history to be held against him, the bishop replied: '1 would be less than honest with you, Excellency, if I did not also share with you his three weaknesses. First, he has been in Mexico only briefly. Second, he is extremely ambitious, but are not, also, you and I? I cannot hold this a disqualifying fault. Third, he is not a Spaniard, but then, most of our emperor's subjects are Austrians, Lowlanders or Italians. The emperor himself is a German, or, if you wish, an Austrian.'

  When the viceroy showed signs of accepting the friar, the bishop seemed eager to disclose even the smallest weakness lest he later be called to account: 'The final point, Excellency, is a delicate one. The boy you saw with him, this Garcilaco, stays by his side constantly, and who he is I cannot say for certain. Some claim he accompanied Marcos from Peru, and these insist that Garcilaco is his son. Others say he was acquired in Guatemala, in which case the boy must have been eight or nine when Marcos got him. Such suppositions are foolish, for we know he was already in Mexico traveling with Cabeza de Vaca. Others, with the better argument, I feel, say that the boy was an alley rat in the sewers of Vera Cruz when Marcos rescued him. You've seen the lad and he seems to show promise.'

  'I think we had better question the friar and his boy more closely,' the viceroy said.

  Garcilaco would always remember how proud he was of his father that day as the two faced Mendoza and Zumarraga. Marcos wore a voluminous robe made of the heavy fabric favored by the Franciscans, who were often called in the streets of the city 'Christ's little gray chickens,' a phrase he did not find amusing. He was obviously a serious man, and if upon first appearance he had any defect, it was his piercing gaze which revealed him to be a

  fanatical believer, though what he believed in—the mystery of Christianity or his own destiny—no one could guess.

  'Are you a Spaniard?' Mendoza asked bluntly.

  'I'm a servant of Christ, and of the emperor, and of you, Viceroy, should you employ me.'

  'But you were born in France, they say.'

  'No, Excellency. In the city of Nice.'

  'So you're a Savoyard 7 '

  'No, Excellency, I'm Spanish. Through service to my church and emperor, I've made myself so.'

  'Those are good words, Fray. Now tell me, who exactly is this lad who stands beside you?'

  'I was ordered to bring him, Excellency.'

  'Indeed you were,' Zumarraga broke in. 'Now explain.'

  In the moment of silence which followed this abrupt command, all in the room looked at Garcilaco, and they saw the mystery in the boy. He was one of the first of Mexico's mestizo children, half Spanish, half Indian, that durable breed which even then seemed destined to take over Mexico and remote Spanish territories like the future Texas. In the audience room that day Garcilaco represented the future, a first ripple in the tremendous flood that would one day remake his land.

  The boy heard Fray Marcos speaking: 'I have worked in lonely places, Excellencies, and one morning as I stepped off a boat in Vera Cruz, I saw this child here, a lost soul, no parents, no home . . .' He said no more.

  'Who were your parents, son?'

  Garcilaco shrugged his shoulders, not insolently but in honest ignorance: 'Excellency, here I am, just as I stand.'

  For the first time the viceroy s
miled. He then turned to Fray Marcos: 'If I gave you Esteban as your guide, could you scout the Seven Cities and then give some would-be conquistador, Coronado for example, instructions as to how to reach them?'

  'I would be honored,' Marcos said with no hesitation, and so it was agreed, but after Bishop Zumarraga had taken his charges, and Esteban, from the hall, the viceroy mused:

  Who are these strangers who just left my office? Is the friar a faithful Catholic or has he been corrupted by modern ideas? Why should Spain put its trust in such an unknown? And this Esteban, what is he? Dorantes when he sold him assured me he was a Moor. But what's a Moor? The Moors I knew were not black. They were white men bronzed by the sun. Look at him. He's not black. He's brown. And what

  religion is he, pray tell me that? He was born a Muslim, like all Moors. When did he become a Christian? And how sincerely? And what of the boy? Is he the first of the mestizos who will be seeking power? Spain! Spain! Our emperor is a German. His Spanish mother who should be reigning is insane. And look at me, sending out an untested friar to find the new Peru, and a man of doubtful allegiance to be his guide. Where will it all end?

  In order to ensure that at least one verifiable Spaniard participate in this critical venture, Mendoza asked Bishop Zumarraga to nominate as second-in-command a younger friar with impeccable credentials, and the cleric selected a Franciscan in whom he had great faith, Fray Honorato. Mendoza was delighted: The Spaniard can keep an eye on the Frenchman, and both can keep an eye on the Moor.'

  But this canny safeguard did not work, because when the entourage was only a few days north of Culiacan, Honorato reported a slight indisposition: i don't feel well. Nothing, really, but . . .' With remarkable speed Fray Marcos bundled him up and sent him posting back to the capital. He was now in sole charge and intended to stay so.

  But there was in the entourage a man just as ambitious as Marcos and even more flamboyant—Esteban, who, since he was the only one who had ever seen the north, now had to be promoted to second-in-command. Younger than Marcos, he matched him in brain power, and was vastly superior in knowledge of terrain and ability to work with Indians. He could speak in signs with many tribes, but more important, he displayed an exuberance which delighted the people of the villages through which the little army passed, and many who saw him shouted greetings, for they still remembered the magician who could heal.

  When it came time to depart a village, more women would insist upon accompanying Esteban, so that his harem increased constantly. He had the capacity of being able to keep his many camp followers happy, and at one time nearly a hundred trailed along, singing with him, hunting food for him, and crowding his tent at night.

  Fray Marcos was perplexed. He needed Esteban as guide; he resented him as competitor, and he deplored him for his immorality with women, but he could not even begin to know what to do with him. With no fellow friar to consult, all he could do was brood enviously as he watched Esteban preempt more and more of the leadership. It was becoming Esteban's expedition, and the Spanish soldiers recognized this.

  'You must do something about the blackamoor,' they warned, but Marcos could not decide what.

  However, sixteen days of this rich fol-de-rol was all he could stand, so on Passion Sunday, 23 March 1539, he proposed that Esteban should push on to scout the country through which the larger body of explorers would later pass. Since the black man could neither read nor write, an extraordinary convention was arranged, as Marcos would explain in the report he sent back to Mexico:

  I agreed with Esteban that if he received any information of a rich, peopled land, he should not go farther, but that he return in person or send me Indians with this signal, which we arranged: that if the thing was of moderate importance, he send me a white cross the size of a hand; if it was something great, he send me a cross of two hands; and if it was something bigger and better than New Spain, he send me a large cross. And so the said Esteban, the black, departed from me on Passion Sunday after dinner, while I stayed on in this settlement.

  The plan suited each man, for the white was overjoyed to be rid of the difficult Moor, who was equally pleased to be freed of the white, and he set forth in glory, carrying with him a horde which now totaled nearly three hundred singing and dancing Indian followers.

  Garcilaco watched him as he left camp marching at the head of his own little brigade, swinging his rattles, leaping in the air now and then, shouting and exuding the joy he felt in serving as the spearhead of a conquering army.

  Just before dancing away, he leaped at Garcilaco and cried enthusiastically: 'Little man, we're conquering a continent. You and I will earn great titles and more gold than we can carry.' And into the dusty sunlight he led his happy band.

  Four days after Esteban's departure, Indian messengers ran, gasping, into camp, one of them bearing not a small cross, nor a cross of two hands, nor even a large one, but a cross so huge that he could scarcely carry it. To confirm its significance, he said in broken Spanish: 'The Slack One, he has reached Indians who have told him of the greatest thing in the world. The Cities we seek lie just ahead, and they are far richer than Mexico.' One said that this concentration of wealth was known as the Seven Cities of Cibola, and when he uttered the words—Las Siete Ciudades de Cibola— they echoed with romance and cast a spell over all who heard them.

  The first thing Fray Marcos did in this moment of wild excite-

  ment was to kneel beside the big cross and pray, giving thanks that he would have an opportunity to restore to Christianity the thousands of souls whom the Spaniards would soon encounter. His prayer came from the very roots of his being, for although he did seek fame for himself and power for his king, his first and deepest commitment was to the glory of God—that stray souls now in darkness should be brought back to the light of Jesus Christ. It was a solemn moment, but after he had remained on his knees for some time, worldly ambition took over and he began to think of himself. Drawing Garcilaco down beside him, he whispered: it's wonderful that you and I should discover this great thing, for when the settlement is completed, I shall be leader of all the priests and monks, guiding them in the salvation of souls, and you shall command a kingdom, like Cortes and Pizarro.'

  Now Fray Marcos began his great deception, for after having traveled less than three leagues to the west, he began to speak as if he had reached the Pacific Ocean, a distance of more than a hundred leagues. Why did he do such a thing?

  Hope? He desperately wanted to be recognized as a great explorer and he knew that the Pacific lay somewhere to the west. Anxiety? He carried strict orders to determine how far away the Pacific Ocean lay, so that supplies for the impending conquest might be forwarded by sea, but he was so eager to attend the larger task of finding Cibola that he refused to be deterred by this lesser side trip to the ocean. Envy? He could not stand to have the former slave Esteban reap all the glory. Mental confusion? He had become so intoxicated with dreams that he ignored the requirement of substantiating them with reality. He dealt with soaring hopes, not facts.

  But on Wednesday, 21 May, after evening prayers, those hopes received a harsh rebuff, for as he prepared for bed he heard someone shouting: 'Someone's coming!' and through the shadows he saw a bedraggled Indian, his face and body covered with sweat, stumble toward camp, weeping and moaning. When Marcos ran to him he wailed a pitiful story, which the scribe later reported in this manner:

  'We were one day out of Cibola, and with due caution Esteban sent ahead a group of messengers bearing a calabash ornamented with cascabels, and two feathers, one white, one red. Something about the calabash infuriated the chief of Cibola, and he smashed it to the ground, crying: "If you come in to Cibola, you will be killed."

  'When the messengers told this to Esteban, our leader laughed and assured us that this was nothing, and that he had learned from his long

  travels that when an Indian chief exhibited irritation he proved later to be a good friend. So, ignoring our warnings, he marched boldly to Cibola, where he was denie
d entrance and thrown into a house outside the walls.

  'All things were taken from him, trade articles and all, and he was allowed no food or drink, and in the morning we who watched saw with horror Esteban running to escape, followed by warriors from the city, and they slew him, and most of those who were with him.'

  'Esteban is dead,' the Indians began to wail. 'Esteban's bones lie unburied, unhonored in the sand.' When Garcilaco heard this dreadful news, he wept for his dancing friend, but Marcos comforted him: This is but the story of one Indian, and who knows what his motives might be?' However, two days later more messengers from Cibola arrived, and their news was horrifying:

  'Fray Marcos, see our wounds! Of all the warriors who traveled with Esteban to find the Seven Cities, hundreds have been slain, not counting the many women who were with us.'

  Marcos and his soldiers now had to admit that Esteban and most of his dancing, riotous followers were dead, and that if they tried to force their way into Cibola, they, too, would be killed. So they halted where they were, many miles from the golden cities, and in their fear they turned back toward Mexico, and now Marcos concocted a second lie, the really massive one, and reported:

  I asked that some of my men should go with me boldly to Cibola, but I could do nothing with them. In the end, seeing me determined, two chiefs said they would go with me, and I pursued my journey until within sight of Cibola, which 1 saw from a hill where I was able to view it. The city is bigger than La Ciudad de Mexico, and at times I was tempted to go to it, because I knew that I ventured only my life, which I had offered to God the day I commenced this journey, but at the end I refrained from doing so, considering the danger that if I died, I would not be able to make a report of this country, which to me appears the greatest and best of the discoveries.