by Texas
Months later, when Garcilaco stood in the reception hall in the capital, listening as Fray Marcos told of these glories to Viceroy Mendoza, he stood silent and ashamed. He knew that his father had never been close to the Pacific Ocean or to the Seven Cities of Cibola, and as for the claim that Cibola was grander than Mexico City, that was a preposterous compounding of the lie. Why did the boy share in this duplicity? Why did he not cry
out to Mendoza 'Viceroy, these are lies! There are no Seven Cities.. There is no gold!' He was prevented by three considerations. He loved his father and refused to humiliate him. Also, despite what he had heard from Cabeza's own lips about his exploration of the region, Garcilaco still hoped that the cities of gold and their lost Christians existed. But most important was the matter of personal ambition, for after Marcos had told his infamous lies, the great Mendoza took Garcilaco aside and said: 'Son, you are one half-Indian who has a fine future in this country. Because of your good work on the mission, when General Coronado marches north I want you to accompany him as a guide.'
Like Cabeza de Vaca, like Esteban, like Marcos, and yes, like Viceroy Mendoza himself, the boy was seduced by the vision of what the land of many lands might be, and he kept silent.
GARCILACO WAS PROUD THAT THE OFFICIAL GUIDE FOR THE
Coronado expedition was to be his father, but he became apprehensive as to what the soldiers might do when they marched north only to find that the Seven Cities of Gold did not exist. When he asked Marcos about this, the friar airily dismissed such fears: 'The Cities must be there. You heard Bishop Zumarraga prove logically that they had to be.'
Garcilaco shrugged and turned his attention to his own affairs. Only fourteen, but a veteran traveler, he decided to use the great adventure as an opportunity to build foundations of honor and courage which he had seen exemplified so worthily in Cabeza. He endeavored to seem very military when they reported to the western town of Compostela, where the huge expedition was about to be reviewed by Viceroy Mendoza, who had authorized this venture.
First in line was Coronado, a handsome man, lithe, daring and extremely capable; he believed in God and in the destiny of the Spanish race, and he contemplated the conquest of a continent. Also, he could laugh easily, and he enjoyed being with soldiers, parading boldly in the vanguard when on parades like this one, but prudently sending out trained scouts when danger threatened.
Garcilaco's eyes widened when the first elements passed: two hundred and twenty-five horsemen, caballeros they were called, young gentlemen unaccustomed to manual work but eager for battle. 'Look!' the boy called to those about him, for now came a group of horsemen in full armor, some in metal, some in leather. They were a ferocious lot, and Garcilaco heard an official boast: 'Conquerors of Europe, Peru and Mexico! God help the Indian who makes a wrong move in their direction.'
Next came the spiritual representation for this great enterprise: five Franciscan friars, including Fray Marcos, heads high, thirsty to win distant souls to Jesus. How willingly he and his fellows had volunteered to share all dangers; they were indeed Soldiers of Christ.
Behind them marched sixty-seven foot soldiers—some of whom had campaigned triumphantly through the Lowlands and Austria —displaying the sophisticated weapons which had made them famous: harquebuses, those heavy matchlock pieces that threw devastating round balls at least a hundred feet; crossbows made of ash so strong that some had to be cocked by cranks which drew the cord back to firing position; pikes with hideous three-part jagged ends, fine for disemboweling; and all sorts of swords, daggers, stilettos and maces. And when these foot soldiers of Spain concealed their faces behind vizored helmets or in jet-black pots with slits for seeing, they struck terror in men's hearts.
More than two hundred personal servants followed, some Indian, some black, and eighty stable hands to tend the horses and see that the six cannon were brought forward in good condition.
Garcilaco enjoyed the end of the procession as much as the beginning, for here came more than a thousand Indian helpers, some in war paint, some with feathers, others with decorated clubs gleaming in the sun, all bowing to the viceroy, who nodded gravely as they passed. The next group caused the boy worry, for he could not comprehend how its members would participate in any battle: several hundred women, Indians and a few Spanish soldiers' wives, wearing beautiful flowers in their hair and bright shawls about their shoulders. Clouds of dust hovered in the air as these women went past. After them came the cows and sheep on which the marchers would feed.
At the rear, so valuable that they could be guarded by Spaniards only, came many horses, wonderful chargers of Spanish and Arab ancestry, bred for the most part in Mexico but with a substantial scattering of steeds imported directly from Spain. As animals of war, they had always created terror among the Indians of Mexico, and Coronado expected them to do so again. These precise figures can be cited because on this day of final review, 22 February 1540, the notary Juan de Cuebas of Compostela made careful record of every Spanish caballero or foot soldier present, noting what mounts and arms he brought, and Garcilaco watched as Cavalry-Captain Don Garcia Lopez de Cardenas stepped forward to have his property listed: Twelve horses, three sets of arms of Castilla, two pairs of cuirasses, a coat of mail.'
Late in arriving for the muster was Infantry-Captain Pablo de
Melgosa, a doughty little fellow with a perpetual smile, a great gap between his two big front teeth, hair in his eyes and a nose that had been pushed sideways by several fists. He came dustily into camp leading two small donkeys that could scarcely be seen beneath their load of armament. As soon as he stopped the beasts, he shouted for the notary to come and verify his possessions, and when Cuebas had his quills and papers ready, Melgosa began throwing things at his feet and announcing in a loud voice what they were.
Two harquebuses, both cast in Flanders. Two crossbows, and note that each is worked by gears. Those two donkeys.'
'We don't list donkeys,' Cuebas said haughtily, resting his quill above the paper.
Ignoring this rebuke, the enthusiastic young captain resumed his listing: 'A gallegan of the best Austrian manufacture. This buckskin jacket, this black pot helmet from Toledo.'
After this minor armory had been recorded, Melgosa began divesting himself of things he carried on his body: Two swords, also of Toledo. Dagger. Knife with ivory handle. Two knee pieces, which you can see are of the best steel and leather. Gauntlets with brass fittings across the knuckles. And two stilettos.' Any jovial man so accoutered was bound to become Garcilaco's favorite, and in those first days he became Melgosa's part-time page, hoping to learn honor and the arts of war from him.
Garcilaco divided his time between Fray Marcos and his new hero, Infantry-Captain Melgosa, the walking arsenal, who was a joy to be with, for he was an adventurous, rowdy man who never feared to challenge the presumptions of the cavalry.
'Look at them!' he sneered one night as the unwieldy caravan stumbled to a halt. 'Not a man among these dandies knows how to pack a horse. Ten more days of this and those mounts will be dead.' Each gentleman officer had to transport his personal belongings on his own male horses, while the heavy burdens of the expedition were carried by mares and mules. But even the lighter burdens assigned to the horses could be damaging if improperly stowed, and when Garcilaco watched the caballeros, he saw that Melgosa was right; they were killing the creatures on which they depended.
Melgosa was particularly harsh in his condemnation of Cavalry-Captain Cardenas: 'He ought to know better. Those are excellent horses he has, the best. And he's destroying them.' Now Garcilaco observed the fiery captain, and he could see that Cardenas had no regard for his beasts' welfare.
One morning as the cavalry was packing, Garcilaco made bold
to address the captain: 'Sir, why don't you distribute your loads more evenly?'
'Why is that your concern?'
'Your best horse is getting deep sores.'
'I leave such matters to the Indian slaves.'
'But
they're still your animals. Look, you have five that can no longer serve.'
'Could you do better?' he snapped.
'I could,' and when Cardenas saw how expertly the young muleteer could pack a beast, and care for it when the pack was unloaded, he appointed Garcilaco to mind his string, and the horses mended so quickly that on one unforgettable morning as the expedition approached the northern limits of civilized Mexico, the gruff captain said: 'You can ride that brown mare,' and thus the boy became a member of the cavalry.
But when foot-soldier Melgosa saw him so mounted he became furious: 'Real men fight on foot. Cavalry is for show.' This was the contemptuous attitude which existed in all armies: the disdain of foot soldiers for the cavalry, and the reverse.
Because Garcilaco was now a horseman, his allegiance transferred to Captain Cardenas, and the more he studied this hot-tempered man the more he thought he understood the nature of honor. Cardenas was the junior son of a family bearing an exalted title, and this heritage constantly manifested itself, for he was contemptuous of inferiors, punctilious where his vanity was concerned, and eager to challenge anyone who even appeared to affront him. More than Melgosa, more than Coronado himself, Cardenas loved the brutality of army life, the forced marches, the sudden forays against lurking enemies, the swordplay at close quarters and the military companionship of the field. Much sterner than Fray Marcos, much more combative than Melgosa (who was content to fire his harquebuses from a distance if that would do the job), Cardenas became to Garcilaco the ideal Spanish fighting man, supplanting Cabeza de Vaca as his idol.
The army had marched some days when Garcilaco had his first opportunity to see how Spanish caballeros were supposed to behave. He was riding in company with Army-Master Lope de Samaniego, second-in-command, when that gallant warrior, much experienced in Indian fighting, was sent to a village to acquire supplies, and in pursuit of his duty, was struck by a stray arrow which penetrated his eye as he lifted the visor of his helmet. He died immediately, which Garcilaco accepted as something to be expected in warfare, but what happened next amazed him.
Following the orders of Cavalry-Officer Diego Lopez, who now
assumed Samaniego's command, Spanish soldiers rounded up as many Indians as they could, and a sergeant passed among them, saying: This one looks as if he might have come from that village,' and upon this casual identification the suspect was dragged away and hanged. When a long row of corpses swayed in the breeze, the army left, assured that the Indians of this area at least had learned not to shoot arrows at Spaniards.
The incident was important to Garcilaco in that when the esteemed post of army-master fell vacant, Coronado weighed the matter only a few moments before appointing Cardenas to fill it, and now the boy tended the twelve horses of the second-in-command, the bravest, wildest fighter of them all.
Shortly thereafter, Garcilaco discovered how his attitudes had changed, for a side expedition to what is now California was arranged under the direction of a real fighting man, Melchor Diaz, who was instructed to intercept a Spanish ship sailing up the coast with supplies for Coronado. Once Garcilaco had dreamed only of adventure on the Pacific, but now that he had a new opportunity to visit that great ocean he turned his back, for he wished to stay with Cardenas on his quest for honor.
As an advance party now entered upon those vast wastelands in what would later be Arizona, Garcilaco's fears for his father increased, because the boy knew that the friar's gross lies must soon be uncovered. And when horses began to die of exhaustion and men to faint from the burdens they bore, the leaders of the expedition began to glare at Marcos, as if to say 'Monk, where is this paradise you told us of?' And Coronado himself came to the rear, where Marcos had hidden: 'Good Friar, how many days to Cibola? We perish.' And as Garcilaco tended his horses nearby, he heard Marcos swear: 'Three more days, General. I promise.' And the bov shuddered, for he knew that the friar had not the slightest idea where they were.
But once more luck seemed to rescue Marcos from a crisis, for on 7 July 1540, one hundred and thirty-seven days after departing Compostela, a Spanish horseman riding well ahead wheeled his horse and came galloping back. 'Cibola! The Seven Cities! Yonder!'
All pressed forward, each wanting to be first among his fellows to see the golden cities, but when a group gained a prominence its members fell silent, and a vast sigh rose from the men as they saw the pitiful scene, a shabby collection of dirty houses, a mud-walled nothing.
'Madre de Dios!' Cardenas whispered.
Captain Melgosa, standing by the general, muttered: 'I've seen
[single houses in Castilla that were bigger than this and nche. no doubt.'
Finally Coronado spoke: 'Where is Fray Marcos 7 ' and when the trembling friar was dragged forth, the captain-general asked in a very low voice: 'Good Friar, is this what you saw? Is this your Cibola covered with turquoise and silver? Are these hovels bigger than in Mexico City?' And before Marcos could respond, the various captains began cursing and shouting: 'Send him back.' 'Get rid of this one.' 'He is a great liar and not to be trusted.'
But it was Cardenas who voiced the true complaint: 'I do not want this one praying over me, telling me what to do,' and Marcos would have been sent back that night except that he was needed for an important ritual without which the army could not proceed.
It was the Requerimiento (Requisition), issued decades earlier by King Ferdinand himself, who had laid down the basic edict that no Spanish army could attack an Indian settlement until this famous statement of religious principle had been recited 'in a loud, clear voice.'
It was a remarkable document, devised by the religious and civil leaders of Spain during the early years of conquest when thoughtful men struggled with the moral problem of how to deal with pagan Indians. Indeed, conquest itself had been halted for three years until agreement could be reached as to whether Indians were human or not. Finally, after much soul-searching, a statement was prepared and verified by churchmen and lawyers; it offered Indians, who were acknowledged as humans the blessings of Christianity and the protection of the crown, but only if acceptance was immediate. If the Indians hesitated, as they always did, conversion by the sword was justified.
Since the army was now within the shadow of Cibola, Coronado summoned Marcos to read the Requerimiento, but when the friar stepped forward to take the parchment, Cardenas objected strenuously: 'If he reads it, our enterprise will be cursed!' and he seized the document, handing it to another Franciscan, but Coronado intervened: 'Marcos is still the senior, let him proceed.' So the friar took the parchment, held it close to his face, and read aloud. But no Indian in the distant town could possibly have heard the muffled words, much less understood them even had they been audible.
It was just as well, because the Requerimiento was interminably long, with a jumbled theology which would confuse anyone not an ordained priest. It started by explaining how Adam and Eve launched the human race five thousand years ago and how different nations developed:
'Of all these nations God our Lord gave charge to one man, called St. Peter, that he should be Lord and Superior of all the men in the world, that all should obey him, and that he should be head of the whole human race to judge and govern all Christians, Moors, jews,
Gentiles and all other sects.'
The friar read on, explaining to the distant Indians how St. Peter had begun the line of popes who commanded the world, and of how a later pope had asked King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella of Spain for help in ruling certain areas. Then Marcos came to the two parts the soldiers understood: if the Indians immediately accepted the Holy Catholic Faith, great rewards would be forthcoming, but if they stubbornly refused:
i certify to you that, with the help of God, we shall forcibly enter your country and shall make war against you in all ways and manners
we shall take your wives and your children, and shall make slaves of them and shall do all the harm and damage that we can
and the deaths and losses which shall accrue from thi
s will be your fault
Fray Marcos rolled up his parchment, returned it, and announced: The^ Requerimiento has been faithfully read. All can testify to that.' The generous offer of peace had been tendered, but there was no response.
'Friar,' Coronado asked, 'are we legally free to attack?' and Marcos replied so that all the captains could hear: 'Jesus Christ commands you to do so!' and battle began.
It was a violent encounter, and Coronado's bright suit of armor flashed in the sun so invitingly that the Indians on the city walls threw down huge chunks of stone that knocked him from his white horse, leaving him defenseless and immobile on the ground.
More rocks came crashing down and would have killed him had not Cardenas, in an act of spontaneous heroism, thrown himself across the fallen body and absorbed most of the blows. When Garcilaco saw this valiant act, he dropped down and shielded Coronado's head, and was struck by four rocks which otherwise could have brained the commander.
Bruised, cut in three places so badly that his bloody wounds were apparent to all, Garcilaco listened that night to one of the sweetest sounds a man can hear: praise for having behaved well in battle. 'He was as brave as a tested infantryman,' Melgosa cried, but the moment the boy cherished came when Cardenas, himself badly wounded, took his hand: 'I could not have saved him without
you.' When the boy was alone, he whispered to himself: 'Now I know what honor is.'
With Coronado confined to a litter because of his wounds, Cardenas assumed command, and his first decision was loudly voiced: 'Fray Marcos must leave this army Me contaminates it.' Melgosa wanted him shot, but Cardenas said contemptuously: 'Let him go. He carries his punishment with him '
From his sickbed Coronado accepted this recommendation and added: 'Let the boy go with him, whoever he is,' but now Cardenas became a defender: 'Captain, this boy helped save your life. And he's no liar, like his so-called father,' so it was agreed that Marcos must go but Garcilaco could stay.