Comanche Dawn (40 page)

Horseback shook his head in anguish and shame. “I have offended the spirits. The protection of the sacred feather is lost!”

Raccoon-Eyes was silent for a while, then he said, “We must perform the ceremony of the Black Robes. We will bury the sacred bird and raise a cross over it. Those who believe in the cross are forgiven. So says the son of the Great Creator who walked on earth.”

Horseback was unsure, but he trusted Raccoon-Eyes, who knew more about the Sacred South than he did. They dug a hole in the ground using Raccoon-Eyes's iron knife. They placed the Sacred Bird of the South in the hole and covered it with dirt. Raccoon-Eyes made a cross of two branches cut from a piñon pine and lashed together with leather strips from his saddle strings. Over the grave of the dead bird, the tattooed white man made much sing-song talk with his eyes closed. Finally, he touched the points of the cross upon his face and chest, then opened his eyes.

“It is done,” Raccoon-Eyes said. “You are forgiven.”

Horseback stood and searched his heart. “I believe I am forgiven. The spirits will not punish me. Yet, I have offended the spirit of the Sacred Bird of the South, and no longer will arrows go around me. I must be careful now, for only my shield protects me.”

*   *   *

One day, Raccoon-Eyes invited Horseback to the city of the Metal Men to witness the preparations being made for a great journey. Just outside of the walls of Santa Fe, herds of burros, mules, cattle, sheep, and goats were being held by
Indio
slaves.

“Much meat,” Horseback said. “My people will wonder if I have gone crazy when I tell them about this.” Then he became silent and thought of his faraway country. He was longing to go home now. He did not yearn for a cold winter with little meat, but he wanted to see his mother again, and his father's second wife, Looks Away. He wondered about his friend Trotter, of the Corn People. But mostly, he thought of Teal with the reflections of sunset glowing in her eyes, her warm body near his own, her voice speaking to him of the ways of horses.

As they rode into the city, Horseback could hear a commotion, almost like the hum of a beehive. Everywhere, white people and
Indio
slaves carried tools and burdens and led animals toward the sacred square in the middle of the city.

“The way of Metal Men is a strange way,” Horseback remarked as they neared the plaza. “The warriors are not warriors at all. They work beside the women and the slaves.”

“In your country, my friend, a man must prove himself in battle. Yes?”

“If he wants to be respected.”

“Here, among the Metal Men, a man must prove himself by winning the coins of yellow metal and shiny white metal. It means as much or more than counting strokes in battle. The ones you call slaves are slaves only to the metal, not to other men. Among the Metal Men, slaves are forbidden. The workers are given food and a lodge and sometimes coins when they work. The Metal Men believe that they are not slaves if they are given these things.”

“They work like slaves,” Horseback replied. “They do not ride horses or carry weapons. In my country they would be called slaves. It is strange. The slaves here seem to number more than the Metal Men. Why do they not rise and fight?”

“They have risen before. Once, all the
Indios
rose and drove the Metal Men away. For twelve winters the
Indios
held this land. But the Metal Men came back. I came with them when they returned.”

“Why did the
Indios
let the Metal Men return?”

“Some fought, but their ways had been changed, and they were weak. The Metal Men had corrupted them, and they had become like the sheep or goats—once strong and wild, now weak and confused, unable to survive without their masters.”

“I will not be corrupted by Metal Men. I will live like the horse. When the horse leaves the villages of people, it runs free again, and survives.”

They rounded the corner and beheld a line of large carts being loaded with all manner of goods, some strange, some familiar. Horseback had seen cattle lashed by the horns to these carts, but now the carts stood like lodge poles without ponies to drag them. The cattle would be brought to the carts later, as the drivers of the carts prepared to leave.

“Governor Del Bosque is preparing this trading party to go far to the south, where the Metal Men gather in larger cities.”

“Larger than Santa Fe?”

“Much larger.”

Horseback found this hard to believe, the way his own people would find his stories of Santa Fe hard to believe. As he rode around the east side of the sacred square, he watched the people swarming around the carts. “It is the work of women to load these cattle-drags. Why do men do most of the work?”

“The women are busy cooking and looking after children.”

“Among the True Humans, women can cook and look after children, and at the same time gather wood and take down lodges and load pony-drags and butcher meat and make fine robes and moccasins. These women of the Metal Men are weak.”

“They are taught to be weak. The Metal Men believe there is honor in providing for and protecting weak women.”

Horseback laughed. “Weak women make a weak nation.”

Raccoon-Eyes nodded. “If I ever have a daughter, I will teach her to be strong.”

“As will I,” Horseback agreed.

As they weaved their way among the workers, Horseback noticed the Black Robe moving from one cart to the next, making the sacred sign of the cross over each one. He still did not understand why the thing that had killed the holy god-man named Jesus would now be a sacred symbol to the Metal Men, but it was so.

“He is blessing the carts,” Raccoon-Eyes said, having noticed the look of curiosity on Horseback's face.

Horseback saw the Black Robe suddenly turn his head and look at him, and Horseback looked quickly away, afraid of the
puha
of the holy man.

Governor Del Bosque shouted at Raccoon-Eyes and came from the door of his large lodge to talk. Raccoon-Eyes got off his horse to listen. The governor bowed to Horseback, and Horseback nodded in return. He liked this peace chief, and he could sense that Raccoon-Eyes trusted him. The servant with the magic feather stood behind the governor, making the strange markings that were said to speak, which Horseback did not believe, for he had never heard the markings say anything, neither with his ears nor his heart.

As Raccoon-Eyes spoke with the peace chief in Spanish, Horseback made cautious glances toward the Black Robe. The power of the strange holy man made him uneasy. Raccoon-Eyes had told him many strange things about the Black Robes. They were forbidden to couple with women. To do so would make them as weak as a warrior who had coupled with a woman in the time of unclean bleeding. It was a bad thing to kill a Black Robe. Raccoon-Eyes claimed that to kill one was to make all the others more powerful, for they honored their dead. Some sought death, but not in battle. They wanted to die like the son of the Great Creator who walked on earth. They wanted to be tortured to death.

All these strange things made Horseback long for his own country, and he gave thanks for the warmth of Sound-the-Sun-Makes beaming down on him over the dirt walls of the lodges. This place was noisy and smelly. He was tired of Metal Men and their slaves who were not really slaves. He wanted to go back to the True Humans. He would miss this fine country of the south, but perhaps his spirit-guide would tell him to return here someday.

He had more than ten horses, and his fellow searchers had gone to steal still more from the
Na-vohnuh.
Teal had been wise to convince him to promise ten ponies instead of a hundred to her father. Now Horseback could return in honor with great tales of this strange land, and he could trade the ten ponies for Teal, and still have some to give to Shaggy Hump, Whip, and Echo. But not to Bear Heart, for he was lying like a wounded woman in Tachichichi.

Yes, it was time to go back to the hard country of the
Noomah
and take Teal as his wife. His heart was already going that way. Beyond the thought of his homecoming and his coupling with Teal, Horseback did not know what the spirits held in store for him. He did not know now that in days to come he would look back on this time as the Season of Ignorance. The Moon of Knowing Nothing. For this was the time before his Great Vision. He did not know how much he had yet to endure.

36

Fray Gabrielle Ugarte caught
the wooden cross that hung around his neck, preventing it from swinging as he strode briskly up the street to the
Casas Reales.
Santa Fe was alive with joyous sounds tonight. The teamsters and herdsmen had gathered around fires in the plaza to laugh and sing and tell stories. The great journey to the south would begin tomorrow. South, to the heart of New Spain, to the City of Mexico. South, to the Land Outside. To civilization.

Ugarte preferred to suffer here on the frontier. It was God's plan for him to suffer.

The whole plaza smelled like roasting meat as he crossed to the
Casas Reales,
his black robe lunging on his shanks with each step. He enjoyed the hush of the
campesinos
that enveloped him as he strode among them, the reverent bows and murmured greetings. It was difficult to resist abusing the power of the robe, but Father Ugarte managed. He knew that he could look across this plaza and find something that smacked of heresy if he wished. He could inform the Holy Office of the Inquisition and have some soul whipped or tortured or burned alive. In the Land Outside, he had known brothers of the robe to become crazed with such power, and to live as demons addicted to the odor of burning flesh and the sound of dying screams.

He had seen harmless Christian peasants accused, imprisoned, and tortured over the most trifling matters. One unfortunate man he remembered had been caught bathing on Friday, a Jewish custom, and as such, a crime according to the Inquisition. Another had been accused by an enemy of “primping” on Saturday in violation of the Law of Moses, which demanded the day be spent in religious service. Married people had been cast into dungeons for the crime of sleeping in separate rooms. On the frontier, Christians who sought relief from illness through
Indio
healers had been charged with sorcery and whipped.

Fray Ugarte could have been an Inquisitor himself, but had heard his true calling among the savages. He had risen to Father Custodian of the Kingdom of New Mexico, head man among all the missions of the colony. He had always restricted his inherent authority to prescribe corporal discipline to the occasional flogging, and then only for backsliding novices, or heathen savages who corrupted his converts. Never had he ordered the flogging of a proper Christian subject, and for this he was liked and respected.

Yet, he knew he was feared, for he was a man of considerable power, unquestionable convictions, and unconquerable faith. And, no matter how he may have succeeded in distancing himself from Spain, he was still the northern frontier's link to the Holy Office of the Inquisition, a source of horror that struck dread into the hearts of even the most pious believers.

As he approached the tiny portal in the protective wall of the
Casas Reales
—which served as
presidio
and governmental headquarters to the kingdom and also contained the governor's residence—he caught sight of Captain Lorenzo Lujan, the presidial commander, engaged in debate with one of the teamsters. Ugarte stopped to watch. Gestures were made. Money changed hands. Ugarte smiled. It was customary for the captain of the
presidio
to extort payment from the
aviadores
whose goods he would protect on the journey south. This only reminded the friar that he must extort his own portion from
Captián
Lujan for the coffers of the mission treasury. Such was the nature of all enterprise on the frontier, as the Crown appropriated scant funds for operations.

As he ducked to enter the tiny portal in the high wall of the
Casas Reales,
the soldier languishing there straightened and lowered his eyes reverently. “Father, the governor awaits your arrival. Please allow me to escort you.”

“Thank you,” Ugarte replied, lending a smile to the soldier.

They walked quickly through the garden, crossing to the door of Governor Del Bosque's study. The soldier knocked three times on the pine planks and announced the arrival of the friar in a voice loud enough to be heard inside.

Candlelight illuminated the governor's smile as the door opened. “That will be all, Corporal,” he said. “Father, come inside. I have some good wine from Spain.”

The two men exchanged pleasantries and talked for several minutes about the triennial trading expedition soon to leave Santa Fe. Finally, a silence fell between them as each took a long slow sip of the precious wine, savoring the rare body and bouquet.

“I come to you with a concern,” Ugarte began.

“Oh?”

“I fear for the spiritual well-being of a certain subject of ours.”

“Someone I know?”

“Yes, someone you know well. Someone upon whom you must rely.” The friar swirled his remaining portion of red wine in the bottom of the blown glassware vessel. “I have served our Lord on this savage frontier for many years now, Governor, and experience has taught one peculiar lesson regarding heathens and Christians.

“A good Christian in this land is all too easily seduced by the heresies and sorceries of the savages. I have known even the most devout friars to take up residence among the savages and condemn their own immortal souls to eternal damnation. I have known Christians who have been carried off by savages and within the span of a year have completely forgotten how to speak a civilized tongue or recite a simple rosary. It is puzzling the effect these
bárbaros
wield over the hearts, minds, and souls of good Christian folk.”