Ines of My Soul (41 page)

Valdivia soon realized that he had come up against a general as skillful as himself, someone who knew the Spaniards' weaknesses, but he was not overly concerned; he was certain of triumph. The Mapuche, however warlike and cunning they might be, could not measure up against the military might of his experienced captains and soldiers. It was only a question of time, he said, before the land of the Araucans would be his. It did not take long to learn the name traveling from mouth to mouth. Lautaro, the
toqui
who dared defy the Spaniards. Lautaro. It never occurred to Valdivia that the famed warrior was his former stable boy Felipe; he discovered that the day of his death. He would stop in the isolated hamlets of the colonists and preach his invincible optimism. Juana Jiménez accompanied him, as I once had done, while María de Encio stewed in her own juices in Santiago. Valdivia wrote letters to the king, reiterating that the savages understood the need to accept the designs of his majesty and the blessings of the Christian faith, and that he had tamed that most beautiful, fertile, peaceful land in which all that was lacking were Spaniards and horses. Among those messages, he interspersed requests for new favors, which the emperor ignored.

Pastene, the admiral of a flotilla composed of two ancient ships, explored the coast from north to south, and back north again, fighting invisible currents, black waves, and proud winds that shredded his sails, in a vain search for the passage between the two oceans. It would be a different captain, in 1554, who would locate the strait Magellan had discovered in 1520. Pedro de Valdivia died before it was found, and before fulfilling his dream of extending the conquest to that point on the map.

In Pastene's pilgrimage, he sailed to idyllic places he described with Italian eloquence, omitting the abuses others reported. In one remote inlet, his sailors were welcomed with food and gifts by friendly Indians, whom the Spaniards rewarded by raping the women, killing many of the men, and capturing others they took in chains to Concepción, where they exhibited them like animals in a fair. Valdivia believed that this incident, like so many in which his soldiers behaved badly, did not merit paper and ink. He did not mention it to the king.

Other captains, like Villagra and Alderete, came and went, galloping through valleys, scaling mountains, disappearing into forests, sailing the lakes, leaving marks of their harsh presence all through that enchanted region. They would from time to time tangle briefly with bands of Indians, but Lautaro was careful not to show his true strength while he was meticulously laying his plans in the heart of Araucanía. Michimalonko had been killed in an encounter with Lautaro, and some of his warriors had allied themselves with their brothers, the Mapuche, but Valdivia was successful in retaining a good number of them. The gobernador insisted on pushing his conquest toward the south, but the more territory he occupied, the less he could control. He had to leave soldiers in each city to protect the settlers, and assign others to exploring, punishing the Indians, and stealing cattle and food. His army was divided into small parties that might go for months without communicating among themselves.

During the raw winter, the conquistadors took refuge in the settlements, which they called towns; it took enormous energy for them to move heavy supplies across swampy ground, even more when exposed to rain and dawn frosts and the bone-penetrating winds off the snows. From May to September the earth rested; everything grew still and only the raging rivers, beating rain, lightning, and thunderstorms interrupted the winter's sleep. In that time of rest and early dark, Valdivia was haunted by demons, and his soul was beset with premonitions and regrets. When he was not on his horse with his sword at his side, his mood was dark, and he convinced himself that he was pursued by bad fortune. In Santiago we heard rumors that the gobernador had changed greatly, that he was aging rapidly, that his men did not honor him with the blind trust of the early days. According to Cecilia, Valdivia's star rose when he met me and began to decline when he left me behind, a frightening theory because I do not want the glory for his successes or the guilt for his failures. Each of us is master of his or her own destiny. Valdivia spent those icy months indoors, bundled in wool ponchos, warming himself before a brazier, and writing his letters to the king as Juana Jiménez served him his
mate
, the bitter tea that helped him bear the pain of his old wounds.

In the meantime, Lautaro's warriors, invisible, were watching the
huincas
from the undergrowth, as their
ñidoltoqui
had ordered.

In 1552 Pedro de Valdivia traveled to Santiago. He did not know it would be his last visit, but he must have suspected because he was again tormented by black dreams. As he had before, he dreamed of massacres and awakened trembling in Juana's arms. How do I know? Because he was taking
latué
bark to frighten away the nightmares. Everyone knew everything in this land. When he arrived, he found a festive city awaiting him, prosperous and well organized because Rodrigo de Quiroga had governed wisely in his place. Our lives had improved in that couple of years. Rodrigo's house on the plaza had been renovated under my direction, converted into a mansion worthy of the teniente gobernador. As I had energy left over, I had built another residence a few blocks away, with the idea of giving it to you, Isabel, when you married. In addition, we had very comfortable houses on our summer
chacras
; I liked large rooms with high ceilings, galleries, orchards of fruit trees, medicinal plants, flowers. I kept domestic animals in the third patio, well guarded to protect them from being stolen. I made sure that the servants had decent quarters; it makes me angry when I see that other colonists treat their horses better than the people who serve them. As I have never forgotten that I come from humble origins, I have no problem getting along with our servants, who have always been very loyal to me. They are my family.

During those years, Catalina, still strong and healthy, tended to domestic matters, though I kept an eye on things to assure that my own servants were not abused. There were not enough hours for me to perform all my chores. I was involved with a number of businesses, with building and helping Rodrigo in his affairs, in addition to my charities—never enough time there. The line of impoverished Indians who ate in our kitchen every day wound around the Plaza de Armas. It was so long that Catalina complained about the crowds and the dirt, so I decided to inaugurate a kitchen on a different street.

A black Senegalese woman named Doña Flor had come to Chile on a ship from Panama. She was a magnificent cook, and she took on that demanding task. You know who I mean, Isabel, the same woman you know. She came to Chile with no shoes on her feet, but today she wears brocade and lives in a mansion envied by the most prominent señoras in Santiago. Her cooking was so delicious that prominent señores began to complain that indigents were eating better than they were. Then Doña Flor came up with the idea of financing the food for the poor by selling her creations to the wealthy, and earning a little for herself in the process. That was how she became rich; it was good for her, but it did not solve my problem because as soon as her purse was filled with gold she forgot about the beggars, who soon were back at my door. And they are still there today.

When Rodrigo learned that Valdivia was on his way to Santiago, it was clear that he was worried. He could not think how he would handle the situation without offending someone, torn as he was among his official responsibilities, his loyalty to his friend, and his desire to protect me. It had been more than two years since we had seen my former lover, and we had been very happy in his absence. Once he arrived I would no longer be the gobernadora, and I wondered, with amusement, whether María de Encio would be up to the challenge. It was difficult for me to imagine her in my place.

“I know what you are thinking, Rodrigo. Don't worry, we won't have any problem with Pedro,” I told him.

“Maybe it would be best if you took Isabel to the country . . . ”

“I don't plan to run away, Rodrigo. This is my city too. While he is here I will not do anything connected with matters of government, but I will live the rest of my life as I always do.” I laughed. “I am quite sure that I will be able to see Pedro without getting weak in the knees.”

“You can't help running into him all the time, Inés.”

“It will be more than that, Rodrigo. We will have to give him a banquet.”

“A banquet?”

“Of course. We are the second-highest authority in Chile, and it is our place to lionize him. We will invite him and his María de Encio and, if he wishes, the other woman as well. What is the Galician woman's name?”

Rodrigo stood gazing at me with that querulous expression my ideas tended to provoke, but I planted a quick kiss on his forehead and assured him that there would not be a scandal of any kind. If truth be known, I already had several women stitching tablecloths, while Doña Flor, contracted for the occasion, was gathering the ingredients for the meal, especially the gobernador's favorite desserts. Ships brought us molasses and sugar, which, while costly in Europe, in Chile were exorbitant, but not every dessert could be made with honey, so I resigned myself to paying the asking price. I intended to impress the guests with an array of dishes never seen in our capital. “You would be better to be thinking what you will dress yourself in, then,
señorayy
,” Catalina reminded me. So I had her iron an elegant dress of iridescent, coppery silk that had only recently arrived from Spain. It accentuated the color of my hair. All right, Isabel, I do not need to confess to you that I kept it that color with henna, something I learned from the Moors and the Gypsies. But you already know that. The dress was a little tight, it is true, since a happy life and Rodrigo's love had soothed my soul and relaxed my body, but at least I would look better than María de Encio, who dressed like a harlot, and her enterprising servant, who could not compete with me. Don't laugh, daughter. I know that may sound vicious, but it's true: those two were very common women.

Pedro de Valdivia made his triumphal entrance into Santiago beneath arches of leaves and flowers, cheered by the council and the whole town. Rodrigo de Quiroga, his captains, and his soldiers, in polished armor and plumed helmets, formed in the Plaza de Armas. María de Encio, in the doorway of the house that once was mine, stood awaiting her master, squirming with coquettish little laughs and hand flutterings. What an odious woman! I was careful not to be seen; I observed the spectacle from afar, peeking through a window. It seemed to me that the years had suddenly caught up with Pedro; he was heavier and he moved ponderously—I don't know whether out of arrogance, added weight, or the fatigue of the journey.

That night, I suppose, the gobernador rested in the arms of his two women, but the next day he went to work with suitable zeal. He received Rodrigo's complete and detailed report on the state of the colony and the town, reviewed the treasurer's books, heard the council's complaints, and dealt one by one with citizens who came with their petitions or hopes for justice. He had become a pompous, impatient, haughty, and tyrannical man. He could not tolerate the slightest contradiction without spewing threats. He no longer sought counsel or shared his decisions but behaved as if he were a sovereign. He had been too long at war, accustomed to being obeyed without a word from his soldiers. It seems that he gave his captains and friends the same peremptory treatment, but he was amicable with Rodrigo de Quiroga; obviously he intuited that Rodrigo was a man who commanded respect. According to Cecilia, whom nothing escaped, Valdivia's concubines and servants were terrified of him, and he vented all his frustrations on them, from aching bones to the obstinate silence of the king, who never answered his letters.

The banquet in honor of the gobernador was one of the most spectacular events I presented during the course of my long life. Just making the list of dinner guests was a task, since we could not include all five hundred townspeople. Many important people were left waiting for an invitation. Santiago was buzzing with talk; everyone wanted to come to the banquet, and I received unexpected gifts and profuse messages of friendship from persons who the day before had barely looked at me. None of it mattered; we had to limit ourselves to the captains who had come with us to Chile in 1540, the king's representatives, and members of the council. We brought in additional Indians from our country houses and dressed them in impeccable uniforms, though we could not get them into shoes. The evening was brilliantly lighted by hundreds of candles, tallow lamps, and pine-resin torches that perfumed the air, and the house was splendidly decorated with flowers, large platters of seasonal fruits, and cages of songbirds. We served a good Spanish wine and a Chilean one that Rodrigo and I had begun to produce. We sat thirty guests at the head table, and another hundred in other rooms and in the patios. I made the decision that the women would be seated with the men that night, as I had heard was the style in France, instead of on cushions on the floor, as they did in Spain. We butchered pigs and lambs, to offer a variety of dishes in addition to stuffed fowl and fish from the coast that had been transported live in seawater. There was one table with nothing but desserts: tortes, pastries, meringues, custards, puddings, and fruit. The breeze carried the aromas of the banquet through all the city: garlic, roast meat, caramel. The guests came in their gala clothes; they seldom had reason to pull their finest from the depths of their trunks.

The most beautiful woman at the fiesta was Cecilia, of course, in a sky blue dress with a gold belt and adorned in an array of her Inca princess jewels. She had brought a young black who stood behind her chair and fanned her with a feather fan, an urbane detail that left all the rest of us with mouths agape. Valdivia brought María de Encio, who did not look all that bad, I am forced to acknowledge, but not the other woman; it would have been a slap in the face to our small—but proud—society had he presented himself with a concubine on either arm. He kissed my hand and praised me with the flattery demanded by such occasions. I thought I detected in his gaze a mixture of sadness and jealousy, but that may just have been in my head. When we sat down at the table, he lifted his glass to toast Rodrigo and me, his hosts, and delivered some deeply felt words comparing the hard days of hunger in Santiago, only ten years before, with the present abundance.