Greta Gilbert - The Spaniard's Innocent Maiden

‘Ma tu’ub, holy one,’ Benicio repeated. ‘Ma tu’ub.’

The morning sun passed behind a cloud and the cacophony of birds ceased. All the world went still and Benicio had the overwhelming sensation that it had just lost an important soul. He placed the priest’s arms across his chest and closed his eyelids. For some unknown reason, Benicio was overcome with grief.

Benicio reached for the cloth lying at his feet and studied its strange design: a diamond with circles around each of its four points. In the centre of the diamond was a small dot the size of a man’s fingertip. Benicio pictured the priest pressing his bloody finger on that spot, fearing for his life, while Rogelio threatened to take another finger. But why? What important thing did this cluster of shapes represent?

Perhaps it was some kind of map. Some of Cortés’s men whispered of a city of gold hidden deep in the jungle. Benicio had always believed the rumours to be nonsense—the wishful thinking of desperate men. Still, the priest had pointed at the map, then urged Benicio to take the golden ring.

The golden ring! Benicio stuffed the cloth into the side of his boot and spotted the shiny object where the priest had dropped it on to the ground.

He grasped the ring and studied it in his palm. No wonder Rogelio had pursued the priest so relentlessly. The figure of a feathered dragon, wrought in gold, overlaid the jadestone’s polished façade. The detail of the figure was beyond anything Benicio had ever seen and he wondered if some unknown god had not fashioned it.

But it was not the detail that made Benicio’s heart begin to race, it was the dozen large diamonds that lined the ring’s perimeter, framing the golden dragon in a glitter of light. The diamonds were larger than any single diamond Benicio had ever seen. He knew that he held a treasure truly fit for a king.

A sneaking joy bubbled within him. He could not believe his good fortune. He swelled inside as he imagined returning to Spain and presenting the prize to King Charles himself.

‘How may I compensate you for such a gift?’ the King would ask him and Benicio would humbly request a small allotment of land, a place where he might run cattle and plant orchards and keep his noble wife in the way of life she deserved.

And thus it would be done. A dream that he had all but abandoned, suddenly fulfilled.

How strange and unpredictable life was.

Where had he put his breastplates? Ah, there they were, just a few paces away. Steel armour was highly valued among the people of the West Indies and could be traded for essentials like food and transport. And where was his book? Where was Amadís? He touched his chest. There it was—right where he always kept it, covering his heart.

He heard a sudden rustle of maize leaves upon the ground. Sensing danger, he popped the ring into his mouth and threaded his tongue through its golden hoop. He turned to behold Rogelio, who remained where he had fallen not three paces away. His eyes sparkled with greed.

He had witnessed everything.

Benicio jumped to his feet and secured his armour. He found the place on the horizon where the sun had risen. He would only need to make his way west, to the coast. There he would find one of the friendly coastal villages. Surely there would be some native man willing to trade his canoe and some supplies for the shiny armour Benicio now wore.

It would be a fast journey across the short stretch of ocean that separated Cuba from this strange island, if an island it was. He would arrive upon Cuba and seek passage to Hispañola, where he would board the next ship returning to Spain. There, he would present his precious ring to King Charles and come what may.

Rogelio was struggling to his feet. He eyed Benicio with a simmering rage, then lunged towards him.

But Benicio would not be caught. His future was in reach. It glittered like diamonds, like Luisa’s green eyes in the noonday sun. He stretched out his long legs and broke into a run. All he needed to do now was reach the coast.

‘Luisa,’ he breathed. ‘I’m coming home.’

Chapter Three

When Tula reached the coast, the day was still new. The Sun God glowed white in his victory over the night. She was glad to see that the remote beach remained empty, its quiet cove still untroubled by the wind. She had planned her visit for this day because she knew that Goddess of the Sea would be asleep, her blue waters rolled up like a blanket. The moon charts said it would be so.

Tula retrieved a single spear from her basket. She told herself that she was not lying to her father. Not really. She was simply waiting until the time was right to make her secret known. ‘Within each thing exists its opposite,’ her father always told her. She knew that all her people would soon know the mystery she held inside her heart.

But for now, it was only hers.

She pulled off her shawl and skirt and stuffed them away inside her basket. She placed her belongings at the edge of the jungle, tightening her loincloth as she skipped bare-breasted down the beach.

She felt like a child misbehaving. It gave Tula such a thrill to step out on to her empty beach alone, as if she were the only person in this crowded world. She savoured the moment, knowing that it would not endure.

Her father, who sat upon the Totonac Council of Elders, would be obliged to tell the Totonac Chief of Tula’s discovery. When her secret became known, Totonac nobles would be swarming this beach like fire ants. Tula did not pretend to understand the affairs of the men who ruled the Totonac nation, but she knew well enough that she had found something important.

She also knew that if there was treasure to be had, she wanted to find it first.

She stepped into the clear blue water, sending a prayer to God of the Hunt, Mixcoatl, to help her find treasure in the form of gold. The strange yellow metal was so very rare and to Tula’s mind held little practical use. But the Mexica Takers would accept it in place of many cloaks, and if she could obtain even just a small amount she knew she could bring great relief to her family.

She gripped her spear and peered into the underwater world. It was more likely that she would find a fish. Over the past few cycles of the sun, she had become an excellent fisher, though she would never let the fault of pride weight her steps. Her people believed that fish had once been human and she entered their blue-green realm with humility and reverence.

‘Forgive me, fishes,’ she intoned, letting the water of the Endless Sea pool around her knees. She spied the black spots of a mature jaguar fish, a Totonac delicacy.

With a quick downward thrust, she impaled the magnificent swimmer, then finished its life with her blade. ‘I am humble,’ she whispered to Mixcoatl. With a great heave, she tossed her family’s dinner on to the shore.

She journeyed deeper into the water, stepping past a group of boulders and sighting a polished tree trunk protruding from the depths. She sucked in a breath, then slipped beneath the water.

She followed the tree trunk downwards, kicking past where the seafloor made a short drop, until she reached the hulking wooden temple.

This was her secret, her true quarry. She had discovered the submerged structure half a moon ago in search of new fishing grounds. She suspected it belonged to the bearded god Grijalva, who had journeyed through the Totonac waters many cycles past. He had forged a friendship with the Totonac Chief and the Council of Elders, but he had said nothing about sacrificing a floating temple in this quiet cove.

Though clearly it was a sacrifice—a worthy gift for any god. And today, with the water so clear, she could see the details, including the finely carved rungs of the large calendar wheel, which perched on its central platform.