The Flute of the Gods
Monkly robes were the next thing in his range of vision–one face in particular, sallow and still with eyes glancing sideways, seeing all things;–divining much! soft steps, and bandages, and out of silence the excited shrillness of Don Diego Maria Francisco Brancadori the tutor:–the shepherd who had lost track of his one rather ruffled lamb.
Pious ejaculation–thanks to all the saints he could think of–horror that the son of an Eminence should be thus abused–prophecies of the wrath to come when the duchess, his mother–At this Don Ruy groped for a sword, and found a boot, and flung it, with an unsanctified word or two, in the direction of the lamentation.
“You wail worse than a dog of a Lutheran under the yoke,” he said in as good a voice as he could muster with a cut in his lip. “What matter how much Eminence it took to make a father for me–or how many duchesses to make a mother? I am labelled as plain Ruy Sandoval and shipped till called for. If you are to instruct my youth in the path it should tread–why not start in with a lesson on discretion?”
At this hopeful sign of life from the bundle of bandages on the monk’s bed, Maestro Diego approached and looked over his illustrious charge with a careful eye.
“Discretion has limped far behind–enterprise, else your highness would cut a different figure by now–and–”
“Choke back your infernal highnesses!” growled the younger man. “I know well what your task is to be here in this new land:–it is to send back reports of duty each time I break a rule or get a broken head. Now by the Blood, and the Cross, if you smother not your titles, and let me range free, I tell you the thing I will do:–I will send back a complaint against you to Seville–and to make sure that it goes, no hand shall carry it but your own. Ere they can find another nurse maid for my morals, I’ll build me a ship and go sailing the South seas for adventure–and your court tricksters will have a weary time in the chase! I like you better than many another godly spy who might have been sent, and I promise myself much joy in the journal of strange travels it is in your mind to write. But once for all, remember, we never were born into the world until a week ago!”
“But your Excellency–
“By the Great Duke of Hell! Will you not bridle your tongue when the damned monks are three deep at the key hole?”
By which it will be seen that the travels of the pious Don Diego were not all on paths of roses.
A little later the still faced priest of the stealthy glances came in, and Don Ruy sat on the side of the bed, and looked him over.
“You are the one who picked me up–eh? And the gentlemen of the streets had tossed me into a corner after discreetly starting my soul on its travels! Warm trysts your dames give to a stranger in this land–when you next confess the darlings, whisper their ears to be less bloodthirsty towards youth innocence!”
The man in the robe smiled.
“That unwise maid will make no more trysts,” he said quietly,–“not if she be one important enough to cause an assault on your Highness.”
“Did they–?”
“No–no–harm would not be done to her, but her destiny is without doubt a convent. The men who spoiled your tryst earn no purses as guard for girls of the street,–sacred walls will save them that trouble for a time–whether maid or wife I dare promise you that! It is as well you know. Time is wasted seeking adventure placed beyond mortal reach.”
“Convent–eh? Do your holy retreats teach the little tricks the lady knew? And do they furnish their vestals with poems of romance and silks and spices of Kathay?”
He drew from an inner pocket a little scarf of apple green with knotted fringes, and butterflies, various colored in dainty broidery. As the folds fell apart an odor of sweetness stole into the shadowy room of the monastery, and the priest was surprised into an ejaculation at sight of such costly evidence, but he smothered it hastily in a muttered prayer.
After that he listened to few of the stranger’s gibes and quips, but with a book of prayers on his knee he looked the youth over carefully, recalled the outburst of Don Diego as to origin, and the adventurer’s own threat to build a ship and sail where chance pointed. Plainly, this seeker of trysts, or any other thing promising adventure, had more of resource than one might expect from a battered stranger lifted out of the gutter for the last rites.
The priest–who looked a good soldier and who was called Padre Vicente “de los Chichimecos” (of the wild tribes) read further in his book of hours, and then spoke the thing in his mind.
“For a matter of many years in this land of the Indies I have waited for a man of discreet determination for a certain work. The virgin herself led me to the gutter where you groaned in the dark, and I here vow to build her a chapel if this thought of mine bears fruit.”
“Hump! My thanks to our Lady,–and I myself will see to the building of the chapel. But tell me of the tree you would plant, and we’ll then have a guess at the fruit. It may prove sour to the taste! Monkly messes appealed to me little on the other side of the seas. I’ve yet to test their flavor on this shore of adventure.”
Padre Vicente ignored the none too respectful comment–and took from his pocket a bit of virgin gold strung on a thread of deer sinew.
“Your name is Don Ruy Sandoval,” he said. “You are in this land for adventure. You content yourself with the latticed window and the strife of the streets–why not look for the greater things? You have wealth and power at your call–why not search for an empire of–this?”
Then he showed the virgin gold worn smooth by much wearing.
Don Ruy blinked under the bandage and swore by Bradamante of the adventure that he would search for it gladly if but the way was shown.
“Where do we find this golden mistress of yours?” he demanded, “and why have you waited long for a comrade?”
“The gold is in the north where none dare openly seek treasure, or even souls, since Coronado came back broken and disgraced. I have waited for the man of wealth who dared risk it, and–at whose going the Viceroy could wink.”
“Why wink at me–rather than another?”
“That is a secret knotted in the fringes of the silken scarf there–” said Padre Vicente with a grim smile. “Cannot a way be found to clear either a convent or a palace of a trouble breeder, when the church itself lends a hand? You were plainly a breeder of trouble, else had you escaped the present need of bandages. For the first time I see a way where Church and the government of the Indies can go with clasped hands to this work. In gold and converts the work may prove mighty. How mighty depends whether you come to the Indies to kill time until the day you are recalled–or improve that time by success where Coronado failed.”
“And if we echo his failure?”
“None will be the wiser even then! You plan for a season of hunting in the hills. I plan for a mission visit by the Sea of Cortez. Mine will be the task to see how and where our helpers join each other and all the provisioning of man and beast. Mine also to make it clear to the Viceroy that you repent your–”
“Hollo!”–Don Ruy interrupted with a grimace. “You are about to say I repent of folly–or the enticing of a virgin–or that I fell victim to the blandishments of some tricky dame–I know all that cant by rote!–a man always repents until his broken head is mended, but all that is apart from the real thing–which is this:–In what way does my moment with a lady in the dark affect the Viceroy of the Indies? Why should his Excellency trouble himself that Ruy Sandoval has a broken head–and a silken scarf?”
Padre Vicente stared–then smiled. Ruy Sandoval had not his wits smothered by the cotton wool of exalted pamperings.
“I will be frank with you,” he said at last. “The Viceroy I have not yet addressed on this matter. But such silken scarfs are few–that one would not be a heavy task to trace to its owner.”
“Ah!–I suspected your eminence had been a gallant in your time,” remarked Don Ruy, amicably–“It is not easy to get out of the habit of noticing alluring things:–that is why I refused to do penance for my birth by turning monk, and shrouding myself in the gown! Now come–tell me! You seem a good fellow–tell me of the ‘Doña Bradamante’ of the silks and the spices.”
“The destiny of that person is probably already decided,” stated the priest of the wild tribes, “she is, if I mistake not, too close to the charge of the Viceroy himself for that destiny to be questioned. The mother, it is said, died insane, and the time has come when the daughter also is watched with all care lest she harm herself–or her attendants. So I hear–the maid I do not know, but the scarf I can trace. Briefly–the evident place for such a wanton spitfire is the convent. You can easily see the turmoil a woman like that can make as each ship brings adventurers–and she seeks a lover out of every group.”
“Jesus!–and hell to come! Then I was only one of a sort–all is fish to the net of the love lorn lady! Maestro Diego would have had the romance and the lily if he had walked ahead instead of behind me!–and he could have had the broken head as well!” Then he sniffed again at the bit of silk, and regarded the monk quizzically.
“You have a good story, and you tell it well, holy father,” he said at last,–“and I am troubled in my mind to know how little of it may be truth, and how much a godly lie. But the gold at least is true gold, and whatever the trick of the lady may be, you say it will serve to win for me the privilege to seek the mines without blare of trumpets. Hum!–it is a great favor for an unknown adventurer.”
“Unknown you may be to the people of the streets, and to your ship mates,” agreed the Padre. “But be sure the Viceroy has more than a hint that you are not of the rabble. The broils you may draw to yourself may serve to disquiet him much–yet he would scarce send you to the stocks, or the service of the roads. Be sure he would rather than all else bid you god speed on a hunting journey.”
“But that you are so given to frankness I should look also for a knife in the back to be included in his excellency’s favors,” commented Don Ruy. “Name of the Devil!–what have I done since I entered the town, but hold hands with one woman in the dark–and be made to look as if I had been laid across a butcher block on a busy day! Hell take such a city to itself! I’ve no fancy for halting over long in a pit where a gentleman’s amusements are so little understood. If the Doña of the scarf were aught but an amiable maniac the thing would be different. I would stay–and I would find her and together we would weave a new romance for a new world poet! But as it is, gather your cut throats and name the day, and we’ll go scouring the land for heathen souls and yellow clinkers.”
Padre Vicente de Bernaldez was known by his wonderful mission-work to be an ecclesiastic of most adventurous disposition. Into wild lands and beyond the Sea of Cortez had he gone alone to the wild tribes–so far had he gone that silence closed over his trail like a grave at times–but out of the Unknown had he come in safety!
His fame had reached beyond his order–and Ruy Sandoval knew that it was no common man who spoke to him of the Indian gold.
“Francisco de Coronado,” stated this padre of the wilderness, “came back empty handed from the north land of the civilized Indians for the reason that he knew not where to search. The gold is there. This is witness. It came to me from a man who–is dead! It was given him by a woman of a certain tribe of sun worshippers. To her it was merely some symbol of their pagan faith–some priestly circle dedicated to the sun.”
“It sounds well,” agreed Don Ruy–“but the trail? Who makes the way? And what force is needed?”
For a guide the Padre Vicente had a slave of that land, a man of Te-hua baptized José, for five years the padre had studied the words and the plans. The man would gladly go to his own land,–he and his wife. All that was required was a general with wealth for the conquest. There were pagan souls to be saved, and there was wealth for the more worldly minds. The padre asked only a tenth for godly reasons.
Thus between church and state was the expedition of his Excellency Don Ruy Sandoval ignored except as a hunting journey to the North coast of the Cortez Sea–if he ranged farther afield, his own be the peril, for no troops of state were sent as companions. The good father had selected the men–most of them he had confessed at odd times and knew their metal. All engaged as under special duty to the cross:–it was to be akin to a holy pilgrimage, and absolution for strange things was granted to the men who would bear arms and hold the quest as secret.
Most of them thought the patron was to be Mother Church, and regarded it as a certain entrance to Paradise. Don Ruy himself meekly accepted a role of the least significance:–a mere seeker of pleasure adventures in the provinces! It would not be well that word of risk or danger be sent across seas–and the Viceroy could of course only say “god speed you” to a gentleman going for a ride with his servants and his major domo.
And thus:–between a hair brained adventurer and a most extolled priest, began the third attempt to reach the people called by New Spain, the Pueblos:–the strangely learned barbarians who dwelt in walled towns–cultivating field by irrigation, and worshipping their gods of the sun, or the moon, or the stars through rituals strange as those of Pagan Egypt.
Word had reached Mexico of the martyrdom of Fray Juan Padilla at Ci-bo-la, but in the far valley of the Rio Grande del Norte–called by the tribes the river P[=o] – s[=o]n-gé,–Fray Luis de Escalona might be yet alive carrying on the work of salvation of souls.
The young Spanish adventurer listened with special interest as the devotion and sacrifices of Fray Luis were extolled in the recitals.
“If he lives we will find that man,” he determined. “He was nobly born, and of the province of my mother. I’ve heard the romance for which he cloaked himself in the gray robe. He should be a prince of the church instead of a wandering lay brother–we will have a human thing to search for in the world beyond the desert–ours will be a crusade to rescue him from the infidel lands.”
CHAPTER VIII
THE STORY BY THE DESERT WELL
Don Diego marvelled much at the briskness of the plans for a season of hunting ere his troublesome charge was well able to see out of both eyes. But on being told that the range might be wide, he laid in a goodly stock of quills and parchment, for every league of the land would bring new things to his knowledge.
These records were to be entitled “Relaciones of the New and Wondrous Land of the Indian’s Island” and in those Relaciones the accounts of Padre Vicente were to loom large. Among the pagan people his war against the false gods had been ruthless. Maestro Diego was destined to hear more of the padre’s method than he dared hope in the earlier days.
José, the Indian of the North whose Te-hua name was Khen-zah, went with them–also his wife–the only woman, for without her the man would not go in willingness. Two only were the members added by Don Ruy to the cavalcade–one a stalwart fellow of many scars named Juan Gonzalvo who had known service with Pizarro in the land of gold–had lost all his coin in an unlucky game, and challenged the young stranger from Seville for the loan of a stake to gamble with and win back his losses. He looked good for three men in a fight. Instead of helping him in a game, Don Ruy invited him on the hunting trip!
The other addition was as different as might be from the toughened, gambling conquistador–a mere lad, who brought a letter from the hand of the Viceroy as a testimonial that the lad was a good scribe if it so happened that his sanctity the padre–or his Excellency Don Ruy, should need such an addition in the new lands where their hunting camps were to be. The boy was poor but for the learning given him by the priests,–his knowledge was of little save the knowledge of books. But his willingness to learn was great, and he would prove of use as a clerk or page as might be.
Padre Vicente was not present, and the cavalcade was already two days on the trail, but Don Ruy read the letter, and looked the lad over.
“Your name is–”
“Manuel Lenares–and called ‘Chico’ because I am not yet so tall as I may be.”
“It should be Manuella because you look not yet so manlike as you may be,” declared Ruy Sandoval,–and laughed as the angry color swept the face of the lad. “By our Lady, I’ve known many a dame of high degree would trade several of her virtues for such eyes and lips! Tush–boy! Have no shame to possess them since they will wear out in their own time! I can think of no service you could be to me–yet–I have another gentleman of the court with me holding a like office–Name of the Devil:–it would be a fine jest to bestow upon him a helper for the ponderous ‘Relaciones’!” and Don Ruy chuckled at the thought, while the lad stood in sulky embarrassment–willing to work, but not to be laughed at.
He was dressed as might be in the discarded garments of magnificence, well worn and visibly made over to fit his young figure. His cloak of old scarlet, too large for him, covered a patched shirt and jacket, and reached to his sandal straps of russet leather:–scarce the garb of a page of the Viceregal court, yet above that of the native servant.
“You are–Spanish?”
Again the face of the youth flushed, and he shrugged his shoulders and replaced his velvet cap with its pert cock’s feather.
“I have more than enough Spanish blood to send me to the Christian rack or stake if they caught me worshipping the pagan gods of my grandmother,” he stated briefly, and plainly had so little hope of winning service that he was about to make his bow and depart in search of the Padre.
But the retort caught Don Ruy, and he held the lad by the shoulder and laughed.
“Of all good things the saints could send, you are the best,” he decided–“and by that swagger I’ll be safe to swear your grandsire was of the conquistadores–I thought so! Well Chico:–you are engaged for the service of secretary to Maestro Diego Maria Francisco Brancadori. You work is seven days in the week except when your protector marks a saint’s day in red ink. On that day you will have only prayers to record, on the other days you will assist at many duties concerning a wondrous account of the adventures Don Diego hopes for in the heathen land.”
“Hopes for:–your Excellency?”
“Hopes for so ardently that our comfort may rest in seeing that he meets with little of disappointment on the trail.”
For one instant the big black eyes of the lad flashed a shy appreciation of Don Ruy’s sober words and merry smile.
“For it is plain to be seen,” continued that gentleman–“that if Don Diego finds nothing to make record of, your own wage will be a sad trial and expense.”
“I understand, your Excellency.”
“You will receive the perquisites of a secretary if you have indeed understanding,” continued Don Ruy, “but if there are no records to chronicle you will get but the pay of a page and no gifts to look for. Does it please you?”
“It is more than a poor lad who owns not even a bedding blanket could have hoped for, señor, and I shall earn the wage of a secretary. That of a page I could earn without leaving the streets and comfort.”
“Oho!” And again the eyes of Don Ruy wandered over the ill garbed figure and tried to fit it to the bit of swagger and confidence.–“I guessed at your grandfather–now I’ll have a turn at you:–Is it a runaway whom I am venturing to enroll in this respectable company of sober citizens?”
“Your Excellency!” the lad hung his head yet watched the excellency out of the corner of his eye, and took heart at the smile he saw–“it is indeed true there are some people I did not call upon to say farewell ere offering my services to you, but it is plain to see I carried away not any one’s wealth in goods and chattals.”
“That is easily to be perceived,” said Don Ruy and this time he did not laugh, for with all his light heart he was too true a gentleman to make sport of poverty such as may come to the best of men. “By our Lady, I’ve a feeling of kinship for you in that you are a runaway indeed–this note mentions the teaching of the priests–I’ll warrant they meant to make a monk of you.”
“If such hopes are with them, they must wait until I am born again,” decided the lad, and again Don Ruy laughed:–the lad was plainly no putty for the moulding, and there was chance of sport ahead with such a helper to Maestro Diego.
“It will be my charge to see that you are not over much troubled with questions,” said his employer, and handed back the letter of commendation. “None need know when you were engaged for this very important work. José over there speaks Spanish as does Ysobel his wife. Tell them you are to have a bed of good quality if it be in the camp–and to take a blanket of my own outfit if other provisions fall short.”
A muttered word of thanks was the only reply, and Don Ruy surmised that the boy was made dumb by kindness when he had braced himself for quips and cuffs–knowing as he must–that he was light of build for the road of rough adventure.
“Ho!–Lad of mine!” he called when the youth had gone a few paces–“I trust you understand that you travel with a company of selected virtues?–and that you are a lucky dog to be attached to the most pious and godly tutor ever found for a boy in Spain.”
“It is to be called neighbor of these same virtues that I have come begging a bed on the sand when I might have slept at home on a quilt of feathers:”–the lad’s tongue had found its use again when there was chance for jest.
“And–”
“Yes:–your Excellency?”
“As to that pagan grandmother of whom you made mention:–her relationship need not be widely tooted through a horn on the journey–yet of all things vital to the honorable Maestro Diego and his ‘Relaciones,’ I stand surety that not any one thing will be given so much good room on paper as the things he learns of the heathen worship of the false gods.”
“A nod is as good as a wink to a mule that is blind!” called back the lad in high glee. “Happy am I to have your excellency’s permission to hold discourse with him concerning the church accursed lore of our ancestral idols!”
Then he joined José and Ysobel as instructed, and gave the message as to bed and quarters. José said no word in reply, but proceeded to secure blankets, one from the camp of Don Ruy. Ysobel–a Mexican Indian–who had been made Christian by the padre ere she could be included in the company, was building a fire for the evening meal. Seeing that it burned indifferently the new page thrust under the twigs the fine sheet of paper containing the signature of the Viceroy.
Ysobel made an exclamation of protest–but it was too late–it had started the blaze in brave order.
“Your letter–if you should need it–perhaps for the padre!” she said.
“Rest you easy, Nurse,” said the lad and stretched himself to watch the supper cooked. “I have no further needs in life but supper and a bed,–see to it that José makes it near you own! I am in the employ of Don Ruy Sandoval for a period indefinite. And he has promised–laugh not out loud Ysobel!–that he will see to it I am not questioned as to whence or why I came to seek service under his banner!–even the holy father is set aside by that promise–I tell you that laughter is not to be allowed! If you let him see that you laugh, I will beat you when we are alone, Ysobel–I will though you have found a dozen husbands to guard you!”
Don Ruy did see the laughter of the woman, and was well pleased that the lad could win smiles from all classes,–such a one would lighten weary journeys.
He felt that he had done well by Maestro Diego. Plainly the quick wit of the lad betokened good blood, let him prate ever so surely on his heathen grandmother!
Don Diego felt much flattered at the consideration shown by Don Ruy for the “Relaciones”–in fact he had so pleased an interest in the really clever young pen-man that the Padre took little heed of the boy–he was of as much account as a pet puppy in the expedition–but if the would-be historian needed a secretary–or fancied he did,–the lad would be less trouble than an older man if circumstances should arise to make trouble of any sort.
So it chanced that Juan Gonzalvo and Manuel Lenares, called Chico, were the only two included in the company who had not been confessed and enrolled by Padre Vicente himself.