On the beach of Valparaiso curses and threats drown out the din of the waves.
The sails swell out and move off in the direction of Peru. Valdivia is off chasing the title of governor of Chile. With the gold that is aboard, and the vigor of his arm, he hopes to convince the top men in Lima.
Sitting on a rock, scribe Juan Pinel clutches his head and cannot stop laughing. His daughters will die as virgins in Spain. Some of the men weep, scarlet with fury; and bugler Alonso de Torres plays an old melody out of tune and then smashes the bugle, which was all he had left.
(67 and 85)
Song of Nostalgia, from the Spanish Songbook
Lonesome I am for thee,
Country that suckled me.
If luckless I should die,
In the mountains bury me high,
So that my body in the grave
Won’t miss the land I crave.
Bury me high as you can bear,
To see if I can see from there
The land for which I shed a tear.
(7)
1548: Xaquixaguana The Battle of Xaquixaguana Is Over
Gonzalo Pizarro, the best lancer in America, the man who can split a mosquito in flight with an arquebus or a crossbow, yields his sword to Pedro de La Gasca.
Gonzalo slowly removes his armor of Milanese steel. La Gasca came on a mission to clip his wings, and now the chief of the rebels no longer dreams of crowning himself king of Peru. He only dreams of La Gasca sparing his life.
Pedro de Valdivia enters the tent of the victors. The infantry have fought under his orders.
“The king’s honor rested in your hands, Governor,” says La Gasca.
This is the first time the king’s representative calls him governor, governor of Chile. Valdivia thanks him with a nod. He has other things to ask, but hardly does he open his mouth when the soldiers bring in Gonzalo Pizarro’s second-in-command. General Carvajal enters wearing his spectacularly plumed helmet. His captors dare not touch him.
Of all Pizarro’s officers, Carvajal is the only one who did not change sides when La Gasca offered the king’s pardon to repentant rebels. Many soldiers and captains quickly spurred their horses and galloped across the marsh to the other camp. Carvajal stayed put and fought until they unhorsed him.
“Carvajal,” says Diego Centeno, commander of the victorious troops, “you have fallen with honor, Carvajal.”
The old man does not even look at him.
“Are you pretending not to know me?” says Centeno and puts out a hand to receive his sword.
Carvajal, who has more than once defeated Centeno and has put him to flight and chased him through half of Peru, stares at him and says: “I only knew you from the back.”
And he gives his sword to Pedro de Valdivia.
(67 and 85)
1548: Xaquixaguana The Executioner
Wrapped in ropes and chains, Carvajal arrives inside an enormous basket hauled by mules. Amid clouds of dust and cries of hatred, the old warrior sings. His hoarse voice pierces the clamor of insults, ignoring the kicks and blows of those who yesterday applauded him and today spit in his face.
What a fable!
A child in a cradle,
Old man in a cradle!
What a fable!
he sings from the basket that bumps him along. When the mules reach the block, the soldiers throw Carvajal out at the executioner’s feet. The crowd howls as the executioner slowly unsheaths the sword.
“Brother Juan,” asks Carvajal, “since we’re both in the same trade, treat me like one tailor to another.”
Juan Enríquez is the name of this lad with the kind face. He had another name in Seville, when he wandered the wharves dreaming of being the king’s executioner in America. They say he loves the job because it instills fear, and there is no important gentleman or great warrior who does not draw aside on passing him in the street. They also say that he is a lucky avenger. They pay him to kill; and his weapon never rusts, nor does his smile vanish.
Poor old grandpa!
Poor old grandpa!
hums Carvajal in a low, sad voice, because he has just thought of his horse Boscanillo, who is also old and defeated, and how well they understood one another.
Juan Enríquez seizes his beard with the left hand and, with the right, slices his neck with one blow.
Beneath the golden sun, applause breaks out.
The executioner holds up the head of Carvajal, who until a moment ago was eighty-four years old and had never forgiven anyone.
(76 and 167)
1548: Xaquixaguana On Cannibalism in America
Since Francisco Pizarro attended, in mourning dress, the funeral of his victim Atahualpa, several men have succeeded to command and power over the vast kingdom that was the Incas’.
Diego de Almagro, governor of one part of that land, rose against Francisco Pizarro, governor of the other. Both had sworn on the sacred Host that they would share honors, Indians, and lands without either taking more, but Pizarro wanted it and won out and Almagro was beheaded.
Almagro’s son avenged his father and proclaimed himself governor over the corpse of Pizarro. Then Almagro’s son was sent to the scaffold by Cristobal Vaca de Castro, who passed into history as the only one who escaped gallows, ax, or sword.
Later Gonzalo Pizarro, brother of Francisco, rose in arms against Blasco Núñez Vela, first viceroy of Peru. Nuñez Vela fell from his horse badly wounded. His head was cut off and nailed to a pike.
Gonzalo Pizarro was on the point of crowning himself king. Today, Monday, April 9, he ascends the slope that leads to the block. He goes mounted on a mule. They have bound his hands behind his back and thrown over him a black cape, which covers his face and keeps him from seeing the bodiless head of Francisco de Carvajal.
(76 and 81)
1548: Guanajuato Birth of the Guanajuato Mines
“God’s peace be with you, brother.”
“So be it, traveler.”
Greetings pass between the two muleteers who come from Mexico City and decide to encamp. Night has fallen, and from the shadows those who sleep by day watch them.
“Isn’t that the mountain of Cubilete?”
“Of the damned, you might call it.”
Maese Pedro and Martín Rodrigo are off to Zacatecas to seek their fortune in its mines, and they bring what they have, a few mules, to sell at a good price. At dawn they will continue on their way.
They lay a few branches on a mattress of dry leaves and encircle it with stones. Flint strikes steel, the spark becomes a flame: facing the fire, the muleteers swap stories, their bad luck, and while they are at it, rags and nostalgia, one of them yells: “They shine!”
“What?”
“The stones!”
Martín Rodrigo leaps into the air, forming a squalid five-pointed star against the moonlit sky, and Maese Pedro breaks his nails on the hot rocks and burns his lips kissing them.
(182)
1549: La Serena