Comanche Dawn (34 page)

A mestizo servant girl was lighting candles on a wrought-iron chandelier that had been lowered to a height just above the dining table. After touching flame to the last wick, she went to the wall and pulled on the rope that raised the chandelier high overhead. The rope ran through a hand-forged iron pulley bolted to a
viga
—a peeled pine timber that spanned the breadth of the ceiling. The candles on the chandelier and a few others around the dining hall were all the light the men would have. Luxuries like oil lamps seldom reached the northern frontier, and then were snatched up by high officials for personal use in their homes and bed chambers.

Fray Ugarte recited a brief blessing, and servants began to enter with platters of corn tortillas, beans, squash, tomatoes, chiles, and various meats including lamb, chicken, and tamales made of venison and pork. As they feasted, the men talked about the caravan that had recently arrived from the south—the first major shipment of goods in three years. With it, much correspondence had arrived for the colonists in Santa Fe, some of the letters dating as far back as five years.

“I was informed that my brother's ship was lost at sea,” said Captain Lujan. “He is presumed dead, of course. Father, will you remember him at vespers this week?”

“Yes, of course. When was the ship lost? How long ago?”

“Two years. His name was Gregorio.”

“My condolences,” Jean said, though it didn't seem to him that Lujan was very badly upset over the loss of his blood kin.

As the conversation flowed, the men began to share the tidbits of good news they had received in their letters. Fray Ugarte's uncle had been granted the title of Hidalgo by King Felipe.

“Hidalgo!” said Alcalde Durazno, enviously. “Did he inherit the title or purchase it?”

“Neither,” the priest said, a prideful smile on his face. “He won the title for a most extraordinary accomplishment. He sired seven sons in a row!”

“Bravo!” shouted Durazno.

Jean smiled and pounded his fist on the table with the other men, but his mind was on his own two sons fast asleep at his hacienda and their departed mother, whom he missed so much. Jean had received no correspondence from Spain, so he could only listen to the others share their stories.

From the open doors of a large
trastero
at the end of the dining hall, the servant girl brought forth coffee cups baked in local kilns by mission novices. The
trastero,
made of pine from the mountains, was carved and gaily colored with mineral paints the
Indios
used. As the girl approached the table with the cups, Jean glanced at her and caught her ogling his facial tattoos curiously.

“I received the final inventory of the caravan that arrived from the Land Outside,” the governor announced as a second servant poured coffee. A third servant placed a silver dish on the table, five pieces of chocolate spaced evenly upon it. “As you see, we received chocolates!”

The men laughed at the irony.

“I would rather have powder,” Captain Lujan stated.

“There was powder. Not much, I'm afraid. But plenty of lead for making balls.”

“Flints?”

“No flints.”

“I can get flints from the
Tiwas
at Tachichichi,” Jean offered. “I have established a trading house there, as you may have heard.”

“Linen for making patches?” Lujan asked, ignoring Jean.

“No linen. Not even scraps. We will have to continue to make our patches from skins. But we did receive a bolt of silk!”

Again, the sardonic laughter.

“Paper and ink?” Jean asked.

“Of course not,” the governor replied, “but we received a dozen fine quill pens. Oh, and fifty new prayer books for the missions.”

“Are there fifty literate Christians in all of New Mexico?” Fray Ugarte said, and his laughter erupted so suddenly that it startled the mestizo girl.

The governor went on with the inventory: three kegs of nails, but no saws with which to make lumber. A used loom and some carding tools for making cloth, but no needles nor thread. Hammers, axes, plows—that was good. But no iron cart tires. A few kettles and knives, such as the
Indios
liked to get in trade. Locks and keys, but no chain.

“We will improvise,” Jean replied. “One never knows what the office of the viceroy will send. It seems no one is in charge down there. The right hand knows not what the left hand does.”

“
Salúd!
” Durazno said, as if Jean had just made a toast.

“I am more interested in what our caravan will send south, Governor. Is the inventory complete?”

“Yes, Juan, and we have done well. Better than the caravan of three years ago, and twice as rich as the one three years before that. Thanks mostly to you, we have greatly increased our trade among the
Norteños.
Over one thousand deerskins have been baled. We have already loaded three hundred
fanegas
of piñon nuts, and almost five hundred buffalo robes. The haciendas and missions have produced well, also. Six hundred pairs of wool socks, fifty cowhides, two hundred oxen, seventy mules, and a large herd of surplus sheep. Your hacienda is now first in the breeding of mules, my friend, and third in overall production, according to the assessor's office. Thanks to you, and a few others, we will send quite a caravan south.”

“How many slaves?” Jean said.

A tense silence fell abruptly into the middle of the conversation.

“What do you mean, Juan?” Governor Del Bosque said. “You know slavery is illegal.”

“They are
genízaros,
not slaves,” Fray Ugarte blurted. “They have been converted.”

Jean smiled. “I only meant that they were slaves before—among the
Indios,
though I doubt many were made to work as hard among the so-called savages as they will be made to work among Spaniards.”

“There is nothing wrong with hard work,” Ugarte insisted.

“True, but without pay?”

“They will be paid.”

“None of them will ever earn more than a peso, and even then, the overseer who hands them the coin will be holding a whip in his other hand. They spend all their earnings on vile drink anyway, and I don't even blame them. It is their only escape. Those poor devils will be worked to death in fields and mines. Most will look back fondly on their days as slaves among the
Indios.
”

“What are we to do?” said Captain Lujan. “Tell the savages we won't ransom them anymore? And see them tortured to death before our very eyes?”

“We should continue to ransom them, of course, but we must become better negotiators. We must take the profit out of the slave trade until it dries up. It is a matter of simple economics.”

“How do you propose to do this?” Governor Del Bosque said, a curious smirk on his face.

“First we must recognize that the trade in
Indio
slaves is our fault. The
Tiwa
elders tell me that in old days, slavery indeed existed, but the slaves were eventually adopted into the nations of their captors. But now the Apache make regular slave raids on the
Pani,
and sell the women and children to Spaniards here. The
Pani,
meanwhile, are raiding the Apache
rancherías
and selling their captives to the French across the plains.”

“It is the fault of the French,” Lujan said, without offering to explain his observation.

“Get to the part about negotiations,” the Governor said, trying to keep the debate on track.

“We must simply offer less for the slaves, and at the same time, offer more for other trade items—buffalo robes and beaver pelts, deerskins and wild honey. We must make it understood that we have enough slaves, and we will pay but little for them. At the same time, we must convince the
Indios
that we will trade items of much higher value for robes, skins, and furs.”

Alcalde Durazno snorted. “That would be fine, if we had anything of value to a barbarian.”

“We have
escopetas.
”

Lujan straightened in his chair. “You would trade guns to our enemies?”

“The old
escopetas
are as worthless to them as they are to us with this shortage of powder. Even your own soldiers won't use them,
Capitán.
They prefer the bows and arrows captured from the
Indios.
”

“Even if it were legal,” Governor Del Bosque said, “we have only so many
escopetas
to trade.”

“A valid point, Governor. That is why our primary item of trade must be something we can renew—mules and geldings.”

“You would arm
and
mount our enemies!” Lujan growled.

“They are already armed and mounted. They have horses, and their horses will breed more horses. But mules and geldings will not. First, we must get the mares and stallions from them by offering two mules or geldings for each mare or stallion—three if necessary. Since they cannot breed up their herds without stallions and mares, they will be dependent on us for their mounts, which we will trade to them for hides and furs and honey, but not for slaves.”

“Indeed,” Lujan said, a jeer in his tone.

“The Apaches and
Yutas
are raiding the settlements for mounts, anyway. Why not legalize the trade in mounts in a way that gives us the advantage.”

“We already have the advantage,” Lujan insisted. “The savages are either too stupid or too clumsy or too cowardly to fight from the backs of their horses.”

“It is curious,” Jean admitted, “that the
Indios
have not yet adopted our cavalry tactics. They use their horses only as transportation, preferring to fight on foot. But this only means that they are slow to change, not that they are not slow to learn. I have seen some marvelous riders among the
Norteños,
especially the Apaches and the
Yutas.
When they start to fight from the backs of their horses, they will be a devastating force. That is why we must take control of how many mounts they possess, before it is too late.”

“Your idea seems to have some merit,” Del Bosque said. “Unfortunately, the Crown forbids the trade of mounts to the
Indios
whether they are mules or geldings or jackasses. Besides that, mules and horses represent a good part of our export economy to New Spain. We cannot afford to trade all of them to the
Indios.
”

“We would continue to send the best animals south, or sell them to
Capitán
Lujan's soldiers,” Jean said, though he could tell by now that his whole proposal, which he had thought out carefully for some time, was futile. He added one other observation: “We are a long way from the Crown.”

The governor looked at Fray Ugarte, who had remained silent during Jean's discourse. “Padre, what say you about these issues of slaves and horses?”

Slowly, almost ceremoniously, the friar placed his cup on a glazed saucer. “The slave trade is the work of God. We should encourage the savages to continue it. The more slaves we ransom, the more souls we save.”

Jean scoffed. “Encourage the
Indios
to enslave one another? Even when the slaves are mistreated? Some are beaten or burned—occasionally to death.”

“Better for one to suffer and die that ten may know eternal life.”

“The ratio is more like ten deaths for one salvation,
Padre.
”

“You think too much of worldly things, Juan. It is better for ten to die violently that one may know the grace of God, than for all eleven to die peacefully in their sleep of old age, in ignorance and sin, their souls fated to drift in oblivion.”

Jean sighed, sensing the uselessness in arguing with the Franciscan. “If they are going to be ransomed, at least they could be set free instead of marched south to die in mines and fields.”

“There is no work for them here,” Governor Del Bosque said. “They must be taken south where there is work.”

Jean shook his head. “Set them free and give them land to colonize on the northern frontier. Give them weapons to fight with, and let them serve as a line of first defense against the Apaches who enslaved them in the first place.”

“If set free,” Fray Ugarte argued, “they would either revert to their heathen ways among their own people, or they would linger around here, falling into temptation.”

“They would become misfits and thieves,” Captain Lujan said.

“Then they would make good soldiers,” Jean mumbled.

Alcalde Durazno burst into laughter, until he caught Lujan's angry glare.

“At least they have God on their side,” Jean said, failing to hide the sarcasm in his voice, “for, as Fray Ugarte assures us, the friars have splashed them with holy water, which I am sure lends great comfort to their hearts as the whip lashes their backs.”

“Careful, Juan,” Governor Del Bosque warned.

Jean frowned. He knew the governor was right. To criticize the clergy too severely was to tempt the powers of the Holy Office of the Inquisition. “I'm sorry, Father. I mean no disrespect I understand the need to save souls, but is conversion a matter of the heart, or a matter of the skin sprinkled with holy water?”

Jean found himself locked in Fray Ugarte's powerful glare, until a glob of molten wax fell from the chandelier and thumped onto the back of Ugarte's hand, making him flinch. By reflex, the priest started to fling the hot wax off the back of his hand, but caught himself. As if in some ritual of penance, he watched the wax congeal, the heat reddening his sun-browned skin.

“Sorry, Father,” said Governor Del Bosque. “I must send that chandelier back to the forge and have the
herrero
fix that problem.”

Father Ugarte pulled the solid lump of wax from his hand, tearing hairs out by the root.