The Seven Serpents Trilogy by Scott O’Dell Page B

will arrive here any day to take possession of the island.”
    â€œThis means,” said Guzmán, “that we lose no time moving the gold to the ship. And work all day and by torchlight to dig as much more as we can.”
    He then gave Don Luis his own bad news, an account of the Caribs’ attack, the refusal of Ayo to help at a mo ment when his help was needed, why he had been com pelled to kill Ayo, and how the whole village thereupon had fled into the jungle.
    The three of us were walking toward the horses, which stood waiting on the beach. Don Luis stopped and threw up his hands.
    â€œHow do we mine gold without Indians?” he shouted.
    â€œWe find them and bring them back,” said Guzmán.
    â€œI’ve planned things out, pending your return. We need some of the
Santa Margarita’s
crew and all the soldiers. We should leave today.”
    â€œIn what direction? Where did they flee, these runaways?”
    â€œOne didn’t flee in time. I have this one bound to a tree. Already I have some information.”
    Guzmán paused to give his fist a meaningful turn. “Before the hour is gone I’ll extract more.”
    I was silent through all of this, as I had been at Ayo’s needless death. I knew that anything I said to Guzmán would be ignored. I felt it wiser to wait until I was alone with Don Luis and had a chance of being heard, at least to vent my anger, whatever the outcome. The chance came in a few moments.
    As Guzmán strode off to wring more information from the Indian he had bound to a tree, I spoke to Don Luis, saying first that I was glad he had returned. I told him I was outraged at the murder of my friend Ayo. I told him that Guzmán had done things in his absence that only a brutal man would do.
    â€œMy efforts to win over the Indians to our Christian faith,” I said, “he has undone. He has worked them so hard, night and day, that they no longer have the strength or even the desire to hear my words. I’ve lost all that I gained when you were here.”
    â€œYes, the Indians work hard, but don’t forget the cost of the caravel
Santa Margarita.
More than forty thou sand pesos. Provisions, five thousand. Not to mention thousands for captain and crew, servants, soldiers, bowmen, cannoneers, and so forth, which I’ve paid and con tinue to pay.”
    The jungle steamed around us. Don Luis paused to wipe his brow.
    â€œFirst,” he said, “we think of our empty coffers. It won’t be long until we are settled on our new island. I heard in Hispaniola that it’s a place of surpassing beauty. I’ll build there a chapel with many bells and erect a great golden cross for all the Indians to see and wonder at. Be patient, Julián—you’ll save many souls.”
    To this moment in my life I’d had the childish habit of swallowing, like a hungry troutlet, most promises that were offered to me so long as they were seasoned with flattery.
    â€œI’ve been patient and it has served me ill,” I said. “The chapel with many bells and a golden cross would mock me, for I am a seminarian, not a priest, as I have said before. I wish to return to the village of Arroyo and my school. I am heartsick because of what has hap pened here.”
    Don Luis squinted. “Ships don’t sail every day for the village of Arroyo.”
    â€œThen the first that does sail.”
    â€œPatience, Julián. You’ll still live to be a bishop.” He reached in his cloak. “By the way, here’s something that I got for you in Hispaniola. It’s been blessed by the bishop, by Bishop Zurriaga himself.”
    He handed me a beautiful rosary of gold beads and a cross encrusted with black pearls.
    Â 
CHAPTER 12
    B Y NOON S EÑOR G UZMÁN HAD COLLECTED HIS BAND, SIX IN ALL, AS well as the lone Indian who knew where his tribe had hidden in the past and where they were apt to hide now, and