When dawn broke, Sergeant Legazpi summoned the captain to report the discovery of a cellar beneath the ruins of the rectory, where a chest containing fifteen hundred gold doubloons and another filled with a quantity of silver reales had been found. Captain Sepúlveda descended into the cellar accompanied by his officers, but they soon had to withdraw—according to the captain, because of the foul air; Hans, observing the scene from a distance, suspected it had more to do with the spiders.
After the inspection, the captain had himself shaved, his curled wig properly powdered, and his blue coat buttoned before summoning the cacique and the pirate to appear before him inside his tent. The officer frowned as he regarded them: the cacique stood silent, gripping his staff of command, while Rafael, hands bound, remained quiet. In a shadowed corner, the Jesuit watched the scene closely.
"So you knew nothing of this," the captain asked the cacique through the regiment's interpreter.
The cacique replied, and the interpreter translated:
"The chief says he was unaware of the place beneath the rectory," said the young indigenous man.
The captain turned to Sergeant Legazpi, who stood with rigid bearing.
"Was there anything else inside the cellar?"
"Only these discs," he said, holding them up.
The captain took them, examined them, and returned them; the officers then picked them up and studied them with curiosity.
"And what of these pieces?" the captain asked Rafael.
"Trinkets we found in the cenote," said the pirate.
The captain glanced at the cacique, who met his gaze.
"These metals were not forged by men of this land," said the cacique. "According to the old chronicles, these wheels were made by ancient minds who came from a world on the other side of the sun."
The officers remained indifferent.
"Well, their wheels served nicely for target practice," Rafael retorted.
The men exchanged faintly amused looks—except the captain, who regarded both the cacique and the pirate sternly before turning to the sergeant.
"I thank you for your tales, cacique," the captain said dismissively, then to Legazpi: "Did anyone else enter that place besides you and your men?"
Legazpi lifted his chin resolutely, though unease stirred within him.
"No one, Captain. Once we discovered the trapdoor and went down, we made sure no one else had access."
The officers studied the sergeant with severity before shifting their attention to Hans.
"Father, were you aware of the existence of the cellar beneath the rectory?"
Hans raised his brows, calm and composed.
"I had no idea it existed, Captain."
The captain and his officers observed him in silence.
"Were there more riches inside the cellar?" the captain asked, sinking into his campaign chair.
Rafael arched his brows and tightened his lips.
"Well, if there were, all was stolen by the runaway slave."
"Does that man have a name?" asked the bespectacled officer taking the minutes.
"Kwame Batiste, from Senegal—a fugitive slave from Cartagena de Indias," said Rafael.
"In complicity with the Jesuit, he stole part of the treasure, and I'm certain the priest knows where the rest is."
The captain turned his gaze on Hans.
"What have you to say for yourself, Father?"
Hans sensed the pirate's mocking glance but answered with his usual composure.
"I insist that all Mr. Rafael says against me is mere slander, Captain," he replied. "If I knew of such riches, you would be the first to know."
"Forgive me, Jesuit, but weren't you the one crawling through the Mayan temple in search of treasure?" Rafael pressed.
Hans remained silent. He'd learned that inquisition courts could twist even the truth into a confession.
"You can't even answer—because you're a fraud. A Lutheran dressed as a Jesuit monk," spat the pirate.
Several officers exchanged amused looks at the word monk. Rafael frowned.
"What are they laughing at?" he asked in English.
"They're laughing at your ignorance of Catholic institutions," Hans answered evenly in the same tongue.
"Enough," the captain cut in. "The priest will have his own hearing. As for you—why didn't you mention this hiding place?"
"I thought it was all destroyed, Captain," said the pirate.
"You could have mentioned it," insisted the captain.
Rafael gave a mordant smile.
"Captain, there was an explosion that reached the very gates of Heaven. Everything flew apart, consumed by the flames of Hell, and came crashing down like the fallen angel himself. When we saw the light again, we were prisoners of the sergeant here present, and our redoubt was nothing but memory."
The captain looked to Legazpi, who nodded. Then he swept his gaze across the room and, with a gesture, ordered the chests secured and everyone dismissed. The cacique left the tent, followed by two soldiers escorting Rafael back to his confinement. As the pirate passed Hans, he gave him a mocking grin that made the Jesuit uneasy. Soon the tent was cleared, except for Hans, who lingered quietly in a corner.
The officers began reviewing the situation. One lit his pipe, releasing the acrid scent of tobacco, while the captain quenched his thirst with a bottle of wine.
"Mister Padilla," the captain ordered the bespectacled officer writing on a folio, "prepare a report. Inform that my regiment, under my command, liberated the village, captured a group of seditious pirates, and uncovered bullion and other precious metals, which will be sent at once to Mérida. As for you, Sergeant Legazpi"—he turned to face him—"you will return with your detachment to the presidio of Bacalar."
Legazpi arched his brows slightly, pressed his lips together, and bowed.
"And the Jesuit?" he asked.
The captain glanced up at Hans.
"Still here?"
All eyes turned toward the priest.
"Do you require something, Father?" the captain asked impatiently.
"Pray forgive my intrusion," said Hans. "I have already delivered the required letters to one of your officers."
"I've reviewed your documents," the captain replied curtly.
"I appreciate your diligence, Captain. I request leave to resume my assigned duties."
The captain leaned back in his chair.
"You will be sent to Mérida along with the dispatch carrying the report and the valuables found," he said. "Once there, you'll remain in custody until your order issues a Letter of Confirmation or Certificate of Clerical Status. After that, you may do as you please."
"Is that necessary?" asked Hans, slightly dismayed.
"If I say it is, it is," said Captain Sepúlveda flatly.
Hans nodded.
"When do we leave?"
"Good question. What transport do we have available to depart immediately for Mérida?" the Captain asked.
One officer pursed his lips.
"The Cienfuegos is anchored in the Bacalar lagoon," he said. "If they ride hard, they can reach it by nightfall."
"Then they shall leave at once. I trust you can ride, Father?" said the captain, fixing his gaze on Hans.
The Jesuit nodded.
"What of the prisoners?" he asked.
"They'll be sent to the Bacalar presidio while we await the governor's orders, " the Captain replied.
"May I speak with Rafael?"
The captain shook his head.
"No. Best prepare yourself—or I'll have you tied to a mare."
Hans inclined his head.
"There is one more matter I wish to raise concerning the runaway slave," he said.
"Father, we're not interested—unless it helps us catch him, "the Captain said.
"Once again," Hans continued, "the cacique's daughter and I owe him our lives. I ask that his actions be considered if he's ever captured."
"Nevertheless, he broke the law. He's a fugitive slave who stole property belonging to the King. You may go, Father," the captain concluded.
Hans turned to leave.
"I have only one question," said the officer with the patch over his eye.
Hans paused.
"Regarding the Franciscan missionaries," the man began. "The cacique claims they fled when the pirates arrived; the pirates say they were already gone. Yet we suspect something darker—considering our experience with uprisings in the region. What's your opinion?"
Hans pressed his lips together and shook his head.
"When I arrived," he said quietly, "this was already Rafael's ministry."
With that, he left the tent, followed by Sergeant Legazpi. Outside, the soldiers, aided by indigenous and mulatto assistants, were preparing the horses for departure toward the Bacalar lagoon—a day's hard ride ahead—while distant thunder rolled from an approaching storm.
"You're lucky, Father," said the sergeant walking beside him. "They've assigned you a horse, while we'll be marching back to Bacalar on foot through the rain."
"I feel guilty, thinking I've deprived one of the officers of his mount," Hans said.
The sergeant turned and gave a thin smile.
"Don't worry, Father—it belonged to an officer who died of yellow fever on the way here."
The soldier walked off, and Hans watched him go. For a moment, he felt the weight of death settle once more in the humid air. A low rumble of thunder answered in the distance.