The Jesuit and the cacique's daughter walked toward the plaza; it was, for all intents and purposes, the soldiers' parade ground, with artillery pieces—unused—resting to one side. The horses had been stabled near the well, where they were given shade and a trough, and the great officers' tent presided over everything.
"Well, Father… this is where your adventure ends. I suppose we won't see each other again," the girl said.
"The Lord's ways are unpredictable… we can never know if our paths will cross once more," Hans replied.
"I have a suspicion it will be soon, Father," she said, slipping a small leather pouch into his hand. Hans took it, surprised, and looked at her.
"You'll need them," she added.
"What is this?" he asked, confused.
"Doubloons," she said, with a wink.
They reached the captain's tent, from which he emerged followed by his officers.
"I'm ready to depart," said the Jesuit.
"You should make haste," the captain replied. "Don't let the storm catch you."
Hans nodded and was about to head for the horses.
"But first," the captain added, "I need you to say Mass."
The Jesuit looked somewhat taken aback.
"Of course… though I don't have the sacred vessels to celebrate the Holy Mass."
The captain signalled to one of his men, who returned carrying an old saddlebag and handed it to Hans.
"Everything you need is here."
Hans opened it: inside were the sacred objects. He looked up at the captain, questioning.
"They belonged to the chaplain, Don Fernando Islas y Fuentes," the captain explained, "but he died of yellow fever on the road from Bacalar."
Minutes later, before an improvised altar covered with a white cloth that flapped in the wind—the storm drawing ever closer—the entire regiment attended the Mass. Soldiers, officers, indigenous auxiliaries, and a few villagers watching from a distance followed the rite devoutly. The captain, however, watched Hans closely, more to ensure he was following the Tridentine Roman Rite than from piety. He had yet to put aside his suspicions about the Jesuit.
At the end of the service, Hans raised his hand and traced the sign of the cross in the air.
"Benedicat vos omnipotens Deus, Pater, et Filius, et Spiritus Sanctus."
The soldiers answered in chorus: "Amen."
Hans lifted his gaze. Before him lay the ruins of the old, shattered church and the battered redoubt. Only a granary remained, where the pirates were kept prisoner. Around them the jungle stirred in the damp, electric wind, as if it had come to life.
"Ite, missa est," he said.
"Deo gratias," they replied.
"All hands to your posts!" the sergeant shouted. The camp burst into motion while the troopers hurried to their mounts, made skittish by the rolling thunder.
Hans removed his stole and carefully put away the sacred objects. He arranged them in the saddlebag and handed it to a young mulatto who had served at the Mass. The bottle of wine used for the consecration was also given back to the officers.
Then he approached the captain.
"I thank you for your protection, and above all for allowing me to depart—even if only to Mérida."
"Once you have shown what is required of you, you will be a free man, Father. I wish you luck in your mission," the Captain said.
Hans saluted the officers and stepped out of the tent.
"Something tells me he'll keep getting himself into trouble," the captain remarked, dropping into his chair and pouring what remained of the consecration wine.
"He carries a tragic air about him, Captain," said the officer with the pipe, lighting it again.
Magdalena accompanied Hans to where his assigned horse awaited. The German checked the saddle and set his belongings in order.
"Well, this really is goodbye," Hans said. "I wish you good fortune in life… and may God always guide you."
"I doubt I'll have much trouble," Magdalena replied with a half-smile. "I have nine who can guide me when your God won't listen."
The Jesuit arched an eyebrow, amused by the remark.
"I'm still intrigued by the fate of the Franciscan missionaries," he said in English.
"It happened when I was very small," Magdalena answered in the same tongue. "I've only heard they were cruel men who, through terror and mortification, forced the people to renounce their ancient rites."
"And they destroyed interesting information," Hans murmured.
"They say that for their sacrilege," she went on, "the nine gods punished the people with drought and hunger. And when the pirates arrived, pretending to be Jesuit missionaries, they laid a feast and fed everyone. Since then, that night has been known as Ak'abil p'u'ujil: the shameful night."
Hans frowned, fearing the worst.
"Was your father complicit, like the rest of the village?"
Magdalena lowered her gaze and shrugged.
"We were victims of circumstance… and in the end we were punished by the very ones we had welcomed as liberators. Until, by intercession of the god of compassion and balance, you arrived. The H-men linked you to Kukulkán."
Hans then understood why they had placed copal at his feet.
"I am only a poor man, lost among his doubts and imprudence," he said, with a faint smile.
Several soldiers approached with the courier. They loaded the saddlebags onto two horses and tightened the girths.
"Listen," Hans said in English, taking Magdalena by the shoulders. "Many things will change from today. You will be under the shadow of the Empire… but it may be a chiaroscuro of the times to come."
"That is what frightens us," Magdalena replied, "but we will endure."
Hans smiled, patted her shoulder, and traced the sign of the cross over her. Then he mounted, gathering the reins. Sergeant Legazpi stepped forward.
"Fortunate for you, Father, that you've been assigned a horse," he said. "My men and I will go on foot to the presidio, escorting the pirates, splashing through the mud while a torrential rain falls on our heads."
Hans smiled and looked up at the grey clouds lowering over the town, loosing their first drops.
"I'm grateful for the kindness; I'm sorry to take the mount and leave its rider afoot."
"There's no need to apologise, Father," the soldier replied. "It's the chaplain's horse—the one who died of yellow fever."
A chill ran through Hans at the words.
"I wish you luck on your journey, Father. My men and I thank you for the courtesy," said the sergeant.
"And the same to you and your men," Hans answered, giving them his blessing.
The sergeant squared his shoulders and crossed himself, as did the soldier at his side.
"Before we let you go, I have orders from Captain Sepúlveda to inspect your pack," he said.
Hans looked at him, puzzled, then removed his satchel and handed it over. The sergeant searched through it, drew out the bundle wrapped in banana leaves, and peeled it back to reveal the telltale gleam of metal. He fixed Hans with a hard look.
"It's only a keepsake," Hans said, uncomfortable.
The sergeant passed it to a soldier and muttered, "Throw it down the well."
Then he turned back to the Jesuit.
"Father… don't tempt fate," he said, touching the point of his tricorne in respect.
Hans sighed and nodded. The courier raised his hand and spurred his horse, followed by two soldiers armed with muskets and swords. Hans did the same. The small party set off.
The Jesuit turned one last time; Magdalena was waving, watching him go, until the ring of hooves was lost in the sounds of the jungle and the tinkling rain on leaves and palm-thatch roofs.
The sky was swathed in black clouds and the air smelled of wet earth as the riders dug in their spurs and galloped beneath the tight canopy. Hans breathed out at the thought of leaving with his life—though with more doubts than before. He had found the temple of Hun-Hunahpú, which had revealed yet another secret; he had seen the distress in everyone's eyes when they looked at that image—one that might have been painted by Tiepolo—and had chosen not to speak of it. And then there were those discs, said to set in motion the bones and sinews of the Mo' K'in… In the Jesuit's mind they became pulleys, cogs, and mechanical arms moving with the precision of clockwork—like the devices he had seen in Nuremberg—perhaps turning a beacon towards some point on the horizon.
He recalled the old student debates at the "Fat Boar" tavern, a favourite among the seminarians in Dillingen: over tankards of beer they argued about the maps of Athanasius Kircher, which placed Atlantis off the American coast, sunk beneath the sea but leaving traces in the Antilles and the Canaries; and the chronicles of Jesuits like Francisco Javier Clavijero, who proposed that the ancient inhabitants of those lands might be descendants of an antediluvian people—the Atlanteans of Plato. There was even talk of drowned temples and columns glimpsed from passing ships.
And then a notion struck him: what he had seen—scaffolds and "primitive" tools in the temple of Hun-Hunahpú—might they be technological remains of an antediluvian civilisation? After all, his grandmother used to say the von Lübeck were descended from a people who had hidden among the forests yet knew the principles of craft; for that, they had called her mad, he thought… Perhaps he had inherited her ravings. It was a bitter pity the codex had been lost, Hans thought.
"Hey, Padre—spur up!" one of the troopers shouted, tugging him from his thoughts.
Hans blinked and put his heels to the horse, quickening the pace as the rain fell harder, threading through the foliage that closed over the path.
A group of men hidden in the undergrowth watched them pass and waited until the noise faded. Then they stepped from the brush, carrying a wild boar slung from a pole by its tied legs. There were five men; behind them came a woman in a white huipil, her face veiled to the waist, a staff in her hand. The party crossed the path and slipped into the jungle.
The hurried crackle of leaves grew louder. They all stopped and crouched among the bushes; through branches and fronds they saw a pair of boys appear.
"They're Tunich and Tz'ikin," one of the men whispered.
The leader gave a soft whistle; the youths halted, looked about, and the men rose from hiding.
"The cacique sent us for Ah'Nab'," one of the boys said.
The leader nodded. The woman stepped out from the foliage. On seeing her, the boys bowed with respect.
"Let's hurry and bring the kill to the Spaniards to distract them, while you escort the maiden back to the village."
The men, the boar on their shoulders, set off at once; the boys guided the woman into the depth of the jungle just as the rain intensified and the sky began to rumble.