A short pause, then he went on, “The Indians of New Mexico are required to pay tribute and Martinez knows the business of maize and mantas and skins. He can be made to pass the business on to you. That’s the way it is,” he said emphatically. “You’re to be paid two thousand pesos annually for your service as governor of New Mexico, hardly enough to get you there and to support you in anything befitting your position, and certainly less than the eight thousand you paid to secure the post. And, by the way,” he added, pointing a long bony finger at the new governor, “don’t forget that you owe me four thousand of that. We have to make a profit on our investment. And both the crown and the viceroy are prepared to tolerate our business enterprises so long as the sounds of weeping and wailing and the gnashing of teeth do not reach their ears. The decade of exemption for the Pueblos has passed,” he added, “and a workforce in New Mexico, both unpaid and forced, is readily available. Your plan should be as we sketched it: to divide and conquer. It shouldn’t be difficult, Luis. The colonists and Indians there carry either a candle or a club. Your goal should be as we outlined it, to castrate the colonists while separating both the colonists and the Indians from their priests. I look forward to receiving your mantas and skins when your carretas return with the wagon train,” he said again, smiling, while reaching for a bag that he had placed beneath the table and rising to his feet. “I give you this as a token of our contract.” The duke handed the governor a velvet bag in which a chess set had been placed. “To New Mexico!” he said as he raised his glass in a toast. “May it reward us greatly!”
2
Fray Tomas Manso and the Service of Missionary Supply
The governor dismounted from his horse in the shadow of the convento and proceeded to its gate, slapping at his thigh with the short whip he carried in his hand. Reaching the porteria (convento gate) of the walled enclosure, he tapped on it lightly with the butt of his crop, then more soundly, finally beating on its wooden staves with his closed fist. “Goddamn it!” he yelled, as the door opened to reveal a curious face. “Were you waiting for Father Francis’s steward to announce my arrival?” he asked repeating a proverb often used in Castile. “You did expect me, did you not?” he shouted, as he rudely brushed by the portero (gatekeeper) who had opened the door.
“Yes, your Lordship,” the servant responded meekly. “The fathers are at prayer. The walls are thick, your Lordship, and the cells are beyond the walls of the courtyard so that I did not hear you,” he explained apologetically with smiling scrapes and bows as he ushered the governor into an inner chamber. “Fray Manso will be with you in a moment.”
“In a moment,” the governor muttered to himself. “Tell him that I’m waiting!” he said emphatically, slapping at his thigh.
Procurator-General Fray Tomas Manso, who was responsible for purchasing and stockpiling missionary supplies for the northern kingdom, finally appeared in the doorway, his eyes sharp, discerning. Having never experienced the manner in which he had been summoned, the well-respected friar stood there surveying the man who had demanded his presence saying, finally, and with ill-disguised annoyance, “Please come with me.”
Fray Manso led the governor into the convento’s interior patio and then to a storeroom whose lock he opened with a large key kept on a chain that was hanging around his neck. Flecks of dust floated in the sunlight as he opened the storeroom’s huge oaken doors. Two 200-pound bronze bells partially blocked the entrance. Working their way around the bells, Fray Manso and the governor stepped inside.
Arrayed alongside one of the storeroom’s inner walls were oil paintings of saints in gilded frames and several huge illuminated choir books which Fray Manso said contained introits and antiphonies for various saints’ days. “These piles over here,” Manso said of the mounds heaped against the opposite wall, “contain forty pairs of sandals; twelve large latches for church doors with their locks, keys, and ring staples; and one-hundred and twenty Sevillian locks with their keys for the cells, or private rooms for my brethren. Those other piles,” he said, pointing to the back wall, “contain replacement parts, the supplies required for rebuilding our wagons, such as, spare axels, extra spokes, extra iron tires, and the tools required for their construction. And there is the equipment required for building a church, axes, adzes, small hand saws, long two-man saws, chisels, augers and planes, as well as the spikes, nails, pins, and tacks required to hold it together.”
“What’s in these?” Rosas asked, as he rapped on one of the many barrels arrayed about the room.
“The dry casks contain raisins, almonds, sugar, saffron, pepper, and cinnamon,” responded Fray Manso, “while the wet casks are filled with olive oil, peach and quince preserves, syrup, honey, wine, and vinegar. And these, of course,” he said of the damask vestments hanging from pegs on the wall, “are required by my brothers in their ministries. The colors alone should dazzle the natives,” he said with a satisfied smile.
They walked about the room with Fray Manso dutifully showing and explaining the need for each object. The governor, largely silent but in deep thought, tested the heft of the metal goods provided, lifting one of the lighter ones above his head and then dropping it onto its pile.
“And how many wagons will we have?” the governor questioned.
“We’ll have thirty-two wagons traveling in two groups of sixteen, two of the wagons allocated for your belongings.”
“I’ll need four wagons in addition to those I have,” the governor said.
“That’s impossible,” Fray Manso answered abruptly, his patrician face and lined forehead now betraying his anger. “What you see here is the result of eighteen months of work,” said the priest, brushing at the pale fringe of his hair. “We’re the only regularly scheduled freight and mail service to the Northern Kingdom, and we only go every three years. I’m sure that you would not ask that the friars be denied food or clothing merely to accommodate you,” he added in a haughty manner, while kicking at one of the large bells with a sandaled foot. “We can spare no more than two wagons,” he stated. “Perhaps you can purchase some of the things you’ll need from Governor Martinez. He may be happy to leave his possessions there so as to give him more room for the hides, salt, paintings, and pinon nuts he seeks to bring back.”
“I’ll not have cast-offs in my home,” the governor said, “nor will I wear bits and pieces or hand-me-downs. You must remember that I have a distinguished station to uphold or imperial influence will suffer. Whose wagons are these anyway?” he asked angrily.
“Well, it’s not all that easy to say,” Manso responded while shaking his head. “Initially, the cost of each wagon and its sixteen mules was paid for by the crown. To be exact, three hundred seventy-four pesos and four tomines. But we’re to assume the upkeep of the wagons and the replacement of mules, so is it a shared responsibility and ownership?” he asked with a shrug. “I don’t know. But as far as I’m concerned, they’re ours. They belong to the Custody.”
“Well, I don’t really give a shit who they belong to as long as I get my share,” responded the governor in kind. “I must have at least three of your wagons and where you put these other things is of no concern to me. My equipment and gear will be on your carts when we leave,” the governor said as they exited the storeroom.
Fray Manso placed the padlock in its hasp and did not respond, walking quickly through the patio and then down the hallway with the governor, leading him to the exit.
3
Francisco Gomez and the Baggage Train
The fardage, or baggage train, was composed of beasts and wooden carts, some of which contained the dishes, bedding, tapestries, and other possessions of
