The Cortés Enigma (25 page)

Ben was the first to reach them, sprinting while Colts languished behind. Standing so close up, he was at last able to make out features. The stones were made of granite, just like most other things on the island. Also like most on the island, they were dark grey, particularly the upper portions, which had been recently darkened by the weather.

At face value, there was nothing particularly outstanding about them, apart from their size. From reading the diary, Ben had expected inscriptions or drawings, some kind of evidence of Aztec influence. As an expert on the Aztecs, the inclusion of the three crowns on the Cortés coat of arms was no major surprise. Records suggested Cortés and Montezuma had befriended one another – at least in the early days.

That said, Ben knew there could be another reason for the inclusion. Like the nine Aztec lords, they were men of importance who Cortés had conquered.

Ben looked at the stones, trying to determine their exact importance.

Shrines to the respectable dead? A spoil of war?

Each side was smooth and well balanced. Various plant life grew profusely nearby, the most common being the daffodil.

Hardly a plant from Aztec history.

Ben looked along the sides, studying every detail. There were markings cut into the stone, precise and incredibly smooth. There were four identical cuts, appearing like miniature stairways. Sure enough, all four sides were the same, perfectly symmetrical.

He laughed to himself, almost in disbelief.

“Something funny?” Colts asked.

“Yes, actually. Among their many customs, the Aztecs built shrines dedicated to their gods, most notably Quetzalcoatl. To honour the gods, temple stones were engraved into the shrines, most commonly simple large boulders, as a mark of homage.”

He showed Colts what he meant, and immediately Colts understood. It was like looking at a small Aztec pyramid.

Buoyed, Ben circled the Montezuma stone impatiently. Finding nothing new, he examined the second stone.

“There were three crowns on the coat of arms,” Ben began. “Dedicated to Montezuma, Cuauhtémoc and Cuitláhuac.”

Despite the difficult pronunciations, Colts knew the names: Cuauhtémoc, cousin of Montezuma and successor of Cuitláhuac, Montezuma’s younger brother. Like the Montezuma stone, there was evidence of four stairways, though these appeared more weathered.

Ben ended with the Cuitláhuac stone and noticed something else, something unmissable. There was a marking on the east side, the side facing the sea. It was four sided, like a flower, its petals pointing to every part of the compass. If his memory served him correctly, the symbol was revered in Aztec culture, as they believed that the coming of Cortés marked the end of their fourth age.

And the start of a fifth.

Again Ben found himself feeling agitated. The inclusion of Aztec symbolism almost suggested a general acceptance of Aztec beliefs by whoever carved them. Cortés was no Aztec; despite his respect for the cities, he was the man who brought about their downfall.

Could they be shrines? Had Cortés – or his granddaughter – brought home the ashes of the slain Aztec emperors and buried them here?

Colts was practically speechless. Though he coveted Ben’s expertise, he knew enough to validate what he saw. “Where to now, captain?”

Ben sought answers, but for now had none. Slowly he was becoming dejected. A magnificent find awaited, but one he knew he was unable to figure out alone.

He wished TF was here.

Valeria returned to the heart of the house, first the kitchen and, second, the shower. Four hours in the depths of the former cellar had left her delicate skin with cuts and bruises and dirt all down her face and hair.

Worse still, she’d broken a nail!

She left the shower after fifteen minutes and changed into the first clean clothes she could find, jeans, blouse and a sweatshirt. Disregarding her appearance, she returned to the lighthouse, and entered the old light room about midway up the main stairway.

The room had changed in fifty years; now almost a museum. There were things there, things that had been salvaged.

Things others knew nothing about.

The view through the windows was the most extensive on the island. North-east, the outlines of Tresco and St Mary’s were visible, the wider communities hidden by a ghostly haze.

To her left, there was an object by the window, large and antique. According to its history, it had once belonged on St Lide’s. A hundred years had passed, but it was still standing, every last detail visible.

She smiled to herself as she looked upon it.

After seven long years, the journey was at last coming to an end.

Cortés jumped to his feet, blazing with passion. “Here.”

The shout was for Pizarro, who was lying on the bed. Under the circumstances it had seemed the only constructive thing to do.

He leaned over Cortés, looking at the same book they had been speaking about earlier, opened to a double page on the desk.

Pizarro had no idea what he was looking for.

“Here.”

He read the page, then again a second time. As he finished reading, his eyes locked on Cortés.

“Go find the others. We have work to do.”

34

5:45pm

Ben had a sudden thought.

He was wrong about the four-petal flower. The interpretation that it represented the four ages of the world, and the coming of the fifth, was only one of several possibilities. Other potential meanings included the four seasons – the four cycles of the sun. The cycle of the sun was of central importance to the Aztecs. Tens of thousands of citizens lost their lives at the top of their mighty temples in a bid to ensure the sun would rise again.

Still, it didn’t sit right. There were other possibilities, Ben was sure: four points of the compass being the most likely.

In which case it was pointing south!

To Tenochtitlan.

The Queen’s Castle.

Ben followed the path as it wound to the left, following the natural line of the cliff. About two hundred metres on, he stopped. Plant life flanked the path on either side, continuing all the way to the edge of the cliff. Colours ranged across the spectrum; he recognised species from the guidebook: daffodils, sea thrift, dwarf pansies and orange bird’s-foot.

Suddenly he remembered something else written in the diary. TF mentioned flowers on St Lide’s, not ordinary flowers, but cacti. The prickly pear cactus didn’t grow in the Isles of Scilly; the thought was ridiculous.

He knelt down, standing precariously close to the edge of the cliff. Were his eyes deceiving him? He placed his hand to it to be sure.

Ouch!

No question.

He had touched a prickly pear cactus.

Again Colts was slow to catch up. “Cacti. Only place it grows for a thousand miles.”

Ben looked at the alien flowers below him, amazed. What is obvious to some isn’t to others. What is hidden from some remains visible to others. He remembered a quote from Sir Isaac Newton that the secret of accurate observation wasn’t due to any specific skill other than keeping the subject of inquiry squarely before one’s eyes and returning to it in the cold light of day when the sleep-deprived mind is replaced by one of new vigour. In truth, Ben no longer knew how he was feeling – whether he was happy or sad, confused or merely amazed. Was this all a dream? A nightmare, maybe?

The prickly pear cactus didn’t grow naturally in England; he didn’t need to check any sources to be sure of that. Heading to his right, he saw more cacti appear along the edge before disappearing suddenly.

Start to finish they had covered less than three metres in width.

The Cortés coat of arms had included a large city on the waves at the south-east quarter: the city of Tenochtitlan on Lake Texcoco. According to the Spanish visitors, three great causeways connected this island to the mainland, each one straight and narrow, located at three points of the compass. The city, meanwhile, sat, almost floated, on a circular island engulfed by the valley of Mexico.

The conquistadors described it as paradise.

Standing on the cliff edge, the ruined castle rising up in front of him like the great city Cortés adored, Ben had a vision. A bridge had once existed at the point where he now stood, one of three, each at separate points of the compass. Excitement was again building inside him, a feeling that he was on the verge of finding something. He followed the grass to his right, coming to a point ninety degrees on from the last.

He looked down, astounded.

More cacti, exactly the same.

He continued, not stopping until reaching the opposite side of the former lagoon. On the ground were more cacti, only now accompanied by clear physical evidence of what was once a bridge, most likely made from granite.

He moved further to his right, stopping after twenty metres, the end of the cliff. He looked around, above and below. To his left, a gap of approximately one hundred and fifty metres separated him from the other side of the cliff. Standing with his arms folded, his eyes on the waves that crashed against the rocks below, his mind began to recall what Kernow had said.

Part of the cliff had broken away, creating the bay where previously there had been only a lagoon.

Just like the great city in Mexico, the Queen’s Castle had sat in the middle of a lake.

He looked away from the castle, down on the six caves. As he looked to his left, he saw it.

A seventh cave was in plain sight, located less than fifty metres away. Its location suddenly made sense. It was at the southernmost tip of the island: the part of the coat of arms that included a lock. It was the seventh cave.

Just as TF had described.

For the first time since Chris had disappeared, Ben allowed himself a genuine smile. The meaning of the seven caves was significant, and not just geographically. It matched another Aztec myth, a story of creation. The Mexicans had called it Chicomoztoc. An Aztec Garden of Eden.

He looked at Colts and began down the slope, heading toward the cave.

“Wait,” Colts said, catching him up and grabbing hold of him. “In an hour’s time that whole cave will be completely submerged.”

Ben took a breath. He was so caught up in the moment he had forgotten to think. Although he was frustrated, he knew Colts was right.

Entering the cave could be fatal.

Restless, he turned, his eyes on the entrance to the castle. He remembered TF had expressed the hope that there was a second entrance within the castle itself. Ben was still to see the castle from the inside. Like many from the period, it was made of stone and had a strong outer curtain wall and one surviving square tower.

He crossed the bridge, a modern metal structure that had clearly not existed in TF’s day. As he entered through the gateway, he immediately looked upwards. The curtain wall continued on both sides, its substantial defences rising over twenty feet into the air. The courtyard floor was now nothing but grass, save the occasional outline of something manmade. Wild flowers grew freely, their thick stems invading the gaps between the stones, weakening the foundations.

Five minutes later Ben had toured the inner courtyard, the kitchen and the great hall and found himself in a small area down a set of stairs.

A chapel, according to the sign.

Again his thoughts returned to the four-pointed petal. He remembered the symbol could also be used to represent the Virgin Mary, and a chapel dedicated to her, in theory, made perfect sense.

His first thought was to investigate the wall, but where he had expected symbology and ornate carvings, what he actually saw was the last thing he had expected. On the other side of an empty room, a strong thick wall had been partially destroyed. There was debris on the floor, but piled neatly, which suggested to Ben its destruction was definitely not accidental.

Without question the damage had been done recently.

Ben had two possible choices. He could either follow the pathway and establish once and for all whether there was anything in TF’s theory or he could turn back.

The choice seemed obvious.