The Cortés Enigma (31 page)

After turning to its last page, Pizarro threw the diary down onto the bed.

“Hey! Hey!” Cortés exclaimed, immediately inspecting the book for damage. “This is antique. Collectible.”

“It says nothing,” Pizarro retorted, getting to his feet and pacing restlessly around the room. He scratched his head and punched the nearby table, causing a lamp to move. Alvarez and Busquets remained quiet, clearly disturbed.

“You have that mad look in your eye, Fernando.” Cortés waved his finger, as if a teacher telling off a pupil. “Patience.”

“Patience, patience…my whole life has been patience. This achieves nothing.”

Cortés picked up the diary, silently relieved the cover and pages had not been torn. He brushed lightly against the leather with his fingers, inspecting it for damage.

“The work of Thomas Maloney is of great historical significance.” He spoke with emphasis. “Even without the treasure, these pages are not without value.”

He opened the diary toward the end, looking at the diagram TF had made of the stained-glass window.

“Tell me what you see?”

Pizarro looked at the page, firstly from a distance and then nearer. He was looking at a freehand-drawn diagram of a stained-glass window, apparently one that had once existed in the church at St Lide’s. He examined it quickly and, “Aha!”

Cortés was far less animated. “I believe we may have come to the right place after all.”

41

What lay behind the door was not what Ben had expected. Rather than being a simple extension of the cellar, what started off as an underground street, like those famed in Edinburgh and Rome, became a well-constructed tunnel that continued in a straight line.

His first thought was for the torch – that and his feet. With the light shining, he saw the tunnel was arch-shaped and constructed out of the rock. Thick layers of granite surrounded him on every side, its hard grey exterior absorbing more light than it reflected. Up ahead, the passageway was becoming wider and higher. Ben estimated it was at least ten feet in height and the same in width.

Large enough to march an army through.

“What was it used for?” he asked, suddenly noticing the effect on his breathing.

“Smuggling,” Valeria replied, her own breathing much more controlled. “Sometimes for moving supplies. Take little breaths. It affects the lungs.”

That seemed an understatement.

The tunnel was shorter than Ben had anticipated; he estimated a quarter of a mile at the most. It ended with a slope, first to the left then the right. There were things on the ground, no ordinary debris.

Ben got down on one knee and examined what looked to be an ancient tool, possibly a sickle. “What is this place?”

“I tell you before. Don’t ask silly questions.”

He raised his head and put his hand to his woolly hat, dropping the sickle as he stood. About fifty metres further along he saw iron bars on both sides of the tunnel, joined together to create a series of cells.

The clearest evidence yet the area had once been used as a dungeon.

Breathing was becoming ever more difficult. The smell was different, powerful and dreadful.

Faeces, water and rock.

“Take short breaths,” Valeria repeated. “Soon your body will adjust.”

He coughed, “When was the dungeon in use?”

“Only in the Civil War, I think. Fortunately you only have to stay a few minutes.”

Ben stopped for a longer breath, standing with his hands pressed down on his knees. When he looked up again, he saw the light was disappearing.

Valeria was walking on without him.

He increased his pace, losing her in the gloom and nearly bumping into her.

“Careful.”

Ben bit his lip. “Where are we heading?”

“You’ll see.”

The passage continued. There were cells on both sides, the iron bars rusted but otherwise in good condition. In the darkness, making out shapes was becoming all the more difficult. Though his eyes were adjusting to the light, the way remained lit only by the light of the torches. The smell had changed, but not improved. He sensed wetness, possibly mixed with something else.

Valeria continued to lead, following the direction of the tunnel. Up ahead, the walls opened up, revealing a large, square chamber. Ben shone his torch in every direction, focusing on the walls and ceiling. As the seconds passed, he began to find his bearings. He estimated the room to be about twelve metres by ten, not quite a perfect square but pretty close. He recognised things, statues – several of them. They reminded him of the two that guarded the mausoleum.

He remembered TF had mentioned that statues like those had also lined the corridors of the castle.

He shone the torch in Valeria’s face. “You knew about this place?”

“Yes. Only until now I never know why.”

Ben was sceptical. “Care to elaborate?”

Valeria shone the torch on the nearest wall, the left side of the room when viewed from the entrance. Like those in the passage it was of stone construction, light grey colour. While every wall in the room was made of stone, there was something about this one that made it stand out. The central area was more solid, without cracks and cement. Stranger still, there was clear evidence of writing etched into the stone with a sharp instrument.

Ben read it, almost speechless. Like the mausoleum, it said: ‘A blank wall is a fool’s writing paper’, only, unlike the mausoleum, there was a second line:

‘A wise man’s too, who knows the truth, as his Majesty will do very soon!’

Ben looked at Valeria, smiling inanely. “Oh my God.”

“You understand?”

The question was almost impossible to answer. “According to Díaz–”

“Who?”

“Cortés’s biographer.”

“The soldier?”

“Yes. According to him, an identical message was added to the wall at Coyoacán. Apparently some of his men were of the opinion Cortés planned to cut the Spanish Crown out of the deal.” He looked at the wall, reading the words one at a time. “It must be of relevance.”

“It might not be,” she replied.

“What else can it mean?”

“It could mean…yes, you say the Star Castle was changed in the Civil War?”

“Yes.”

“And the castles often change hands.”

Ben saw what she was getting at. “You think Francis Godolphin planned to cut Charles I out of the treasure?”

She hesitated. “Possibly.”

Possibly was probably the right word. More likely, it would be impossible to ever know for certain.

Ben walked close to the wall, feeling the area lower down. There was a strange handle on the wall: what seemed to be a stone ornament that extended into a perfect circle. Looking to his right, he noticed the floor sloped in the centre of the room, while an identical circle was located on the opposite side.

“It’s a tlachtli,” Ben exclaimed.

“Excuse me?”

“A tlachtli,” he said, finally understanding the strange set up of the chamber. “It’s a replica of the court the Aztecs used to play the game ullamaliztli.”

“You mean the ball game?”

“Yes,” Ben said, feeling the surface of the circle with his hands. “The opposing sides had to get a rubber ball into the hole using only their elbows, knees or hips. According to some variations, the ball wasn’t even allowed to touch the ground.”

Valeria’s attention was taken by an object located in the corner of the room. It looked like cannonballs stacked into a solid triangle.

She walked toward it and touched the one at the top, which was not attached to the others. She picked it up and felt it, comparing it to the others. She was half right, she realised. While the others were cannonballs, hard, small and cold, this one was lighter, she guessed about 4kg, and made of rubber.

“This what they used?”

Ben had already noticed. He accepted the ball from her and walked toward the stone circle.

Suddenly he felt the floor move.

The barman was too busy to notice the latest visitor enter through the main doors of the North Atlantic. Colts made use of the timing and sneaked behind the counter and then through the kitchen.

Rumour had it a great treasure was buried beneath the Star Castle. He’d also heard about the tunnel that connected the inn to the castle.

Though he accepted it existed, he’d always assumed that it had been constructed by smugglers.

The chef was also indisposed, leaving Colts unobserved to enter the cellar.

The question was where did it lead?

42

Ben had expected an average vacation. The discovery of TF’s boat would be fascinating more than relevant: he and Chris would sip some drinks, do a little exploring, check out the local talent, maybe find a bit of closure to the story of the great Thomas Francis Maloney.

The week was turning out to be anything but ordinary.

The floor was an exact replica of an original Aztec ball court. Though the light was poor, in the last five minutes he’d seen enough to create a mental blueprint of the room.

A circle had been mapped out in the centre of the court, flanked by four long and narrow rectangles, two on either side: the colours, red, white, green and yellow. That part of the floor was flat and even, whereas on either side it was elevated, rising at an angle of some twenty-five degrees up to where the circles jutted out.

Like the original courts in Mexico, the so-called goals were located at exactly the midpoint on either side.

Ben picked up the ball and headed toward the nearest goal. As he did so, something strange happened. The wall opposite the writing half opened, and a stone screen emerged, covering the pitch like a roof over a football stadium.

“Ben!” Valeria screamed.

Ben’s reactions were immediate. He dived to one side, losing the ball as he covered his head with his hands. Though the screen missed him, it was so low he was unable to get higher than his hands and knees.

“I have to play the game.”

Valeria was standing by the side of the court, looking desperately for any sign of Ben hidden beneath the temporary roof.

“What’s happening?”

Ben took a deep breath, composing himself. He recovered the ball in his hands, and started to make his way across the court. The ground moved from side to side, causing him to lose balance. Movement was only possible if he stayed low.

He climbed up the raised platform, now less than five metres from the circular goal. The area was slippery, far worse than he had anticipated. No sooner had he made it to the top than he slipped off.

The ball was not allowed to touch the floor – fourteen years studying the Aztecs had taught him the basic rules. Other rules stated no carrying of the ball.

As far as he was aware, there was no referee.

He secured the ball inside the waist of his jeans and headed for the raised platform. Succeeding at the second attempt, he made his way quickly across the slippery slope and stopped on reaching the circle.

He grabbed hold of it to help maintain his balance, fearing one bad step would cause him to fall again. Using his left hand for support, he removed the rubber ball from his jeans and pushed it through the hole. The fit was tight.

But it went through.

No sooner had he succeeded, he heard a second noise. Seconds later the roof disappeared, returning to its original position within the far wall. Almost immediately there was further movement: as in the mausoleum, the wall with writing on it opened up like a doorway, revealing a second chamber.

This time it was Valeria who was the first to enter, heeding Ben’s earlier warning about possible booby traps. On this occasion, the layout of the room was easy to make out. There was light entering from somewhere, not much but enough to make out outlines. There were ornaments on the walls, including a long unused fireplace. Shining the torch, Ben could see items of heraldry, swords mounted in a crossing position, shields, suits of armour, things that would look at home in a great hall.

That was when he saw it. A large rose-shaped object attached to the wall above the fireplace.

At least twelve feet off the ground.

Valeria was so excited she almost forgot about the obstacle. She moved closer to the wall and jumped as high as she could, raising her right hand.

Ben laughed but without amusement. “You might want to grow another couple of metres first.”

She retorted, “If you have a better suggestion, I’d very much like to hear it.”

He didn’t, but he knew from past experience there would be a solution nearby, be it a ladder, steps, a rope…

He looked around, examining every square inch of the chamber with his torch. Nothing.

There was a mantelpiece above the fireplace, old but sturdy.

“Here, help me up,” he said to Valeria, passing her the torch and accepting her hand for support. Ben climbed the mantelpiece carefully, holding the wall as he rose all the way to his entire six feet two inches. The wall was cold and rough, its exterior coated in cobwebs.

“Still too low,” Valeria said, shining the torch on the area where Ben had his hands. Looking up, the eight-pointed rose was still over a metre out of reach.

“Get up,” he said.

“Excuse me.”

“There’s no other choice. You’ll have to get up on my shoulders.”

Valeria was mortified. The entire depth of the mantelpiece was surely less than a quarter of a metre.

“I’ll fall.”

Ben looked back with a unique expression. “No, you won’t. I promise I won’t let go.”

His words sounded reassuring, but she failed to trust his expression. She shone the torch on the replica emerald and pursed her lips, deep in concentration.

She’d come this far, she thought.

She accepted Ben’s outstretched hand and felt herself being pulled up to the mantelpiece. She slipped as she tried to make contact with the shelf and grabbed Ben tightly, heart in mouth.

“Relax,” Ben demanded, still holding her hand tightly. He looked her in the eye, doing his best to reassure her. “Two seconds. Up then down. That’s all we need.”

Valeria took a deep breath to compose herself. “How do we do this?”

Ben turned away from her and bent forward. Taking another deep breath, Valeria climbed onto his back, as if being given a piggyback ride. As Ben straightened his back, she felt the balance shift, forcing her backward.

“Careful.”

Valeria was furious. “It’s you who should be careful.”

Ben extended his back as far as it could go. “Can you reach it?”

Valeria turned to her right, straining. “No.”

“You need to get up higher.”

Again, she strained.

“You need to stand.”

The words brought her new fear.

“Come on. I’ve got you.”

Unconvinced, Valeria held her breath, doing her best to motivate herself for the challenge. She crossed herself, muttered a short prayer in Spanish and did everything she could to ignore the sound of Ben laughing.

She straightened her back, using Ben for support.

“Ow.”

“Sorry,” she said, half glad she’d poked him in the eye. Standing almost entirely on Ben’s hands, she extended her legs as far as she could, pressing her right hand against the wall to keep her balance.

Slowly, she was getting there. Slowly but surely, nearer and nearer, now just inches away.

She touched the rose with her fingertips; surprised under the circumstances how warm it was – as if it was somehow generating its own heat. She moved her fingers further along the base, eventually getting one hand beneath it.

“You got it yet?”

“Don’t rush me.”

“You’re not getting any lighter.”

Straining, Valeria pushed the replica emerald from beneath and felt it become looser from its attachment. It was heavy, more so than the others she had touched, and had clearly not been moved for some time. The holders were deeply entrenched, perhaps even forming their own grooves. Failing to dislodge the emerald, she tapped it. Softly and then harder.

Slowly it was coming, definitely looser. As she moved her hand, she felt it come free.

Bouncing onto Ben’s head and hitting the floor.