Esteban

You came all this way to find me? You’re quite mad.
To trek from Barcelona to Riyadh

just to ask some questions for a book
on Templar Knights and all that gobbledegook –

it’s foolishness, my friend. I hope there’s some
cure for your hot-browed delirium.

Please, sit. I have some spare kubbat maraq.
Eat it. Rest yourself, unbend your back.

No wine, I fear. They’ve outlawed alcohol.
For heaven’s sake, put down the pen and scroll.

I’m sorry that your trip’s not more rewarding,
but there’s not much I can say that’s worth recording!

I follow in the footsteps of my father,
travelling from coast to coast, or rather

zig-zagging, or spiralling or skirting.
I guess sometimes it can be disconcerting,

but I drop in, here and there, on Tao and Zia
and even have a ‘Here’s to old times’ beer

with wily old Mendoza. You should talk
to them. I bet Tao’d help you with your book,

and Zia’s ancestry is far more rich.
Forget me. I’m not worth a single scritch.



Zia

I haven’t time – I’m sorry. I’ve a thousand and one things to do.
Esteban? How is he? It would be wonderful to see him again.
But as de la Gasca’s Quipucamayoc I’m one of few Incas

who can influence the Spanish, persuade them to let Inca
people continue their traditions. It’s something I must do,
or there will only be killing again.

I know, it will happen anyway. Again and again.
But if any of us have the chance to stall it – Inca
or Spaniard – then we must. Nothing else will do.

Do I know of the cities of … Again, I am sorry. I am only an Inca.



Tao

An interview? Yes, I’d be delighted.
‘A day in the life of Professor Tao,
last of the Hiva.’ That’s how to write it.

“The great professor furrows his brow.
‘It’s been quite a journey, my life,’ he says.
‘From island king to explorer, and now

scholar supreme, trawling vast libraries
for keys to the ancient world!’ The professor
indicates spoilheaps of books twice his size.

(The heaps, not the books – that’d be impressive,
books big as doorways). But professor, wait!
What of the cities of gold, the great treasure?

‘True, I discovered them. True, it was fate
guided me thus, since my ancestors built them.
But boy, there’s more to the world than that!’
he says, grinning broadly and scratching his philtrum.”



Mendoza

It’s been a while since anyone’s sought me out.

Killing time in bars like this one does
No good for any person’s reputation.
Oh yes, I should have guessed. You wish to know
Where to find the seven cities of gold.

Well, my friend, your luck is out, I fear.
How should I know? The only one I saw
Erupted into flame and swiftly sank,
Roaring, into swollen tongues of waves.
Everything I am is what you see:

Thirsty, washed up, had a few close shaves.
Hero? Hardly. Not much in the bank.
Even when I lurch beyond this shore

Gallows winds return me with a sneer.
“Old navigator, please! You might catch cold,”
Laughs the sea. All braggadocio
Discarded with my zeal for exploration,

I dole out stories, muffled by the buzz
Stirred up when talk of treasure gets about.