El Fundador 〈Simple〉

"That is a stick," the governor said.

"Yes."

He came with twenty armed men, a scribe, and a brass inkwell. He dismounted in the middle of the dusty square and looked around at the small, ragged settlement with visible disgust. El Fundador

Alonso pointed to the cross.

He walked to the center of the square and drew a line in the dirt with his heel. "That is a stick," the governor said

"This," he said, "is the plaza. To your left, the granary. We will build it tomorrow. Behind me, the church. We will raise its walls by the next full moon. And the census?" He turned to Huara. "My daughter will write it when she learns her letters."

The first time Alonso saw the valley, he wept. Not from beauty, but from exhaustion. His boots were shreds of leather wrapped in despair, his mule had died three days ago, and the men who had promised to follow him had turned back at the last mountain pass. He was alone. Alonso pointed to the cross

He had left Spain with nothing but a frayed map and a royal charter that granted him the right to "establish a settlement in the name of the Crown." The charter was worthless parchment now. The Crown was a distant rumor.

"What will you name her?" Huara asked.