Gold of the Gods by Bear Grylls Page A

were anchored in the bay,
their pennants fluttering in the breeze.
    For a moment he stared at them in disbelief,
unable to move a muscle; unable to
quite believe what he was seeing. But something
else had caught his eye now: rowing
boats were being lowered into the water
from the decks of the ships and Beck could
hear the gruff shouts of the crew over the
sound of the waves. The men in the boats
were shouting up to those on the ships as
chain gangs loaded supplies over the rails.
Meanwhile, pairs of oars were emerging
from the sides of the rowing boats as they
bobbed up and down in the swell.
    And now another more precious cargo
was being lowered slowly and carefully
down to the men in the boats. The objects
were long and thin, and before each one was
handed down, powder from a leather pouch
was poured into one end before being
rammed home with a long stick. With a
shock of recognition, Beck realized what
they must be.
    Turning their prows towards the beach,
the rowing boats were soon coming fast
towards him. Near the back of the first boat,
Beck could see a man, who was clearly the
commander of the boat, shouting orders.
Sitting calmly while the men around him
rowed, he fixed his eyes on the mountains
beyond the beach.
    Spread over his knees was a parchment
and he was moving his head from side to
side, scanning the land ahead of him. As the
boats came closer, Beck was able to make
out the man's features in more detail. He
reeled back in shock. The profile of that
long, straight nose was unmistakable.
    Then Beck heard a shout. The men at the
front of the lead boat were pointing in his
direction. And they did not look friendly. A
glint of steel flashed in the sunlight and the
oarsmen redoubled their efforts as the boats
changed direction and headed straight
towards him.
    Beck felt his legs sprinting up the beach,
along the path through the mangrove
swamp towards the village. He could see the
villagers standing outside their huts,
nervously awaiting his return. The white of
their long tunics gleamed in the hot
sunshine as anxious faces peered at him.
The men of the village were shouting now.
Women and children were gathering in the
village clearing and Beck could hear the
screams of the children as they grabbed hold
of their mothers' tunics. Above the
commotion he could hear the sound of a
baby crying.
    Panic began to spread and the women
and children were soon running out of the
clearing towards the safety of the jungle and
the mountains beyond. The men were
clutching spears and had spread out across
the path beyond the entrance to the village,
crouching among the trees behind the line
of the mangrove swamp.
    At last a tense silence fell. Beck was kneeling
on the path in front of the villagers. And
then he saw what his heart most dreaded.
The commander himself was advancing
along the path towards him. The man's
beard was more ragged than in his portrait
and the eyes more cruel. But Beck knew for
sure now who he was looking at.
    His legs felt weak as he tried to rise from
his crouching position in the undergrowth.
He could see every detail now, every slight
change of expression, on the man's face.
Behind him, the men from the rowing boats
were strung out in a line, scanning the
horizon nervously from right to left. And
then, as the arc of the man's gaze crossed his
own, Beck froze. There was no doubting it
now. He was staring into the eyes of the
twins' ancestor, the famous conquistador,
Don Gonzalo de Castillo.
    For a moment no one moved. Beck's ears
were burning and he could hear every sound
in minute detail. The sailors were breathing
heavily and he could hear the chink of chain
on metal. Behind him, in the forest, the call
of a hummingbird sounded like a song from
an opera. In front of him, a tiny bird with
bright yellow feathers and a hooked beak
was flitting among the white flowers of the
mangrove swamp.
    Gonzalo raised his arm, his palm facing
towards Beck as if giving a sign of peace. In
response, the men of the village