The Rosas Affair. Donald L. Lucero

nodded in understanding as he examined the three structures that rose before them. Adjoining the south wall of the principal church, a large structure with a central bell-tower and a balcony over its main entrance, was a modest multi-room adobe convento. Its rooms were arranged around an interior courtyard. A covered walkway encircling the interior of the enclosure secluded a claustro, or square court. On the west, the convento itself was of two stories.

      Parallel to the main church and abutting it on the north was a smaller church with a window above a large doorway. Fronting the three parallel structures was an atrio, a walled and fortified enclosure of large size, which appeared to double as an exterior chapel and cemetery. Taking a large swig from his leather wine skin, Rosas and Gomez, dismounted and walked through the atrio, where they were met by Custos Juan de Salas, principal of the Santo Domingo church and convento and dean of New Mexico’s ministry. An individual with an attractive face topped by a high forehead, he stood there with Fray Manso who had ridden ahead of the two men. Formal greetings followed, after which the four walked through the convento’s archive room which was finished with wood—and, Rosas thought, set with remarkably fine furnishings—to a small table that had been placed in the patio by an Indian porter. Additional Indians, cooks, gardeners, and waiters, could be seen in the patio and through the open doorways of interior rooms as the Salas party, passing through a dimly lit labyrinth of passageways, made its circuitous way to the patio. Upon entering the interior court, they were surrounded by birds of every description, flitting over, underneath, and through the covered walkway, landing to eat seed that had been spread for them and for a beautiful wing-clipped parrot hopping happily about the flagstone court. A large garden, grape arbor, two peach trees, and a stone-lined well graced the southern end of the compound. Fray Salas bid the group sit on the chairs the Indian porter had also carried there.

      When they were seated, Rosas provided the opening salvo saying, “Two churches and an atrio! You must have an enormous number of worshipers, Father.”

      “Yes, we do,” Salas responded with pride, “we’ve been very successful in our conversions here and at our visita of Cochiti, and, also, among the Jumanos of the plains where our work was assisted by the Mother of Agreda. We use the atrio as an accessory chapel from which to administer the sacraments on Sundays and on other occasions when the faithful cannot be accommodated within the church.”

      “Facing the mihrab, I assume,” Rosas remarked disrespectfully smiling first at Fray Manso and then at Custos Salas.

      “Not Mecca,” Salas responded, answering the taunt, “but God. Outdoor worship violates the idea of the mystical body of the Church, but it’s what’s required here by our circumstances.” He smiled first at Fray Manso, and then at Francisco Gomez and the governor. “We’ve had to make many accommodations here,” he added. “Undoubtedly, he said, speaking directly to the governor, “your Lordship will find that he must do the same.”1

      “I’ll do whatever’s required to place civil government and secular authority on a secure footing, even if I have to find a demented nun to assist me in my pursuits,” Rosas said, smiling again but getting no response to his irreverent comments.

      * * *

      Bread and ripe apples, grapes, wine and fresh cheese were placed before them, the cheese taken from a box that was kept in the cool well where it was held in reserve, along with meat, milk, butter, and other food. They continued with their meeting in brilliant sunshine.

      * * *

      “I don’t know how much you’ve been told, or what questions you’ve asked of Fray Manso as you’ve come on your journey, your Lordship,” Custos Salas said politely, “so please forgive me if I repeat anything you may have already been told regarding our ministry.” Determined, urbane, and politically cunning, the former Provincial of Jalisco and Michoacan—whose office was analogous to that of territorial governor—Salas had served his various apprenticeships well leading to his present position, to which he had been recently assigned, as custodian of his Order. He cleared his throat and began with the details of the Franciscan ministry, memorized for delivery to each of the dignitaries who came up the trail.

      “Previously,” he said, “the ecclesiastical superior in the colony held the title of comisario, which implied temporary authority only, delegated by our mother Province of the Holy Gospel in the city of Mexico. Fray Juan de Escalona, who is buried in our church here, held that title. We’re set up differently now,” he explained, while looking about the table at the three men. “We’re now an autonomous unit, with a chapter, definitors, and our own prelate and father custos, or custodian, an administrator elected by the Holy Gospel Province in Mexico. I hold the titles of prelate and father custos now,” he said, while chewing on a new apple, “but others in our Custody of St Paul, most recently Fray Esteban de Perea, who founded the mission of La Concepcion at the Pueblo of Quarai, and who presently serves New Mexico as agent for the Holy Office, have been previously honored—or burdened, I know not which—by these responsibilities.”

      “And how many priests are you now?” the governor asked, glancing at the cowled figures he saw throughout the courtyard.

      “The Crown has agreed to subsidize the work of sixty-six missionaries, your Lordship, most of whom are now in place, grouped in twenty-five missions or conventos, spread up and down the valley of the Rio del Norte and in pueblos far distant from here.”

      “So why are you here at this pueblo, rather than in Santa Fe?” Rosas asked rudely, “is the villa so bad that you have to hide here?”

      Custos Salas, who appeared to be censoring what he wished to say, waited a long moment before responding, seemingly looking for assistance from his fellow cleric.

      Finally Fray Manso interjected, “The decision to separate our headquarters from those of the governor was made by our prelate, Fray Alonso de Peinado, more than two decades ago,” Manso explained, “to establish Santo Domingo as the ecclesiastical capital of our adobe kingdom. It seemed best, I’ve been assured, to separate civil and religious authority here. It was, I think, the best solution to the difficulties previously encountered.”

      “Difficulties?” Rosas asked. “Of what difficulties do you speak?”

      “Difficulties between Church and State,” Salas responded. “Difficulties such as those presented by Governor Eulate in his administration of the kingdom,” he said, while brushing crumbs from the table and then scattering them along the flagstone floor for the birds to eat. Salas waited for a long moment before continuing, careful, it appeared, to ensure that the Indian servants who worked around them would not hear his remarks. He continued then in a dark tone. “He was a petulant, tactless, irreverent soldier whose actions were motivated by an open contempt for the Church and its ministers and by an exaggerated concept of his own authority as the representative of the Crown. When I spoke with him regarding this—his authority as representative of the Crown—he said, ‘The king is my patron.’ The king is my patron!” Salas railed before catching himself and then continuing in a more guarded tone. “Can you even imagine one speaking in that manner?” he asked in exasperation. “He was a man more suited to operating a junk shop than to holding the office of governor!” No longer able to contain his anger, he exploded, “A bag of arrogance and vanity without love of God or zeal for His divine honor or for the King’s. A man of evil example in word and deed, he did not deserve to be governor but was rather a hawker and a creature of his vile pursuits!”2

      “Of what vile pursuits do you speak?” Rosas asked with undisguised interest.

      “Of authorizing slavery, forced labor, and sweatshops,” Salas whispered. “And he attempted to undermine the priests in their work here.” Continuing in a whisper, Salas added, “He said that we didn’t work and that all we did was sleep and eat, while married men went about diligently working to earn their necessities. When I think of his words,” he said sadly, “I think of my brothers, Fray Francisco de Letrado and Fray Martin de Arvide, who were killed by the Zuni just five years ago, and of Fray Francisco de Porras who was poisoned at Hopi just a year later. My priests did not enslave the Indians as he did,” Salas said angrily, the volume returning to his voice. “Rather, they died in ministering