FEATHERED SERPENT, page 10
Chicomacatl hesitated.
She turned to Feathered Serpent. He seemed to know what she was thinking and gave a signal to the other thunder lords.
There was a roar from the iron serpents, and clouds of white smoke drifted across the plaza. The crowd gasped, some fell to the ground in terror, others ran. Alvarado and a dozen of his soldiers climbed the temple steps, holding swords and heavy iron bars. When they reached the top, they knocked aside the priests and levered one of the stone idols towards the edge. It was Serpent Skirt herself.
The goddess fell, lurching sideways onto the topmost step, and then came crashing down. She had already broken into three pieces by the time she reached the plaza, stone splinters landing a hundred paces from where she finally came to rest, bloodying some of the crowd.
The thunder lords turned their attentions to Rain Bringer and Maize Mother. The crowd spilled back into the plaza, moaning like a giant wounded beast. They rushed towards the temple to protect their gods, only to retreat again as Bringer of Darkness rumbled down the steps, gathering speed before shattering into pieces at the bottom beside Serpent Skirt.
It was a wonderful, breathtaking sacrilege. She felt exhilarated and terrified at once. She smelled smoke. They had overturned Lord of Fire and the sparks from his crown had ignited the thatched roof of the temple.
Soon, a black pall hung over the temple. The wails of the Totonacs were deafening. The thunder lords formed a defensive perimeter around Feathered Serpent and Chicomacatl, their swords and pikes and thunder sticks trained on the crowd. It seemed impossible that just a few moments before, these same people were giving them their women and their devotion. Chicomacatl's niece was running in circles, wailing at the top of her lungs. Fray Olmedo was on his knees, hands clenched towards the sky.
Meanwhile Aguilar stood in front of the thunder lords with his sacred book clutched to his chest and regarded the Totonacs with an expression of benign forbearance.
Malinali heard her father’s words echo in her head: you are fated to find your destiny in disorder and destruction.
It had finally begun in earnest.
20.
Cortés drew his sword.
‘How many innocent women and children have been butchered by these heathens,’ he shouted to his soldiers over the baying of the crowd. ‘How can we count ourselves as Christians and honorable Spaniards if we allow this to continue? Let us count our lives as nothing if we fail God in this venture!’
The soldiers kept their order as the Indians surged forward. Benítez shouted a warning and pointed to the royal palace. Totonac archers were assembling on the roof.
Cortés grabbed Chicomacatl by the arm and held his sword to his throat.
‘Malinali!’ Aguilar shouted over the din. ‘Cortés says you must inform their chief that he is about to die unless he restores order!’
Cortés forced Chicomacatl to his knees. The edge of his sword had already drawn a trickle of blood from his doughy flesh. Malinali bent down and whispered to him in Nahuatl. He nodded in submission, babbling.
It took four of his own slaves to get him back to his feet. He addressed the mob, his voice a wavering tremolo and gradually a silence fell over the plaza.
The people fell back. Cortés had won.
The next day, Malinali looked on as the Totonacs dragged their shattered gods from the plaza with ropes. Rain Bringer and Maize Mother and the rest disappeared into the forest. Feathered Serpent had ordered them smashed and buried. Malinali knew that the people would hide them in the jungle instead, so that they could pray to them in secret, from time to time.
Another thatched temple was already underway on the summit of the pyramid, being built over the ashes of the old one. There was a new shrine, this one bright with flowers and illuminated by candles that the thunder lords had made from bees’ wax. Aguilar and Fray Olmedo sawed off the Totonac priests’ waist-length hair, which was caked stiff with dried blood. They burned their rank, black robes and gave them new white vestments to wear.
A wooden cross and a picture of the goddess that Aguilar called Virgin had replaced the old stone gods. Feathered Serpent himself had carried the likeness up the steps.
If only her father were here to see this.
21.
Cortés abandoned his camp in the dunes and set up a new one on the plain seven miles to the north of Cempoalan. He took possession in the name of King Charles the Fifth of Spain and named the place The Rich Town of the True Cross - Villa Rica de la Vera Cruz.
The men cheered him, even those who had formerly wished to go back to Cuba. After all, as Cortés had said, the gold wheel must be just the beginning. If they continued to build new colonies, soon every last one of them would be a governor in his own right.
The position of chief justice and captain-general - caudillo - of the new colony was declared vacant. The post was unanimously offered to Hernan Cortés, who humbly accepted.
The next day they set to work on building. There was to be a church, a marketplace, warehouses, a stockade, a hospital, a town hall and an arsenal, all protected by a high stone wall with watchtowers, parapets and barbicans. They would also construct kilns to make clay bricks, and smithies from the ships were put to work forging wrought iron. As part of the treaty Cortés had made with Chicomacatl, thousands of Cempoalans were recruited as native labor. But all the Spaniards helped with the work, digging foundations or carrying earth to the kilns. Even Cortés himself put his back into hewing logs.
Malinali and Rain Flower went to work in the hospital, assisting the Spaniards' only doctor, Mendez. Now they were away from the marshes there were fewer cases of fever and sickness, but Malinali proved her worth, preparing herbal remedies for a variety of ailments.
As the months passed, the new colony took shape. The Mexica waited and watched.
Malinali stood in the doorway as Feathered Serpent knelt before a wooden trestle that served as an altar in the half-finished temple. A wooden cross had been fixed high on the wall above a picture of Aguilar's goddess and her baby. He fingered the beads he held in his right hand, his face serene, oblivious to the banging of nails and the shouts of the moles around him.
It moved her beyond words to see him on his knees before the image of a woman with an infant. It was testament to his gentleness and his strength. The picture must remind him that in his last incarnation he was a priest, serving the gods. Now he had returned to destroy those same gods and bring them a new divinity, a gentle god, not a bringer of war, destruction, and deception.
How could a goddess with a suckling baby be the harbinger of anything but good?
She saw Norte, bare-chested, heading across the plaza, some rough-hewn timber over his shoulder. She called out to him in Chontal Maya. ‘Norte! Will you help me?’
He put down the logs. ‘If I can, my lady.’
‘Come here, please.’
He approached, cautiously. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘I want you to talk to your lord for me.’
‘Why me? What about Aguilar?’
‘Because I want him to hear my words, not Aguilar’s.’
Norte agreed, reluctantly. He followed her inside the church and waited for Feathered Serpent to finish his devotions.
Her lord stood up and smiled. The smile changed to a frown when he saw Norte.
‘Ask his forgiveness. Tell him I did not mean to disturb him while he was with the gods,’ she said to Norte. ‘There is something I must ask him.’
There was a swift exchange between the two men. ‘He says that there is nothing to forgive. He is very happy to see you.’
She hesitated. How could she say this? ‘Tell him that I have seen through his disguise. I know who he is.’
Norte stared at her. ‘What?’
‘Have you not guessed? This is Feathered Serpent.’
He laughed. ‘This man is no god, believe me.’
‘Just tell him what I say.’
Norte shrugged and did as she asked. Her lord stared at her for a long time without speaking. Finally he murmured an answer.
‘There, I told you,’ Norte said.
‘What did he say?’
‘He does not know what you are talking about. He's just another Spaniard, like I am. Except he’s greedier and more ruthless than most.’
Another exchange.
‘He says he wants you to leave,’ Norte said. ‘But I have to remain here. He'll probably have me flogged for this.’
Malinali did not understand. Had she made him angry? She started to say something else but Norte cut her off.
‘Just go! Don't anger him further. You don't know this man like I do.’
She looked at Feathered Serpent but this time there was no secret smile of conspiracy, no glint of amusement. Somehow, she had offended him.
She hurried away.
Cortés studied the unappetizing creature in front of him, his ragged ears and tattooed face. A traitor, a degenerate and a heretic, but for the time being, useful. ‘What was that about?’
‘She thinks you are Quetzalcóatl - the Feathered Serpent. He is one of our... one of their gods.’
Cortés noted the slip of the tongue for future reference. ‘And why does she think that?’
‘Your appearance, perhaps. Feathered Serpent is tall, with a fair complexion and a beard. But mostly it was the manner of your arrival. The people have a legend that Feathered Serpent would return on a raft from the east and save them from the tyranny of the Mexica. Among the people of the coast it is an article of faith. A cult, if you like.’
‘So that is why they received me in Cempoalan as a liberator?’
‘It is just superstition.’
‘And you, Norte, do you think I am this Feathered Serpent?’
‘I am a Spaniard, my Lord.’
‘You were once. One day you may become one again. But you have not answered my question.’
‘I think you are a Spaniard like me, my Lord.’
‘May God strike me dead if I ever become like you. Thank you for your service. Now you may return to your work.’
Sunlight dappled the surface of the water. Spider monkeys howled as they glided through the canopy of trees. Malinali was bathing alone in a stream when Aguilar appeared on the bank, his face flushed from running, his robes stained with sweat. She saw him steal a guilty glance at her body before he turned away.
‘I have been looking everywhere for you!’
‘And now you have found me.’
‘You must dress.’
‘I can listen to everything you say as easily when I am wet as when I am dry.’
If I must listen to him rant, she thought, I can at least keep him at a disadvantage. Let him try to intimidate me with his back turned.
‘Who is this Feathered Serpent?’ he said.
She cupped some water in her palm, leisurely anointed her shoulders with it. ‘Feathered Serpent was once a man, the priest-king of the city of Tollan, before the time of the Mexica. He was a just and kind leader who abolished all human sacrifice and made Tollan the most wonderful city in the world. But his great enemy, Smoking Mirror, was jealous of his power and tricked him into drinking too much pulque, a strong liquor. He made him so drunk he seduced his own sister. The next day Feathered Serpent was filled with remorse and sailed away on a raft of serpents into the east. He always vowed he would return and reclaim his throne in the year One Reed. This is the year One Reed.’
‘Witchcraft and heresy! There is only one god!’
She dipped her head in the water, and wrung out the long tresses of her hair. What a fool. How could there be only one god? She wondered why Feathered Serpent kept company with him. If not for his ability with tongues, which was a limited talent at best, he must serve no useful purpose at all.
‘Is this what you have been telling the Mexica about Cortés?’ he shouted. A man ranting at the trees. If only he knew how ridiculous he looked.
‘I only ever repeat what you say to me.’
‘And the Totonacs?’
‘I do not tell the Totonacs what to believe.’
‘Do you realize you could destroy him! No man may lay claim to divinity!’
‘If the people think he is Feathered Serpent, it is no fault of mine.’
‘You don't understand! If these people think Cortés is a god then they cannot truly believe in Christ. It means they are not true Christians and they will roast forever in eternal torment! That is the sin on your head!’
Malinali rose from the water and dried herself with a cotton cloth. She was in no hurry to dress. Let Aguilar continue to address the ferns and zapote trees. ‘You accuse me wrongly. I have relayed your words exactly, Aguilar.’
‘I pray that you are right!’
She put a hand on his shoulder, felt him stiffen. He was more frightened of one naked woman than he was of the whole mob that wanted his blood in Cempoalan. ‘I would never do anything to hurt him,’ she whispered.
‘I will pray for you,’ he said, and walked away without a backward glance.
She did not understand Aguilar's anguish but she could not ignore the warning. From now on, she must be very careful.
22.
It was not the palace he had dreamed of. Cortés’ headquarters had a floor of beaten earth, the walls were clay brick, the roof constructed of thatch. But at least it laced him firmly in this new land. There could be no going back now.
He put quill and parchment aside, interrupting the letter he was writing to the King of Spain and regarded his two visitors.
His great treasure, Malinali, kept her gaze demurely to the floor. Aguilar stood next to her, awkward and thin, his hatchet mouth a study in piety.
Cortés slapped at an insect on his neck. ‘I want you to ask Malinali to tell me more about the capital of the Mexica, this place they call Tenochtitlàn. She has told me that she went there once, as a child.’
Malinali replied softly to the question.
‘The woman asks what it is you wish to know,’ Aguilar said. ‘She will do her best to search her memory.’
‘She has said the city is built on a great lake. Can the city then only be reached by boat?’
‘She says Tenochtitlàn is connected to the mainland by three causeways,’ Aguilar answered. ‘There are bridges on the causeway, made of wood, which can be removed quickly in the event of an attack, making the city impregnable.’
Impregnable, Cortés thought with a smile. How often had he heard men say that about a woman or a city? ‘And what is the town like? Is it like Cempoalan?’
Malinali became animated. Cortés thought she would never stop talking, words spilling from her in a rush. Aguilar spoke quickly also, to try to keep up with the translation. ‘She says it is much bigger and incomparably more beautiful than Cempoalan. She says on the outskirts of the city are what the Mexica call chinampas, islands of mud that have been built in the water and that are used to grow crops. The suburbs are adobe and thatch houses, like the ones in which the Cempoalans live, but at the center of the city there are many large temples and palaces, too many to count. She says that the population is numbered not in thousands, but in hundreds of thousands.’
Cortés was disappointed. All these natives were prone to exaggeration, and he had hoped Malinali might prove an exception. It seemed he was wrong. Hundreds of thousands? That would make it the largest city in the known world, and it was impossible for savages to construct anything on the same scale as Venice, Rome, or Sevilla.
‘Ask her, if a force of men were able to get over one of the bridges, could the city then be easily invested?’
Malinali seemed to understand immediately what he was asking.
‘She says it is impossible to take Tenochtitlàn by frontal assault. The houses all have flat roofs and parapets, like Chicomacatl's. The warriors could use them as forts.’
They would have to find some other way inside.
‘Thank her for her wisdom,’ he said to Aguilar.
Aguilar leaned forward. ‘Should we pay so much attention to the word of a savage?’
‘I shall be the judge of that.’
‘But my Lord...’
‘Be silent or you will regret it!’
Aguilar obeyed. Cortés drummed his fingers on the table. ‘I have one more question to ask of her. I need to know more about the relationship the Mexica enjoy with their neighbors. Are the Totonacs the only people who struggle under their yoke?’
Malinali had much to say on this subject.
‘She says the Mexica have many enemies inside the federation,’ Aguilar translated. ‘I think what she is saying... I do not understand everything… but it would seem that the Mexica are regarded as upstarts in the Valley of Mexico, that they have attained their dominance through brutality. She says they demand heavy tribute from all the tribes under their dominion, and there is great resentment against them. There is even one republic permanently at war with them.’
‘Indeed?’
‘She says it is called Texcála, the Land of the Eagle Crags. It is situated in the mountains between here and Tenochtitlàn.’
‘I see. Well, thank her kindly for me, Brother Aguilar. She has been most helpful. Tell her I may wish to speak with her again later, but that is all for now.’
As Malinali rose, their eyes met. There was no mistaking that look from a woman, even a native. He looked back at Aguilar, who had not missed this moment of commerce. He was still waiting, apparently thinking that he would now be consulted privately.
‘You may go also,’ Cortés said to him and noted the look of wounded pride on the deacon's face.
When they had gone, he considered his position. The idea that had insinuated itself in his mind was not so much a plan as a gamble. But why not take it? What else was there for a man of his years but to die or claim his fame and fortune?
So many men worried over danger, as if they would live forever, and left their destinies unclaimed. One thing he was sure of: if a man did not choose his moment of risk by the time of his middle years, the rest of his life would pass by in a moment and be done. He had promised himself, when he left Extremadura, that he would either dine with trumpets or die on the gallows.
