Feathered Serpent (16 page)

———————

The Feathered Serpent comes to me in the night, slipping and hissing through the darkness. Like I knew he would, as he knows he must.

He whispers to me: my sacred one, my sweet one, the one desire of my heart. The heat of our bodies fills the little room where I sleep. He ignites me. I am like cold water thrown against a hot wall.

I whisper to him also in the elegant tongue: my lover, my lord, my destiny here on this earth.

What our bodies do is a mirror of our minds. I wish desperately to be a part of him. He takes possession of me quickly, striking like a serpent, in a rush. I am left breathless, woken from sleep, and he is lying between my legs, his breath hot and laboured on my cheek, my body tender and bruised from his onslaught.

“I have wanted this from the moment I saw you,” he murmurs.

He thinks I do not understand him. He does not know that from that very first day I have been learning the language of the gods. I wonder when I will tell him how much I hear, how much I know.

But not yet. It suits my purpose, for the moment, to be a shadow on the wall.

By the light of a single candle I make out the chiselled lines of his face, even the flecks of grey in his beard.

“I wish I knew what you were thinking. Such liquid eyes I have never seen on a woman.” He laughs. “Alonso said you were cold.”

The candle dances in the draught.

“You don’t understand a word I’m saying, do you?” he says and looks disappointed. His hand cups my breast. “I wonder if we are all the same to you?”

He is gone before dawn, and the sunrise is still, without a murmur of breeze. I lie awake, I have not slept. I am planning to capture the wind. I am laying schemes, weaving dreams, my life is pregnant with possibilities now, a squealing litter of hopes, blind and thrusting.

Guzman was standing in the doorway. Cortés looked up from the dice. One by one the officers gathered around the table grew silent.

“What is it?”

“The woman, Doña Marina. She is outside,
caudillo
.”

Alvarado grinned. “Perhaps without Puertocarrero she has an itch to scratch,” he said and the others laughed.

Cortés silenced them with a glance. “Bring her in,” he said.

Guzman went back outside and moments later re-appeared with Malinali.

“Get Aguilar,” Cortés said to Guzman.

“No,” Malinali said, in Castilian. “No Aguilar.”

The Spaniards stared at her in astonishment.

“Leave us,” Cortés said to Guzman. He turned back to the girl. Well. “You can speak Castilian?”

“Speak slowly ... for me ... please. Then ... I understand.”

Cortés laughed. What a wonder. But of course, she had been with them for nearly three months now, living with Alonso, as well as nursing their sick and wounded. A bright girl like this, she would have paid attention. He wondered how long she had been able to understand all that was said around her, and why she had only now decided to reveal her secret.

“You are to be commended,” he said, delighted.

“They will steal ... your canoe. Tomorrow.”

Cortés stopped laughing. “Steal?” He realised that by "canoe" she meant one of the
Nao
s or brigantines in the anchorage. “Who plans to steal from me?”

“Leon ... Ordaz ... Diaz ... Escudero ... Umbral.”

Alvarado cursed under his breath as she recited the names of the conspirators.

“How do you know this?” Cortés said.

“They talk .... they do not take care ... what they say. They think ... I do not understand.”

“Traitors!” Sandoval hissed.

“Fortunately God has sent an angel to watch over us,” Cortés said.

“What are we to do?” Alvarado asked him.

“We have been patient long enough. It is time we removed our velvet gloves and showed them the iron beneath.” He turned to Jaramillo. “Get Escalante and a dozen men. Arrest all of the conspirators now. No, wait. Leave Father Diaz. Just the other four. Bring them to Alvarado in the stockade. We shall learn the truth of this matter.”

Alvarado jumped to his feet. “It will be my pleasure,
caudillo
.”

His captains rushed from the room, eager for the chance to finally revenge themselves on the Velásquistas. Cortés was left alone with Malinali. Once again you have saved me! he thought. And once again I have underestimated you.

“Thank you,” he said.

This time she did not lower her eyes. Instead she spoke some words in
Nahuatl
that he did not understand: You do not have to thank me. You are Feathered Serpent. My destiny is with you. 

Alvarado’s shirt was stained with sweat and there was blood on the cuffs. He looked fatigued from his night’s work. Cortés had not slept either. He sat behind the great table, his face dark with anger, his decisions already made.

Outside the first grey light of dawn stained the sky.

“What did you discover?” Cortés said.

“Escudero proved to be stubborn.”

“How stubborn?”

“Oh, he talked,” Alvarado said. “Finally.” There was a jar of Cuban wine on the table. He poured some into a pewter mug and slated his thirst. The red wine stained the corners of his mouth and soaked into his beard. “They all talk eventually. A piece of sail canvas and a few buckets of water and they all talk.”

“Who was with him in the conspiracy?”

Alvarado appeared reluctant. The news cannot be good, Cortés thought. Alvarado pushed a list of names across the table. Cortés ucked in his breath. He was shocked. He had not realised the Velásquistas had so many sympathisers. He must keep this knowledge private or risk the loyalty of the rest. Besides, if his future plans were to come to anything he would need every man he had.

Well, almost every man. One or two must be sacrificed in the name of discipline. “So many?”

Alvarado picked at the dried candle grease on the table. “They planned to seize one of the brigantines and make their way back to Cuba under full sail. They hoped to warn Velásquez of Puertocarrero’s mission and have him intercepted.”

A vein swelled at Cortés’ temple. “Who was to be their pilot?”

“Juan Cermeño.”

“Cermeño,” he muttered. Pilots, at least, were expendable for he had no plans to sail anywhere. “We must not allow the other men to know the extent of the mutiny. We will make an example of the ringleaders and pretend Escudero kept silent for the rest. Those who are not punished will give thanks to God for their good fortune and be especially diligent with their loyalty in the future.” He considered a moment, scanning the list. “Hang the pilot, Cermeño. I can spare a few sailors on a land campaign. And of course this dog, Escudero.”

“What of the others?”

“Any mariners on this list, give them two hundred lashes. The sailors are less use to us than the soldiers.”

“What about Fray Diaz? And then there’s Ordaz and that goat fucker Leon.”

“We cannot touch a churchman. Let Diaz think we do not know of his involvement. As for the other two ... Leon is a good fighter and Ordaz is a veteran of many Italian campaigns. We need them. I will show clemency. They can sweat in the stockade until they agree to a formal oath of loyalty, duly notarised.”

“So just Cermeño and Escudero then?”

Cortés consulted the list again. “There are many good men here.”

“Still, it would be better if we had one or two more swinging from the tree to remind the others of what their fate might have been. What about Norte?”

“I do not see his name on the list.”

“Does it matter? He’s a troublemaker and he’s dispensable now.”

Cortés nodded. “All right. Let Norte join the others on the scaffold. None here will weep for him. Do what you have to do.”

———————

The two men waited on the scaffold, the heavy manila rope looped around their necks. The pilot, Cermeño, was crying and had to be held upright by the soldiers. Escudero remained defiant, staring over the heads of his comrades who had gathered to watch him die. There was blood on his shirt, and he looked ill.

A court martial had been hastily convened an hour before. The chief magistrates of the town council, Grado and Avila, had pronounced sentence.

There was a table in front of the gallows and the official warrant of execution lay on it, as yet unsigned. Cortés finally appeared, accompanied by Alvarado and Diego Godoy. He wore the suit of black velvet he had worn to welcome the Mexica. He walked slowly across the plaza, his head down. He stopped in front of the table, looked up at the men on the gallows and appeared to hesitate.

The sun had just risen over the ocean, throwing long shadows over the fort.

“You must sign these warrants of execution,” Alvarado said.

“This is indeed a heavy duty,” Cortés whispered.

“
Caudillo
, these men committed rebellion against you! They have betrayed every one of us here. There is only course of action open to you.”

Cortés shook his head. Finally he picked up the quill. “Better that I had not learned to write, than to use my signature for the death sentences of men.” He signed his name to the warrants and walked away.

The drums rolled.

Three men stood behind each of the victims. At a signal from Alvarado jerked on the free ends of the ropes and Cermeño and Escudero were hauled up, legs kicking at the air.

Rain Flower watched, choking back her grief. Norte was to be next.

———————

It took Benítez some moments for his eyes to adjust to the darkness inside the stockade after the harsh light of the plaza. Norte was huddled in a corner of his cell, his head between his knees, his shirt soaked with sweat. It was already breathless-hot inside the gaol, one small window high in the wall the only ventilation.

His wrists and ankles were in fetters.

“Did they hang Cermeño and Escudero?” Norte whispered.

Benítez nodded. “Two hours ago.”

“Fray Olmedo wanted my confession. When I would not give it to him he seemed concerned that I might not find my proper place in heaven among the saints. He even sent Aguilar to plead his case for him.”

“That is not why I am here. Your confession is a matter between you and God.”

“Is it time? They have kept me waiting long enough. Do they know how frightened I am? Is someone enjoying this?”

“There has been a stay of execution.”

Norte made a sound that could have been laughter or tears. “Why?”

“I pleaded your case. I said you had language skills that might yet prove valuable to us. I made the point that although your time with the
naturales
had left you soft in the head, you were not dangerous. I struck a bargain on your behalf.”

“Why?”

“I am not a complete barbarian.”

“But you despise me.”

Yes I do, Benítez thought. Why could he not keep his mouth shut and let this dog hang? But every man has his own sense of honour and he could not let this stand.

He had been present at the court martial that morning; there was nothing to be done for Cermeño or Escudero. If Escudero had a brain in his head, he would never have Agreed to join the expedition. Years ago, when he was a constable in Santiago, he had arrested Cortés, at Velásquez’s request, on a contrived charge. Putting himself in reach of the
caudillo
’s claws on such a journey was the hallmark of an arrogant fool.

Norte was another matter. Jaramillo had been present at Escudero’s interrogation and he had told Benítez that Norte’s name was not on the list of plotters. Norte was innocent, and for Benítez that was the heart of the matter.

No matter what else I think of him, justice should be inviolable. A man should not hang for a crime he did not commit.

“I am helping you because what they wish to do to you is not just. That is all.”

Norte thought about this a moment. “You said something about a bargain.”

“You are to swear an oath of loyalty to Cortés and you will then be placed in my charge. You must also agree to take up arms and fight under our banner. Do you accept the terms?”

“You are a very strange man, Benítez.”

“Because I believe in justice?”

“Because you don’t use justice for your own ends.”

“I am still waiting for your answer. I shall not wait too much longer.”

Norte rested his head against the wall. “Among the
naturales
I was an amusement for the first years, a novelty and an outcast. I wished myself dead many times. But the body is tenacious with life.” He sighed. “I agree to whatever you say, Benítez. If you think I am worth saving, save me. I don’t know why it should be, but I find it yet too hard to die.” 

“She wants you to go with her to the river,” Norte whispered.

Benítez frowned, then looked at Rain Flower. “Why?”

“To bathe.”

“It is unhealthy to bathe. It is how one catches the fever.”

“The
naturales
bathe all the time and they don’t get sick.”

Benítez was in his shirt sleeves, watching Fray Olmedo perform the dedication ceremony for the church. Hundreds of Totonac labourers had been herded inside and were staring in dumb bemusement as Fray Diaz and Brother Aguilar moved along the aisles with copal censers. Their incantations in Latin were just as incomprehensible to the Spaniards.

Benítez took Norte’s arm and moved towards the doorway. “But why does she wish me to bathe?”

“You don’t know your own stench. Even a vulture would be offended.”

He grabbed Norte by the throat. “I piss on your mother’s grave!”

“I mean no offence,” Norte gasped. “These people bathe every day to wash the sweat off their bodies. Rain Flower only desires that you do the same.”

Benítez wondered if they were making fun of him. Or was it some sort of trick? But he released his hold.

Norte massaged his neck. “It is no business of mine if you go with her,” he said, “it is what she wants.”

Rain Flower stood fearfully to one side, awaiting the outcome. Benítez looked down at her and she gave him an encouraging smile. By Satan’s ass, this is ridiculous! Still, it was that or stay here and listen to Fray Olmedo droning on all afternoon. He nodded his assent and followed her across the deserted, timber-strewn plaza, and out of Vera Cruz.