The Seven Serpents Trilogy (40 page)

As you did with the men and women of Cholólan, I wanted to say.

“The emperor has a vast army,” I said. “He should be treated with respect.”

“I intend to, but I am not here to trade compliments and gifts. Remember this when you talk to him. And do so at once. He seems to put trust in you. Remind him that we come here in the name of God and our King. And do not forget, I have allies, an army of five thou sand Texcaltéca camped in the hills. In the meantime, I trust him with all my heart.”

 

T
HERE WAS NO TRUTH IN THE WORDS OF
H
ERNÁN
C
ORTÉS
.

In no respect did he trust the emperor. He had al ready given orders to have his army lodged conveniently around the main square, his cannon mounted on the rooftops that commanded the square, and had ordered each soldier to be on the alert.

Why should I go to Moctezuma and repeat the lie that Cortés trusted him with all his heart? I had talked to the emperor only the day before, recounted the horrors of Cholólan and Texcála, and gravely warned him that a like fate cast its shadow on him. In the face of this he had gone to greet Cortés on bare feet, as an act of humility.

The moment I left the captain general's presence I set out to find Doña Marina.

Aware that he held her in the highest esteem, both as an interpreter and as a woman, I knew that she would have influence with Cortés. What would it be, what would I ask of her? I had only the hope that somehow she could prevail upon him to discharge me from the army and send me on my way, out of the land of the Azteca.

I found her, after a morning's search, in the emperor's garden on the back of the stallion, Bravo. She was rest ing the horse but sitting erect in the saddle, as if anxious to gallop off again. There was the same wild look about her that I remembered from long ago, when she had first ridden him in the meadow.

I came upon her unawares and seized the bridle be fore she had a chance to set spurs to the stallion. She held a whip in her hand and was about to use it upon the intruder before, looking down from the saddle, she rec ognized me.

There was a moment of silence while she gasped for her breath. Then she moaned and slid from the saddle, glancing about in terror.

She could neither turn and flee through the cypress grove at her back, for it was impenetrable, nor pass me, because I barred her way.

Slowly she sank upon her knees and kissed the earth at my feet. She crouched there, her eyes cast down, muttering, “Oh, Lord of the Evening Star, Lord of Light.”

“Doña Marina,” I said, using her Spanish name, for I was certain that she was proud of it, “I want you to lis ten. I talk to you now not as the god Kukulcán, but in a different guise, out of the mouth of the young man you knew on the headland and the cove, the one you brought food and fire.”

She started to glance up at me, but, catching herself in time, lowered her eyes. She had long eyelashes and they cast shadows on her cheeks. Her strong hands, clasped together, rested at my feet.

“It is necessary for me to leave the city of Tenochtitlán,” I said, “and return to our island. You are to help me. You are to go to the captain general and ask him to give me safe passage out of the city. I must leave to morrow. In two days at the most.”

I held the reins for her. She took them and staggered to her feet. I lifted her into the saddle. She sat there, making no effort to leave, as if she were caught in a dream.

I was tempted to ask her how Don Luis had freed himself, whether she had had a part in his escape, and how she had met Hernán Cortés. But, knowing that while she was in her trancelike state I could never pry from her an answer to these questions, I kept silent.

“You have not told the captain general that I am the god Kukulcán. You are not to tell him now,” I finally cautioned her. “Say that I am a merchant, when you give him my petition. A rich merchant whose favor it is wise for him to cultivate.”

She made no reply. She sat limp in the big saddle, her hands clasped to her breast and scarcely breathing. I slapped the stallion's flank. Swiftly he bore her away, out of the trees and the emperor's garden.

The dwarf and I had no preparations to make. Our few belongings were on our backs and stored in a small wicker bag. In my belt I still had one pearl, nothing more.

We waited for two days, never leaving our quarters lest word come from Cortés. On the third day I received a note from the captain general himself.

“We have an army of Indians waiting in the hills,” he wrote in his florid hand. “But they are, as you know, not to be counted upon. Our own army numbers less than four hundred. I beg leave to inform you that we cannot spare a single man. When it is possible, and I trust it will be before the year is over, I will see that you are promptly relieved of your duties.”

This was a blow.

The dwarf suggested that we leave the city at once, in the same way as before. We talked about it for the rest of the day.

That night we went to the wharf. We found an untended canoe and were about to climb into it when four men seized us—not Cortés's soldiers, but guards be longing to Moctezuma. They marched us to the palace and lodged us there in an alcove adjoining the throne room.

After that I saw the emperor every day, at either breakfast or supper, depending upon his mood. Cantú and I were not allowed out of the palace, but we were treated courteously and fed choice food from his table.

I think Moctezuma found comfort in talking about Cortés, though I never told him what he wanted to hear. Whether it was a day when he was suspicious of the captain general or a day when he fawned upon him, I always said that unless he tied up Hernán Cortés and put him safely away somewhere, he would lose his king dom and his life.

As for Cortés, he was glad to have me located in the palace. Every day or two he would want to know about Moctezuma's mood, whether he was plotting a surprise, what his nobles and astrologers were saying. I told him nothing that could possibly help him.

During this time, I had a chance to observe how the palace was run, the size of the court, what duties each of the nobles was given, and how each was rewarded, whether in gold or titles. I learned much that I hoped to use someday.

Weeks passed. We lost our sense of time. Twice we tried to escape by way of the canal but were caught and returned to the palace.

Cortés and his men were busy tearing down all the idols they could lay their hands on, erecting crosses, set ting up pictures of the Virgin, lecturing the priests, and trying to turn them into Christians—from all I could hear, without the least success.

One evening while I sat with the emperor, the gold screen between us, listening to him talk about a star he had seen in the sky that gave off clouds of sparkling streamers, Hernán Cortés burst into the room, not both ering to remove his boots, and brushed past the guards. Behind him followed Doña Marina and four of his cap tains.

Gripping the screen, he launched forth into an angry tirade.

“Lord Moctezuma,” he said, “I am astonished that you, a valiant prince who have declared yourself our friend, should have ordered your captains stationed on the coast to take up arms against my Spaniards. I am astonished also at their boldness in robbing towns that are under the protection of our king and master, de manding of them Indian men and women to sacrifice.”

Moctezuma said nothing in reply.

“Being so much your friend,” Cortés went on, “I ordered my captains to serve you in every possible way. But your majesty has acted in quite the opposite fashion toward us. In the affray at Cholólan your captains and a host of warriors received your express commands to kill us. Because of my great affection for you, I overlooked this. But now your captains and vassals have once more lost all shame and are secretly debating whether you do not again wish to have us killed.”

Cortés had been speaking in a loud voice. He now softened his words and stood with his arms folded across his chest. Moctezuma remained silent, but it was plain that he had been deeply wounded.

“However, all you have done will be forgiven,” Cortés went on, “provided you now come with us to our quarters. And make no protest. You will be as well served and attended there as here in your own palace. But if you cry out or raise any commotion, you will be killed immediately by these captains of mine, whom I have brought for this sole purpose.”

The blood drained from Moctezuma's face. Moments passed before he chose to speak.

“Captain Cortés,” he said, “I have never ordered my people to take up arms against you. I will now summon my captains so that the truth shall be known and the guilty punished.”

He took from his wrist the sign and seal of Uitzilopochtli, which he never called upon except in matters of the first importance.

“I am not a person to whom such an order should be given,” he said. “You are a guest, not the emperor. I have no wish to leave my palace.”

There were several rude remarks from Cortés, silence from Moctezuma, then an interruption by one of the captains, Juan Velásquez.

“What is the use of all these words?” he shouted in a terrifying voice. “Either we take him or we knife him. If we do not look after ourselves, we shall be dead.”

Doña Marina did not translate this threat, but when asked by the emperor what Velásquez had shouted, she said, “I advise you to go with them immediately to their quarters and make no outcry. I know that they will treat you honorably as the great prince you are. If you stay here, you will be a dead man.”

To this the emperor replied, “Lord Cortés, I see what you have in mind. But I have a son and two legitimate daughters. Take them as hostages and spare me this dis grace. What will my chieftains say if they see me carried off as a prisoner?”

I stood speechless during all this.

With the emperor's simple request, given in a quiet, heartbroken tone, I was moved to interrupt the talk and speak in his behalf. The words were on my tongue. Wisely I kept silent, realizing that nothing I could say would have any effect upon Cortés and, worse, could place me under deep suspicion.

There was some further argument, but in the end Moctezuma agreed to go. Cortés became very ingratiat ing.

“I beg you humbly not to be angry,” he said. “Tell your chieftains and your guards that you go freely. You have consulted with your idol Uitzilopochtli and your wizards, who advise you to accompany us.”

One of the emperor's fine litters then was brought, and he was taken to the Spanish quarters.

Freed by this happening from the emperor's prison, Cantú and I began at once to plan another escape. I first tried to reach Don Luis de Arroyo, thinking that, since he had managed an escape from the City of the Seven Serpents, he might be of help. But I found him under heavy guard and unable to talk.

We returned to the wharf once more, only to discover that we were being followed by the emperor's guards. Without telling us why, they took us back to the barracks. We presumed that the emperor had something to do with this.

I saw Moctezuma many times while he was a captive and he always seemed in good spirits. Surrounded by his musicians and acrobats, attended to by his servants and nobles and wizards, he was wholly resigned to the fate that the stars and many omens had portended.

Cortés treated him courteously and went on with the business of dismantling the temples, to which Mocte zuma did not object.

There were others, however, who did object—not only to the destruction of their idols, but also to the reign of an emperor who they thought had betrayed them.

Anger grew, rumors were hatched and passed about. The causeways were filled with Azteca warriors anxious to fight. The temple square became unsafe after dark, and Spanish cannon were trained upon it night and day.

It was a time of extreme danger. Cantú and I were forced to give up any thought of making our way to the coast.

In the midst of this danger, word came from Vera Cruz that an Admiral Narváez had landed and, with in structions from the governor of Hispaniola to arrest Cortés for disobedience, was marching inland toward Tenochtitlán. Cortés left immediately to drive him back into the sea.

While he was gone the storm broke.

For many years the Azteca nobles had held a feast in the name of their war god, called the perfuming of Uitzilopochtli. They asked permission of Pedro de Alvarado, an officer known for his fighting skills as well as his cruelty, who had been left in command by Cortés, if they could hold the feast again and if Moctezuma could come as an honored guest.

Captain Alvarado replied that the feast could be held but that the emperor must remain in his quarters.

It was a bright day after a week of clouds. The great pyramid shone white. Braziers and urns burned on all the terraces. Flowers were strewn around the square and displayed from the rooftops.

When we went out at the sound of drums and trumpets, nobles were dancing on the temple steps, dressed in feathered cloaks and masks, tinkling bells on their ankles. The square was crowded with Indians and they sang as the nobles danced, tossing flowers at each other.

At the height of the merriment a small cloud of smoke appeared high up on the pyramid, like a white rose. Then there was a roar from a cannon. It was the signal chosen by Pedro de Alvarado for his garrison to rush out with drawn swords.

Those who were not slain there on the steps were caught on long pikes. Those who escaped to the gates of the wall that enclosed the square were killed by musket fire. Not a noble who had come to sing and dance re mained alive. And most of those who had come to watch were torn to shreds by cannon fire.

It was like the scene in Cholólan when blood ran in the gutters and bodies lay everywhere.

 

C
APTAIN
G
ENERAL
C
ORTÉS RETURNED TO FIND
T
ENOCHTITLÁN IN
revolt.