Feathered Serpent (34 page)

———————

Three days later several hundred priests ascended the Templo Mayor and, with elaborate care, laid Hummingbird and Smoking Mirror and Rain Bringer on mats of
maguey
fibre. They lowered them from the temple to the court below, using ropes and greased planks, where they placed them on litters and carried them out of the city. All of this was done in absolute silence.

The walls and floors of the shrine were scrubbed and whitewashed and Cortés’ carpenters built a cross and an altar there. The next day almost the entire Spanish army marched into the temple precinct and ascended the steps for a special thanksgiving Mass.

Cortés had achieved his dream.

It was a different Motecuhzoma today. What has happened? Cortés wondered. He seemed confident, even tranquil. He reclined on his
ypcalli
watching his dwarves and hunchbacks tumble and clown for him. They scattered when the Spaniards entered the room.

Motecuhzoma invited his overlords to sit, and ordered foaming cups of chocolatl be brought. Malinali took her place beside Cortés, and relayed the emperor’s pleasantries as he enquired after the well-being of his daughter and his niece. Cortés answered pleasantly, wondering privately what had brought on the emperor’s change of mood.

He waited for the emperor to reveal his hand.

“There is something he wishes to discuss,” Malinali said. “He says this is difficult for him, but he wants you to know he has always regarded you as his friend.”

He thinks to use my own diplomatic words against me, Cortés thought. “Tell him I have always valued his friendship. He is like a brother to me.”

Motecuhzoma launched into a long monologue. Cortés watched for Malinali’s reaction. She appeared startled. He also noticed that the habitual wheedling tone in Motecuhzoma’s voice was gone, another ominous sign.

Finally, the long soliloquy ended and Malinali began a halting translation. “Motecuhzoma says that you are in great danger. He says that he, personally, does not wish to see you come to harm but that his gods are very angry with you. They have watched as you removed him by force from his palace, burned several of his chieftains in the plaza, stole his gold and now insult the gods in their own temples. His priests tell him that Hummingbird and Smoking Mirror cannot remain in Mexico while you and your followers are here. Rather than have the gods desert them his people must fall on you and kill you all, because they love their gods very much, as Motecuhzoma himself has tried to explain to you many times. The people wait only for Motecuhzoma’s word. But he hopes that such bloodshed can be avoided. He is giving you the chance to leave peaceably.”

“By my conscience, does he intend to dictate to me?”

“Let us see if he is so arrogant with my sword in his guts,” Alvarado hissed.

“He has sworn allegiance to the King of Spain and his Holy Church,” Aguilar said. “What he says is treasonous.”

Cortés put up a hand to end their protests. How many times had they warned him against recklessness and now they themselves wished to attack without knowing how their enemy was armed. “Mali, tell him we thank him for his concern.”

Alvarado gave a snort of outrage.” By Satan’s spiny cock, why are we toadying to this ...”

Cortés silenced him with a look.

“We thank him for his concern ... and we are sorry we have brought him so much trouble. Tell him we shall leave immediately ... immediately we have ships to carry us back to our own lands. If he would permit us to fell wood in his forest and allow us some of his own carpenters, we shall set to work on the construction of these craft straight away.”

Motecuhzoma beamed. Cortés knew what he was thinking; the end of the nightmare was in sight.

“
Caudillo
,” Alvarado hissed, “they will never let us go! As soon as we release Motecuhzoma ...”

“I understand that, but we must play for time!” He turned back to Malinali. “Tell Motecuhzoma we make this concession not out of fear for ourselves, but because we wish to save this city from the complete destruction that would surely follow any battle. We would do this through concern for his own safety, as he, too, would surely perish in any conflict.”

Motecuhzoma’s smile vanished when he heard this. The threat was plain.

Cortés rose to leave without waiting for the emperor to formally end the audience. Something had shifted the delicate balance. He had to know what it was.  

———————

As soon as we reach our quarters, my lord removes his sword and buckler and hurls it to a corner of the room. He upturns his writing desk with a booted foot, then hurls the throne Motecuhzoma has given him against the wall, loosening several of the studded gemstones and sending them spilling across the floor.

His moles and captains watch in terror.

Now he rounds on me. “What is going on?” he shouts.

“He no longer fears you, my lord.”

“That much is obvious.”

“It may have something to do with the changing of the season. The rains have stopped.”

He stares at me, mystified. Perhaps he thinks I mock him. “Have you gone mad?”

“It is a new year on our calendar, my lord.”

“What witchery and superstition are we talking now?”

“My lord, we have reached the Stopping of the Rains, the first month of the new year. Last year was One Reed, Feathered Serpent’s year, and a bad year for kings. It is now Two Flint, a more promising time. Perhaps Motecuhzoma feels he has outwaited you ... perhaps even outwitted you. By delaying his destruction this long he may feel he has nothing more to fear from challenging you. The calendar is in his favour.”

“And do you believe this also?”

“No, my lord. I believe in you.”

His anger seems to evaporate. He kisses me gently on the forehead.

Why am I so pathetically grateful for these small crumbs of his affection? He comes to me now only when I am needed and I lap up his small and graceless attentions as if they were mountains of jade.

He pulls away from me as Cáceres ushers Martín Lopez into his apartments. Lopez is one of the tallest of these Thunder Lords, a lean man with a sparse beard and the most enormous hands I have ever seen.

“Lopez.”

“You wanted to see me,
caudillo
.”

“Indeed.” Cortés ignores the wreckage he has left around the room. Cáceres hurries to right the upturned throne and Cortés settles himself upon it as if nothing has happened. Lopez glances curiously at the table lying on its side in the corner and the spilled ink and parchment on the floor but wisely does not remark on it.

“You signed on to our expedition as a soldier,” Cortés is saying, “but Alvarado tells me that in Cuba you earned your living as a carpenter and shipwright.”

“Yes, my lord. I had some experience in the shipyards in Cadiz.”

“Good. Do you think you could build a brigantine?”

Lopez stares at my lord in astonishment, but quickly recovers his wits. “With the right equipment, perhaps. I would need carpenters ...”

“At Vera Cruz there are anchor chains, sails, rigging and pitch from the fleet we were forced to scuttle at San Juan de Ulúa. If you had your choice of timber from the local forests and you were given skilled Indian carpenters, would that suit your needs?”

“I think so, my lord. How long do I have?”

“I do not wish you to hurry the task. Work slowly, but contrive to look busy so that the Mexica believe you are in earnest. Can you do that?”

“As you command.”

“You shall begin straight away. You may take a dozen of our own carpenters with you. That will be all.”

Lopez bows and leaves, stunned at his sudden advancement.

There is a long silence in the room.

“Are we to leave here then?” I ask.

Cortés laughs. “No, this is my capital, my seat. I shall never leave here until I am master. Any day Alonso will return from Spain with reinforcements. Then we shall instead dictate our terms to the Mexica.”

“And should he fail to return?” one of the Thunder Lords asks.

“I shall not flee because my lord Motecuhzoma has the temerity to rattle his sabre. If Lopez gives me two brigantines I shall use one to remove the gold, the other to send for more horses, men and arms from Santo Domingo. Either way, I shall not leave the vale of Mexico.”

I pay scant attention to this explanation. How many times have I heard my lord say he will do one thing when I know that he plans to do the opposite? A thought strikes me: what if he does decide to leave and sail back to the Cloud Lands? What will happen to me?

Without him I lose my value and my power. I have spoken with generals and emperors and even gods as equals, but without him I must return - at best - to loom and hearth. But that is unlikely because the Mexica cannot now let me live. Without the protection of the thunder lords, I will end my days stretched on a stone.

My lord must have divined what I was thinking for he comes towards me and takes me in his arms. “Do not fret,” he whispers, “I will never leave you, whatever happens.”

I cling to him. When he holds me like this the world is beautiful and safe. How could he leave me now? He is tied to me with bonds of blood. I have his son in my womb. Like Serpent Mother the future gods of Mexico will come through me.

The giant with the red beard watched, hands on his hips, as the
culverin
was manoeuvred to the beach between two lighters. He had with him fourteen hundred men, eighty horses, over a hundred crossbowmen and almost as many musketeers. The litter of this great army spilled along the beach; men sweated up the dunes loaded with armour and weapons and crates of provisions; the cries of the sergeants-at-arms mixed with the hollow drum of horses' hooves on the hard sand and the frantic barking of lurchers.

This Cortés had over reached himself. His commission had been to make a few forays on the beaches, scout the ground. When he did not return it was thought the expedition was lost. But then, a few months ago, a
Nao
from his original fleet had called at one of the islands and some sailors on board had boasted that Cortés had founded his own colony! Unfortunately this news had not reached Santiago de Cuba in time to intercept the
Nao
on its way to Spain.

Well, if the story was true, he, Pánfilo de Nárvaez, would soon bring a halt to the nonsense. The sailors had also talked about a distant city of fantastic wealth. It would be a pleasure to do his duty and fill his pockets with gold at the same time.

But first he would deal with Cortés. There should be enough rope in the hold to do that.

———————

“He seems sprightly this morning,” Olid said. Christobal Olid was captain of the guard at Motecuhzoma’s apartments. Over the past months he had come to know the Emperor’s moods very well and this information, Cortés decided, was yet more bad news. I much prefer him when he is bowed and depressed.

Cortés, Alvarado beside him, went through to the apartments and discovered that, as Olid had said, Motecuhzoma was not only sprightly but positively animated. He was pacing the room when Cortés entered, talking to his caged birds, apparently eager for the audience to begin. He offered the two men a cup of chocolatl, which Cortés politely declined. Motecuhzoma then settled himself on a mat and the
caudillo
and his lieutenant took up their customary positions beside him.

“He asks how the building of the boats progresses,” Malinali said.

“Tell him progress is certain but a little slow. Our great war canoes are not as simple to construct as one of the pirogues his people use on the lake.”

She conveyed this news to Motecuhzoma, but he did not appear to be listening. He interrupted Malinali’s translation to clap his hands. A servant appeared carrying a great sheet of folded bark paper, which he laid reverently in front of the Emperor. Motecuhzoma showed this codex to Cortés.

“His messengers brought this from the coast,” Malinali said. “He says that more of your companions have arrived from the Cloud Lands in war canoes. Now you no longer have to wait here in Tenochtitlán. The boats you require are already at the coast.”

Cortés felt a surge of relief. At last! Puertocarrero with re-inforcements and a commission from the king!

He bent over to study the codices and felt the blood drain from his face. The glyphs and pictures showed thirteen Spanish
Nao
s and brigantines at anchor above the palm trees. In the foreground there were drawings of bearded soldiers, war-horses and cannon camped in the sand. The central figure was a fat man with a great red beard, obviously the leader. It was quite evidently not Puertocarrero.

“Nárvaez!” he murmured.

———————

Cortés stamped out into the courtyard, where Ordaz was drilling his arquebusiers. “Ordaz! Tell all the men that re-inforcements have arrived at the coast! Fire the muskets into the air! Make as much noise as you can!”

He turned and walked away. All the men within earshot of this exchange started cheering. Ordaz did as he had been ordered, shouting to his men to load their muskets with powder.

But Benítez saw the look on Cortés’ face and realised that the celebrations were premature. He ran after him. “
Caudillo
, is it true? Has Puertocarrero returned from Spain?”

“It’s not Puertocarrero,” Cortés hissed, “it’s Velasquez' toady, Pánfilo de Nárvaez and the rest of those gold-hungry bastards from Cuba!”

“Nárvaez?”

“Keep your voice down! We have to keep this from the men until we decide what to do. We must allow the Mexica to think we are pleased with this news. One hint of dissent and they will fall on us like thieves!”