A Signal Victory (17 page)

The ship had been sighted off the long bar which protected the Bay of Chetumal from the open sea. That meant it would arrive in the morning.

That night none of them slept. Even Ix Chan, who was usually so deliberately placid, seemed astonished to find herself uneasy. If they were careful, they could destroy Montejo. But life from now on might be a series of Montejos, one could not hope to destroy them all, and besides, suppose they failed.

Guerrero was determined not to fail.

At dawn he and Nachancan went to the temple. It was the highest structure in the area, it topped the trees. From its platform they could see the orderly fields, thinned forest, and prosperous villages. The light struck the surface of that ominously empty bay. A breeze was blowing up the water.

Nachancan had never seen his own land invaded. Indeed it never had been invaded. It lay below him, perfect and familiar, and now, suddenly, somehow, at a touch it might vanish, as perfection does, instantly. His face was full of a bewildered astonishment. But he said nothing.

Together they waited. The world was absolutely silent.

The colours of the world came up a little more clearly, as the sunlight struck the forests and the fields.

It was the creaking they heard, even before they saw the ship. It was the sound of canvas and tackle, which Guerrero had not heard for over fifteen years, and yet as soon as he heard it, it brought back memories.

On that bay, which had never heard the sound of sail, the sound was ominous.

Nachancan shifted uneasily, while Guerrero pointed at a spur of forested land, at the end of the bay, which hid the channel.

Behind them, a priest threw copal into a brazier on the altar. It hissed. It made a little cloud.

Half-rigged, moving cautiously, the clumsy ship moved steadily but ungainly into view; the sun caught glittering on what must be helmets. The air was so clear that they could see everything.

Nachancan had never before seen a ship. He looked grave.

Though it plunged and had no grace, the boat came on, until whoever was watching on it could see Chetumal itself. Guerrero could pick out distinct figures now.

One of them, rather thick-set, stood alone on the poop.

The ship moved into the centre of the bay, the sails came down with an exhausted rustle, the cable ran out, and they could hear the splash as the anchor hit the water and then plummeted, unseen, to root in the mud.

The enemy had arrived. Nachancan now knew what it looked like. The two men went down into the town, to await developments.

There were no developments. Montejo was also waiting. Perhaps he did not like the silent emptiness of the bay, for Nachancan had had it cleared of canoes.

Darkness fell.

Montejo sent out the long boats. Guerrero had expected that, for the Spaniards would need water.

There was a brisk skirmish. The Spaniards retreated, unfortunately with two prisoners.

*

Thus, at last, Montejo learned of the existence of Guerrero.

He was delighted. He had thought the man dead by now, but that he was not was excellent luck. He would be as invaluable to this conquest as Aguilar had been to that of
Cortés. He would receive the man well. He would even pay him well, since he would be well worth paying.

Really things could not have gone better.

Early next morning he sent off a messenger to the town, returning, perhaps rather incautiously, both the prisoners.

When they arrived, Guerrero was supervising the fortifications. In particular he prepared the narrow strip of land that was the only access to Chetumal except by water.

It was hot work, and he was already sweaty when Nachancan sent for him, and handed him Montejo’s letter, unopened. He had the liveliest interest in seeing what would happen next. That Guerrero would prove competent he had no doubt.

Guerrero knew what the letter would say, for the letters of would-be conquerors are all much the same. He took the sealed and folded piece of parchment. It was years since he had seen such stuff, and he had never received a letter with quite so massively aggressive a seal. The seal, somehow, showed the pomposity of the man. And those who act out their little game not for their own time, but for posterity, are of necessity unapt to conceive of anything but praise for their performance.

With a wry smile Guerrero wrenched the letter open.

There would be, of course, some sort of exhortation to return to the Fold. Such men, since another would not have justified them so well, could imagine no religion but their own.

Indeed there was.

Montejo had a fussy and flamboyant hand which betrayed a slight tendency to wobble. Since he was so sure of the verdict of posterity, which to him was a sort of secret court of the mind, best influenced by documents, since unfortunately he would be unable to address it in person, he had written at length and kept a copy for the family archives. It was quite true he needed Guerrero. But he was not also saving a Christian soul? That was how the conquest sounded best, as a saving of souls. That way it was entirely justified. He had the precedent of Charles V for such an attitude.

On the other hand, he was also, of course, speaking to an inferior. This man was merely a common sailor.

“Gonzalo,” he wrote, “my brother and special friend, I count it my good fortune that I arrived and have learned of you through the bearer of this letter. I can remind you that you are a Christian, bought by the blood of Jesus Christ, our Redeemer, to whom I give, and you should give, infinite thanks.” (It was well to keep on the right side of the clergy. Cortés, to his ruin, had not.) “You have a great opportunity to serve God and the Emperor, our Lord, in the pacification and baptism of these people, and more than this, opportunity to leave your sins behind you, with the Grace of God, and to honour and benefit yourself.” (One must also mention the Emperor, and it did no harm to remind the man that the Spaniards were bound to win. He could not live Indian fashion for ever.) “I shall be your good friend in this, and you will be treated very well.” (The man would be invaluable. Later when the country was pacified he could be given a small farm.)

“And thus I beseech you not to let the devil influence you not to do what I say, so that he will not possess himself of you for ever.” (Apparently the man had gone over to the natives, according to Aguilar, tattoo, ornaments and all. He must be a curious sight.)

“On behalf of His Majesty, I promise you to do very well for you and fully to comply with that which I have said. On my part, as a noble gentleman” (the common people always trust gentlemen), “I give you my word and pledge my faith to make my promises to you good without any reservations whatsoever, favouring and honouring you and making you one of my principal men and one of my select and loved groups in these parts.” (One cannot repeat these things too often.)

“Consequently I beseech you to come to this ship, or to the coast, without delay, to do what I have said and to help me carry out, through giving me your counsel and opinions, that which seems most expedient.” (Flatter him.)

Guerrero read the message twice. As the chronicler Oviedo said later, “As for this evil person, as he must have been from his origins, brought up among low and vile people, and uninstructed in the elements of our Holy Catholic Christian religion, his friendship and his words were such as himself was.”

Indeed they were, As Oviedo also said, “He placed the Spanish in such a situation that all the Christians of that land were ruined.” But first he took a piece of charcoal, and scrawled across the back of the note that he was a slave and had no freedom, even though he remembered God.

Indeed he did, but he was not without irony. Position had given him that. For irony, after all, is only worldly insight with enough to eat. “You, my lord, and the Spaniards will find in me a very good friend,” he added.

And that also was true, since he did not say to whom. He sent the messenger back and stayed to lunch with his father-in-law. He could not help but feel angry. These ex-countrymen of his were so impertinent in their use of God, as a convenient excuse for everything. Not even the Indians thought that God fought on either side. They took captives to sacrifice them to the gods, as one caught flies to feed a toad, but that was only so that they might be placated. Unlike Christians, they did not suffer from the vanity of believing in a full collaboration with the Deity.

He would have liked to see Montejo’s face, when he read that answer, and hoped Montejo would at least allow the messenger to return safely to Chetumal.

For a wonder he did.

Montejo shut himself up in his cabin and fumed. It was an insult to God, to the Emperor, and to himself. Of the three it would have been hard to tell which was the worst offended, but since Montejo saw that trio as a Trinity, perhaps to insult one was to insult them all. More than that, it was an insult from a common sailor.

Not only was he angry, but life on shipboard had made him a little overconfident. He decided to march on Chetumal
at once. But he was not that overconfident. He marched at night. He expected no difficulties. These people always ran away. When they understood he wanted only Guerrero, they would hand him over at once, and then he would put the man in chains.

Guerrero was ready for him, and had a report on every movement Montejo made, for the Spaniards were surrounded by spying Indians they could not even see, who flickered in and out of the darkness, making their observations and reports.

He had not been wrong. A man that pompous had been easy to goad into a trap.

By the time Montejo and his horses had reached shore, it was an hour before dawn. He kept his company in good order, and outriders had brought him the lay of the land. He advanced over that little isthmus which connected Chetumal to the peninsula. He sent the horses in first. They behaved well. They did not whinny. He wished to surprise whatever sentries might be about. He told the men to move quietly.

The path was dense with forest debris, but the natives had levelled the trees. It seemed an odd strategy. Usually they preferred to fight like cowards from behind their trees.

Montejo rode back along his little line. It was just as well he did.

The front horses gave a terrified whinny, screamed, and fell through the forest floor, with their riders on top of them. Their riders also screamed.

Guerrero had dug pits, lined them with spikes, points up, and covered them with debris. There was time only for one quick glance. Two of the men were spitted down there, and were being kicked by the desperate horses. No wonder they screamed.

Montejo retreated in a low continuous volley of well-aimed arrows. It did not much wound the men, for they had the remaining horses between themselves and the barricades, but it drove the horses almost insane.

An hour later he was back on his boat. After all, he had with him only ten or twelve fighting men, and what could be spared of the boat crew, and of the men, he had lost three.

The men in the pit had not been killed. Guerrero turned them over to the priests. It was dawn by now, and the altars were hungry. He did not go to see the sacrifice himself. He had not yet reached that point of desperation. But he knew that Montejo could gather what was happening from the ship. The ceremonial music rolled out across the bay.

In silence Montejo and his men watched. They knew by now that at the actual moment of sacrifice the music stopped. It stopped now.

He cursed, but there was nothing he could do until Davila arrived with reinforcements. Those pits were a European trick. If Guerrero was behind that, he would have to be cautious, and of course the man was behind it. He settled down to wait.

Since it had not been possible to destroy him, it would be necessary to get rid of him. Guerrero had prepared for that also.

Late in the afternoon a tattered messenger got through from the north. Davila and his company had been ambushed and destroyed. Naum Pat sent the message, therefore, since Naum Pat was an ally, the message must be true.

There was nothing for Montejo to do but weigh anchor and depart, pick up the men at Salamanca, and rephrase his campaign.

Guerrero watched the departure with satisfaction, having speeded it alternately with gifts of food and showers of arrows from canoes.

But he knew he had accomplished nothing. He had only gained a little more time, that was all. Somehow, he must rouse the whole country, against the moment when the Spaniards returned. He could not know when that would be.

It turned out to be two years.

Yet, though he did his best, he could not feel confident that his best would be good enough. For there was one thing
he had reckoned without. For more even than the ambitions of the Lords of Xiu, and the lack of unity among the provinces, the Maya were the victims of their own calendar.

And when Montejo struck back, it was from an unexpected quarter.

It was a curious contrivance, that calendar. No one but a priest could grasp it. It was a system of interlocking wheels so vast no Christian could understand it, for Europe believed the world was built in 4004
B.C
., but the Maya dealt directly with the stars, and reckoned by such units as 23,040,000,000 days, all of which ceaselessly came back again. Thus mounted, time rolled over them like a juggernaut, and bound to its wheels, they were crushed. Everything had happened before and everything would happen again. But since everything that happened today had also happened the last time this day had occurred, one had only to open the sacred diary of the past, in order to find out what to do. On some days one could fight and win. But on other days, even though one had to fight, because one had done so last time, one did not make too much effort, because one knew one would lose.

It was impossible to plan a campaign on those terms. No Maya, of course, would attack on the wrong day, but the Spanish were another matter. The Spanish did not even know what day it was. Even his own younger son, the one training to be a priest, stood against Guerrero, who wanted to decimate the Spaniards at Salamanca de Xamanha. It could not be done. The last time there had been invaders in the land on this day, such an attack had failed. To choose another day, they would have to wait until the katun bundles applying to it were ready to be opened. Besides, there was nothing to be worried about. The nation would not be destroyed until the next return of Katun 8 Ahau, and that would not occur until 1697.