I shrugged and said, “I do not step out of my way just to squash bugs. I will not impede your ambitions, slave girl, unless and until they conflict with the interests I serve.”
While Motecuzóma studied the portrait of Cortés and the other drawings I had given him, I enumerated the persons and things I had counted:
“Including the leader and his several other officers, there are five hundred and eight fighting men. Most of them carry the metal swords and spears, but thirteen of them have also the fire-stick harquebuses, thirty and two have the crossbows, and I venture to suppose that all the other men are equally capable of using those special weapons. There are, in addition, one hundred men who were evidently the boatmen of the ten ships that were burned.”
Motecuzóma handed the sheaf of bark papers over his shoulder. The elders of the Speaking Council, ranged behind him, began to pass them back and forth.
I went on, “There are four white priests. There are numerous women of our own race, given to the white men by the Tabascoöb of Cupílco and by Patzínca of the Totonáca. There are sixteen of the riding horses and twelve of the giant hunting dogs. There are ten of the far-throwing cannons and four smaller cannons. As we were told, Lord Speaker, there remains only one ship still floating in the bay, and there are boatmen aboard, but I could not count them.”
Two of the Council, two physicians, were solemnly scrutinizing my drawings of Cortés and conferring in professional mumbles.
I concluded, “Besides the persons I have mentioned, practically the entire Totonáca population appears to be at Cortés’s command, working as porters and carpenters and masons and such … when they are not being taught by the white priests how to worship before the cross and the lady image.”
One of the two doctors said, “Lord Speaker, if I may make a comment …” Motecuzóma nodded permission. “My colleague and I have looked hard at this drawing of the face of the man Cortés, and at the other drawings which show him entire.”
Motecuzóma said impatiently, “And I suppose, as physicians, you officially declare him to be a man.”
“Not just that, my lord. There are other signs diagnostic. It is impossible to say with certainty, unless we should sometime have a chance to examine him in person. But it very much appears, from his weak features and sparse hair and the ill proportioning of his body, that he was born of a mother afflicted with the shameful disease nanáua. We have seen the same characteristics often in the offspring of the lowest class of maátime.”
“Indeed?” said Motecuzóma, visibly brightening. “If this is true, and the nanáua has affected his brain, it would explain some of his actions. Only a madman would have burned those vessels and destroyed his only means of retreat to safety. And if a man consumed by the nanáua is the leader of the outlanders, the others must be vermin of even feebler intellect. And you, Mixtzin, tell us that their weapons are not so invincibly terrible as others have described them. Do you know, I begin to think that we may have much exaggerated the peril posed by these visitors.”
Motecuzóma was suddenly more cheerful than I had seen him in a long time, but his swift rebound from gloom to jauntiness did not dispose me to imitate it. He had until then held the white men in awe, as gods or messengers of gods, requiring our respect and propitiation and perhaps our utter submission. But, on hearing my report and the doctors’ opinion, he was just as ready to dismiss the white men as undeserving of our attention or concern. One attitude seemed to me as dangerous as the other, but I could not say that in so many words. Instead I said:
“Perhaps Cortés is diseased to the point of madness, Lord Speaker, but a madman can be even more fearsome than a sane one. It was only months ago that those same vermin easily vanquished some five thousand warriors in the Olméca lands.”
“But the Olméca defenders did not have our advantage.” It was not Motecuzóma who spoke, but his brother, the war chief Cuitláhuac. “They went against the white men in the age-old tactic of close combat. But thanks to you, Lord Mixtli, we now know something of the enemy’s capabilities. I will equip the majority of my troops with bows and arrows. We can stay out of range of their metal weapons, we can dodge the discharges of their unwieldy fire weapons, and we can deluge them with arrows faster than they can send projectiles in return.”
Motecuzóma said indulgently, “It is expectable that a war chief speaks of war. But I see no need for fighting at all. We simply send a command to the Lord Patzínca that the Totonáca cease all aid to the white men, and all supplying of food and women and other comforts. The intruders should soon tire of eating only what fish they can catch, and drinking only coconut juice, and enduring high summer in the Hot Lands.”
It was his Snake Woman, Tlácotzin, who disputed that. “Patzínca seems disinclined to refuse anything to the white men, Revered Speaker. The Totonáca have never rejoiced at being our tributary subjects. They may prefer this change of overlords.”
One of the envoys who had gone with me to the coast said, “Also, the white men speak of other white men, countless numbers more, living wherever it is that these came from. If we fight and vanquish this company, or starve them into surrender, how can we know when the next will come, or how many they will be, or what more powerful weapons they may bring?”
Motecuzóma’s new cheerfulness had rather dissipated. His eyes darted restlessly about, as if he were unconsciously seeking an escape—whether from the white men or from the necessity of making a firm decision, I do not know. But his gaze eventually touched me, and stayed on me, and he said, “Mixtzin, your fidgeting speaks of impatience. What is it you would say?”
I said without hesitation, “Burn the white men’s one remaining ship.”
Some of the men in the throne room blurted, “What?” or “Shame!” Others said things like, “Attack the visitors without provocation?” and “Open war without sending the tokens of declaration?” Motecuzóma silenced them all with a slashing gesture and said to me only, “Why?”
“Before we left the coast, my lord, that ship was being loaded with the melted-down gold and the other gifts you sent. It will soon wing away to the place called Cuba or the place called Spain, or perhaps directly to report to that King Carlos. The white men were hungry for gold, and my lord’s gifts have not sated them, but only whetted their appetite for more. If that ship is allowed to depart, with proof that there is gold here, nothing can save us from an inundation of more and more white men hungry for gold. But the ship is made of wood. Send only a few good Mexíca warriors out upon that bay, my lord, by night and in canoes. While pretending to fish by torchlight, they can approach near enough to fire that ship.”’
“And then?” Motecuzóma chewed his lip. “Cortés and his company would be entirely cut off from their homeland. They would certainly march this way—and certainly with no friendly intent, not after such a hostile action on our part.”
“Revered Speaker,” I said wearily, “they will come anyway, whatever we do or refrain from doing. And they will come with their tame Totonáca to show them the way, to carry supplies for the journey, to make sure they survive the mountain crossings and their encounters with other people on the way. But we can prevent that, too. I have made careful note of the terrain. There are only so many ways to ascend from the coast to the higher lands, and they all lead through steep and narrow defiles. In those tight places, the white men’s horses and harquebuses and cannons will be all but useless, their metal armor no defense. A few good Mexíca warriors posted in those passes, with nothing but boulders for weapons, could mash every man of them to pulp.”
There was another chorus of horrified exclamation, at my suggestion that the Mexíca attack by stealth, like savages. But I went on, more loudly:
“We must stop this invasion by whatever ugly means is most expedient, or we have no hope of averting further invasions. The man Cortés, perhaps being mad, has made it easier for us. He has already burned ten of his ships, leaving us only the one to destroy. If that messenger ship never returns
to the King Carlos, if not one white man is left alive and capable of making even a raft for his escape, the King Carlos will never know what became of this expedition. He may believe it traveled on forever without finding land, or that it disappeared in some sea of perpetual storm, or that it was obliterated by a formidably powerful people. We can hope that he will never risk sending another expedition.”
There was a long silence in the throne room. No one wanted to be the first to comment, and I tried not to fidget. Finally it was Cuitláhuac who said, “It sounds practical advice, Lord Brother.”
“It sounds monstrous,” grumbled Motecuzóma. “First to destroy the outlanders’ ship, and thereby prod them into advancing inland, and then to catch them defenseless in a sneak attack. This will require much meditation, much consultation with the gods.”
“Lord Speaker!” I said urgently, desperately. “That messenger ship may be spreading its wings at this very moment!”
“Which would indicate,” he said, impervious, “that the gods meant for it to go. Kindly do not flap your hands at me like that.”
My hands actually wanted to strangle him, but I constrained them to a gesture of no more than resigned relinquishment of my proposal.
He mused aloud, “If the King Carlos hears no more of his company and assumes them to be in trouble, that King may not hesitate to send rescuers or reinforcements. Perhaps uncountable ships bringing uncountable white men. From the casual way in which Cortés burned his ten ships, it is apparent that the King Carlos has plenty in reserve. It may be that Cortés is only the merest point of a spearhead already launched. It may be our wisest course to treat warily and peaceably with Cortés, at least until we can determine how heavy is the spear behind him.” Motecuzóma stood up, to signal our dismissal, and said in parting, “I will think on all that has been said. Meanwhile, I will send quimíchime to the Totonáca lands, and to all lands between here and there, to keep me advised of the white men’s doings.”
Quimíchime means mice, but the word was also used to mean spies. Motecuzóma’s retinue of slaves included men from every nation in The One World, and the more trusty of them he employed often to spy for him in their native lands, for they could infiltrate their own people and move among them with perfect anonymity. Of course, I myself had recently played the spy in the Totonáca country, and I had done similar work on other occasions—even in places where I could not pass for a native—but I was only one man. Whole flocks of mice, such as Motecuzóma then sent, could cover much more ground and bring back much more information.
Motecuzóma again called for the presence of the Speaking Council and myself, when the first quimíchi returned—to report that the white men’s one floating house had indeed unfurled large wings and gone eastward out of sight across the sea. Dismayed though I was at hearing that, I nevertheless listened to the rest of the report, for the mouse had done a good job of looking and listening, even overhearing several translated conversations.
The messenger ship had departed with however many boatmen it required, plus one man detached from Cortés’s military force, presumably entrusted to deliver the gold and other gifts, and to make Cortés’s official report to his King Carlos. That man was the officer Alonso, who had had the keeping of Ce-Malináli, but of course he had not taken that valuable young woman with him when he left. The not noticeably bereaved Malíntzin—as everyone was increasingly calling her—had immediately become concubine as well as interpreter to Cortés.
With her help, Cortés had made a speech to the Totonáca. He told them that the messenger ship would return with his King’s commission elevating him in rank. He would anticipate that promotion, and henceforth be entitled not mere Captain but Captain-General. Further anticipating his King’s commands, he was giving a new name to Cem-Anáhuac, The One World. The coastal land which he already held, he said, and all lands he would in future discover, would henceforth be known as the Captaincy General of New Spain. Of course, those Spanish words meant little to us then, especially as the quimíchi relayed them to us in his Totonácatl accent. But it was clear enough that Cortés—whether pitiably mad or incredibly bold or, as I suspected, acting on the prompting of his ambitious consort—was arrogating to himself limitless lands and numberless peoples he had not yet even seen, let alone conquered by combat or other means. The lands over which he claimed dominion included ours, and the peoples over whom he claimed sovereignty included us, the Mexíca.
Almost frothing with outrage, Cuitláhuac said, “If that is not a declaration of war, Revered Brother, I have never heard one.”
Motecuzóma said uncertainly, “He has not yet sent any war gifts or other tokens of such intention.”
“Will you wait until he discharges one of those thunder cannons into your ear?” Cuitláhuac impertinently demanded. “Obviously he is ignorant of our custom of giving due advisement. Perhaps the white men do it only with words of challenge and presumption, as he has done. So let us teach the upstart some good manners. Let us send him our war gifts of token weapons and banners. Then let us go down to the coast and push the insufferable braggart into the sea!”
“Calm yourself, Brother,” said Motecuzóma. “As yet, he has bothered nobody in these parts except the paltry Totonáca, and even at them he has only made noise. So far as I am concerned, Cortés can stand on that beach forever, and preen and posture and break wind from both ends. Meanwhile, until he actually does something, we will wait.”
I H S
S. C. C. M.
Sanctified, Caesarean, Catholic Majesty,
the Emperor Don Carlos, Our Lord King:
ESTEEMED Majesty, our Royal Patron: from this City of Mexico, capital of New Spain, this eve of the Feast of the Transfiguration in the year of Our Lord one thousand five hundred thirty and one, greeting.
Since we have received from Your Transcendent Majesty no order to desist in the compilation of this chronicle, and since with the following pages it now at last seems to us complete, and since even the narrating Aztec himself declares that he has no more to say, we herewith annex the final and concluding segment.
Much of the Indian’s relation of the Conquest and its aftermath will already be familiar to Your Omnilegent Majesty, from the accounts sent during those years by Captain-General Cortés and other officers chronicling the events in which they took part. However, if nothing else, our Aztec’s account rather repudiates the Captain-General’s tediously repeated boast that only “he and a handful of stout Castilian soldiers” conquered this whole continent unaided.
Beyond any doubt, now that we and you, Sire, can contemplate this history entire, it is nothing like what Your Majesty must have envisioned when your royal cédula commanded its commencement. And we hardly need reiterate our own dissatisfaction with what it proved to be. Nevertheless, if it has been in the least informative to our Sovereign, or to any extent edifying in its plethora of bizarre minutiae and arcana, we will try to persuade ourself that our patience and forbearance and the drudging labors of our friar scribes have not entirely been a waste. We pray that Your Majesty, imitating the benign King of Heaven, will consider not the trivial value of the accumulated volumes, but the sincerity with which we undertook the work and the spirit in which we offer it, and that you will regard it and us with an indulgent aspect.
Also, we would inquire, before we terminate the Aztec’s employment here, might Your Majesty desire that we demand of him any further information or any addenda to his already voluminous account? In such case, we shall take care to see to his continued availability. But if you have no further use for the Indian, Sire, might it be your pleasure to dictate the disposition now to be made of him, or would Your Majesty prefer that we simply relinquish him to God for the determination of his due?
Meantime, and at all times, that God’s holy grace may dwell continuously in the soul of our Praiseworthy Majesty, is the uninterrupted prayer of Your S.C.C.M.’s devoted servant,
(ecce signum) Zumárraga
ULTIMA PARS
/> AS I have told you, reverend scribes, the name of our eleventh month, Ochpaníztli, meant The Sweeping of the Road. That year, the name took on a new and sinister import, for it was then, toward the close of that month, when the rains of the rainy season began to abate, that Cortés began his threatened march inland. Leaving his boatmen and some of his soldiers to garrison his town of Villa Rica de la Vera Cruz, Cortés headed westward to the mountains, with about four hundred fifty white troops and about one thousand three hundred Totonáca warriors, all armed and wearing fighting garb. There were another thousand Totonáca men serving as tamémime to carry spare arms, the dismantled cannons and their heavy projectiles, traveling rations, and the like. Among those porters were several of Motecuzóma’s mice, who communicated with other quimíchime posted along the route, thereby keeping us in Tenochtítlan informed of the procession’s composition and its progress.
Cortés led the march, they said, wearing his shining metal armor and riding the horse he derisively but affectionately called She-Mule. His other female possession, Malíntzin, carried his banner and walked proudly beside his saddle at the head of the company. Only a few of the other officers had brought their women, for even the lowest-ranking white soldiers expected to be given or to take other women along the way. But all the horses and dogs had been brought, though the quimíchime reported that the mounts became slow and clumsy and troublesome when they were on the mountain trails. Also, in those heights Tlaloc was prolonging his rainy season, and the rain was cold, windblown, often mixed with sleet. The travelers, soaked and chilled, their armor a clammy weight on them, were hardly enjoying the journey.
“Ayyo!” said Motecuzóma, much pleased. “They find the interior country not so hospitable as the Hot Lands. I will now send my sorcerers to make life even more uncomfortable for them.”
Aztec Page 101
