With their continued success, the Spanish were becoming increasingly arrogant. They swarmed up the pyramids, thrust the protesting priests aside, and overthrew the Indian idols, sending them crashing down the steps that led up to the temples. Most of them shattered on the ground below, to the horror of both priests and tribesmen.
Cortes also forbade any further sacrifices. At least that was a step in the right direction, Don decided grimly. The Spanish were taking precious few such steps, their basic motivation being greed.
Malinche’s spies brought word that Cacama, the Tlachochcalcatl of Tetzcuco, was organizing a revolt against the Spanish. Four of the other lake cities were in on the conspiracy. The Captain-General struck with characteristic duplicity, speed, and ruthlessness. A couple of boatloads of armed men were sent to Tetzcuco and to a house into which Cacama had been lured. They seized him, lowered him into one of the boats, and brought him back to Tenochtitlan and the Spanish quarters where he was thrown into irons. The next steps were to send out expeditions to arrest the chiefs of the other towns involved, and they too were thrown into chains and imprisoned in the tecpan. The revolt, for the time at least, was suppressed.
Ordinarily, Don Fielding knew, the Tetzcucans would have elected a new head chief, but the Spanish didn’t know this, thinking the Tlachochcalcatl to be a hereditary king. Cortes insisted that Motechzoma, as emperor, appoint a younger brother of Cacama to be the new king. And Motechzoma, as usual bewildered by the Spanish demands, acquiesced. The Tetzcucans, probably equally bewildered, accepted the stripling Cuicuitzca as their supposed king and gave him lip service, but in actuality they ignored him and appointed their own new leader.
It was shortly after this affair that Malinche appeared at Don’s door while he was in the middle of one of his classes. He came to his feet. As always, she was dressed in her Mayan-type kub, the single piece of decorated cloth with holes for the arms and a square-cut opening for the head and looking somewhat like a chemise. Underneath she wore a lighter white cotton petticoat, highly and colorfully embroidered and fringed. About her shoulders was draped a booch, somewhat similar to a stole. And as always, she was barefooted, her jet black hair in braids.
She said, “My lord, the Captain-General, desires your presence in the quarters of Motechzoma.”
He dismissed his class and turned back to her. It was time to plant another seed, somewhat similar to the one he had used upon Bernal Diaz. Perhaps he wasn’t quite sure what his goad was, but he was playing it instinctively now.
Don said softly, “And how does the campaign go to bring new freedoms and a better faith to your people, Malinche?”
Her chin went up a bit. “My name is now Dona Marina.”
He nodded. “Although the army has been here in Mexico for the better part of a year, you are one of the few who have been baptized. I understand that the reason was that the Captain-General didn’t want to take the chance on sleeping with a heathen. Now that he has taken on other mistresses does he have much occasion to bring you to his bed?”
She frowned slightly and her large dark Indian eyes took on a vague, almost pathetic quality. She said, so low that he could hardly make it out, “My lord, the Captain-General, is so busy that he has little time for any activity save his work.”
“His work being to secure all the gold and other valuables that he can get his hands upon and in treading down everyone who gets in his way. Did you witness the burning of Quauhpopoca and his chiefs and son? Did you witness the imprisonment of Cacama and the others, their sole offense being that they wished to resist the Spanish?”
“They stand in the way of bringing the true faith to all the land.”
“Twenty years after the Spanish have succeeded, the population of all the land will have been reduced by two-thirds. What good is it to have a new faith if you’re dead?”
“How do you know?”
“I know.”
“Through your history?”
“Yes.”
The girl was far from stupid, as he had already discovered. She said, “I asked Fray Olmedo the meaning of the word, and he told me that it was the knowledge of things past. But you attempt to look into the future.”
“I can’t explain it to you, Malinche, but I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll tell you something that will transpire within the fairly new future. A new Spanish fleet will appear near Vera Cruz and it will contain something like one thousand soldiers. They will have come to arrest Cortes and to take over this expedition, so that they, instead of Cortes, can acquire the gold here.”
“I don’t believe you. The emperor in Spain would never lift a hand against his loyal subject, my lord, the Captain-General.”
“Very well, we’ll see.” He turned to go.
She said, her voice very low, “A moment, Don Fielding.”
He turned back to her, questioningly.
Her eyes were on the floor as she said, “Do that to me again, which you did in the temple at Zempoala.”
At first he didn’t understand. Then he did. And with it came another understanding. Now he knew why she had taken his part on more than one occasion.
He tilted up her chin and did a better job than he had the first time. Her mouth was unbelievably soft and eager under his own.
Chapter Seventeen
They were all there—Cortes, his captains, and Pedro Hernandez, one of the army secretaries, and a public notary to boot. And Motechzoma, the Tenochtitlan high council, and representative chiefs from Tlacopan and Tetzcuco and even some of the other towns in the valley.
The Indians, who, on the face of it, hadn’t the vaguest idea of what was going on, periodically exchanged looks of puzzlement.
Pedro Hernandez was reading from a lengthy paper which looked to Don like some sort of legal document. He droned on and on, and Don Fielding finally got the drift of it. Motechzoma was pledging his fealty to Emperor Charles the Fifth and accepting him as the liege lord of all the domains controlled by Motechzoma.
The Spanish stood around looking, to Don, like nothing so much as a pack of wolves. And the Indians stood around looking like nothing so much as a group of Indians being read to in a language they didn’t understand.
When Hernandez was through, Cortes said to Malinche, “Tell the king what has been said and have him sign, with his royal seal, the paper.”
Don suspected that Malinche’s capability to understand the whole thing was almost as limited as that of the other Indians present. However, she did better than he had expected.
She said in Nahuatl, “The teteuh says that he wishes you to accept the friendship of the great chief across the waters and be as though you were a member of his tribe.”
Cortes said tightly to Don Fielding, “What does she say?”
Don told him.
Motechzoma was looking puzzled, as he invariably looked puzzled these days.
Don said to him, “If you sign that paper, then you are of no more value to the teteuhs. And all the lands that belong to your people will belong to the great chief across the waters.”
Cortes snapped to Malinche, “What did he say?”
She darted a despairing look at Don, then took a deep breath and in poor Spanish said, “He urges Montezuma to sign the paper with his seal.”
Inwardly, Don’s stomach did a double turn. Pedro de Alvarado, in the background, was glaring hatred at him.
Motechzoma said, to both Malinche and Don, “But why is it necessary? What does it mean?”
Malinche said hurriedly, in Nahuatl, “It is to bind your friendship with the great chief across the seas.”
Don said, “It is to make tlacotli, slaves, of all your people.”
In continued bewilderment, Motechzoma said, “But how could that be? My putting my seal as Tlacatechtli on that small paper make the Tenochas tlacotli? They are not tlacotli; they are free tribesmen. There are few tlacotli in all the land—kinless, clanless ones.”
Don said, “The teteuhs do not know this. The customs in their own
land are different than in Tenochtitlan. Most of the teteuhs are tlacotli to their great chiefs.” Motechzoma moaned.
Cortes said suspiciously to Malinche, “What does this Don Fielding say to the king?”
Malinche said, her voice low and the words coining slowly, “He urges him to sign the paper.”
So, my dear, Don thought, you betray your lord, the Captain-General, for the sake of one who kisses you, rather than holding you in contempt as an Indian wench not worthy of the treatment to be devoted to a white woman.
Cortes said harshly, “Inform the king that I have pressing matters and that I cannot wait on this the balance of the day.”
She did so, though in slightly more conciliatory words.
Motechzoma groaned again. His fellow chiefs were staring at him in open contempt. They had heard Don’s opinion, and although they didn’t completely understand this matter of fealty and liege lords, they didn’t like the situation one bit.
Cortes snapped impatiently, “Well?”
Motechzoma turned wearily to the Snake-Woman. “My seal.”
Tlilpotonque looked at him emptily for a long moment, his intelligent face cold. At long last he took from a pouch a seal carved in the form of an Eagle in green jade. He handed it over.
The public notary supplied the ink.
Motechzoma made the impression, then sighed deeply, as though in relief.
So far as Cortes and his officers were concerned, all of what they called New Spain was now a fief of the Emperor Charles. There was elation on their faces, triumph in their eyes.
Cortes came to his feet, the document in his hand. He made a sweeping bow, flourishing his velvet cap. “Thank you, Your Majesty!”
He marched from the room, his officers, laughing and chattering their relief, following him. Malinche, after a quick look at Don, went too.
Tlilpotonque turned to Don. “Kinsman, what does all this mean?”
Don said hollowly, “I told you. In the land from which the Spaniards come, they have different customs, different laws. In their belief, all the Tenochas, and all the people of all the lands, are now their tlacotli.”
“Are they mad?”
“No, they are not mad. And now they have accomplished what they wanted. I make this suggestion to you. Do not return to the tecpan again, assuming that they will even let you depart at this time. They have the proof they need to submit to Spain, making it legal in their courts of law, and you are the sole witnesses to the transaction. As such, you are potential trouble-makers for them. They would not hesitate for a moment to imprison you as they have Cacama and the others, or even to kill you.”
“But we have done them no harm,” Motechzoma blurted. “We have given them all that they have requested. Why do they not return to this far land across the seas whence they came?”
Don said, “Don’t you see? They have no intention of ever returning.”
“But the teteuh pledged his word. As soon as they built new ships in which they could travel.”
Don said grimly, “To take a silly phrase from the old stories of my land: Malintzin speaks with a forked tongue. They are building their new ships here on the lake, not down on the beaches of the eastern sea. Does that mean nothing to you?”
Motechzoma moaned. “Malintzin said that they are for pleasure, to sail about the lake.”
If it hadn’t been so deadly serious, Don Fielding could have laughed.
Instead, he looked at the Snake-Woman. “I suggest that you and the others leave, before it occurs to Cortes—Malintzin—to detain you.”
When they were gone, he looked at Motechzoma in compassion. “They won’t let you leave. If there is some manner in which you can escape, I suggest you do so.”
But the other had lost all remnants of decision, fortitude, self-respect. He shook his head mutely.
If the Spanish had been arrogant before, they knew no bounds now. Hernando Cortes let Motechzoma know that now New Spain was a fief of the Emperor Charles Fifth, and it was only suitable that all the towns pay tribute of His Majesty, and hence the Spanish should accompany the Indian tribute collectors to each city in Montezuma’s domain. The tribute collectors were especially instructed to urge those areas that produced gold or silver to intensify the production of the metals.
While these various expeditions were under way, the construction of the brigantines went on, and in surprisingly short time they were launched. They mounted a bronze cannon on the prow of each, and on the maiden voyage of the largest of the four the Captain-General made a point of taking Motechzoma along with him. They set off at full sail down the length of the lake and from time to time touched off the cannon. Cortes made his point to the fallen war chief. The canoes of the Indians lacked both the speed and the firepower of this awesome vessel.
Don Fielding finished his Spanish class of four and took on another group, if for no other reason than to fill his hours. This time he located ten youngsters and, besides the Spanish classes, introduced them to both Arabic numbers and the Latin alphabet. The Indians, surprisingly enough, had developed the use of the zero in their numbering system, but the unit dots and bars of five they used were too clumsy for much in the way of mathematics. Nahuatl lent itself well, as a language, to the alphabet, and shortly the boys were writing their language in Latin script with a verve.
The teenagers he had already graduated were pressed into service as interpreters, although Cortes still depended usually on Malinche. He knew he could trust her but was cautious with the Tenochas.
When, for whatever reason, Malinche wasn’t available, the Captain-General sometimes called upon Don Fielding as an interpreter. Thus it was that Don was present when the first news of the Narvaez expedition came through. The girl was off on some errand involving the requisitioning of supplies for the Spanish and Don was summoned.
The meeting took place in Motechzoma’s quarters, which was passingly surprising in itself. In the relationship between the Captain-General and the imprisoned First Speaker it was usually Cortes who summoned the Indian into his presence when communication was called for.
Now there was something out of place in the demeanor of Motechzoma, and Cortes had obviously detected it, since his eyes were narrow and calculating. Seemingly, there was more backbone in the war chief than Don Fielding had thus far seen, even before the kidnapping.
The First Speaker said, “Now, Malintzin, you will be able to return to your home across the seas.”
Don translated.
“Why do you say that?” Cortes demanded.
Motechzoma brought forth a large piece of the Indian amatl paper which they utilized for messages and handed it over.
Scowling, Cortes unfolded the paper. On it were drawn nineteen ships. Below them were drawn horses, cannons, men, crossbows, and arquebuses.
The Captain-General looked up. “What is this?”
“Off the coast of the eastern sea have arrived more teteuhs. My messengers have counted them and sent the information to me. There are ten cannon, eighty horses, eighty of the teteuhs who carry guns, one hundred twenty teteuhs who carry crossbows, and perhaps a thousand others. So now you will have ships in which to return, O Malintzin.”
The mind of Hernando Cortes was obviously in high gear. He had no idea of whom these men might be, but they outnumbered him at least two-to-one and they had eighty horses to his sixteen.
He spun on his heel and strode quickly from the conference room. As he went, he shouted out orders to soldiers in the vicinity to round up all his captains who were in the city. Sandoval, of course, was in Vera Cruz, de Leon and de Rangel were off with fairly large groups of the Spanish garrison collecting tribute. The army available was at about half-strength.
Don followed along, largely through curiosity.
Cortes reentered his headquarters and banged down into his chair, his face working.
He snapped to the page, Orteguilla, the only one of the Spanish who had any Nahuatl at all, “Go find Dona Marina. Tell her to come here immedi
ately.”
Pedro de Alvarado came hurrying in, his face questioning.
The Captain-General snapped, “Get a man off on our fastest horse to Sandoval in Vera Cruz.”
“What has happened?”
“Nineteen ships, off the coast. I want a detailed report. Who it is; what they want. Sandoval will know what I require. In fact, he has already probably sent a message, but since he has no horses, it will take forever to get here.”
The other captains came trooping in, one by one, apprehension already on some faces, as though by extrasensory perception the consternation was spreading.
Cortes gave them all he had. “The question becomes, are they from Spain—reinforcements from the Emperor? Or are they from Cuba, seeking to displace us?”
“Aiii,” Olid complained fiercely. “Just when everything was going so well.”
They remained on tenterhooks for two days before the message from Sandoval got through, and it was not the horseman who brought it, but an Indian runner. By coincidence, Don Fielding was again present, Cortes having just used his service in some transactions with the Tlatocan high council. Cortes was beginning to get suspicious about the fact that they no longer came to this building to administer the city and seemingly no longer found it necessary to consult with Motechzoma for his orders.
Sandoval, in his letter, minced no words. The expedition was under Panfilo Narvaez and had been sent by Governor Velasques of Cuba to arrest Cortes and take over the expedition. The governor was furious over the manner in which Cortes had usurped the expedition and bypassed him to deal directly with the court in Spain. He had assembled a new army and the figures that had come through Motechzoma were substantially correct. There were thirteen hundred of the newcomers, ten cannon, evidently all of them larger than anything Cortes had at his command, and eighty horses. Eighty!
The Other Time Page 19
