The Other Time

by Mack Reynolds

  Cuitlahuac said fiercely, “When he comes, we will sortie out and overwhelm him.”

  Don shook his head. “As you are now, you cannot prevail against horsemen and against cannons, no matter how much you outnumber him.”

  “Then what are we to do?” the Snake-Woman demanded. “We lay siege to Alvarado. And for the time, we take up the bridges in the causeways so that he cannot possibly fight his way out. We let him send messengers to Cortes, though we do not let them know we are aware of the fact that he has done so. Cortes will come to the rescue. The bridges will be replaced so that he can enter. We will suck him into the trap. Then we will take up the bridges again; all the allies will be summoned, and we will decimate him. His horses are worthless in the city, with all its canals, and the cannon almost so, since there is so much shelter for us. He will try to escape, but we will be upon him. No matter how many of the Spanish we destroy, however, they will come again. We must so defeat them at this time that it will take long for them to recover. We must have time to prepare for future attacks.”

  Tlilpotonque, the Snake-Woman, said emptily, “There are many of these teteuhs in the lands from which they come?”

  “As many as the grains of corn in your distant fields, my brothers. But they are not teteuhs, which you should know by now. Calling them that name makes the people fear them, since who wishes to fight gods? We must spend every moment of our time in preparation to meet them, for they will come again and again, even though we defeat Malintzin.”

  The assembled chiefs thought it out. Obviously, in this first flush of enthusiasm in battle, their whole instinct was to polish off the immediate foe, but on the other hand, the confederacy had not gained its position of supremacy, militarily, in Mexico by being less than efficient warriors. Don’s arguments were obvious.

  Cuitlahuac said, “Then what do we do for the present, Magician?”

  Inwardly, Don Fielding thought, I’ve put it over. God knows what this will do to the history books. Aloud, he said, “The first important step is to seize the brigantines, the great canoes of the enemy.”

  Cuauhtemoc produced his Eagle Knight regalia from a deer hide shoulder bag and dressed quickly. Enthusiastically, he said, “We will fire flaming arrows at them. We will burn them and sink them to the bottom of the lake.”

  Don shook his head again. “No. That we must not do. It will cost the lives of many, but they must be seized. Now they ride at anchor with guards upon them. In the middle of the night, when matters are most still, thousands of canoes must sally forth and the ships be overrun. They must be captured, and all the Spanish upon them. They must not be slain, if there is any possibility of not slaying.”

  “Why, Magician?” Cuitlahuac, the new war chief, said.

  “So that they can be sacrificed to the gods and thus win merit for us!” Xochitl screamed.

  Don Fielding would have to have it out with that one later. Now he had enough problems on his hands.

  He said, “Because to destroy the brigantines would be madness. Later we will need them. We will need all of the things the Spanish have brought if we are to resist them. For the time, we are unable to utilize these large canoes, but we must learn. The Spanish on them know how to use them. We must capture them so that we can force them to show us how to use the sails and the galley oars—and the cannon, for that matter, since not even I know how to use the cannon.”

  Don turned to Cuitlahuac. “Meanwhile, it is necessary to curb your warriors somewhat. Besiege the Spanish, yes, but do not expose yourselves to the cannon and the arquebuses. It is brave to dash full into the mouth of the guns, but a brave man is of no use to us if he becomes dead. Instruct them to fight from cover. If the Spanish sally forth, retreat quickly before them, showering them with missiles, but do not, at this point, meet them face to face, man to man. Their weapons are too superior. Against your missiles they have defenses, their armor, but even the best of armor sometimes fails against a sharp obsidian point.”

  He looked at Cuauhtemoc. “Your longbow is such that it can sometimes penetrate the best of mail or even a steel breastplate. It would be well if you put your bow-makers to producing them as rapidly as possible and your best bowmen be put to instructing the archers in the new method of firing.”

  Cuitlahuac, the new war chief, was obviously somewhat put out by this comparative stranger usurping his position of command, even though he might be a magician beyond all magicians that had ever been known. He said, “If we are not to destroy these large canoes of the teteuhs and we cannot sail them since we know not how, what are we to do with them?”

  “Pull them with your canoes to some place in the lake where they will be safe. Not Tetzcuco because the Spanish army will come through there upon their return from the eastern sea.”

  “This you know?” the war chief of Tetzcuco demanded.

  “This I know.”

  “And you claim not to be a magician,” Cuauhtemoc chortled.

  The raid on the brigantines came off as Don Fielding had scheduled. He stood on the top of the pyramid and watched, the night being bright enough under the moon. The slaughter was stomach-churning, but the Tenochas, like the Spartans before them, preferred to die in battle. The cannon blew them down by the scores, but they continued on. Happily, each ship had a guard of no more than four or five. Pedro de Alvarado simply did not have the manpower to provide more. They were overwhelmed and towed off by the victorious, whooping Indians.

  And the siege as well proceeded according to the plan Don Fielding had outlined. The messengers to Cortes were allowed to escape. It was noted that they were Tlaxcalans rather than Spanish. Alvarado was not risking any of his precious men and, in his eyes, the Indians were expendable.

  A couple of times the Spanish brought Motechzoma out onto the rooftops to order his people to stop resisting the Spanish and to return to their homes, but he was met with jeers and Alvarado gave that up.

  Several times, the Spanish footmen sallied forth to try and disperse those who were tormenting them, night and day, with the arrows and slung stones, the javelins and pellets from blowguns. But the Tenochas, under instructions, melted away before them, and the casualties taken in the open were not worth the game. There was hardly a soldier now who had not at least a few wounds. Largely, they were minor, due to armor and the low quality of the Indian firepower, but over the days of combat, one by one the Spanish were losing their effectiveness.

  Don Fielding had been amazed at the degree to which Cuitlahuac, the Snake-Woman, and all the rest of the Tlatocan high council had allowed him to dominate their decisions. It didn’t stand up to reality. He was, although an adopted member of the Eagle clan, a stranger and, by admission, no warrior, not to speak of being a chief.

  The understanding came with his confrontation of Xochitl, the high priest.

  For some time now, most of the other high chiefs had no longer been calling him magician.

  The crisis was upon the capture of the seventeen Spaniards who had been on the brigantines. Cuitlahuac, the new First Speaker, the Snake-Woman and Don Fielding and Cuauhtemoc, who had led the assault on the ships, were all who had been present.

  Xochitl, insanity in his eyes, had been for sacrificing the white men on the pyramid of Huitzilopochtli so that the Spanish still remaining in the tecpan could witness it going on—an indication of things to come so far as their own lives were concerned.

  Don said emphatically, “No!”

  The head priest was furious and his mad eyes blazed. Don was beginning to realize why he was head priest: there was religious strength in insanity. But he was surprised the other had enough stability to hold down his office.

  “The gods demand it!” the other screamed.

  Don shook his head. “We need them to teach us the things they know.”

  “They must die! Their hearts!”

  Cuauhtemoc looked at the priest, his face ultimately stoical, and gestured with reverence toward Don as he said, “Are you blind, so that you cannot see? His fac
e is white, paler than any of those we thought teteuhs and now know are in truth devils. His beard, when he allows it to grow, is black, as I can witness. To mystify us, perhaps, he tells us he comes from the north, but in truth he has come from the east. He has led us in defense against the devils from across the seas. He foresees the future, correctly as all know. He can bring fire from his fingertips. It is the year One Reed. Would you fly, then, in the face of our returned Lord, Quetzalcoatl?”

  Part Four

  Chapter Nineteen

  Donald Fielding closed his eyes in pain. Successively, this agnostic had worn the titles of magician and priest, and now he had made the ultimate. He was being hailed a god.

  The face of the high priest, Xochitl, had sagged at Cuauhtemoc’s words, though by the expressions of Cuitlahuac and the Snake-Woman they had already accepted, within themselves, what the younger man had proclaimed: Don’s divinity. Don Fielding was the returned god Quetzalcoatl, leader of the Toltecs who owned this area before the coming of the Tenochas. The tradition was that the god had promised to return in time of crisis and resume the leadership of the peoples.

  Xochitl gaped at Eton. Finally, he got out, “But he does not claim to be the god. When first Malintzin landed on the coast, we thought him to be Quetzalcoatl. We called them all teteuhs. Now we know them to be devils instead.”

  “I am not Quetzalcoatl, nor any other teteuh,” Don said. “I am simply a man.”

  Cuauhtemoc’s look was both friendly and tolerant. “Perhaps he does not even know it himself. The ways of the gods are strange, as all men are aware.”

  Don gave up. By the looks of the priest, he was undecided; nevertheless, he was taking no chances. For the time, at least, he gave up his fight to have the captured Spaniards sacrificed on the altar of Huitzilopochtli.

  Cuitlahuac said respectfully, “We will continue to take your suggestions. Even if your words are correct, and as you claim, you are not the returned god—still, as a magician, if you are no more, your advice has been good and we will continue to heed it.”

  The Snake-Woman nodded acceptance of that.

  He moved back into his room in the buildings of the Eagle clan and gave instructions for a new table and stool to be made for him. He simply couldn’t think well sitting or squatting on the floor.

  That night he tried to bring order to his thoughts. For the past few days he had been working as though instinctively; one development led to another. He had met each problem as it came up as best he could. But now he had to face the reality of it all.

  Ever since he had been thrown into this other time, he had agonized over the question of whether or not it was possible for him to change history. Now? Now it was no longer a question; he already had changed history. And it was not in a minor way. In history, the Indians had burned those brigantines and they had sacrificed every Spaniard they caught.

  Always before, he had thought the Aztecs doomed. In his era, history told him that they had gone down and that the Spanish had completely destroyed their culture and imposed their own upon Mexico. When he found himself in this time, he had accepted the fact. But now the question was upon him. Was it possible to prevent the defeat of the Indians?

  He had found them more desirable as a people than the Europeans. In many respects he found their society more advanced. Certainly, their institutions were more democratic than were the feudalistic Spanish.

  He had, in spite of himself, managed to build up a great deal of prestige with the Tenochas. Would it be possible to bring them from barbarism, avoiding chattel slavery and feudalism, into a more advanced society, still retaining those of their institutions that were desirable?

  It came back to him now that Cuauhtemoc, or someone, had told him that the Toltec god, Quetzalcoatl, did not desire blood as Huitzilopochtli, the Tenocha god, did. So that solved that. So long as they thought him divine, there would be no more sacrifices.

  He fell asleep, wondering at how much impact he could have on this age, and whether or not it was really desirable that he attempt it. Should he stand aside and let the Spanish overwhelm these people? Or even if he tried his hardest, could he help prevent it?

  They were taking too many casualties. The trouble was, the Tenochas were warriors, not soldiers. They fought largely as individuals and in the heat of combat paid little attention to their chiefs. For that matter, the chief himself was more likely to be in the thickest of the fray, paying little if any attention to what his supposed followers were doing.

  They would dash valiantly up to the wall of the tecpan and loose one of their inadequate javelins, an arrow, or even a stone from a sling. And the Spanish up on the walls would coolly pick them off with crossbows or arquebuses. Or if a large enough group assembled, one of the cannon would blast them down.

  Don was no soldier, but he had read a great deal of history and he knew enough about warfare to realize that the Tenochas had insufficient firepower.

  He had Cuauhtemoc bring the captured Spanish before him. There were twenty of them in all. Besides those captured on the brigantines, several more had been taken on Alvarado sorties. About half were wounded to one degree or the other. They were bound and well guarded. Don knew only two or three slightly.

  One he knew as Gaspar Sanchez hissed at him: “Traitor!”

  Don had to laugh. “Traitor? Did you labor under the illusion that I was a free member of your army? I was in danger of my life every moment I was in your vicinity.”

  “You’re a white man, yet you side with these heathens.”

  “I’m a heathen myself,” Don said mildly. “But let us get to the point.” He looked around at them slowly. “The priests wish to sacrifice you to their gods. I imagine you’ve heard of the procedure. You’re taken up to the altar in the temple atop the pyramid and your body is stretched across it. Four of the priests hold you, your back over the stone. Another takes a stone knife, cuts open your chest, and pulls out your heart. While you watch.”

  Most of them reacted as might have been expected. Brave men they undoubtedly were; concede them that, Don thought. But even a brave man does not look forward to a gruesome death.

  Nevertheless, one cool-looking redhead spat on the ground in a demonstration that his mouth was not dry at the contemplation of his fate. He said, “Well, why do we not get around to it? By my Lady, it grows wearisome trussed up in the temple dungeon.”

  Don looked at him. “Because I talked them out of it.” Silence fell over the twenty.

  Don said, “It was not easy, particularly after your massacre of the unarmed dancers.”

  “Pedro de Alvarado was informed that they planned an uprising, a revolt,” one said.

  “As men who call themselves soldiers—and Spanish gentlemen—one might have expected you to wait until such a revolt materialized, until you were confronted with an armed army. However, that is not the point. The point is that I have saved your lives, and they will continue to be in no danger, if you pay my price.”

  Sanchez said, “What price? On my soul, it is obvious that we have not an ounce of gold among us.”

  “In the fighting we have captured various weapons, especially on the ships. We have cannon, arquebuses, crossbows, swords, and pikes. It is not convenient to use the cannon at this time, and we have not the time to learn the correct use of the sword. However, we wish you to teach us to use the matchlocks and the crossbows. The brigantines were well stocked with powder, shot, and crossbow quarrels.”

  “Are you mad?” said one that Don recognized as Bartolome Garcia by name.

  “No. Let me finish. Any who so assist us will not only be granted his freedom when the war is ended but will be awarded with fifty pesos of gold.” In actuality, Don Fielding did not know what fifty pesos of gold was worth in the Spain of this age, but he knew it was a fortune.

  They goggled at him.

  Finally, one rasped, “We are not traitors to our Captain-General, our Emperor, and our Lord Jesus.”

  “Well spoken,” Don said, nodding. �
�Does anyone disagree? If you were released and rejoined your comrades, do you believe that any of you would wind up the war with that much gold, or would the Emperor, Cortes, his captains, and the other high-placed confiscate it all, or almost all?” Most of them glared at him.

  One of them rasped, “And if we do not accept your offer, we are to suppose it is the sacrificial altar?”

  Don looked at him coolly.

  Another said, “And how do we know you will keep your word? These Indians are treacherous savages.”

  Don said, “It is a strange statement to come from the lips of men who participated in the slaughters of Cholula and here in Tenochtitlan against unarmed men who had not bothered you. However, my name is Don Fielding. I am an hidalgo in my own land. I do not lie and I pledge you my word.”

  They still remained silent, although there were furtive glances at each other.

  Don said, “Very well. You will be placed in separate rooms, one man to a room. Each will have a guard posted at the door. If any one of you wishes to speak to me secretly, alone, and in such manner that your fellows need never know, unless they assume the same position, you need only say so to the guard and he will bring you to me.

  He sent them off.

  Cuauhtemoc had gone through all this in silence, standing off to one side. He said now, “What did you say to them?”

  Don told him.

  The other shook his head. “None will accept your offer. I do not admire the teteuhs—the Spanish—but they are brave warriors.”

  “That they are, but they are also sixteenth-century Spaniards. Their real god is yellow metal.”

  All twenty were recruited. When they saw each other, there was a certain moment of shamefacedness, but they were all there. Don sent for the captured weapons.