by Buddy Levy
On Easter Sunday 1519 the ambassador Tendile*5 arrived as promised with a few thousand attendants in tow, all dressed in feathered finery and elaborately embroidered cloaks, nobles carrying gifts and provisions. Perhaps for effect and as a show of religious conviction, Cortés instructed Fray Bartolomé de Olmedo to say mass, which Tendile and his nobles listened to with great curiosity and interest. When the Spanish priest had finished, Tendile followed with a ritual of his own, as he and some other noblemen performed a “dirt eating” ceremony, in which they dampened their fingers, touched them to the earth, then placed the dirt-smudged fingers to their lips in a show of respect. They handed Cortés sticks of burning incense and reeds dipped in their blood.4 Tendile then brought forth bearers carrying great chests, from which he proffered gifts from the great Montezuma, his emperor from high above and far away in the mountains, a deeply feared and sovereign leader who ruled from the capital city, a place called Tenochtitlán.
Tendile presented Cortés with chests full of highly wrought featherwork and gleaming gold objects and jewelry. Cortés formally thanked Tendile and by extension his ruler, this Montezuma. He reciprocated by giving Tendile a red Spanish cap, embroidered in gold, depicting a mounted horseman (Saint George) slaying a dragon; as a direct gift to Montezuma, he offered an intricately fashioned, inlaid, and carved Spanish armchair upon which, Cortés said, the ruler might sit when Cortés arrived for his personal visit.5 This highly presumptuous and even brash suggestion was not lost on Tendile, who responded quickly: “You have only now just arrived, and already you ask to speak with our prince.”6 His pride apparently insulted, he instructed Cortés to accept the gifts first, and then they would in good time discuss each other’s wishes.
A bit affronted himself at being addressed in this way, the clever Hernán Cortés took the opportunity to explain his situation, shrewdly fabricating some of the details and context. He told Tendile that he too served a most powerful king, one who lived across the vast seas to the east, and that his own king knew well of the great Montezuma; in fact, Cortés said (and here he laid it on thick), his monarch had dispatched him with instructions to meet personally with Montezuma and would expect nothing less. As he waited for his words to filter through Aguilar and Malinche, Cortés would have noticed the concerned expression on Tendile’s face when he learned of this ruler from the east, for there existed a myth proclaiming that very thing. For the moment, though, Tendile simply nodded and spoke to one of his attendants, who was sketching furiously on a large canvas made from the dried and stretched flesh of the maguey plant. Cortés inquired about it, and Tendile informed him that this was “picture writing,” and that his painters were recording all the proceedings, so that they could report accurately to Montezuma what they had observed and learned. Bernal Díaz remembered the moment precisely, noting that Tendile gave his painters instructions “to make realistic full-length portraits of Cortés and all his captains and soldiers, also to draw the ships, sails, and horses, Doña Marina [Malinche] and Aguilar, and even two greyhounds.”7
Cortés decided to offer a display of power to the artists and, by extension, to this ruler named Montezuma, so he ordered the cavalry to mount and ride through rigorous military exercises in full armor, their steel swords flashing in the sun. Artillerymen discharged firearms and cannons at close range. Tendile, the nobles, and the thousands of attendants shuddered in amazement and fear, marveling at the violent explosions. The disciplined artists drew their renditions of these phenomena, including smoke clouds billowing from the shot blasts that completely obliterated a nearby tree. They then turned their accurate picture-writing skills on the massive ships at anchor, vessels of a magnitude they had never before encountered, which they called “water-houses.” Astounded by the horses and the dogs, the artists depicted these animals racing about the beach, the “panting dogs rushing back and forth, their tongues dangling from their great mouths and their fiery eyes casting off sparks.”8 The impressive, awesome display quite literally put the fear of god in Tendile and his men, for indeed the weapons and the animals possessed such power and novelty that Tendile wondered if Cortés and these creatures might be teules—gods.*6 9
Tendile then inquired about a particular helmet worn by one of the Spanish soldiers who had been performing military exercises on the beach. He asked to see it. Fabricated of metal, with a peak sloping gracefully from front to back, Tendile noted that this helmet possessed a remarkable resemblance to those worn by their war gods, including Huitzilopochtli and Quetzalcoatl. Montezuma, Tendile said, would be very interested in seeing this helmet, and he asked Cortés if he might borrow it to show his ruler. Once again thinking on his feet, Cortés responded mischievously that Tendile could certainly take the helmet, under the condition that it be returned filled with grains of Aztec gold, which he might compare with that of his homeland in Spain and give as a gift to his own great monarch across the eastern oceans. Of his desire and interest in Aztec gold, Cortés added that “I and my companions suffer from a disease of the heart which can be cured only with gold.”10
Finally, the artists having completed detailed portraits of Cortés and some of his captains, Tendile departed, assuring the captain that his people would supply the visiting Spaniards with food on the beach and that he would soon return with a response from his ruler in Tenochtitlán.
As a generous parting gift (likely on orders from Montezuma himself), Tendile had left Cortés with some two thousand servants, workers instructed to construct hundreds more huts and shelters for the Spaniards. They also offered women to make maize cakes and cook fowl and fish, which they provided daily. Cortés was impressed with their hard work and the apparent munificence, but he was also circumspect, figuring that among these men were likely spies and informants whose charge was to report back on the nature of these visitors, their habits and weaponry and numbers. So as he waited on the muggy promontory for Tendile’s return, Cortés kept a watchful eye on the servants.
Never idle, Hernán Cortés also took the opportunity to get to know the beautiful Malinche, with whom he was developing something more than just good rapport. Technically he had given her to his friend Puertocarrero, but she had been at Cortés’s side since the moment he discovered her linguistic prowess, and she would remain there for the duration of the expedition. Her talent for language acquisition was uncanny, and through Aguilar she began to learn Spanish with remarkable speed. Eventually, in her own words, she was able to tell Cortés her incredible, and in many ways sad, story. How, though she was of high birth, her chieftain father had died when she was very young, and she had been sold into slavery by her own mother. How she had been shuttled back and forth between slave traders, eventually landing in Tabasco, where the Tabascan chiefs had finally gifted her to Cortés. A deep intelligence burned in her dark eyes, and Cortés saw in her an ancient beauty. Before long, charmed, Cortés had her baptized and made her his primary confidante and then his mistress. Malinche would be present, and indeed instrumental, in all subsequent diplomatic proceedings, many of which would determine the history of the New World.*7 11
ABOUT ten days later Tendile returned from the interior leading a retinue of over one hundred bearers, strung in a long line behind him. Arriving before Cortés, Tendile and another important Mexican chief kissed the earth and perfumed the Spaniard and the soldiers around him with smoke from incense burning in earthen braziers. Then Tendile’s attendants laid out numerous woven presentation mats called petates, onto which they spread before Cortés generous gifts from Montezuma himself: plates and ornaments and sandals, all of pure gold, and a strung bow and a dozen arrows of solid gold. They set out two enormous plates of gold and silver, which were, according to Bernal Díaz, “as large as carriage wheels.”12 One of these impressive disks represented the sun, the heavy gold carved elaborately with depictions of plants and animals; the silver plate, slightly larger, symbolized the moon. Cortés and his men marveled at the intricately woven and resplendently dyed cotton garments, cloaks of f
eatherwork of inestimable beauty and value, created by highly skilled craftsmen. The jewelry—gold collars and necklaces and bracelets—was inlaid with shimmering precious stones and threaded with gleaming pearls. Also on the mats were laid golden deer and ducks and dogs, jaguars and monkeys and fish, golden rods and staffs. The Mexicans presented the helmet Tendile had taken, filled as requested with gold flakes and nuggets directly from the mines. Cortés stood amazed before the generous and wondrous artifacts, conscious for the first time that he was dealing with people of a highly civilized and established culture who could mine and then intricately fabricate precious metals. This was fine art of a kind to rival, and even surpass, anything being created in Europe or perhaps anywhere in the world.13
Tendile, seeing that Cortés was pleased, paused to let his pleasure sink in. Then he intimated Montezuma’s wishes and his message: with great pleasure he offered these gifts to Spain’s king, and he was happy to have this direct communication. The Spaniards were welcome to remain along the coast for a time if they so desired. But Montezuma would not come personally to see them, and under no circumstances could they venture through the mountains to visit him. Montezuma’s instructions were polite but specific: the Spaniards were to take his gifts as gestures of good faith and evidence of his wealth and power—and leave. They must leave.
Montezuma’s gifts had been sent to assert his unchallengeable and undeniable wealth and power, but they had an opposite and unintended effect. Their grandiosity piqued the greed and desire of the Spaniards. Seeing this imperial haul, Hernán Cortés had no intention of leaving. He had already come too far and risked too much, and though disappointed by Montezuma’s refusal, he remained calm in his dealings with Tendile and the other chief. He decided to push Tendile, saying that his own king would be unhappy with him if he did not make direct personal contact with Montezuma, and in fact Cortés should feel it “impossible to present himself again before his own sovereign, without having accomplished this great object of his voyage,” especially after having sailed over “two thousand leagues of ocean” to see Montezuma.14 He thanked Tendile profusely for the gifts but wished him to return once more to Montezuma and express his deep desire for a meeting. He presented for Montezuma several tokens of his great respect, which included a number of Dutch shirts woven of fine linen, a Florentine glass goblet engraved with scenes of hunting, and handfuls of glass beads. Cortés must certainly have felt a little self-conscious with this scant reciprocity, as his gifts were paltry and few when compared to the literal treasure that Montezuma had presented to him, but Cortés gave what he could and sent Tendile away, still hoping for a personal audience.
Once Tendile left, Cortés assessed their situation on the dunes. It was untenable. Despite the numerous shacks and shelters they had built, the sands grew scorching hot during the day, and the area was surrounded by stagnant marshes that produced thick clouds of flies, gnats, and mosquitoes. Many of his men were racked with stomach cramps and bowel disorders, some even succumbing to tropical “bilious fever”—mosquito-borne malaria. So far some thirty of his men had perished from battle wounds and inexplicable disease. What food they had was spoiling in the hot sun or in the ships’ holds.
Perhaps even worse, there were grumblings of discord among his men; some of the more influential members loyal to Velázquez suggested that they should take the gifts and return immediately to Cuba. Cortés attempted to allay their concerns by dispatching two expeditions—one over land and one by sea—to discover a more suitable location for settlement. He sent two brigantines, one piloted by Alaminos and captained by his own loyal friend Rodrigo Álvarez, the other under the captaincy of a Velázquez supporter named Francisco de Montejo, manned by some fifty soldiers, nearly all devoted to the governor of Cuba. Álvarez and Montejo were to seek a better, more sheltered harbor for the ships and a landing site that was not plagued by lowland marshes, swamps, and the attendant swarms. Cortés assigned Juan Velázquez de León, a relative of Velázquez, to foray into the interior for three days, also in search of more favorable surroundings for settlement and fortification. As it turned out, Cortés’s choice to send away the bulk of the Velázquez sympathizers appears not to have been accidental.15
HIGH above, in the Valley of Mexico, Montezuma had difficult decisions to make. Deeply spiritual, having been a high priest before becoming emperor, he pondered the counsel of his priests, who suggested that the invading Spaniards be immediately driven back to where they came from or, better yet, killed. He learned from his spies and emissaries that along his route Cortés and his men had been destroying temples and replacing native idols with their own, a fact that perplexed and intrigued Montezuma. Moreover these Spaniards, these teules, were strangely served by beasts—they could conjoin themselves to the backs of great hornless stags to become one being—and they carried fire and thunder in their hands. One of the messengers’ reports stated of the foreigners, “Their trappings and arms are all made of iron. They dress in iron and wear iron casques on their heads. Their swords are iron; their bows are iron; their shields are iron; their spears are iron; their deer carry them on their backs wherever they wish to go. These deer, our lord, are as tall as the roof of a house.”16 The emperor’s priests reported omens and grim prophecies, including one that said, “The future has already been determined and decreed in heaven, and Montezuma will behold and suffer great mystery which must come to pass in this land. It comes swiftly.”17 The most disconcerting omen, already a general belief among Montezuma’s priests, was that a long-standing prophecy was finally being realized, that Cortés, this strange and powerful bearded invader, might in fact be the plumed serpent god Quetzalcoatl, returned. He had, after all, arrived on the Mexican mainland on 1-Reed, which occurred only every fifty-two years and which was the exact date on the Aztec calendar on which Quetzalcoatl was prophesied to return.*8 18
As Montezuma listened to the counsel of his priests and messengers, he surveyed the grand lake cities of his domain. He knew that he must at all costs protect Tenochtitlán, the geographical, political, and spiritual epicenter of his vast empire, but he feared also that the arrival of this Cortés was predestined. Tradition held, and Montezuma fully believed, that the Aztec capital was the sacred center of the universe. The myth of Quetzalcoatl told that the bearded royal ancestor would one day arrive to “shake the foundation of heaven” and conquer Tenochtitlán. Montezuma listened to his priests and mused. He decided to be careful and judicious in his decisions, and he must discover whether this Cortés really was Quetzalcoatl: for if he was, then he was also a descendant of Montezuma’s own ruling family, and the two were related by blood.19
Montezuma chose two of his trusted nephews and four of his priests (Tendile among them) and sent them again to the coast. They were to deploy spies to monitor all subsequent movements of the Spaniards and report back by means of their best “runners,” relays of men who ran with astonishing speed and stealth through the thin mountain air, able to travel and dispatch messages across distances up to two hundred miles per day. Supported by a string of bearers, Montezuma’s nephews and priests would once again carry the fine featherwork, cotton garments, and pieces of the gold with which the invaders seemed particularly enamored. Montezuma’s envoys were to reiterate his ultimatum: take these gifts and leave.
WHILE Cortés waited for the return of his scouting expeditions, Tendile arrived again, once more trailing porters and gifts. Once more, with formal fanfare, he perfumed Cortés and his men with sweet, burning incense and laid out “ten loads of fine rich feather cloth”20 and more gold pieces. He then brought out four large green gemstones (jadestones) that looked to the Spaniards like rough emeralds. These precious stones, Tendile explained, were direct gifts to the Spanish monarch from Montezuma, and they were much more highly prized and valued than gold, for they assisted the dead in the afterlife. Then Tendile became serious, and through Malinche he firmly reiterated the previous message from Montezuma, which now sounded like an ultimatum: as they now h
ad everything they needed, the Spaniards should load up their ships and return to their own country at once. Their business here was concluded. Take these offerings with honor and dignity, and go. Now.
With that, Tendile, his officials, and his train of bearers turned and struck back toward the interior, headed for Mexico to report the successful delivery of his message to their emperor Montezuma.
The next morning Cortés awoke to find that all the huts previously inhabited by the two thousand workers Tendile had left for him were abandoned. The local inhabitants had also retreated into the woodlands, under direct orders of Montezuma, ceasing all trade and communication with the Spaniards. The locals no longer brought food for Cortés and his army. They had been cut off. They were now on their own.
FOR the duration of his expedition, timing was everything, and now the time appeared ripe for definitive action. From the moment of his rejection, Cortés became fixated on meeting in person this great and powerful (and wealthy) emperor they called Montezuma. But he would need to proceed carefully, and first he had internal divisions to contend with. With the bulk of the Velázquez faction away on reconnaissance with Montejo, Cortés drew on his legal training and orchestrated some deft political maneuvering. First, he held a meeting with his troops and remaining captains, explaining that he understood that there were factions among them, that they were essentially of two minds. He understood that the men were famished and miserable and that some of them even wished to return to Cuba—to take their spoils and sail.
But, Cortés argued, they had much to gain if they stayed the course. Simply look at the riches they had already received. True, most of it would have to be sent back to their king in Spain, but consider how much more there must be. Cleverly, Cortés opened the floor for discussion and heard arguments from both sides, but as most of Velázquez’s men were absent, the discussion was relatively one-sided. That night, under veil of darkness in what was essentially a cunning coup d’état, Cortés gathered in his tent all his most powerful allies, and the majority agreed that rather than return to Cuba, they should stay and settle. To that end Cortés suggested that he would hereby resign his commission under Diego de Velázquez, in the presence of his notary, and together they would create and found their own legal settlement, a town and colony called Villa Rica de la Vera Cruz (the Rich Town of the True Cross, in reference to their arrival there on Good Friday). Quickly but precisely and with legal correctness, Cortés prepared formal documents that created a colonial government consisting of his own handpicked supporters and loyalists, complete with a chief magistrate (Alonso de Puertocarrero), town councilors (Alonso de Grado and Pedro Alvarado), a constable (Gonzalo de Sandoval), and a notary (Diego de Godoy). As a token and conciliatory political gesture intended to assuage unrest, Cortés nominated Velázquez’s man Montejo as joint chief magistrate.21
