Other Time

by Mack Reynolds

  Axayaca came up and stood next to Don. He was in his costume as an Otomitl, one of the "Wandering Arrow" warriors, a rank analgous to Cuauhtemoc's standing as an Eagle Knight, though with not quite as much prestige. The night before, the young Indian had been somewhat more friendly to Don than in the past. After all, they were now members of the same clan and hence brothers. Don Fielding got the impression that the other had been opposed to his adoption, but in view of the fact that it had taken place, they were now kin. In Indian society, kin was all-important. It was, literally, social security. If kin do not take care of each other, who will?

  Axayaca said, "The teteuhs are to be given several hours to adjust to their new surroundings and to eat the midday meal they and the scum they have brought with them have carried from Tlaxcala, Cholula, and the other towns. Then the First Speaker of the Tlatocan and others of the chiefs will wait upon them. Motechzoma requests your presence since you speak both our tongue and theirs."

  Don had already steeled himself to confronting the conquistadores. Why attempt to put it off?

  "Very well," he said.

  Axayaca looked at him from the side of his eyes and said, "You fear them?"

  Don took a deep breath. He disliked losing face before this younger man. However, he said, "Yes. I am not a warrior."

  Axayaca said, "All men of the Eagle clan are warriors, save the priests."

  "I am not. I am a scholar and a teacher of the young."

  The other looked straight ahead. He said softly, "Somehow it comes to me that in time of need you will become a warrior."

  What could you answer to that? It was meant to be a compliment; it was the first kindly thing Axayaca had ever said to him.

  The parade was over. He returned to his quarters and shaved and policed up his clothing to the extent he could. He also brought forth his automatic and checked the clip. Perhaps he was no warrior, but he wasn't going down before Cortes and his cutthroats without resistance.

  Cuauhtemoc, in his regalia as an Eagle Knight, came for him an hour or so later. It would seem that his friend had also been selected as one of those who were to join the audience with the Spanish. Don was mildly surprised. The other was not a chief, nor even a senior warrior, though he was an Eagle Knight.

  It turned out that Motechzoma, when the tecpan had been cleared out for their unwelcome visitors, had moved his establishment to these quarters of the Eagle clan, which was natural since it was his own clan. The Snake-Woman, too, Don supposed, would be in residence here, as well as most of the others connected with the city and confederation administration. He imagined that there would be a strain on accomodations, but the place was monstrous, and if worse came to worst, he assumed that some of the inhabitants could be switched to other Eagle clan houses or even to those of other clans.

  The procession that was to confront the Spanish formed in the largest of the courtyards; Motechzoma and Tlilpotonque, the Snake-Woman, were both being borne in their ceremonial litters. All the rest were on foot, some twenty in all, besides Don and Cuauhtemoc. Porters bearing gifts brought up the rear. Don recognized a dozen, at least, of the chiefs and the total Tlatocan, high council, and the head chiefs of the confederate towns. None were armed.

  Were they mad to submit their whole government to possible attack? To march into the lion's mouth?

  He knew it was useless to protest. The Spanish power was fated to destroy this backward culture. Time was marching on with a vengeance. Within five years there would be hardly a vestige of the Tenocha left remaining and the city of Tenochtitlan would be but a memory. The Spanish would raze it in the names of God the Father, Charles the Fifth, and Gold the First. These primitive buildings were unuseable for Europeans, in spite of the highly exaggerated descriptions the conquistadores were sending back to Spain.

  The procession swung out into the great square and headed for the tecpan.

  As they came nearer, Don Fielding could see that the invading army had lost no time. Cannon were mounted on the flat rooftops; armed sentries were posted everywhere— crossbowmen and arquebusiers, pieces in hand, fingers in triggers.

  Cortes was showman enough to make the grand gesture. He had placed himself in the center of what had once been Motechzoma's conference room, at the top of the stone stairs which Don had mounted on his various interviews with the war chief. The Captain-General did not deign to descend to welcome his reluctant host but sat there in his chair while Motechzoma and his chiefs ascended.

  Hernando Cortes was the only one seated and the only one not to wear armor. He was dressed in rich black and wore a velvet cap. Malinche stood to one side of his chair, Aguilar to the other. Behind, in a row, were the two priests, Fray Bartolome de Olmedo and Padre Juan Diaz, and all of the captains of Cortes's little army. Don Fielding was surprised to see even Bernal Diaz, who had evidently been promoted to officer's rank since they had last spoken.

  Don and Cuauhtemoc brought up the rear of the Indian procession and it was Malinche who spotted him first. She sucked in air in a gasp.

  The eyes of Hernando Cortes widened in a shock of recognition, and behind him the redheaded Alvarado swore; his hand went to his sword and half drew it from its scabbard.

  Without need to look around, Cortes said grimly, "A moment, Pedro."

  He looked coldly at Don Fielding. "You are under arrest for the murder of Gomez de Alvarado and will be hanged in the morning at first dawn."

  Don said, "Would you lay hands, then, on a member of the royal family of Tenochtitlan? I am a nephew of the Emperor Montezuma."

  Chapter Fourteen

  If he had told them he was the Second Coming of Christ he couldn't have astonished the Spanish more "My faith, are you mad?" Cortes blurted.

  Don stared him straight in the eye but held his peace. The Captain-General snapped at Aguilar, "Ask them about this!"

  The interpreter spoke to Malinche in Mayan. She in turn, her eyes as wide as those of her master, spoke to Motechzoma in Nahuatl, saying, "This giant white man claims to be of your family."

  The Tenocha war chief, who was obviously completely befuddled in the presence of these men he had so long feared, said uncomprehendingly, "But yes. He has been adopted into my clan. He is the blood brother of my nephew and hence my nephew as well."

  Malinche looked at Don and blinked. However, she turned to Aguilar and spoke in Mayan.

  Aguilar, as surprised as any of the rest, turned to Cortes. "The Great Montezuma says yes. Don Fielding is his nephew."

  Inwardly, Don gave thanks. For once the translation came understandably through its different stages. And to his benefit.

  Cortes said, "On my faith as a gentleman, I can't believe it. You are not even an Indian. You are not even of this country."

  And Don said evenly, "Nevertheless, I am a nephew of the Emperor and hence, obviously, a member of the royal family. Can you say as much?"

  The eyes of the conquistador shifted. He was too new in the city to wish to take chances. He was not ready to move as yet.

  He said, "Very well, Don Fielding. We shall look further into this matter, But for the time we recognize your status."

  Pedro de Alvarado growled, "You mean the dog is to go free? Por Dios! He has killed my brother, Gomez."

  "That will be all, Pedro," Cortes said. "I said, for the time."

  Pedro de Alvarado, his eyes glaring, shoved his sword back into its sheath with a snap. Gonzalo de Sandoval, who was standing next to him, chuckled and Alvarado turned his glare in that direction.

  Motechzoma, bewildered by all this and physically trembling, said in Nahuatl, "Malintzin, we have long had a tradition in this land that it was once blessed by the visit of a great god, our lord Quetzalcoatl, who revealed to his chosen people, the Toltecs, great discoveries to make them happy and to make their lives easier. After many years of peace they enjoyed with him, evil ones expelled him from Tula and he departed to the east vowing to return in the year One Reed. This is the year One Reed. You come from the east. Are you the g
od returned?"

  Through Malinche, through Aguilar, this was repeated to Cortes, somewhat garbled.

  The Captain-General deliberately evaded.

  He said, "I come from across the seas. I am the subject of a great lord, Emperor Charles. When he heard of your existence—such a great prince—he was anxious to have me come and meet you and to invite you to become a Christian. Later we will explain the only true religion to you so that you can be converted. And later, too, perhaps you will desire to become a liege of His Majesty, who is the greatest lord in all the world."

  This too was translated, once again in garbled form. Malinche simply did not have the concept of feudalism, nor of Christianity, for that matter. Inwardly, Don Fielding groaned. However, he knew very well that the Captain-General was not going to accept his services as an interpreter. Cortes wouldn't have trusted him to repeat any conversation accurately. All Don could hope to do was talk it over with his new relatives later, though by the looks of the Tenocha war chief, Motechzoma was in no shape to assimilate anything complicated. His worst fears had evidently been realized. He thought the Spaniard was the returned god Quetzalcoatl, come to lead the people as once he had long centuries before. Both Cuauhtemoc and the Snake-Woman had contempt in their eyes, though they attempted to hide it before the strangers.

  Still in a dither, Motechzoma gave commands for the presents to be brought and personally hung a chain of gold around the necks of each of the conquistadores in the room. There were other ornaments of gold, silver, and featherwork, and he also gave orders that each Spanish soldier and each of the Indian allies be given clothing of cotton. Don wondered how long the supply of Tenocha precious metals was going to hold out at this rate. The First Speaker had been distributing it wholesale to the invaders ever since they had landed.

  When at last the meeting was ended, the Tenochtitlan delegation filed out again.

  And when Don passed young Sandoval, that one said, mockery in his eyes, "For the time, Don Fielding. For the time."

  When he passed Malinche, her face was without expression.

  When he passed Fray Olmedo, the priest said sadly, "And have you become one of the heathen faith, my son?"

  Don said, "No, Padre," and marched on.

  In the square the delegation broke up, the individuals heading for their respective quarters. Don walked beside Cuauhtemoc.

  He said, "And what did you think of that?"

  "Much of it I did not understand."

  "That is because much of it was not understandable. Malinche and the Spanish interpreter garbled it."

  "What is it, then, that Malintzin wishes? He makes great protestations of friendship. I fear that my uncle will be taken in by him."

  Don looked at him from the side of his eyes.

  The other said, "My uncle has always been fearful of the gods, beyond most men. I too am fearful of gods, but especially those I cannot see. There is something strange about gods who look almost exactly as you do yourself." Don laughed. "You are learning, brother; you are learning." He added sourly, "However, I doubt that your uncle is."

  "Our uncle," Cuauhtemoc told him.

  "Yes, of course. The Spaniard's name is not Malintzin; it is Hernando Cortes and in his land they have very strange ways. Each man serves, almost as a tlacotli, as a slave, a chief above him. Ultimately one arrives at the very highest chief. In the land of Hernando Cortes that chief is named Charles. If Cortes serves him well, he will be highly rewarded. If he fails him, he will be killed."

  "Sacrificed?"

  "No. Just killed. Cortes wishes to serve his chief by making all in this country, not just Tenochas but all the tribes, slaves to the Emperor Charles."

  "But why?"

  "So that they can force you to work the mines, build houses and temples for them, till the soil so that they themselves can live lives of plenty without need to labor."

  The Indian was horrified. "But that is criminal!"

  Don groaned inwardly. How did you, even an anthropologist, describe class-divided society to a primitive communist? Above all, how did you explain that it led to progress? That to have scientists, scholars, and artists, you had to have a leisure class that had the time to create. Yes, the present-day Spain produced freebooters such as Cortes and Alvarado, but it also produced Cervantes and in due time Goya, Velazques, El Greco, and Murillo. Would Leonardo da Vinci ever have done his work if he'd had to put in ten or twelve hours a day tilling a field? Would Michelangelo?

  How did you explain the need of a class-divided society to one to whom the conception is monstrous? For a million years man's institutions had remained comparatively free, basically democratic, as the institutions of these Aztecs were basically democratic. And progress was practically nil. With the coming of classes and of leisure time for the few, man's potential blossomed until, in Don's own time, there was potential aplenty for all, certainly plenty compared to this age. There were problems to be ironed out in distribution, yet the plenty was there.

  But how did you explain the institutions of slavery, feudalism, or classical capitalism, not to speak of its later developments, to a free savage?

  You didn't.

  They were approaching the buildings of the Eagle clan.

  Don said, "Among your people, are there any who speak the Tlaxcalan tongue?"

  "Why, yes, giant brother. It is very similar to our own. They speak Nahuatl."

  Are there any who speak any other languages, such as Mixtec, Zapotec, Tarascan?"

  Cuauhtemoc was puzzled. "But yes. When the pochteco go to far lands for trade, it is necessary that they be able to speak to the people. Thus it is that they sponsor schools where young people are taught foreign tongues."

  "Young people, eh? Good. Now, are some of these young people better students of foreign tongues than others? That is, do some of them speak several languages; are some able to pick up a new one much better than most?"

  "Why, giant brother, I assume so. I know of some who can make themselves known in four or five different tongues."

  They were passing through the entry to the quarters of the Eagle Clan now.

  Don said, "All right. I want you to try to find me six of the best students of foreign languages in the schools. They must be courageous, very intelligent, and take to language quickly."

  "But why?"

  "Because we need a spy service." He twisted his face in irritation. "Especially do I need one, because I'm not long for this world unless I know, from day to day, what our Spanish friends are up to."

  "I do not understand."

  "It isn't necessary that you do right now. Find me the six and bring them to my quarters. It is most important." Something else came to Don Fielding. "Look, now that I am a member of the Eagle calpulli, will land be assigned me that I must farm?"

  The other looked embarrassed. "But you are a teteuh."

  "Like hell I am! I want to carry my share of the load."

  "It has been decided, in council, that in view of your strange discoveries of the longbow, the use of the litters that roll, and the other things that you have taught us, that you be given priest status and thus need not work in the fields but be supported from the common stores."

  Oh, oh. Here was the class-divided society he had been thinking about in its embryo stages.

  So he was still a ward of the government. Now, agnostic as he had always thought himself, he was a priest. How many priests, he wondered, were agnostics?

  "Get the lads to my room, blood brother."

  They turned up in surprisingly short order. Two of them he dismissed as too old. He wanted kids. Nobody noticed kids.

  The four remaining were from differing clans. So far as he knew, none of them had ever seen him before. At least, not up close. While Cuauhtemoc stood against one wall, fascinated, Don had the four squat on the floor before his stool.

  He said, "The teteuhs—though in truth they are not teteuhs—speak a strange tongue. Now listen carefully. Their word for yes is Si. Their word for the oppos
ite is No. Now, repeat that."

  They repeated, their eyes bright.

  He shook his head. "No. You must speak with a softer tongue." He repeated the Spanish affirmative and negative.

  He gave them twenty words that night before he dismissed them.

  Then he turned to Cuauhtemoc. "See that all four of them are assigned as servants to the Spanish. Instruct them that they are never to reveal that they can understand a single word of what is being spoken. Above all, do not let Malinche know that they understand anything. She is the brain, as well as the tongue, of Cortes. He does not understand Mexico. She does. Within a week, the boys will be proficient enough that they will understand small things they overhear. Within a month, I'll have them revealing everything that Cortes and his bullyboys discuss among themselves. The Spanish have the arrogance of all conquerors. They speak their own language openly, not believing that those about them understand, since they themselves are too lazy to learn the language of the people they conquer."

  Cuauhtemoc looked at him consideringly. "I do not understand much of what you say. But I have never understood much of what you say, giant brother. I will make the arrangements. And I think it possibly well that I too learn this new tongue."

  "Welcome to the class," Don said.

  After the other had left, Don Fielding had a twinge of conscience. The Indians could use the spies in their coming conflict with the invaders, but he knew that their cause was doomed to failure. In actuality, his big motivation was to keep up with his own fate. When Cortes finally decided to deal with him, and that was only a matter of time, he wanted warning. He could still flee the city and attempt to find refuge with the Tarascans or whomever. At least he might prolong his life for a year or so. Survive, survive!