by Buddy Levy
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
Then Cortés left the tent so that his own supporters, his newly assigned town councilors and governors, could “elect” him both chief justice and captain-general of the town that he had only moments before conjured into existence.
His actions reflected a brilliant legal mind and a profound knack for spontaneous diplomacy, for in resigning his previous command under Velázquez and founding a town, he was now under no further legal obligation to Velázquez. Cortés and his men were now answerable and accountable only to Charles V, King of Spain. With a few clandestine strokes of a quill pen, Diego Velázquez, Governor of Cuba, became the former patron of Hernán Cortés, legally excised of all authority, and within only a few days Cortés would begin a vigorous correspondence, a series of letters explaining, recounting, and in certain respects justifying his expedition and actions directly to his king.
THE maritime scouting expeditions returned with word that, though not ideal, there was another landing some forty miles up the coast, so Cortés wasted no time. They would depart, at last, the sultry sand dunes of San Juan de Ulúa. The bulk of his force he sent by sea to the new landing, while he and a smaller expeditionary army would march overland to meet them, giving him a chance to reconnoiter the lay of the land and its inhabitants.
Under fine skies and fair winds, the ships arrived shortly at a rocky promontory, an outcrop with a tranquil bay—though slightly too shallow for the navigator Alaminos’s liking. Still, they were able to tie off on the rocks and anchor there. They began unloading artillery, provisions, horses, and dogs. They would make a stand here, near a village they learned was called Quiahuiztlán. This was to be the location of their newly formed town Villa Rica de la Vera Cruz.
Meanwhile Montejo and Velázquez de León, having returned from their scouting foray, had learned of the surreptitious proceedings during their absence. Fuming, they flatly stated that they would take no further commands from Cortés, who had clearly overstepped his authority. They held meetings of their own and attempted to sway the remainder of the Velázquez men to return to Cuba and report the schism. Unwilling to accept insubordination of any kind (and no doubt also because he knew that Velázquez, upon hearing the news, would certainly send ships after him to have him arrested or, more likely, hanged), Cortés had these men chained aboard the ships and kept under guard until they cooled down and he decided what to do with them. Soon, through his significant powers of persuasion, Cortés managed to convince most of the soldiers of the rightness of their mission and their duty to the crown, and within a few days even the most obstinate were released. But Cortés had sent a clear message to all his men: do not cross me.22
Cortés mounted up and led his small party inland and toward the north. Almost immediately he spotted a group of Indians regarding them from a safe distance on a hillside. They appeared different from Tendile and the interior Mexican highlanders and from any coastal Indians the Spaniards had yet encountered. He sent a few cavalry to bring them to him—and was both riveted and revolted when they came forward: they had pierced ears and noses, with holes large enough to run their fingers through; their lower lips were intentionally severed through ritual self-mutilation, revealing blackened teeth and gums; they wore in these grotesque stretched piercings great hunks of colored stone. They spoke a language that even Malinche did not understand, but some of them could manage a little Nahuatl. Malinche relayed a message from them to Cortés. They were called Totonacs, and they had been watching the Spaniards along the coast for some time now. They had been sent by their chief to see if the leader of the Spaniards would come talk to him—they lived only a few miles away, in a town called Cempoala.*9 23
Cortés suspected a trap, so he assembled a unit of cavalry, heavy artillery, harquebusiers, and crossbowmen and rode inland in formation to meet the Totonac chief. He also dispatched a few mounted spies and scouts to ride ahead and gather reconnaissance. One returned, breathless and wide-eyed, saying that he had seen their gleaming temples from afar, and they were burnished with silver; indeed, he believed their worship temples to be made of pure silver! (This scout was later humiliated, and Cortés disappointed, when they discovered that the silver was merely a mirage or optical illusion. The gleam was the bright midday sun reflected off the freshly whitewashed stones.)
Cortés and his men passed through dense foliage, rich and green as jadestone, the tropical trees filled with colorful parrots cawing overhead. They crossed muddy and roiling tributaries of the wide Río de la Antigua, the horses swimming, the foot soldiers on rafts fashioned from branches and tree trunks. They were mercifully shaded from the boiling sun by the crowded canopy of palms.24 Cortés was encouraged as they flushed a variety of game, both large and small, from the thickets: deer, as well as turkeys and pheasants and quail.
As they arrived on the outskirts of the town, Cortés and his men noted the impressive stone dwellings, the roofs tidy and thatched, the walls cleanly scrubbed with lime. Many of the houses were of polished stucco and were brightly painted in yellow, blue, red, and green.25 As they approached, the Spaniards were met by envoys of the Cempoalan chief, who led Cortés to a central square that lay below an impressive pyramid topped by a temple. Flanked by swaying palms, a series of pyramids had been erected with order and design across a magnificent flat plain. Amid them Cortés discovered a central ring of stones, which he later learned was used for religious “gladiator” battles, the victor winning his own life. Cortés dispatched scouts to inspect the main temple, where they found a scene that shocked them: freshly sacrificed young boys, blood still pooling from their viscera. The walls of the altar were bespattered with blood, and the victims’ hearts were set out on plates. The scouts saw large, square sacrificial stones and sharp obsidian blades glistening with blood. They saw dismembered torsos, the arms and legs severed from them cleanly. All this they reported to Cortés, who immediately demanded to see the leader of these people.26
While they waited, Indian families poured from their houses and crowded about, pulling at the Spaniards’ beards, staring transfixed at the mounted cavalry armed and ready, and at the horses, which they believed to be centaurs. Then the Totonac chief arrived, carried in a litter by many attendants. He was enormous, his distended belly supported by two men holding a solid pole between them as his corpulent flesh spilled over it.27 The fat chief, named Tlacochcalcatl, spoke in his native Totonac, and some of his men used Nahuatl to relay his message through Malinche and Aguilar. As the chief bellowed, he kept gesturing toward the interior, toward the high mountains beyond, his voice becoming louder, his words faster and more animated. He had heard of the great power of the Spaniards and how with only a small force they ha
d defeated the Tabascans. He was very impressed. Then he told Cortés that he had a slight problem of his own, and perhaps the Spaniards could help him. The proud and independent tribe of the Totonacs, whose central city of Cempoala boasted more than twenty thousand inhabitants, had recently been conquered by the neighboring Aztecs, the Mexica. Now, against their will, they were subjects of the emperor Montezuma. Worse, they were forced to pay exorbitant tributes to their new ruler, who demanded large numbers of victims for his ongoing human sacrifices. Montezuma had been taking their finest young men and women at will, and now he was even demanding their wives. It was too much. They no longer wished to comply, and Tlacochcalcatl wondered whether Cortés and the Spaniards could somehow use their great power to reduce the tributes the Totonacs were forced to pay.28
Cortés realized immediately how this discontent might benefit him. Through Malinche he said that yes, likely they could strike a deal of mutual benefit. He scanned the well-organized city and decided that a good number—possibly thousands—of the inhabitants would make ready warriors and porters. He inquired offhandedly about the size of the Totonac confederation and asked the great hulking chief, who could barely walk without support from his entourage, how many warriors he might be able to lend Cortés in his effort. The chief responded that the Totonac confederacy comprised over thirty towns, all unified in dissension against the Aztecs. And other tribes were unhappy as well. One fierce tribe, the Tlaxcalans, was in active revolt and had never surrendered to Montezuma. The chief assured Cortés that if he would guide an offensive against the Aztecs, he could provide a massive army of warriors in support, a force numbering in the hundreds of thousands.
Cortés made a pact with the fat chief. Yes indeed, under those circumstances, he could most certainly assist them.29
CHAPTER FOUR
The Gambler Stakes All: “Either Win the Land, or Die in the Attempt”
OPTIMISTIC THAT HIS NEW VERBAL “allegiance” would solidify, Cortés mustered his troops for an inland trek to the village of Quiahuiztlán, just a few miles north and a bit inland from Cempoala. There, or somewhere close by, Cortés hoped to finally settle, build a fort, and formally secure Villa Rica de la Vera Cruz, which until now had been a mobile city, existing only in name and in documents. As a show of good faith, the chief of Cempoala, Tlacochcalcatl, offered Cortés more than four hundred porters, strong young men who could carry great weight for many miles. This gesture the Spaniard greatly appreciated, as it unburdened many of his finest soldiers and made their going easier and faster.
Cortés led his troops and their new porters to the outskirts, then into the town, which sat high on a steep hill overlooking the great gulf waters. The town appeared deserted except for a handful of priests who tended the temples there, sweeping and whitewashing. The priests explained that the inhabitants, fearing the four-legged beasts, had hidden. Just then breathless and agitated Totonac runners approached, informing the priests and the Spaniards that a delegation of Aztec tribute collectors was approaching the town—they had come for more men and women and boys.
Cortés viewed the tribute collectors carefully as they arrived: dignified and even haughty, their black hair slicked back tight on their heads and tied behind in a knot. They walked upright, in an orderly and unhurried fashion, each carrying a crooked walking stick and holding a rose to his nose (a sign of upper class). Servants walked next to them swishing the air with fly whisks. Their resplendent robes and loincloths were handsomely embroidered. They walked directly past Cortés and his men without making eye contact or even acknowledging their existence.1
Soon Totonac nobles arrived, scurrying about, rushing before the Aztec delegation to secure suitable accommodation for them, and plying them with copious amounts of food and drink. Affronted by their imperial air and apparent disregard of him, Cortés sent Malinche to see what she could discover about these visitors. She arrived to find the Aztec tribute collectors finished with their meal (which had included turkeys and chocolate) and vehemently berating the Totonac chiefs for peacefully receiving the Spaniards and then hosting them, without the Aztecs’ (and by extension Montezuma’s) permission. As punishment for such impudence, they demanded immediately twenty young men and women for ritual sacrifice. And this human fee was levied in addition to the other tributes they had come for.
When Cortés learned of this demand through Malinche, he quickly devised a ploy. He secretly met with one of the Totonac lords of Quiahuiztlán and instructed him to send some of his warriors to seize the Aztecs, collar them and tether them to long poles, and then imprison them in the quarters directly adjacent to those of Cortés, under strong guard. Fearing the repercussions from Montezuma, the Totonac chief hemmed and stammered, but Cortés convinced him that it would be all right. If the Totonacs wanted assistance from Cortés, they had to trust him and believe in his methods. They were to cease paying tribute of any kind to the Aztecs from that moment. Thereupon the Totonacs bound and collared the Aztec tribute collectors. All their Aztec attendants fled, disappearing into the scrub, running off to report the news of their nobles’ apprehension.
That night Cortés instructed his guards to surreptitiously release two of the Aztec prisoners and bring them before him. They were to make certain that the Totonacs did not see this take place. They did so, and then, in an elaborate and clever ruse, he called for Aguilar and Malinche to interview the prisoners. They made believe they were earnestly trying to discover who these men were (Cortés, of course, already knew) and listened to the appeals and explanations of the Aztecs carefully. The Aztecs explained their role as tribute collectors for their magnificent emperor, adding that they were quite shocked to have been treated so roughly. This was hardly customary, and they were indignant. Cortés listened carefully, nodding and agreeing. Then, through Malinche and Aguilar, Cortés assured the Aztecs that their arrest had been against his wishes, an independent act of the Totonacs, and that he personally hated to see agents of the great Montezuma, with whom he had already developed kindly communication and peaceful exchange, handled in this hostile manner. He gave them food and wine and treated them with kindness.2
Then Cortés had the two Aztec nobles released, promising that he would help them escape if they would report to their master Montezuma that Cortés had performed this act of generosity and compassion and wished only for friendship and peace. As the guards led the men away to freedom, Cortés assured them that by tomorrow he would have their three companions released as well and that he would personally ascertain that no harm came to them. To ensure that his stratagem worked, Cortés ordered six trusted seamen to smuggle the prisoners through the darkness to the coast, then load the two men on boats and row them some twelve miles north, beyond Cempoalan borders. The Aztecs thanked the Spaniards for their kindness and walked off into the night, headed home to Tenochtitlán to report the events to Montezuma.
In the morning the Totonac chiefs awoke, livid to discover that two of the prisoners had “escaped” during the night. They were so enraged that they threatened to sacrifice the remaining three Aztecs on the spot, but Cortés intervened. Feigning anger at the escape, he said he would take matters into his own hands and ordered the three tribute collectors to be chained and loaded aboard one of his ships. That way, he told the Totonacs, he could look after them himself to avoid another such escape. Once on board, and out of sight of the Totonacs, Cortés unchained the three Aztecs and repeated his routine, assuring them that he was a friend to them and to Montezuma and ordering their eventual release as well. The ploy worked; when the runners returned to Tenochtitlán and reported the imprisonment of his tribute collectors, Montezuma raged and threatened retribution. But shortly thereafter the first of the released prisoners arrived, explaining that Cortés had treated them with dignity and mercifully set them free, or they surely would have been slain by the Totonacs.
Cortés’s machinations were succeeding—he had played both sides perfectly. The Totonacs were astonished and impressed by the courage of the
Spanish captain-general. They could hardly believe his brash treatment of these Aztecs, and they marveled that he showed no fear whatsoever of the potential consequences. As well, they were quite pleased to be free from Aztec taxation. At the same time Cortés had, at least momentarily, appeased Montezuma, who decided that rather than punish the Spaniards, he would send a small delegation with more gifts.3 When these men arrived, they explained that Montezuma still could not meet with him, but this time their position seemed to have softened. Cortés happily accepted the gifts and handed the last three tribute collectors over to these nobles, nephews of Montezuma, who seemed content when they left. Cortés’s subterfuge and closed-door diplomacy were paying dividends.
Now Cortés set about establishing the fort and the town in earnest. On a wide plain about a mile and a half inland from Quiahuiztlán, he chose exact sites for the fortress itself, situating towers for defense. There would be a marketplace, a church and temple, a granary, and a host of other public edifices that a proper city would require. The bay here, discovered by Montejo and chosen for its tranquil and protected waters, was suitable for landings and the shipping commerce that Cortés hoped would be vigorous. The waters lay immune to the gulf’s periodic gale-force northerlies. Excited by the prospects, Cortés worked long and hard and fast, reportedly the first among his men to “start carrying earth and stones and to dig the foundations.”4 His captains and soldiers quickly followed his example. The Cuban porters assisted too, as did many of the four hundred bearers that the chief of Cempoala had given over to Cortés. The work went quickly. Within only a few weeks some of the first buildings were completed; the rest were continuously worked on by any men stationed there. By June 28, 1519, Cortés had successfully founded the first colony in New Spain.5
