by David Bowles
The ground was carpeted with the dead, mostly Purepecha, together with Mexica and Tlaxcallans and Spaniards. The waning of one of America’s greatest cultures had truly begun, the last stand of Michoacan’s mighty sons.
The cries of survivors came from the temple. To Captain de Olid’s surprise, a group of warriors rushed into its interior, attacking with cruelty the surviving rebels within. This was the remnant of Nanuma’s army, whom he had ordered in fierce tones to have mercy on no one. His hate had one objective: to find Erendira and then humiliate or harm her. He shouted her name in a maddened voice that blended with the screams of terror and pain. No answer came. His wild, searching eyes scoured the victims to no avail. Erendira was not among them.
One by one, Nanuma and his men slaughtered their surviving brothers, ignoring outstretched hands and pleas for compassion.
Among the wounded was old Timas, his blood watering the soil that he so loved. Stepping with indifferent cruelty on the corpses of his kin, Nanuma rushed toward the father of the woman he despised, his obsidian sword raised to strike.
Then, bursting through the doors on her white stallion came Erendira, hurtling toward the traitor with a scream of righteous fury on her lips. The hooves of that horse were her weapons, and she used them with deadly precision to obliterate the shameful coward to whom she had once promised her heart.
Dismounting, Erendira went to her father’s side as he trembled in his final moments.
“Be ever true to yourself, dear child,” he breathed. “Michoacan awaits you with open arms. Let no man be your master.”
Closing his eyes with a steady hand, Erendira leapt onto her stallion and spurred it out the temple door, past the startled Spaniards, through the city gates, and into the distant hills.
Horse and rider disappeared within the forest.
Erendira was never seen again.
Donaji
Two hundred kilometers south of Tenochtitlan, the Zapotec Empire had crumbled. The mighty city of Monte Alban had been erected upon a mountain whose peak had been sheared away by skillful Zapotec hands. Yet it lay abandoned and empty for centuries until the Cloud People took it for themselves. The Mixteca and Mexica harried the remaining kingdoms in those central valleys of Oaxaca. Many valiant warriors lost their lives defending the noble Zapotec people—the Be’ena’a, in their native tongue.
Zaachila was the last capital of the Zapoteca, a mighty city governed by battle-hardened kings. Cosijoeza was its fourth sovereign, ruling when the Emperor Ahuizotl of the Aztec Triple Alliance sought to expand Nahua territory. When Cosijoeza discovered pochteca merchant-spies in his territory, he had them executed. Ahuizotl took this as an act of war.
The first Zapotec city to fall to the Aztecs was Huaxyacac, then Mitla. Ahuizotl’s military campaign then spread across the Isthmus of Tehuantepec, which prompted Cosijoeza to forge a historical peace accord with his Mixtec rivals. Their combined force of 50,000 warriors pushed the Aztecs back. After a protracted war of many months, Emperor Ahuizotl understood that diplomacy would be the only solution to the conflict.
The Aztec overlord offered Cosijoeza the hand of his daughter, Coyolicatzin. Their marriage cemented an alliance with the Aztecs, ensuring the stability of Zapotec lands. Coyolicatzin bore the Zapotec king several children, including the next king of Zaachila, Cosijopii, and the lovely Princess Donaji—“great soul” in the Zapotec tongue.
Not long after Donaji’s birth, her mother and father visited Tiboot, a priest and astrologer who used ancient lore to peer at possible futures. Consulting kernels of maize and a painted codex, Tiboot revealed with great solemnity what he had seen.
“This beautiful baby will grow healthy and strong, with dignity and graceful bearing becoming a princess of our people. The Zapotec nation will feel great love and respect for her, and she will love them in kind. But in the future, she may be required to lay down her life for her people.”
Though Tiboot stressed that this was only one possible outcome for the royal child, the queen was devastated.
Years passed. Donaji did indeed grow into a beloved and beautiful princess. The citizens of Zaachila showed her deference and respect, inspired by her generosity and genuine affection for her people.
The first part of the prophecy had proven true. The king and queen fretted in secret that the rest might come to pass as well.
The alliance between the Aztec and Zapotec nations did not sit well with the Mixteca. The delicate peace between those age-old foes frayed till it broke. Prince Cosijopi was sent to rule the region of the Isthmus of Tehuantepec, guarding it against incursions from the enemy.
For a time the might of the Aztecs helped keep Dzahuindanda, king of the Mixteca, at bay. But then strangers arrived from across the jade-green sea, and Tenochtitlan found itself grappling with a new and powerful enemy. It was not long before Spanish troops under the command of Francisco de Orozco arrived in Zapotec lands and attempted to seize Huaxyacac.
Violence exploded throughout the region as the Mixteca took advantage of the political chaos. Princess Donaji, though not a warrior like her brothers, did her part in these battles, tending to the injuries of fallen soldiers, even Mixteca who had been taken prisoner.
Among these enemy combatants was Nucano, son of Dzahuindanda. The handsome prince had been gravely wounded, and Donaji nursed him back to health. As war raged around them, the two young aristocrats came to know each other well. Respect and even affection blossomed in their hearts.
“We are not so different, you and I,” Donaji told Nucano as she applied herbs to his wounds. “My parents also come from nations with a history of mutual hate, but they have come to love each other. Perhaps together we can overcome these conflicts, sue our royal fathers for peace. With the Spanish wielding steel upon their massive steeds, it hardly makes sense for Zapoteca and Mixteca to slaughter one another.”
“You are as brilliant as you are beautiful,” Nucano replied. “Soon I shall be strong enough to travel. If you can find a way to help me escape, I shall take this plan to my sire and convince him of its merits.”
Their scheme was sealed with an unexpected kiss. A few days later, Nucano slipped past sentries that the princess had distracted. There was no turning back.
However, Princess Donaji did not know of her father’s secret meetings with the Spanish, who had finally taken Huaxyacac and now sought to ally themselves with the Zapoteca. Though his wife was Mexica, of royal Aztec blood, Cosijoeza understood what must be done. Breaking his ties with Tenochtitlan, he pledged fealty to Cortés and his distant king, Carlos V.
Francisco de Orozco, the commander in charge of Huaxyacac, used his position and the threat of further conquest to force both the Zapotec and Mixtec kings to cease hostilities. These lands now belonged to the king of Spain, he decreed, their only sovereign, whom they would respect and obey from that day forward. There was no more reason to wage war.
Nucano, who had at last arrived in Monte Alban, urged his father to comply. He spoke to the king of Donaji, of the unity that could exist between their two peoples.
“Even if you wish to resist the Spanish,” the prince explained, “you will need Cosijoeza and his sons at your side. Only together can we answer this threat.”
The Mixteca king spat in disgust. “Twenty years ago Cosijoeza betrayed our alliance by joining with the Aztecs. I have no guarantee that he will not attempt to deceive me again, bringing destruction down upon our heads.”
“I tell you, father, his daughter will intercede.”
A retort died on Dzahuindanda’s lips as he saw another way to ensure Cosijoeza’s loyalty and truthfulness. Traveling to meet with Orozco, he announced his willingness to bend his knee to Carlos V and put an end to the war.
With one condition.
“We Mixteca,” he pronounced, “having been victims more than once of King Cosijoeza’s political trickery, require a guarantee from the Zapoteca that they will not attack our fortifications at Monte Alban or any other of our towns. A hostage whose lif
e will be forfeit if the accord is broken: Princess Donaji.”
Queen Coyolicatzin refused to hear her husband’s arguments.
“I was given to you, was I not, to seal a compact? And have you not broken that alliance to side with the bearded destroyers of my people? I do not trust you to protect our daughter. Tiboot’s words lie heavy on my heart.”
But word came that Tenochtitlan had fallen. The Zapotec king felt he had no other choice. He agreed to Dzahuindanda’s terms.
Donaji stood stunned as her father broke the news to her.
“Princess, our conqueror has imposed peace, but the Mixteca want you as a guarantee. Dear Donaji, you must go reside in Monte Alban, in the palace of your ancestors. Never forget your homeland as you live among the Cloud People. We shall not forget you.”
She pleaded with him, but the king was unmoved.
“You love your people, do you not? This is what is required of you to ensure their safety.”
The princess surrendered at last, travelling with her brothers and Spanish soldiers to Monte Alban, where she was remitted into custody of the Mixteca. They received her with the honors due a woman of her rank, bending their knee before her.
Their obeisance felt like mockery.
Confined to sumptuous quarters that were nonetheless a prison, Donaji was soon visited by Prince Nucano, shame reddening his features.
“For this I helped you escape?” she demanded. “So that you could convince your father to take me hostage? As I remember it, our plan did not include my imprisonment.”
“Forgive me, Donaji. I had nothing to do with this arrangement. I tried to reason with him, but the chasm between our peoples is deeper and broader than we had imagined.”
“Indeed it is,” the princess spat. “Now leave me to my cell. I cannot bear to look at you.”
Weeks passed, and Donaji, the great-souled princess, suffered her captivity with stoic resolve. Her lips never smiled. With haughty mein, she paced the high balcony of her prison. When the birds of the surrounding woods sang their songs, and she saw the mockingbird nests rocked by the evening wind, Donaji felt sadness flood her heart.
The birds that flew past were harbingers of misfortune. She meditated. In her mind’s eye, the princess reviewed her noble, happy past. And she gave a radiant smile, murmuring, at the image of her mother Coyolicaltzin, brought by the gods to Ninza Rindani to capture her father’s heart.
In that vision, the stern visage of her grandfather Ahuizotl stepped from the shadows and urged her to action.
“Flee, noble Donaji. Abandon this captivity. You are beautiful, yes, with a voice as melodious as a wood thrush. But in your veins flows the blood of warriors, girl! You must save your nation from enslavement. Be implacable. Shrug off your bonds. Return to Roalo and delight in the cooing of the pigeons that kiss in the brush. Return to your sun-gilded lagoon, where bone-white herons flirt with the moon.”
The figures faded from her mind, but the hunger for freedom remained.
The humiliation of Donaji’s condition worsened when the Spanish priest Juan Díaz arrived in Monte Alban to baptize the nobles into the Catholic faith. When her turn came, the princess was christened Doña Juana Cortés.
The chill spreading through her heart was sharpened by the December winds that Donaji braved as she paced again and again that high balcony. Prince Nucano, desperate to afford her some solace, convinced his father to bring a Zapotec handmaiden to attend to Donaji’s needs.
The woman was from Guiengola. She spoke proudly to her princess of the great battle fought in her town, during which Cosijoeza had brought the Aztec emperor to his knees and wrested a daughter from him.
“Though what has been done to you is abominable,” the older woman whispered, “my pride in our people is unshaken. Your father may have laid down his arms, but your brother Cosijopii is camped a few leagues away, hoping for a miracle, an opening that will let him win your freedom.”
At these words, Donaji’s heart swelled with determination.
A fortnight later, after a riotous celebration of the winter equinox, the Mixteca host sprawled drunken and unconscious. Donaji, viewing them from her balcony, went inside and woke her handmaiden.
“My stay here is a humiliation to my house and my tribe. Go! Slip past those besotted guards. Get word to my brother. The enemy is sleeping. Come kill them all.”
Cosijopii did not hesitate. He led his warriors with great stealth into Monte Alban, where they proceeded to slaughter the Mixtec army without hesitation. Cries of warning reached the palace before the invaders, however. The captain of the guard burst into Donaji’s chambers, rage twisting his features.
“You’re a hostage, girl, a peace offering. Now that your king has broken his word, your life is forfeit. Tonight you die.”
The guards dragged Donaji away, heading for the Atoyac River in accordance with the plan their king had made known many months before.
The princess gave a disdainful smile as they forced her to her knees among the reeds at the river’s edge. In the distance, the Zapotec cries of victory filled the broad streets of Monte Alban. Their echoes, winding down the mountainside, became a dirge for brave Donaji.
Lifting his obsidian-edged macana, the captain of the guard cut off her head. The water of the Atoyac went scarlet beneath the sorrowful moon.
The drums of war still sounded. Warriors shrilled their battle songs. But as Cosijopii and his men searched the city, they found no sign of Donaji.
The Mixteca refused to speak. No one would reveal her whereabouts.
Until Prince Nucano emerged from his hiding place and knelt before Cosijopii, tears staining his cheeks.
“Search for her no longer, my lord. My father had a protocol in place. At your arrival, her guards carried out his will. Your great-souled sister is dead.”
The guards had escaped after meting out their king’s justice. The Zapotec army searched for days before they finally discovered Donaji’s resting place, there on the banks of the Atoyac. Blossoming on the mound of earth was a purple lily of incomparable beauty.
With respect and veneration, her countrymen dug up her remains. They recoiled in surprise when they found her head on its side and facing East. Despite the time that had passed since her death, her flesh was perfectly preserved, untouched by rot. From her forehead and temple emerged the roots of that majestic lily.
A miracle, the priests declared. A sign of the gods.
For now the Spanish ruled their mountains and valleys. But one day the Zapotec people would rise up once more to claim those ancestral lands.
Three hundred years later, the government of Oaxaca had to select an emblem for the city’s coat of arms. They turned to the people, asking their advice.
The people choose the face of their beloved princess, great-souled Donaji.
Guide to Pronunciation
Indigenous Mexican languages like Nahuatl and Mayan were transcribed after the Conquest using Roman letters and Spanish spelling conventions. As a result, pronunciation rules for these languages are broadly similar and are combined below.
Vowels
a
as in “father”
e
as in “bet”
i
as in “police”
o
as in “no”
u
as in “flute”
Diphthongs (vowel combinations)
ai
like the “y” in “my”
au
like “ow” in “cow”
ei
like the “ay” in “hay”
eu
a blend of “e” of “bet” and “u” of flute
ia
like the “ya” of “yard”
ie
like the “ye” of “yellow”
io
like the “yo” of “yodel”
iu
like “you”
ua
like the “wa” in “want”
> ue
like the “whe” in “where”
ui
like “we”
Consonants
b
as in “baby”
c
like “k” before “a,” “o” and “u”; like “s” before “e” and “i”
d
as in “dog” at the beginning of a word; like the “th” in “that” elsewhere
f
as in “four”
g
like the “g” in “go” before “a,” “o” and “u”; like “h” before “e” and “i”
h
silent before vowels; a glottal stop like the middle sound of “kitten”
after vowels
j
like “h,” but harsher
l
as in “like”
m
as in “moon”
n
as in “no”
ñ
roughly like the “ni” in “onion”
p
as in “pet”
r
like the “dd” in the American pronunciation of “ladder”
s
as in “see”
t
as in “ten”
v
like “b” in “baby”
x
like “sh” in “she” (indigenous languages) or like “h” (Spanish only)
y
as in “yes”
z
like “s” in “see”
Digraphs (two letters always written together)
ch
as in “check”
