War God: Return of the Plumed Serpent

by Graham Hancock

Chapter Forty-One

  Friday 22 October 1519 to Monday 2 November 1519

  ‘I have spoken with the leader of the tueles, sire, the one all now call Malinche. I bring a message from him.’ Teudile was caked with the dust of the journey, his clothing soaked with sweat, his face grey with exhaustion as he sat before Moctezuma in the House of the Eagle Knights.

  Raising the index finger of his right hand, Moctezuma made the gesture of assent, the members of the Supreme Council leaned forward on their benches and Teudile began: ‘The Lord Malinche holds you responsible, sire, for all operations that were to be taken against him and his forces in Cholula. He does not believe that Tlaqui and Tlalchi were acting alone, but rather at your instigation, and he cites as evidence for this the words of Tlaqui himself who he put to the most horrible torture before my eyes and who blamed you for everything—’

  ‘The coward!’ spat Moctezuma. ‘The weakling!’

  Teudile was trembling from head to toe. ‘Tlaqui died under torture,’ he shuddered. ‘They tore his fingernails out one by one and to his last breath he refused to accept personal responsibility for the plot, saying you forced him to it.’

  ‘Despicable traitor!’ hissed Moctezuma. He could not believe the duplicity and faithlessness of his Cholulan vassal who had failed so miserably in his duty of silence and loyalty. His mind racing, he looked down at the perfectly manicured nails of his own fingers, stared at the pearly half-moons of the quicks.

  ‘Sire … may I speak?’ The interruption came from Apanec, Keeper of the House of Darkness.

  ‘No you may not,’ snarled Moctezuma. ‘Be silent.’ He continued to study his fingers. The thought that his own beautiful nails might one day be pulled out was almost too much to bear. At last he fixed his eyes on Teudile again. ‘But surely,’ he said ‘the craven babble of Tlaqui is deniable? The word of a man under torture is meaningless; such a man will say anything to escape pain.’

  ‘That is true, sire,’ agreed Teudile. ‘And I denied his accusations, declared your innocence in all these matters, promised Malinche that you bore nothing but goodwill for him and friendship in your heart. Regrettably, however, he himself saw the six regiments of your picked warriors under General Maza before they fled the field. He does not understand how such a force could have come against him without your express orders, and for this reason he says he no longer seeks your friendship. He says he will now advance on Tenochtitlan at war with you, seeking to do you all the harm he can.’

  Moctezuma slumped on the plinth, careless of the judgemental stares of his counsellors. The fact was that Tlaqui had let him down; Maza, who he’d had skinned alive the moment he returned to Tenochtitlan, had let him down, and Hummingbird had also let him down. The great and perfect plan for the destruction of the tueles at Cholula, on which he’d placed all his hopes, had failed miserably, and now he alone must face the wrath of Malinche, who was no longer coming to him as the god of peace but as a warrior.

  Malinche! Malinche! Moctezuma rolled the name and its meaning around in his mind. Ha! The Lord of that demon-woman Malinal – that harbinger of bad fortune, that omen of doom.

  ‘Advise me what to do!’ he roared at his counsellors, looking from one aghast face to the next. ‘Is that not the purpose for which you are gathered here?’

  * * *

  As before there was a division of opinion.

  Cuitláhuac, supported by many in the council, advocated war. ‘We must mobilise all our forces and the forces of our allies before this Malinche leads every one of them into defection, and if he fulfils his threat to march on Tenochtitlan, as I fear he will, we must destroy him on the road. My son Guatemoc—’

  ‘You will not speak of that wretch here!’ bellowed Moctezuma.

  ‘Very well, sire, then let me put it this way. I have consulted with military experts who know the craft of ambush and surprise, and they recommend a most suitable place between Cholula and Tenochtitlan where we may use our superior numbers and knowledge of the land to take the tueles at a disadvantage.’

  ‘And where is this place?’

  ‘Just below the high pass of Tlalmanalco, lord, now covered by snow and blasted by icy winds. Our forces are accustomed to such conditions, those of the tueles – we may presume – are not, since they have marched so recently from the hot lowlands of the coast. At the pass, where they will be cold, where they will be weak, the road divides, the left fork leading to Tenochtitlan by way of Tlalmanalco and Chalco, the right fork by way of Amecameca. If we block the road to Amecameca by felling many great pines and other stout trees across it, the tueles will naturally take the left fork. There, a little way down the mountain, we may make our preparations. Part of the hillside should be cut away, ditches and barricades prepared and a large force assembled, a force of at least one hundred thousand men, to fall upon the tueles like an avalanche and crush them utterly … ’

  But the opposite point of view was put by Cacama, Lord of Texcoco who remained in favour, as always, of inviting the tueles into Tenochtitlan. There was, he said, no guarantee that an ambush at Tlalmanalco would work. If the tueles were truly gods, with the powers of gods, as many suspected, they might not be adversely affected by the cold. Moreover, all previous attempts to take them by surprise, whether by the Mexica, or the Cholulans, or the Tlascalans, or even by the Chontal Maya, had failed dismally, and they had triumphed in every military engagement.

  ‘No matter,’ Cuitláhuac insisted. ‘Should the ambush fail, it is still our duty to fight them whether they be gods or men. We must not hide. We must not flee. We must not be fainthearted. Rather we must shower them with stones and arrows and spears at every point of their march. In the event they reach Tenochtitlan, we must close and defend the causeways. Better we all die, macuahuitls in hand, than see our sacred city fall.’

  Cacama disagreed. ‘The Tlascalans thought that way,’ he said, ‘and look where it got them. If we try to prevent the tueles’ entry into Tenochtitlan, they will fight us in our subject towns – as even you yourself admit, Cuitláhuac – until we have no allies left. And all of this, in my opinion, is completely unnecessary! The tueles say they are the ambassadors of a powerful foreign king, and as such we should receive them courteously.’

  After several hours of debate with no clear majority in favour of one view or the other, Moctezuma leapt to his feet and gave a great shout: ‘ENOUGH! I have heard these arguments a hundred times and I am weary of them. You are a council of old women. I go to consult with the god.’

  He summoned the High Priest Namacuix to follow him and strode from the assembly hall.

  * * *

  The moon was close to full that night and its baleful glare pierced the high, narrow windows of the temple of Hummingbird, adding a spectral glow to the flickering brands that lit the inner sanctum. ‘The last time you came to me here,’ said the god, ‘you beat upon my breast with your fists like a spoiled child who has not been given his way.’

  The great stone idol had quite suddenly come to life and was now filled with movement and a seething, restless energy. Moctezuma, who had consumed a dozen large teonanácatl mushrooms, dropped unsteadily to his knees. ‘I am truly sorry, lord. I beg you to forgive me. I was bereft of my senses after the victory of Malinche in Cholula. I could not understand why you had permitted such a disaster.’

  ‘It was not I who permitted it,’ sneered Hummingbird, his eyes, blacker than obsidian, glittering in the moonlight. ‘It was you. The sacrifices offered in Cholula were insufficient to reverse the prophecy. More blood should have been spilled. Precious blood – the blood of virgins, as you have given me tonight.’

  ‘I left the matter in the hands of the sorcerer Acopol, lord.’

  ‘You should not have done so. I required precious blood, female blood, the blood of virgins – and plenty of it. He gave me twenty males a day, males past the first flush of youth; captives of war. It was not enough.’

  ‘My humblest apologies, lord. I hope tonight’s sacrifice has proved mor
e satisfying.’

  Arranged around the floor of the Holy of Holies, propped up against the walls, their blood congealing in great pools, their hearts stuffed into the mouth of the idol until its fangs were clogged with matter and gore, were the butchered remains of the hundred virgin girls Namacuix had brought in fetters from the fattening pen to the pyramid. None of them, as Moctezuma had stipulated, was more than eight years old.

  ‘More satisfying?’ said Hummingbird. ‘Without a doubt!’ He extracted a great chunk of purple meat that had become lodged between his teeth, pushed it back into his maw and surveyed the bodies. ‘I suppose these little ones are an advance on my birthday present?’

  ‘They are, lord, but you will not go short on your birthday. I have promised you ten thousand and you shall have the exact count.’

  ‘Very good,’ said the god. ‘I can hardly wait,’ and with that – a miracle! – he transformed into a tiny hummingbird that hovered over one of the slaughtered children and dipped its long beak into her gaping chest cavity. A voice like a tinkling of bells filled Moctezuma’s head: ‘You have done well tonight, my son, and I am pleased. I sense you have a question for me.’

  ‘I do, lord.’

  ‘Then ask it.’

  ‘What must I do about the tueles, lord? Guide me, I beg you. Show me the right path.’

  ‘Be guided by your own heart, my son,’ the god replied. ‘I have placed wisdom there. Search within and you will find the path to glory.’

  * * *

  ‘I feel tricked by that cunning old fox,’ said Cortés. ‘He led us to expect a roomful of treasure and all we found was this wretched girl.’

  ‘He said you find treasure more precious than gold,’ replied Malinal. ‘He spoke truth.’

  ‘I’ve no doubt she’s precious to you, my dear, after the ordeal you shared – but for the rest of us she has no value at all.’

  Malinal was beginning to feel angry. Now she sat up in bed, moonlight pouring through the window of the large chamber they occupied in the palace that had once belonged to Tlaqui and Tlalchi, and looked down at her lover’s stern, bearded face. ‘Hernán. You said, after God, you owed success in this land to me. Was that joke? Or did you mean?’

  Cortés appeared to think about it, which made Malinal, for a moment, even angrier. ‘I meant every word,’ he said eventually. ‘We’re winning here because I’ve been able to talk to people, threaten people, negotiate with people, and I couldn’t have done any of that without you. We’re winning because you’ve helped me understand the local customs, the local ways of thought, the local superstitions. I couldn’t have done any of that without you either. Most important of all, we’re winning because you’ve helped me get inside Moctezuma’s head and defeat him on the battlefield of the mind and I certainly couldn’t have done that without you.’

  Malinal couldn’t decide whether he was mocking her or serious. He sounded serious, but with Cortés you could never tell. Nonetheless, she decided to take his words at face value. ‘In that case,’ she said, ‘my Tozi more precious than gold! Without her I not be alive today, and even if alive I not be here to help you. She saved my life in fattening pen of Tenochtitlan; you know already. But after – you don’t know this, Hernán! – she make me come to Potonchan to search you out. She … how you say? Insist? She tell me it right. If she not do that, I never go to Potonchan! Never! I go somewhere else, safer for me, and you and I would not meet. I know you believe our Christian God put me in your path to win you victory – we talk about this many times! If he did, he used Tozi to do this. So in God’s name, Hernán, I ask you recognise Tozi! Welcome her!’

  Cortés grinned: ‘Oh very well,’ he said, ‘besides, she’s of an age to be a companion to Pepillo, and God knows he needs a companion other than that dog he’s always clinging on to.’ Another grin, lecherous this time: ‘Now come here.’ He reached out to fondle her naked breast. ‘You’re a goddess in this moonlight.’

  * * *

  On Tuesday 26 October, exactly six days after his departure, Teudile returned to Cholula with a train of tamanes carrying twenty gold plates that Alvarado valued at a thousand pesos each, an assortment of other fine gold ornaments worth a further ten thousand pesos, two hundred bundles of cotton garments including one thousand five hundred fine cloaks, and a hundred huge food baskets filled with cooked turkeys, quail, venison and maize cakes. As he had promised, the steward also brought a message from Moctezuma, a complicated one that Malinal and Pepillo worked on together to render into perfect Castilian.

  ‘My lord commands me to convey to you his humble apologies for the treachery of his vassals in Cholula,’ Teudile began gravely, ‘and asks you to believe, in friendship, that he was not informed of it and played no part in it. It was an initiative entirely of those fools Tlaqui and Tlalchi, whom you have rightly put to death. As to the Mexica regiments you witnessed drawn up in battle formation outside Cholula to attack you, my lord again sends his apologies. He understands your suspicions but informs you these forces were not there with his knowledge or on his orders. Because of the need from time to time to suppress hostile elements in this region, we have been in the habit of maintaining garrisons at Izúcar and Acatzingo and at Cholula itself, and it was the commanders of these garrisons, acting misguidedly on the direct orders of Tlaqui and Tlalchi, who supplied the regiments that confronted you which, thanks be to the gods, you chased away. Those garrison commanders were arrested shortly afterwards on my lord’s orders and suitably punished. He has pleasure – ’ at this point Teudile summoned a bearer carrying a small basket which he opened with a flourish – ‘to send you their hides.’

  Cortés peered into the basket, wrinkling his nose with disgust at the bloody human skins, fresh and untanned, with glistening globs of yellow fat still attached, that lay folded within. ‘Revolting!’ he exclaimed, waving the bearer away.

  ‘Such is our custom here,’ said Teudile, ‘for any who displease my lord, and those who wore these skins displeased the lord Moctezuma greatly in the inconvenience they caused you. In the same spirit, because he does not wish to cause you any further inconvenience or discomfort, my lord Moctezuma most humbly requests that you do not trouble yourself to make the arduous journey to Tenochtitlan, for the lands through which you must pass are very high, and cold, covered with snow at this time of year, and inhospitable. Moreover, as you may know, our city is located on an island in the midst of a lake, approached by long causeways, and all our food must be carried out to us on the backs of tamanes, or brought over the water by boat, so my lord fears he will not be able to feed you and all your men. He suggests you stay here in Cholula, or better still return with your company to the town you have built on our coast near Huitztlan, where the weather is warm and you may pass the winter in comfort. Only say what you need – food, cloth, gold and jewels, whatever you want, in whatever quantity you require – and my lord Moctezuma gives his solemn oath to send it to you, so long as you do not come to Tenochtitlan.’

  ‘Please thank your master for his generous offer,’ Cortés replied, ‘and convey my regrets to him, but we will not turn back, neither will we remain here in Cholula, nor are we in the least daunted by any hardships we may face on our march to Tenochtitlan, even if we must go hungry when we get there. I have no choice in the matter as I am required by my own king, the most powerful monarch in the world, to give him a full account and description of your city and of the great Moctezuma. Since I must perforce do these things, the great Moctezuma must, on his part, accept the fact, and not make other plans – for if he does I will be compelled to cause him much harm and it would sadden me if any harm were to befall him.’

  Teudile was tight-lipped. ‘I will convey your words to my master,’ he said. ‘And may I tell him when you intend to proceed to Tenochtitlan?’

  Cortés favoured him with a broad smile. ‘We are making ready our departure now. Four or five more days at the most, and we will be on our way to you.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Teudile.
‘I must return and report to my master at once. Perhaps he will wish to send you guides for your journey.’

  Alvarado was still examining the gifts of gold, making no attempt to conceal his delight. ‘A queer race,’ he said to Cortés after the ambassador had taken his leave. ‘On the one hand they show us their wealth – ’ he lifted one of the heavy gold plates and bit its soft rim – ‘and on the other they show us they don’t have the courage to defend it.’

  ‘Because they arrogant, strutting, loud-mouthed bullies,’ contributed Malinal, whose own Castilian was improving so fast she soon would not need Pepillo’s help to refine it. ‘They used to pushing neighbours around. Only a few like Tlascalans stood up to them but you Spaniards are first people who bully them back. They don’t like it! Don’t know what to do about it! Have hearts of cowards.’

  * * *

  Thanks to Malinal’s constant gentle tuition, Pepillo’s ability to sustain a conversation in Nahuatl had advanced by leaps and bounds, so from the moment Tozi had been brought out from the cave under the pyramid, he’d been able to talk to her.

  Not that she’d had much to say for the first few days, feeble and starved as she was, but whenever his duties allowed, Pepillo was in attendance on her, constantly urging food on her, nursing her back to health. Melchior, too, had taken a shine to her and vigilantly guarded her bed, where she lay as still as the dead, sleeping deeply and oblivious to the world. Little by little, however, as she gained strength, her skeletal form filling out, colour returning to her sallow features, she slept less and began to talk more. Often Malinal would be present, helping with the gaps in Pepillo’s vocabulary, at first having to explain patiently to Tozi that he was not a god, that none of the Spaniards were gods, and that Cortés, their leader, who everyone now called Malinche, was most certainly not Quetzalcoatl as she seemed so much to want to believe.