"Bah!"
He grinned. "You see, I've done my best."
The attack surged on, a mingled thunder of cannon and muskets, yells from ten thousand throats, blowing of conchs, defiance of trumpets. The courtyard became as cluttered with arrows and javelins as
a threshing floor with straw. The bodies beyond the wall heaped up, but the assault did not slacken. The garrison, stiff, weary, and bleeding, still manned the embrasures and the coping of the wall. Two hours, three hours, passed. The sun sloped toward evening. The fight remained a stalemate at high tension.
It was Alvarado's idea to call on the captive Montezuma for help. Unceremoniously, between the chief captain and de Vargas, with Doila Marina attending, the Uei Tlatoani was conducted to a terrace-like eminence on the wall and induced to address the people. At the first glimpse of his revered figure, slight but stately, wearing the odd-shaped coronet of his office, a hush fell on the nearest ranks of attackers and spread through the vast crowd in the square. After hours of uproar, the silence seemed unnatural and almost uncanny.
His voice carried far. What he said, Pedro did not learn until afterwards from Dofia Marina. The Uei Tlatoani commanded patience. The time would come, but the time was not yet. Patience. Did they think that Montezuma slept, that the gods were sleeping? Let them await the fullness of time. It would not be long. And a day of joy would dawn over Tenochtitlan. ("Words of cunning," said Dofia Marina later, "and of ill-omen.")
Meanwhile, Pedro stared out over the barbaric multitude, lighted up by the slant rays of the setting sun, a medley of strange emblems, swarthy faces. A dizzy dream-sense of unreality passed over him. He recalled a snatch from Ortiz's song.
. . . Far in the West, the echoes of our fate . . .
Lord! Was that day at sea only a year ago?
The rattle of his armor, as he shifted from one foot to the other, brought him back to Montezuma's voice and to the myriad of intent eyes. He thought of the handful of men in the courtyard, alone against these legions.
For the time being, at least, the attack stopped; the crowd withdrew. By the advice of Montezuma, one of his kinsmen, whom the Spaniards called the Infante, was released on the pretext of calming the people. And night came on, silent except for the roaring of the caged beasts across the square. Stiff and exhausted, the company kept vigil around its bivouacs in the courtyard.
Even Juan Garcia felt depressed. "There's a spell on this cursed New World," he growled, sitting legs wide in front of one of the fires. "It always happens the same way. First, everything beautiful; big pros-
pects, gold, land, Indians, a paradise for the taking. Then—crash! You wake up to find yourself in the jakes and fighting to crawl out. What prospects we had up to a month ago! And now look at us! Jesus Maria! It's heartbreaking."
"Well," grinned the Nightingale from across the fire, "who talked up the scuttling of our ships? Who was fire and flames for marching to Mexico?"
"I admit it," Garcia nodded. "But what of most of us? Was I the only one? I say it's witchcraft. If it wasn't, who with any sense wouldn't exchange the whole New World for a nice little farm in Andalusia? A few pigs and goats. A capable woman to tend them. Quiet sleep." He picked up one of the Aztec arrows that littered the pavement and chucked it into the fire. "If Our Lord helps me out of this with a whole skin, I'll walk barefoot from Cadiz to St. Mary of Guadalupe."
Pedro couldn't help chuckling; he remembered Garcia at Sanlucar.
Chin on hand, Catana lay stretched out between Pedro and Ochoa. The boy had dropped off to sleep, his head on her thigh. She stared intently at the fire, the light of which flickered on her mop of black hair and brought out the angles of her face.
"'Struth, Juan!" she put in. "I know more about pigs and goats in Andalusia than you do. Santa Maria! I've still got the smell of them in my nose. As for me, cavaliers," she went on in a different tone, "if we die tomorrow, I for one will say gracias a Dios for the good days we've had. Would I trade our venture since Villa Rica for a chance to scratch fleas and grow old on the fattest farm in Castile? No, sirs, whatever the price! And I say viva now . . . viva tomorrow!"
From the standpoint of Pedro, who kept his eye on morale, it was the right speech at the right time. The grousing mood passed in a mutter of assent. The Nightingale fished out a pack of cards. Bull Garcia began speculating about what was happening on the coast.
Pedro reached for Catana's hand and squeezed it. They could feel rather than see each other's eyes in the half-light.
''Viva you!" he whispered.
The attack flared up again at dawn. The Infante, instead of calming the people, brought them back in hotter temper, if possible, than before. Perhaps he had reported the weariness of the garrison; or perhaps it was one of Montezuma's finesses. At any rate, hour followed hour of assault.
And once more Montezuma intervened. But this time Pedro de Alvarado, drawing his dagger in full view of the crowd, pointed it at
ehe Uei Tlatoani's heart. It did not need Dona Marina's interpretation to explain his meaning. Again sullenly the attackers withdrew; but they blocked every street and canal, cut the water main furnishing the Spanish quarters, burned the small brigantines which Cortes had built as an additional means of retreat across the lake, and settled down to a complete siege.
Someone discovered a spring in the enclosure itself. Food supplies were adequate. The stalemate could go on for a long time. Its ultimate solution depended on Cortes.
Tlascalan messengers were got off to run the Aztec lines and carry news to the General of what had happened. He must give help, if he were in a position to give it; othervise the garrison was lost. After that, nothing remained but to wait.
. As the aching, empty days passed, the chapel, which had been installed in the compound, received a steady flow of worshipers; and Father Juan Diaz (whose cloth had saved him from hanging after the Escudero mutiny) heard everybody's confession. Between watches, the loot of the recent massacre in the teocalli changed hands over drum-skin cards. The chronic bores of the company exercised their profession on apathetic listeners. Except for worshiping, gambling, and talk, there was nothing to'do; that is, nothing but stare at the chilling prospect of death unless salvation came from the coast; and of that, the hope dwindled with every silent dawn.
Then one day, while Pedro and Garcia idled on the terrace steps of one of the buildings, Alvarado came up with Doila Marina.
"You and I are wanted by the Lord Montezuma, Pedrito. He has something to communicate. I wonder what's on the old fox's mind now. . . . Will you come?"
Since the outbreak of war, the Uei Tlatoani's retinue had shrunk to a skeleton staff; but there were still the obsequious ushers to conduct Alvarado, de Vargas, and the interpreter through the cavernous rooms to the presence of the Most High. This time he received them on a half-enclosed porch outside the council chamber. Suave and gracious as always, he could not hide for once a certain agitation. It might signify good or evil, and the two Spaniards watched him narrowly,
"Tonatiuh and Xiuhtecuhtli," he said through the lips of Dofia Marina, "I have but now received excellent tidings from Cempoala, which I must share with you."
How had he received them? The question flashed through the minds of his listeners while the woman translated. In spite of guards and walls, Montezuma contrived always to keep better informed about
distant events than his captors. But interest in what he had to say eclipsed everything else. Pedro clenched his hands to keep them from trembling. Alvarado's florid face looked a shade paler.
"There has been a great battle," said the Aztec, "a great battle between Malinche and the chief of the new-come teules."
He took up a thickish volume of folded maguey paper from the stand in front of him and opened it.
"Nombre de Dios!" Alvarado burst out. "And who won the battle? Can't he get to the point?"
"Behold," said Montezuma, handing over the volume, "the record is there in full. Let Tonatiuh read it for himself."
It was the usual pictorial report, a single incident upon each fold of the long strip which formed the book, but so conventionalized that the Spanish captain, who frowned, squinted, and turned the manuscript in every direction, could make nothing of it.
"Here, Marina," he fumed, "read me this thing if you can—devil take it!—and let's hear what happened for the Lord's sake."
He had no need to speak twice. Marina's eager eyes were already devouring the pictures for news of her lover. Suddenly her cheeks flushed.
"Nuestra Senora be praised . . ."
"Well? . . . Well?"
"Victory, sirs!" She raised her two hands, her face alight with joy.
"But the details? How? Where?"
"Look."
Forgetting Montezuma, the two captains pressed on either side of Marina, their heads bowed close to hers, their eyes following the pointing of her fingers.
"Look. Our General is at the river, Ghachalacas, a league from Cempoala. He has two hundred and fifty men. There is Captain Velasquez de Leon. There is Captain de Sandoval. It is night and it rains. Our General speaks to the men."
"Can't you hear him!" muttered Pedro. "I'll bet he made their blood sing, rain or not. Nobody can speak like he does! So they camped at the Chachalacas?"
"No, sefior. They cross the river."
"Night attack!" Alvarado reflected. "Good idea!"
"They capture a sentinel outside Cempoala. Another escapes. He carries the alarm. But Narvaez sleeps. Our General enters the town. He marches toward the main teocalli. The enemy wake up. They fire the cannon. But, see, our men stand flat against the houses. Only three
are killed. The others charge—it is Captain Pizarro who leads. They capture the cannon."
"Where was Cortes?" Alvarado queried.
Dona Marina examined the pictures. "It was like this, seilores. The men of Narvaez were too many to lodge in the chief temple as we did. Narvaez had his quarters there on top of the pyramid. He stationed guards on the steps. But other captains were in other temples. All had to be taken. The General, with a few men, went from place to place."
"He would," Pedro nodded. "Go on. What happened?"
Marina pointed. "See, it is Captain de Sandoval who charges the main pyramid. He fights his way up with the pikemen. Narvaez meets him. It is a fierce fight there on top of the teocalli. Ahi!" She pointed at the next picture, savage excitement breaking for a moment through her usual gentleness. "Look, the eye of Panfilo de Narvaez is struck out by a pike. His men carry him into the shrine where he was lodged. They bolt the doors. One of our comrades sets fire to the roof. Now all is in flames. Narvaez yields; he is taken prisoner. Victory!"
Exultant oaths echoed her. "I suppose the horsemen had no time to saddle," observed Alvarado.
"But yes, senor, some escaped; others were not in Cempoala. Look"—she pointed at another fold in the manuscript—"the Captains Olid and Ordas persuaded them next day to come in. And behold"— her voice rang with pride—"there is the General seated, wearing a robe over his armor, and all the men of Narvaez pay him honor and enlist under him. He greets them lovingly. Is that not glory—eight hundred of them, with eighty horsemen and many cannon, overcome by two hundred and fifty of our comrades!"
Alvarado growled, "I wish I had been there. What filthy luck to be penned in this pigsty, while that passage of arms went forward! Eh, de Vargas?"
Pedro gritted his teeth in envy too deep for words. He thought of his friend and rival, Sandoval, fighting his way up the pyramid.
"What happened to Narvaez?" Alvarado added. "Hanged, I imagine."
"No, sir," replied Marina, "he is shown here in prison at Villa Rica."
The guttural, sonorous voice of Montezuma broke in, and with a start the two captains remembered him. But what he said or did now had no importance. They looked at him with the eyes of men reprieved from death through no merit of his. At a stroke, their troubles were ended; their star once more rode high. If, with four hundred men, Cortes had originally made himself master of Mexico, was there any
fear that he could hold it with twelve hundred? By now the messengers from the garrison must have reached him; by now he might even be crossing the mountains westward to rescue and to avenge.
"Did I not say the tidings were excellent?" Montezuma smiled, and his smile was like the gleam of thin ice over black water. "Do we not love and honor Malinche, and rejoice in his success? We shall welcome him back with his twelve hundred valiant teules. Yes, he is even now preparing to march. Behold, the causeways to Tenochtitlan are open."
Marina's eyelids fluttered a little as she translated.
"And look to yourself, when he comes, Senor Montezuma," Alvarado growled. "I advise you to call off this siege, open your markets, collect gold in reparation for the rebellion of your people, and make all well against his return. If so, he may have mercy; if not, he will know how to punish. Be sure of it."
Montezuma smiled again. "All will be well, Tonatiuh. I promise that all will be very well. As I said, the causeways are open to Malinche. We shall greet him fittingly."
With wings on their heels, the two captains and Marina hastened back through the hall-like rooms to bring the great news to the garrison. Soon cannon, drums, and trumpets would be saluting the victory. Then would come the Te Deum. Verily God had delivered His people out of the jaws of death.
"How now, senora?" Pedro exclaimed suddenly.
On the threshold of the outer terrace. Dona Marina had stopped and was leaning against the side of the doorway.
"It is faintness, sir." The woman's tawny face looked almost white.
"Faintness? Are you unwell, Mistress?"
"No." The woman's eyes shifted from de Vargas to Alvarado, then back. "I am afraid."
"Of what?" Alvarado gaped. "Now, of all times—"
"Send a messenger," she went on urgently. "Warn our General that he must not enter this city. Let us rather join him."
The Captain-in-Chief laughed. "You are moon-struck, Marina. What ails you?"
"What I saw behind Montezuma's eyes. It was not fear. My lords, he rejoices indeed at the return of Cortes and all his army. He prepares a bitter welcome—"
In front of them, the courtyard was buzzing around a man who now broke loose and came up the terrace steps. It was Luis Alonso, who had marched with Cortes. Dust-stained but wreathed in smiles, he saluted.
"A letter and greetings from the General, Your Worships. I must
have word too with the Lord Montezuma. Wait till you hear the news!
By God, did we put them in the sack—the Narvaez crowd—all of
them! What a clean sweep. Your Worships!"
He ran on, while Alvarado opened the letter. It surprised Alonso
that his news did not seem new.
"God be thanked!" said the Chief Captain. "But how did you get
through the lines, friend Luis? You notice that we've been under attack
since you left."
"By the southern causeway," the other answered. "It's wide open." Marina's voice broke in desolately. "My lords, the trap is open." "Well then," grinned Alvarado, his eyes on the letter, "it won't have
to wait long. Let it close! Twelve hundred Castilian gentlemen, not
counting the Tlascalans. A hundred horse. Thirty cannon. I pity the
trap."
L//I
On MrosuMMER's Day not three weeks later, the garrison lined the walls of the compound to catch from far off on the southern causeway the marching beat of drums, piping of fifes, flourish of trumpets, clatter of horses, that announced the incoming army.
The sounds approached, distinct against the background of a vast silence. The crowds which but yesterday had choked the central square and avenues of the city had vanished. Tenochtitlan lay apparently deserted.
But to the weary listeners no other music on earth would have sounded so sweet. In spite of Alvarado's threats to Montezuma, the siege had not been raised until yesterday. It was as if the Aztecs, having pre
vented the garrison from marching out, did not wish to discourage Cortes from marching in. Now the long vigil was over. With Cortes once more at the helm and an army tripled in numbers to support him, the enterprise had reached its final, prosperous goal.
The sound of the marching grew louder. Straining their eyes, the watchers could at last see the front of the column advancing up the southern avenue. But, as more of it came into sight, what a column! Rank on rank of steel caps, arquebusiers, arbalesters, pikemen. And the horsemen! Used to their own meager squadron, it seemed to the garrison like a forest of lances.
"Trumpeters, sound off!" Pedro shouted from his vantage point at
the comer of the parapet. A welcoming flourish answered from the courtyard. "Gunners, blow your matches! Fire!" For an instant every other sound was eclipsed by the thunder of the salute. Then, emerging from it, the oncoming march rang louder.
Standing next to Pedro, Catana squeezed his arm. "Senor, doesn't it remind you of that day at Villa Rica when you and I—But this is much more wonderful."
He nodded. "We didn't expect it a month ago—eh, vida tnia? Note me the appointments of these new cavaliers, the equipment! Gad, we're but ragamuffins by the side of them! Just the same, our comrades are marching in the van, as they ought. They're the stuff—"
"The General!" she broke in. "I can see him—"
"Where?"
"Behind Senor Corral with the banner."
"Yes. Cdspita, he's got a new suit of harness! . . . And there's Olid, Morla, Tapia, Ordas. Sandoval! By God, there's Sandoval!" Pedro cupped his hands. "Hola, Gonzalo de Sandoval!" he shouted, but his voice did not carry. "Ha, the good comrades!"
Catana laughed. "See there! See! If Master Botello hasn't got himself a horse. He always wanted one. It's a beauty. He's riding high as any of the captains. . . . There's Seiior Ortiz. I wonder if he's made a new ballad."
Names passed from man to man down the line of onlookers. Hands and caps were waved.
"Gentlemen," barked Alvarado from the courtyard, "down here and fall in! Aprisa! Will you greet our company like a parcel of women on a roof? Company formation! Captain de Vargas, stay where you are and give me the signal for opening the gates."
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