Aguilar, who seemed a colorless nonentity and not particularly bright, turned to Cortes and said in Spanish, “He says he is the nephew of the Emperor Montezuma who has sent him to demand why you have taken over Cempoala and the fief of the Totonacs.”
Don groaned inwardly. His first inclination was to step forward and offer his services as a translator directly from Nahuatl into Spanish. In the first place, the title Tlacatecuhtli didn’t by any means mean “Emperor.” It meant “One Who Speaks,” or could be translated the “First Speaker,” indicating that in Tenochtitlan, at high council meetings, Motechzoma spoke first. There were other things completely wrong with the translation as it finally got through to the Captain-General, but Don Fielding held his peace. He still thought it just as well to keep to himself his knowledge of what was going on.
Hernando Cortes came to his feet, smiling hospitably. He stepped forward and gave the somewhat startled Cuauhtemoc a warm Spanish abrazo, then turned to Axayaca and gave that young man a similar embrace. The Indians looked surprised; obviously physical contact between men was not their custom.
The Captain-General returned to his chair and said to Aguilar, “Tell our friend that we welcome the nephews of the great monarch Montezuma to our camp and that my liege lord, Charles the Fifth, King of Spain and Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire, the greatest monarch in the world, sends his warmest greetings and prays that the great Montezuma will accept the true faith and, with all his subjects, be baptized into the Holy Mother Church.”
Aguilar had listened carefully. Now he turned to Malinche and spoke in Mayan. She in turn looked to Cuauhtemoc and said in Nahuatl, “The teteuh says that he welcomes you and that his chief, Charles, who is the greatest chief in the world, sends his greetings and wishes all the Tenochas to embrace the new religion which comes from over the seas and which is the true religion of the three gods.”
Well, Don decided inwardly, that didn’t come through quite so badly, though the girl didn’t seem to have a very clear picture of the new religion she embraced. He wondered if the three gods were the Holy Trinity—Jehovah, Jesus, and Mary. The two young Tenochas looked puzzled.
However, Cuauhtemoc turned and clapped his hands and some of the porters hurried forward.
The four older chiefs took from these various articles and piece by piece unwrapped them. They consisted of gold and silver art objects and ornaments sometimes bejeweled, rich cotton stuff elaborately embroidered, beautiful mantles of the plumaje, the famous feather embroidery, and various other gifts which, Don suspected, though it might be great Indian art, would be consigned to the junk pile by the Spanish as soon as the others were gone. But the eyes of the Europeans glinted at the gold and silver, and there was an expression, even in the face of the priest, Juan Diaz, of quick estimation of its value. Piece by piece the treasure was offered to Cortes, who invariably expressed his delight and then had it sent off by his soldiers to the temple in which he was housed.
When all had been presented, the Captain-General in turn clapped his hands. Sandoval leaned down to hear his words.
Cortes said, even while beaming at the Indians, “Get these dogs a few handsful of the green beads, some of the red ones, and two or three of the hand mirrors. And, let me see, perhaps a string of the artificial pearls. That should be sufficient.”
Sandoval went off and shortly reappeared with the page Orteguilla impressively bearing a tray with the ordered gifts.
Cortes personally took them up and presented them to the Indian spokesman, who seemed impressed by the quality of the gifts, if not by their number. He turned and proffered them to one of his older subchiefs who wrapped them up with care in some of the cotton cloths in which their own presents had arrived.
Cuauhtemoc turned back to Cortes.
That worthy had evidently decided upon a show of force. He made a gesture with his hand, evidently a prearranged signal, because in split seconds Pedro de Alvarado came dashing around from the back of the major temple at the head of fifteen other horsemen, all of them in full armor, all of them bearing lances.
They rode at full tilt down the length of the enclosure, Alvarado at the lead, the others in three lines, five abreast. At the enclosure’s far end they wheeled, reassembled into one long line, lowered their lances and charged. The horse’s hoofs whirled up the dust and made an impressive drumming, thunderlike roar. They wheeled again, charged back again, this time with their swords out and flashing on high.
They paused now and formed ranks again, and two of them galloped forth alone, Pedro de Alvarado and one of his brothers, Jorge de Alvarado, if Don wasn’t mistaken. He wasn’t nearly as spectacular as his swashbuckling older brother.
They rode to opposite ends of the enclosure, spun their horses, and headed toward each other, lances couched. Both lowered the visors of their helmets. They came together with a great crash. Jorge was swept from his saddle and hit the earth with a rattle-bang of armor. Don winced, but the soldiers around him laughed and put up a great shout in Pedro’s favor.
But Jorge was back onto his feet and whipping his sword out, even as his horse ran off.
Pedro vaulted out of his own saddle, brought forth his sword, and they had at it, with a great banging of the steel weapons on armor. It soon became obvious to Don Fielding that they were faking it, working for the effect rather than attempting to wound the other. He suspected that the Alvarados had done a considerable amount of this type of jousting in the past. However, the show must have been impressive to the Indians, who were watching round-eyed, in spite of their attempts to retain dignity.
After a few minutes of this fervent battle, the two stood back and laughed at each other, put their swords away, and embraced. They secured their horses, returned to the troop, and all rode off to whence they had come, the improvised stables behind the temple.
The army had fourteen cannon in all. Four of the small falconets and ten larger brass ones. Two of the falconets were at the gate, and one of the heavier guns was mounted on each corner of the wall. The rest of the artillery was parked approximately in the center of the courtyard.
Cortes called out now to the group of guards at the artillery park, “Load up a lombard and direct it at that temple.” He pointed.
The temple in question was one of the smaller ones and mounted atop a minor pyramid which had about a score of steps leading to the top.
A large stone ball was dropped down the muzzle of the gun. An artilleryman laid the gun and another touched the breech with the smoldering tip of a short piece of rope. There was a sputtering and then a great crash and gush of smoke and flame. The ball came thundering forth and smashed into the tiny temple, completely collapsing it.
To a man, the Indians had staggered back a step or two and Cuauhtemoc himself lost caste by barking out an exclamation.
Cortes called to one of the musketeers, “Rodrigo, load your piece with shot and bring down that flock of turkeys over there.”
The soldier poured powder into his clumsy matchlock, added a sizeable quantity of shot from his belt pouch, and rammed it all home. He leveled the gun with care. The turkeys his commander had indicated were several hundred feet away and numbered about twenty. The gun went off with a satisfying boom and a great discharge of black smoke, and the turkeys went down to a bird. A few of them continued to kick and squawk, but none remained on foot.
Cortes turned back to the Tenochtitlan delegation and said, “A slight demonstration of our weapons for your edification.”
Aguilar and then Malinche translated, though it was hardly necessary. The Indians were impressed, despite all efforts to hide their near-consternation. The porters were terrified.
Cortes said, “And now to the purpose of your embassy. You must realize that, though this principality of the Totonacs was formerly vassal to your great monarch Montezuma, they were dissatisfied with his rule and pleaded with us to accept their pledge of obedience to His Majesty, Charles the Fifth.”
By the time that got through the interprete
rs, it was a mishmash so far as Don could see, and the Indians looked confused.
Cortes said, “However, I bear great affection for your king and shortly will pay my respects to him in his capital, where all misunderstandings between us can be readily adjusted.”
That came through a little better but wasn’t very well received by the nephews of the First Speaker of Tenochtitlan. Cuauhtemoc consulted briefly with his companion and then turned back to Malinche.
“Tell the teteuh that the way is hard and long and there is little food and that there are many enemies. It is not well that he try to approach Tenochtitlan.”
That went through the translation process and Cortes laughed in gentle reproof.
“But tell our ambassador that my master, His Majesty, has ordered me to pay his compliments to the great Montezuma and that he would never forgive me if I failed, no matter how long and difficult the path. Besides”—he gestured at the two priests—“it is most necessary to reveal to him the new faith and bring him into the Holy Mother Church.”
“Amen,” the priests intoned.
Malinche and Aguilar went through their process again. The Indians looked dismayed and their eyes went back to the artillery.
Cortes stood. “But now is the time for refreshment. The hour for the midday repast is upon us and my servants have prepared as luxurious a banquet as the inadequate facilities of Cempoala provide for such noble guests. Pray join me, honored lords.”
He took Cuauhtemoc by one arm, Axayaca by the other, and in the most friendly of fashions led them toward his temple headquarters, even while Malinche and Aguilar translated his words. The two Indians still obviously didn’t like to be handled.
The four older subchiefs began to follow, but Sandoval, a mocking in his eyes, held up a restraining hand and pointed in the direction of the outdoor kitchens.
One of the foot soldiers next to Don said, “If these Indian dogs think they are going to eat before us, they are daft.”
The balance of the Indian procession, which had entered so bravely an hour before, now looked bewildered. Some of them squatted down on their heels and simply waited for whatever was to come.
Alvarado’s troupe came up, horseless now, and also made their way to the temple, along with the interpreters, the priests, and Sandoval and Olid.
Don, it seemed, was not invited. He shrugged and turned to head, along with the Spanish soldiery, to the kitchens. He grimaced wryly. Listening to any more of that chaotic translating would have given him a sour stomach anyway. He doubted that half of what got through was understood by either side.
As they headed for their lunch, the soldier next to him sized him up from the side of his eyes and said, “You are Don Fielding, the giant stranger from the north.”
Don looked at him. “That’s right,” he said. The other seemed to be about twenty-eight, of middle height by Don’s standards, but probably tall by contemporary Spanish ones. He seemed open-faced, active, quick, and stacked up into a well-made soldier. In fact, he had a certain elegance and grace beyond the average in this army. He evidently had a curiosity quality; most of the others largely ignored Don, as though suspicious of his intrusion into their ranks.
This one said, “Bernal Diaz del Castillo of the town of Medina del Campo in Castile.”
Don stared at the historian-to-be. “I have heard of you.” In his eighties, approaching blindness, this honest man was to write the only accurate story of the conquest. He didn’t look like a writer. He looked like an honest man. The other frowned. “Heard of me? From whom?”
Don Fielding backpedaled quickly. “Uh, I don’t know. I have talked to so many these past two days. Perhaps Diego Ordaz, with whom I am quartered.”
“He is a brave captain,” Bernal said.
“Evidently, he also thinks well of you,” Don said, covering.
They had reached the kitchens and joined the line of footmen, military-fashion in chow line. It was a cafeterialike arrangement. Each man helped himself to the tortillas, the steaming cauldrons of stews, roast fowl, and the fruit. As a soldier reached his turn, he took up a bowl, or sometimes two, and dished up his own quantity. The food was at least plentiful and Don wondered how much of a strain was put on the town’s economy by these additional three or four hundred voracious Spaniards.
Bernal growled, “On my faith, this food is not fit for dogs and there is no wine. Sometimes I wonder why I ever left my home.” But then he laughed. “Obviously, to gain my fortune. When we have taken this land, we will bring the olives, the beasts, the foods, the grapes of Spain. And then we will see. With the Indians for slaves, all will be paradise for us veterans.”
“Undoubtedly,” Don said, dryness there. If history bore him out, a man in the ranks of this army was not going to do nearly as well as Cortes and his higher-ranking captains had promised.
They reached the head of the line, took up bowls, and made their selections. They stayed together, wandering off aways to where they found seating room on one of the stone steps of a temple. Evidently, Bernal Diaz was interested in continuing Don’s company. At least he had intellectual curiosity, which seemed a quality the others didn’t possess.
Between bites, Bernal said, “The rumors about you go through the camp. It is said that you come from a land many days’ journey to the north.”
“That is correct,” Don said around his mouthful. And now, he thought, come the questions about the gold.
But Bernal said, “Is it true that in those lands there are people with but one leg and their mouths in the tops of their heads?”
Don looked at him sarcastically. “Possibly in Texas,” he said. “Anything can happen there.”
Chapter Six
Bernal chuckled. “You jest,” he said. “But I did not believe it anyway. Is your land La Florida?”
“No.”
“I once spoke to a sailor of the expedition of Juan Ponce de Leon, who journeyed to La Florida in the year of our Lord 1513. He reported that there were unicorns in that strange land.” Bernal took in his companion. “But he did not mention natives who spoke Spanish or were so well attired or accomplished as you seem to be.”
Thin ice again. Don said carefully, “They’re inclined to dress very informally in Florida. For one thing, the heat is such that too much clothing is not practical.”
“And the unicorns?”
“If unicorns existed, it would undoubtedly be in Florida, or possibly California, another of our states, but in sad truth they don’t. It is a superstition.”
The other was fascinated. “He also reported that there were great lizards as much as twenty feet long which live in the water and are very ferocious. Of course, I did not believe that, either.”
“Alligators,” Don told him. “No. He was correct. They aren’t particularly dangerous on land, but I wouldn’t want to be in the water with a hungry one around.” Don Fielding tried to remember whether or not alligators would attack a man, even in the water. He knew crocodiles would. But alligators? He didn’t know.
He said, “What was all this today?”
Bernal chuckled. “These Indian dogs have met their match in the Captain-General. They do not know if they are in retreat or charge. A few weeks ago, when we first landed, we pushed north here to Cempoala in this minor principality which was held in fief by the great Montezuma.” Bernal took another bite and went on. “The Captain-General, informed that Montezuma’s tax collectors appropriated large quantities of the best products of the area, told the local cacique that they need no longer deliver these things. That he would protect them. So it was that when five of the official tax collectors turned up, ah, arrogant they were, Don Hernando so incensed the Totonacs that they rose and threw the collectors into the stocks.” Bernal laughed again. “But this is where our Captain-General proved his wiliness. Secretly, he released two of the collectors, brought them to his quarters, expressed his high regard for them and for the great Montezuma, and gave them presents and let them escape, to return to Tenochtitlan
. He then pretended anger at the Totonacs for letting the two escape and took the remaining three out to our ships and later allowed them to depart for their capital as well.”
“What was the point?” Don said.
Bernal wiped up the balance of his stew with a tortilla. “Can’t you see? The great Montezuma is now indebted to us for releasing his officers. But the Totonacs are terrified that he will take his revenge upon them. Thus it is that they have sworn allegiance to His Majesty and become a Spanish fief.”
“Machiavellian,” Don muttered, tossing his head in a gesture of wonder.
“What?”
Don was about to explain who the Florentine was but then drew quick rein on himself. Niccolo Machiavelli, the devilish statesman, was probably still alive and active in the Florence of these days. Bernal Diaz might even have heard of him. But Don, in his present guise, couldn’t possibly have had.
“Nothing,” he said. He too was finishing his meal.
They both stood and Bernal was about to make off to his duties, or whatever. He hesitated and looked at the newcomer to the camp. He said, “One word, Don Fielding—I noted you in the company of Gonzalo de Sandoval, who is the closest intimate of the Captain-General. Perhaps I should not speak thus to a stranger of a comrade in arms, but though he is the most charming of young men—he is a viper. There, I have said it and should not have.”
Don looked after him as he strode away. He grunted surprise. Bedamned! It looked as though he had made a friend.
With the Spanish soldiery all fed, some of the Indian women who worked in the kitchens took bowls of food over to the subchiefs and the porters, who ate it, squatting on the ground. Don watched them for awhile. So these were the famous Aztecs, most warlike of all Mexican Indians. They were not done up in the paraphernalia of war of course, but even so, they didn’t look particularly prepossessing. He estimated that their average height was about five foot two, about the size of Napoleon Bonaparte. By his own standards they were little more than midgets; however, they were well muscled and wiry.
The Other Time Page 6