The Other Time

by Mack Reynolds

  He followed his companion from the room into the courtyard beyond and across it. Cuauhtemoc pointed out the room that was to be Don’s new home. Evidently, a single room was all that anyone rated here in Tenochtitlan, save for officials such as Motechzoma and the Snake-Woman who, of course, needed extensive quarters for administrative purposes.

  They exited from one of the various large gates that led onto the square. Over the arch was a huge stone eagle, totem of the clan.

  As they walked toward the tecpan, Don said deliberately, “If the Spanish and their allies are not resisted but allowed to enter the city, they will capture it.”

  Cuauhtemoc looked at him. “How do you know? Motechzoma believes that if they are not resisted but are given many presents, particularly of the gold and silver they love, they will go away, return to their large canoes of the sea and return to from whence they came.”

  “I know,” Don said wearily. “But even if the Spaniards wished to, they couldn’t return. Cortes scuttled their ships so that those who wished to turn back couldn’t. When they see me—with four hundred Spaniards in this town, it’s just a matter of time before they spot me—they’ll have me under arrest.”

  The other looked at him in shock. “But you are now a member of the Eagle clan. The teteuhs can do nothing to you. That is one of the reasons I prevailed upon the Snake-Woman to permit your adoption into the clan.”

  Don said, “Thank you for your good intentions, Cuauhtemoc, but you will soon see how much concern Cortes has for the Eagle clan, or for the whole Tenocha nation, for that matter.”

  They rounded up a couple of the tecpan porters to help them transport Don Fielding’s things back to his new quarters. And he realized just how scanty his things were. Stool and table, his newly acquired writing materials, a few odds and ends he had worked with when designing his wheels and vehicles.

  Which brought to mind the fact that he was in rags. His clothing had not been new at the time the switch to this age took place, and since then he had put heavy wear on it. His socks he had long since discarded and his undershorts as well. His shirt was in tatters and his pants not much better. Only his bush jacket was really in reasonable shape.

  As they headed back to his new home, he asked his companion about having some of the Indian women copy his clothing in the cotton cloth they utilized.

  Cuauhtemoc contemplated him thoughtfully. “Perhaps it would be better, giant brother, if you began to wear the garb of the Tenochas and then be unobserved by the teteuhs. We could have one of the medicine men stain your skin and perhaps even darken your hair.”

  Don shook his head negatively. “It would never work. I am a head taller than the tallest man in their army and weigh half again as much as any Tenocha in Tenochtitlan. I stand out like a walrus in a goldfish bowl.”

  “A what?”

  “Never mind. But there is no hiding me, other than temporarily, from the Spanish. I’ll go and meet them upon their arrival. There is little use in putting it off.”

  He stood and watched from the flat rooftop of his new home when the Spanish entered the square. They made a brave show, marching to the staccato rattle of their drums. Thousands watched them from the roofs of the buildings about the huge plaza.

  Cortes led the parade, riding next to the litter in which Motechzoma had met him. Following were the fifteen other horsemen and then the footmen. Bringing up the rear were the thousands of Indians—Tlaxcalans, Totonacs, Cholulans, and various other tribesmen who had accepted the Spanish colors. The Indians were in war garb and paint, and bore weapons.

  The Tenochas standing near Don Fielding took in the armed array glumly. For the first time, armed men were within the precincts of Tenochtitlan—blood enemies. By custom, the Tenochas did not bear arms within the city. The warrior next to Don grunted deprecation. Motechzoma conducted the newcomers to the tecpan and through one of the major gates. The Spanish on horse and foot, looking every which way in amazement at what they saw, followed, and the Indian allies as well. The tecpan was large enough to accommodate them all, particularly if the Indians were packed into the living quarters wholesale. Don Fielding could imagine the reaction of the Spanish. They were being given a palace in which to stay. The conception of any building this large not being a palace was beyond them.

  Axayaca came up and stood next to Don. He was in his costume as an Otomitl, one of the “Wandering Arrow” warriors, a rank analgous to Cuauhtemoc’s standing as an Eagle Knight, though with not quite as much prestige. The night before, the young Indian had been somewhat more friendly to Don than in the past. After all, they were now members of the same clan and hence brothers. Don Fielding got the impression that the other had been opposed to his adoption, but in view of the fact that it had taken place, they were now kin. In Indian society, kin was all-important. It was, literally, social security. If kin do not take care of each other, who will?

  Axayaca said, “The teteuhs are to be given several hours to adjust to their new surroundings and to eat the midday meal they and the scum they have brought with them have carried from Tlaxcala, Cholula, and the other towns. Then the First Speaker of the Tlatocan and others of the chiefs will wait upon them. Motechzoma requests your presence since you speak both our tongue and theirs.”

  Don had already steeled himself to confronting the conquistadores. Why attempt to put it off?

  “Very well,” he said.

  Axayaca looked at him from the side of his eyes and said, “You fear them?”

  Don took a deep breath. He disliked losing face before this younger man. However, he said, “Yes. I am not a warrior.”

  Axayaca said, “All men of the Eagle clan are warriors, save the priests.”

  “I am not. I am a scholar and a teacher of the young.”

  The other looked straight ahead. He said softly, “Somehow it comes to me that in time of need you will become a warrior.”

  What could you answer to that? It was meant to be a compliment; it was the first kindly thing Axayaca had ever said to him.

  The parade was over. He returned to his quarters and shaved and policed up his clothing to the extent he could. He also brought forth his automatic and checked the clip. Perhaps he was no warrior, but he wasn’t going down before Cortes and his cutthroats without resistance.

  Cuauhtemoc, in his regalia as an Eagle Knight, came for him an hour or so later. It would seem that his friend had also been selected as one of those who were to join the audience with the Spanish. Don was mildly surprised. The other was not a chief, nor even a senior warrior, though he was an Eagle Knight.

  It turned out that Motechzoma, when the tecpan had been cleared out for their unwelcome visitors, had moved his establishment to these quarters of the Eagle clan, which was natural since it was his own clan. The Snake-Woman, too, Don supposed, would be in residence here, as well as most of the others connected with the city and confederation administration. He imagined that there would be a strain on accomodations, but the place was monstrous, and if worse came to worst, he assumed that some of the inhabitants could be switched to other Eagle clan houses or even to those of other clans.

  The procession that was to confront the Spanish formed in the largest of the courtyards; Motechzoma and Tlilpotonque, the Snake-Woman, were both being borne in their ceremonial litters. All the rest were on foot, some twenty in all, besides Don and Cuauhtemoc. Porters bearing gifts brought up the rear. Don recognized a dozen, at least, of the chiefs and the total Tlatocan, high council, and the head chiefs of the confederate towns. None were armed.

  Were they mad to submit their whole government to possible attack? To march into the lion’s mouth?

  He knew it was useless to protest. The Spanish power was fated to destroy this backward culture. Time was marching on with a vengeance. Within five years there would be hardly a vestige of the Tenocha left remaining and the city of Tenochtitlan would be but a memory. The Spanish would raze it in the names of God the Father, Charles the Fifth, and Gold the First. These primitive
buildings were unusable for Europeans, in spite of the highly exaggerated descriptions the conquistadores were sending back to Spain.

  The procession swung out into the great square and headed for the tecpan.

  As they came nearer, Don Fielding could see that the invading army had lost no time. Cannon were mounted on the flat rooftops; armed sentries were posted everywhere—crossbowmen and arquebusiers, pieces in hand, fingers in triggers.

  Cortes was showman enough to make the grand gesture. He had placed himself in the center of what had once been Motechzoma’s conference room, at the top of the stone stairs which Don had mounted on his various interviews with the war chief. The Captain-General did not deign to descend to welcome his reluctant host but sat there in his chair while Motechzoma and his chiefs ascended.

  Hernando Cortes was the only one seated and the only one not to wear armor. He was dressed in rich black and wore a velvet cap. Malinche stood to one side of his chair, Aguilar to the other. Behind, in a row, were the two priests, Fray Bartolome de Olmedo and Padre Juan Diaz, and all of the captains of Cortes’s little army. Don Fielding was surprised to see even Bernal Diaz, who had evidently been promoted to officer’s rank since they had last spoken.

  Don and Cuauhtemoc brought up the rear of the Indian procession and it was Malinche who spotted him first. She sucked in air in a gasp.

  The eyes of Hernando Cortes widened in a shock of recognition, and behind him the red-headed Alvarado swore; his hand went to his sword and half drew it from its scabbard.

  Without need to look around, Cortes said grimly, “A moment, Pedro.”

  He looked coldly at Don Fielding. “You are under arrest for the murder of Gomez de Alvarado and will be hanged in the morning at first dawn.”

  Don said, “Would you lay hands, then, on a member of the royal family of Tenochtitlan? I am a nephew of the Emperor Montezuma.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  If he had told them he was the Second Coming of Christ he couldn’t have astonished the Spanish more “My faith, are you mad?” Cortes blurted.

  Don stared him straight in the eye but held his peace. The Captain-General snapped at Aguilar, “Ask them about this!”

  The interpreter spoke to Malinche in Mayan. She in turn, her eyes as wide as those of her master, spoke to Motechzoma in Nahuatl, saying, “This giant white man claims to be of your family.”

  The Tenocha war chief, who was obviously completely befuddled in the presence of these men he had so long feared, said uncomprehendingly, “But yes. He has been adopted into my clan. He is the blood brother of my nephew and hence my nephew as well.”

  Malinche looked at Don and blinked. However, she turned to Aguilar and spoke in Mayan.

  Aguilar, as surprised as any of the rest, turned to Cortes. “The Great Montezuma says yes. Don Fielding is his nephew.”

  Inwardly, Don gave thanks. For once the translation came understandably through its different stages. And to his benefit.

  Cortes said, “On my faith as a gentleman, I can’t believe it. You are not even an Indian. You are not even of this country.”

  And Don said evenly, “Nevertheless, I am a nephew of the Emperor and hence, obviously, a member of the royal family. Can you say as much?”

  The eyes of the conquistador shifted. He was too new in the city to wish to take chances. He was not ready to move as yet.

  He said, “Very well, Don Fielding. We shall look further into this matter. But for the time we recognize your status.”

  Pedro de Alvarado growled, “You mean the dog is to go free? Por Dios! He has killed my brother, Gomez.”

  “That will be all, Pedro,” Cortes said. “I said, for the time.”

  Pedro de Alvarado, his eyes glaring, shoved his sword back into its sheath with a snap. Gonzalo de Sandoval, who was standing next to him, chuckled and Alvarado turned his glare in that direction.

  Motechzoma, bewildered by all this and physically trembling, said in Nahuatl, “Malintzin, we have long had a tradition in this land that it was once blessed by the visit of a great god, our lord Quetzalcoatl, who revealed to his chosen people, the Toltecs, great discoveries to make them happy and to make their lives easier. After many years of peace they enjoyed with him, evil ones expelled him from Tula and he departed to the east vowing to return in the year One Reed. This is the year One Reed. You come from the east. Are you the god returned?”

  Through Malinche, through Aguilar, this was repeated to Cortes, somewhat garbled.

  The Captain-General deliberately evaded.

  He said, “I come from across the seas. I am the subject of a great lord, Emperor Charles. When he heard of your existence—such a great prince—he was anxious to have me come and meet you and to invite you to become a Christian. Later we will explain the only true religion to you so that you can be converted. And later, too, perhaps you will desire to become a liege of His Majesty, who is the greatest lord in all the world.”

  This too was translated, once again in garbled form. Malinche simply did not have the concept of feudalism, nor of Christianity, for that matter. Inwardly, Don Fielding groaned. However, he knew very well that the Captain-General was not going to accept his services as an interpreter. Cortes wouldn’t have trusted him to repeat any conversation accurately. All Don could hope to do was talk it over with his new relatives later, though by the looks of the Tenocha war chief, Motechzoma was in no shape to assimilate anything complicated. His worst fears had evidently been realized. He thought the Spaniard was the returned god Quetzalcoatl, come to lead the people as once he had long centuries before. Both Cuauhtemoc and the Snake-Woman had contempt in their eyes, though they attempted to hide it before the strangers.

  Still in a dither, Motechzoma gave commands for the presents to be brought and personally hung a chain of gold around the necks of each of the conquistadores in the room. There were other ornaments of gold, silver, and featherwork, and he also gave orders that each Spanish soldier and each of the Indian allies be given clothing of cotton. Don wondered how long the supply of Tenocha precious metals was going to hold out at this rate. The First Speaker had been distributing it wholesale to the invaders ever since they had landed.

  When at last the meeting was ended, the Tenochtitlan delegation filed out again.

  And when Don passed young Sandoval, that one said, mockery in his eyes, “For the time, Don Fielding. For the time.”

  When he passed Malinche, her face was without expression.

  When he passed Fray Olmedo, the priest said sadly, “And have you become one of the heathen faith, my son?”

  Don said, “No, Padre,” and marched on.

  In the square the delegation broke up, the individuals heading for their respective quarters. Don walked beside Cuauhtemoc.

  He said, “And what did you think of that?”

  “Much of it I did not understand.”

  “That is because much of it was not understandable. Malinche and the Spanish interpreter garbled it.”

  “What is it, then, that Malintzin wishes? He makes great protestations of friendship. I fear that my uncle will be taken in by him.”

  Don looked at him from the side of his eyes.

  The other said, “My uncle has always been fearful of the gods, beyond most men. I too am fearful of gods, but especially those I cannot see. There is something strange about gods who look almost exactly as you do yourself.”

  Don laughed. “You are learning, brother; you are learning.” He added sourly, “However, I doubt that your uncle is.”

  “Our uncle,” Cuauhtemoc told him.

  “Yes, of course. The Spaniard’s name is not Malintzin; it is Hernando Cortes and in his land they have very strange ways. Each man serves, almost as a tlacotli, as a slave, a chief above him. Ultimately one arrives at the very highest chief. In the land of Hernando Cortes that chief is named Charles. If Cortes serves him well, he will be highly rewarded. If he fails him, he will be killed.”

  “Sacrificed?”

  “
No. Just killed. Cortes wishes to serve his chief by making all in this country, not just Tenochas but all the tribes, slaves to the Emperor Charles.”

  “But why?”

  “So that they can force you to work the mines, build houses and temples for them, till the soil so that they themselves can live lives of plenty without need to labor.”

  The Indian was horrified. “But that is criminal!”

  Don groaned inwardly. How did you, even an anthropologist, describe class-divided society to a primitive communist? Above all, how did you explain that it led to progress? That to have scientists, scholars, and artists, you had to have a leisure class that had the time to create. Yes, the present-day Spain produced freebooters such as Cortes and Alvarado, but it also produced Cervantes and in due time Goya, Velazques, El Greco, and Murillo. Would Leonardo da Vinci ever have done his work if he’d had to put in ten or twelve hours a day tilling a field? Would Michelangelo?

  How did you explain the need of a class-divided society to one to whom the conception is monstrous? For a million years man’s institutions had remained comparatively free, basically democratic, as the institutions of these Aztecs were basically democratic. And progress was practically nil. With the coming of classes and of leisure time for the few, man’s potential blossomed until, in Don’s own time, there was potential aplenty for all, certainly plenty compared to this age. There were problems to be ironed out in distribution, yet the plenty was there.

  But how did you explain the institutions of slavery, feudalism, or classical capitalism, not to speak of its later developments, to a free savage?

  You didn’t.

  They were approaching the buildings of the Eagle clan.

  Don said, “Among your people, are there any who speak the Tlaxcalan tongue?”

  “Why, yes, giant brother. It is very similar to our own. They speak Nahuatl.”

  Are there any who speak any other languages, such as Mixtec, Zapotec, Tarascan?”