by Buddy Levy
But some of Cortés’s captains approached him with similar concerns. They held a meeting in the newly built chapel and discussed the situation. Cortés, Sandoval, Ordaz, Alvarado, and Velázquez de León discussed their current situation and options, both military and political. While these conversations were going on, Tlaxcalan emissaries arrived bearing grim news from Vera Cruz: Juan de Escalante, captain in charge at the coastal fortress, as well as six other Spanish soldiers and a number of allied Totonacs, had been killed.*31 Montezuma still operated a system of tribute collection in the coastal regions, and his agent in Nauhtla (also called Almeria), a man named Qualpopoca, had been pressing for the Totonacs to continue their payments, which they might do since Cortés had left. But the Totonacs explained that because of their allegiance with Cortés and the Spaniards, they were no longer vassals of Tenochtitlán, and they refused to pay any form of taxes. Enraged by this impudence, Qualpopoca determined to exact either payment or punishment. In a ruse he sent messengers to Escalante requesting a meeting, saying that he wished to seal an alliance with the Spaniards as well.
Escalante bought into Qualpopoca’s trap. He sent a group of four representatives to the appointed meeting, and the men were ambushed; two of them were slain, while the other two somehow managed to escape and return to Vera Cruz. Escalante then mounted a force for reprisal, taking a number of his own men and a few thousand Totonac allies, and they fought Qualpopoca and his warriors in a heated battle. Escalante was knocked from his horse (which was killed) and badly wounded, while six of his men were killed. One, named Juan de Arguëllo, was taken alive and sacrificed; his severed head was brought by runners to Montezuma as a war prize. Montezuma found the white-faced, black-bearded head frightening and ordered it sent away from Tenochtitlán. Escalante straggled back to Vera Cruz, defeated, but soon perished there from his wounds.3
Cortés, from the moment he crossed the causeway and set foot in Tenochtitlán, had been scheming and planning, “thinking of all the ways and means to capture [Montezuma] without causing a disturbance.”4 Now, with a letter in hand describing the recent events at Vera Cruz, he had a pretext. On November 14, less than a week after being welcomed to the Aztec capital and treated as an honored guest, Cortés sent word that he wished to meet with Montezuma. He brought Malinche and Aguilar, plus captains Sandoval, Ávila, Lugo, Alvarado, and Velázquez de León and some thirty well-armed soldiers, and headed to Montezuma’s palace. The letter from Pedro de Ircio, who had temporarily assumed Escalante’s post at Vera Cruz, was tucked into his pocket.
As usual, pleasantries were exchanged. Montezuma offered gifts, including jewels as well as women—he even offered one of his own daughters to Cortés, who thanked him but declined, saying that he was already married. Cortés accepted her on behalf of Alvarado, who was pleased. Cortés then became stern, producing the letter from Pedro de Ircio and saying that he had evidence of a conspiracy, perpetrated under Montezuma’s orders, that had resulted in the deaths of six of his fine soldiers and one of his prized horses. He had his interpreters read and translate the letter. Cortés stressed that the letter made clear that Qualpopoca had acted on direct orders from Montezuma, but for his part Cortés could hardly believe this. He thought that Qualpopoca must have acted independently, but he had to admit he could not be certain, especially given the thwarted attack at Cholula, in which the Aztecs were also implicated. This business at Vera Cruz was a very serious matter indeed and required further investigation.
Cortés continued, facing Montezuma: “I have no desire to start a war on this account, or to destroy this city. Everything will be forgiven, provided you now come quietly with us to our quarters, and make no protest. You will be as well served and attended there as in your own palace. But if you cry out, or raise any commotion, you will immediately be killed by these captains of mine, whom I have brought for this sole purpose.”5 Montezuma, according to Bernal Díaz, was utterly “dumbfounded” and rightfully so—his guest had just threatened to imprison or kill him. His first response was to deny any personal involvement in aggression against the Spaniards, either at Cholula or at Vera Cruz. He immediately suggested that he would send for Qualpopoca on the coast, get to the truth about what had happened there, and have any guilty parties punished. With that he removed a bracelet from his wrist, a small figure of Huitzilopochtli, and said it would be sent along to ensure an immediate response. Cortés agreed that that was fine and said he would like to have a few of his men accompany Montezuma’s messengers, but Montezuma would still have to come along with Cortés to his quarters and remain there until the matter was resolved.
Montezuma adamantly refused: “My person is not such that can be made a prisoner of. Even if I should consent to it, my people would not suffer it.”6 As an alternative, Montezuma suggested they take as prisoners his son and two daughters, but Cortés held firm, saying that there really was no other way, that he would have to come personally. He would still be ruling his people, just from the Palace of Axayacatl rather than his own. They argued the matter for a long time, until some of Cortés’s men grew weary and nervous with the delay, suspecting that Montezuma might at any time call his guards, and they would all be killed. Velázquez de León was the most vocal and impatient, exclaiming, “What is the use of all these words? Either we take him or knife him. If we do not look after ourselves now we shall be dead men.”7 León’s gruff, aggressive tone alarmed Montezuma, who asked Malinche what he had said. She calmly replied that her advice to him was to accompany Cortés and his captains to their quarters without protest, and he would be treated with honor. Otherwise she was quite certain that they would kill him.
Montezuma finally stood and summoned what little dignity he still possessed. He consented to go, but only if it was granted (and given the appearance) that he was accompanying Cortés of his own free will, not as a prisoner. He would inform his family, his high priests, his council, advisers, and guards that he had decided, after prayer and contemplation, that he wished to live with the Spaniards for a few days, to better learn their ways and to discuss religion with the captain-general. He then called for his nobles and his royal litter and was conveyed under the close armed scrutiny of Cortés and his finest soldiers, from his own palace, across the main plaza, to the palace of his dead father. Watching the weird procession, the people of Tenochtitlán could only stare in wonder at what strange and unprecedented events were transpiring in their magical city.8
Hernán Cortés’s brazen, bloodless coup was perhaps the most audacious and astonishing takeover in the annals of military history. Deviously and deceitfully, Cortés had played on Montezuma’s trust, generosity, and hospitality, then struck with viperlike venom from within. Cortés was likely ecstatic, and perhaps surprised, that his plan had worked so seamlessly; but little did he know that the real fight for the Aztec empire had only just begun.
AT the outset, the coup d’état appeared to be nothing more than a mutually agreed-upon arrangement between Cortés and Montezuma. To publicly give the appearance that everything was normal, Montezuma convened his nephews, his brother, and his trusted regional chieftains at his new accommodations and assured them that though he would be staying with the Spaniards for a time, all remained under his control. He would simply govern from a specially prepared room there now. He added that it had been his choice, as he had received a sign from Huitzilopochtli recommending this action. He instructed his men to maintain order and keep the populace at ease. There was nothing to worry about. But despite these assurances, a mood of fear and disquiet coursed through the city, for nothing of this kind had ever happened before. And those closest to Montezuma could see that within the palace he was under guard and surveillance day and night, and the permission of Cortés was required for anyone wishing to speak with the emperor. Whatever Montezuma was choosing to call his living and ruling situation, the public could see that he had been taken against his will and was imprisoned. The nobles, especially Cacama, Montezuma’s nephew, while initially bowing to M
ontezuma’s wishes, sensed calamity.9
About three weeks after Montezuma’s confinement, Qualpopoca, his son, and fifteen chiefs returned from the coast, bearing Montezuma’s bracelet. Qualpopoca rode regally, borne in a litter, and was likely a little affronted when his emperor Montezuma immediately handed him and his son over to Cortés for questioning. He admitted that his actions had resulted in the deaths of the Spaniards (including Captain Escalante) and of the horse. He was indeed a vassal of Montezuma (who was not? he wondered) but had acted independently, without Montezuma’s direction. Later, after a series of rather strong-armed Spanish interrogations, Qualpopoca amended his confession, saying that Montezuma had given him the order to fight and kill any teules interfering with their tribute collections.10
Cortés sentenced Qualpopoca, his son, and the fifteen chiefs to burn at the stake, after which they would suffer eternal damnation for killing the Spaniards. The penalty was harsh, though hardly novel or original, having precedents in the Spanish Inquisition. By meting the punishment out so publicly, in a nearly ritual spectacle, Cortés certainly intended to send a message to the Aztec nobility as well as to the populace: killing a Spaniard would be met with the highest penalty. Having admitted their guilt, the Aztecs were tethered to poles and led to the square directly in front of the Great Temple. As they stood in confused horror, Cortés’s men arrived from Montezuma’s personal storage arsenals with javelins, swords, bows, and arrows, which they used to make great pyres. In the meantime Cortés visited Montezuma. After verbally lambasting him for his part in the deaths of his men, he ordered the emperor to be chained in ankle irons, an utterly humiliating and unprecedented indignity. Cortés then took Montezuma to watch as his own countrymen were burned alive at the stake; their horrific screams were finally subsumed by the snapping and cracking of the flaming wooden weapons. A large crowd gathered at the square to witness the atrocity, stunned into utter silence and confused as to how their emperor could have ordered it, or if he had not, how he could have allowed it.11
Cortés returned Montezuma to his quarters and personally released him from his chains, apologizing for the indelicacy of his bondage and even offering to set him free now—he could return to his own palace if he wished. Together, Cortés promised, the two could rule this land and those beyond, expanding the empire to those not yet subjugated.12 But being placed in irons, and witnessing the execution, had terrorized Montezuma, broken his spirit and will. He was so humiliated that he was reduced to tears and a state of shock. His reputation had been publicly sullied, and his leadership was in serious doubt. He quietly thanked Cortés for the offer of his freedom (which may or may not have been genuine) but added that he preferred to stay in the house of his father. For one thing, his freedom might result in an armed rebellion by his nephews and lords, who had more than once suggested attacking the Spaniards. Were he back at his house, in their midst, they might attempt to convince him to rise up against Cortés, or they might even replace him with another leader who would do their bidding. No, for the time being he wished to remain with the Spaniards and continue governing, as much as he could, from the palace of his father.13
CHAPTER TEN
Cortés and Montezuma
HERNÁN CORTÉS WOULD REMAIN ENSCONCED in Tenochtitlán for the next five months, during which he and his captive ruler Montezuma would develop one of the most peculiar relationships in recorded history. Driven partly by political arrangement and partly by military necessity, the two men coexisted for nearly half a year in a bizarre captor-captive, ruler-puppet scenario of colliding religious beliefs and a regional power struggle.
During the awkward weeks following the kidnapping of Montezuma and the public executions, life in Tenochtitlán returned to a semblance of normalcy. Montezuma continued to rule, to hold meetings, and to dine in his intricate fashion; he even maintained his nightly forays to the summit of the Great Temple for prayer and sacrifice, a practice that disgusted and displeased Cortés (especially when the emperor returned, bloody and ashen from self-sacrifice), but that he begrudgingly tolerated, fearing a massive civic rebellion should he try to put a stop to it. Women were ushered into and out of Montezuma’s rooms daily, and he continued to host huge feasts. Festivals went on as usual. Though Montezuma had lost some of his pride and regal air, he remained a gracious host, taking small groups of Spaniards, including Cortés, on excursions into the countryside, where they hunted rabbits and deer. Montezuma taught the Spaniards to use the native blowpipes, while he learned the workings of their more sophisticated weapons.1
Montezuma accompanied Cortés to exhibitions of tlachtli, the widespread Mesoamerican ball game, where they watched the padded participants leap and run and bludgeon one another (some became so bruised by the contact that, after games, they required physicians to lance and drain their hematomas) and bet on the outcome.2 Cortés and Montezuma spent hours together, with only the interpreters and a few invited guests, Montezuma teaching Cortés how to play the games of totolo-qui, (or totoloque), in which they tossed small gold balls, and patolli, a popular dice game something like backgammon that the general populace played with beans and stones and that the nobility played with small gold balls and gemstones; it was also gambled on. Bernal Díaz recalled that Cortés would have Pedro de Alvarado keep score for him; Montezuma often caught Alvarado cheating, adding an extra point or two to Cortés’s score. This amused Montezuma, and the two laughed a great deal about it. They played for jewels, and if Cortés won, he would give the jewels to Montezuma’s nephews and favored counselors in attendance; if Montezuma won, he gave his winnings to the guards. These interactions were all strangely convivial.3
Despite these pleasant diversions, Cortés never stopped calculating and planning. For all the superficial appearances of normality, he understood there was nothing at all ordinary about either his continued presence in the city or Montezuma’s odd accommodations under Spanish guard. To bolster his tenuous military position, he devised a plan. He would build boats. Boats might just prove his only way out of the city. After meeting with his senior captains and experienced sailors and discussing the matter, Cortés settled on a young man named Martín López to oversee the ambitious project. Brave, adventurous, and highly intelligent, López quickly agreed to the post and organized a squad of skilled carpenters, blacksmiths, and laborers for the tasks ahead. Likely having planned for their eventual usage from the time he scuttled his ships, Cortés sent to Vera Cruz for spare ship parts, compasses and oars and cordage, anchor chains and sails, enough gear to rig four brigantines. López drew up plans, designing the boats so that they could either be rowed with oars or sailed; they would be fitted out for numerous heavy cannons and large enough to carry up to seventy-five soldiers and a few horses. Along with chief carpenter Andrés Núñez, López then set about their construction. They enlisted servants from Montezuma to cut, limb, and portage back to Tenochtitlán timber from Tacuba and Texcoco; the timber was planed and bent using steam to shape the ships’ hulls.4
Not long after the four vessels were completed and deemed lakeworthy (a few months), Cortés invited Montezuma out on a “pleasure cruise,” a clever euphemism for “military reconnaissance.” Cortés insisted that the primary use of these boats would be for diversion—sailing and hunting—but Montezuma must surely have noticed that they bore heavy artillery, with four cannons on each. Still, having first seen pictographs of these “water-houses” brought back to him from the coast, he was fascinated by their novelty, their size, and their nimble movement in the water, for they were remarkably fast for their size. He accompanied Cortés and Malinche on one hunting trip, riding under the ornamented awning with a few of his nobles, where he felt the exhilaration of wind in his face, the stiff lake breezes puffing the sails full. He watched in amazement as the forty-foot boat, powered solely by the wind, easily outraced his finest canoes and oarsmen, leaving them churning feebly in the wake. This naval superiority stunned him and was certainly observed keenly by Cortés as well, who all the
while made careful notes on the layout and topography of the lake regions, including their depths, moorages, and prevailing wind directions.5 As a powerful exclamation point, gunners discharged the big cannons; the booming explosions filled Montezuma simultaneously with awe and fear. Cortés would claim that Montezuma returned from such excursions “very happy and content,”6 yet his enjoyment must have been tempered by Cortés’s blunt reminders that, should the emperor attempt to escape or raise any suspicions among the chiefs of the lake cities they visited, he would immediately be killed.
From the moment when the four brigantines were finished, they remained on the water throughout the spring of 1520, ranging widely and running daily reconnaissance across the whole five-lake system, recording valuable intelligence that the Spanish might draw on later.7 They saw beyond the banks, in the distance, lovely cultivated maize and bean fields, men planting and tending, and along the northeastern shores of Lake Xaltocán, men cutting troughs of earth to solidify into salt lumps.8 Cortés was keenly aware, having seen the deficiencies the Tlaxcalans suffered, of the politics and power of the salt trade.