by Buddy Levy
Duero suggested that Cortés seek a peaceful resolution with Narváez, primarily on the grounds that his force was superior and would trounce Cortés. Confident from the successes of his previous battles, Cortés scoffed, reiterating what he had told Narváez through messengers. “If Narváez bears a royal commission,” he bellowed, “I will readily submit to him. But he has produced none…I am a servant of the king; I have conquered the country for him; and for him, I and my brave followers will defend it, be assured, to the last drop of my blood.”14 Duero could see that Cortés was a changed man, that his time on the mainland had steeled his will. He bore the scars of recent battles, and his face was creased by sun and wind. His piercing eyes darted about. He would not be swayed.
Still, Duero felt compelled to convey a proposal by Narváez that the two captains meet at a neutral location, each bringing only a handful of their men—ten at most—to discuss the situation. Cortés, after briefly conferring with his captains and Father Olmedo, concluded that it was a trap and summarily dismissed the idea. No, he would proceed to Cempoala with his complete complement of troops and give his answer on the battlefield. He treated Duero to handsome gifts of gold, reassuring him once again of their partnership and of the mutual benefit of turning Narváez away. Cortés then sent Duero and the other envoys, along with Father Olmedo, back to Narváez with a letter stating that Narváez and his men should submit to the captain-general as a representative of the crown, and if they did not, he would treat them as rebels and traitors. The letter was signed by Hernán Cortés, all of his officers, and a number of his best soldiers.15
Narváez was already in a foul mood when he received the letter. Tlacochcalcatl, annoyed by the Spaniards’ rude behavior, had approached him, exclaiming, “I tell you that when you least expect it, he [Cortés] will be here and will kill you.”16 Narváez flew into a rage. He railed against Cortés and anyone under his command. Since Cortés appeared to be unyielding, he began shoring up his defenses around Cempoala. With his thunderous voice, he even made a loud public promise to pay two thousand pesos to the soldiers who killed Hernán Cortés and his captain Sandoval.17 But Father Olmedo, and now Andrés de Duero, greased the palms of many more soldiers and crucial captains in Narváez’s army, so that by the time Cortés and his men marched on Cempoala, perhaps as many as two hundred of the new arrivals (one-fifth of the force) were kindly disposed toward him. Tales of the City of Dreams, and the garish gold chains worn by Cortés’s soldiers, clearly influenced these fortune-seekers.
CORTÉS made his move around May 28, driving his force forward in misty rain through vine-choked forests and dense stands of bamboo. At sunset they came to the Río de Canoas (River of Canoes), which was swollen to near flooding from the recent coastal rains, and while scouts sought fordable narrows, he mustered the rest of his men for a speech. To inspire them, he recounted the glories of their current campaign, the battles and spoils they had already won against great odds. They were outnumbered, he said, but this had been the case in most of their battles thus far, and they had always prevailed. And while they were experienced and hardened from battle and toil, he continued, Narváez’s men were untested and soft, having just arrived from the comforts of their homes in the Indies. By now well practiced in the arts of rhetoric, Cortés ended his impassioned speech by saying: “So, gentlemen, our lives and honor depend, after God, on your courage and strong arms; I have no other favor to ask of you or to remind you of but that this is the touchstone of our honor and our glory for ever and ever, and it is better to die worthily than to live dishonored.”18
Rousing cheers went around the camp, and the men even hoisted Cortés onto their shoulders until he ordered them to put him down. There was much work to do.
As it grew dark, the rains increased. In the sputtering campfire light Cortés gathered his now-inflamed men and told them that they would make a surprise night attack. From their time in Cempoala and the detailed intelligence he had received from Father Olmedo and Sandoval, he knew the exact locations of Narváez’s defenses, artillery placements, and troops. He broke his army into companies, each with specific duties and orders. Sixty would go to seize and subdue the artillery, as well as provide cover for Sandoval. Sandoval was given the most important responsibility: commanding eighty handpicked soldiers and a few of the best and brightest captains, he was to personally seize Narváez and, if he resisted, “kill him on the spot.”19 Diego de Ordaz led the largest company of nearly one hundred men, and Cortés would lead the remaining soldiers in a free-roving capacity, to be employed where most required.20
While Cortés rallied his troops and organized his companies, Narváez, acting on messenger intelligence that Cortés was in the vicinity, rode out with many of his cavalry and most of his troops to an open plain, a likely spot for battle, about a mile from Cempoala. There they stood, shifting and squelching in the dank muck, as the rain drenched them to the skin even through their armor. Finally, after hours of waiting in the deluge, night fell, and Narváez figured that the battle would take place tomorrow. He left a couple of sentries to monitor the area and sent out a cavalry force of about forty toward a likely arrival spot. That done, he returned with the rest of his men to Cempoala, where they could rest in more comfort for the next day’s battle.21
Cortés and his men moved through the night, the darkness concealing their progress and the pounding rains muting the sounds of their movements. Undeterred by the pelting rainstorm, and using their long spears for balance and purchase, they forded the roiling Río de Canoas, but with great difficulty; some lost their footing on the slick bottom and were forced to swim for their lives in the torrent.22 Two men were washed downriver. The rest made it across and pushed on, forging through muck and mire until they came to the edge of the woods, then the clearing. There they startled the two Narváez sentries and in a brief skirmish subdued one of them; the other avoided capture and slipped away into the darkness, sprinting for his life toward Cempoala.
Cortés personally interrogated the captured sentry, and though initially the man held his tongue, he eventually revealed (a noose tightened about his neck provided some incentive) a little information. Even though the escaped sentry might have made it back and alerted Narváez, Cortés made final preparations, stashing food and provisions and extraneous equipment in a small ravine, to be guarded by the page Juan de Ortega. Cortés took Malinche aside and requested that she remain safely with Ortega. Father Olmedo gave a quick mass. Then Cortés ordered the stealthy nighttime assault, telling his men to run swiftly and silently.
Sandoval sped toward the pyramid temple, bent on finding Narváez, who was just now being awakened by the sentinel, Hurtado. Out of breath from his sprint, Hurtado bounded up the pyramid steps and shook Narváez vigorously, exclaiming that Cortés was coming. Narváez roused slowly but did not panic. Could Cortés really have made it here so quickly, in the wet conditions and with the raging river to contend with? He doubted it but pulled his clothes on (apparently not possessing Cortés’s discipline to sleep in full armor). As Sandoval’s men began ascending the pyramid, Narváez was still half-asleep in bare feet. His call to arms came feebly and too late.
Sandoval and his eighty men flew up the steps and fought the thirty guards along the platform in hand-to-hand battle. The guards fought hard, but the speed of the attack and the skill of Cortés’s soldiers were overwhelming. Hearing the commotion outside his sleeping quarters, Narváez finally emerged, brandishing a great two-handed broadsword, hacking away in the darkness. All around him the bizarre flickering of fireflies appeared like “the burning matches of arquebuses.”23 and only now that Cortés’s crafty raiding forces were already swarming the square below, warning trumpets blew a mournful alarm.
Sandoval and his men, expertly wielding their pikes, swords, and the long, specially made copper-tipped Chinantla spears, surged forward, swinging viciously, and through the darkness they heard the bloodcurdling cry “Holy Mary protect me, they have killed me and destroyed my eye!”24 Th
e sharp tip of a pike had impaled Narváez’s face, sinking deep into an eye socket. Blood spewed from the cavity, pouring down his face and over his bearded chin as he fell to his knees, gasping in agony.25 Narváez must surrender, Sandoval barked, or the shrine would be set ablaze, consuming him and all his men. Narváez, thinking that he was dying, could only writhe in pitiful despair. When no order to surrender came, Martín López, the shipbuilder, set fire to the shrine’s thatched roof, and flames enveloped the place. Shortly thereafter Narváez crawled from the burning wreckage, his bare feet scorched and blistered.26 Ignoring his cries for help, Sandoval dragged him away and had him clapped in leg irons.27
Once the commander Narváez was seized and arrested, the remainder of the raid proved quick work for Cortés, whose clever and experienced warfare tactics hindered the little resistance Narváez’s troops offered. On their way into Cempoala, Pizarro’s men had slunk in and cut the girth straps of Narváez’s cavalry’s saddles; the riders now slammed ingloriously to the drenched ground as they tried to mount, and the horses bucked and galloped off into the night. The cannon-mouths of many of the artillery had been clogged with wax so that they either misfired or failed completely.28
By sunrise, the first pitched battle between Spanish forces in the Americas was over. Cortés had lost two men, while fifteen of Narváez’s men had fallen during the invasion, which had lasted less than an hour. Among the dead was Diego Velázquez, the young nephew of Cuba’s governor. Many men, mostly on the side of Narváez, lay wounded, and these Cortés had attended to by surgeons. Tlacochcalcatl, who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, suffered a knife wound during the fighting, though it was not fatal.29
Pánfilo de Narváez, hauled in chains before his vanquisher, blood clotting in his spoiled eye socket, must have wished he had died rather than face the shame of this humiliating defeat. Diego Velázquez had entrusted him with an eighteen-ship armada, a cavalry of eighty horses, and an army nearly five times the size of Cortés’s, and now he lay prostrate before Cortés, half-blind and half-dead. As the skies cleared and the sun rose over the Gulf Coast, he heard the growing chants of “Long live the king, long live the king, and in his royal name, viva Cortés, victory!”30 He would have plenty of time to relive that ill-fated night, for Cortés would keep him imprisoned in sweltering, insect-bitten Vera Cruz for the next three years.*35 31
Quick to capitalize on his overwhelming victory, Cortés released all prisoners and converted them to his cause, dangling Mexico’s wealth before them and distributing gold among those who had not already been bribed. His force of fighting Spaniards now swelled to thirteen hundred. He appropriated all the horses of Narváez’s cavalry, giving him a total of ninety-six, which he desperately needed. Then he unloaded all the food stores, the wine, the provisions and equipment from Narváez’s fleet, all of which he kept at Villa Rica, salted away for emergency and reserve support. As he had done the year before, he scuttled all but two ships, retaining again the sails, masts, hardware, rigging, and navigation equipment, anything he might use in the future. The two remaining ships he would send to the islands for domestic brood stock, including mares, goats, calves, sheep, and even chickens.32
But Hernán Cortés hardly had time to celebrate his victory. Soon a messenger arrived from the capital, bearing disturbing emergency news from Pedro de Alvarado. The hurried dispatch pleaded for the captain-general to return to Tenochtitlán immediately, with all the forces he could assemble. Alvarado was under siege, and the Aztecs were in full-scale rebellion.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The Festival of Toxcatl
WITH HIS FRESH NEW CONSCRIPTS trailing behind, Cortés rode hurriedly at the head of a formidable cavalry, back up into the mountains, bound for the scablands and the Valley of Mexico beyond. While he rode, back in Tenochtitlán, the lives of Pedro de Alvarado and his men hung in the balance.
AFTER Cortés left the capital, the situation had gone from uneasy to desperate within a matter of days. Rumors coursed through the streets that the chief teule Cortés had gone, never to return, and that another teule had arrived to take his place, perhaps even to free Montezuma. Others, including key members of the nobility, wondered why, with Cortés gone, their emperor remained in the custody of this small and insignificant group of Spaniards.
Alvarado and a remnant force of 120 noticed the changed and charged atmosphere, as they attempted to hold down the emperor and his city. Montezuma was seen whispering among his lords and priests, who came and went with frequency, and curiously, a number of his closest relatives had been sent away on errands from which they had yet to return. Montezuma himself, formerly convivial—even jovial—with Alvarado, no longer teased him playfully. He ceased playing games of totolo-qui and patolli and appeared tense, distracted. His petulant mood and behavior worried Alvarado.
What worried him even more was that the Aztecs had ceased bringing food to the Spaniards. Ever since their arrival on mainland Mexico, the cessation of food by their hosts had been a bad sign, usually followed by armed conflict. A servant girl who washed and cooked for the Spaniards continued to bring food, but after a few days she was found dead, presumably killed for having aided the Spaniards, and from then on the soldiers had to purchase food from the market.1 It was inconvenient, but they had to make do. Eventually even the market would be shut off to them.
Alvarado also received intelligence (though he suspected it was merely a rumor) that Montezuma and Narváez had been exchanging messages, even gifts. This fact, coupled with a lack of news from Cortés, heightened his tension. Had Narváez’s larger force already overwhelmed Cortés, and was Narváez on his way to the capital? There was much Alvarado did not know with certainty.
The annual Festival of Toxcatl was now upon them. During three weeks in May, at the height of the dry season, prayer ceremonies were dedicated to Tezcatlipoca (the Smoking Mirror, Omnipotent Power) in supplication for the onset of rains that would fill the dry streambeds and parched crop fields with the life-giving liquid whose importance was second only to blood. Before Cortés departed for the coast, Montezuma had requested that this important festival proceed as usual, for failure to do so would incite confusion, perhaps even rioting, among the populace. Everyone, Montezuma had informed Cortés, from the lowliest servant to the emperor himself participated in the festival. Cortés had agreed that it should go on as usual.
Now Montezuma and a number of his high priests approached Alvarado to confirm that preparations for the festival were beginning. Alvarado consented, though he set the condition that there be no human sacrifices, a stipulation that was both naïve and unrealistic.
The very nature of the festival was predicated on human sacrifice, including that of four young girls who had fasted for twenty days, and culminating in the sacrifice of a special ixiptla, a handpicked virgin male youth, unblemished and embodying perfection. Selected a year in advance, he was an impersonator of, or manifestation of, Tezcatlipoca, and for an entire year he was instructed by the highest priests in music, flute playing, and singing. He was revered by all as a god incarnate, treated with veneration, and worshipped. After weeks of dancing and singing, the ixiptla would be paraded publicly through the streets, arriving finally at the Great Temple, whose high steep steps he would willingly ascend, breaking his conch flute in pieces as he climbed. At the top priests would meet him. He would turn and look down to acknowledge the power of the great lake, then acquiesce under the numbing euphoria of sacred mushrooms. Priests would hold down his arms and legs, as the obsidian blade impaled his thorax. His heart would be torn from him and offered, still pulsing, to the sun. Then he would be beheaded, his skull displayed on the skull rack for all to see. His sacrificial death signaled the birth of the next year’s ixiptla, who was publicly named, and the cycle was renewed. The festival, its origins, and its enactment were integral to Aztec life.2
Toxcatl was considered the most splendid and important of all religious festivals, and the sacrifice of the ixiptla was its symboli
c grand finale. So even had the priests and Montezuma told Alvarado that there would be no human sacrifices, they could hardly have upheld their promise. The very notion was absurd, akin to asking Cortés and his Christian followers to stop taking communion.
As the festival approached, Alvarado walked about the sacred precinct, inspecting the grounds and making mental notes. During these observations some of the head Tlaxcalans still in the city approached Alvarado in agitation, saying that they feared for their lives because each year at this festival many of their people, tribute prisoners or those won during Flower Wars, were ritually sacrificed. Trembling, they claimed to have heard that at the conclusion of the ceremony, when the city was teeming with hundreds of thousands of pilgrims, the Aztecs would assault the Spaniards.3 Alvarado took their concerns under advisement and continued to scout the area of the main temple, where Montezuma had told him that most of the dancing, feasting, and celebrating would occur.
As he went, Alvarado came upon one strange and unnerving sight after another. At the central square he saw many large stakes fixed deep into the ground, which the Tlaxcalans warned were for tethering the Spaniards to before they were sacrificed. Alvarado noted that the main buildings of the temple area were draped in fine, resplendent canopies of rich cloth, which concerned him, for he had previously seen such cloth awnings shrouding sacrificial ceremonies.