The Spaniard's Innocent Maiden

by Greta Gilbert

  Cortés continued, ‘As you know, venerable Chief, my men and I suffer from a peculiar disease of the heart.’

  As the translated words reached the Chief’s ears, he lifted his chin in interest.

  ‘It is a disease,’ Cortés continued, ‘that can only be cured with gold.’

  The Chief sighed. ‘We are aware of the Spaniards’ interest in that rare metal,’ the Chief responded gruffly, for he had been conspicuously unable to supply the Spanish with much of it.

  ‘We have received many gifts of gold from your overlord Montezuma,’ said Cortés, ‘and have heard of the wealth of the Mexica capital. We are aggrieved, however, that Montezuma and the Mexica keep our friends the Totonacs as vassals. Therefore, we shall rest ourselves until such time as we have recovered our strength for a march with the Totonacs on Tenochtitlan.’

  Benicio sat up. Had he heard correctly? Cortés meant to march on Tenochtitlan? Benicio’s heart began to beat, though he told himself that it could be another bluff. Montezuma’s emissaries had paid Cortés handsomely to return to Cuba. Did Cortés really mean to march into the heart of the Mexican Empire?

  ‘The Totonacs are grateful for the friendship of the Spaniards,’ said the Totonac Chief. ‘And we welcome their aid in overcoming our Mexica oppressors. But we urge Captain Cortés to act more quickly. The Mexica have taken forty of our young nobles to Tenochtitlan for sacrifice. We entreat the Spaniards to join with us now on a mission to get them back.’

  Cortés smiled even before the Chief’s words had been completely translated. It was as if he had planted his own intentions inside the fat chief’s mind.

  Benicio did not know how to feel. It seemed that his fondest wish had just come true. The Spanish company would march to Tenochtitlan, where the map showed his golden treasure was buried. But Cortés’s intentions remained unclear. Did he plan to demand justice for the Totonacs, or did he have some other end in mind?

  ‘Are there others who will join us against the Mexica?’ Cortés asked.

  ‘The Tlaxcalans of the high mountains will surely join us,’ said the Chief. ‘They have never succumbed to the Mexica, though they live only a two days’ journey from the capital.’

  ‘The Tlaxcalans, eh?’ said Cortés. ‘Can you guarantee their support?’

  The Chief hesitated. ‘I cannot. But we the Totonacs shall support you in any way we can. And to encourage your quick action, I wish to bestow upon you the most precious gifts that the Totonacs have to give. Let them be a symbol of the alliance between our peoples. Let them inspire you to our cause.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  Tula’s father took Tula’s hand and kissed it. ‘It is the only way,’ he said.

  They were standing behind a wall in the Chief’s banquet hall and had been told to keep their voices low. On the other side of the wall, Chief Tlacochcalcatl and many members of the Chief’s council were taking food with Captain Cortés and a selection of his men—the Totonacs’ new allies.

  ‘But I am made to hunt and to fight, not to lie in a stranger’s bed,’ Tula whispered, still believing she might convince her father to let her go. ‘There are other ways to save Xanca,’ she reasoned. ‘Why do we not try to rescue her ourselves?’

  Tula felt as if she were stuck in the bottom of a cenote once again. This time, there was no way out.

  ‘Every Chief, former Chief and Council Elder was asked to contribute, without exception. You and these seven other women represent the best we have to give.’

  ‘But you are my father! Why do you ask this of me?’ It was an unfair question. Tula knew that her father did not have a choice. Still, tears of bitterness streamed down her face. After so many years of resisting her father’s urgings to find a mate, she had finally got her wish. Now Tula would never be anyone’s wife, for she was about to become a very particular kind of slave.

  ‘Try to obey him,’ her father choked. He had not raised Tula to serve any master, yet he was sending her to live with a man who would likely treat her like a servant. ‘These bearded men are our partners now. With their help, we shall finally rise from beneath the heel of the Mexica.’

  ‘I will do my duty,’ Tula whispered, ‘but only until I reach Tenochtitlan. Then I will rescue Xanca and bring her home, or die trying.’

  Tula looked around the crowded anteroom. Dozens of high-born mothers and fathers were speaking to their daughters in hushed voices, saying much the same things. Over the past few weeks, the Totonacs had forged an alliance with the bearded strangers—Spaniards, they called themselves. The Totonacs had given the Spaniards slaves and food and even land north of the city. In exchange, their leader, Captain Cortés, had agreed to join forces with the Totonacs to recapture their sons and daughters, and be free of the Mexica Takers for good.

  It was a risk, but it was the Totonacs’ only hope. They would give the Spaniards everything they could to help them overcome the Mexica, including hundreds of porters to aid in their trek to Tenochtitlan and an army of Totonac warriors that had been training in secret.

  In addition, the Council Elders had resolved to give the bearded strangers their remaining high-born daughters.

  Tula overheard the chief of a nearby village talking to his daughter urgently. ‘You must attempt to get with child. It is the only way the alliance will stay strong,’ he explained to her. The young woman’s lip trembled as she stared at the ground, nodding.

  Tula’s own father knew better than to give her such advice. ‘Keep your ears and eyes open in the floating city,’ he said. ‘Trust nobody. You will be glad for your knowledge of Nahuatl now.’ Then he bent and whispered in her ear. ‘I do not care how you accomplish it. Just bring Xanca back.’

  One of the Elders clapped his hands together softly. ‘It is time,’ he said. ‘Say your goodbyes.’ There was a collective gasp as the young women fell into their loved ones’ arms. ‘Please order yourselves as instructed, beginning with red,’ he commanded. ‘Quickly now.’

  Earlier that morning, the young women had been bathed in flower water and given their costumes, traditional long skirts and undershirts overlain by the fashionable triangular shawl worn throughout the land.

  Each costume was a single, bold colour, one of the seven colours of the rainbow, and the Elders had distributed them based on which colour would look best on which young woman. The eighth costume was white and had been chosen for Tula. ‘My dear, you are so radiant that you do not require any colour,’ an Elder had whispered to her.

  It was the first time in her life that Tula had ever been told such a thing. Flattery was discouraged in the Totonac world, for it served to distinguish people based on the unimportant standard of physical beauty. Still, his words filled Tula with gratitude, for she had worried that her new Spanish master might find her disagreeable and punish her for it.

  Tula had stared into an obsidian mirror and puzzled over her face, which had always seemed plain to her when she saw it reflected so. Today it was unrecognizable. On the advice of the translator Malinali, Tula and the other young women had been painted to look like children’s dolls. Tula’s eyes had been lined with charcoal and then powdered white to match her dress. Her lips shone with a thick pollen dye the colour of a ripe tomato.

  ‘It is how the bearded men prefer their women,’ Malinali had explained and she had instructed all the women to remove their labrets.

  Tula thought of Xanca and tried to stay strong. Still, she feared these hulking men from across the sea. Their Chief said that they came in peace, but they carried long swords and animals of war and strange iron ovens that belched fire. They numbered only a few hundred men, yet they swaggered about Cempoala as if the great city already belonged to them. If they did defeat the Mexica, Tula wondered, what then? Would they not simply become the Totonacs’ new Tribute Takers?

  Tula took a deep breath. All that mattered now was her sist
er. If she did not save Xanca, Pulhko would never recover, nor would her father. The alliance with the Spaniards was the only hope the Totonacs had to enter Tenochtitlan. Tula kissed her father and whispered in his ear, ‘I will bring her back. I promise.’ Then she placed herself at the end of the line and the eight young women were escorted through the door and towards their uncertain fates.

  Chapter Fourteen

  As the Totonac Chief concluded his speech, a door was opened and eight dazzlingly beautiful young women walked into the banquet hall, each dressed in a different colour of the rainbow. Several men gasped. The women had been painted in the Spanish style, with reddened lips and eyes coloured to match the hues of their dresses. As they found their positions before the table of Spaniards, the room seemed to light up with their presence.

  But that was not the reason Benicio’s heart skipped. Standing there, at the end of the line, was the woman from the beach. She was dressed all in white, beginning with her floor-length white skirt and blouse, and ending with a triangular-shaped shawl, through which he could trace her shape. Like the other women, she was bedecked in simple jewellery, including a lovely blue shell necklace that hung around her neck like drops from the sea. Her face had been painted to emphasise her almond eyes and generous, luxuriant lips.

  When her gaze met Benicio’s there was a flicker of recognition, but she quickly returned to her placid stare. Still, it seemed to Benicio that he did not look upon a young woman, but upon some timeless queen.

  The Chief spoke grandly. ‘By way of solidifying our bond, we give to you and your officers these high-born maidens that you may be fruitful.’

  The men stared in rapt surprise. One man’s copper goblet went clanking to the floor. They were being given these noble young women? As gifts?

  Captain Leon leapt to his feet. He crossed to the closest maiden and took her by the hand. ‘This one is mine,’ he pronounced gruffly. A handful of other men moved to do the same, but Cortés stood and stopped them.

  ‘You act like animals of the jungle,’ Cortés hissed. He made a perfunctory smile at the Totonac Chief, then spoke firmly. ‘These are high-born women and they will be treated with respect...at least, in this present company,’ he muttered. ‘We shall choose in order of rank.’

  Diego de Ordaz stood next. A friend of the Governor of Cuba, Ordaz had openly criticised Cortés’s ambition. Now Ordaz walked to the end of the line of women, took the woman in white by the hand and escorted her back to the banquet table, where he motioned for her to sit. A satisfied grin spread across the old man’s face.

  Benicio could not control his breaths. What terrible trick had the Devil just played? His mind raced, trying to think of how he might win the woman in white for his own.

  ‘Rogelio,’ called Cortés. ‘You are next.’ Rogelio had served as second in command on the finest of Cortés’s galleons and his selection as the next to choose was beyond reproach.

  Rogelio stood, but he was not surveying the remaining maidens. Instead, he was glaring at the woman by Ordaz’s side, as if he recognised her. He walked to where Cortés was seated at the head of the table, dipped his hand deep inside the pocket of his jerkin and emerged with a shimmering golden necklace. Benicio recognised the sparkling piece of jewellery. It had hung around the neck of the shaman that Rogelio had killed.

  Rogelio placed the necklace before Cortés and, without a word, walked to the place where the woman in white was sitting beside Ordaz. Cortés gave a brief nod, and Rogelio took the woman’s arm and guided her to a seat between himself and Benicio on the bench.

  Benicio’s skin stood on end. The woman was seated right next to him. He could smell her flowery scent, could feel the tiny hairs of her arms graze his. His heart hammered. She was so close to him, yet so completely out of his reach.

  The newly elected alcalde of Vera Cruz, Alonso de Grado, was next. He stood and selected the orange woman, bending to his knee and bowing, then escorted the young woman back to the table. Others were not so polite. Pilot Diego Cermeño took the girl in green by the elbow. Sailor Gonzalo de Umbria merely gestured to the girl in red. Then it was Benicio’s turn.

  There was only one thing to be done. Benicio reached into his boot. Then he stood and walked to the head of the table. He placed the diamond-and-jadestone ring before Cortés.

  El Capitán did not conceal his surprise. He took the gem in his hands and examined it, enthralled. He nodded several times, then held the gem up for Malinali’s inspection. She studied the tiny etching closely, returning the ring to Cortés and whispering something in his ear.

  A curious grin spread across Cortés’ face. ‘How came you by this magnificent piece?’

  ‘I found it in a stream near the fields of Potonchan,’ Benicio lied. ‘I have very sharp eyes.’

  ‘I will accept it as compensation for the woman in white,’ Cortés said. He placed the ring upon his finger. ‘Rogelio, take your necklace back and choose again. That is an order.’

  Rogelio’s lips trembled in anger. He leapt up and snarled at Benicio, shaking his head and muttering bitterly. He grabbed another woman by the arm, returning to his seat with a harrumph. And so it went. By the time all the women were divided among them, the eight Spaniards had grown impatient, eager to take their beautiful prizes to bed.

  ‘We accept your generous gifts with humility and gratitude,’ said Cortés. ‘And we shall join you in a march to Tenochtitlan, departing as soon as possible.’

  The Chief’s mouth stretched into a smile and the Council Elders nodded in satisfaction. It was the proclamation they had been waiting for. Their presentation of the high-born women had served its purpose. They would send their warriors with the Spanish to conquer Tenochtitlan, and, with the favour of the gods, return with their young men and women who were taken so many weeks ago.

  But Cortés was not done speaking. ‘There is one thing, however, that we require before we march with you to Tenochtitlan.’

  ‘We will give you anything within our power,’ the Chief said.

  ‘You must cease the practice of human sacrifice. You must smash your idols and accept Cristo as your saviour.’

  ‘I do not understand,’ said the Chief.

  ‘Renounce your evil idols, for they corrupt your hearts,’ Cortés said, fingering his ring. ‘And stop offering the blood of humans to the gods.’

  The Chief shook his head. ‘If we do that, then the world will end,’ he explained. ‘We have no choice but to feed the gods. It is the debt we pay to maintain life.’

  ‘You must trust me that your world will not end,’ said Cortés. ‘In two days, we will meet you at the plaza. You will destroy your idols. Then we shall march on Tenochtitlan together.’

  Benicio did not hear the threat hidden amongst Cortés’s words. He only heard the vocalisation of Benicio’s greatest wish: they were going to Tenochtitlan, just as he had hoped. He was overcome with joy. With the map in his pocket and this woman by his side, he would be able to find the treasure. He bent to Tula’s ear. ‘Tenoch-it-lan,’ he whispered.

  Chapter Fifteen

  On their way to the Spanish settlement, he took her by the hand. It had become dark and she knew that he was only trying to guide her to his hut. Still, she allowed herself to imagine that he wished to keep her safe.

  It was not such an unlikely dream. He had given up his most prized possession to make her his, after all. Perhaps he had come to care about her.

  Wake up, Tula, she told herself. It was a foolish idea. She knew very well that he had not traded his precious gem for her, but for her knowledge. Either that or he hated her so much that he had given up his treasure for the opportunity to punish her.

  She hoped it was the first explanation, because the idea of the second was making her sweat, which would hinder her in defending herself against him.

  The trail they followed
flattened and he released her hand. No, he did not care for her. She only hoped he did not harbour some hidden malice towards her. Clearly the red-headed man did. What had Cortés called him? Rogelio.

  She had seen the anger in Rogelio’s eyes: he had recognised her from the beach. After he had seated her next to him, he had run her hand over the bump of his wounded thigh, as if to remind her of what she had done to him. If the tall man had not intervened, she knew that Rogelio would have made her pay for her actions.

  She wished that she could speak the tall man’s tongue. If she could, she would thank him for saving her from that terrible fate.

  She would also ask him whether Chief Cortés meant to destroy the Totonac gods. The Spaniards were the Totonacs’ friends, were they not? Why would they wish to destroy the Totonac gods? The Totonacs had welcomed the Spaniards’ god with open arms. Indeed, there was always room for a new god. The universe was full of them.

  She looked up at them now. The moon had not yet risen and there they all were—the mysterious ones. The gods of the northern and southern stars. They were so very beautiful on nights like this. So numerous that they appeared to form clouds against the black sky. ‘Teotli,’ she said, pointing upwards, but he did not respond.

  They arrived at a cluster of huts overlooking the Spanish settlement. The Totonacs had helped the strangers build the huts many weeks ago, as a way to solidify their alliance. As he ushered her into the structure, Tula was surrounded by the familiar trappings of greenwood branches and palm leaves.

  She placed her basket against the far wall of the hut. She could see very little, but her ears told her that the man was striking flint, surely to light a fire. Tula caught sight of tiny sparks flying in the air beneath a copper brazier. Soon, the brazier was lit and the tent was awash in its blazing light.