Other Time

by Mack Reynolds

  "Then that's where your uncle, Motechzoma, lives?"

  "No, the First Speaker, the Snake-Woman, and the other head chiefs of Tenochtitlan live there, in the tecpan."

  The other pointed to another huge building on the other side of the great temple. "There they administer the city and the affairs of the confederation. There they entertain visiting delegations from the other cities. There they divide the spoils of war."

  "City hall," Don muttered to himself in English.

  His eyes went around the rest of the square, even as they proceeded in the direction of the tecpan. He winced at the sight of the great block of the skull-rack, where thousands of skulls, threaded on poles, were piled high in orderly symmetry. Nearby was a ball court in which some young men were kicking a ball about with hips and elbows, in an effort to bounce it through two rings set opposite each other on the walls that ran the length of the court. Nearby, too, was a stone altar Don recognized, to his surprise. It was the Tizoc sacrificial stone, hollowed in the center so dial hearts from the victims could be burned there. And one day to be displayed in the National Museum.

  And now he noted a stench in the air, similar to that of a foul butcher shop which rose above the odor of incense from the braziers which were so thick about the square that the air was almost smoglike in quality. In his association with Cuauhtemoc and the others over the past ten days, he had forgotten this aspect of the Tenocha culture.

  Let the Spanish come! At least they would end this!

  On the way down the causeway street, he had spotted black garbed priests on several occasions. Now their number increased considerably and he came close enough to several to get their stench. Their hair was long, obviously never cut, and matted with what must be blood. Don's stomach churned.

  They reached an enormous gate leading into the courtyard of the building Cuauhtemoc had named the tecpan, and Don and the two younger ambassadors, followed by the subchiefs, filed in. The porters and women went off elsewhere, their portion of the expedition completed.

  The building, sizable though it was and evidently containing literally hundreds of rooms, was a swarm with humanity. Some, either singly or in groups, were scurrying here and there, obviously on business. Some stood about, arguing, debating, discussing, sometimes laughing. Others squatted on their heels, doing the same. As always in these Indian buildings, there were no chairs. One could sit on the edge of a step, if he wished. Few of them seemed to. The Indian, like the Moslem, preferred to sit or squat on the floor.

  Don followed Cuauhtemoc and Axayaca up a fairly steep set of stone stairs to where a moderately large set of rooms was set back on a platform—the nearest thing to a second story their architecture had thus far evolved, as he had noted before. This must be the official quarters of Motechzoma Xocoyotzin, Montezuma the Second, the First Speaker, but there were no sentries. By appearances, the Indians hadn't gotten that far in their military knowhow. Come to think of it, save for their party entering the city after a long trip, he had seen no armed men at all. Tenochtitlan, like ancient Rome, must forbid arms within the city limits. Weapons, seemingly, were stored in some sort of armory until needed.

  They were being awaited. Who was evidently Motechzoma himself sat on what was the nearest thing to a chair that Don had thus far seen in Mexico. It was of leather and had a back but no legs. The war chief was still sitting on the floor. Around him were seven others, standing.

  The room was typical of all that Don had as yet seen in this era. About fifty feet long by twenty deep, aside from tapestries, rugs, and colorful mats, it was unfurnished. There were no windows, no fireplace, and no way of closing the door through which the only available light came.

  The war chief stood, a somewhat startled look on his not unhandsome face. The relationship to Cuauhtemoc was obvious. He looked to be about forty, well proportioned though lean, was about the same height as his nephew, which made him slightly above the Indian average. He affected a thin black beard, had the same good eyes as Cuauhtemoc, and his complexion seemed somewhat lighter than those of most of his companions. Perhaps he was in the sunlight less often. He, like the others present, was dressed similarly to all the Indians of this country Don had seen thus far. Perhaps a bit richer but much the same.

  Don said politely, "Greetings to Motechzoma Xocoyotzin." Montezuma the Younger, that meant, or Montezuma the Second; there had been another Montezuma several generations back.

  All had been ogling the newcomer in amazement, but that really set them back.

  The First Speaker blurted, "You speak our tongue!" His eyes went to his two nephews. "You did not inform me that the teteuhs used our tongue. Thus it has not been in our past relations with them. It was necessary to speak through this La Malinche and the other to converse with Malintzin."

  Cuauhtemoc said defensively, "He is the only teteuh who speaks Nahuatl. He says he is not of the same nation as the other teteuhs. He denies that he is a teteuh himself, or even that they are. His story is that they imprisoned and tried to kill him but that he killed the assassin and escaped. He came to us and we brought him here." The younger man was properly respectful, but he didn't seem to have any particular awe for his uncle.

  Motechzoma's eyes were going back and forth in utter disbelief.

  "I did not instruct you to return with a prisoner."

  "He is not a prisoner. He came of his free will. Besides, I doubt that I could take him prisoner if I so wished, since he carries one of the weapons of the gods."

  One of the older chiefs came up with, "It is said that it is impossible to kill a teteuh."

  Motechzoma said, "If you are not of the same nation as Malintzin, from whence do you come?"

  Don gave him the story of his land to the distant north, and he could see disbelief in the other's eyes. He wasn't being overly impressed by the head war chief of the Mexico valley confederation. The other had a somewhat fearful quality about him. Fearful of Don Fielding, here in his own capital, here in his power? He had only to clap his hands and Don was a dead man. Nevertheless, there was no denying the other's confusion.

  Axayaca said, "He claims that Malintzin marches on Tlaxcala."

  "Tlaxcala!" one of the others blurted. "Then we are safe."

  Cuauhtemoc shook his head. "Malintzin himself told me that he comes here to see the Tlacatecuhtli. That then all problems will be solved between you."

  Don Fielding said, "He goes to Tlaxcala on the way here. He intends to make allies of them and then march on Tenochtitlan." He could have told them, he supposed, that Cortes was coming for no good, so far as the Indians were concerned, but why should he? He wished, above all, to continue living, and ultimately survival could only be through the Spaniards. Tenochtitlan's fate was already in the cards. Somehow, he must make his peace with Cortes and the Spanish army. How, he didn't know, but he would have to. Perhaps he could get to him through Fray Olmedo, Malinche, or Bernal Diaz.

  One of the chiefs, the seemingly sharpest of them, said, "If you are their enemy, how should you know?"

  Don lied, "When I was in their camp I heard their chiefs talking."

  Motechzoma seemed in despair, but he got around, at last, to introductions. He indicated the last Indian speaker. "This is Tlilpotonque, the Cihuacohuatl."

  So Snake-Woman, head chief of the Tenochas, was possibly ten years the senior of Motechzoma and considerably his senior intellectually, if Don was any judge. This man had achieved his high office through his own endeavors, not just because he belonged to the Eagle clan. He hadn't the good looks of Cuauhtemoc and his uncle, but he had an intensity that came through in eyes and facial expression.

  The war chief was introducing the others. Tlacochcalcatl, Tlacatecatl, Ezhuanhuacatl, Cucuhnochtecuhtli. Don didn't know if these were titles or names or both. The words meant, literally: man of the house of darts, cutter of man, bloodshedder, and chief of the eagle and prickly pear. If Don got it correctly, these four, all of whom were more elderly than the rest present, were the head chiefs of the f
our sections into which Tenochtitlan proper was divided.

  The war chief was indicating the others. "And Tetlepanquetzaltzin, Tlachochcalcatl of Tlacopan; Cacama, Tlachochcalcatl of Tetzcuco; Itzcuauhtzin, Tlachochcalcatl of Tlatelolco, our sister city."

  Evidently this was not just a meeting of the high council of Tenochtitlan, but of the confederated cities as well. If he had it right, it was strictly a military alliance. The three cities were united for the purpose of looting their neighbors—a bandit people whose raiding expeditions extended over half of Mexico and some three hundred cities, towns, and villages. Well, the Spanish would end that, too, with raids to end all raids. In fact, they had already begun. Cempoala had been one of the tribute areas and Cortes had taken it over in the name of his monarch, Charles Fifth.

  There was only one other present, thus far unintroduced. He was black-robed, his hair matted and filthy; a seeming madness gleamed from his eyes set in a fox face. Motechzoma said, "Xochitl, the Quequetzalcoa."

  So this was the High Priest of Huitzilopochtli, the Hummingbird God, the god of war of the Tenochas.

  His eyes burned and he screamed, "Sacrifice him to the gods!"

  Chapter Ten

  Don Fielding almost stepped back at the fury of the priest's voice. But he held himself. He couldn't afford to lose caste before these men. He held silence, not knowing what to say, but looked at Cuauhtemoc from the side of his eyes.

  The returned ambassador said, "He is a teteuh himself, and possibly cannot be killed, even if we wished to sacrifice him to Huitzilopochtli. But more important, he is a magician who can tell us much about Malintzin and the way of the teteuhs."

  "A magician?" Motechzoma's eyes shifted.

  "I myself have seen him bring flame from his fingertips."

  The young Tenocha could use some backing up at this point, Don Fielding decided. He brought one of the folders of paper matches from the breast pocket of his bush jacket and nonchalantly struck one of them.

  A sigh went through the room. Motechzoma's mouth twitched.

  Some war chief, Don decided inwardly. He would hate to follow this one into battle. Well, possibly the man was under pressures he was unaccustomed to. It was up to him, evidently, to handle foreign affairs. As the confederation's war chief, he was also Secretary of State, or at least of Foreign Affairs. His shoulders carried the load of deciding what to do with the encroaching white men and his problems were intensified by the fact that everybody thought them gods, including himself.

  "Sacrifice him," Xochitl screamed again.

  The man was crazy as a coot, Don decided unhappily. That was all he needed, a crackpot priest.

  Axayaca, not looking at Don, said to the chiefs, "Hold him for the teteuhs, if they in truth come. He is not a Tenocha. It is not a problem for us. Let Malintzin, who he claims is now his enemy, decide."

  Motechzoma looked about at the others, obviously wanting more advice.

  The Snake-Woman said, "Hold him as an honored guest, here in the tecpan. Let him wander about Tenochtitlan as he wishes, for there is nothing that he can do to harm us, and no place for him to go in all the land. If Malintzin comes, then he can decide."

  Cuauhtemoc looked at Don and bit his lower lip slightly but he said no more. He had already stuck his neck out and he owed this white man nothing. In fact, it was the other way around.

  Motechzoma looked about at the assembly of chiefs and said, "Very well, if there is no dissent, save that of Xochitl, the stranger shall remain here in the tecpan until we have decided further or until Malintzin comes." He looked at Cuauhtemoc. "He shall be your responsibility. Find him quarters. See that his needs are filled."

  The interview was evidently over.

  Cuauhtemoc said to Don, "Come," and turned and led the way.

  They descended the stone steps to ground level and began making their way through the largest courtyard. They went through an archway and into another courtyard. The whole tecpan was a veritable labyrinth of courtyards, each with its rooms, most of them single and unconnected, set about them. Don wondered, in passing, whether this was actually similar to the original labyrinth. Had the ancient Cretans, at somewhat the same level of civilization, built a complex of buildings similar to the tecpan? Was that what the palace of Minos at Knossus really was? Well, he had no time to consider it now.

  He said to Cuauhtemoc, "Why is the priest so anxious to have me sacrificed?"

  Cuauhtemoc scowled. "Perhaps it is because Huitzilopochtli thirsts for blood. It has been long since he has been appeased. When the disturbing news came from the coast of the eastern sea that the white gods had appeared on their floating hills..."

  "Ships," Don said.

  "... Motechzoma was to the south in the lands of the Mexticas conducting war and taking many prisoners for the sacrifices. When he heard the news, he hurried back to Tenochtitlan and recalled our warriors from all the land, now knowing what must be done. So it is that no more prisoners arrive."

  They had come to a courtyard, somewhat smaller than most of the others. Cuauhtemoc led the way to a room. It was remarkably similar to the one Don had utilized in Cempoala. In fact, Indian architecture in general seemed to lack anything in the way of variety. The quality of the tapestries, blankets, rugs, and mats might be somewhat superior here.

  Cuauhtemoc squatted Indian-fashion on the floor and said, "I would like to rejoin my family, but there is probably much that you wish to know. And soon it will be the time for food and you will need to understand where to go."

  "Family?" Don said. "You have a family? You seem very young for marriage."

  The Indian smiled and said, "We Tenochas lose many of our people in the wars. Thus it is that we need children to restore the population. A boy becomes a man at the age of sixteen. At twenty he is ready for marriage, after undergoing his warrior and other training. A girl is ready to be wed at the age of sixteen. I took my bride from the ranks of the Turtle clan, next to the Eagles, the clan of the greatest prestige."

  "It is required that you marry a woman from some other calpulli than your own?" Don was, momentarily, again the ethnologist.

  "Yes, of course." The other seemed to think that a strange question.

  Don sat on the floor, too, less comfortably than his companion. He had as yet to master the squatting posture the Tenochas seemed to be able to hold for hours on end without strain of the muscles.

  Cuauhtemoc said, "There is another reason, perhaps, that Xochitl would as well that all you teteuhs be driven from the land."

  "Oh? What is that?"

  "For long years, Huitzilopochtli, the Hummingbird, has been our chief god, since long past when the god Quetzalcoatl disappeared into the eastern sea, sailing off but vowing to return in the year One Reed. He was the chief god of the Toltecs, the people who preceded us here." Cuauhtemoc hesitated and then said, "He did not demand sacrifices, as does Huitzilopochtli."

  The Indian hesitated again, then, "Some say that he was of white complexion and had a black beard, even as your own."

  Don felt his face ruefully. He hadn't been able to shave in nearly two weeks and the stubble was getting on the long side. He understood that the Indians had razors made of thin slivers of obsidian. He would have to look into that; he didn't like a beard. On the other hand, they had no soap beyond a few shrub roots. How did you shave without soap? Would some sort of oil soften the beard sufficiently?

  Cuauhtemoc said, still speaking carefully, "This is the year One Reed and Malintzin and his people have come. Xochitl fears it is the return of Quetzalcoatl, the feathered serpent god, come to demand that Huitzilopochtli be overthrown and that he be returned to power."

  Don was somewhat acquainted with the story. Cortes had encouraged it as part of his scheme to confuse the Indians.

  He sighed and said, "Cortes isn't Quetzalcoatl. He isn't any other kind of god either."

  "How do you know?"

  "As I told you before, there are no gods."

  Suddenly eight or ten whistles began to
sound and there was a rumble of drums.

  Cuauhtemoc came to his feet. "The summons for the meal," he said.

  Don followed him—some dinner gong, he thought— through another maze of courtyards and connecting arches, they joining the mass of men headed in the same direction. Well, in the future he wouldn't have any difficulty finding his way to where they ate. All he'd have to do was blend with the traffic.

  He was taken aback by the size of the room when they entered it. It must have been the better part of a hundred feet long and some thirty-five wide. It was full of men; at least five hundred, Don estimated.

  Women and boys were scurrying around, putting bowls on the floor. Some of the bowls were atop braziers to keep them hot. The men were dressed as always, loincloths and mantle; most of them were barefooted. They were very interested in Don Fielding, but avoided looking directly in his face—probably out of courtesy, he decided. Now that he thought of it, no Indian stared directly into your eye. If was a white man's trait.

  Cuauhtemoc led him to the far end of the room where Motechzoma and his chiefs were gathered. Among them were some new additions to those Don had met at the meeting with the Tlatocan high council, but they weren't introduced to him in spite of their obvious curiosity.

  Motechzoma sat in his version of a chair, but the others stood and most remained that way to eat, though some squatted. Before the war chief were spread a white cloth and several napkins. He pointed out various of the dishes, in their bowls on the floor; one of the boy waiters brought them to him. Two women approached with a basin and a ewer of water, and he washed his hands and dried them on the towels they provided.

  One by one the other chiefs and Cuauhtemoc and Don, in their turn, did the same.

  All through the room, men were inspecting the pots and making their selections. There must have been some three hundred dishes in all, Don decided, though many duplicated each other. A barbaric banquet!

  Cuauhtemoc took up a bowl and handed it to him. "Try this," he offered.