On the occasion in question, he actually walked brazenly past Hernando Cortes, who was going along in the company of Malinche across a courtyard before the quarters of Motechzoma. The Captain-General didn't blink an eye in recognition although he, above any of the others, had been face to face with the young Indian for at least several hours in Cempoala.
But Don Fielding, to one side, saw a look of questioning come over the face of Dona Marina. She cocked her head slightly to one side, turned, looked thoughtfully after the nonchalantly receding Cuauhtemoc, then turned back to her Captain-General companion. She was obviously still thinking about it.
Don knew that although she had stuck out her neck for him, for whatever reason, her sympathies were all for the Spanish and she was sleeping with Cortes. She was as competent at intrigue as anyone in the invading army's camp and in many ways superior to them since they were working in a strange country peopled with a strange folk most of whose ways were incomprehensible to the Europeans. She was the power behind the throne and as interested in the overthrow of the Tenochtitlan power as any of her white masters. In short, she was poison to Cuauhtemoc, deadly on contact.
As soon as he could do so unobtrusively, Don hurried after his Indian friend. He overtook him in the courtyard once removed from the one in which Malinche had spotted him.
Don darted a look around. No Spanish were present. He put a hand on the other's arm. "Cuauhtemoc! Get out. Get out immediately. Malinche has recognized you. Her spies will have let her know that you've been raised to war chief level. She'll know you are spying. Get out!"
Cuauhtemoc looked at him and laughed softly. "So you are blood brother indeed, my giant friend. You risk being seen with me, although your own position is not as though you were comfortably taking your bath. Thank you and farewell."
He headed for the gate.
Moments later, a squad of the Spanish came trotting through, Malinche beside them urging speed.
Her Spanish was getting very good, Don decided. Shortly, Aguilar, as the middle man, wouldn't be required.
As she passed him, she shot him a questioning look but then hurried on.
His own life went into a routine. Evidently, orders had gone out. With the exception of Pedro de Alvarado and his brothers, Don Fielding became reasonably well received by the rest of the army and especially so with Fray Olmedo, though Padre Diaz seemed to continue to hold reservations about him. There was also a something about Sandoval which was difficult to put his finger upon. He got the feeling that the young conquistador knew that he was playing a part—or various parts—and was out to unmask him. Thus far, Sandoval hadn't sufficient evidence to present a case to his leader and fellow townsmen. Orteguilla, the page, loathed him, Don knew, and it probably went back to when he had caught the kid out in Cempoala. Well, it wasn't a bad average in an army of four hundred. Bernal Diaz he got along with excellently, and Avila was at least always pleasantly courteous.
He had his troubles. On the third day after his reconciliation with the Captain-General, he wandered into a courtyard in which the Spanish soldiery, an eagle eye being kept on them by Padre Juan Diaz, were melting down the Aztec treasury, insofar as gold and silver were concerned. Historically, he knew it had happened, but when he saw it in actuality, he was horrified. It was all going into the melting pot to be poured into ingots—little gods, ornaments, decorations, plate, jewelry. The soldiers sat there with their knives, prying out the jewels, tossing the remaining metal into the iron melting pots, laughing and jesting.
Don was aghast.
Bernal was among the others. He would make a trip into the treasury to issue forth with a load of the worked precious metals and toss them to the ground to be sorted out.
Don blurted, "You're being fools. The gold is worth more in its form as art objects than it is melted."
Bernal laughed at him. "Who in Spain would wish such ornaments? Besides, it is more easily transported this way." He tossed a delicately worked pendant into the bubbling pot of gold.
Don turned to the priest. "Surely an educated man such as yourself is opposed to the destruction of these beautiful objects."
Around his neck Padre Juan Diaz had a foot-long religious cross gaudily worked with semiprecious stones, gold, and silver. It was a slob of an ornament. In Don's day it would have been called camp.
The priest held it up proudly and said, "This is the only true art, my son. All else is worthless." He gestured at the Indian gold work on the ground. "These are but heathen geegaws, and it is well that they be destroyed. They would offend the eyes of His Majesty in Spain."
Don was more shaken by the affair than he had expected to be. He had reconciled himself to the fact that Tenochtitlan would fall and his Indian friends go down with it—all in the name of inevitable progress. Was this the progress he anticipated?
But it was the following day that really got to him.
He came upon Fray Olmedo, assisted by a dozen or so of the soldiers, burning the Indian archives. The tecpan of Tenochtitlan was not only its administration center, the home of its principal chiefs, and what amounted to a gigantic hotel, but it also contained the national library.
As a student of Mexican history and anthropology, Don Fielding had studied the Mexican codices that had come down to his time. They had numbered less than a dozen and were scattered about the world's museums, and most of them he had to peruse in reproduction, though he had seen the originals in the National Museum in Mexico City. In actuality, there hadn't been even that number of Aztec codices; the sum total included Mayan books, some of those actually written and drawn after the Conquest, such as the Codex Mendoza. Unfortunately, the few that had survived were usually on subjects of comparatively little interest to the scholar—astrology, say, rather than history.
Now he could see these literally priceless volumes going up in flames, thousands upon thousands of them. It was as though somebody deliberately burned the Library of Congress in Washington. No, it was much worse since the contents of the Congressional Library were practically all duplicated elsewhere. But these were all originals. There were no copies run off on printing presses by the thousands. And now, there never would be....
His eyes wide with horror, if not disbelief, he put a hand on the priest's arm.
"Father Olmedo, these Indian books are priceless. They contain the history, the medicine, the arts, the governmental system, the sciences of these people. To destroy them is barbarism. They contain all the knowledge that the Tenochas have accumulated in centuries."
For once, Olmedo was less than kindly toward him. He held up his Bible. "All necessary knowledge is here contained, my son." He indicated the burning codices. "These are the work of the devil!"
"But how do you know?" Don said desperately. "You can't read them. If they are preserved, someday scholars will be able to decipher them and a considerable knowledge will have been gained."
"What knowledge?" the other said scornfully. "Of what use are the beliefs of these savages? So long as such vile books are allowed to remain to them, the true word will be ignored."
Don Fielding slumped. He turned away, not being able to stand the sight.
In his own day, any one of the Indian books would have been worth a million dollars to any library or museum in the world. A million? No; the sum was meaningless. No scholar could put a price on an Aztec codex. Some things have no price. They have value, yes; but not price.
This, then, was the progress the Spanish were bringing to Mexico? As he stumbled away, he was so sick that he all but vomited. He knew his history. The melting down of the Indian art and the burning of the books shouldn't have hit him like this. He knew it had happened. He knew it would also happen when the Spanish hit Yucatan and found the tens of thousands of Mayan books. However, seeing it happen was another thing; it was the difference between hearing about a grisly accident and seeing it in slow motion.
Matters were developing rapidly. With what they thought was the Tenochtitlan government (Motechzoma!) in thei
r hands, the Spanish began to consolidate their position. They got hold of the tribute lists of the confederation and determined which cities that the Indian armies had conquered provided gold to Tenochtitlan and her allies. To those that were nearest, they sent out expeditions both to pick up whatever additional gold and silver was on hand and to check the source of supply, the streams and mines from which the previous metals were extracted.
Sandoval was sent on down to Vera Cruz to take over the command of the force there, now that Escalante was dead. Which was a relief to Don Fielding. The dapper young conquistador was almost as keen to eliminate him as was Pedro de Alvarado and his brothers.
He had barely finished one of his classes in Spanish one day when Bernal Diaz came in and said, "You wouldn't be a carpenter by any means, would you?"
Don eyed him blankly.
Bernal laughed. "Or a blacksmith, or shipwright, or toolmaker, for that matter."
"I'm a teacher."
"Then you're safe. The Captain-General is combing the army. I too am safe, and as Lord Jesus Christ is my judge, it's a relief. I've never been anything save a soldier."
"What are you talking about?"
"Don Hernando becomes uncomfortable about our position here. We are completely surrounded by water, and these Indian dogs can even cut the causeways by removing the wooden beams that bridge them periodically. So our Captain-General has decided to build four brigantines about forty feet in length apiece and with sufficient capacity so that if we must retreat, they could carry us and the horses to the mainland."
Don said, "How about your Tlaxcalan allies?"
Bernal Diaz seemed surprised that he should ask. "Undoubtedly, they could fend for themselves."
"Undoubtedly," Don said with sarcasm.
Bernal said, "It happens that Martin Lopez, one of the footmen, is an experienced shipwright. Pedro and Miguel de Mafia are carpenters who have worked at shipbuilding before. Hernan Martin is a blacksmith capable of turning out the stools needed. It is amazing the diversity of trades in our small army. Pedro Hernandez was also a blacksmith before leaving Spain. Juan Gomez de Herrera has had experience caulking ships. On my faith, we shall have a fleet in no time at all. And then the Captain-General plans to send the shipbuilding crew down to Vera Cruz to build a caravel."
Don frowned. He hadn't known about this, either from his history or current gossip. He said, "What for? He beached or scuttled the ships he had. Now he builds a new one?"
Bernal laughed and winked. "It is necessary to bring over to our cause the Emperor and his court. Don Hernando plans to send to Spain the royal fifth, thus cementing our position."
"Did you finish melting down the Indian gold?"
"Why not? Let me tell you, Don Fielding, there is a great satisfaction in realizing that the portion that is mine will make me wealthy to an extent I have never dreamed of before."
A germ of an idea was growing in Don Fielding's mind. A mere germ, but there. It had been sparked by Bernal's description of the workers that Cortes had found when it became necessary to build his brigantines. And side by side with it was another germ. Only germs, as yet.
He said, "You dreamer, you."
Bernal eyed him. "What do you mean?"
"Come now. Do you really think you will receive this fortune?"
The other held a long silence and his face was less friendly than Don had ever seen it. "What do you mean?" Don scoffed. "On this expedition the army has already several times managed to acquire large amounts of gold and silver. Come now; how much of it did you wind up with? How much do you have right now, right as of this minute?"
Bernal growled, "I have been unlucky with the dice."
"But when they split the spoil—Cortes, Alvarado, Sandoval and the others—what came to them, and what came to you?"
"The Captain-General is the head of the expedition. His share is a fifth. The other captains all contributed ships and horses, money and weapons."
Don said sarcastically, "So their share is larger as well. And then, of course, the emperor gets his royal fifth. On top of which, it is oh-so-necessary to spread around a few bribes in Spain to gain the support of important members of the court. When all is done, what kind of a share do you get, Bernal Diaz, all you who stand and fight and bleed in the front rank, who die for the greater glory of these gentlemen? Where do you stand when the loot is distributed?"
In sudden anger the other turned and strode off.
Don looked after him thoughtfully. He wondered how well the initial seed had been planted.
Shortly afterward, Cortes sent an expedition down to Vera Cruz to pick up some of the fittings, sail and rope that he had stripped from his destroyed fleet. Martin Lopez requisitioned a sizable number of Indians and took off for a grove of oak that the Spanish had located on the mountainside. It would take Spanish carpenters working with iron saws to make the final planks, but the Indians could chop down the trees and do the initial trimming.
With their continued success, the Spanish were becoming increasingly arrogant. They swarmed up the pyramids, thrust the protesting priests aside, and overthrew the Indian idols, sending them crashing down the steps that led up to the temples. Most of them shattered on the ground below, to the horror of both priests and tribesmen.
Cortes also forbade any further sacrifices. At least that was a step in the right direction, Don decided grimly. The Spanish were taking precious few such steps, their basic motivation being greed.
Malinche's spies brought word that Cacama, the Tlachochcalcatl of Tetzcuco, was organizing a revolt against the Spanish. Four of the other lake cities were in on the conspiracy. The Captain-General struck with characteristic duplicity, speed, and ruthlessness. A couple of boatloads of armed men were sent to Tetzcuco and to a house into which Cacama had been lured. They seized him, lowered him into one of the boats, and brought him back to Tenochtitlan and the Spanish quarters where he was thrown into irons. The next steps were to send out expeditions to arrest the chiefs of the other towns involved, and they too were thrown into chains and imprisoned in the tecpan. The revolt, for the time at least, was suppressed.
Ordinarily, Don Fielding knew, the Tetzcucans would have elected a new head chief, but the Spanish didn't know this, thinking the Tlachochcalcatl to be a hereditary king. Cortes insisted that Motechzoma, as emperor, appoint a younger brother of Cacama to be the new king. And Motechzoma, as usual bewildered by the Spanish demands, acquiesced. The Tetzcucans, probably equally bewildered, accepted the stripling Cuicuitzca as their supposed king and gave him lip service, but in actuality they ignored him and appointed their own new leader.
It was shortly after this affair that Malinche appeared at Don's door while he was in the middle of one of his classes. He came to his feet. As always, she was dressed in her Mayan-type kub, the single piece of decorated cloth with holes for the arms and a square-cut opening for the head and looking somewhat like a chemise. Underneath she wore a lighter white cotton petticoat, highly and colorfully embroidered and fringed. About her shoulders was draped a booch, somewhat similar to a stole. And as always, she was barefooted, her jet black hair in braids.
She said, "My lord, the Captain-General, desires your presence in the quarters of Motechzoma."
He dismissed his class and turned back to her. It was time to plant another seed, somewhat similar to the one he had used upon Bernal Diaz. Perhaps he wasn't quite sure what his goad was, but he was playing it instinctively now.
Don said softly, "And how does the campaign go to bring new freedoms and a better faith to your people, Malinche?"
Her chin went up a bit. "My name is now Dona Marina."
He nodded. "Although the army has been here in Mexico for the better part of a year, you are one of the few who have been baptized. I understand that the reason was that the Captain-General didn't want to take the chance on sleeping with a heathen. Now that he has taken on other mistresses does he have much occasion to bring you to his bed?"
She frowned slightly and h
er large dark Indian eyes took on a vague, almost pathetic quality. She said, so low that he could hardly make it out, "My lord, the Captain-General, is so busy that he has little time for any activity save his work."
"His work being to secure all the gold and other valuables that he can get his hands upon and in treading down everyone who gets in his way. Did you witness the burning of Quauhpopoca and his chiefs and son? Did you witness the imprisonment of Cacama and the others, their sole offense being that they wished to resist the Spanish?"
"They stand in the way of bringing the true faith to all the land."
"Twenty years after the Spanish have succeeded, the population of all the land will have been reduced by two-thirds. What good is it to have a new faith if you're dead?"
"How do you know?"
"I know."
"Through your history?"
"Yes."
The girl was far from stupid, as he had already discovered. She said, "I asked Fray Olmedo the meaning of the word, and he told me that it was the knowledge of things past. But you attempt to look into the future."
"I can't explain it to you, Malinche, but I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll tell you something that will transpire within the fairly new future. A new Spanish fleet will appear near Vera Cruz and it will contain something like one thousand soldiers. They will have come to arrest Cortes and to take over this expedition, so that they, instead of Cortes, can acquire the gold here."
"I don't believe you. The emperor in Spain would never lift a hand against his loyal subject, my lord, the Captain-General."
"Very well, we'll see." He turned to go.
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