War God: Return of the Plumed Serpent

by Graham Hancock

This time Cortés did look impressed. ‘So the Tlascalans themselves must command large forces?’

  ‘They do, lord. I believe the number stands close to a hundred thousand men.’

  Cortés whistled. ‘Useful!’ he said. He rubbed his hands together, the unconscious gesture of a man coveting some great hoard of treasure. ‘So, if I should contemplate an alliance with your master Ishtlil, and with these formidable Tlascalans, how would you advise me to set about it?’

  Ah, Huicton thought. Now we’re getting to the point. He looked Cortés straight in the eye. ‘May I ask you a question, great lord?’

  ‘You may ask me anything you like, but whether I’ll answer it is another matter.’

  Huicton swallowed. He felt strangely nervous, as though he confronted a puma in its den. ‘My question is this, lord. Do you intend to fight Moctezuma? Or will you allow him to make you his vassal?’

  A look of anger crossed Cortés’s face and he seemed about to speak, but Huicton held up his hand. ‘Hear me out, great lord, I pray. Before coming down to the coast to find you, I had an audience with Shikotenka, battle-king of the Tlascalans. He was here himself spying on you just a few days ago – indeed it was he who attempted to kidnap your servant. He did so because he is convinced you are in the process of allying yourself with Moctezuma – and you should know that all Moctezuma’s allies become his vassals in the end. The Great Speaker of the Mexica brooks no equals.’

  ‘By God!’ Cortés barked, ‘I’ll not be Moctezuma’s vassal, nor will he be my equal. I’m here to conquer him, nothing less.’

  The moment he’d said it, part of him wondered if he’d gone too far, but then he thought – caution be damned – and allowed Aguilar to give the words to Malinal, who in turn put them into Nahuatl for Huicton’s benefit. Cortés trusted her judgement that the old man was genuine, but even if it turned out that he was a spy for Moctezuma, what would really be lost by telling the truth? His strategy was to keep the Mexica leader guessing as to his motives, so it could do no harm to show friendship to his envoys like Teudile while offering a completely different face to his spy. If on the other hand Huicton did work for Ishtlil, as he claimed, and had connections with the warlike Tlascalans as well, then the sooner he opened negotiations with these enemies of his enemy, the better.

  ‘It is a matter of great joy to me,’ Huicton said, ‘that you have entered our land to rid us of the tyrant Moctezuma. Undoubtedly this noble lady who serves as your tongue’ – a gesture in Malinal’s direction – ‘has already told you that your presence here, in this very year, bears out an ancient prophecy of the return of the god-king Quetzalcoatl?’

  ‘Yes, she has told me of it, but I am just a man … ’

  ‘Even so, the coincidence is quite remarkable, and will work to your advantage when you begin your march on the Mexica capital of Tenochtitlan.’ A pause: ‘When, by the way, do you intend to do that?’

  ‘Soon enough,’ said Cortés gruffly.

  ‘You will find that Tlascala lies along your route,’ Huicton continued. ‘You may avoid it, of course, by following the highway that runs through the territories of several Mexica vassal states. I imagine that this is exactly what the Mexica will seek to persuade you to do. But I suggest you ignore their advice and pay a call upon Shikotenka instead. If you can convince him you seek the downfall of Moctezuma, you will have won a powerful ally.’

  ‘You speak of Tlascala, whose ambassador you are not, but what of this Ishtlil whose ambassador you are? When does Ishtlil’s offer of friendship come in useful to me?’

  ‘Only after you’ve settled things with Shikotenka. You must make him your friend. The mountain provinces of Texcoco that Ishtlil controls lie next to Tlascala and, proceeding from there, through my master’s lands and supported by the warriors he will provide you with, you can continue your march on Tenochtitlan.’

  ‘So, in other words, I’ve no choice. If I’m to benefit from Ishtlil’s alliance, I must go through Tlascala. That’s the burden of what you’re here to tell me.’

  ‘More or less, my lord. More or less.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Cortés. I’ll consider what you’ve said. Feel free to visit me again at any time and, meanwhile, please carry these gifts that I send to Shikotenka of Tlascala and to your own master Ishtlil.’ Cortés paused while he went to the chest he kept at the rear of his pavilion and pulled out two handfuls of twisted-glass beads. He placed the beads in separate velvet bags, which he handed over to Huicton. ‘For the lord Shikotenka,’ he said, ‘and the lord Ishtlil, as tokens of my friendship. Please tell them we have been happy to receive their embassy, for we share a common enemy in Moctezuma and we must work together to bring the tyrant to his knees. Say I promise them my help, and the help of my men, and of all the weapons at my disposal, in this great and worthy endeavour.’

  * * *

  Before dawn the next morning, Huicton met with Malinal. She asked him to remember her to her friend Tozi, and agreed to send him messages from time to time through his network of spies. With that accomplished, he slipped away from the camp of the white-skins. He knew now they called themselves Spaniards and, having seen Cortés, he was confident their presence in the One World would end badly for Moctezuma.

  Shikotenka was a fool to imagine anything else. Though by no means Quetzalcoatl and his demigods, these powerful strangers were the instruments sent from heaven to destroy the evil rule of the Mexica, just as the ancient prophecy had foretold.

  Before reporting back to Ishtlil, Huicton resolved to see Shikotenka again to attempt to convince him of this.

  If he failed to do so, he had no doubt that Cortés would be more persuasive.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Tuesday 11 May 1519

  A morning of tedious haggling had been concluded with Pichatzin, the governor of Cuetlaxtlan, who for the past three days had not sent food to the Spanish camp in anything like the quantities promised by Teudile before his departure for Tenochtitlan on 29 April. There was no serious problem as yet, but the shortfall was annoying and had caused some unrest. Speaking as usual through Aguilar and Malinal, Cortés had threatened Pichatzin, who had just taken his leave, and extracted a commitment from him to deliver an increased supply tomorrow.

  Perhaps because of the strange food, or perhaps because of the unhealthy conditions of the camp itself – heat, dust, clouds of insects, overflowing latrines – many of the Spaniards were suffering from stomach ailments. Aguilar had been hit particularly badly and now, with a groan that required no explanation, he made for the door of the pavilion clutching his belly. ‘A good distance away if you please, Jerónimo,’ Cortés called to the unfortunate interpreter as he stumbled outside.

  Aguilar closed the door behind him and, in the same instant, Cortés rose from his chair, stepped over to Malinal, swept her up in his arms and pressed his lips and tongue against hers in a forceful kiss. She closed her eyes and relaxed into this stolen moment, wrapping her arms round his neck as he held her close, enjoying his strength, feeling his tepulli harden against her, taking pleasure in the immediate response of her own loins.

  It was strange, she reflected as the kiss lengthened and his hands explored her body. Her mission had been to find a god and bring him to Tenochtitlan to inflict her hatred upon Moctezuma. But instead of Quetzalcoatl she had found Hernán Cortés and become his secret lover! After the night they had spent together in the stateroom of the Santa Maria, while the Mexica envoys snored on deck, she had felt like a giddy girl again, in the throes of her first crush. And the fact they had to keep their passion secret – in particular from Hernán’s close friend and ally Puertocarrero – somehow made everything so much more intense. Yes, Malinal was constantly by Cortés’s side, interpreting for him, anticipating his wishes, acting in his interests, even when he did not know it, in his dealings with Pichatzin and his deputies. But Aguilar was almost always present, and if not him then one or other, or many, of the captains, until finally, when each day’s work was done, she
would retire with Puertocarrero to his wooden cabin, plead ‘women’s problems’ to defer his incessant and increasingly violent sexual demands, and fall asleep by his side to dream of Cortés.

  Since that surprising night of ecstasy in the caudillo’s stateroom, there had only been one other opportunity to make love, and that had been no more than a bungled and uncomfortable fumble behind a dune. Otherwise their intimacy had been limited to glances and whispers and now and then a snatched kiss like this one – so where it was all leading Malinal had no clear idea. Perhaps it would come to nothing. Cortés had few enough real allies amongst the captains, and could hardly afford to alienate Puertocarrero over an affair of the heart – if it even amounted to so much. More likely it was merely an affair of the loins, and he would have her a few more times and discard her, with Puertocarrero none the wiser. Malinal knew enough of men to be prepared for anything, but meanwhile she was making good use of her special access to the Spanish leader. Her true purpose, in which she remained unwavering, was to destroy Moctezuma, and Cortés certainly had the means and the will to do that.

  He also had the senses and reactions of a jaguar, heard the footsteps scurrying across the sand before she did, and broke away from her as a knock came at the door. Smiling with his strange, odd-sized eyes, he signalled to her to sit down, returned to his own chair and said ‘enter’.

  It was Pepillo, Malinal’s friend and language teacher, flushed and breathless from running. ‘It’s Teudile, sir,’ he told Cortés. ‘He’s back!’

  ‘Peaceful or hostile would you say, Pepillo?’

  ‘Hard to know, sir. But he’s brought a whole caravan of bearers with boxes and baskets.’

  * * *

  It was a moment of triumph, Cortés thought, but also a moment of danger. Since Teudile’s departure twelve days before, as conditions in the camp had deteriorated and more and more of the men grew sick, the Velázquez faction, led by Juan Escudero and Juan Velázquez de Léon, had become increasingly vocal in its demands for a return to Cuba. It was true that thirty-four conquistadors had already died in the camp, most succumbing to wounds received at Potonchan, but it was the treasure Teudile had brought on 28 April that had given the Velazquistas their most persuasive argument. ‘We should take our profits and get out while we’re ahead,’ Escudero had demanded, and it seemed that a good number of the men – perhaps as many as a hundred – agreed with him. So, now Teudile was back with an army of bearers and what looked to be an even greater treasure, it was obvious the Velazquistas would seize the opportunity to press all the more strongly for the expedition to sail home and make an accommodation with Diego de Velázquez, the powerful governor of Cuba.

  Cortés had no intention of allowing his hated rival to be handed the prize in this way. He was here to conquer a land and write his name on the pages of history; no matter how great the inducements, he would not settle for anything less.

  As before, he had summoned the Mexica delegates to meet him and his captains under the great cloth awning set up on the dunes overlooking the sea. As before, carpets had been rolled out onto the sand on which Moctezuma’s gifts could be displayed. As before, Malinal sat at Cortés’s right and Aguilar, hunched and grey faced, sat at his left.

  At the head of the new delegation, Teudile now touched the ground and put his hands to his mouth – the traditional ‘earth-eating’ gesture used both by the Mexica and the Maya when they wished to honour a person of great importance. Pichatzin, who had been on his way out of the camp after his earlier meeting with Cortés – but had clearly been obliged by Teudile to return – did the same, and both of them together then perfumed Cortés and his captains with the smoke of some fragrant incense they had brought in earthenware braziers. Pointedly refusing to take part in these ceremonies was a third notable member of the delegation – a much younger man with long black hair, high cheekbones and an aquiline nose, who stood haughty and aloof behind Teudile, glaring at the Spaniards with burning, hostile eyes. He was tall and powerfully built, his upper body clothed in a splendid tunic made of jaguar skins, and the scars of recent battle injuries stood out livid on his throat and right forearm.

  ‘Do you know this man?’ Cortés whispered to Malinal.

  ‘Don’t know,’ she replied. ‘But recognise. He is Prince Guatemoc, nephew to Moctezuma and a famous warrior in Tenochtitlan.’

  ‘What can you tell me about him?’ Cortés asked. They weren’t even bothering to put their simpler exchanges through Aguilar now, so proficient had Malinal become in Castilian.

  ‘People say he is honest. Brave. Takes risks. Sometimes foolish. Likes to fight.’

  ‘Sounds like a troublemaker. Think he’ll make trouble for us?’

  ‘Not sure. Probably.’

  Teudile began the formal part of the proceedings by producing Bernal Díaz’s battered old helmet, now filled to the brim with grains of gold, and addressing Cortés. ‘You said,’ the steward recalled, ‘that you and your countrymen suffer from a certain disease of the heart that can only be cured by gold, and you asked to see the gold from our mines. The great Moctezuma sends you this gold as a gift. Will it cure your strange ailment, do you think?’

  Alvarado, Velázquez de Léon, Escudero, Puertocarrero, Montejo and the other captains all pressed forward, passing the helmet from hand to hand and sifting its glittering contents through their fingers. While they were thus preoccupied, Cortés looked around for Bernal Díaz and saw him standing behind the others, exchanging some joke with his friend Gonzalo de Sandoval. Cortés had promoted the two of them to the rank of ensign just before sailing from Cuba and had never regretted the decision. Though from very different backgrounds – Sandoval was an aristocrat whose family had lost its fortune, Díaz was a commoner – they got on well together, commanded the respect of the men who served under them and had both fought with tremendous bravery at Potonchan. ‘Hey Bernal,’ Cortés called out. ‘Come here! See your helmet is returned filled with gold as we asked.’

  The young ensign pushed through the throng, took the helmet and stared into it. ‘With so much gold a man could retire,’ he said wistfully, ‘and never work again.’

  ‘Nonsense!’ said Alvarado. He had produced an empty canvas money sack from somewhere and now decanted the gold grains from the helmet into it and weighed the bag in his fist. ‘Five thousand pesos at the most,’ he declared. ‘Hardly enough for a man to retire on.’

  ‘That would depend on a man’s needs,’ said Díaz stiffly as he set the emptied helmet back on his head.

  Cortés reached out, gently prised the sack from Alvarado’s grasp and laid it on the carpet before his chair. Five thousand pesos was a goodly sum but the real value of these grains lay in the absolute proof they provided that rich mines did exist in this land – intelligence worth ten thousand times as much as the meltdown value of the gold itself.

  ‘Thank you, Ambassador Teudile,’ Cortés said. ‘I will see to it that this generous present reaches my emperor in Spain. Now, what else do you have for us?’

  * * *

  Cortés called in Pepillo to keep an account and compile an inventory of the presents.

  Item: Two golden necklaces with jewellery, one of which has eight strings of two hundred and thirty-two red jewels and one hundred and sixty-three green jewels. And hanging from the border of this necklace there are twenty-seven small gold bells; and among them there are four figurines made of large gemstones mounted in gold.

  Item: Four pairs of screens, two pairs of fine gold leaf with adornments of yellow deerskin and the other two pairs of fine silver leaf with adornments in white deerskin. From each of these hang sixteen small gold bells.

  Item: A large paten of gold weighing sixty pesos de oro.

  Item: A fan of coloured featherwork with thirty-seven small rods covered with gold.

  Item: Sixty-eight small pieces of gold, each of which is as large as a half-cuarto.

  Item: Twenty little golden towers.

  Item: A bracelet of jewellery.
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br />   Item: A large head in gold that seems of an alligator.

  Item: A helmet of blue jewellery with twenty small gold bells, which hang all around, with two strips over each bell.

  Item: Another helmet of blue jewellery with twenty-five small gold bells and two gold beads above each bell hanging round the outside of it.

  Item: A reed container with two large pieces of gold to be worn on the head, with the shape of a seashell.

  Item: A sceptre of red jewellery, which resembles a serpent with its head, teeth and eyes that seem to be mother of pearl.

  Item: A large buckler of featherwork. In the centre of this buckler is a gold plate with a design such as the Indians make, with four other half-plates of gold round the edge which together form a cross.

  Item: Sixty-two marks of silver.

  Item: Six bucklers; each one has a gold sheet which covers the whole buckler.

  Item: A half-mitre of gold.

  Item: Twenty golden birds of fine and realistic workmanship.

  Item: Two rods, twenty inches long, all modelled in fine gold.

  Item: Thirty loads of cotton cloth of various patterns, decorated with feathers of many colours.

  And thus the list went on and on, covering page after page in Pepillo’s small, neat hand, with items of immense value mixed in with items that were merely beautiful. As the hot afternoon wore on into evening, and seemingly limitless varieties and combinations of these rich gifts were laid out before him, Cortés felt increasingly stunned and amazed, as though he had become immersed within some fantastic dream or vision. Unlike many of his captains, however, he made sure he kept a straight face and did nothing to reveal his delight and lust for the great wealth that was simply being handed over here without even a fight to obtain it.

  Finally, with full night now descended upon the camp and a hundred flickering torches lighting up the lurid scene under the awning, Teudile unveiled his pièces de résistance – two gigantic disks, each a hand-span thick and big as cartwheels. One was of solid gold, and worth two hundred thousand pesos, Alvarado thought; the other was of silver. Both were intricately engraved with figures from the Mexica calendar, which Teudile insisted on explaining. In the centre of the silver wheel, he said, was the image of Toncacihuatl, the moon, in the form of a woman’s face, symbolising the female realm – the waters of lakes and oceans, the night and darkness, and all the compliant, passive, yielding principles of life. By contrast the male face at the centre of the gold wheel was Tonatiuh, the sun – active, masculine, luminous, celestial, his features wrinkled with age and his tongue, sharp and pointed, jutting out hungrily.