War God: Return of the Plumed Serpent

by Graham Hancock

  ‘To Cuetlaxtlan. Leave a squad of fifty, two of the falconets, all three of the lombards and their crews, and twenty dogs to defend the camp. Everyone else goes with us.’ Cortés turned to Díaz: ‘Bernal, I’ll be scouting ahead with the cavalry, so find Malinal and bring her along with the infantry. Keep her by you. I’ll need her for any parley.’

  ‘Do you want Aguilar as well?’ Díaz asked.

  ‘He’s still in the infirmary shitting his guts out. Doesn’t matter, though. Malinal’s Castilian is getting better. I reckon she can handle this on her own.’

  As Cortés led the way out of the pavilion, one of the stable boys approached, leading Puertocarrero’s horse Ciri. ‘She came back by herself, Caudillo,’ the boy reported. ‘I thought you’d want to know.’

  Unmissable in its scabbard attached to Ciri’s saddle was Puertocarrero’s lance.

  * * *

  Sandoval couldn’t understand what was going on.

  He’d assumed the army of thousands that had surged out from Cuetlaxtlan had come to join Guatemoc to march at once on the Spanish camp. But that was not at all what had happened.

  Instead, as the two groups converged on the outskirts of the town, the warriors Guatemoc had used for the ambush moved into a defensive formation around him, bristling with weapons, and angry words began to be exchanged between the prince and another man whom Sandoval recognised as Pichatzin, the governor of Cuetlaxtlan. Pichatzin was holding a glittering object in his right hand – was it a ring? – which he insistently thrust towards the prince and which the prince equally insistently ignored.

  The argument went on for a great while, with much posturing and brandishing of weapons by both sides. Several times Guatemoc seemed to speak over the governor’s head, addressing the ranks behind him directly, but the men stood stony faced and made no response. Pichatzin shouted back at the prince and again offered him the object he was holding. Finally Guatemoc strode forward, took the object from Pichatzin – Sandoval could see now that it was definitely a ring, a gold band set with a gemstone – studied it and then threw it down in the sand at his feet. This provoked a groan of evident horror from the ranks and a gasp of fury from the governor. He barked a command and suddenly two hundred archers stepped to the fore, raised their bows and trained their arrows on Guatemoc’s much smaller force.

  The prince turned and walked back towards his men, the muscles of his face working, twisting his handsome features into an expression of black fury.

  * * *

  Guatemoc was so angry that for a moment he considered ordering his Cuahchics to attack Pichatzin, who’d brought out four thousand men, half the garrison, to arrest him. But with such odds there could only be one result – even the governor’s contingent of archers outnumbered his tiny force by two to one and would riddle them with arrows before they could strike a blow. True, there were still the four hundred Cuahchics he’d left in the town, but they weren’t sufficient to sway the balance, regardless of their ferocity, and, besides, they would not come. Pichatzin had undoubtedly told the truth when he said he’d had the rest of the garrison surround them in the walled guest compound and that they were prisoners there.

  Guatemoc beckoned Mud Head, Starving Coyote, Big Dart, Fuzzy Face and Man-Eater. ‘Friends,’ he said, ‘we’re done for. I don’t want to see any of you or any of our brave Cuahchics killed needlessly, so I’m going to surrender.’

  ‘Surrender!’ spat Mud Head. ‘Never.’

  ‘Let’s fight the fuckers,’ said Big Dart.

  ‘At least we’ll die with honour,’ said Man-Eater.

  Guatemoc forced a smile, calmed his breathing. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I won’t allow it. Surrender is our only course. Pichatzin has the Great Speaker’s signet ring, his mandate of authority, and clear orders for us to stand down. You won’t be arrested, boys! I have the governor’s word on it. Our Cuahchics will be free to return to Tenochtitlan and rejoin their regiments. It seems it’s only my skin that Moctezuma wants.’

  ‘But how did this happen?’ Starving Coyote demanded. ‘How did Moctezuma get intelligence of what we planned here? How did he get his orders to Pichatzin so fast?’

  ‘I’ll warrant that toad Teudile was behind it,’ snarled Man-Eater.

  ‘You’re right,’ said Guatemoc. ‘It was Teudile. I should have realised the risk when he started moaning about how he’d be punished for not stopping me. He used relay runners to send a message ahead to Tenochtitlan while he was still on the road. He revealed our plans, and Moctezuma had runners carry his order to stop us straight back to Pichatzin with his signet ring to confirm it.’

  ‘That bastard,’ said Mud Head. ‘But it would be suicide to give yourself up, Guatemoc! If you let them take you back to Tenochtitlan, it’s certain you’ll be killed.’

  ‘And I suspect in a very horrible way,’ Guatemoc said wryly. ‘No one defies the will of the Great Speaker as I have done over this matter of the white-skins and lives to tell the tale. But truly I have no choice. We’re outnumbered and we’ve been outmanoeuvred and I have to accept that.’

  Fuzzy Face looked at the prisoner, the Spaniard, who was watching their conversation intently. ‘What happens to him?’ he asked.

  ‘Pichatzin’s going to free him,’ said Guatemoc. ‘More’s the pity. He’s a fine warrior and a brave one. He would have made a noble sacrifice.’

  * * *

  The expedition had eighteen heavy horses, but only seventeen were going into battle today. Puertocarrero kept Sandoval’s mare Llesenia, since Ciri’s legs had been badly bruised in the earlier skirmish and she would need attention before she would be fit again. Cortés had not commented on the implications of the scabbarded lance still mounted on Ciri’s saddle – Alvarado’s sneer was more eloquent than any words – and had insisted that Puertocarrero ride with the rest.

  They were two miles ahead of the infantry, and Cuetlaxtlan was already in sight, when they saw a small band of Mexica warriors, not more than twenty, approaching them. At once Cortés spurred his dark chestnut stallion Molinero into the charge, the rest of the corps spreading out in a line on either side of him yelling, ‘Santiago and at ’em,’ the ancient war cry of Spain that had echoed for centuries across the bloody battlefields of the Reconquista. Now it was not reconquest, Cortés thought grimly, but conquest that was at issue, and it would not be the Moors of the old world who would fall under Spanish lances today but the Indians of the new.

  That was when he recognised Sandoval placed at the front of the savages, waving and shouting.

  With great reluctance, Cortés reined Molinero in and called to the other cavaliers: ‘Hold … hold!’ As they all slowed to a canter, he beckoned Alvarado to his side and the two of them rode forward at a trot. ‘Do you reckon it’s a trap, Pedro?’ he asked conversationally.

  ‘If it is,’ said Alvarado, ‘it’s a mighty strange one. Those Indians are unarmed.’

  Cortés squinted. ‘True enough. Wonders to behold.’

  A few more seconds brought them within hailing distance of Sandoval.

  ‘Ho, Gonzalo!’ called Cortés. ‘It’s good to see you. Are you well?’

  ‘Never been better,’ said Sandoval. ‘Come and meet my friends – whatever you do, don’t kill them.’

  ‘Why not?’ shouted Alvarado.

  ‘It would be churlish,’ Sandoval replied, ‘since they just saved my life.’

  * * *

  The unarmed Mexica warriors were led by Pichatzin, the governor of Cuetlaxtlan. Sandoval was mystified to have been released when he’d fully expected to be sacrificed, and could only report the bare facts. He and Puertocarrero had been ambushed by Prince Guatemoc leading a force of about one hundred men. Puertocarrero had escaped; Sandoval had been taken – Cortés noted with approval that the young ensign made no criticism of Puertocarrero’s behaviour. There had then followed a confrontation between Guatemoc and Pichatzin, who had arrived in the nick of time at the head of a much larger force. The outcome was that Guatemoc had appeare
d to surrender to the governor, and had been bound and led away, amidst much outcry from his men, while Sandoval had been freed and brought immediately towards the Spanish camp by Pichatzin and this small escort.

  Despite the gesture, Alvarado was in favour of pressing on to Cuetlaxtlan and destroying the town and its garrison but, with Sandoval back safely, Cortés was in no hurry. ‘There’s some strange business afoot here, Pedro,’ he mused. ‘I’ll need a better understanding of what’s happened before I decide a course of action.’

  He beckoned Puertocarrero, told him to ride back to the infantry column, find Malinal, who would be with Díaz, and return with her posthaste. While they waited he took Alvarado aside.

  ‘This business of Puertocarrero’s cowardice,’ Cortés said. ‘Don’t shame him to the point where he has to challenge you—’

  Alvarado snorted. ‘If he challenges me, he’ll die … ’

  ‘Exactly, and I don’t want him dead. I’ve got a job for him to do. It doesn’t look like Sandoval is going to pursue the matter, and I’d prefer it if you didn’t either.’

  ‘I can’t abide cowardice,’ said Alvarado.

  ‘Who can? But Puertocarrero won’t be with us much longer, I promise you.’

  Alvarado raised a quizzical eyebrow.

  ‘I plan to send him back to Spain with all our treasure as a gift for the king,’ Cortés explained.

  ‘What? Are you mad, Hernán?’

  ‘No! I’m a gambler. And I know you like a throw of the dice yourself, Pedro.’

  Alvarado’s eyes lit up, as they always did at the prospect of a bet. ‘What’s the wager?’ he asked. ‘What are the stakes? What do we stand to win?’

  Cortés looked about and gestured towards the distant ranges of blue mountains that could be seen rising far inland.

  ‘Mountains?’ said Alvarado in disbelief. ‘We’re to win mountains?’

  Cortés laughed. ‘No, you idiot! I want what lies beyond those mountains. I want Tenochtitlan, the Mexica capital, and all its fabled gold and jewels. The treasure we’ve been given is a pittance by comparison with what awaits us there, but I’m gambling it will be more than enough to buy the king’s favour and get Velázquez off our backs forever.’

  ‘They say a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush … ’

  ‘Come, come, Pedro! That’s never been your philosophy.’

  ‘All right,’ agreed Alvarado slowly. ‘Tell me more about this plan of yours.’

  * * *

  When Puertocarrero returned, Malinal was perched in the saddle in front of him, riding astride like a warrior, even though she’d never been on horseback before. She was grinning mischievously, and obviously exhilarated by the gallop. Gods, Cortés thought. What a beauty she was. Brave too. And clever! His true ally and comrade-in-arms in this great struggle to take the New Lands from their present owners. He rather regretted that he would have to disappoint her over the matter of Pepillo and his damned dog, but Saint Peter had spoken and was not to be denied.

  Within minutes of her arrival, Malinal had begun to make sense of the morning’s events.

  In conversation with Pichatzin she first learned, and then informed Cortés in her halting but workable Castilian, that Guatemoc had been acting against Moctezuma’s orders when he had set his ambush and seized Sandoval. This, Pichatzin said, was quite the opposite of what the Great Speaker wanted, which was for peace, harmony, tranquillity and love to govern relations between his people and the tueles – as it seemed he continued to believe the Spaniards to be. The order to withdraw the Totonac workers and serving women had come from Guatemoc without sanction from Moctezuma, but neither Pichatzin, nor even Teudile, could defy a prince of the blood. Learning of Guatemoc’s plans to cause further trouble for the tueles, however, wily Teudile had sent runners forward to Tenochtitlan with a message for Moctezuma, telling him all; Moctezuma had received the message and sent runners back, reaching Pichatzin just in time for him to mobilise the garrison of Cuetlaxtlan and prevent Guatemoc from committing further crimes. Now, as a token of good faith, it was Pichatzin’s honour to return the tuele Guatemoc had captured unharmed to the lord Cortés.

  ‘Too little, too late!’ fumed Alvarado, who was listening closely. ‘I say kill the lot of them, then march on their filthy town and burn it to the ground.’

  Malinal looked up at Cortés. ‘Don Pedro idea maybe not good,’ she suggested.

  ‘Damned impertinence!’ Alvarado muttered.

  ‘Why’s it not a good idea, Malinal?’ Cortés asked.

  ‘Attack Cuetlaxtlan now, Moctezuma know your mind. Know you attack Tenochtitlan next. Spare Cuetlaxtlan and he not sure. He hope maybe you spare Tenochtitlan also.’

  ‘Ye gods!’ Cortés exclaimed. ‘It seems the woman has a grasp of tactics!’

  ‘Bugger tactics.’ Alvarado made a sour face. ‘Attack first, ask questions later – that’s my motto.’

  ‘We’ll attack them soon enough,’ Cortés said, ‘and in their heartland, where the blow will be mortal. Until then I’d prefer to keep them guessing about our intentions.’

  As they spoke, the infantry, more than four hundred strong, arrived at the meeting place on the dunes. Cortés gave orders for them to stand at ease. He could see plain terror in Pichatzin’s eyes at the sight not only of the Spanish soldiers in their battle panoply, with their muskets and their cannon, pikes, swords and shining armour, but also of the eighty baying and snarling war dogs that Vendabal and his handlers had brought – the dogs likewise armoured in plate and mail; many wearing collars inset with metal spikes.

  It was a good moment to win some concessions. ‘Tell Pichatzin he did the right thing giving us Sandoval back,’ Cortés said to Malinal. ‘But tell him Alvarado here is very angry and wants me to burn Cuetlaxtlan and slaughter everyone in it. Tell him my other captains feel the same way. I don’t think I’ll be able to restrain them.’

  Pichatzin broke out in a sweat and began to tremble. His voice was urgent, tremulous and high as he replied.

  ‘He say he hoped you happiness for get Sandoval back. Wants peace with you, he say. No war.’

  Cortés deliberately made his face stern and his voice harsh: ‘I’ll need more than fine words and the return of a prisoner who shouldn’t have been taken in the first place.’

  ‘He say what you want?’ Malinal translated when Pichatzin replied.

  ‘Gold!’ said Alvarado. ‘That’ll be a good start.’

  Pichatzin agreed at once. Tomorrow all the gold in Cuetlaxtlan would be delivered to the Spanish camp. There was not a great deal, but he hoped it would prove sufficient to compensate the tueles for their inconvenience.

  ‘We’ll want our labourers and serving women back as well,’ Cortés added. ‘And our food supplies restored.’

  Again Pichatzin agreed.

  ‘And that upstart Guatemoc. Tell Pichatzin to hand him over to me for punishment.’

  Pichatzin replied with a single word and Malinal translated: ‘Impossible.’

  ‘No! I don’t accept that. Tell him to give me Guatemoc.’

  A longer reply from Pichatzin this time. ‘He say Moctezuma want punish Guatemoc,’ was Malinal’s translation. ‘Guatemoc not for you. On way to Tenochtitlan now. Many guards.’

  ‘Insolent little shit!’ exploded Alvarado with a murderous glare at Pichatzin. ‘Give me the word, Hernán, and I’ll take the cavalry after Guatemoc, drag him back here in chains.’

  Cortés frowned. ‘What do you advise?’ he asked Malinal. ‘Shall I accept what Pichatzin says, or shall I send a troop of horse after Guatemoc? I’d like to see the man hanged.’

  ‘What you gain if you take and kill Guatemoc now, Caudillo?’

  ‘Considerable satisfaction,’ said Cortés.

  ‘Lose more!’ Malinal exclaimed. ‘Kill Guatemoc here, he dead; let Guatemoc go Tenochtitlan he trouble Moctezuma very much before Moctezuma kill him. Guatemoc have friends, supporters. Good to divide Mexica peoples, no?’

  ‘It’s Gua
temoc who should be divided!’ Alvarado said. ‘Hang him, draw him and quarter him. Make him suffer for what he did.’

  ‘I sure Moctezuma will make suffer,’ Malinal observed. ‘Wait. I ask.’ She turned aside, put a question in Nahuatl to Pichatzin, listened to his answer. ‘Punishment for Guatemoc,’ she continued in Castilian, ‘is … how you say?’ She pinched the skin on the back of her hand, pulled it up.

  ‘Skin?’ Cortés suggested.

  ‘Yes skin! Pichatzin say Moctezuma skin Guatemoc, like animal.’

  ‘After he’s dead, of course?’

  ‘No, Caudillo! Skin alive. Make suffer very much.’

  Cortés thought about it. ‘That’ll do nicely,’ he said.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Sunday 16 May 1519 to Sunday 6 June 1519

  Don Juan de Escalante was a great man, Pepillo decided. A really nice man! This must be what it was like to have a father – to be treated kindly, with honour and respect, to be advised well on the ways of the world and, above all else, to be taught how to fight with a sword!

  Their business with the Totonacs successfully concluded on the night of Saturday 15 May, Escalante kept the Santa Theresa anchored in the bay on Sunday the 16th while he explored the headland, looking for and eventually finding a suitable site on which to build the Spanish town. It was a mile away from Huitztlan, surrounded by well-watered fields, close enough to take advantage of all the help, labour and supplies that had been willingly offered, but not so close as to encourage too much familiarity, and with excellent access to the sea.

  On the morning of Monday 17 May, after saying elaborate farewells to Yaretzi and all the elders, and to Meco (who was to go on foot to the Spanish camp by way of Cempoala, where he would report everything that had been agreed to the Totonac paramount chief Tlacoch), Escalante gave the order to raise anchor and the Santa Theresa sailed.