War God: Return of the Plumed Serpent

by Graham Hancock

  A little later the two caciques returned, crestfallen, and told Cortés through Meco and Malinal that the calpixque, ‘stewards of tribute’, as the tax collectors were known, were offended and outraged at the entertainment and hospitality the Totonacs had dared to extend to the Spaniards without prior permission from Moctezuma. In addition to the cruel tribute of a hundred virgin girls they had come to collect, part-payment of the quota of a thousand the Totonacs were required to provide, they were therefore now demanding an extra levy of twenty young men to be handed over to them within the hour and prepared for sacrifice to Hummingbird that very night.

  Pepillo remembered why he had once loved and admired Cortés when the caudillo realised the caciques fully intended to obey the order. In the strongest possible terms he required them not only to refuse it but to arrest the tax collectors instead and confine them in a room next to his quarters, where his own Spanish soldiers would keep them under guard.

  Yaretzi and Tlacoch were horrified by the idea and fell into a panic. Manhandle Moctezuma’s officials? They didn’t dare! But Cortés quietly and firmly insisted. He reminded them that his lord, King Carlos, had sent him to this land to chastise evil-doers and prevent sacrifice and robbery, and that now was the time, under his protection, to throw off the Mexica yoke forever. Finally he persuaded them. The order was given and the calpixque were arrested and secured, humiliatingly, with long poles and collars. One who resisted was soundly beaten into submission with clubs. Cortés then told the fat cacique to send messengers at once to all other Totonac towns and villages that were subject to him informing their chiefs what had been done here and ordering them to treat any tax collectors sent to them in the same way, with a full guarantee that the Spanish would protect them.

  Meanwhile the townsfolk had gathered again in the square and there was much talk of these astonishing events; the view emerged, as Malinal explained with some amusement to Pepillo, that the Spaniards must indeed be tueles – either gods or demons – because no ordinary humans would have dared defy Mexica power so blatantly. As for Yaretzi and Tlacoch, they quickly recovered their courage, and were now pressing for the calpixque to be sacrificed forthwith – thus ensuring that none of them escaped to carry the tale back to Tenochtitlan. Cortés naturally refused: they must not be sacrificed, no one must be sacrificed, but there was nothing to fear since he had taken charge of the prisoners.

  It being after midnight, everyone retired to bed, but Cortés was far from done and had his men bring two of the five Mexica prisoners quietly to his quarters. When they stood before him, he put on a manner of complete innocence and asked them through Malinal on whose orders they had been taken prisoner. They replied, rightly enough, that Tlacoch and Yaretzi had imprisoned them and that the Spaniards must have encouraged them to do this foolish thing, which would bring the wrath of Moctezuma down on their heads. Cortés, for his part, insisted he knew nothing of the matter, professed to be very sorry about the way they’d been treated and added that he’d arranged to free them, without the knowledge of his Totonac hosts, because he’d heard many good things about Moctezuma and was troubled to think of the officers of so great a monarch being treated in such a shabby way. Announcing he would provide them with a means to escape Huitztlan, he told them to return at once to Moctezuma, explain that he had released them to save them from harm at the hands of the treacherous Totonacs, and inform him the Spaniards were his good friends and were at his service. Furthermore he would do all in his power to ensure their three companions were not harmed and would endeavour to have them released as well. He then had six of his men take the grateful tax collectors down to the bay under cover of darkness, put them in a longboat and row them a few miles up the coast to a place where they were safe from the Totonacs and could make their way back to Tenochtitlan.

  The next morning, 13 June, there was consternation in the town when the escape was discovered. Even though they had been under Spanish guard, Cortés and Malinal somehow managed to convince the caciques that the Totonacs were to blame for the loss of the prisoners. Cortés pretended to be angry, ordered a chain to be brought with which he bound the three remaining tax collectors, and had them transported to the Santa Maria for ‘safekeeping’. Once on board, however, he released them, treated them in a friendly and hospitable way and told them he would soon return them to Moctezuma – a promise he fulfilled that night when they, too, with the Totonacs none the wiser, were ferried up the coast and set free.

  All in all, Pepillo had to admit, it was a masterstroke. Having effectively risen in rebellion against Moctezuma by imprisoning his tax collectors, two of whom had then immediately escaped to tell all, the vacillating Totonac chiefs were now too deeply committed to change course or ever hope to be forgiven. They therefore had no choice but to throw their lot in completely with Cortés, accept his protection and make a determined effort to win their freedom from Mexica overlordship. At the same time, by freeing the tax collectors, Cortés could hope he had sent quite a different signal to Moctezuma, a signal of friendship and complicity that would, at the very least, confuse him!

  * * *

  Tozi was a practised beggar so it was not at all difficult for her to sustain herself during the nine days she waited at Teotihuacan for the midsummer ceremonies to begin. Crowds of pilgrims visited the site and as she sat on the Way of the Dead, sheltering from the sun under the retaining wall on its east side in the morning and on its west side in the afternoon, her little striped maguey-fibre mat spread out beneath her, dirty rags on her back and a sorrowful look on her face, there were many who gave her gifts that she could later barter for food and shelter. Not wishing to strike up any friendship or attract attention, she stayed in different homes in the nearby villages every night: now an outhouse, now a stoop, now a corner of the floor in a crowded one-roomed adobe hut, now a lean-to, now a roof terrace shared with a poor family making the trip of a lifetime. At no point did she invoke her powers of invisibility because it was unnecessary to do so. As she’d learnt long ago, it was often possible to be invisible without using magic at all – just common sense. Don’t stand out, don’t offend anyone, don’t get yourself noticed; these were the important rules to follow. As the days went by and the numbers of visitors to Teotihuacan grew rapidly, with many camping out in vast transitory settlements near the ruins, it grew easier and easier for her to blend in – literally to vanish amidst the crowds.

  On the eighth day, a thousand crack troops from Moctezuma’s personal regiment marched in and bivouacked in front of the pyramid of the Moon, setting up guard posts at intervals all along the Way of the Dead. They were there to prepare for the Great Speaker’s arrival on the morrow and to guarantee his security. Meanwhile, a team of skilled craftsmen set to work erecting a splendid royal pavilion on the plaza by the pyramid of the Sun, while between the pavilion and the pyramid itself the blackened fire-pits, sealed for the last year by stout planks, were opened and packed with logs and kindling in preparation for the holocaust.

  Next to appear were the sacrificial victims, two hundred of the finest male prisoners from the fattening pens of Tenochtitlan. They were escorted by a further thousand troops, who kept them under strict guard while the decoration of their bodies with paints and feathers began. Because the victims were all warriors taken in battle, some Texcocan, some Tlascalan, there was no wailing and crying amongst them; rather they remained steadfast throughout the whole degrading procedure.

  Finally, after nightfall, troupes of clowns, tumblers and dancers took up their places under torchlight. They began to perform at once for the benefit of the huge throngs of pilgrims and sightseers who had already gathered to ensure the best vantage points from which to witness the sacrifices the following midday. Tambourines, drums, conches and trumpets threw up a harsh, jangling cacophony, mingled with thousands of excited voices, which from time to time broke into a roar of approbation at some incredible acrobatic feat. Food sellers with baskets of their wares slung around their necks offered snacks of
fried and honeyed grasshoppers, maguey worms, ants, grubs, popcorn, beans, squash cakes, algae cakes, and more specialised and expensive delicacies of human flesh. As well as the ever-popular pulque, a wide range of alcoholic drinks were on sale, made from fermented maize, honey, pineapple, cactus fruit and a variety of other plants.

  Tozi was there in the midst of the press, silently witnessing it all, slipping through the crowds unnoticed. She had her orders from the god himself, she’d made her plans, and when Moctezuma came the next morning, she knew exactly what to do.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Sunday 20 June 1519 to Monday 21 June 1519

  Moctezuma was nervous, tormented by dark imaginings and filled with apprehension. Ever since he’d brought that marvellous sorcerer Acopol to his palace, he had felt strong, free and confident. The sense of being constantly watched had ceased, the nameless fears that had formerly haunted him had evaporated, his vigour had returned and his tepulli had begun to stand up again, enabling him to service his wives and concubines. Even more important, his bowels had stopped betraying him with strange rumblings, gurglings, cramps, flatulence and sudden, wrenching urgencies that he could not control.

  And all this was so, even though Acopol was long gone on his mission to Cholula and was therefore not physically present to provide protection. Hummingbird had spoken of ‘warding spells of great power’ that the sorcerer had placed around the palace, and within the sanctuary of the god’s own temple, and there could be no doubt, now, that these spells worked!

  But what would happen when Moctezuma travelled beyond the warded zones that Hummingbird had named? Would Acopol’s magic still keep him safe then? It was this question that had once again sent his stomach into uproar, requiring frequent comfort stops as he journeyed north on the night before the summer solstice to ancient Teotihuacan, where he was to officiate at the ceremonies of Tecuilhuitl. He bitterly resented the inconvenience and the danger of the journey, since Tecuilhuitl was not even – by any stretch of the imagination – his favourite festival. Quite honestly it was amongst his least favourite! He was expected to mingle with vast, stinking crowds of paupers and peasants from all over the empire, even to the extent of allowing himself to be touched by them – something that was forbidden on pain of death at any other time. He was expected to hand out gifts. Worst of all, he was expected to dance for them like some circus performer. Were not the weight of tradition so solidly behind it, he would have abandoned Tecuilhuitl years before. But Moctezuma prided himself on being a great student and respecter of tradition, and it was for this reason, despite his fears, that he had resolved to favour the festival with the royal presence as he had done each year since his coronation.

  Held aloft in his palanquin by bearers who knew how important it was that he be carried smoothly without any jolts, missed steps or rocking motion, Moctezuma brooded also on the other dark cloud looming on his horizon as he approached sacred Teotihuacan on this morning of Tecuilhuitl. That dark cloud, admittedly still distant yet growing closer, was the prospect of the tueles and their manoeuvres along the coast. Spies followed their every movement, reports reached him daily, and he found himself mightily confused by their recent behaviour.

  First, there was the matter of Guatemoc’s attack on them. Now, though not dead as he deserved, the troublesome prince was confined to Cuitláhuac’s estate at Chapultepec, where he would be unable to cause any further chaos or disruption. Perhaps it would have been better, Moctezuma reflected, if he had skinned Guatemoc alive as he’d originally intended. On the other hand it was a good policy – particularly with one’s own brother’s son – to show a little mercy.

  Besides, the damage had been minimal in the end. Moctezuma’s orders for his nephew’s arrest had reached Pichatzin in time, and the governor of Cuetlaxtlan had carried them out swiftly and released the captured tuele. Better still, this gesture by Moctezuma seemed to be paying off. Eight days ago the leader of the tueles had responded with a gesture of his own by releasing a group of calpixque tax collectors who had been seized in Cempoala and were about to be executed by the rebellious Totonacs. Whether the tueles’ leader was in fact Quetzalcoatl, or perhaps an avatar of Quetzalcoatl in human form, or just a man called Cortés as he cunningly claimed, remained unclear, as did his precise intentions. Yet the fact that he had freed the calpixque, and returned them to Tenochtitlan with messages of friendship, was undoubtedly a most auspicious sign.

  Less auspicious, indeed downright worrying – and this was the source of Moctezuma’s confusion – were other aspects of the tueles’ behaviour. They had been in a position to intervene over the calpixque because they had abandoned their camp on the dunes near Cuetlaxtlan and marched inland to Cempoala, and there, the spies reported, they had negotiated an alliance with that fat slug Tlacoch, paramount chief of the Totonacs – an alliance against Moctezuma himself! Moreover, they had then moved on to Huitztlan on the coast where, with the help of the Totonacs, they had begun to build a permanent town of their own.

  All this was unprecedented and alarming and called for immediate action. Yesterday, therefore, before leaving for Teotihuacan, Moctezuma had despatched an embassy to the tueles led by two of his younger cousins, Zuma and Izel by name, mere youths who were in awe of him and thus completely reliable. Their orders were to proceed to Huitztlan by forced march with a caravan of rich gifts for the tueles, ostensibly to thank them for their intervention in the matter of the tax collectors. They were to inform the leader of the tueles that his request for a meeting on the coast with Moctezuma could still not be granted since the Great Speaker was in ill health, and anyway too busy to leave Tenochtitlan; however, they were to add that the other request, namely that the tueles might come up to Tenochtitlan themselves and meet the Great Speaker there, was now viewed favourably, and that they would be provided with a laissez passer and even guides to facilitate their journey.

  The invitation, of course, was a trap. Should the tueles accept it, the guides would bring them by way of Cholula and there, as Hummingbird had promised, and as Acopol was already working his sorcery to ensure, they would be destroyed.

  With all that already set in motion, there was really nothing more to be done until Zuma and Izel returned with their report – nothing more to be done, that is, except burn two hundred victims for Tecuilhuitl and attempt, so far as possible, to enjoy the festival.

  So thinking, Moctezuma tugged softly at the curtain of his palanquin, opening a gap of no more than a finger-width, and peeped out. As he had thought from the growing din, his bearers had already brought him into the sacred precincts of Teotihuacan and were now advancing north along the Way of the Dead. The pyramid of the Sun towered ahead to his right, with the solar disk itself climbing the sky behind it. Midday, when he could begin to light the sacrificial fires, was little more than two hours away, but first – onerous duty – he was required to hand out gifts to the poor and dance – dance! – for them.

  * * *

  The ornate palanquin halted outside the pavilion set up to shade the royal party from the sun and Moctezuma was helped down. Teudile and Cuitláhuac had come out to greet him. After they had made their expressions of deference he took their arms and walked within.

  Tozi chose this moment to fade into invisibility. None of the people around her saw her disappear because all eyes were fixed on the ground in fear at the presence of the Great Speaker. Besides, no one had noticed her anyway – she was too small, too ordinary, too insignificant to stand out in such an immense crowd.

  The masses were kept a hundred paces back from the pavilion by an unbroken cordon of guards which Tozi, now as elusive and intangible as air, effortlessly slipped through. Momentary anxiety gripped her. Would the magical defence that Acopol had placed around Moctezuma, which had hurt her so badly and nearly exposed her the last time she tried to enter the palace, be in place here? She drifted into the recesses of the pavilion itself, coming closer and still closer to the Great Speaker, who reclined on a throne drinking red
pitaya juice chilled with ice from the high sierras.

  No sorcerous attack came. No stabs of pain. No aura of supernatural danger.

  Tozi was so close now she could have seized the goblet from Moctezuma’s slim brown fingers and dashed it to the ground, but she had other, graver plans for him and chose to bide her time.

  As each moment passed, she became more convinced that he was unprotected and at her mercy. Her confidence grew.

  * * *

  His confidence grew. He was relieved that no magical attack had been attempted on his person. Acopol’s warding spells were clearly so powerful that they protected him even here. Moctezuma yawned, licked his lips and handed the empty goblet to a retainer. The time was approaching when, as age-old tradition demanded, he must mingle with the public. Normally it was forbidden for any mere mortal to have contact with him, who was so close to the gods, but today, Tecuilhuitl, that taboo was lifted for the single hour before noon. Teudile stood ready with the basket of cacao beans and silver trinkets that the Great Speaker would distribute as gifts; after that was done, he must perform the ritualised slow-stepping dance of the star-demons in a special costume of green quetzal and red parrot feathers before the sacrifices could begin.

  Dismissing the little shadow of apprehension that lingered at the back of his mind, despite his attempts to reassure himself, Moctezuma stepped out into the sunlight and walked with dignified steps, Cuitláhuac at his right, Teudile at his left clutching the basket, across the boundary of cleared space that separated him from the masses. A hundred soldiers specially selected for their intimidating size had already surged forward into the crowd, opening a lane through which Moctezuma could pass and yes – ghastly thought! – the paupers would be permitted to reach between the guards to touch the Great Speaker’s garments, his hands, and even his gold-slippered feet. He shivered in disgust and progressed into the armed gauntlet. As he did so, complete silence fell. This was partly a matter of custom – silence had always been required at this moment – but it was partly, also, because the people pressing in all around were utterly, unspeakably terrified.