War God: Return of the Plumed Serpent

by Graham Hancock

  Malinal sat silently in the room while Cortés completed his dictation, and when Pepillo was gone and they were alone she asked: ‘What words “some harm” mean, Hernán? How many you kill?’

  Knowing she was still angered by his harsh treatment of the Tlascalan spies (would she have been happier if he’d executed them as they deserved?), he was tempted for a moment to be no more frank with her about the numbers than he had been with the king, but in the end he told her the truth. ‘We killed about three thousand of them,’ he said casually, ‘before I accepted their surrender.’

  ‘And if they no surrender, how many you kill then?’

  ‘Many got away, but we’d rounded up more than ten thousand. I would have killed them all.’

  ‘So this is your mercy they to tell Shikotenka? Cortés could have killed ten thousand but only killed three thousand?’

  He narrowed his eyes. ‘Yes. Do you have a problem with that?’

  She sighed: ‘When I came find you,’ she said, ‘I looking for god of peace; instead I found god of war.’

  ‘I am a man,’ he replied, ‘as you know better than anyone else. And in this land steeped in blood and violence, I cannot be other than a man of war.’

  He drew her to him. She was disappointed with him, he knew, but she did not resist.

  * * *

  The next day, Monday 6 September, despite the great things accomplished for God and the king in the past twenty-four hours, Cortés was disgusted to learn that De Grado’s faction was still agitating for an immediate return to Villa Rica and ultimately to Cuba. There were open murmurings amongst growing numbers of the men that their lot was no better, in fact worse, than that of pack horses, ‘Because when a beast has finished its day’s work,’ grumbled Guillen de Laso, ‘its saddle is taken off and it is given food and rest, but we carry our arms and wear our sandals both by night and by day.’

  Others complained incessantly about the scuttling of the ships, for the word was now generally out that their sinking had not been due to worms and rot but to holes drilled in their hulls on Cortés’s orders. To be sure one vessel was left at Villa Rica, but it was only a caravel that could barely carry sixty men to Cuba. ‘Neither the Romans, nor Alexander, nor any other famous captain,’ said De Grado, renewing his criticism of Cortés, ‘dared destroy their ships and attack vast populations and huge armies with so small a force as you have done. It’s as though you are preparing for your own death, Hernán, and that of all of us. I beg you, preserve us by leading us back to Villa Rica, where we are at least amongst allies and won’t suffer these unending attacks.’

  Others – small knots and coteries of men who had plainly lost their nerve – were less forthright than De Grado, but their whispered complaints were noted and reported to Cortés by Alvarado and other loyal friends, though he told them to take no action. Passing one of the huts in the early afternoon to inspect the guard, however, Cortés himself heard the mutter of a group of soldiers talking in lowered, conspiratorial voices, and when he paused to listen he clearly heard one of them say: ‘If our captain wants to make a fool of himself by going where he can’t return and getting himself killed, let him do it alone; we shall not follow him. If he wants to come with us, well and good, but if he doesn’t, let’s just abandon him.’

  Mutinous, ungrateful bastards, Cortés thought.

  He could feel it in the wind. If he failed to act soon, his ability to command the men would unravel, and all he had worked for, every gain he had won against overwhelming odds, would be lost forever.

  * * *

  Shikotenka sensed that all he had worked for – every gain he had won against overwhelming odds to secure the freedom and independence of Tlascala – was about to be lost forever. Despite the humiliations the white men had heaped on him time after time in every battle they had fought, he was convinced that if he did not falter, did not lose heart, did not give ground, he would ultimately defeat them. They, too, were growing weak and demoralised after days of continuous fighting but, unlike the Tlascalans, they had no reserves and few reinforcements to fall back on, except the men in the distant fort on the coast near Huitztlan, no lands teeming with crops and game to feed them, and no populace – with the exception of the Totonacs, who counted for little – to support them. With hindsight it had been a boastful, stupid mistake to give them food, but he would not repeat that error. All he had to do now was keep the pressure up a little longer, perhaps even just one more big push would do it, and he could wipe them from the face of the earth.

  The problem was that the mood of the Senate, never wholly in favour of the war, had turned decisively against him, and now his own father stood up, his wizened face set in a deep frown, to make the case for peace. ‘Friends and brothers,’ he began, ‘you have seen how often these tueles who are in our country expecting to be attacked have sent us messengers asking us to make peace and saying they have come to help us and adopt us as brothers. You well know that we have attacked them again and again with all our strength, both by day and night, and have failed to conquer them, and that during these attacks they have killed many of our people, our kinsmen, sons and captains, Now they are asking us for peace once more and the Totonacs who have come in their company say that they are the enemies of Moctezuma and his Mexica, and have commanded the towns of the Totonac hills and Cempoala itself to pay him no more tribute. You cannot forget that the Mexica make war on us every year, and you know that our country is so beleaguered that we dare not leave it to find salt, and therefore eat none. Nor can we look for cotton, and so we have little cotton cloth. If our people even go out to seek it, few return alive. Those treacherous Mexica and their allies kill them or make them slaves. Now all who have fought against the tueles – even you, my son,’ he said, looking directly at Shikotenka, ‘have spoken of their bravery and their great skill as soldiers. It therefore seems to me we should be friends with them, and whether they are men or tueles, we should make them welcome and join with them in their war against Moctezuma.’

  Shikotenka stood up. ‘Father,’ he said, ‘I hear your words, but these men you say we should befriend are the same men who cut off the hands of fifty of our bravest warriors—’

  ‘And those warriors,’ interrupted Maxixcatzin angrily, ‘were dressed as priests on your orders and entered the white men’s camp as spies. That was unwise of you. That was inviting retribution. That put them in harm’s way. We ourselves do not hesitate to execute the spies of other nations when we find them amongst us … ’

  ‘These men you say we should befriend,’ Shikotenka continued, ‘went at dawn to the town of Teocacingo and killed three thousand woman and children. Three thousand!’

  ‘They might have killed more,’ said Maxixcatzin. ‘The elders of Teocacingo themselves have come to us and said that when they begged mercy it was given to them and the killing stopped. They have offered themselves as vassals to the leader of the white men, who they believe wants peace. They urge us to do the same—’

  ‘In other words,’ spat Shikotenka, ‘they advise us to surrender our dignity and our honour and live like dogs rather than see our houses destroyed and our women and children killed.’

  ‘You are wrong!’ exclaimed his father. ‘Your pride prevents you from seeing the truth.’

  Shikotenka bowed: ‘Pray then tell me, honoured father, what is the truth?’

  ‘The truth is that thousands of our women and children – in numbers far greater than the white men have killed – are seized every year by the armies of Moctezuma for sacrifice on the altar of Hummingbird. The truth is that we live lives of constant oppression and terror, and must fight for our liberty every day of the year, draining our wealth and our blood to keep Moctezuma at bay. The truth is that peace and a military alliance with the white men offers us the chance, for the first time in our history, to defeat the Mexica and be rid of them for ever – and that, my son, will not be to live like dogs but rather to be a free people, a truly free people, as we have never been before.’
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  The debate went on throughout the day and far into the night as Shikotenka fought to convince the older chiefs of the appalling dangers that would follow from making peace with the white men and marching at their side against Moctezuma. No matter how attractive the prospect of defeating the Mexica might be, he believed that in the end Tlascala would only substitute a greater for a lesser evil, and that miseries such as the land had never before known would descend upon it and all its people. Far from the dawn of a new age of light and liberty that his father and Maxixcatzin foresaw, Shikotenka knew in his heart and his bones that the peace they sought would mark the start of an epoch of darkness and slavery in which the Tzitzimime, the monsters of twilight, would fall from the sky, bringing ruin in their wake.

  * * *

  Detailing Totonac auxiliaries to stand guard, Cortés called a muster of all his troops at 8 a.m. on Tuesday 7 September. They met out in the open in the courtyard of the fortified temple on the hill of Tzompach under a bright morning sky. Cortés had slept well and felt rested and refreshed. He told the men to be at their ease and sit down: he had something to say to them and would like them to listen well.

  ‘Gentlemen and friends,’ he began, ‘I chose you as my companions and you chose me as your captain, for the service of God and the increase of His Holy Faith, and also for the service of our king, and even for our own profit. I, as you have observed, have not failed or offended you; nor, indeed, have you done so to me, up to this point. Now, however, I sense a weakening among some of you, and little taste to finish this war we have on our hands, a war which – with the help of God – we have now concluded—’

  At this De Grado, who was truly asking for a good flogging, had the temerity to interrupt, saying there was no evidence whatsoever the war was concluded. True Shikotenka had not launched any assault yesterday, after the failure of his night attack, but this was most likely because the formidable Tlascalan leader was collecting his forces for another immense battle. ‘In my opinion,’ De Grado concluded, ‘we should not stay for that battle. Let us leave now, for Villa Rica, while our way is still uncontested. We can take shelter there amongst our allies the Totonacs, until we can all be brought safe back to Cuba.’ There was a murmur of support. Even Ordaz and Velázquez de Léon, whose rebellious spirits Cortés thought he had quashed for ever with the hanging of Juan Escudero, seemed to be edging to De Grado’s side, though they had not yet spoken out openly in his favour.

  ‘You are misinformed, Alonso,’ Cortés told De Grado. ‘If Shikotenka and his captains haven’t returned, I’d say it’s because they’re afraid to do so. We inflicted great losses on them in the last battles and they can’t reassemble their followers after such massive defeats. I trust in God and our advocate Saint Peter that the war in this province is indeed over, but even if I’m wrong and we must fight the Tlascalans again, it would still be an error – a fatal error, I say – to retreat as you advise. Do you imagine if we turn back now we’ll be allowed to disport ourselves in idleness and sloth amongst the Totonacs while we wait for sufficient ships to come out from Cuba to bring us all to safety? Far from it! I tell you, Alonso, if our allies who at present hold us to be gods and idols were to see us return to their lands too faint-hearted to visit Tenochtitlan, they would consider us cowards and weaklings and would rise up against us too. Since we told them to pay no more tribute to Moctezuma, they would expect him to send his Mexica armies not only to extort the tribute and make war on them, but also to compel them to attack us – which, in order to avoid destruction and out of their great fear of the Mexica, they would certainly do. So where you expect friends, I say we will find enemies. And what would the great Moctezuma say on hearing we had retreated? That our whole expedition was a childish joke? What would he think of our speeches and messages to him? So, gentlemen, if one course is bad, the other is worse, and I say it is better to press on to Tlascala and thence to Tenochtitlan, overcoming all obstacles with the help of Saint Peter who gives us the strength of many. It is clearly true that wars destroy men and horses, and that we only sometimes eat well – I don’t deny it! We didn’t come here to take our ease, however, but to fight when the opportunity offers. Therefore I pray you, gentlemen, kindly behave like gentlemen. From now on, keep the island of Cuba and what you’ve left there out of your thoughts and try to act, as you have done hitherto, like brave soldiers … ’

  Cortés paused to let what he had said sink in; in the silence Bernal Díaz – a good man, one of the best! – raised his voice. ‘Captain, don’t trouble yourself a moment longer with the idle chatter of doubters and fault-finders.’ He glared pointedly at De Grado, who shuffled uncomfortably. ‘Don’t listen to their tales! I speak for the majority, brave and loyal soldiers all, and with God’s help we’re ready to act together to do what’s right.’

  ‘Thank you, Bernal,’ said Cortés, meaning it, and a ragged cheer followed, quickly spreading through the crowd in the courtyard, gaining strength and volume. ‘Thank you all.’ He looked round and, as the cheering subsided, he drove home his advantage. ‘From here to Tenochtitlan, where resides Moctezuma, of whose great riches and possessions you have heard tell, is less than a hundred miles – ’ another cheer – ‘and most of our journey thither is behind us, as you know. If we arrive there, as I trust in Our Lord God we shall, not only shall we win for our emperor and our king a country naturally rich, but a vast domain and infinite vassals, and for ourselves great wealth in gold, silver, precious stones, pearls and other jewels.’

  Cortés paused again. The men were lapping it up now, daydreaming of treasure. ‘All that aside,’ he continued, ‘we shall win the greatest honour and glory that were ever won up to this time, not only by our own nation but by any other. The greater the king we seek, the wider the land, the more numerous the enemy, so much the greater will be our glory – “the more the Moors, the greater the spoils”, as the old saying has it. Besides, we are obliged to exalt and increase our Holy Catholic Faith, which we undertook to do like good Christians, uprooting idolatry, that great blasphemy to our God, and abolishing the abomination of human sacrifice and the eating of human flesh – ’ a glance at Malinal – ‘which is so contrary to nature and yet so common here.’

  Once more Cortés’s eyes ranged across the men. ‘So then have no fear,’ he concluded, ‘and do not doubt our victory. You vanquished the Maya at Potonchan, and in these last days you vanquished a hundred thousand Tlascalans, who are reputed to be fire-eaters. With the help of God, and your own strength, you will also vanquish the remaining Tlascalans, who cannot be many, as well as the Mexica, who are no better than they, if you will be strong and follow me.’

  As another cheer rang out, the dogs began to bark and howl; one or two of them at first, but soon the whole pack.

  Up on the fortified walls of the compound, the Totonac auxiliaries were pointing out towards the plain, jabbering fearfully amongst themselves.

  Then the Spaniards in the courtyard began to hear what the dogs had heard, carried far on the clear mountain air – the steady tramp, tramp, tramp of marching feet. As one man, they rushed to the barricades to see the whole vast army of Tlascala on the move towards them, bright with its plumes and banners, bold with its standards and weapons, not decimated in the fighting, but somehow reinforced to its original strength, a hundred thousand men painted for war, ready for battle and less than a mile away.

  ‘Artillery!’ Cortés shouted. ‘Artillery!’ But Mesa was already racing his gun crews into position, spinning the cranks under the huge barrels of the lombards.

  De Grado sidled up to Cortés and shaded his eyes, looking out at the numberless ranks of approaching warriors. ‘Vanquished these fire-eaters, have we?’ he sneered.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Tuesday 7 September 1519

  The guard’s cruel eyes and harsh face brooked no compromise. ‘You go this way,’ he barked at the child as he wrestled her from her mother’s arms. The mother resisted, tried to snatch her daughter back. ‘And you
go that way,’ snarled the guard. He gave the woman a shove, sending her stumbling, and followed up with a kick to her buttocks that stretched her out face down on the ground.

  They were at the edge of a crowd of at least two hundred women and girls amongst which many other guards, some of them women themselves, were also at work, separating children and young teenagers from their elders. Shielded by invisibility, harder to catch than the morning air, Tozi had been amongst them for an hour, watching and listening, trying to work out what it was all about. The crude categories of separation that were being applied were intended to put virgins on one side and sexually active women on the other. Further investigation of the members of both groups was then carried out, and finally those confirmed to be virgins – the great majority being children under twelve years of age – were led off across the plaza to the women’s fattening pen. During the seven hellish months that Tozi had spent in the same pen, it had contained females of all ages and sexual status, but now it was filled exclusively with young, virgin girls.

  Nor was it the only pen re-dedicated to this very specific purpose. Tozi had acquired a further alarming piece of information in the past hour: two of the four pens on the other side of the plaza, which had previously held only male prisoners, had been emptied of their former inmates and now also housed young girls. Adding all three together, she estimated close to six thousand virgins must presently be imprisoned, and awaiting sacrifice, around the plaza.

  The child who had just been separated from her mother looked to be about eight years old. She had a sweet, innocent, serious face. ‘No!’ her mother screamed as they were forced further apart. ‘No! She can’t care for herself. She’s simple. She needs me! For pity’s sake let me stay with her.’ But the guards were pitiless and the mother was beaten again and dragged away still crying out, ‘No! No! Miahuatl. Oh Miahuatl.’