War God: Return of the Plumed Serpent

by Graham Hancock

  After the unexpected capitulation of Shikotenka and all Tlascalan forces on Tuesday 7 September, the Spaniards stayed in their camp at the hill of Tzompach for a further week, amply provided with food and other needed supplies from nearby towns and villages. Doctor La Peña had much work to do with the injured and the sick; almost all the horses required attention too, and all the weapons, particularly the guns, had to be cleaned and made good. Last but not least, Cortés wanted to be sure the peace was genuine and not some clever entrapment, so it was not until Wednesday 15 September that he put his soldiers on the march again. They proceeded at a leisurely pace, taking two days to cover the eighteen miles to Tlascala, and arrived in the capital around noon on Thursday 16 September.

  Pepillo took delight in the noisy, festive exuberance of the occasion; the road into the city was lined on both sides for more than two miles by townsfolk who had come out to welcome them. They blew conches and trumpets, scattered bright flowers from baskets, shouted cheerfully and showed every appearance of joy, their faces wreathed with smiles, despite the cruel nature of the war so recently fought. Because their enemies the Mexica exercised a monopoly on cotton, Malinal explained, these Tlascalans were dressed in costumes of maguey fibre, rather rough but nonetheless magnificently embroidered and decorated. And, as well as ordinary citizens of all ages, there were also many priests, some wearing robes of black feathers, others white surplices with cowls resembling those of Mercedarian friars. Like all priests everywhere in the New Lands, they were filthy and a stink of rotting meat hung about them; their hair was so tangled and matted with blood it could not have been combed without first being cut, and their ears were torn by frequent acts of self-mutilation. Pepillo could also not help but notice their long twisted fingernails that gave them the appearance of wizards from some gruesome fairy tale. But they carried braziers filled with live coals and incense, from which they wafted clouds of sweet-smelling smoke, bowing their heads in humility to the Spanish soldiers as they passed.

  Advancing ever deeper into the populous city, the thatched buildings of wattle and adobe became grander, many boasting flat roofs, crowded with spectators eager to catch a glimpse of the fabled strangers. Finally, on the approach to the centre, mighty stone temples appeared, painted in rich colours of red, blue and ivory, surrounding a giant pyramid on top of which stood a tower with a high conical roof, like a minaret, covered in gold leaf. The presence of gold caused much excitement amongst the Spaniards. Later that same day, as Cortés dictated further sections of his letter to King Carlos, he described Tlascala with its temples as larger, finer and more beautiful than Granada, which Spain had won back from the Moors less than thirty years before, and which Pepillo knew was renowned for its splendour and the glory of its religious buildings.

  In the broad square in front of the great pyramid, with its lofty tower, framed in the distance by ranges of green mountains, Captain Shikotenka stood waiting, flanked by two old men of noble bearing – his own father, Shikotenka the Elder, and the revered chieftain Maxixcatzin. They moved forward to greet Cortés as he dismounted, each one of them gravely embracing him and telling him, ‘You are our brother now.’ Then they led him to his quarters, close to the pyramid, where a number of very pretty houses and palaces, sufficient to lodge the entire Spanish force, had been prepared and decked with flowers. A tremendous banquet was offered in the open square, where the conquistadors and their Totonac auxiliaries were sumptuously fed on turkeys, maize cakes and fruits. Even the war dogs and the horses, Pepillo noted with amusement, were offered their share of the bread and flesh.

  * * *

  The first friction between the Spaniards and their hosts came two days later, Saturday 18 September, when Cortés made a tour of the city. He was guided by Shikotenka, with Malinal, Father Olmedo, Alvarado, Sandoval, Davila and a number of the other captains at their side, and Pepillo tagging along to take notes. While they were viewing the temples near the pyramid, Bernal Díaz came running up, a little out of breath, and informed Cortés of a discovery made by some of his men. Not far away in a walled compound, areas of which were visible from the street, it seemed a large number of captives were being held for human sacrifice. ‘Is this true?’ Cortés asked Shikotenka and, with some reluctance, the Tlascalan leader agreed that it was.

  Cortés’s face clouded over. ‘Take me to see these captives,’ he demanded.

  ‘It is not permitted,’ objected Shikotenka.

  ‘You are a vassal now of the king of Spain,’ Cortés insisted, ‘and you have given me your surrender. Everything is permitted to me. I want to see these captives.’

  Again reluctantly, after much argument and explanation, Shikotenka led the way into a dark warren of narrow streets lying to the south of the main square, and through the gates into a walled courtyard where hundreds of prisoners – men, women and children – hunched miserably in stout bamboo cages.

  Pepillo felt shame at the massacres and atrocities he knew Cortés had committed during the war, but he was proud of what his master did next, for though it seemed to threaten the very fabric of the hard-won peace, the caudillo insisted that all the captives be freed at once and that Shikotenka should, on the spot, swear an oath in the name of his people that Tlascala would never again practise human sacrifice. Not only that, but Cortés seized the occasion to demand an immediate renunciation by the Tlascalans of all other aspects of their heathen religion, most notably their worship of idols, all of which must forthwith be smashed, followed by a full and complete conversion of the entire population to Christianity. If they failed to do so, they were bound to burn in hell, and Cortés did not see how he could maintain an alliance with such doomed sinners.

  A huge argument ensued, Tlascalan warriors, gesticulating and shouting, began to crowd into the courtyard, many armed with native broadswords and spears; Alvarado and the other captains drew their own weapons. Díaz, who Cortés had sent off to bring reinforcements, returned – not a moment too soon in Pepillo’s opinion – with two hundred Spaniards. At this point Shikotenka the Elder, Maxixcatzin and other Tlascalan chiefs also arrived and fell into urgent conference with the younger Shikotenka, while Pepillo overheard Father Olmedo urging Cortés: ‘Wait, Hernán. This is not the way. I don’t want you to make Christians by force. There’s no use in overturning an altar if the idol remains in the heart. Give them time, lead them by example, and soon enough they’ll feel the weight of our admonitions. Besides,’ the friar added, raising a wry eyebrow, ‘if you go on like this, the whole populace will rise in protest and then where will we be?’

  After much more debate and rattling of swords, a compromise was reached that seemed to satisfy all parties. Shikotenka ordered the freeing of the captives, ‘Even though,’ he said, ‘many of them are Mexica and we will see them again on the battlefield.’ He also promised the matter of human sacrifices would be discussed at the next meeting of the Senate, the supreme ruling body to which even he and his father, as Tlascala’s elected kings, must defer. Cortés, for his part, agreed not to interfere with any other aspects of Tlascalan religion, to throw down no idols and to leave the temples and the worshippers within them alone. He begged of Shikotenka, and was granted, one small temple that would be cleaned and whitewashed forthwith for use by the Spaniards as a church.

  Pepillo was relieved that the day had ended well and the next morning, Sunday 19 September, the first mass was heard by Father Olmedo in the newly dedicated church in which Cortés had installed a large cross and a statue and several paintings of the Virgin Mary. It was noted by all that Maxixcatzin attended the service and afterwards asked, through Malinal, for an explanation of Christian beliefs, which Olmedo was pleased to provide.

  By the following Sunday, 26 September, the Spaniards were granted the further right to hold open-air services in one of the town’s many squares, where public masses were thereafter celebrated daily for the army in the presence of growing crowds of Tlascalans.

  * * *

  Tozi had been badly shake
n when the war god had revealed himself to her as she’d spied on Moctezuma’s vision but, seventeen days later, after many more secret visits to the palace, she knew that she could delay no longer and must proceed to Cholula at once. The final impetus had come that morning when she’d witnessed a meeting between Moctezuma and Teudile, at which the Speaker had sent his steward on his way to Tlascala at the head of a delegation bearing rich gifts and promises for the tueles.

  The whole thing was a plot, a trick, a subterfuge! To persuade the tueles to travel to Cholula, Teudile was to tell them three things, all plausible, all seductive.

  First – a sojourn in Cholula would allow trust to build between Moctezuma and the leader of the tueles who, as Huicton had said, had adopted the human name Cortés. Only once this trust was established would the tueles be allowed to proceed to Tenochtitlan.

  Second – Cholula was the sacred city of Quetzalcoatl, whom Moctezuma believed Cortés to be. If Cortés were to refuse to visit Cholula, why then Moctezuma must needs doubt Cortés’s identity as the avatar Quetzalcoatl. And if he was not the human manifestation of the Plumed Serpent, but a mere foreigner – and perhaps one with wicked intent – then why should Moctezuma allow him to move a step closer to Tenochtitlan?

  Finally – if the tueles did go to Cholula, thus confirming the identification between Cortés and Quetzalcoatl and allowing trust to be built, then Moctezuma would willingly open the road to Tenochtitlan for them and, more than that, he would agree to become their vassal.

  Tozi was convinced that such an offer, unheard of in the history of the Mexica, would surely lure the tueles into advancing their plan to visit Cholula, and if it did then truly, despite the terrible fear that held her back and had caused her to drag her feet shamefully, there was no time to lose. That fear, which she held deep in her heart and had hidden even from Huicton since she’d past his ‘tests’ with the warding spells, was simply and plainly that she was not yet ready – perhaps she would never be ready – to engage in magical combat with Acopol. Now, however, she resigned herself to her duty. The Huichol prophecy had named her as a protector of children, and the thousands in the fattening pens would be left defenceless if the tattooed sorcerer was not stopped.

  She would stop him if she could, even if it meant she must lose her life. And because she believed that she would lose her life, and felt her doom swarming towards her like some unstoppable army, Tozi resolved to see Guatemoc one last time, despite the hatred she knew he harboured for the tueles, and to reveal herself to him before taking the road to Cholula.

  That was why, as evening fell, after saying her farewells to Huicton without telling him what was in her mind, she gathered the clothes she would need, mingled with the crowds going back and forth across the Tacuba causeway, and made her way out to Cuitláhuac’s Chapultepec estate, where Guatemoc remained a house prisoner. She would reveal herself to the prince, she decided, and she would make love to him if he would have her, because never before had she known a man in that way and it would be sad to depart this world for the next without having done so. Besides, if it were permissible for Malinal to become the lover of the tuele leader, then surely it was permissible for Tozi to surrender her virginity to the noblest warrior of the Mexica?

  For many hours she waited invisibly within the mansion for Guatemoc to be alone and finally, after midnight, she followed him up to his chamber. There she waited again – for the handsome prince stood for a long while gazing up at the waxing moon riding high in the heavens – and finally, as he removed his clothing and stepped naked towards his bed, she materialised by his side. She had taken the precaution of wearing the finery and make-up of the goddess Temaz in which he had seen her before, but even so her sudden appearance startled him and he took a step back in surprise, then instantly dropped to one knee before her. ‘My Lady,’ he said, his head bowed. ‘It has been many months since you graced me with your presence. I am honoured that you choose to visit me now.’

  She reached out a hand and raised him, aware that she was trembling as he towered over her. ‘Prince Guatemoc,’ she said, ‘in the next days I may die and, since I love you well, and may not see you again, it is right that I tell you the truth.’

  ‘You cannot die!’ he replied. ‘You are a goddess.’

  ‘I am no goddess, my prince! I am a simple girl blessed, or perchance cursed, with certain gifts. But know this, should you to attempt to detain me now, or in any way betray the trust I place in you, I shall vanish without a trace as suddenly as I appeared.’

  The prince looked down at her, his eyes wide. ‘I will not detain you, lady! I will not betray your trust! You have my word of honour on this for, whatever you are, or may be, I know with certainty you saved me from poisoning at the hands of Moctezuma and healed me from the grievous battle wounds I suffered. These great debts that I owe you would be ill repaid if I were to seek to do you harm now!’

  ‘Would you still feel that way,’ Tozi asked, her heart suddenly thudding, ‘if I told you I am a witch.’

  ‘A witch?’

  ‘Yes, my prince, a witch. A witch who can render herself invisible. A witch with the gift of healing.’ Tozi was preternaturally aware of the virility of the man who stood over her, of his handsome face, of his scarred and muscled body, of his big, heavy tepulli hanging between his legs, and of the power and charisma he radiated.

  ‘A witch?’ he repeated. ‘Such a revelation would not change my feelings towards you at all, my lady, for I have long suspected it.’ He grinned suddenly: ‘Tell me, are you that witch who’s been driving my wicked uncle mad?’

  ‘I have done Moctezuma harm at every possible opportunity,’ Tozi admitted.

  Guatemoc’s grin widened. ‘It was you, then, who shamed him at Teotihuacan?’

  ‘It was me,’ Tozi allowed.

  ‘Then I love you even more than I did before,’ laughed Guatemoc, ‘and my debt of gratitude to you is all the greater for every bit of distress you’ve caused that evil fool!’ He reached out to her, wrapped his arms around her and held her close. She could feel his tepulli growing but then he stepped away, his features suddenly serious in the moonlight. ‘I hope,’ he said, ‘that you’ve not come here to try to talk me into making war against the lord Hummingbird as you did once before, for if that’s the case, my answer has not changed.’

  ‘No,’ Tozi said. ‘I’ve not come here to ask you to make war. I’ve come here to ask you to make love to me.’

  * * *

  The sorcerer Acopol descended the long northern stairway of the great pyramid of Cholula with an easy, loping stride, the stride of a powerful animal, a predator, a killer.

  Two nights had passed since Tozi had allowed Guatemoc to take her to his bed and her loins still ached at the memory. But, after leaving his quarters at Chapultepec before dawn the next morning, she’d rid herself of the finery of Temaz, put back on her beggars’ rags and struck out at a fast pace on the road to Cholula.

  She’d arrived here in the night and had already confirmed that extensive preparations were being made in the city for an expected visit by the white-skinned strangers who everyone thought must be tueles, perhaps even the companions of Quetzalcoatl himself, the god of peace to whom the great pyramid of Cholula had been dedicated in a former epoch of the earth. The preparations, however, were not friendly, as might be expected in Quetzalcoatl’s own city, but hostile, with camouflaged pits dug in the streets to trap the strange deer on the backs of which the tueles were said to ride, and heaps of stones stockpiled on the flat rooftops to hurl down on them as they passed by.

  Moreover, as Huicton had rightly informed her, an altar to Hummingbird had been raised on the towering summit of the pyramid, and there it had been her painful duty that morning to watch the tattooed sorcerer Acopol perform the loathsome ceremony of human sacrifice, taking the hearts of twenty young men and holding the dripping organs up to the rising sun. Such a thing had never happened in Cholula since time began, and Tozi understood in the depths of her bein
g that what was being nourished by these acts was black magic of the worst kind – a shocking and corrupt inversion of everything Quetzalcoatl stood for, everything he represented, so that when the tueles came they could not draw on his power.

  Reaching the bottom of the steps, Acopol turned right across the sacred plaza towards the palace of Tlaqui and Tlalchi, twin rulers of Cholula. The sorcerer’s route, Tozi saw with alarm, would take him within a few paces of the corner where she sat on her begging mat beneath the overhanging roofs of two small temples.

  He wore only a loincloth but, as she remembered so vividly from their last encounter, his entire body from his feet to his shaved head was covered in such a dense web of swirling interwoven tattoos that he seemed to be almost entirely black, black as a jaguar in the depths of the jungle – the creature she had seen him transform into that night in the courtyard of Moctezuma’s palace. Behind him, in their filthy robes, followed the four priests of Hummingbird, who had assisted him with the morning’s sacrifices, while the crowds of pilgrims paying their devotions in the sacred precinct shrank back.