Captain from Castile

by Samuel Shellabarger; Internet Archive

  "As I look back, my lord, it was four evenings ago, on the day when Vuestra Senoria broke down the great idol on the teocalli."

  "And since then he has had many parleys with his priests, eh? I told you at all costs to find a means of overhearing them."

  "I did my best," Orteguilla flushed; "but the council room is large; I had no hiding place, and the Senor Montezuma's guards kept me from the doors."

  "Well," observed Cortes, who rarely spent time on regrets, "I doubt if your overhearing them would have helped much."

  He greeted the several officers as they came up: Alvarado, florid and magnificent as always, the hawklike de Olid; bowlegged Luis Marin with his red beard and pockmarks. Last of all. Dona Marina joined them.

  Cortes gave her a slight bow. "Now that we have our 'tongue,' we can wait on His heathen Majesty, sirs. . . . Orteguilla, come with us. And note well: if at any time I should hook my thumb into my belt— so—you will slip out of the council room and report to Captain Andres de Tapia, captain of the watch, with my orders that all our company stand to arms."

  Then, leading the way with Dona Marina, he turned toward the large central building of the compound, which served as Montezuma's residence.

  Between two one-story wings, a flight of steps mounted to a terrace upon which the numerous apartments and patios of the Indian Emperor, his wives, and his suite, were located. Beneath the square, massive entrance to them, a Spanish sentinel stood guard; but beyond the threshold Cortes and his officers entered an Aztec world. Here the air was heavy with the smell of copal incense and flowers; here the dignitaries of the court or feudal chiefs in gaudy, varicolored garments, and wearing jade or turquoise or metal ornaments, came and went; messengers from the fringes of the Aztec jurisdiction arrived with reports; tributary caciques waited to do homage; officers from distant garrisons in their green military plumes received orders; black-gowned priests bore messages from the gods. For if Montezuma actually was the prisoner of the Spaniards, if he could leave the palace of his father only under Spanish guard, in face-saving fiction he chose to live among the white teules as a friend; and in fact he remained the despotic War Chief and supreme priest of Anahuac, the focal administrative center through which Cortes, master-puppeteer, could conveniently manipulate his strings.

  Conducted by several Aztec noblemen, acting as ushers, the little alien group of white men and Dofia Marina followed the length of the vast low-ceilinged apartment, while the throng of native courtiers drew back on either side. But the admiring curiosity of several months ago was gone. The cavaliers walked between sullen defiant walls. If they carried themselves proudly, they did not excel the bystanders in that respect. It was stare for stare, pride for pride.

  "By gad. Captain Marin," said Pedro, letting his half-smile flick down the line of faces, "these dogs are in sore need of physic. Have you ever seen a more bilious pack? What dose would you prescribe?"

  "Iron," laughed Marin from the corner of his mouth, "iron in the liver."

  "Given externally, eh?"

  But at that instant Pedro's smile faded and his glance sharpened. That tall, high-nosed fellow several yards down the line with a turquoise in his lower lip and a plug of gold in one nostril looked startlingly familiar. He wore a nodding panache of quetzal plumes, the sign of high rank, and a gorgeous featherwork corslet. But however transformed and embellished, if he was not Coatl, Diego de Silva's escaped servant, then Pedro could not trust his eyes about anyone.

  Before he could catch himself, he half-raised his hand and exclaimed, "Hola, Coatl!" But though the dark eyes rested on his for a moment,

  there was no sign of recognition. The man stared, then turned away.

  "Friend of yours?" Marin grinned.

  "I thought I knew him," Pedro muttered, "but after all, these Indians are as much alike as peas in a pod."

  The apartment opened upon a smaller apartment, where the cavaliers waited while the ushers drew coarse henequen cloaks over their finery and slipped off their sandals in order to enter Montezuma's presence abject and barefooted. Then, with eyes on the ground and bowed shoulders, they led the way through an opposite door into the council hall beyond.

  Montezuma, the Uei Tlatoani, "he who speaks," ruler of Mexico and of the conquered provinces, sat on a low, high-backed throne at the end of the room facing the entrance. He was a slight, though well-proportioned, man of forty with a sparse beard and shoulder-long black hair. A gold crown, shaped in front like a miniature mitre, and jade earrings marked his rank, though otherwise he dressed simply. Instead of the characteristic Indian features, heavy and immobile, he had a curiously expressive face, kindly but grave and in every mood noble.

  Living in the midst of them, he was familiar to all the Spanish garrison. On his side, he knew many of his captors by name and had won their affection by his generosity, tact, and princely ways. They thought and spoke of him as the Great Montezuma.

  Only a few—among them Cortes and Pedro de Vargas—did not share the general regard for him. He seemed too supple, too courteous and obliging. They mistrusted his gifts and his kind speeches, considered him either feeble or false. They felt the unbridgeable chasm between their minds and his. Not all the gold he showered on them personally, not even his oath of allegiance to the King of Spain nor the treasure he had collected as tribute, atoned for the death of Juan de Escalante and the murder of several Spaniards near Villa Rica by his orders. They suspected him constantly of plot and double-dealing, unable to understand that right or wrong in the Spanish sense had no meaning for Montezuma at all. To this smaller group, he seemed only a smooth, unpredictable savage.

  But today his friends and detractors alike, among the handful of officers who approached him across the matted floor of the great room, felt at once a change. The usual smile did not greet them. He sat motionless, almost statue-like, his hands on the golden-wrought arms of the throne. When the obsequious ushers had faded out, he rose

  and returned Cortes's bow with little better than a nod; then coldly waved him toward a chair, leaving, contrary to wont, the other cavaliers standing casque on arm. His dark eyes looked as cool and impenetrable as agates.

  After Dona Marina had taken her place behind Cortes, he began speaking in a measured, impersonal voice, pausing now and then to give the interpreter time to translate. The lion resonance of his tones alternated with Marina's gentle, unready Spanish.

  "Malinche," he said, fixing his opaque glance on Cortes, "men fight for various things, for land and possessions or fame or to defend their hearths. But men fight best and are happiest to die for what has no price—for the love and defense of their gods."

  He stopped, and Marina's voice took up the tale like a plaintive echo. When she had finished, Cortes nodded. On the point of religious zeal, Spaniard and Aztec agreed perfectly.

  "Malinche," the Uei Tlatoani continued, "you and those with you are of the kindred of the sun. You came from beyond the sea, fulfilling prophecies that concerned the god, Quetzalcoatl. Portents foretold your coming. Who was I to resist the messengers of the gods? Though you were but few (so few that one of my houses alone contains you) and I can call to arms a thousand warriors for every one of yours, have I raised a finger against you? Though my people grieved, accusing me of weakness and cowardice, have I heeded their murmurs? When you required that I and my chiefs, chosen leaders of our nation, should accept your king, Don Carlos, as lord, did we refuse, even though we have never seen him? When you demanded tribute for this king, did I not provide you with such store of gold and jewels as no man has hitherto beheld—yes, not only the wealth of our land and cities, but the very treasure of Axayacatl, my father? Are not these things true, Malinche?"

  Again Cortes nodded, adding a wave of the hand that expressed gratitude, but not too much gratitude. It implied that, after all, Montezuma had acted properly under the circumstances, and that to have behaved otherwise would have been unworthy of him.

  Shifting from foot to foot, Pedro de Vargas wondered what th
e Indian emperor was getting at. To his youthful assurance, it was clear that if Montezuma's compliance had not been forthcoming, it would have been exacted by the right of conquest—an unquestioned right. His attention drifted to the rich ornamentation of the throne, to the marble-lined walls of the council-chamber, to the precious wood forming the low ceiling. In what luxury the unchristened dog lived!

  Montezuma was saying: "Why have I done these things? From covardice? My fame as a war chief does not point to that. Why then? Because ever, during my whole Hfe, I have had but one end—to serve and please the gods; because it seemed their will, in omens and portents, that you should be accepted and favored. That you spoke of other gods than ours did not trouble me, for there are many gods, and often one is known by different names. That you cast down from their temples the gods of the Mayans and Totonacs did not concern us, for they were not our gods. When you besought me that you might be allowed to set up an altar to your own Lord here in this palace, I did not object. "When you forbade the sacrifice of slaves and prisoners, thus depriving the Heavenly Ones of human blood and us of consecrated meat, I was still patient. Though day by day you yourselves eat the flesh of your Man God at what you call the mass, it might be that you were right and we were wrong; and as to this the Heavenly Ones were silent. But still it was not enough: you demanded more."

  He clenched his swarthy fist on the arm of the throne, then relaxed it, studying Cortes's inscrutable face, as Marina interpreted.

  Glancing sideways, Pedro saw Luis Marin impatiently gnawing the comer of his red mustache. Alvarado lifted a jeweled hand in front of his mouth to hide a yawn. Olid's eyes showed a yellow glint as they rested on Montezuma's crown.

  It did not occur to any of them that the Aztec leader might have a grain of right and justice on his side. Such tolerance was unknown. Convinced that the Indian gods were devils, it took self-control on the part of the Spaniards to listen to such babble.

  "Indeed," Montezuma went on, "your priest, Olmedo, spoke truth when he related to me what he calls The Commandments, one of which says that your god is a jealous god. It was not enough that at last I permitted you to place the Woman and Child in one of the temples of our chief teocalli. You must lay your hands upon our Lord Huitzilopochtli himself! You must abase and tread him underfoot! You must tear out the heart of our people—you who deny us the right of sacrifice—in order to lay that heart at the feet of your teules! Well, then, at last the gods have spoken."

  This time Marina's translation was hardly necessary. The eyes of the cavaliers were fixed intently on Montezuma before she began to speak. They saw a new man, no longer the meek and pliant figurehead who had curried favor with them, who had supinely performed their bidding —very different from the Montezuma they had seen in tears that day when Cortes loaded him with irons to teach him a lesson, while the

  murderers of Escalante burned alive in the courtyard outside. The dog seemed transfigured with a new strength, purposeful, menacing,

  "Ah!" returned Cortes blandly. "Ask him what the gods said. To whom did they speak?"

  The question was only half-ironic. The General's companions did not find it ironic at all. They had no doubt that Satan communicated with his ministers.

  Montezuma leaned forward. "To whom else should they speak but to the holy men, the chief priests of the Tenochcas?" Then, bowing his head reverently, he added: "Thus speak the gods of the Tenochcas, the Lord Huitzilopochtli, God of War, the Lord Tlaloc, God of Rain, the Lord Xipe, God of Spring, and all the other gods of my people: 'Lo, we have made the Tenochcas mighty upon earth: we have filled their granaries with food, their treasuries with tribute. We have given them victory in war and dominion over many peoples. An age long we have shielded and fostered them, while they served us and fed our nostrils with the smoke of sacrifice. But now they have turned aside; now they starve our altars; now they leave our images to be overthrown and destroyed. So, therefore, Tenochcas, hear our words. We are departing from you. You are no more our children but helpless slaves. Drought shall fall upon you and pestilence and war, you shall perish miserably from the earth. Except now, unless it be too late, you turn again to us, lay hands upon the evildoers from beyond the world, these white pretenders who are not teules, stretch them upon our altars, pour out their blood to us in sacrifice. Behold, we, the gods, have spoken it.' "

  Marina's gentle voice sounded hurried and tense; her hands tightened on the back of Cortes's chair. The Spanish officers stood like alert statues. Only Cortes seemed unconcerned. He crossed his legs and leaned back in his chair. But Pedro de Vargas noticed that the page, Orteguilla, suddenly withdrew, and looking again he saw that Cortes had hooked his thumb into his sword belt.

  "Seiior Montezuma," he answered with a smile of indulgence, "you are mistaken. If I were you, I would let this brood of devils depart, and a murrain seize them! I would even hasten their going by toppling down every one of their filthy images. Do this and, on my honor, all will be well with you. Our Lord will provide the Tenochcas with plentiful harvests; He will protect them from sickness; my friends and I will shield them in war. Have done with worshiping idols, my lord, as I have told you before, and embrace the Cross. That is my advice."

  If a gadfly had stung the Uei Tlatoani, its effect on him could not have been so marked as this speech. Even to the Spaniards, it seemed

  reckless. It was plainly no time to be talking conversion. But with regard to the Faith, Cortes, a diplomat in every other respect, never compromised; he took direct methods.

  Montezuma half-rose, his eyes blazing, a flash of teeth between his lips. But he did not entirely rise, and an instant later he sank back. Something more potent even than his fanaticism checked and daunted him, as a beast is daunted by its tamer. He might be brave, sincere, and filled with religious zeal, but his stone-age self could not cope with the thrust of Cortes's personality. The primitive in him knuckled under to the more highly evolved man. For a moment he tried to meet the Spaniard's steady gaze, then his eyes fell.

  "But why," Cortes went on, "if you wish to sacrifice us to the devil, do you warn us of it? Surprise would have been better. . . . Listen."

  The clear, galloping notes of a Spanish trumpet were sounding in the courtyard. Then, one by one, other trumpets here and there took up the call. A prolonged shiver of steel throughout the compound answered.

  After a pause, Cortes asked again, "Why warn us?"

  Why indeed? A desire for once to abash these masterful white men? A desire for once to speak as a king, expressing the accumulated grievances of the past six months? Or was the reason which Montezuma proceeded to give the right one? His black, reptilian eyes showed nothing.

  "Because I have no wish to kill you, Malinche. Because we have been friends."

  "Judas!" someone muttered. "False rogue!"

  Perhaps the words were louder than the speaker intended. Montezuma looked up.

  "I would save you, Malinche," he went on to Cortes. "Leave this country at once; return to your land beyond the sea, and I will hold my people in check. Perhaps the gods will be appeased by other sacrifices. But leave at once."

  Plainly Montezuma was temporizing. It was probable that the noise from outside had impressed him.

  To his companions' astonishment, Cortes nodded. "At your command, my lord. Our mission has been accomplished. We have visited Your Highness, as our King commanded, and have secured your allegiance. We will return to him, bearing the tribute. But we have no ships, as you know, and others must be built. This will take time. Meanwhile, restrain your people—for their sakes, not ours. I should regret to harm them, but if they stir against us, I shall destroy them, man, woman, and child."

  Cortes was a consummate actor. He spoke with an assurance that carried conviction and left Montezuma nonplused. The white men were capable of anything.

  "I shall send workmen to help with the ships," agreed the Indian. "I shall do my best to quiet my people." Somehow the ultimatum of the gods had gone flat.

  "Your b
est will not be good enough," Cortes answered, making the most of his ascendancy, "if there is trouble. See to it." He got up and took a step forward, menacing as a drawn crossbow. "I shall regret to leave Tenochtitlan, my lord; but it consoles me that, when we leave, you will accompany us."

  Montezuma shrank back when the words had been translated. "I?"

  "Of a truth, yes. We shall take you with us to meet our master, the King, who desires to welcome you."

  He stood half-smiling while Marina interpreted. If he had decreed death, the Aztec would not have been so shaken. Forlorn in that unknown white vorld across the mysterious sea, a trophy for these strangers to exliibit!

  "Therefore let us hasten the building of the ships, Sefior Montezuma, so that we may depart together. And until then, remember that if your gods were not able to protect their idols from the fire, they are not apt to protect you in case of deceit. . . . Cristobal, set closer guard about this prince. (Translate that, Marina.) And so, Your Highness, we take our leave in ail respect and friendship."

  He bowed, one hand on the hilt of his sword, and turning with his captains moved toward the door, head and beard up.

  "En conciencia, senores," he said, loud enough for his stern voice to ring back to the solitary figure on the throne, "let us continue to risk something for God."

  XLVf//

  It was late that night when the council of the principal officers disbanded and Pedro returned to his quarters. No decision had been reached because everything depended on luck. The amval of reinforcements from Spain might turn the trick; and surely Montejo and Puertocarrero had been gone long enough to send back men and supplies. Or it might be possible, playing both ends against the center, to stir up a native revolt against the Aztecs, which would work to Spanish

  profit. Or something else might happen. Meanwhile, as a pacifying gesture, work on three ships would be started at Villa Rica; but Martin Lopez, the shipwright, would not press forward the building of them too fast.