Captain from Castile

by Samuel Shellabarger; Internet Archive

  "Caramha!" exclaimed Pedro. "What cursed Sodomites are these, or princes, or what the devil?"

  "No, sefior," said a guttural voice at his elbow, "these are gods."

  Pedro shifted his eyes from the procession long enough to see that the speaker was a Tlascalan chief who had picked up enough Spanish words to make himself moderately intelligible. He had been baptized and went by the name of Bernardo, since it was impossible for a Christian tongue to twist itself around his native designation.

  "Gods, eh?" De Vargas grinned. "What do you mean?"

  "As I say, seiior—gods, dirty Tenochca gods. May Nuestro Sefior blast them!"

  "How gods?"

  Bernardo explained. Out of the jumble of words, Pedro at last got the drift. If not gods, the youths were at least incarnations. One was WitchyAvolves, the other Tezcatlipoca. They had been selected a year ago by the priests and had been tended, petted, and spoiled as gods should be. The pretty girls who accompanied them were part of the entertainment.

  Garcia slapped his thigh. "I'd be a god myself on those terms, Bernardo."

  "Humph!" said the Indian. "Would you, sefior? They go now to

  death. Soon they be naked. No flowers then. Soon they break the flutes. They go up the teocalli. Soon their beflies ripped up and hearts taken out. Bloody hearts for Tezcathpoca and Huitzilopochtli. Then people eat them. Cut ofl" heads and stick them on the tzonpantlis there."

  Pedro followed the pointing of the Indian's finger toward two high poles, which he had not before noticed, appearing above the wall of the temple enclosure. His smile was gone.

  "Look you, Bernardo, you speak of human sacrifice, hombre. And that we have forbidden. The Aztecs accepted the condition when we gave them leave to hold the festival."

  Bernardo shrugged. He needed no words to express his belief that the Aztecs would do as they pleased, Spanish permission or not.

  "No sacrifice, no feast," he said.

  The muscles stood out on Pedro's jaws. "We'll learn the truth of it and at once." His eyes fell on a black-coped native priest with white hen feathers in his hair, who was evidently late for the ceremony and was elbowing himself forward through the crowd on the avenue. "Bring me that fellow here, Juan, if you'll be so kind."

  Garcia crashed into the passing throng, his bulk shattering it. With one huge hand gripping the priest by the nape of the neck and with the other clamped on his captive's shoulder, he re-emerged like a seal carrying a fish.

  A growl went up from the crowd.

  "Turn out the guard," called Pedro.

  The sentinels at the gate, reinforced by pikemen on constant duty beyond them, formed a hedge between the crowd and the priest, who now stood confronting de Vargas.

  "Xiuhtecuhdi, Fire Lord!" muttered the people. It was Pedro's title among the Aztecs, drawn perhaps from his red hair. It implied both respect and fear. Whether because of that or because the religious ceremonies were beginning, they did not press upon the pikemen, but moved sullenly on. Only a few eddied around in an outer, scowling circle.

  Pedro eyed the papa with distaste. He was dark, defiant, and snarling. His lips and cheeks were smeared with something shiny like honey. The white feathers in his hair stood up in the fashion of enormous bristles.

  "Hark you, padrino," said de Vargas. "What's the meaning of those two sharp poles over yonder in the temple yard? You ought to know the purpose of them if anyone does. . . . Tell him my question, Bernardo."

  The Tlascalan, frowning at the hated Aztec, haughtily translated.

  The priest's eyes spat dark fire; he ground his teeth. At another time he might have answered discreetly, but Garcia's handling had infuriated him. He burst into a hiss of words, then drew himself up and tried to outstare the green eyes of the Spanish captain.

  "Well, what does he say?" Pedro demanded.

  Bernardo Hcked his hungry lips. "He say—the hijo de puta say those poles to stick our stupid heads on after his people kill us all. Cierta-mente, he say, they sacrifice to his gods anyhow they damn please."

  Pedro's hand leaped to his knife. "Cut off our heads, eh? By the mass, he'll not live to see it!"

  But at that moment, a cool demur sobered him and pressed the half inch of steel back into the scabbard. He was no longer a free agent, but one in authority. What would the General do in this case? Certainly not that. It was no time to resent insolence. He sighed.

  A new pulse of anger shook him. Gripping the man's wrist, he lifted the arm, strong as it was, and swiveled the edge of the priest's hand against the steel gorget surrounding his own throat.

  "A tough neck, pa'drino," he laughed. "Too tough for you. Let him go, Juan."

  Working his half-numbed fingers, the priest gave a final glare and turned away through the line of pikemen. Garcia aimed a kick at him, but missed. A loud guffaw sounded from the gate.

  "Too bad, Juan! What's up, Pedrito? You look like a ruffled gamecock. Trying to convert a priest? I take it you didn't prosper."

  Alvarado's splendid figure filled the panel of the gate. Pedro rapped out what he had learned, and the golden smile faded.

  "That's the way of it, ha?" the Captain-in-Chief rumbled. "We'll look into the matter. We'll teach the false dogs to stick by their bargain. Offend Our Lady's eyes and Our Blessed Lord's by their butcher tricks, would they? . . . Fifty men for a guard here!"

  A trumpet called. There was no time lost in arming, for every man ate and slept with his weapons. Five m.inutes later, Alvarado, Vargas, and fifty others were marching toward the doors of the Wall of Serpents. They cut the crowd as a wedge of iron cleaves vood, scattered the gorgeous throng inside the temple yard, and found themselves before an open space reserved for the ceremonial dancing. Here, between tAvo lines of chiefs in magnificent regalia, the black-gowned priests with their white hen feathers and honey-smeared faces were weaving a slow dance accompanied by the girls who had attended the two victims. It was a moment before Pedro recognized the youths, stark naked now, their hair hacked off, standing at one side.

  As to what awaited them, there could be no doubt. Soon, among the priestly procession, they would be winding their way up the steep sides of the pyramid; would be breaking at every step, one by one, the flutes they had played during their year of divinity; would be stretched on the stone of sacrifice. They stood head up and exultant, gods about to pour out their blood for the good of the people. At the zenith of life, they were spending their final hour in a trance of rhythm, color, and fragrance of incense.

  But the Spanish platoon had no training or time for mystical reflection. At one moment, the two gods stood on the brink of eternity; in the next, they found themselves the center of a steel column, which swept them out of the temple yard, across the square, and into the maw of the white men's quarters. A roar rose from behind, but the unarmed crowd could do nothing. Its leaders must take council; rites must be performed, omens consulted.

  "Arquebusiers, arbalesters, to their posts!" Alvarado commanded. "Open the embrasures. Level the cannon."

  But except for a hum, as of infinite, enraged bees, nothing happened.

  "Well, hijos mioSy' he beamed at the rescued gods, "you were saved in the nick of time, and I bet you're grateful. You'll tell us what these Aztecs have up their sleeves. . . . Throw a cloak over them, someone, lest they affront our ladies. Adelante! Bring them into my quarters and fetch Doiia Marina to talk their lingo."

  Catana stopped Pedro. "What's afoot, sefior?"

  "Nothing much, querida. Don't fash yourself. Only Indian stuff. We've kept those fellows from being cut to pieces in the cu yonder. Now we're going to examine them and find out what's happening in the city. I'll tell you about it later." He added half to himself, "I wonder how the General would handle it."

  "Pobrecitos!'' she said, eying the two youths pityingly.

  In Alvarado's apartment the gods stood dazed before the awesome captains. These also were gods, and in their heart of hearts the Aztec boys believed them mighty as any. They saw Tonatiuh and Xiuhte-c
uhtli. Sun God and Fire God, seated in high-backed chairs with their swords across their knees, and the mysterious witch-woman, who had once been an Aztec, standing behind them. Did not the Uei Tlatoani, the great Montezuma himself, tremble before these teules?

  But Tonatiuh grinned.

  "Tell 'em, Dofia Marina, that we're glad to have kept them alive. We take them under our protection, and no harm shall come to them.

  The only service we vant in return is to know what devilment the Tenochcas are up to. . . . That's the gist of it, eh, Pedrito?"

  After Doiia Marina had interpreted, one of the youths threw back his head and made a brief answer.

  "They refuse to speak, seiiores," she said.

  Alvarado gaped. "How? What? Refuse to speak?"

  "Even so, senor."

  "But, vive Dios, did we not save the whoresons' lives? Except for us, they'd now be butcher's meat on the way to the pot. Have they no thanks or natural gratitude? Perhaps you didn't explain to them."

  "Yes, Senor Captain, I explained; they understand; but they will not speak."

  "Now, God-a-mercy," sighed Alvarado, "the longer I deal with these heathen donkeys, the more they puzzle me. Do them a good turn, and it never crosses their thick skulls to render the like. The Golden Rule means nothing to them. Well then, we'll have to encourage them to talk." He shrugged discouraged shoulders and pondered briefly. "The screws or the boot? Hot irons take too long. I'll lay my money on the boot. It loosens the tongue quicker. . . . Hey, Alonso," he called to the guard at the door, "fetch Chavez with a boot. He knows how to fit it. And get a couple of men to handle these boys."

  Pedro pinched his chin. He wondered what Cortes vould have done. Torture seemed crude, and de Vargas, remembering the dungeon in Jaen, shrank from using it; but he could think of no better way. The survival of the garrison demanded as much information as could be obtained about Aztec intentions. The two youths probably knew.

  The boot was a contraption of wooden staves bound tightly around the calf of the leg. Wedges were then hammered between knee and wood. It was very effective.

  The bewildered gods were forced down upon low stools and held in position. Chavez (the one who had assisted at Pedro's operation in Villa Rica) fitted the boot to the leg of one of the captives, put a wedge in place, and raised his mallet.

  "Better explain to them, Doiia Marina," remarked Alvarado. "Tell 'em I don't want to break their kneecaps, but they've got to talk. If the boot doesn't persuade them, other things will."

  Doiia Marina interpreted in her gentle voice. The Aztecs ran their tongues over dry lips.

  Alvarado nodded. Chavez came down with his mallet. A yelp, as of an agonized dog, sounded. The youth began speaking.

  "He will tell what he knows, seiior," murmured Dona Marina.

  It was not that the Indian could not stand pain, but if he was ever to fulfill his office as a dying god, he must not be maimed. Only the perfect and unscathed were fit for the sacrifice.

  "So much the better," said Alvarado. "I rejoice that he has no stomach. It saves time. Well, what does he know?"

  The youth answered Dofia Marina's questioning.

  "He says that after the festival they will fall upon us," she translated. "Their chiefs and arms are ready. They await but the word of the gods. We have deceived them about the ships, they say: we have no intention of leaving this land. If Malinche is beaten by the other white men, let him be. If he returns here, he too shall be swallowed up. For they shall let no white teule live. They shall sacrifice them to the gods—all, all. They shall eat their flesh. They shall place their heads on the tzon-pantlis,"

  "Cursed thorough of them!" Alvarado grinned.

  He and Pedro both laughed, to the amazement of the Aztecs, who sat staring at them. Perhaps the Spanish captains could not have done anything which would have made a deeper impression.

  "We've learned little more than we knew already," Pedro observed. "It about shapes up with the other reports."

  One of the youths spoke again. "They ask to be freed," said Dofia Marina.

  "Freed—to be cut into mincemeat?" exclaimed Alvarado. " 'Slife, that's a strange boon. Why?"

  "They wish to be sacrificed for their people. They wish to die for the gods."

  Alvarado shook his blond head. "What fanaticism, Pedrito! What ignorance! I've half a mind to let Chavez work on them some more and make Christians of them. Chavez—"

  "By your leave. Captain," Pedro interrupted, "we have more pressing things to do and to think about."

  "Oh, well, have it your way," the other grumbled. He turned to Dofia Marina. "As to setting them free, no. Tell them that we're giving nothing to Witchywolves, not even their carcasses. Take them off and lock them up. If they want to be sacrificed, perhaps we can accommodate them with a stake and a slow fire."

  But when the room had been cleared, Alvarado fell thoughtful, staring at the rings on his broad fingers and twiddling his chain.

  "Whew!" he puffed at last. "A bad prospect! I suppose I'm not more of a coward than other men, but I'm not in love with death."

  He rose and walked up and down, his wide sleeves flaring, his Olympian head bowed. At last he stopped in front of Pedro.

  "Cholula!" he breathed. "That's the answer. It's what Cortes would do if he were here. It's what he did there—in Cholula. Remember?"

  De Vargas nodded. Who in the company could forget? He remembered how the chiefs of that hostile city on the road to Mexico had been lured into the Spanish quarters. He remembered the massacre. It had been a ruse of war, a distasteful ruse. Afterwards the city, which had been on the point of rising, lay quiet like a headless snake.

  "Well?" he queried.

  "Well, Pedrito. It's much the same here as there. The chiefs are here—all of them, the whole dung heap of them. We'll attend the festival tomorrow, not in formation but to view the sight, eh? Do you take me? All their nobles are inside—unarmed. I give the word—say, Espiritu Santo. We block the doors to cut off escape and then lay on. If we watch ourselves, not one of them should get off. A clean sweep. Then who's to lead the dogs against us? I tell you, it's the answer."

  De Vargas thought it over. It was a touch-and-go situation. If the tidal wave of the city burst over the tiny garrison, how long could they hold out and from where could they expect help? The end was inevitable. If ever strong measures were justified, it was now. What would Cortes do? Then suddenly, as if from nowhere, the question presented itself: what would his father do? Don Francisco's hawk features hovered vividly an instant in his mind. His father, the soul of honor, who welcomed a fair fight, but scorned a mean advantage, however expedient, what would he do? That was more easily answered than in the case of the General. But all at once it struck Pedro that he must not try to copy either his father or Cortes. The decision was his, to be made according to his own standards and judgment. And at that moment, unknowingly, he passed a milestone in his life.

  "Senor Captain," he said at last, getting up in his turn and facing Alvarado, "I think ill of the plan for two reasons. In the first place, this is Tenochtitlan, not Cholula. The people here are Tenochcas, not Cholulans. That was a small town and a soft race. This is a great city of warriors who have conquered the whole country. If you killed all the chiefs in the temple yard, there would still be plenty left to head the people. We would then have war at once. As it is, we have twenty days, and in that time much can happen. Senor Captain, I think that the plan would fail of its purpose and plunge us out of the frying pan into the fire."

  This was an argument that Alvarado could follow. He fingered his beard, his eyes uncertain.

  "It's a decided point," he admitted.

  "The second reason has a different color," Pedro went on. "I think I know the mind of the General as well as anyone, and I know that the Cholula matter weighs upon his conscience. Nay, he has told me as much, regretting that he was overtempted to use means which reflect upon the honor of this company as Christian cavaliers. It is certain that Father Olmedo deno
unced the action roundly."

  "He would," Alvarado muttered. "But what have priests to do with war?"

  "I say that Cortes himself would hesitate before what you propose, Seiior Captain. We have given permission for this festival. The chiefs are unarmed."

  "I'll bet their weapons are not far off," the other interrupted.

  "It may be. But does that justify us, while at peace, in falling on them with our pikes and swords?"

  "Aye, if we know that they intend to fall upon us. As between knaves, the one who strikes first wins."

  Pedro stiffened. "Fm not yet ready to add a knavish title to my name. Nor, in all honesty, have the Indians acted so. The Lord Montezuma in our presence threatened war. We fobbed him off with a pretext about the ships, but he promised nothing. This Aztec fellow here a few minutes past threatened war after twenty days. Are we to show less honor than these dogs?"

  Alvarado's blond mask dropped. "Are you presuming to lesson me on the point of honor?"

  "I'm presuming to be interested in my own honor, Sefior Captain."

  For a moment they stood icy and alert and silent. Then Alvarado's warm smile reappeared.

  "Hark you, Pedrito, there's something in what you say. But the command here and the weight of it are mine. I'm answerable for it to the company. I do not propose to be caught napping by these rogues and I intend to strike first if that promises best. It's what Cortes would do. We'll attend the festival tomorrow and I'll decide then. If it seems likely that we can pull off the stroke to our advantage, we'll do it; if not, not. Much depends on the number there. And scruples be damned when the lives of this garrison are in the balance!"

  Pedro set his jaw. "It's against my advice for every reason, sir. You can count me out of the butchery."

  "You'll do your duty. Captain de Vargas."

  They left it at that. With a sore heart, Pedro returned to his quarters.

  "The trouble is," he complained to Catana, when they talked it over, "that it takes a smart man to treat with the devil, and Alvarado isn't