by Barry Sadler
Then began the dance of the serpent as the patio filled with men who had fasted many days to purify their bodies and spirits for the occasion. The dancers were kept in a single file by those who fasted and were tapped with wands if they began to lose their place.
The warriors danced without resting, hour after hour. If they had to urinate, they did so without leaving the line. Each of the warriors was dressed in his finest attire. The patio was a swarm of brilliant colors that weaved and bobbed to the beat of skin and clay drums, a rainbow serpent that twisted and leaped to the trill of flutes.
From the temple of the war god, Cuahtemoc rested one hip on the altar, pleased to see that he had been correct in his analysis of the Spaniards' reactions to the festival. Even now Castilians were moving in to block off the entrances to the patio, and de Alvarado, with de Castro, whom he had made his aide de camp, escorted by ten of his men, was walking toward the altar in front of the idol where the offerings of food had been made. This was what Cuahtemoc had been waiting for.
Casca was with the detachment of Spaniards securing the southern entrance to the patio. He could see de Alvarado as he stood in front of the statue of the god and looked down at the offerings which had been brought to it. The scream of rage and fury bursting out of the throat of the Spaniard grated over the high trillings of the flutes. There, among the cakes and flowers, he saw the dismembered body of a baby set out delicately as food for the god.
Crying out to his men, he drew his sword and began to slash at the dancing figures, cutting them down. Joined by de Castro and his escort, they began to slaughter the unarmed dancers. From the Spaniards, who now surrounded the patio, came the crack of musket fire. Then they moved in with sword and pike, wading into the dancers, killing everyone they could reach, Juan de Castro attacked the man playing the largest drum and cut his arms off at the shoulders. Then, with a full swing, he separated his head from its body.
The Spaniards went into a blood frenzy. They killed everyone within their reach, slicing bellies open with their steel swords, letting the intestines fall to the ground, where their owners tripped over them as they tried to flee. There was no escape, and that was what Cuahtemoc wanted. He needed a reason to go to war that none of his people could deny. This was it.
The blood from the dead flowed into pools that covered the stones of the patio as de Alvarado cried out to his soldiers, "They want blood and death to satisfy their gods; then we shall give it to them in full measure." No one escaped. Every dancer was butchered, and the stench of death drifted over the city as it had never done before. Juan stood with arms too heavy to raise anymore, his feet splayed out to balance himself. His chest and sides heaved with the exertion of the slaughter. He was numbed and exhilarated by the good work he had done this day for Christ, Castile, and Cortes.
Cuahtemoc had his war, and no one could stop it now, not even Moctezuma. The Spaniards would pay, and he would have their bodies on the altars.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Cuahtemoc sent forth his messengers throughout the city. They cried out, "The strangers are killing the dancers. Hurry, bring your shields and your spears." The people of the city let loose a great groan, for the dance was a thing sacred to the gods. For the strangers to attack the unarmed warriors in the patio of the temple was too great a horror to endure. Their frustrations had reached the breaking point. From all over the city they came. They raced over the causeways connecting Tenochtitlan to its tributary cities. Canoes filled with men swarmed onto the waters of the lake. The warriors came crying out for vengeance.
Pedro de Alvarado stood in the center of the patio, his boots soaked in blood, the bodies of the dancers lying about him. His hands trembled with his passion. He knew that he had done the right thing in the eyes of God. From the wall encircling the courtyard he heard a cry of "Madre de Dios." One of his men fell onto the stones, an Aztec spear protruding from the side of his face. From the other Spaniards on the wall, he heard the cry, "In the name of God, run. They are coming. The Aztecs are coming!"
The Spaniard quickly regained control of his passion, calling his men to him. With Juan de Castro on his right, he formed a square and began moving back. A cloud of arrows swept over them as they protected themselves beneath their shields. Spears followed as warriors of the Eagles, Ocelots, and Coyotes threw themselves at the Spaniards, dragging several of them down. If it had not been for their armor and steel weapons, they all would have been taken.
Reaching a narrow, high-walled corridor where the Aztecs had to come at them on a narrow front, they fought their way back to the palace. Several more of their men fell, although most were only wounded. They had to be left behind; there was no time to stop and render aid. If a man fell, the Aztecs had him, and there was no help from his comrades.
De Alvarado wept as he saw the fallen Castilians being carried over the heads of the Aztec warriors and passed from hand to hand. He had been in this savage land long enough to know what was going to happen to them.
An Ocelot knight hurled his body over the heads of the rear rank of Spaniards, his flint-lined macama slicing off the lower jaw of a crossbowman. Casca caught him as he fell, grabbing the man's wrist and breaking it before he ran his sword into the knight's throat. Once more the Aztec custom of taking prisoners rather than just killing their enemies made possible the escape of de Alvarado and his men. Of the hundred he had brought to the dance, twenty were wounded and six did not make it back to the palace.
As soon as they reached the doors of the palace, they began to barricade them. The cannon were loaded, set with ball and grape, and for the first time since they had been in the city, fired. Each round killed twenty to thirty of the closely packed, howling warriors. But the losses in the Aztec ranks were quickly replaced by reinforcements rushing in from the outskirts of the city, eager to join in and savor the death of those who had humiliated their king and desecrated their holy places and gods.
Casca knew that this was the beginning of the end for the Aztecs. They might destroy the Spanish in the city, but they could not resist the future, which was going to roll over them in waves of blood and fire.
The palace of the king was well built of massive carved stone and had been designed for defense, which now served the Spaniards. Moctezuma sent his noble lord Itzcuauhtzin to speak to his people from the roof of the palace. The elderly statesman called out to the angry mass below:
"Aztecs! Your king has sent me to speak for him. Hear me, for these are his words to you. You must not fight the Spaniards, for we are not their equals in battle. Our people will suffer more greatly than you can imagine. Go back to your homes and return your captives. If you do not stop, then our nation shall perish. These are the words of the king who has spoken to me."
When ltzcuauhtzin finished, there was silence for a long moment. Then a low murmur began among the throng, building to a cry of rage as a noble of the Eagle knights from Moctezuma's own guard cried out, "We listen no more to Moctezuma. He is the slave of the Spanish and not responsible for what he says or does. Death to the Spanish and all traitors." A flight of arrows drove ltzcuauhtzin from the roof of the palace as his Spanish escort protected him behind their shields.
Behind him, out of view of the mob, Moctezuma had been listening. An arrow fell, ripping through his cloak. Moctezuma wept for his nation and his lost honor. For the first time he had heard them say that he was not their master any longer, and they had disobeyed his will in public.
De Alvarado was furious that Moctezuma had not been able to make his people stop their attacks. He quickly put the king in irons. There was no longer any doubt in anyone's mind about the status of the king of the Aztecs.
They couldn't get out, and the Aztecs couldn't get in. For seven days the warriors attacked around the clock. Their own numbers limited their movements, making, them easy targets for the cannon now loaded with grapeshot. Each blast from the muzzle ripped the unprotected bodies of the Aztecs to shreds. Tearing limbs from their sockets, the grapeshot was a smo
king scythe that harvested men.
The supplies from outside stopped. The bridges and passages connecting the palace to the rest of the city were cut. Canoes patrolled the walls nearest the lake. Anyone caught with food near the vicinity of the palace was put to death. The servants of Moctezuma, identified by their glass lip plugs, were killed on the spot. They would allow no one who might still be loyal to Moctezuma near the palace. Hundreds of their own people were killed for no more than vague suspicions. Any who had shown too much friendliness to the Spaniards were suspect. Cuahtemoc purged the city of all unwanted influences. If a few hundred died who were innocent of wrongdoing, it didn't matter, as long as he was able to keep the Spaniards bottled up without food or water.
For thirty days the small garrison of Spaniards and their royal hostages held the palace. Wells had been dug in the courtyard for water, and their horses fed on the plants of the gardens. They had no information from the outside world. What had happened to Cortes? Had he won his contest with Narvaez? Would relief be coming? Every day their supplies and munitions were depleted further. The furnishings of the rooms of the palace had been stripped of everything that could be used. The wood from benches, tables, and staircases had been cut down into arrows and bolts for their crossbows. Pottery and household artifacts of clay or brass were broken to make shot for the cannon.
Casca stood by a window, watching the streets below. His armor bore numerous hacks and gouges to testify to the violence of the siege. Below him he could easily see the Aztecs in their brilliant war costumes being exhorted to greater efforts by their captains. A figure moved beside him to look over his shoulder.
"They're terrible-looking devils, aren't they? Thank God for our good Spanish armor or they'd have all of us stretched out on their altars." Casca turned toward the voice. Juan froze when he saw the familiar scarred face looking at him.
"Carlos! I thought you were long dead. Where have you been?"
Casca removed his casque and ran fingers through his sandy hair, which was sticky with sweat and grime. "I've been around. As to where I have been, is not important." Reaching out a hand, he touched a necklace of emeralds and gold hanging around Juan's neck. "I see you've found that which you came for."
Juan detected a note of disappointment in the voice. "Yes, I have gathered enough of what I need to restore my family's fortune and make them a great name in Spain."
Casca shook his head sadly. "A great name. Is that all that you can see here?"
Juan didn't know what Casca meant. "What else is there to see except for the savages outside? When Cortes returns, we shall treat them as the animals deserve." His voice took on a touch of righteous fervor. "All that they have is ours by right of conquest and our duty to God. We shall bring them to Christ on the points of swords and make them our servants. This is our destiny!"
Casca turned his back to Juan. "I'm too late. You are the same as the others. I just hope that you are able to get back to Spain. Those gentlemen out there may have other plans, and you and all of these brave men may become a part of their destiny. Now go away from me, Juan. We have nothing more to speak of. Go back to your friends and your gold."
Juan felt a bit hurt and confused by Casca's reaction. He couldn't understand why his friend had spoken to him so. Well, if that was the way he wanted it, then good enough, that was the way it would be. He was not the same man who had been on board the caravel of Captain Ortiz. He was a full member of the company of Cortes and had proved his valor in battle. He would take Casca's advice and return to those who understood him and leave the dour and gloomy fellow to his own devices. He would do his duty and hold this place until the return of Cortes. By Saint James, he was a Castilian and would conduct himself as one.
On the thirty-second day of the siege, they heard cannon fire in the distance. Like magic, the Aztecs melted away, leaving the road open for the return of Cortes. This was done at the orders of Cuahtemoc. He had not wanted to kill all those in the palace. They served a greater purpose by being left alive and confined. Their leader would have to come back for them, and then he would have the Spaniards all in one spot with no way out.
Casca watched from the roof as Cortes rode into the city, breaking through the rubble of the barricades that had been built to contain the Spaniards in the palace. He had more soldiers with him than he had had when he left. His Indian allies were the Tlaxcalans, who had come back in force to punish their hated enemies. The warriors of Cempola had been left behind on the coast.
As Cortes entered through the city, there was a heavy silence over the once-bustling streets. Not a sound came from any of the buildings. He suspected an ambush, but there was no sign of any Aztecs on the roofs or hiding anywhere near his route of march. They had pulled back. Was it because they feared him and his reinforced army? He had defeated Narvaez and had added the survivors to his own army, along with another fifty horses.
All the way to the palace of Moctezuma he saw and heard nothing. His men were roundly cheered by the holdouts who thought they were being rescued. As soon as Cortes and his men and animals were inside the palace, the Aztecs renewed the attack, throwing up fresh barricades. They threw barrages of darts, arrows, spears, and stones at every opening from which the Spanish inside could shoot.
Cuahtemoc was jubilant; he had them all! Now, like snails in a cooking pot, it was time to build the fires to pull them out of their shells.
Cortes was furious at what had happened in his absence. Quickly, efficiently, he made an analysis of their situation. He inspected every room in the palace and placed his men where they could do the most good. An inventory of the weapons and supplies was disappointing. If they stayed under siege very long, they would starve.
What Casca had feared was coming true. The Aztecs knew that the Spaniards were only mortals and that their weapons were not magic. Familiarity had bred contempt and death. The myth of Spanish invincibility had been broken.
Cuahtemoc had shown his people the mortality of the Castilians on the altar of the war god. The captives taken by them were spread-eagled on the stones, weeping and crying for mercy. Only one went to the altar defiant and full of courage. He was given the greatest honor of any of the victims by being made the main course in a meal for the Eagle knights. His flesh was eaten but not savored. The flesh of the Spanish was not to the taste of the Aztecs. They would have preferred a nice fat dog to the meat of their enemies.
Once Cortes was convinced of the reality of his situation, he attempted to make the Aztecs fear the Spanish once more. He ordered an assault with two hundred of his Castilians and three hundred of his Tlaxcalan warriors. He broke his force into two parts, hoping to catch the bulk of the besiegers between them, where his better armed men could butcher them with relative ease. In spite of de Alvarado's mistakes, Cortes had the feeling that this day would have come no matter who he had left in charge, and de Alvarado was still too good a captain not to be used. He was given command of one of the raiding parties.
At his signal, they both broke out of different sides of the palace, attempting to sweep into the center, forcing and bunching the Aztecs between them. The Aztecs had learned their lesson. They broke away, climbing to the roofs of the buildings and hurling stones down on the enemy, making the invaders fight man to man for every house. If the Castilians took a house, the Aztecs would set it on fire, forcing the Spanish back out into the open, where they could be properly brained.
Cortes was forced back into the palace, pursued by the Aztecs. They howled and screamed for the invader’s blood. If it hadn't been for the cannon, falconets, and arquebuses, they would have forced their way inside. As it was, the bodies of the dead and wounded Aztecs piled up in the entrance, providing a barrier of bodies from which the Spaniards could load and fire.
Once inside, they did a body count. Four were missing, three were dead, and eighty were wounded. Most of the serious wounds came from being hit in the head by falling rocks and bricks. Juan was one of the wounded. A stone from a sling had smashed
the bridge of his nose, knocking him unconscious. He didn't know that the man who picked him up and carried him over a shoulder as he fought his way back to the palace had a scar running from eye to mouth.
Cortes tried again the next day, destroying a few houses and capturing a couple of bridges which he later had to relinquish. The losses of the Aztecs were ten times those of the Spaniards, but the Aztec ranks were constantly replaced with volunteers. When the Spanish lost a man to death, capture, or wounds, he could not be replaced. With each loss, their strength was sapped from them.
Casca was put to work building three wooden siege machines. Cortes hoped they'd enable him to get close enough to the surrounding houses to be able to destroy the Aztecs and clear them away from the palace. This would give his marksmen the advantage of range with which to use their weapons and would force the Aztecs to cross an open area to reach them.
While they were building the machines, Cortes went to Moctezuma, promising him his freedom if he would speak to his people again and persuade them to lift the siege and let the Spanish leave the city.
Casca was working on one of the machines in the palace courtyard when Moctezuma was brought from his quarters. The king of the Aztecs paused briefly when his eyes met those of Casca. He shook his head sadly as if to say, "I have done my best," and then was hauled off by his guard toward the battlements where he once more would try to stop the attack.
When he appeared on the battlements, the fighting ceased. A silence ran through the thousands of watchers. Cuahtemoc moved to the front in full battle dress. He wore the helmet of an Eagle knight and a shield rimmed with gold and trimmed with eagle feathers. He held his macama above his head to complete the silence. He had loved his king and admired him. Moctezuma was the last of his line and had been the best of them.