"I cannot believe it of Cortés. He knows we have a mission here. We must bring these poor savages to salvation. He is too much of a good Christian to think only of himself at this moment."
"Yes, I am sure you are right," Benítez said.
✽ ✽ ✽
Cortés had the great oak table brought from his tent and placed in the shade of the palms. The entire expedition gathered under the trees, eager to hear his plans. They all fell to silent when he climbed onto the table to address them.
"Gentlemen! I understand some of you are growing frustrated at our delay here on the beach."
There were shouts of agreement.
Tread carefully, Benítez thought. The mood here is dangerous. This could turn into outright rebellion.
"I understand how you must all feel," Cortés went on. "I have suffered along with you these past weeks. However, before we make a decision, we should review all we have achieved. First of all, when we left Cuba, the governor directed us to secure the release of any Spaniards being held captive by the naturales of Yucatan. As Brother Aguilar and our comrade Norte will attest, this we have achieved.
"We were also charged to explore the coasts here, to observe the customs and religions of the natives and to barter with them for gold. I believe that in all these things we have succeeded far beyond expectations.
"However, should we return to Cuba now it may be that all your glory, and indeed the profits you have earned by your strength of arms at the Tabasco River and at Ceutla, will be taken from you. Do you trust Governor Velásquez to give you your fair share of the treasures? Many of you are here today because you were unhappy with your lives in Cuba and frustrated at the size of the encomiendas the governor awarded you. So why are you now so eager to hurry back to his tender mercies?"
"We are here under the Governor's charter!" a man called Escudero shouted. "To go outside that charter is illegal!"
Cortés shrugged his shoulders, as if in agreement with the man. "You may well be right. But before you all decide on this, let me tell you what else I have discovered."
A clever choice of words, Benítez thought. He is letting them think that the final choice is theirs.
"These lands are ruled by a great prince who has wealth beyond your imaginings. Should we return to Cuba now, we turn our back on more than just a few trinkets. I believe there is riches enough in this land that every man here might have his own wheel of gold!"
Leon could contain himself no longer. "We have no sanction here! Do we plan to march against an entire kingdom with five hundred men and a dozen cannon? We must go back to Cuba!"
"There is no other choice!" Ordaz shouted. "If we sit here we will either starve to death or be wiped out by the indians!"
Many of the men raised their fists in the air and shouted their agreement.
Cortés' shoulders slumped in defeat. He raised his hands for silence. "Very well. I want only to do what is best for all. We shall prepare for our return immediately."
There were ragged cheers. Cortés was about to descend his makeshift platform when Alvarado sprang onto the table beside him. "Wait! It is not yet decided! I say to return to Cuba now is no more than treason!"
Uproar. Leon and Ordaz tried to shout Alvarado down but his voice was as loud as theirs.
Cortés finally restored order. When he could once more make himself heard he said to Alvarado: "Will you explain what you mean, accusing all of us good men of treason?"
"If we leave, His Majesty King Charles will lose those possessions here that we have won for him. Can we be sure that next year the naturales will not have gathered some great army ready to throw us back into the sea? If that is the case our king will lose everything! No, we have a duty to build a fort here and consolidate the claims of the Crown!"
"I agree with Pedro," Puertocarrero shouted. "This land has proved it has many riches. Why should we not colonise?"
The word colonise galvanised the audience. Leon and Ordaz had to shout to make their own protests heard above the bedlam.
Even Cortés protested. "But we have no authority to do such a thing! I admire your arguments, gentlemen, but perhaps our comrades Leon and Ordaz are right. We have little food left and we are facing a possible attack from the naturales. I must confess I am not in favour of our return, I will lose every maravedí I possess since I have put everything I own into this voyage. But I must be guided in this by my officers and by the men with whose safety I am entrusted."
"You are not the only one who has invested in this expedition!" Puertocarrero shouted.
"But I have given my word to the men," Cortés persisted. "I have already told them they can go back, as they wish to do."
"Then let the ones who wish to go home, do so!" Sandoval said.
"The rest of us will establish our own colony!" Jaramillo shouted.
"That's illegal!" Escudero bawled at him.
"I am afraid it is not," Cortés said, and there was deathly silence. Everyone gaped at him. They knew Cortés was trained in the law, that he had been a magistrate in the town of Santiago on Cuba. So they listened: "Under law it is permissible for any group of Spaniards to found their own municipality if they seek and are granted royal sanction. They then become answerable directly to the Crown and to no one else. So - legally - these men are within their rights."
"We do not have royal sanction!" Escudero protested.
"It could be quickly obtained.”
Leon turned his appeal to the crowd. "We have our orders from Velásquez! We return to Cuba!"
"Very well!" Cortés shouted over him. "For myself I intend to stay here with Sandoval and Puertocarrero. I am weary of this command! Whoever wishes to return, take your chances with Ordaz and Leon, I wish you God speed!"
"What about the gold?"
"The gold stays with those who won it, not with those who run away!" He jumped from the table and stormed off.
Uproar.
Benítez smiled. It was nicely done. None would have guessed that the idea to build a colony here on the sand dunes of San Juan de Ulúa had come from Cortés himself.
Malinali
Rain Flower's husband, the one they call Benítez, is freezing to death in the stifling heat of the lean-to. The whites of his eyes have turned yellow and his skin glistens in the lather of its own sweat. His body shakes in the grip of the fever, his teeth chatter violently in his head. Occasionally he cries out, raging at the phantoms that stalk the shadows.
Rain Flower kneels beside him. ""He has been like this for two days. It is the marsh fever. One moment he boils, the next he freezes. The thunder god's owl man came and took some of his blood for sacrifice to their god." She picks up his hand, strokes it as if it was a wounded bird.
I am surprised by this show of affection. "What do you want me to do, little sister?"
"You're a sorceress. You can help him."
"I am no sorceress. My father taught me about the medicine in herbs when I was small. There is no magic in it."
"But you can help him?"
"I thought you did not care for your hairy lord?"
Rain Flower takes the cloth from his forehead, dips it in a bowl of water and wipes the sweat from his face and chest. "So, I should just watch him die?"
"If he dies perhaps Feathered Serpent will give you to Norte."
She flinches. "You know?"
"I have seen the way you look at him. You must be careful, little sister. To these lords, Benítez is your husband. If you share your cave with this Norte, who knows what they will do to you."
Rain Flower bites her lip.
"You still want me to help you?"
An almost imperceptible whisper: "Yes."
"All right, I will show you what to do. There is a plant that grows near the water hole where we bathe. You must crush its leaves, boil them in clean water and make him drink the liquid. This is what I have done with all the lords who are sick with the marsh fever."
"It will cure him?"
"It has cured some
of the others. If he does not pass through the Narrow Passage tonight, he may live."
I stand up to leave.
Rain Flower looks sad. "You see, little mother, he is no god."
"When Feathered Serpent left Tollan he was helped across the mountains by an army of moles and dwarves. Gods seldom keep the company of other gods. These men are just his helpers."
"And are you one of his helpers now?"
A hot breath of wind whips the canvas of the lean-to. He is listening, so I do not answer.
"Your god would be mute without you. Does that not seem strange to you?"
I think about what my father told me when I was a child, the promise and the prophecy he had made. "No, little sister. It does not seem strange. It seems like destiny."
Chapter 17
Cortés looked to the west. A droplet of sweat squeezed down his neck and worked its way along his spine. Great pillows of cloud swept in, obscuring the mountains and the great volcanic peak of Orizaba.
He fell on his knees before the wooden cross that Fray Olmedo had erected in the sands. A shrine had been constructed beneath it, a cairn of stones sheltering the image of the Virgin.
They were close, so very close. But many of his men had the marsh fever and although he had escaped, for the time being, from the shadow of Governor Velásquez, he could not sway these men forever.
What could he do? He could not venture further inland without food and water. Yet he had to find out what lay beyond those mountains.
Mother of God, help me ...
A voice carried to him on the wind. He opened his eyes. One of the sentries was running towards him along the beach.
The naturales had returned.
Malinali
They are not Mexica, not this time. There are just five of them, they have no escort and their dress is plain. They wear white loincloths without decoration and white cotton capes, an altogether different vision to my Lord Tendile's feather-work mantle and embroidered cloak. If their clothing is simple, their personal ornamentation is much more elaborate. Their leader has a polished jade turtle in his nose and gold rings in his earlobes; another piece of turquoise drags down his lower lip so that his teeth show in a permanent snarl. His companions also wear large and elaborate earrings and labrets.
They wait under the trees outside Feathered Serpent's tent. Alvarado reaches for one of them, grabbing at his lower lip. My lord shouts at Alvarado and he releases the man, albeit reluctantly. He steps back, glaring at the newcomer like a hungry dog eyeing a piece of raw meat.
Aguilar appears pained. "These people speak a language I have never heard," he hisses at me. "My lord Cortés sent for you."
He leads me over to these newcomers. One of them repeats the greeting he has made to Aguilar. I admit that I cannot understand him either and Aguilar grins in triumph.
My lord's look of frustration and disappointment is like a knife in my heart.
I turn back to the strangers. "Do you have the elegant speech?" I ask them.
After a moment's hesitation one of them, the youngest, steps forward. "I speak Nahuatl," he admits.
I allow myself a shy smile in my lord's direction and then a chill glance for Aguilar before returning my attention to the strangers. "We welcome you among us. Unfortunately, I am the only one here with elegant speech. This dog behind me in the brown robes speaks only Chontal Maya, and the bearded god speaks Castilian, the language spoken in heaven. Can you tell us who you are and how we can be of service to you?"
The boy translates what I have said to his companions. They gape at each other in astonishment, then at Feathered Serpent. There appears to be some disagreement among them before the boy is directed on how to proceed. A lengthy and elaborate five-way conversation then takes place; I translate what they have to say into Chontal Maya for Aguilar, Aguilar in turn relays what is said to my lord in Castilian.
"We are Totonáca, from a place called Cempoallan," the boy says. "The town is about a day's walk from here. We heard that teules," he uses the Nahuatl word for 'gods', "had landed here on the coast. We have come to bid them welcome and invite them to visit our town where they will be most joyfully received with feasting and presents."
Feathered Serpent smiles when he hears this. He says that he will be most happy to visit with them and asks if they are subjects of the great king, Montezuma.
At the mention of Montezuma’s name these Totonacs utter a string of curses in their own language. Finally the boy says: "We are most certainly his subjects, though we wish it otherwise. But is it true what we have heard, that Montezuma sent tribute to your lord?"
"Indeed," I tell him, deciding I might better answer this question myself. True, it was more bribe than tribute, but it will not harm our cause for it to be seen another way. "He sent us a mountain of gifts, quetzal plumes, jade and gold."
There is another excited exchange between the Totonacs. Then one of them, an old man, points to the feather work pectoral that I have around my neck, something I salvaged from under the feet of my lord's moles the day Lord Tendile presented the golden wheel.
"My uncle wishes to know where you obtained this beautiful piece of feather work.”
"It was part of their tribute."
The old man looks stricken.
"My cousin wore something like this when he was taken by Montezuma's tax gatherers last year," the boy explains.
Aguilar shakes me roughly by the arm. I swear, if this brute ever touches me like this again, I will take a knife and cut out his heart myself.
"What's going on?" he demands of me.
"They are explaining to me how the Mexica steal their children for sacrifice."
Aguilar makes the sign of the Cross and conveys this information to Feathered Serpent. He is customarily stern, but for a moment I see something else in his face, a flicker of excitement perhaps. Our eyes meet and there is conspiracy between us; Aguilar does not exist for a moment, or any of the others. His glance lingers on me, like a lover's.
Aguilar coughs, to remind us of his presence. My lord murmurs something.
"My lord Cortés wants to know if the Mexica have many enemies inside their federation."
Why is he asking me this? He already knows the answer to such a question. Why else would he be here? "The whole world hates the Mexica. Everyone knows that."
The Totonacs are growing impatient with us. "Will these teules visit us at Cempoallan?" the boy asks me. "It is only a day's journey to the north."
I relay the request to Aguilar, who in turn passes it on to Feathered Serpent. My lord seems not to be listening, his eyes fixed on some faraway time. He is seeing the future, I realise, and a chill passes through me.
Finally he speaks softly to Aguilar, who appears to hesitate, then gives me a look I cannot fathom. "He wants to know if you, too, hate the Mexica."
"He is my country now."
"That was not his question.”
"Just tell him what I said."
I receive a hateful look from him. Oh, he is so easy to read, this priest, this hater of women. But he does as I tell him, and I see Feathered Serpent smile and I know he has translated my words precisely. Aguilar is too ingenuous to lie.
Feathered Serpent murmurs something else and gives me one last, appraising look before he turns and walks away.
"What did he say?"
"He praised you," Aguilar tells me.
"In what way?"
"Vanity is the enemy of the soul. You have been baptised into the faith and you should practise modesty. Tell these indians my lord Cortés will be delighted to visit them. We will leave tomorrow. That is all."
Chapter 18
Benítez opened his eyes. His mouth was dry and foul, and there was a dull pain behind his eyes. He stared at the dark thatch of the roof, heard the sonorous murmur of flies, recoiled at the rank smell of sweat and putrefaction and wood smoke.
How long had he been lying here?
Rain Flower dipped a piece of rag into a gourd of water and w
iped his forehead. She spoke some words he could not understand.
Norte's face thrust itself into his vision. "She asks if you are feeling better."
Benítez tried to sit up but he was too weak. The room swam in and out of focus. He thought he was going to retch.
"Don't try to move. You must rest."
Benítez wanted to speak but his tongue felt as if it were twice its size. Rain Flower held the wet cloth to his lips and he sucked gratefully at the cool water, like a baby at a mother's breast. "Have I ... been ill?" he managed.
"You had the marsh fever," Norte said. "You came close to death. The whole world was about to grieve for one less Spaniard."
Benítez looked up at Rain Flower. He wondered how long she had been there with him. He could not understand why she might take it upon herself to nurse him. "Tell her ... thank you."
Norte shrugged. "She knows."
"Tell ... her."
A hurried exchange in a strange and exotic tongue. "She said it was Doña Marina's herbs that made you better," Norte said.
Benítez closed his eyes. A strange world. He was thirty three years old and he had seen little enough mercy in his life. As for the kindness of women, that had been rarer still. He did not delude himself; his features and his shy manners did not make him a lady's man. This Rain Flower, given him as a camarada, a servant-concubine, had helped him not because he was rich or handsome, but simply because she herself was kind.
How strange. How very strange.
Malinali
We set off at dawn, the thunder gods at the fore, the moles stumbling behind, loaded down with armour and weapons. Our column snakes through the dunes, making hard work of it through the pebbled sand.
I follow on foot behind Puertocarrero, who rides his war beast. The sun and the muscle-breaking sand are not our only enemies; halfway through the morning one of the men steps on a scorpion and his screams follow us even when he is so far distant we cannot even see him.
Late in the afternoon I stumble, my foot catching in a tree root hidden in the sand. I feel my ankle wrench and twist. I gasp in pain but I do not cry out; I have been taught from birth not to show pain. Puertocarrero rides on, ignorant of what has happened to me.
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