"What of the others?"
"Any mariners on this list, give them two hundred lashes. The sailors are less use to us than the soldiers."
"What about Fray Diaz? And then there's Ordaz and that goat fucker Leon."
"We cannot touch a churchman. Let Diaz think we do not know of his involvement. As for the other two ... Leon is a good fighter and Ordaz is a veteran of many Italian campaigns. We need them. I will show clemency. They can sweat in the stockade until they agree to a formal oath of loyalty, duly notarised."
"So just Cermeño and Escudero then?"
Cortés consulted the list again. "There are many good men here."
"Still, it would be better if we had one or two more swinging from the tree to remind the others of what their fate might have been. What about Norte?"
"I do not see his name on the list."
"Does it matter? He's a troublemaker and he's dispensable now."
Cortés nodded. "All right. Let Norte join the others on the scaffold. None here will weep for him. Do what you have to do."
✽ ✽ ✽
The two men waited on the scaffold, the heavy manila rope looped around their necks. The pilot, Cermeño, was crying and had to be held upright by the soldiers. Escudero remained defiant, staring over the heads of his comrades who had gathered to watch him die. There was blood on his shirt, and he looked ill.
A court martial had been hastily convened an hour before. The chief magistrates of the town council, Grado and Avila, had pronounced sentence.
There was a table in front of the gallows and the official warrant of execution lay on it, as yet unsigned. Cortés finally appeared, accompanied by Alvarado and Diego Godoy. He wore the suit of black velvet he had worn to welcome the Mexica. He walked slowly across the plaza, his head down. He stopped in front of the table, looked up at the men on the gallows and appeared to hesitate.
The sun had just risen over the ocean, throwing long shadows over the fort.
"You must sign these warrants of execution," Alvarado said.
"This is indeed a heavy duty," Cortés whispered.
"Caudillo, these men committed rebellion against you! They have betrayed every one of us here. There is only course of action open to you."
Cortés shook his head. Finally he picked up the quill. "Better that I had not learned to write, than to use my signature for the death sentences of men." He signed his name to the warrants and walked away.
The drums rolled.
Three men stood behind each of the victims. At a signal from Alvarado jerked on the free ends of the ropes and Cermeño and Escudero were hauled up, legs kicking at the air.
Rain Flower watched, choking back her grief. Norte was to be next.
✽ ✽ ✽
It took Benítez some moments for his eyes to adjust to the darkness inside the stockade after the harsh light of the plaza. Norte was huddled in a corner of his cell, his head between his knees, his shirt soaked with sweat. It was already breathless-hot inside the gaol, one small window high in the wall the only ventilation.
His wrists and ankles were in fetters.
"Did they hang Cermeño and Escudero?" Norte whispered.
Benítez nodded. "Two hours ago."
"Fray Olmedo wanted my confession. When I would not give it to him he seemed concerned that I might not find my proper place in heaven among the saints. He even sent Aguilar to plead his case for him."
"That is not why I am here. Your confession is a matter between you and God."
"Is it time? They have kept me waiting long enough. Do they know how frightened I am? Is someone enjoying this?"
"There has been a stay of execution.”
Norte made a sound that could have been laughter or tears. "Why?"
"I pleaded your case. I said you had language skills that might yet prove valuable to us. I made the point that although your time with the naturales had left you soft in the head, you were not dangerous. I struck a bargain on your behalf."
"Why?"
"I am not a complete barbarian."
"But you despise me."
Yes I do, Benítez thought. Why could he not keep his mouth shut and let this dog hang? But every man has his own sense of honour and he could not let this stand.
He had been present at the court martial that morning; there was nothing to be done for Cermeño or Escudero. If Escudero had a brain in his head, he would never have Agreed to join the expedition. Years ago, when he was a constable in Santiago, he had arrested Cortés, at Velásquez's request, on a contrived charge. Putting himself in reach of the caudillo’s claws on such a journey was the hallmark of an arrogant fool.
Norte was another matter. Jaramillo had been present at Escudero's interrogation and he had told Benítez that Norte's name was not on the list of plotters. Norte was innocent, and for Benítez that was the heart of the matter.
No matter what else I think of him, justice should be inviolable. A man should not hang for a crime he did not commit.
"I am helping you because what they wish to do to you is not just. That is all."
Norte thought about this a moment. "You said something about a bargain."
"You are to swear an oath of loyalty to Cortés and you will then be placed in my charge. You must also agree to take up arms and fight under our banner. Do you accept the terms?"
"You are a very strange man, Benítez."
"Because I believe in justice?”
"Because you don't use justice for your own ends."
"I am still waiting for your answer. I shall not wait too much longer."
Norte rested his head against the wall. "Among the naturales I was an amusement for the first years, a novelty and an outcast. I wished myself dead many times. But the body is tenacious with life." He sighed. "I agree to whatever you say, Benítez. If you think I am worth saving, save me. I don't know why it should be, but I find it yet too hard to die."
Chapter 31
"She wants you to go with her to the river," Norte whispered.
Benítez frowned, then looked at Rain Flower. "Why?"
"To bathe."
"It is unhealthy to bathe. It is how one catches the fever."
"The naturales bathe all the time and they don't get sick."
Benítez was in his shirt sleeves, watching Fray Olmedo perform the dedication ceremony for the church. Hundreds of Totonac labourers had been herded inside and were staring in dumb bemusement as Fray Diaz and Brother Aguilar moved along the aisles with copal censers. Their incantations in Latin were just as incomprehensible to the Spaniards.
Benítez took Norte's arm and moved towards the doorway. "But why does she wish me to bathe?"
"You don't know your own stench. Even a vulture would be offended."
He grabbed Norte by the throat. "I piss on your mother's grave!"
"I mean no offence," Norte gasped. “These people bathe every day to wash the sweat off their bodies. Rain Flower only desires that you do the same."
Benítez wondered if they were making fun of him. Or was it some sort of trick? But he released his hold.
Norte massaged his neck. "It is no business of mine if you go with her," he said, "it is what she wants."
Rain Flower stood fearfully to one side, awaiting the outcome. Benítez looked down at her and she gave him an encouraging smile. By Satan's ass, this is ridiculous! Still, it was that or stay here and listen to Fray Olmedo droning on all afternoon. He nodded his assent and followed her across the deserted, timber-strewn plaza, and out of Vera Cruz.
✽ ✽ ✽
She took off her clothes and waded into the pool. The water glistened like dew on her. It was cool in the green shadows and her nipples were erect.
Benítez felt suddenly unsure of himself.
She said something in her own language and waited. He just stood there. She climbed out of the pool again, water streaming from her limbs, and started to peel off his clothes. He pushed her away and finished the job himself. He felt ashamed to be standing nake
d with a woman in the daylight. Was this the first step in his degeneration to a savage, like Norte?
He followed her into the water. Rain Flower was holding a piece of soap tree root. She rubbed it between her hands and smeared the grease from it over his body. Then she cupped the water in her hands, poured it over his chest and shoulders, and pulled him to a deeper part of the pool to wash off the residue of the soapstone.
After she had finished bathing him, she turned and swam away from him, to a wide flat rock. The shade had moved from that part of the glade and the stone had been warmed by the sun. She lay on her back and beckoned him to join her.
✽ ✽ ✽
"You are big and ugly," she said in Chontal Maya, knowing he could not understand, "but you are also kind and just. What you did for Norte was a good thing."
He pulled himself up onto the rock beside her. The water streamed off his chest and belly. She noticed that when it was wet the hair on his body looked like the pelt of an animal. He shivered in the dappled sunlight. His skin was cool to the touch.
"What am I to do?" she said to him. "My lover is beautiful and a Person and he understands the ways of the gods. You are clumsy, but you are kind. The Spaniards have made you my husband. What am I to do?"
She felt his thick arms wrap around her. They lay back on the sun-warmed stone. She stretched herself on it, imagining it was Montezuma's altar stone and she was a sacrifice. Is this how it will feel when it is my time to die? she wondered, staring at the washed blue sky.
His beard was wiry and rough against her skin. "Look at you," she whispered, "you are so hairy. Your maquauhuitl is like a purple fist punching its way through a forest."
She wrapped her arms and thighs around him, entangled her fingers in his hair. "But at least now you do not smell like a corpse. Now you can enter the cave redolent of water and the forest and I will enjoy the closeness of you also."
"Cara," he whispered. "cara mia."
She wondered what the words meant. She would ask Little Mother.
She would make the best of things, show her lord and husband what she liked, help him to be gentle, make him smell sweetly, even teach him some words of her own language. And perhaps, in time, she might even grow a little fond of him.
Chapter 32
Every man named on Escudero's list had been sent north to Cempoallan. Cortés had told them it was a routine patrol. Alvarado was placed in charge.
When they returned some weeks later they were shocked and dismayed to find the bay empty. They were informed by their comrades that the entire fleet had been hauled up onto the beach and scuttled.
There was no way back to Cuba now.
✽ ✽ ✽
Cortés stood on the sand, the sea at his back. Father Olmedo stood beside him, holding a large wooden cross. A nice touch, Benítez thought, the empty sea and the cross. The caudillo had a flair for such silent theatre. He was telling them to have faith for there was no way back.
The mood was volatile and hard to gauge. Looking around at the men Benítez saw fear, resignation, anger, resentment. The expedition had already taken much longer and travelled much further than any had anticipated when they left Cuba.
"Gentlemen," Cortés began, "I know you are distressed at hearing what has happened to our ships. But here is the report from the master mariners in charge of our fleet, which I received while some of you were away in Cempoallan. It states that this accursed climate had rotted out the timbers of every ship and that the predations of water-worms and rats had made the hulls unsound. Our pilots therefore told me that the boats were no longer safe for ocean voyage and that my only recourse was to have them beached so that we might salvage what we could."
Benítez had seen this document. The pilots had indeed reported the condition of the boats just as Cortés had described it. They had done this because he had paid them to do it. The subterfuge was a matter of small significance to Benítez personally, he had already made the decision to stay. By the time the boats were scuttled he no longer had any interest in them.
"While some of you were absent, I made the decision to ferry sails, ironwork and cordage here to the shore," Cortés said. "What could not be salvaged was scuttled there in the bay. It was a heavy decision to make, but it was forced on me by my advisers. There was simply no other choice."
He weighed the silence, the breeze rustling the papers he held in his right hand.
"In the sober light of reflection, you will all realise that this unfortunate incident should not distress us unduly. With misfortune also comes many benefits. The loss of the ships means that we have gained a hundred good men for our expedition, as our mariners will no longer be required to man the fleet. They have this day pledged their allegiance to us and will assist us, by the grace of God, in our enterprise.
"And let no one doubt that glory is ours for the taking. The naturales of this land esteem us to be a superior race of beings and I see no reason to discourage them in their prejudice."
Benítez spared a glance at Aguilar. The deacon gave Doña Marina a look of pure venom.
"I swear this day to make each of you rich beyond your wildest dreams," Cortés went on. "All we need is courage - and faith. For remember, although we go to seek our fortunes, there is another mandate we carry, that of our Lord Jesus Christ. We have all seen how these heathen engage in the most unnatural practices. We shall tear down their infernal temples wherever we find them and bring salvation and true Christianity to these savage lands. So you see, in our adventure we are in the happy position of serving not only our own interests but those of God Almighty.
"So let us go on, knowing that while we do God's will, we cannot fail! With the loss of our ships, the die is cast. We go on - to Tenochtitlán!"
There was a moment's hesitation, a critical pause when all may have been lost, Benítez thought. But it was then that Leon unsheathed his sword and held it high in the air. The shadow of the noose and Cortés' gesture of mercy had brought about a radical change in his character.
"On to Tenochtitlán!" he shouted.
The rest of the men, without a leader to champion their fears and complaints, let themselves be carried with the tide. From hundreds of throats came the cry: "On to Tenochtitlán!"
Yes, on to Tenochtitlán, Benítez thought.
And may God have mercy on us all.
Chapter 33
August, the Month of the Falling of Ripe Fruits.
Cortés left one of his junior captains, Juan Escalante, in charge of the fort at Vera Cruz, his garrison those soldiers too sick or too old to endure the rigours of the journey. The rest left with Cortés.
Cristoval, the standard-bearer, rode at the head of the column on a dappled grey, followed by the caudillo, his crest and breastplate shimmering in the sun. Malinali followed on foot, alongside Father Olmedo, who held aloft a great cross studded with turquoise stones extracted from the ears and noses of his Totonacs converts. Behind them came the main body of the infantry, six companies each of fifty men.
Totonac and Cuban bearers hefted the Spaniards' heavy steel armour or hauled the wheeled carts that carried the artillery. Behind the artillery came the pikemen, arquebusiers and crossbowmen. An army of five thousand Totonac warriors, resplendent in their feathered regalia, took up the rear. A hot sun bounced off the steel helmets, the muskets and the brass studded trappings of horses.
Madness, Benítez thought. An army of five hundred and a few thousand natives with tasselled clubs and shields made from turtle shells setting off to conquer an entire nation.
Utter madness!
✽ ✽ ✽
The road from Cempoallan led them first through ripening fields of maize, then up damp and winding jungle trails strewn with wild passionfruit vines. The soldiers panted and cursed in their heavy armour. Those Tabascan women who had not been left behind in Cempoallan fled into the jungle at their first opportunity. Only Malinali and Rain Flower remained.
They camped in a broad and fertile valley planted with vanill
a bean and the next day they made the steep climb to Jalapa, the Town of the Sand River. They left behind the steaming jungles and distant fever coast; in front of them now the land rose in surging crags and snowy passes.
Jalapa was just a cluster of stucco buildings clinging to the walls of a thickly forested valley. The inhabitants had been warned in advance of their arrival and the stone gods had been hastily removed from the temple to a hiding place in the jungle in anticipation of Feathered Serpent's wrath. The priests had cut off their blood-matted hair and were dressed in new cotton robes. The nobles threw open their fine houses to the Spaniards as barracks. A feast was prepared.
So far it had been a triumph, a procession. But tomorrow they would leave the lands of the Totonacs and take their first steps in the lands of the Mexica.
Malinali
There is mist in the valley, the dark forest is thick with tree ferns and orchids. Steam rises from the flanks of a chestnut horse. An owl blinks from its hiding place in the shadows, its head cocked to the small cries of humans.
I slip off my tunic and skirt, lie down on the hard floor of the cave, raise my arms above my head in sacrifice to a god. My lord kneels between my legs. There is sweat on his face and his eye glitter in the darkness. There is a third figure watching us unseen, in the darkest corner of the cave; Feathered Serpent with his bared fangs and snarling tongue, fired clay given life with polychrome paint.
My lord hovers like an eagle above its prey. His hair is dark and matted like a priest's. In the gloom of the cave his medallion gleams with gold, the image of a mother with child, potent and rich with meaning at this moment of conquest, this instant of possession, this hour of conception. I embrace my invader, welcome him in.
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