"Is it him?" my lord whispers. It is the first time I have seen him truly anxious. "I have to know. Is it him or is it another of their tricks? Give me the truth! Our lives depend on it."
How can I know the answer to this? I visited the centre of the world just once, when I was a child. Montezuma passed on his way to the Great Temple that day. But my father told me to keep my eyes lowered to the ground. He whispered to me later that the sentence for gazing on the emperor's face was death.
"Is it him?" Cortés says again, his voice uncharacteristically shrill.
I dare a glance at the emperor's face as he descends from his litter. Even though I am under my lord's protection now, it requires an effort of will, for the memory of my childhood experience is still vivid.
Well.
He is younger than I expected, but magnificent to look at, and he carries himself with almost breath-taking arrogance. He has no beard and a nose like a parrot's beak to complement his haughty bearing. And his clothes! He is wearing a head-dress of quetzal plumes, the like of which I have never seen, and a huge golden lip ornament in the shape of a serpent, no doubt in homage to my lord. His cloak is a rich carmine with gold thread that shimmers as he moves. As he comes towards us, his attendants sweep the ground in front of him with feathered whisks.
"Is it him?"
I look into my lord's face. I see panic. I have only these few moments to decide.
I turn my attention to Montezuma’s courtiers and attendants. Some are staring transfixed at the thunder lords, but others - even the attendants with the rolled mats and fly whisks - are watching the Emperor. There is my answer. It is as if my heart has started to beat again.
I turn to my lord and give the slightest shake of the head.
"Thank you," he murmurs. His body sags with relief. "Tell them to go home."
I turn to the parade of frauds and clowns before us. "Who are you, and what are you doing here?" My voice seems to echo all the way down the high valley. I have longed for such power. I am no longer a woman, I am the voice and ears of a god.
"Do you not know us?" one of these Mexica shouts up at me. "This is Revered Speaker, divine lord of the Mexica. He comes here to greet the Lord Malinche and bid him welcome to the centre of the world."
"This is not Revered Speaker," I answer. "This is some monkey you have dressed in gold sandals. Do you think my lord is a fool?"
Silence. The wind whips at the plumes and cloaks of the delegation. For a moment I wonder if I am mistaken.
But it is not a mistake; I can see it now on their faces.
Only a god would have known, they must be thinking.
"Tell them I look forward to the great pleasure of gazing on the true Montezuma very soon," my lord says, once again assured of himself, and of me. "Until then, I bid them farewell." He deliberately turns his back on them and walks back inside the merchant hut.
I tell the Mexica what my lord has said, smiling at their confusion. When this finds its way to Montezuma's ears, I can believe it will ruin his appetite, his sleep, and, with luck, his potency.
Chapter 57
The Hall of the Jaguar Knights, Tenochtitlán
The head of Juan de Argüello gaped at them from the low table in the centre of the hall. It was a large head, with a black, curly beard, encrusted with dried blood that glistened in the torchlight like ruby stones. It was already starting to rot and a foul odour permeated the air.
"Now we are doomed," Montezuma murmured.
Woman Snake did not know what to say to him. During his time as Prime Minister, Montezuma had been by turns, rigid, cruel, even monstrous. But he had been a strong prince and that was what the gods and the empire required, and it was most certainly what was needed now.
But with the appearance of these strangers on the eastern shores the Emperor's character had changed. One day he was the confident, decisive leader he had always been; the next he was as he was today, vacillating between morbid reflection and self-pitying tears. He rarely slept and had lost all appetite. Neither his wives nor his acrobats and musicians could distract him.
Montezuma pointed to the head of Juan de Argüello. "Get it out of my sight!" His voice was shrill.
"Shall we convey it to Tollan, to the shrine where we placed the god's food?" Woman Snake asked him.
"I don't care what happens to it! Just remove it!"
Attendants were summoned and it was hastily carried off. There was a long silence as the gathered lords and priests waited for Montezuma to compose himself.
"My lord," the chief high priest of the temple finally ventured, "Feathered Serpent has appeared many times before. He first came with the secret of fire, then returned to demonstrate the making of paper and teach the writing of poems. If he has indeed decided to visit us once more, it may only be to bring us some other great gift. Let us take what he has to offer, find out what he wishes for himself in return and send him back to the Cloud Lands. The important thing is that we do not offend Hummingbird or Smoking Mirror for they are stronger lords and if he challenges them they will outwit him, as they did at Tollan."
"On the other hand," Woman Snake said, "they may not be gods at all. It is possible they are merely ambassadors from some land we know nothing of, and this girl they have with them ascribes him powers he does not possess. If malintzin and his followers are indeed envoys we should receive them with all due hospitality. But we have no reason to be so afraid of their approach."
Neither of these arguments seemed to stir Montezuma from his gloom. "If he is just an ambassador," he said, "how is it that he knew of the ambush your generals had prepared for him on the road to Chalco? How is it also that when we sent my lord Tziuacpopocatzin, disguised as myself, he knew immediately he was an impostor?" He looked around at his council. None of them had an answer for him. "Our spies who guide him say he has a mirror with him that looks into men's souls. Is this like any ambassador you have ever known?"
"These things are indeed mysterious but I still think this Lord Malinche is neither god nor ambassador," Cuitlihuac protested. "I believe they are invaders and we should attack them now, while they are in the open."
"I agree," Lord Maize Cobs said.
"Invade us?" one of the generals jeered. "With a few hundred men?"
A terrifying and high-pitched sound filled the chamber, breaking off the argument. All eyes turned to Montezuma. He was giggling, fat tears rolling down his cheeks.
"It is Feathered Serpent," he said, "come as prophesied. If we destroy him, we destroy one of the gods. If we let him come on, who knows what mischief he will bring? There is nothing we can do." He made a gasping sound, deep in his chest, as he fought to catch his breath. "The prophesies foretell that we shall all die at his hands and those who survive shall be his slaves. I shall be the last of the Mexica to rule this land."
He got to his feet and staggered from the chamber.
Woman Snake hung his head. Unless they could convince Montezuma to act, they were all helpless. How did it come to this? A nation of warriors and now they were rendered impotent by, of all things, a priest.
Chapter 58
Another palanquin studded with jade and gold and silver; another richly cloaked prince in a great head-dress of emerald quetzal plumes. Servants again swept the dirt from his path with plumed whisks. As the Mexica made his greeting, Cortés kept his eye on Malinali's face, wondering if this was another trick.
But on this occasion she appeared impressed. "My lord, this is Montezuma's own nephew, Lord Maize Cobs. Revered Speaker has sent him here in person to greet you."
Cortés bowed. At last! "That is most gracious of him."
There followed a long exchange between Lord Maize Cobs and Malinali. Cortés grew impatient at the delay. "What does he say?"
"My lord, he says that Revered Speaker is angry that you have approached so near to his capital and now asks that you return at once to the east."
What game are they playing with me now? Cortés wondered. "Remind him that I am
here at his Emperor's own invitation."
"I did this, my Lord. But he insists there is not enough food in Tenochtitlán to feed us all so he says that we must go back to the coast at once."
"By my conscience! What is going on, Mali?"
"I do not know, my lord."
Cortés looked at Alvarado who was standing at his shoulder, listening to this exchange. "Let's run him through with a pike," Alvarado said, grinning.
Cortés turned back to Malinali. "Tell this Lord Maize Cobs that he should not upset himself on the subject of provisions as my men can survive on very little. But repeat that I must meet his king in person and I shall not be swayed."
Another, more heated, exchange. Even Malinali appeared exasperated by it.
"What is he saying now?"
"He says that Montezuma has a large private zoo and some of the lions and alligators have recently escaped. He is afraid that if you approach too close to the city these animals may attack you and tear you to pieces." She took a deep breath. "This goat fucker lies like a Muslim."
Alvarado and Jaramillo grinned at this obscenity. Cortés felt a stab of irritation. "My men have been giving you more Spanish lessons, I see."
"My lord?"
"I will have to instruct you further in the ways of a Christian gentlewoman. For now, you will again repeat to Lord Maize Cobs that I must meet with his lord Montezuma personally. Remind him I have already taken very many risks and the threat of alligators or lions does not deter me."
When he heard this, Lord Maize Cobs sighed and gave a signal to his attendants; the retinue of slaves that had accompanied him came forward, one by one, and laid their burdens on the ground in front of Cortés. He heard Alvarado and Sandoval gasp when he saw what they carried.
"By the sacred balls of Saint Peter," Alvarado murmured.
"Gold," Sandoval hissed.
Gold, indeed; pannier after pannier of gold objects, necklaces, bracelets and exquisitely carved statues, perhaps as much as two or three hundred pounds in weight.
With this cornucopia spread before him, Lord Maize Cobs spoke again.
"He says this gold is for you alone," Malinali said. "There is a separate horde for each of your captains if you will but turn around and return to the coast."
Cortés stared at the treasure. With each step I take towards Tenochtitlán the bribes increase. Nothing could persuade me to turn back now. "This Montezuma is indeed a fickle ruler. In Cholula I was told to make all haste to the capital. Now he offers me a king's ransom to retreat."
"What will you do, caudillo?" Alvarado asked him.
“Malinali, thank my Lord Maize Cobs for these fine gifts and the trouble he has taken to bring them to me. But I cannot neglect my duty. My king has commanded me to convey his messages to Montezuma in person. Assure him that we come as friends and he has nothing to fear."
There was one final, long exchange.
Malinali turned to Cortés. "He says that in that case, he will guide you the rest of the way to Tenochtitlán. He also asked me ... he wanted to know if you were the god, Feathered Serpent."
Cortés heard Aguilar intone the words of a prayer somewhere behind him. There, it was said now, loud enough for them all to hear, and his response must be just as plain for one day it would find its way to the King of Spain and the Holy Inquisition. "What did you tell him, Mali?"
"I said you were a Spaniard, my lord, and that put you one rank above his gods."
Even Alvarado laughed at that.
Chapter 59
The green slopes were veiled in mist, creating a world at once mysterious and magical. As the shrouds parted they saw a great lake. Lush gardens floated on its surface, anchored by lines of weeping cypress.
Their march had taken on the appearance of a pilgrimage. Crowds flocked to greet them, men and women and children lined the road, some cheering their approach, others staring in sullen silence or slack-jawed wonder. A number even joined their procession, thinking they were witnessing the return of the gods. Their column swelled to twenty, thirty thousand.
The road down the mountain led to a causeway that took them across the lake. They struck across the peninsula at a town called the Place of the Precious Black Stones. Montezuma's lacustrine city, of which they had heard so much, remained invisible, hidden in the mists; but they could now see, in the distance, trailing wisps of smoke from the altars of the Great Temple.
Montezuma was just a few hours ride away.
✽ ✽ ✽
Benitez stood on the roof terrace looking around in awe. He had never imagined any place as beautiful as this. In every direction there were forests of oak and sycamore and cedar, fields of maize and maguey cactus. The town itself was a marvel, white adobe houses with thatched roofs, some perched on stilts over the mirrored waters of the lake. Sculptured terraces of lily ponds, arbors and fruit trees led down to the water. The warm scents of frangipani and hibiscus carried to him on the evening breeze.
Not even Salamanca or Toledo – considered the most beautiful towns in all Spain – could compare to this place.
He was astonished at the architecture. The palace they had given them as quarters was built of cedar and an ochre-coloured volcanic stone, and was as solid as any grandee's palace in Castile or Andalusia. The sandalwood beams they used to reinforce the ceilings also gave off a fragrance that sweetened the rooms. Colourful tapestries and brightly painted frescoes enlivened the walls, and there were spacious patios where vivid-coloured macaws and parrots chattered in hanging bamboo cages.
A paradise.
He prayed that there would be no fighting to endanger this fragile beauty. He consoled himself instead with what Cortés had told him many times on the journey; they had not come here not to make war, but to bring peace, salvation and true religion.
✽ ✽ ✽
Norte joined Benitez on the terrace, and for a while they shared an uneasy silence.
"Where are you from, Norte?" Benitez said, suddenly.
Norte seemed surprised at the question. "It was a village called Barajas in Castile."
"When you were there, did you ever imagine a place like this?"
"No, my lord. The slum I lived in bore no relation this. Even the poor people here live better than I did. Yet the Mexica appear to have done all this without initiation into the secrets of Christ or the Virgin."
Benitez felt a prickle of irritation. Why did he ever venture Norte's opinion? "Every time you open your mouth it is to utter a blasphemy,” he said.
"Is it blasphemy? It strikes me as the truth. Eight years away from Christian society gives a man a different perspective."
"I agree with you that these people may not be as backward as we at first supposed. But we come here armed with the true faith and trusted with a sacred mission."
"Because we are victorious does not make us saviours. Barbarians have conquered Rome before now."
Benitez was about to argue with him further, thought better of it. The panorama before him did not incline him to be disagreeable. So they returned to their silence until at last the sun fell behind the distant mountains and it grew too dark to see.
Malinali
Painali, 1511
I am eleven years old and my life is abruptly separated, as you would chop a maize cob in two with a machete, neatly parting the two halves.
In one hand the gods held my childhood: in the other my destiny.
It happens with the arrival of the Mexica calpisqui, the tribute gatherers, and a squadron of Mexica warriors. There is no warning of their arrival, and they are not expected.
They know where my father is. They drag him from our house, throw him in the dirt at their feet to humiliate him while the whole town watches. They slash at him with their obsidian knives to hear him scream.
Then one of the warriors, their lieutenant, drops a great rock on his head, crushing his skull. As if he is a thief, an adulterer.
There they leave him, in the plaza, the flies crawling over the bloody mess that had
once been the man I loved and adored and revered most in the world.
His crime was to prophecy against Montezuma and to foresee his end. You might ask me how I feel at that moment: only numb. I try to summon the rage and grief that consumed me the day my two brothers and sister were led away for sacrifice. I want desperately to feel something, but grief does not exact its bitter due until much later.
Instead I stare at my father’s body and something dies in me; something else is born to take its place.
I carry it with me, even today. It is black and secret and lives in my heart. Its taste is foul and its course implacable.
Hate.
Chapter 60
Place of the Precious Black Stones, 1519
The fire had been lit in the stone hearth outside and the wall glowed with heat. Rain Flower led him into the bath-house, took off her clothes and indicated that he should do the same. Then she sat him down on a stone bench.
There was a trough in the corner of the room. A drain had been cut in the wall to allow water to flow into the trough from a well outside. She took a clay dipper, dashed some water onto the shimmering wall. Immediately the room filled with steam.
She sat down on the bench next to him and examined his naked body. The wound on his arm had healed well, she noted with satisfaction. The heat in the room was opening the pores on his skin and she took a handful of grass and began to wipe the sweat from his back and chest.
Her naked body had aroused him. She liked his kisses on her face now, even though his beard tickled her, and she liked the way his hands stroked her. She had shown him what she enjoyed and he had been an adept pupil. But then she wriggled away, dashed more water against the wall. The steam filled the tiny room in a hissing roar.
Suddenly he was behind her. Their skins were slick with perspiration and she felt his maquauhuitl slide sweetly between the clefts of her body. She threw back her head for his kisses. He lifted her under her arms and she parted her thighs for him, was surprised to find that her cave was ready. For the first time she found herself enjoying him as she imagined a wife would enjoy her husband. She reached behind her and clung to him and he joined with her easily.
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