Feathered Serpent (11 page)

  ———————

The next morning I am summoned to the patio, along with Aguilar and several of the thunder lords. Feathered Serpent’s expression is stern. He is dressed in his suit of black velvet, his sword is buckled to his hip, and he wears a silver medal around his neck bearing a picture of the goddess they call Virgin.

“Gentlemen, we are called to do God’s work,” he announces to us all and strides out of the gates and across the plaza, the others running to keep pace.

The temple here is very much like the one at Potonchan. There is a walled-off courtyard and a steep stone staircase that ascends a truncated pyramid to the ceremonial temple, a simple thatched hut of straw and bamboo. As we approach the air becomes dense with the smell of charred meat.

The bodies lie at the foot of the steps, where they have come to rest after the priests have finished with them. The arms and legs are gone, and blood has congealed in a black jelly around the open cavity of their chests. Flies buzz in thick black swarms.

“This one’s just a child,” Puertocarrero says.

Fray Olmedo begins to mumble words from his book. Aguilar does the same.

The black-robed priests watch us from the shrine, clustered together like carrion crows. Feathered Serpent’s face is terrible. I hear the rattle of steel as he draws his sword from its scabbard but Puertocarrero puts a hand on his arm and whispers something to him and he relents.

I am proud of his fury. Feathered Serpent had always promised he would abolish human sacrifice. Now I have witnessed his outrage and I know I am in his presence. I wish Rain Flower were here, then she would believe also.

The thunder gods huddle behind him, their faces white, staring at the dismembered corpse.

Aguilar turns to me. “Is this how you care for your children in this land?”

How can I explain this to him? The child was probably malformed, or taken from another village during war. “The sacrifice is for Tlaloc, the Rain Bringer. Unlike a man, a child weeps when faced with the sacrificial stone. The tears are like the falling rain. The more tears there are, the more rains there will be in the winter to feed the harvest.”

Aguilar makes a sign in the air with his hand and mutters something in his own language. The others are looking at me as if this is my doing. I wish I understood what is going through their minds. But what mortal can truly fathom the ways of the gods?  

“Something must be done here for the Lord,” Cortés said.

Benítez stared at the dead child. Cortés’ words drummed inside his head. Something must be done here for the Lord.

He turned around. Norte was standing there behind him; Norte the renegade, Norte the traitor, Norte the savage, that unfathomable half-smirk on his tattooed face.

“Another offering to your gods?”

“What is a god, Benítez? An invention of our own minds.”

Heresy! They should hang this demon now before he infected them all with his devilish ideas. “What mind invented this?”

“A mind that has never been sure that its body will escape starvation.”

Benítez shook his head. What kind of answer was that? “Did you witness rites such as these?”

Norte did not answer him directly. Instead, he said: “You have a fanciful morality, Benítez. You do not blanche when the Church’s inquisitors break a man’s arms and legs on a rack when he is still alive, but remove them when he is dead and you are suddenly offended. You will tear out a man’s intestines with your pike on the field of battle, leave him there to die by inches, but to cut out his heart and kill him quickly appears to you a great barbarity. Your logic defeats me.”

“This is just a child!”

“And women and children do not die in our wars?”

“Not in our churches. Our religion is not murder and cannibalism.”

“No, our religion is gold.”

Why do I justify what is holy to this savage? Benítez thought. No, he is worse than a savage, because he has known civilisation and true faith and has knowingly turned his back on God to embrace this barbarity. “I have nothing but contempt for wretches such as you.”

“You are supposed to have pity for me, Benítez. A lost lamb, a sinner who has strayed from the fold.”

“Cortés should have hanged you.”

“You see? You think human meat is sacred but you hold life so cheap. We have seen men burned to death at the stake you and I. Women, too. Why? In the name of God. Why is that so different from what has happened here?”

Benítez spun around. “You excuse this?”

“Are you asking me if I would rather expire screaming in my own funeral pyre or die quickly from one of these priest’s knives? I know my answer.”

He spat in the dirt and walked away.

  ———————

They feasted in the square. The mats were heaped with the finest delicacies the Cempoallans could provide; venison with chillies, tomatoes and squash seeds; roasted turkeys; locusts with sage; newts with yellow peppers. The Spaniards feasted riotously on the venison and turkey but the other dishes were pushed aside. Dogs fought for the scraps of gristle and bone that the soldiers tossed over their shoulders while the Totonac girls serving the food flirted and giggled.

Cortés was seated beside Gordo on one of the feasting mats, Malinali and Aguilar behind them to translate. The Totonac chieftain was still enumerating his complaints against Motecuhzoma when his servants brought out a steaming tray of meats, which was placed reverently between him and Cortés. Gordo indicated that this dish was special and that Cortés should have the great honour of serving himself first.

Cortés recognised the sulphurous smell of cooked human blood. There was a shocked silence broken only by Fray Olmedo’s murmured prayer for the dead.

“Tell him I cannot touch this,” Cortés hissed at Aguilar. “Tell him that eating human flesh is an abomination before God.”

Aguilar relayed Cortés’ outrage to Malinali, who then leaned forward and whispered a few words in nahautl to Gordo. The fat
cacique
’s jaw fell open in astonishment.

“What has he to say for himself?” Cortés asked Aguilar.

“He asks what else might be done with prisoners captured in battle if one does not eat them. May God have mercy on his soul.”

“Explain to him if you will, Brother Aguilar, that these gods he serves are actually devils and he will burn for all eternity in the fires of Hell unless he desists from his heathen practices. Tell him we come here to bring him true religion, and that if he wishes to become a vassal of King Charles he must learn to be a Christian gentleman.”

Cortés watched Malinali as spoke at some length with the Totonac chief. At first Gordo seemed confused. He whispered an answer to Malinali who hesitated before relaying it to Aguilar.

“The woman says he will think about this,” Aguilar said, “but he fears that if they do not give the gods due sacrifice there will be droughts and floods and locusts will come and devour all their harvests. But he is still happy to become your vassal.”

Cortés felt himself losing his rein on his temper. “Tell him again...”

Fray Olmedo, seated next to Alvarado, leaned forward. “Perhaps, my lord, we need not suppress their barbaric rites immediately. We are in a tenuous position. We should speak gently to them over time, so that they...”

“-We are here to do God’s work!”

“Even God’s work is not done in one day.”

Now it was Aguilar’s turn: “Fray Olmedo, with respect, I agree with our commander, the Lord cannot...”

The debate was interrupted by the blast of conch shells. The Totonacs leaped to their feet and rushed from the square. A messenger hurried over to Gordo and whispered in his ear.

Cortés looked at Malinali. The girl smiled and nodded, almost as if she had orchestrated this moment. What could have happened that could have pleased her so well yet so greatly terrified the Totonacs? She whispered something to Aguilar.

“It seems,” he said, “that the Totonacs are about to receive more visitors. The Mexica have arrived.”

  ———————

From the panicked reaction they had evinced Cortés had expected an army. But there were just five officials with a handful of attendants. Their cloaks were knotted at their shoulders with the imperial seals of Motecuhzoma and they each held the royal crook of office in their right hands; with the other they kept flowers pressed to their noses, presumably to ward off the stink of their hosts. Attendants kept the flies from their faces with broad feathered fans while others held parasols to shade them from the sun.

They made their way across the plaza, Gordo and the Totonac nobility fawning in their wake. They completely ignored Cortés and the Spaniards, although a small army of bearded strangers encamped in the centre of the town must have been the most remarkable thing they had ever witnessed in their lives.

It was a deliberate snub, Cortés decided. Well, there was an answer for that.

Cortés turned to Aguilar. “Ask the Lady Marina to find out what she can.”

“My Lord, I...”

“Just do it, Brother Aguilar.” The deacon was growing tiresome. Sometimes he wished he had left him on Cozumel with Norte. Cortés looked at Alvarado. “May they repent their arrogance! They walk right past us as if we are peasants in a field.”

“By Satan’s hairy ass! I would like to teach them a lesson.”

“And we shall, I promise you.”

The Mexica had arrived at a propitious moment. Even now a plan was taking shape in his mind. Very soon he would start picking at the corners of this great foundation that the Mexica had built, see if he could break off a small piece with his fingers. If it came easily away, then the rest would surely follow, a piece at a time.

  ———————

All the Spaniards heard the keening that came from the fat
cacique
’s palace. Malinali returned to report that Gordo himself had spent much of the interview with the newcomers on his knees, crying like a baby. The five Mexica, she reported, were imperial tax collectors, and although she could not hear all of what was said, it appeared they were demanding a heavy tribute from the Totonacs because they had entertained the Spaniards so lavishly, against Motecuhzoma’s express instructions.

Cortés watched from the roof terrace as the Mexica noblemen left Gordo’s palace, still clutching their nosegays. The Totonacs had prepared quarters for them on the other side of the plaza. The rooms had been decked with hundreds of flowers, Malinali reported, food had been prepared, servants provided.

“Look at them,” Alvarado snarled. “Like five bishops on their way to Mass.”

Cortés looked around for Malinali. She was waiting, unobtrusively, at his right shoulder. Her dark eyes glittered, intelligent and watchful. Ah, what an ally I have found here! he thought. And what a paradox. In this savage Indian I have found more of a wife than I could ever have hoped for in any of the Spanish doñettas, with their fluttering fans and precious manners. All a man ever finds behind the black mantillas is perfumes and a pretty face.

Aguilar saw the look that passed between Cortés and Malinali and scowled.

What is it that troubles the young deacon? Cortés wondered. Does he fear her because she is a woman or because she is a naturale? “Ask the Lady Marina,” he said to him, “why these people are so terrified of five unarmed men holding flowers.”

Aguilar did as he was told.

“The woman says that it is not the five men they are frightened of, but the five thousand that will follow if they disobey them.”

Cortés frowned. “So they are more frightened of the Mexica than they are of us.”

“We should correct that impression,” Alvarado said.

“Indeed.” He turned back to Aguilar. “Ask my Lady Marina to go back to the palace and request my lord Gordo’s presence here. Immediately.”

  
———————

Gordo’s face glistens like a piece of sweating dough, and he wrings his hands like a woman. He is so frightened that if it were not for the slave boys who hold him upright his knees would collapse under him.

I look at Feathered Serpent. His eyes are stern.

He speaks softly to Aguilar.

“My lord Cortés wants you to remind Gordo that he is a subject of King Charles of Spain and he has nothing to fear from the Mexica. If he does as Cortés commands he will be safe.”

I turn to Gordo, and tell him in
Nahuatl
: “Feathered Serpent says he will protect you. But you must do everything he says.”

“The Mexica have demanded twenty of our youths and girls for sacrifice because we have disobeyed Motecuhzoma! They insist that three of my own children are among those surrendered to them!”

“Feathered Serpent says you are under his protection now,” I repeat, trying to be as patient with him as my lord.

Gordo stares at me in panic. “Tell me what we must do.”

My lord whispers to Aguilar who appears to question his instructions, as if he cannot quite believe what he has heard. My lord’s tone becomes impatient.

“My lord Cortés wants you to tell him...” Aguilar hesitates. “ ... tell him his men must seize the Mexica immediately, bind them and put them under guard.”

I convey my lord’s words precisely and when Gordo hears them I fear he is about to faint away. His pageboys grunt and struggle to keep him from sinking completely to the floor. His face has the look of a cornered animal. “I cannot!” he shouts at me, his voice shrill.

“You must do as Feathered Serpent commands.”

“Motecuhzoma will slaughter us all!”

What a spineless coward. Does he not realise he has the power of a god to help him now? “He refuses,” I tell Aguilar.

Feathered Serpent leaps to his feet and his anger is terrible to see. “My lord Cortés says that if he does not do as he commands, he will leave immediately and never return!” Aguilar is so agitated he almost shouts his translation to me. “It is Gordo’s choice. But if he wants to save the lives of his children and free himself from the Mexica, then he must do as he says!”

I round on Gordo and now I am shouting, too. “You see! You have angered Feathered Serpent! Unless you do as he asks he will return to the Cloud Lands and your sons and daughters will have their hearts ripped out on Motecuhzoma’s altars!”

Gordo makes a noise as if he is choking.

“Well? Any moment Feathered Serpent will leave here and sail back to the East. What is your decision?”

The Mexica were bound to long poles, hand and foot, like the carcasses of wild deer. Their eyes wide, they grunted protests through the rags in their mouths. Totonacs rushed from all over the plaza for a glimpse of this terrifying and extraordinary spectacle.

Cortés himself watched from the parapet of their quarters with Alvarado, Puertocarrero and the rest of his officers. Gordo stood beside him, his jaw slack with terror. He said something to Malinali, who relayed it to Aguilar.

“He wants to sacrifice them immediately,” Aguilar said. “He believes that once they are dead there is less chance that Motecuhzoma will discover what has happened.”

Cortés shook his head. “They are to be kept alive. I may wish to question them later. Tell him to separate them, and put them under close arrest. I will send men to help guard them.” Cortés felt a fire of excitement in his belly. At last, he was in control of things. “Also, tell him that he is now free. No more of his sons and daughters will die on Motecuhzoma’s altars and there will be no more tax collectors to steal his possessions. From now on, I regard him as my own brother and he should put his trust only in me!” 

———————

There is a feeling of pride and exhilaration as I have never experienced before. Finally it has happened and his righteous fury is as magnificent as I had imagined. The Feathered Serpent has returned to break the hold of the Mexica and I shall be a part of it, as my father promised.

“Enjoy this moment, Little Mother,” a voice whispers in my ear. “Before Sister Moon rises a second time we will all be on our way to the temple stone in Tenochtitlán!”

It is Rain Flower. What will it take to convince her?

“He is a god.”

“He is not a god, he is a madman.” Her hand reaches for mine. She is frightened. I press her hand tightly, try to pass on some of my own strength, my own confidence in him. I know this in my heart; we are witnessing not only the end of the Fifth Sun, but the dawn of a new and blood-red day.