Feathered Serpent (36 page)

“I saw many things,” she whispered. “I hope what I saw was not the future.”

———————

Jaguar Knights loom on coyote-coloured walls, the silhouettes of the sentries dance in the long shadows of the torches. It is the final watch of the night, the time when wounded men rush to meet the shadow and infants come into the world still-born.

I hurry along the passageway to our apartments, longing for the warmth of my lord’s body. I do not know where Jaramillo comes from, where he has been hiding; but suddenly he is there beside me in the darkness. I gasp aloud. His pock-marked face seems even more grotesque in the torchlight.

“Pardon me, my lady. I did not mean to alarm you.”

“What do you want?”

“A late hour to be walking the palace.”

I do not like the way he looks at me. He is drunk, I can smell the stale Cuban wine on his breath.

He keeps pace beside me. “A pretty creature like yourself, you should not be out here. You should be in your captain’s bed.”

I keep walking.

“The
caudillo
is a lucky man to have two beautiful women to while away his nights.”

I stop and stare at him.

“But of course you know about Doña Ana?” A crooked smile “You didn’t? I beg your pardon. Well, goodnight, Doña Marina.” He bows and walks away, his mischief done.

I run up the stairs to our apartment, past the guards, through the belled curtains.

The only light is the faint glimmer of a candle in a silver cup. Two bodies are sprawled on the sleeping mat. I stare at the sleek and copper-coloured spine of the princess, her long black hair fanned across his chest, an arm entangled with his thigh.

I think I am going to be sick.

Be still, Malinali. It is in the nature of kings to have large appetites and many concubines. There is nothing you can do about this. Your petty jealousies have no place in the great scheme of his life. If you wake him now, to play the harping wife, it will win you nothing. You must be clever and wait your time.

It is because I am swollen and ugly with our baby that he no longer wants me. This will change. I have the son of Mexico in my belly and nothing can change that.

I find a sleeping mat in another of the rooms and lie silently in the darkness, watching the dawn creep silent as a thief into the room. I will not weep. Although I love him I have always known I was not born to happiness, not in that way. Why waste tears on what could never be?

But the tears do come, hot and blinding, a flood I cannot contain, for all my reason and knowledge. It is the curse of being a woman.  

“You shall pay for this,” Father Ruíz de Guevarra shouted. “When Nárvaez discovers what you have done he will have you and all your officers hanged for sedition!”

The priest had arrived during the Fourth Watch, with four others, all emissaries of Nárvaez. Their once-white shirts were now filthy rags and there was blood in their beards where Sandoval and his men had been a little less than courteous. They had spent the last three nights laced tightly into hammocks and their humour was not good.

“You are a fool, a braggart and an ungrateful dog!”

Cortés smiled as if Guevarra had paid him a great compliment. He took him by the shoulder in comradely fashion and led him towards a low table in the corner of the room. It was piled with steaming plates of roasted rabbit, venison, beans and maize cakes.

“How can I ever apologise to you for all that has happened?” Cortés said. “It is the fault of one of my junior officers. He will be most severely punished but I fear his greatest fault is his over zealous nature. Please, take your ease here. You must be hungry.”

Father Guevarra and his companions stared at Cortés in complete astonishment. After their treatment at the hands of Sandoval, an apology and fulsome hospitality was quite unexpected. They stared ravenously at the food.

“Please,” Cortés urged them. “Eat.”

Sandoval, at Cortés’ instructions, had deprived them of everything but water for the three days of the journey and they now fell on the food without further encouragement. As they ate, Cáceres placed gold bars at their elbows. They had been smelted and pressed by Cortés own goldsmiths.

“What is this?” Guevarra asked, his mouth full.

“I would like to redress in some small measure all that has happened to you. Take the gold with my blessing. It is only a fraction of what my men have already received from me for their services. Around here we use gold to shoe our horses.”

Benítez wondered what Norte and his one hundred pesos would think of that outrageous claim. Guevarra just stared at Cortés in bewilderment while continuing to shovel food in.

Cortés watched him eat with an expression of benign forbearance. “So, you were sent by my friend and comrade Nárvaez. What matters bring him here to New Spain?”

Guevarra had never heard the expression 'New Spain’. It was a term Cortés had only recently coined for Motecuhzoma’s kingdom. It took him some moments to realise what Cortés meant.

“ Nárvaez was sent here at Governor Velasquez’s express command,” Guevarra said, less sure of himself now. “He has named you a traitor, for you deliberately disobeyed his orders on this expedition. He wishes you brought back to Cuba in irons.”

Cortés received this news with equanimity. “How is Nárvaez? He treats you well?”

Guevarra looked at his fellows. Nárvaez' niggardly ways were legend in Cuba. “Passably.”

“I am most happy to hear this. As you are all aware, a generous commander is as rare as he is welcome.” Alvarado and Benítez came to join them at the table, each with a gold medallion at his throat. The eyes of the newcomers were inevitably drawn to the jewellery. “Is that not so, Pedro?” Cortés said.

“Indeed, my lord,” Alvarado said.

“Of course,” Guevarra said, “generosity is not one of Nárvaez' greatest gifts.”

Cortés contrived to look surprised.

“Our men would be disappointed to hear that,” Alvarado said, “for we have all done well under our own captain-general.”

Guevarra and the others stared at the gold bars.

“I hope the governor has not acted peremptorily,” Cortés said. “He must recall that I am trained in law, indeed that he himself appointed me his justice of the peace in Santiago de Cuba. What we have done here is quite proper. We have established a colony in accordance with all statutes of law, which makes us answerable for our actions only to the King himself. Any day my courier will return with official endorsement. Should Velasquez act unjustly towards me, he - and his agents - will find themselves answerable to the Crown.”

That perspective will not aid their digestion, Benítez thought.

Cortés leaned forward. “If the Mexica see that we are in disharmony with each other, all that we have gained here will be lost. At present we have the emperor of this great land under lock and key and have found here riches beyond comparison with anything discovered so far in the New World. Should Velasquez and his creature Nárvaez put all this at risk, I fear the King will be most displeased and there may be dire consequences.”

Guevarra again studied the slab of gold.

Corte smiled. “Does it not seem to you gentlemen that a great misunderstanding has taken place? If so, perhaps you might like to tell us how many men Nárvaez has brought with him and what his plans are?”

———————

Rain Flower made love to him with a ferocity he did not understand, kissed him as if he was life’s breath itself and when it was over she wept. He rocked her in his arms, bewildered.

“What is wrong?” he said over and over, in his own Castilian, even though she could not understand, “what is wrong?”

“Forgive me,” she whispered back, in Chontal Maya, “I don’t know what is going to happen to us or what you will think of me at the next sunset. I only hope you will not hate me too much when it is done.”

Of course he did not understand what she was trying to tell him and so he crooned to her and stroked her hair, utterly bewildered, utterly helpless.

——————— 

Torches crackled around the great hall. The Spaniards crowded in, shoulder to shoulder, only a handful left to patrol the walls. Cortés climbed onto a table to address them. On the floor in front of him was a pile of gold bars, gleaming dully in the torchlight.

“Gentlemen,” Cortés said, and the hall fell silent.

They expected him to make a formal announcement of Puertocarrero’s return but the sight of so much gold unsettled them all.

“Gentlemen, many of you complained to me and my officers about the shares you received when the profits of the expedition thus far were divided. Now although I believe the division was done fairly, and in accordance with the provisions laid down at the start of our campaign, I have decided that because you have all served our cause so faithfully, and with such courage, that I shall forego a part of my own share of gold in order to reward you better. At the end of the meeting therefore you will all receive a further sum of gold from Alvarado, and I trust you will be satisfied.”

He paused. Norte, standing at the back of the hall thought: that was the honey, now here are the bees.

“This may be the last occasion you receive such a bonus for Diego Velasquez, the governor of Cuba, intends you to have a new commander.”

Silence.

“Two days ago you were told that our comrade, Alonso Puertocarrero, had returned from Spain. Unfortunately this is not the case. The ships that were sighted along the coast in fact belong to Governor Velasquez.”

Norte looked around, saw the shock on the other men’s' faces.

“The man he has sent to relive me is none other than his close friend, Pánfilo de Nárvaez.”

Hoots of derision.

“By Satan’s ass! That fat goat fucker!”

“Now we have won the kingdom, the governor intends for Nárvaez to claim it for himself. Those of you who would like to throw themselves at the mercy of his legendary generosity may go to join him. For myself I believe we have lawfully established our colony here and I intend to resist this invasion of our territory.”

Now, some of the men were cheering. Oh, you idiots, Norte thought. Can you not see that he has just bought you off?

“Will you stand with me?” Cortés shouted.

The men were already baying for blood. Cortés once again had them in his palm. Their
caudillo
might be a cheat and a liar, but he was their cheat and liar. With Cortés they might at least get out with their lives and a little extra gold. With Nárvaez they were all dead and poor.

———————

The cry of a screech owl. A shadow moves against the wall, a silhouette appears for a moment against the window. I glimpse Little Sister’s face, painted like a Mayan warrior.

The creak of timber; the flash of an obsidian knife unsheathed in the moonlight. A whisper of breath and the candle dies.

I do not think; I have only time to react with my heart. I throw myself across his body, wait for the shock of the blow and the pain. My sudden movement wakes him and he jerks upright. I hear the knife clatter to the floor.

He pushes me away, scrambling for his sword. He shouts for the guards. They rush in, one of them holding a flaming pine torch above his head.

The knife lies on the timber floor, its handle shaped as an eagle warrior, and inlaid with turquoise and mother of pearl.

My lord looks at me, there is fear in his face, also astonishment. “You saved my life.”

I am too shocked to speak.

“Did you see who it was?”

I remember Rain Flower’s face, striped with paints of red and white, glimpsed just before the candle was extinguished. “I only saw a shadow,” I whisper.

The next morning, my lord Benítez looks for Rain Flower but she is gone. He searches the palace for her everywhere but there is no trace.

I wonder what made little Rain Flower do this terrible thing. When she was in the grip of the future, did she see something to persuade her to sharpen her knife on her return? I do not want to believe it, for it will mean my own future is tainted by it.

I am convinced of my destiny, my father still whispers to me to look for the ledge as I fall. But Rain Flower is the nagging doubt, the thorn pressed into the sandal, the mosquito whining in the darkness, disallowing all rest.

Cempoallan

“Look at him,” Salvatierra said. “I have sailed from Spain on smaller ships.”

They watched as Gordo’s servants manoeuvred him up the steep, stepped terrace of the pyramid. There were eight of them, muscles straining, faces slick with sweat.

“It would be easier to drag a
culverin
up to the tower of the cathedral in Seville,” Nárvaez said and his officers laughed.

When Gordo was finally at the summit, Nárvaez beckoned to his interpreter, Francisco, a
Nahuatl
-speaking Indian captured by Grijalva. The four way exchange was time-consuming, but it at least allowed some communication between his expedition and the
naturales
. Nárvaez indicated the picture of the Virgin that his men had found inside the shrine and the cache of gold objects, feather work and cloaks.

“Ask him why he keeps all his gold in a Christian church,” Nárvaez said.

He waited while his question was translated to Gordo, and the fat
cacique
formulated a reply.

“He says the gold does not belong to him, my lord. It belongs to Lord Malinche.”

“Malinche? Who is this Malinche?”

It was explained to Nárvaez that Lord Malinche had come from the Cloud Lands in a great war canoe, as Nárvaez had done. “He also says ... I think ... he says this Malinche is some sort of god.”

Nárvaez stared at the fat chief in amazement. When he finally realised Gordo was referring to Cortés he threw back his head and roared with laughter.

“He thinks Cortés has supernatural powers!” he shouted.

Salvatierra and the rest of his officers liked that. A knee-slapper.

Nárvaez wiped his eyes. For all their gold and fine architecture these Indians were as credulous as the savages on Cuba. “Tell him the gold does not belong to Cortés, it is the property of the King of Spain. As we are his agents in this part of the New World, we will take care of it for him.”

When Gordo heard this he started to tremble and sweat.

“What’s the matter with him?” Nárvaez snapped.

“He keeps saying that Lord Malinche will return and punish him for losing his gold,” Francisco said.

“Tell him not to worry about it. I will deal with Cortésillo!” By Satan’s ass! If these
naturales
could be intimidated by a ninny like Cortés then he, Nárvaez, would have the whole country licking his boots in a week!

 ——————— 

T
enochtitlán

The Feast of Toxcatl, the Waiting for the Rains.

Below them in the plaza, Hummingbird’s chief priest, his face striped with charcoal, supervised the placing of a series of tall poles for the Dance of the Young Men the following night. They were hanging torches from them.

Alvarado frowned. The drums and flutes and chanting had been going on all day and now it was wearing at his nerves. Young girls danced, their arms and thighs decorated with red feathers, feet raising clouds of dust from the dry red earth. A huge crowd had assembled to watch them.

The sun reached its zenith, a boiling yellow ball, casting no shadows. The great snakeskin drum in the Templo Mayor joined the frenzy and the festival statue of Smoking Mirror, Tezcatlipoca, appeared at the edge of the plaza.

By the holy balls of Saint Joseph, Alvarado thought. It was eighteen feet high, a hideous devil moulded, so Malinali told them, from a dough made from amaranth seeds and sacrificial blood. It was encrusted with jewels, had huge earrings of turquoise and a nose of beaten gold. It bore a head dress made from painted tree branches. Severed heads and human bones had been sewn to the cloak that draped this giant demon. An obsidian leg flashed in the sun.

Alvarado watched the procession from the parapet of the Face of the Water Lord palace, angry and afraid. The Texcálans said the feast would culminate in the sacrifice of a young man dressed to impersonate one of their devilish idols. They said the
naturales
would go ahead with this part of the barbaric ceremony in defiance of Cortés’ orders to the contrary.

Aguilar joined him on the parapet. He clutched his prayer book to his breast as if it were a casket of precious jewels. “This is Satan’s work,” he murmured. “If Cortés were here, they would not dare flaunt their demons at us in this manner.”

“He gave permission for this festival before he left,” Alvarado said, bridling at this implied criticism. The
caudillo
had departed for the coast a few days before, intending to intercept Nárvaez' army. He had left Alvarado with just eighty soldiers to hold Tenochtitlán.

Oh, and the Texcálans, of course. They had refused to fight against other white gods and Cortés had not pressed the point. Perhaps better their allies did not grow accustomed to killing Spaniards.

“He expressly forbade the practice of human sacrifice,” Aguilar said.

Alvarado said nothing. He resented these comparisons between his leadership and that of Cortés.

“I have spoken with one of the Texcálan chiefs, Laughs at Women,” Aguilar went on. “He speaks a little Chontal Maya and we can understand each other passably well. He told me that after the sacrifice the Mexica plan to restore their god, Huitzilopochtli, to the temple and burn our image of the blessed Virgin. He says he has seen the ropes and pulleys lying ready in the temple court.”

“They would not dare.”

Sweat on Aguilar’s high forehead glistened in the sun. “He told me also that the stakes you see before you are used for human sacrifice. One of the Mexica even boasted that they were going to eat us all. But first they would spice us with garlic, to disguise the pestilential smell.”

Alvarado’s right hand closed to a fist.

“It would seem they intend to attack us after Nárvaez has defeated Cortés. The big stake is for Tonatiuh. I suppose they meant you.”

“That is just Indian talk!” Alvarado turned away, so that the priest would not see him tremble. He could not imagine falling prey to these savages, and he did not wish to speculate on what they might do to him before they killed him. Aguilar could be right, this festival was deliberate provocation. Should he sit here and endure their insults, wait for them to slaughter him and his men like dogs?

He thought about what Cortés had done at Cholula and it was suddenly clear to him what a good commander would do.

Cofre de Perote

The cold breath of the Nombre de Dios set Benítez shivering inside his cloak. His mare turned her head to the wind and stumbled on.

He felt numb. It surprised him; he had expected to feel something. But what? Rage perhaps, that she betrayed him; shame that he had harboured an assassin in his own bed; grief that he had lost her. Should he also feel like a fool because he had never suspected? Or just pain, because he missed her smile, her gentleness, her caresses?

If only he had not been so stubborn and slow to learn her language. Had she been trying to warn him that last night together? He remembered only falling asleep in her arms and waking to the shouts of the guards spreading the alarm through the palace.

He had reached out for her and she was gone.

Doña Marina had sworn to Cortés that the assassin had been a Mexica warrior and they had mostly believed her. That next morning Benítez rode out of Tenochtitlán with Cortés and Rain Flower’s absence was overlooked in the haste of their preparations. Those left behind would think she had gone with Benítez; those with the expedition would think she had stayed in the city.

He shivered again inside his quilted armour.

She was his enemy now. But oh, how he missed her.

 ——————— 

Cempoallan

León had always been popular, always knew how to stir a crowd. Nárvaez watched him now, surrounded by the younger officers, loud, laughing, dangerous. Around his neck was a large gold chain with two returns.

Damn him.

“León!” Nárvaez shouted. “Cousin!” He embraced him. “You look none the worse for your adventures! Have you come to join us?”

“I have come hoping to avert a catastrophe.”

“A catastrophe? Whatever can you mean by that? How can the crushing of a traitor be called a catastrophe?”

The smile dropped away. “I do not think of Cortés as a traitor. Quite the contrary. He is a loyal and valorous subject of the king and I will not abide such talk in my presence.”

The men around fell silent. All laughter stopped. “So why you have come?”

“I hoped we could talk of peace and avert an ignominious defeat for you.”

You insolent son of a whore! Nárvaez thought. I have at least three times as many soldiers and horses, I can crush Cortés’ tiny army any time I wish.