Feathered Serpent (5 page)

“Say yes,” Aguilar says to me, in Chontal Maya.

I do as he says.

He then nods at Fray Olmedo who sprinkles my hair with water and speaks quickly in this strange new language. Aguilar puts a hand on my shoulder. “You are saved, thanks be to God. Your new name is Doña Marina. Go in peace.” 

Twenty women; not enough for all the officers he had with him. The girls were baptised by Fray Olmedo and Brother Aguilar under the ceiba tree. Aguilar made each of them kneel in front of the cross and Fray Olmedo asked them: “Do you renounce the Devil and all his works?”

Aguilar mumbled something to them in their devil’s tongue and then nodded to Olmedo.

“Do you accept Jesus as your Saviour and his Father, the Lord our God, as the one and only true God?”

Again Aguilar whispered to them and gave his assent to the friar.

When the baptisms were completed, the men watched Cortés, wondering what he would do. He had proved to them his worth as a commander in battle, now they wanted to see if he could be trusted with the spoils.

One by one he took the women by the hand and led them to one of his officers; he included potential troublemakers such as Ordaz and Leon in the division of the bounty, yet did not forget staunch supporters such as Jaramillo and Sandoval. The less important officers such as Morla and Lugo and de Grado received the girls who were cross-eyed. There was much joking about this. Jaramillo advised them to put sugar bags over the girls’ heads when they mounted them.

Benitez was a dilemma for him; a good horseman, he had proved himself one of his most valiant at Ceutla, but in Cuba he had the reputation of a firebrand. A potential ally if handled properly, a thorn in the side otherwise.

There were three girls remaining, the three prettiest. Cortés chose for Benitez a tiny coffee-skinned girl with a hooked nose and bright, dark eyes, like a cat. She was pretty, but she had an arrogant tilt of her head that hinted at a fierce temper. There, that should keep him busy.

That left two, Malinali and one other, a young heavy-breasted girl. Alvarado and Puertocarrero watched him, ready to be either pleased or affronted, depending on his choice. Would he exclude one of them for the benefit of himself?

He considered: Alvarado, reckless and loyal, and a good fighter; Puertocarrero, also loyal but as he had shown in the river and at Ceutla, too timid for the fight. But he had excellent breeding and powerful friends at court.

He gave Alvarado the full-breasted girl and then looked at the one called Malinali. Bright black eyes looked up at him. Well, here was a thing; his ambition pitted against his desire. He promised himself that this was merely deferment, not of loss.

He took her hand and led her across the sand to Puertocarrero.

She did not even try to hide her shock or her dismay at his choice.There, it was done. A murmur of approval among the men. Cortés had proved himself the perfect diplomat.

It was necessary, he told himself, turning quickly away. There was nothing else I could do. But I will have her, sooner or later, she will be in my bed. I will have her, for there is something there that I must have.

 ———————

“He says he will be gentle with you,” Aguilar mumbles. He looks uncomfortable. I wonder if it is his intention to stay with me through the night to pass on my new husband’s endearments as he penetrates me.

“Tell him I am a virgin,” I say to Aguilar.

Aguilar seems both surprised and pleased with this news. “It is true? You still have your virtue?”

“No, but tell him anyway. He will appreciate it.”

The candle gutters in the night breeze. These candles are a new wonder. The hot grease pools on the table, and shadows dance around the walls.

Aguilar clutches his Book of Hours to his chest. “He wants to know if there is anything you would like to ask him.”

“I would like to know his name.”

“His name is Alonso. Alonso Puertocarrero. He is a Spaniard, and a Christian gentleman, of very good family.”

I try this name on my tongue: Alonso. I repeat it several times. The rest of Aguilar’s gibberish, a stew of foreign and Mayan words, means nothing to me.

“Is there anything else you wish to know?” Aguilar asks me again.

“Is he a god?”

Aguilar’s cheeks flush to bronze. “There is only one God. Alonso is a poor sinner like the rest of us. “

Only one God. What nonsense. He must mean there is only one god among those here today, and by that he means, of course, Cortés.

Aguilar rises to leave. A strange man, of pale complexion and pungent sweats. “If he asks you to do anything ... unnatural ... you do not have to acquiesce.”

This last utterance leaves me perplexed. Any matter concerning the cave of joy seems to unnerve this unlikely priest. “I shall gladly do whatever he asks me to do.”

He hears this and flees from the hut.

Aguilar stumbled away through the darkness. He did not trust this Malinali. Some of the other Indian women, the fat ones, the homely round-faced ones, the ones with the unnaturally crossed eyes, well, if he tried he could still imagine there was a soul in them needing salvation. But not this one; he saw the devil behind those black and unfathomable eyes.

Nothing good would come of this, he was sure of it.

  ———————

MALINALI

My new and violet-eyed husband sits down beside me on the sleeping mat of woven reeds. I study him more closely in the light of the candle. I reach out to touch the strange corn silk hair; his beard is wiry but the hair on his head is surprisingly soft to the touch.

“Caro,” he whispers. I wonder why Feathered Serpent did not take me for himself. Perhaps it is as Rain Flower said, no mortal woman can conjugate with gods and live. Despite what I know, I am still a little frightened.

Perhaps he senses my fear. He lays me gently on my back, strokes my hair, murmurs words to me in his own language. I do not understand him, but the soft timbre of his voice is soothing.

His body is terrifying and fascinating, at once. He fumbles with the strange fastenings of his clothes. His torso is not smooth, as a Person’s; his chest and belly and thighs are covered in curly golden hairs, finer than his beard. I am relieved that Rain Flower’s most macabre predictions are incorrect; his
maquauhuitl
does not have claws. But it is very large when it is swollen like this; perhaps because the Spaniards themselves are so big ...

There is a smell about him I do not like, but then the gods and their consorts are not known for the beauty of their aromas. I try to ignore it, as I do when I am in the temple.

My violet-eyed god takes his time, something Tiger Lip Plug had never done. He couples with me face to face, and not from behind, as I am accustomed to. After the first moments of stretching there is no real physical sensation. I am too frightened and overwhelmed by his presence to feel anything.

Very soon I feel him shudder and spill his seed inside me. From this moment I know my existence on this earth has changed irrevocably; the river of my life has ceased its gentle meandering and is now crashing headlong over cliffs towards the ocean, the ocean that brought Feathered Serpent.

Tenochtitlán

The three men crawled across the room on their hands and knees. They were barefoot and wore simple white loincloths.

“Lord, my Lord, my Great Lord,” one of them murmured in a shrill voice.

Motecuhzoma received them in his full splendour. His carmine cloak was made of coyote fur and quetzal feathers and had been embroidered with a border pattern of geometric eyes. A gold lip ornament in the shape of an eagle glinted on his lower lip, and earrings of turquoise glittered in his ears.

He regarded the men in front of him with distaste, then turned and whispered something to his prime minister, Woman Snake.

“Revered Speaker wishes to know what it is that brings you here to his palace.”

There was a moment as the three fishermen waited, each hoping that one of his comrades would be the first to speak. Finally the eldest of them said: “We come from the village of Coatzacoalcos in Tehuantepec. Just four days ago, gigantic canoes without paddles appeared in our bay. They carried the wind with them, wrapped in cloth bundles, and bore great banners emblazoned with crosses of scarlet! The next day we saw creatures with thick beards and helmets of gold that gleamed in the sun. They came ashore and asked for fresh water and food. We gave them all we had, some turkeys and some maize. They stayed for two sunsets then sailed away again on their canoes towards the lands of the east.”

Motecuhzoma’s expression would doubtless have terrified the three fishermen if they had dared look up at his face, but they were forbidden under pain of death to do. And so they waited there on their knees unaware of the effect their words had had on their emperor.

Motecuhzoma composed himself and whispered another question to Woman Snake.

“Did they leave you anything in return?” Woman Snake asked the fishermen.

One of the men crawled forward clutching a piece of hardtack. He left it on the marble at the foot of Motecuhzoma’s throne. “They told us it was their food,” he said.

At a nod from Motecuhzoma, Woman Snake retrieved the piece of bread and handed it to him. Motecuhzoma weighed it in his palm. The food of the gods was the weight and consistency of a piece of volcanic rock. He tentatively bit at the edge with his teeth but could not break it.

He again turned and whispered to his Prime Minister.

“Revered Speaker wishes to know if these creatures said anything else to you.”

“They told us that we must cease making human sacrifices to the gods, or else they would return and punish us.”

Motecuhzoma gasped. In the great vault of the audience chamber it sounded like the hissing of a snake. There could be no mistake. Feathered Serpent had returned, as prophesied.

His fist closed around the piece of hardtack. He murmured his instructions in Woman Snake’s ear.

“You are to wait in the courtyard for Revered Speaker’s pleasure. You are to speak of no one of this, under pain of death.”

Relieved, the men shuffled backwards towards the door, never once turning their backs on the throne.

After they were gone Motecuhzoma again turned to Woman Snake. “Give them to the priests for sacrifice,” he said. “Word of this must not spread.”

“It will be done.”

Motecuhzoma returned his attention to the divine sustenance now clutched in his fist. “What do you think of this story?”

“How can we believe the tales of such simple people? Perhaps these strangers are not gods at all. They may be ambassadors from some far off place.”

“How can that be? Tenochtitlán is the centre of the one world. There is nothing beyond the sea except heaven.” Motecuhzoma shook his head. “It is Quetzalcóatl, Feathered Serpent. These men spoke of a red-painted cross, his banner. He has come from the east, where he last fled into the dawn and he carries the wind, his wind, tied to his canoe. And he spoke of human sacrifice! How can it be other than him?”

Woman Snake did not answer.

I have been doomed ever since I took the throne, Motecuhzoma thought. He stared again at the hardtack in his fist, then handed it to his prime minister. “Have this placed in a golden gourd. We shall remove it to the temple of Feathered Serpent in Tollan. Should he return for it he must see that we have treated his property with all reverence.”

“Yes, great Lord.”

After Woman Snake had left Motecuhzoma sat alone in the great audience chamber. The knife of fear twisted in his heart and he threw back his head and gave a small cry, like a wounded animal.

Potonchan

She threw back her head and gave a small cry, like a wounded animal.

By Satan’s hairy ass, Benítez thought. A virgin.