Feathered Serpent (9 page)

  ———————

After the Mexica had left the thunder gods and their moles fall on the bounty. The beautiful and valuable quetzal feathers, intricately worked by master craftsmen; the prized shell jewellery; the sacred wooden masks; the fine embroidered cloths; all are trampled under the moles' boots as they fight each other to touch and admire the gold.

Feathered Serpent looks dismayed. I believe my god is ashamed of his cohorts. I recall what he had said about the heart sickness from which his followers suffer. It must indeed be terrible to be afflicted by such a disease for it turns gods into monkeys.

Already they called this San Juan de Ulúa an infernal place, surely invented by the devil with all his talents and experience for slow tortures. By day small groups of men gathered under the trees, grumbling to each other about the insects and the scorpions and the heat; when night came they shivered in the sudden cold and scratched at their mosquito bites, tormented by the unearthly shrieks of the owl men in the nearby camp.

The morning after Tendile’s departure they gathered on the sand to watch as Motecuhzoma’s treasures was carried over the sand. Some dared to wonder aloud if they would ever see any of it again. As the great wheel of gold was lashed between two of the longboats they muttered among themselves and threw hard stares at Cortés and his captains.

With the Lord Tendile’s departure the attitude of the naturals began to change. Each day there was less and less food.

Benítez heard the whispers: What are we doing sitting here on this accursed beach? The governor’s orders were to trade with the Indians and explore the coast. Here we do neither. The only gold we have seen so far Cortés has hidden away on his own ship. Any moment the
naturales
might swarm from the jungle and attack us ...

Since the battle on the Tabasco River a dozen soldiers had died from wounds they received there. Since then, they had lost another two dozen to fever and the vómito.

There was talk about returning to Cuba. But if they went back now, would the governor, Velásquez, share the treasure with them, or would he keep it for himself?

Benítez suspected he knew the answer to that.

They waited for word from Motecuhzoma.

  ———————

One morning they woke to find the Indians had gone; their camp was deserted, fires still smoking, corn cakes burned to charcoal on the griddles. There had been two thousand of them, and they had all slipped away in the night, leaving them stranded there on the beach.

The tension was betrayed on all their faces. Since the Indians had vanished Cortés had warned them to expect attacks. Even at night they slept in full armour.

Now he called all his officers to an urgent meeting. Only Alvarado seemed unconcerned by their predicament, slouching at the entrance to the tent, a smirk on his handsome, golden face.

“I cannot understand what has happened,” Sandoval said. “Why did the
naturales
run away? I thought we made it clear we were their friends.”

“They were happy to accept that friendship,” Leon growled, “until Cortés insisted on a meeting with this Motecuhzoma.”

Cortés accepted the rebuke in silence.

Ordaz was next to speak. “The men feel it is now time to go back to Cuba.”

“But there is still so much more to be won,” Cortés answered, his voice deceptively mild. “All of you saw the golden wheel Motecuhzoma presented to us. That is the only beginning of the great treasures I believe to be here.”

Leon leaned both fists on the table. “The governor told us to explore the coastline and trade where we could. He expressly forbade us from sleeping on the shore. Yet you have had us sitting on this accursed beach for weeks, leaving ourselves open to an attack from these treacherous Indians while our comrades die of the fever. We cannot stay here forever. We have already won far more gold and precious things than we could have ever hoped. We should return with it immediately to Cuba and present it to the governor.”

A vein pulsed in Cortés’s temple. Go back to Cuba? Going back to Cuba would ruin him. Velásquez would take the gold for himself and he would not even be left with enough to cover his expenses. He had mortgaged all his possessions and exhausted all his lines of credit to finance this expedition. Moreover, the governor would probably arrest him and send him back to Spain in chains. He would not go back disgraced and bankrupt after fifteen years of toil in the Indies.

An extravagant sigh: “I mean only the best for you and all of the men who have placed their trust in me. I am a Christian soldier and a loyal subject of the king, and I shall do whatever you think is best. If you and your men wish to return to Cuba, then that is what we shall do.”

“You cannot agree to this!” Alvarado snarled, his golden smile suddenly vanished.

Cortés spread his hands, a helpless gesture. “It seems there is nothing more to be done. As these gentlemen have pointed out, the governor’s orders were plain.”

“You would listen to these two ... ninnies?” Alvarado said, staring at Leon and Ordaz. The two men reached for their swords and had to be restrained by the others.

No one moved.

Finally Benítez said: “They are right about one thing. We cannot stay here and do nothing.”

“If we go back to Cuba,” Puertocarrero said, “we shall not see any of the gold.”

Cortés held up a hand. “As I said, gentleman, it appears we have no choice.”

Leon and Ordaz exchanged glances. They had not expected to win so easily. Ordaz straightened. “I shall tell the men,” he said.

With a glare in Alvarado’s direction, Leon followed him out of the tent.

“You gave in too easily to those Velásquistas,” Puertocarrero said.

“Am I to believe then, that the rest of you do not wish to return to Cuba?”

Jaramillo looked sullen. “As you yourself said, what choice do we have?”

“Of course we have a choice,” Cortés said. “Should you gentlemen wish to stay, there is another way we might play our hands.”

  ———————

Without the Lord Tendile’s slaves on hand to bring them food the Spaniards were faced with the possibility of starvation. After weeks in the holds of the ships, the cassava bread they had brought with them had turned to a foul and glutinous starch, crawling with maggots.

It meant they had forage for themselves. The soldiers set out every morning to hunt birds and game with their crossbows while the Tabascan camaradas were sent off to scour the shore for crabs and wild fruits. Each day the hunt for food took them in broader sweeps, further away from the camp.

Late one afternoon Rain Flower was alone collecting wild berries when she heard sounds from the rock pool where she and Malinali came each evening to bathe. Curious, she crept closer and peered through the ferns.

It was one of the thunder gods, the one they called Norte. He was naked, standing waist deep in the cool green water. She was astonished. She thought that the Spaniards never bathed. Malinali had said it was because they did not need to. Rain Flower did not agree.

Norte, she had noticed, was different from the others. They seemed to hold him apart; only the priest called Aguilar ever spoke to him. It seemed curious to her that Aguilar was their priest, because it was Norte who sported the tattoos and ragged earlobes of a holy man.

Water streamed off his skin as he rose from the pool. He was hard and brown and smooth, not hairy like Benítez and Alvarado and the others. Her eyes lingered, and she felt an unnatural tingling in the base of her belly.

If any of these great lords was a god, then it was this one.

As he stepped onto the bank he had his back to her and she supposed he could not possibly have seen her. But suddenly she heard him say, in her own language: “And how long do you intend to stand there staring at me?”

She lowered her eyes and stepped from her hiding place, wondering what punishment she might receive for spying on him in such a manner.

“I am sorry, my lord, I humbly beg your forgiveness. You took me by surprise. I did not think a lord needed to bathe.”

“Even gods sweat,” he said. When he turned around she saw that he was smiling.

“I did not think you had seen me.”

He put on his breeches and a ragged linen shirt. “Obviously.” His eyes were black and intense. He was beautiful, she thought, like one of those boys the Mexica sacrifice to Feathered Serpent on his feast day.

“What’s your name?” he asked her.

“Rain Flower.”

“Rain Flower,” he repeated, slowly. “You were given to Benítez?” She nodded. He kept eyes on her, his head cocked to one side, as if he were amused. “I interest you in some way?”

She looked at his ears.

He touched the ragged tatters of flesh, self-consciously. “Blood spilled for Feathered Serpent.”

Rain Flower’s eyes widened. “You are a priest?”

“Do I look like a priest to you?” When she did not answer, he said: “I fear I am very much a Person, as you are. I had a wife with the same colour skin as yours. She gave me two children.”

“Why did you leave her?”

“I did not leave her, I was kidnapped. A man cannot escape his birthright, no matter how much he might want to.”

He was standing very close to her. Among her own people, the punishment for adultery was death. What would they do to a woman who was unfaithful to a god? He reached out to stroke her hair and she took a step back.

He lowered his hand. “I am sorry.”

“Are you gods?” she whispered.

“No, we are Spaniards. That’s much, much worse.” He gave her another curious smile and walked away, back towards the camp.

She felt short of breath. Why couldn’t the great lord have given her to Norte? Life was too cruel.

  ———————

“Have you heard what the men are saying?” Aguilar asked Benítez. “Cortés wants to go back to Cuba and give Governor Velásquez all of the gold in return for clemency.”

Benítez had heard this particular rumour. In fact he had been there when Cortés told Alvarado to spread it. “Do you think it is true?”

“I cannot believe it of Cortés. He knows we have a mission here. We must bring these poor savages to salvation. He is too much of a good Christian to think only of himself at this moment.”

“Yes, I am sure you are right,” Benítez said.

  ———————

Cortés had the great oak table brought from his tent and placed in the shade of the palms. The entire expedition gathered under the trees, eager to hear his plans. They all fell to silent when he climbed onto the table to address them.

“Gentlemen! I understand some of you are growing frustrated at our delay here on the beach.”

There were shouts of agreement.

Tread carefully, Benítez thought. The mood here is dangerous. This could turn into outright rebellion.

“I understand how you must all feel,” Cortés went on. “I have suffered along with you these past weeks. However, before we make a decision, we should review all we have achieved. First of all, when we left Cuba, the governor directed us to secure the release of any Spaniards being held captive by the
naturales
of Yucatan. As Brother Aguilar and our comrade Norte will attest, this we have achieved.

“We were also charged to explore the coasts here, to observe the customs and religions of the natives and to barter with them for gold. I believe that in all these things we have succeeded far beyond expectations.

“However, should we return to Cuba now it may be that all your glory, and indeed the profits you have earned by your strength of arms at the Tabasco River and at Ceutla, will be taken from you. Do you trust Governor Velásquez to give you your fair share of the treasures? Many of you are here today because you were unhappy with your lives in Cuba and frustrated at the size of the
encomienda
s the governor awarded you. So why are you now so eager to hurry back to his tender mercies?”

“We are here under the Governor’s charter!” a man called Escudero shouted. “To go outside that charter is illegal!”

Cortés shrugged his shoulders, as if in agreement with the man. “You may well be right. But before you all decide on this, let me tell you what else I have discovered.”

A clever choice of words, Benítez thought. He is letting them think that the final choice is theirs.

“These lands are ruled by a great prince who has wealth beyond your imaginings. Should we return to Cuba now, we turn our back on more than just a few trinkets. I believe there is riches enough in this land that every man here might have his own wheel of gold!”

Leon could contain himself no longer. “We have no sanction here! Do we plan to march against an entire kingdom with five hundred men and a dozen cannon? We must go back to Cuba!”

“There is no other choice!” Ordaz shouted. “If we sit here we will either starve to death or be wiped out by the Indians!”

Many of the men raised their fists in the air and shouted their agreement.

Cortés’ shoulders slumped in defeat. He raised his hands for silence. “Very well. I want only to do what is best for all. We shall prepare for our return immediately.”

There were ragged cheers. Cortés was about to descend his makeshift platform when Alvarado sprang onto the table beside him. “Wait! It is not yet decided! I say to return to Cuba now is no more than treason!”

Uproar. Leon and Ordaz tried to shout Alvarado down but his voice was as loud as theirs.

Cortés finally restored order. When he could once more make himself heard he said to Alvarado: “Will you explain what you mean, accusing all of us good men of treason?”

“If we leave, His Majesty King Charles will lose those possessions here that we have won for him. Can we be sure that next year the
naturales
will not have gathered some great army ready to throw us back into the sea? If that is the case our king will lose everything! No, we have a duty to build a fort here and consolidate the claims of the Crown!”

“I agree with Pedro,” Puertocarrero shouted. “This land has proved it has many riches. Why should we not colonise?”

The word colonise galvanised the audience. Leon and Ordaz had to shout to make their own protests heard above the bedlam.

Even Cortés protested. “But we have no authority to do such a thing! I admire your arguments, gentlemen, but perhaps our comrades Leon and Ordaz are right. We have little food left and we are facing a possible attack from the
naturales
. I must confess I am not in favour of our return, I will lose every
maraved
í I possess since I have put everything I own into this voyage. But I must be guided in this by my officers and by the men with whose safety I am entrusted.”

“You are not the only one who has invested in this expedition!” Puertocarrero shouted.

“But I have given my word to the men,” Cortés persisted. “I have already told them they can go back, as they wish to do.”

“Then let the ones who wish to go home, do so!” Sandoval said.

“The rest of us will establish our own colony!” Jaramillo shouted.

“That’s illegal!” Escudero bawled at him.

“I am afraid it is not,” Cortés said, and there was deathly silence. Everyone gaped at him. They knew Cortés was trained in the law, that he had been a magistrate in the town of Santiago on Cuba. So they listened: “Under law it is permissible for any group of Spaniards to found their own municipality if they seek and are granted royal sanction. They then become answerable directly to the Crown and to no one else. So - legally - these men are within their rights.”

“We do not have royal sanction!” Escudero protested.

“It could be quickly obtained.”

Leon turned his appeal to the crowd. “We have our orders from Velásquez! We return to Cuba!”

“Very well!” Cortés shouted over him. “For myself I intend to stay here with Sandoval and Puertocarrero. I am weary of this command! Whoever wishes to return, take your chances with Ordaz and Leon, I wish you God speed!”

“What about the gold?”

“The gold stays with those who won it, not with those who run away!” He jumped from the table and stormed off.

Uproar.

Benítez smiled. It was nicely done. None would have guessed that the idea to build a colony here on the sand dunes of San Juan de Ulúa had come from Cortés himself.

———————

Rain Flower’s husband, the one they call Benítez, is freezing to death in the stifling heat of the lean-to. The whites of his eyes have turned yellow and his skin glistens in the lather of its own sweat. His body shakes in the grip of the fever, his teeth chatter violently in his head. Occasionally he cries out, raging at the phantoms that stalk the shadows.

Rain Flower kneels beside him. “"He has been like this for two days. It is the marsh fever. One moment he boils, the next he freezes. The thunder god’s owl man came and took some of his blood for sacrifice to their god.” She picks up his hand, strokes it as if it was a wounded bird.

I am surprised by this show of affection. “What do you want me to do, little sister?”

“You’re a sorceress. You can help him.”

“I am no sorceress. My father taught me about the medicine in herbs when I was small. There is no magic in it.”

“But you can help him?”

“I thought you did not care for your hairy lord?”

Rain Flower takes the cloth from his forehead, dips it in a bowl of water and wipes the sweat from his face and chest. “So I should just watch him die?”

“If he dies perhaps Feathered Serpent will give you to Norte.”

She flinches. “You know?”

“I have seen the way you look at him. You must be careful, little sister. To these lords, Benítez is your husband. If you share your cave with this Norte, who knows what they will do to you.”

Rain Flower bites her lip.

“You still want me to help you?”

An almost imperceptible whisper: “Yes.”

“All right, I will show you what to do. There is a plant that grows near the water hole where we bathe. You must crush its leaves, boil them in clean water and make him drink the liquid. This is what I have done with all the lords who are sick with the marsh fever.”

“It will cure him?”

“It has cured some of the others. If he does not pass through the Narrow Passage tonight, he may live.”

I stand up to leave.

Rain Flower looks sad. “You see, little mother, he is no god.”

“When Feathered Serpent left Tollan he was helped across the mountains by an army of moles and dwarves. Gods seldom keep the company of other gods. These men are just his helpers.”

“And are you one of his helpers now?”

A hot breath of wind whips the canvas of the lean-to. He is listening, so I do not answer.

“Your god would be mute without you. Does that not seem strange to you?”

I think about what my father told me when I was a child, the promise and the prophecy he had made. “No, little sister. It does not seem strange. It seems like destiny.”

Cortés looked to the west. A droplet of sweat squeezed down his neck and worked its way along his spine. Great pillows of cloud swept in, obscuring the mountains and the great volcanic peak of Orizaba.

He fell on his knees before the wooden cross that Fray Olmedo had erected in the sands. A shrine had been constructed beneath it, a cairn of stones sheltering the image of the Virgin.

They were close, so very close. But many of his men had the marsh fever and although he had escaped, for the time being, from the shadow of Governor Velásquez, he could not sway these men forever.

What could he do? He could not venture further inland without food and water. Yet he had to find out what lay beyond those mountains.

Mother of God, help me...

A voice carried to him on the wind. He opened his eyes. One of the sentries was running towards him along the beach.

The
naturales
had returned.

———————

They are not Mexica, not this time. There are just five of them, they have no escort and their dress is plain. They wear white loincloths without decoration and white cotton capes, an altogether different vision to my Lord Tendile’s feather-work mantle and embroidered cloak. If their clothing is simple, their personal ornamentation is much more elaborate. Their leader has a polished jade turtle in his nose and gold rings in his earlobes; another piece of turquoise drags down his lower lip so that his teeth show in a permanent snarl. His companions also wear large and elaborate earrings and
labret
s.

They wait under the trees outside Feathered Serpent’s tent. Alvarado reaches for one of them, grabbing at his lower lip. My lord shouts at Alvarado and he releases the man, albeit reluctantly. He steps back, glaring at the newcomer like a hungry dog eyeing a piece of raw meat.

Aguilar appears pained. “These people speak a language I have never heard,” he hisses at me. “My lord Cortés sent for you.”

He leads me over to these newcomers. One of them repeats the greeting he has made to Aguilar. I admit that I cannot understand him either and Aguilar grins in triumph.

My lord’s look of frustration and disappointment is like a knife in my heart.

I turn back to the strangers. “Do you have the elegant speech?” I ask them.

After a moment’s hesitation one of them, the youngest, steps forward. “I speak
Nahuatl
,” he admits.

I allow myself a shy smile in my lord’s direction and then a chill glance for Aguilar before returning my attention to the strangers. “We welcome you among us. Unfortunately I am the only one here with elegant speech. This dog behind me in the brown robes speaks only Chontal Maya, and the bearded god speaks Castilian, the language spoken in heaven. Can you tell us who you are and how we can be of service to you?”

The boy translates what I have said to his companions. They gape at each other in astonishment, then at Feathered Serpent. There appears to be some disagreement among them before the boy is directed on how to proceed. A lengthy and elaborate five-way conversation then takes place; I translate what they have to say into Chontal Maya for Aguilar, Aguilar in turn relays what is said to my lord in Castilian.

“We are Totonáca, from a place called Cempoallan,” the boy says. “The town is about a day’s walk from here. We heard that teules,” he uses the
Nahuatl
word for 'gods', “had landed here on the coast. We have come to bid them welcome and invite them to visit our town where they will be most joyfully received with feasting and presents.”