The Conquistadors (9 page)

There now followed one of those religious interludes that makes the history of the conquistadors so bizarre. The bell was sounding through the camp for Ave Maria, and once again the Indian governors saw the whole Spanish force go down on their knees to pray before the cross they had erected on top of one of the dunes. To men accustomed to the bloody rites of human sacrifice and ritual cannibalism, this pacific, even humble behaviour must have presented an extraordinary spectacle. Afterwards, in answer to their questions, Cortés again spoke to them of Christ and his teachings, and then informed them that the great emperor he served had sent him to destroy their idols and abolish their sacrificial customs. A theological discussion through an interpreter is never very satisfactory, and it is probable that they went away more confused than ever as to the exact nature of the Spaniards and their intentions, particularly as almost immediately afterwards the soldiers began bartering for small objects of gold.

After that the Indians ceased coming to the camp altogether. Moctezuma had also decided on a war of nerves. The Spaniards waited in the sand dunes, uncertain, nervous and short of food, conscious of a growing atmosphere of hostility. The heat and the sense of insecurity inevitably fostered the dissension that had never been wholly suppressed. They had a small fortune in gold and other gifts, more than any other previous expedition had got; and those with farms and wives back in Cuba were increasingly clamorous to take what they had and get back home.

It was at this point that they were visited by five Indians of the Totonac tribe. They came from the town of Zempoala and had great holes in their lower lips and in their ears, in which were round stone discs and sheets of gold. They said they had not dared to enter the camp whilst the people of Culhúa were there, but now that they were gone, they wished to see for themselves the men who had defeated the people of Tabasco and Champotón. They were, in fact, spies endeavouring to assess the potentialities of the Spaniards as allies against the Mexicans. It was the first intimation Cortes had that the recently conquered tribes of the coast were restless under Moctezuma's rule. He gave them presents and sent them off with a message to their cacique that he would shortly pay him a visit.

On this expedition he took with him most of his force, for he knew very well that inactivity was at the root of a lot of the trouble in the camp. A brief march of three leagues
¹
took them out of the dune country, away from the mosquito-ridden swamps, and into rich maize country, a sort of savannah that stretched inland for miles, almost flat, but steadily rising towards the distant mountains. Beyond the San Juan river they came to a storehouse of adobe and timber with many rooms filled with honey and maize, also cotton garments decorated with feathers and gold. There were other houses, a dusty huddle of adobe and thatch, and Cortés had his crier make it known that any man found looting would be summarily executed. He was anxious to demonstrate his peaceful intentions to these Indians who might provide him with the support he desperately needed.

There was a temple here, described by Gómara as resembling a house with a low but massive tower topped by a sort of chapel containing several large idols. Access to this chapel was by twenty steps, and here they found many pieces of paper soaked in blood and a block on which human victims were stretched. There were also flint knives with which the breasts of sacrificial victims were sliced open to get at their hearts. The whole place was spattered with blood. They visited several other villages, none of them bigger than two hundred houses, all abandoned, ‘but full of provisions and blood like the first'.

Since accounts vary slightly at this point, it is probable that Cortés himself was undecided what best to do. He had hoped to recruit Indian irregulars, but all he had found was abandoned villages. It was as bitter a disappointment as Moctezuma's refusal to meet him. He returned to the camp, determined to move north to
Quiahuitztlan and moor his ships in the curve of the San Juan river's mud banks, where the thick tree growth would give absolute shelter from any gales. His camp, too, would be sheltered and clear of the swarms of mosquitoes that bred in the swamps beyond the dunes.

But the Velázquez faction was now open in its opposition, backed by all those who already had a stake in Cuba. Only the have-nots, the true soldiers of fortune, were prepared to go on and face the unknown. Most of these had been amongst the four hundred who had reconnoitred northwards with him. Through his most loyal captains – men like Puertocarrero, the Alvarados, Olid, Lugo, Ávila and Escalante – he appears to have indoctrinated the rank and file with all his own arguments for not abandoning the beach-head they had gained, and also with the idea of founding a settlement, complete with its
alcaldes
and
regidores,
or aldermen – a complete town council, in fact, which, once constituted, would have the right to elect its own
Capitán
and
Justicia Mayor.
Thus Cortés manoeuvred himself into the position of bowing to the wishes of his men. The settlement – the first in New Spain – was named Villa Rica de la Vera Cruz (the Rich Town of the True Cross), because of the richness of the interior and the fact that they had landed on that particular stretch of the coast on Good Friday.

By this simple expedient Cortés immeasurably strengthened his own position. It was rather like forming a private company, for once it was properly constituted, by the desire and will of all the people present, the settlement assumed an entity of its own, with all the legal rights of a Spanish town – the right to elect men to govern, to issue orders, draft laws, and, most important of all, to deal direct with the Spanish crown. In short, it assumed at once an existence quite separate from the expedition sent out by Diego Velázquez, governor of Cuba. And Cortés, as its elected Captain and Chief Justice, was vested with the powers that stemmed from the town itself and not from his appointment to the command of an expedition. It was a shrewd move that only a man trained in law and civic affairs would have thought of. Henceforth he was perfectly entitled to by-pass Velázquez and deal direct with Spain. In addition, his men gave him a 20 per cent share of all gold obtained after deduction of the king's fifth. This he had insisted upon, for power without the means to support it is like a building without foundations.

The change in Cortés' position is characteristically and immediately reflected in action. As alcaldes, he appointed Puertocarrero and Velázquez' friend, Montejo. Those others of the Velázquez faction he could not win over he seized and clapped in irons. Later he released them, of course, since men in irons were of no use to him. Meantime, the disaffected rank and file, about a hundred in all, he sent inland on a foraging expedition under the command of Pedro de Alvarado. All they found were deserted villages and teocalli where the bodies of recently sacrificed men and boys still lay with their arms and legs torn off. Walls and altars were splashed with their blood, and their hearts lay before the idols. Alvarado brought back provisions, chiefly maize; but the fact that every village had been
abandoned on the day of his arrival left little doubt in Cortés' mind that the Indians were now hostile. He decided, therefore, to move his camp to Quiahuitztlan, where he hoped the Totonac Indians would be more friendly. It was an important decision, for it not only set the actual location for the original settlement of Vera Cruz, but at the Totonac town of Zempoala, which was on his line of march up the coast, he found the key that was to unlock for him the gates of Mexico.

Zempoala was vastly different from the sand dunes in which they had been living for weeks, ‘all gardens and greenery and well-watered orchards'. It was the largest Indian habitation they had seen during the whole voyage: a city, in fact, its streets packed with people come to see them march in; and the courtyard where they were lodged had walls newly lime-washed and burnished white as silver.

Zempoala is now only a village, its streets dusty tracks, its houses little more than shacks, but the ruins of the great square can still be seen. The polished plaster that gleamed like silver has long since crumbled to dust, but the water-worn stones taken from the river beds still remain as facings to the main buildings. The pyramids, platforms and walls have been excavated and partly reconditioned so that, standing on top of the great pyramid looking out over the flat country that runs east to the coast, west to the snow-capped bulk of Orizaba and the hazy line of the mountains, one can understand how Cortés and all his Spaniards must have felt. Beyond those mountains lay the greater Aztec cities, and here in Zempoala they were being given a foretaste of the power and grandeur of Aztec architecture. Even today, though half overgrown with grass, it is immensely impressive. To the north stands the great pyramid, the tiers of its bulk rising like terraces, the steps to the top like a great stone ladder; to the east a temple of unusual design with pillars – they now look like a series of chimneys – that once supported a roof, presumably of palm-thatch; and further to the east, outside the area of the courtyard, another temple with jutting faces of stone and the walls inside adorned with frescoes. Some distance away, in the town itself, is an older, probably pre-Aztec temple, the steps in front broken by side-facing steps and the rear of it a blank half-circle wall of stones, so that from that angle it looks something like a Pictish
broch.
This place was dedicated to the worship of Quetzalcoatl.

The cacique of Zempoala met Cortés and his captains in their lodgings. All around them was the life and bustle of a big Indian city, the whole place with its trees and gardens dominated by the shining magnificence of its public and ceremonial buildings, the gypsum plaster facings bright and glittering in the sultry sunlight, the air sleepy with the humidity of the coast. The cacique himself was a very friendly, very fat man, and he had with him a retinue of Indian chiefs, all with large gold lip rings and rich cloaks, and offering bouquets of roses.

After the Spaniards had been given food, the fat cacique brought a small present of gold jewelry, called Cortés ‘lord of great lords', and began a long and bitter diatribe against Moctezuma, describing his great power and how every year their sons were taken for sacrifice, the pick of their wives and daughters raped by
Mexican tax-gatherers, all their golden jewelry requisitioned. This was sweet music to Cortés' ear. He did his best to fan the flames of latent revolt by describing the great power of the emperor king beyond the sea, and explaining how he had come to overthrow their idols and stop the senseless sacrifice of their people.

Next day the Spaniards marched back down the river with its lush growth of maize and fruit, crossed the flat savannah land of dry gravel and sand to the next river, the Santa María, and, after fifteen miles, a good day's march, came to its junction with the San Juan. They took the Indian fortress of Quiahuitztlan without a fight. The inhabitants had fled, and when the Spaniards got to the top of the fortress, ‘to the square on which their temples and their great idol-houses stood', they were met by nothing more daunting than fifteen priests who welcomed them with incense and explained that the people had been frightened by their appearance and that of the horses. Cortés had barely established himself when the cacique arrived from Zempoala in a litter. A further conference followed, the cacique obviously toying with the idea of rebellion, but needing constant reassurance of Spanish power. Suddenly messengers burst in with the news that five of Moctezuma's tax-gatherers had arrived. The effect of this upon the guilty consciences of the Totonacs was one of sheer panic.

Bernal Díaz' graphic description of the entrance of the tax-gatherers into the main square illustrates the haughty confidence of Moctezuma's representatives. Faced with the full power of the Spanish invaders, whom they had never seen before, they nevertheless passed by Cortés and the rest without a word, each one smelling at the roses he carried. They were dressed in loin-cloths with richly-embroidered cloaks, their hair shining and tied close to their heads. They behaved with ‘cocksure pride', but it was nevertheless an impressive performance. They were taken to lodgings that had been hastily decorated with flowers, and after a meal that included chocolate to drink, they sent for the fat cacique and the rest of the Totonac chiefs and upbraided them for entertaining the Spaniards.

The situation was one of unparalleled opportunity, and Cortés was quick to seize it. Chance had put into his hands the means of re-opening his duologue with Moctezuma. The Totonac chiefs were by now thoroughly frightened. Cortés offered them a way out: arrest the tax-gatherers and cease paying tribute to Moctezuma, The physical presence of the Spaniards was undoubtedly the decisive
factor, and Cortés' advice was acted upon immediately, the tax-gatherers being secured with long poles fitted with collars. The intention was to silence them for ever by sacrificing them; but Cortés had other plans. His object now was to involve the coastal Indians so deeply that they would never dare to break faith with him. Already he had instructed the cacique to send messengers through all the towns of the district, including those of Zempoala's allies, to spread the news of what had happened and to announce that they no longer owed obedience to Moctezuma. He insisted that the prisoners be kept alive. That night he managed to arrange for two of them to escape. They were brought to him, and after giving them food and saying how much he deplored the treatment they had received at the hands of the Totonacs, he sent them on their way with orders that they should tell Moctezuma how he had befriended them, and that he only wanted to be of service to their master, whom he was most anxious to meet.

It was trickery of the most cold-blooded kind. In the morning Cortés pretended to be furious at the prisoners' escape. He had the three remaining Mexicans bound in chains and taken for greater security on board one of his ships, which were now anchored in the river. Here he promptly released them. Meantime, he told the caciques that they and all their people must obey his orders and join forces with him against Moctezuma. The poor devils were now so committed that there was no turning back, and in the presence of the Royal Notary they took the oath of allegiance and became legal vassals of the Spanish crown.