Feathered Serpent (29 page)

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The royal house shimmers in the sun, more dream than real, a chimera in rose-coloured stone. Over the door a painted rabbit symbolises the day – One Rabbit – that the palace was completed. Polychrome stone serpents stand sentinel on each side of the entrance. Gods and eagles and Jaguar Knights watch us from the frescoes. We have stepped into the maw of the Mexica.

We step into a huge hall, fully two hundred paces long, the walls faced with marble and porphyry the colour of jade. I look up; there is a paradise world in wood, friezes of flowers, birds and fish carved into the broad cedar beams.

My lord is oblivious, but then he is a god and not impressed bu such things. He strides ahead and I hurry after him. I am afraid. He has brought just four of his Thunder Lords with him, and just five soldiers as escort. As a god he is immortal; the rest of us might be slaughtered in a heartbeat and there is no one to protect us.

The building we are in is the very heart of Motecuhzoma’s empire; around us are his law courts, tribute storehouses, arsenals, reception rooms and kitchens as well as quarters for the hundreds, perhaps thousands of his servants and retainers. I feel as if I have shrunk to the size of an insect and find myself in a nest of ants. We pass a mass of the emperor’s drones, his fetchers and carriers, scribes and worriers. I hear murmurs of astonishment all around us; for a moment we have brought the business of the Mexica to a halt. Everyone stops their frantic activity to stare.

My lord hurries ahead, into a court of luxuriant gardens and bubbling fountains. He bounds, two steps at a time, up a broad stone staircase that leads to the second floor of the palace and the emperor’s private apartments.

——————— 

Into the presence of Motecuhzoma himself.

Revered Speaker, resplendent in a turquoise cloak lined with coyote fur, reclines on a throne sculpted from a single block of stone. Beside him is another throne, woven from reeds. He indicates that my lord should take his ease in this. Other low wooden
ypcalli
have been arranged for the other Thunder Lords.

His dwarves and musicians go tumbling from the room, summarily dismissed. Of his court, just four remain in attendance; Woman Snake, his prime minister; Motecuhzoma’s brother, Ciiutláhuac; and his nephews Lord Maize Cobs and Falling Eagle.

Motecuhzoma claps his hands and Falling Eagle steps forward with the gifts the emperor has chosen for his guests; my lord receives a casket of golden jewels while his captains each receive two golden collars and two cotton cloaks.

At my lord’s behest I thank Motecuhzoma for his gifts and for his hospitality. Motecuhzoma responds by asking how he might please my lord further.

“Mali,” my lord says to me, “you must tell him that I am not a god, but a man like himself. Tell him that I have been sent here by a great king who rules many lands. He wants Motecuhzoma to abandon his false gods, who are only demons, and become his vassal so that he may enjoy his friendship and embrace the true faith.” He pauses to stare at Father Olmedo and Brother Aguilar, ensuring his point is well made. “Please relay my words exactly as I have said them.”

“I shall, My lord.” I will certainly do no such thing. Brother Aguilar will get us all killed.

I turn to Revered Speaker, who has been watching this exchange intently. “My lord wishes you to know that he has come from the Cloud Lands at the behest of Olintecle, Lord of all Lords. He is here to reclaim the throne, as is his right. He wishes you to obey him in all things.”

Motecuhzoma does not seem at all surprised to hear this. “As you know,” he says, “your lord’s coming has been prophesied over many generations. I have kept his seat for him. But I hope he will allow me to continue to lead my people. In all other things I put myself entirely at his service.”

For a moment I am breathless. With these few words it appears to me that we have won. “He says that he hopes you will allow him to continue his rule, if only as your instrument.”

There is a moment of awed silence. The Thunder Lords look at one another, their thoughts and feelings utterly transparent. Only my lord remains inscrutable. “Those were his words,” he says.

“I translate his words exactly,” I say, remembering our earlier conversation. “No embellishments.”

“Does he mean what he says?”

“I don’t know,” I answer, keeping my eyes lowered. “All I can do is translate exactly what he says. No embellishments.”

“Mali!”

“My lord, I do not know the mind of the emperor!”

He concedes the point. “All right. Tell him, then, that I will be happy to accept his vassalage, on the King’s behalf. But if he accepts Charles as his political sovereign, he must also accept him as his spiritual guide. In that case he must abandon this abhorrent practice of human sacrifice and be baptised into the holy faith. He must also tell his people to abandon their false gods and learn of the one and true religion.”

I do as he asks. Motecuhzoma’s demeanour changes immediately. He seems to me both afraid and angry at once. “Tell the lord Malinche that I have received many reports of his new religion and of the crosses he has erected in our temples. I am sure his gods are very good to him. But my gods are good also, and I cannot risk offending them even for him. I hope that we can be friends and that we do not have to talk about this delicate subject further.”

Ask a god not to talk about his religion? How can that be? I do not want Motecuhzoma and my lord to be friends. My destiny is chaos.

“He says that he cannot risk offending his gods further. He recognizes that you are a great lord, but he hopes you will not mention this subject again.”

The Thunder Lords are utterly confused by this answer.

“First he surrenders you the throne,” Alvarado growls, “then he deigns to threaten us. What game do we play here?”

My lord looks to me for guidance now. How can I explain it to him, in front of everyone here? Motecuhzoma still suspects that you are Feathered Serpent, so he offers you the throne. But he wishes only to placate you with baubles and fine words. His loyalties both from need and from conviction are with Smoking Mirror and Hummingbird.

“My lord, you must not take his words at such literal meaning. What is said in our language, and what is meant, is not always the same thing.”

“So what do you think my lord Motecuhzoma means?”

“He means that you may be king of this place, as long as you do as he commands.”

My lord’s eyes blaze with anger, as I hoped they would. “Tell him that he lives his life in error, that there is only one God and that these idols that he worships are in fact only devils. All men are descended from Adam and Eve, which means we are all brothers and so this practice of sacrifice and cannibalism is an offence against man and against God! Tell him that we have come here to save him and his people. Unless he accepts Christ as his saviour and turns his back on his idols he will burn in the fires of hell for eternity.”

I have heard this speech before, from Father Olmedo and Brother Aguilar, but I had never thought I might have to repeat it to the emperor of the Mexica. If it is incomprehensible to me, what will Motecuhzoma make of it? “You wish me to say that to him exactly?”"They are my words.”

And so I do as he asks. Motecuhzoma receives my speech with a mixture of confusion, terror and outrage. My lord has told him that he came as a friend, in peace; now he is harangued and threatened in his own palace. By a God, yes; but by a lesser god.

Worse, all this comes from the lips of a woman, who looks directly at him, like an equal. It is utter humiliation.

“Tell Lord Malinche that my own gods have served me very well. I will obey him in all other things. But what he asks is impossible.”

I pass on the emperor’s words. Alvarado and the others are becoming anxious; the monkeys who love only gold are trapped now by religion. My lord struggles with the moment. He knows the dangers, but he cannot draw back.

Fray Olmedo steps forward. “My lord,” he whispers, “I fear we should not press him. Enough that we have broached this subject, for now. Let us progress by stages, consolidating as we go.”

“It was you who urged me to show more piety, Father,” my lord says to him, his voice strained.

“We do not doubt your piety, my lord. But I think in this case we should not be overly rash in our fervour.”

“Jjust yesterday you dared lecture me that I am not fervent enough!”

“I think Fray Olmedo is right,
caudillo
.” Alvarado says. “Let us leave off for now.”

My lord sighs. “Very well,” he murmurs with bad grace. He turns his attention back to me. “Thank Motecuhzoma once again for his gifts and his hospitality. Tell him we shall take our leave of him now.”

I feel a rush of disappointment. I have for a long time prepared myself for this great collision between god and prince. I cannot believe my lord has been persuaded it from it by his own moles. They entreat him to deny his own divinity every day.

Motecuhzoma smiles thinly as we take our leave of him. It is all I can do to hide my contempt. There will be another day; my lord will not stay his hand forever. I will be at his side when he finally brings you to account for your cruelty and throws you from the throne which you and your kind have usurped.

Falling Eagle watched the Spaniards leave. He had noticed that during the exchanges with his uncle, the girl had been careful never to call this stranger Feathered Serpent by name, as she had done on the coast and at Cholula. Instead she used the honorific "lord", which could be applied to either a prince or a god. It was still not clear who they were dealing with.

For himself he was now convinced that this Lord Malinche was a man like himself; a mortal man with far more cunning than any god.

Hall of the Jaguar Knights

“He has asked to see the Temple,” Woman Snake said.

Above them the priests sounded the conches from the pyramid of the Great Temple. It was the last watch of the night and before the dawn could come it was the priests' duty to tear the heads from hundreds of quails and use their blood used to salute the rising sun. The quail were chosen for this ceremony because of their markings: speckled white on black like the stars in the sky, the same stars that Hummingbird, the Sun God, must defeat before he could rise in the east.

“What does he wish to find in the Temple?” Cuitláhuac asked.

The question remained unanswered.

Falling Eagle felt helpless with rage. So far these intruders had shown scant regard for their gods. What could be their purpose in seeing the temple but to offend them further?

Like Motecuhzoma he, too, was worried about the portents. These strangers had chosen to enter their city on the day One Wind, the sign of Feathered Serpent in his guise as the whirlwind. One Wind was also the sign of sorcerers and thieves who chose this particular day to hypnotise their victims before taking over their houses, eating all their provisions, raping their women, and stealing all their treasure.

Ever since their arrival, an oppressive silence had hung over the city. Meanwhile here they sat, the cream of the nation’s princes and warriors, helpless to intervene.

“I do not believe this Malinche is really Feathered Serpent,” Falling Eagle said.

“Revered Speaker believes it,” Lord Maize Cobs said.

Falling Eagle turned to the Prime Minister. “What do you think, Woman Snake? Is he perhaps just an ambassador from some land we know nothing of?”

The prime minister shook his head. “If he were an ambassador he would have presented us with his credentials. He has not done this. Instead he has intimated that he is rightful king of Tenochtitlán. If Motecuhzoma accepts his word, as he seems disposed to do, what is to become of us?”

There was silence in the audience chamber. But their frustrations they all baulked at the next step, that of disobedience and rebellion. Motecuhzoma was their tlatoani, Revered Speaker, chosen ruler for life. His right to govern them was as indisputable as the hierarchy of their gods and to defy him was unthinkable. Slowly, one by one, the great lords got up and left the chamber until Falling Eagle was left there alone.

Our empire was founded on the sun, he thought. But now the sun grows weak. I fear for Mexico.

Templo Mayor

At the foot of the steps the mutilated body of a naked woman was strewn in a circle some four paces wide. This was Moon Goddess, Malinali explained, daughter of Serpent Skirt, mother of the Moon and Stars. When Serpent Skirt was pregnant with the sun god, Hummingbird, the Moon Goddess had tried to kill her. Instead Hummingbird had leaped, fully formed and fully armed from his mother’s womb to save her. He had cut the Moon Goddess down with his sword, as he now had to do each night to be born again. Now here she lay, carved from stone, at the foot of his shrine, her gory fresco placed precisely so that she could accept the bodies as they rolled from the sacrificial stone at the top of the steps.

Benítez tore his eyes from the evil, blood-caked stone and gazed in awe at the towering stone pyramids around him. Less than fifty paces form where they stood was the church of Feathered Serpent, his temple quite different from the others that surrounded it; instead of a pyramid, like the others, it was rounded, Malinali explained, so that it provided no impediment to the Lord of the Wind, allowing his breath to flow where it would.

Its appearance was similar enough to a proper church to appear beautiful, if it had stood alone. But close by it were the skull racks, - the tzompantli, as the Indians called them - thousands of heads, some still oozing blood and flesh, others bleached by the sun, testament to the voracious appetite of the Mexica’s gods.

But they were not there to see Feathered Serpent’s church. Cortés wanted to climb up to the shrine of the Temple Mayor. Benítez shielded his eyes to look up at the peak, which was by his estimation higher than the spire of the cathedral at Seville. The steps that led to its summit were so steep they seemed to ascend almost vertically to the clouds. Two painted stone serpents stood sentinel on either side.

The Mexica who accompanied them indicated to Malinali that they would carry Cortés up the steep incline but he waved them away and strode up the steps towards the summit unaided. Benítez followed him, his breath burning in his chest as he tried to keep pace with him.

Dear God in heaven, Benítez thought.