When Cortés anchored off the mainland on the eve of Good Friday, the death anniversary of the incarnated Second Member of the Christian Trinity, he had none of the information contained in the last chapter, and no idea that he was a god in mortal form whose second coming had been foretold for the morrow. At most, he may have surmised that, like Grijalva’s, his fleet had been sighted some days before, and have hoped that the inhabitants, who greeted his predecessor and consented to trade, would do the like with him. That he was fulfilling a messianic prophecy and had already thrown the country into a nervous convulsion, he would only learn as the queer fact was gradually revealed by the behaviour of the Mexicans. When he did learn it, he would see it as a miracle which prepared the way for his conquest, an ambition apparently so difficult with his small resources that he can hitherto have had little idea how to achieve it. As we shall see, he did not dare to play the god, for he believed that the Mexican gods were real devils. Besides, in his total ignorance of Mexican theology, it would have been impossible. Nevertheless, so convinced was Montezuma that he was the god that nothing Cortés said or did would seem inconsistent with his supposed divinity.
‘Within half an hour of anchoring,’ says Bernal, ‘two large canoes full of Mexicans came out to us. Seeing the big ship with the standards flying they understood it was there they must go to speak to the Captain; so they went direct to the flagship, and going on board, asked for the Tlatoani (Speaker).’ Doña Marina came forward and pointed out Cortés. The Mexicans, after making the customary salutation by touching the ground with the forefinger and raising it to the mouth, said to him they had been sent by the local governor to inquire who he was, and supply him with anything he wanted. Cortés thanked them and offered wine, a drink unknown in Mexico and whose flavour pleased them. He also gave each of them glass beads. He had come, he said, to trade, and they need not feel uneasy.
The Mexicans then left to report to the governor. What they had seen was very exciting, though Cortés had said nothing to suggest he was Quetzalcoatl. Nevertheless the ship, weapons, armour, everything on board, were extraordinary. He was surely a divine personage, though his food did not appear to be hearts. But Quetzalcoatl ate but little heart food. He might well be that god.
On Good Friday Cortés disembarked his men, horses, dogs and cannon on the mainland, here a stretch of sand dunes, and pitched a camp. During the ensuing week or so a series of conversations took place between him and emissaries from Montezuma. It is difficult to give these in the exact order they occurred, but what follows is the gist of these curious meetings. Montezuma, it appears, had been informed of the Spaniards’ approach about a fortnight before they reached San Juan de Ulúa. Though Mexico city was at least two hundred miles inland from the coast by the shortest route, news could reach it within twenty-four hours by runners organized in relays. By the time Cortés landed, the first emissaries from Montezuma had arrived on the coast. They had with them a man called Cuidalpitoc (Big Bellied), a slave, and were instructed to sacrifice him should Cortés want to eat him or drink his blood. They also brought quantities of ordinary food, over some of which human blood had been sprinkled. Their instructions were to try and find out whether Cortés was really Quetzalcoatl or not.
These people came to the camp on Easter Sunday. The Spaniards had no idea that Cuitlalpitoc was an intended victim. He looked so grave and important (he had been fattened up for sacrifice) that they thought him an official. His gravity can be ascribed to his anxiety; he was anticipating a horrible death. Things however did not turn out that way. Cortés embraced his callers and in their presence celebrated the Easter Sunday Mass; it was chanted by Fray Bartolomé de Olmedo, who had a beautiful voice. Afterwards he invited them to dinner, during which he explained that he was sent by the Emperor Charles V to pay his respects to the great Montezuma in person, whose fame had reached the Emperor and with whom he wished to be friends. (At this time both Cortés and Montezuma were quite unknown to Charles.) As it appeared that Cortés did not want to eat Cuitlalpitoc, at any rate at the moment, the Mexicans now brought forward Montezuma’s present of provisions. Sahagún records that on seeing that portion of the food which was sprinkled with human blood, the Spaniards felt sick; the blood smelled like sulphur. A feeling of diabolism in the air caused them to smell the fumes of hell. This blood food seems to have been a test. That Cortés refused it was additional proof of his identity with Quetzalcoatl. Montezuma had also sent gold jewellery, embroidered mantles and feather capes. Cortés had had the forethought to bring some articles besides beads suitable as return presents and now gave the emissaries for their ruler a carved arm-chair inlaid with lapis lazuli and a crimson cap with a golden medal engraved with a figure of St. George on horseback. Also, to impress them, he fired off his cannon and told Pedro de Alvarado to lead the troop of horsemen in a gallop along the strand. The Mexicans stared, amazed and intimidated, and ordered their secretaries to make careful notes in the picture writing. Before the party left, Cortés repeated that he wanted to come up to Mexico for an audience.
Sahagún has described the midnight scene in the royal palace when the emissaries arrived back to report to Montezuma. For a Franciscan, Sahagún had a scholarly interest in Mexican ritual that was astonishing for the period and he puts down his facts, however sinister, without adverse comment. Sometimes his descriptions make your hair stand on end, as in the present case. The emissaries, hurrying from the coast in long forced marches, arrived, he says, very late at the capital. So urgent, however, did they conceive their business to be, that they went straight to the palace and asked for audience at once. Though Montezuma had been waiting for their return with the utmost impatience, he had given up hope for that day and gone to sleep on his mat. But as he had left instructions to be woken if the men arrived, they were admitted, led down the long stone corridors and ushered into his bedroom. It was about 11 p.m. Advancing with lowered eyes, for no man was allowed to look directly at the First Speaker, they asked for permission to address him. But Montezuma, already informed, perhaps, by advance runner, that Quetzalcoatl indeed had arrived, would not allow them to speak in the informal setting of his bedroom on so grave a subject. A report, touching the descent of a god and having to do with a crisis the most dreadful in all Mexican history, could only be delivered with the proper ceremony. He gave orders that all should adjourn to one of the main halls. There were cages in the palace where captives were kept ready, so that at any moment of the day or night he could quickly offer them. As he deemed it right to open the proceedings with sacrifice, he now sent for several of these poor people, also directing that they be painted with some earthen colour, a detail of importance in the rite. After a short interval they were led into the hall. A private sacrificial stone stood there and on it, one by one, they were stretched, four priests holding fast the limbs and a fifth pressing back the throat with a collar. Then the sacrificer (perhaps on this occasion Montezuma himself) cut their hearts out and offered them to some aspect of deity, though to what is not clear. The blood was siphoned from the bodies and spurted over the emissaries. ‘For they had been witnesses,’ says Sahagún, ‘of portentous events and had seen and spoken to a god and his companions.’ Though no doubt the ceremony reflected the reverential care and dread with which the cult of divinity was practised in Mexico, one cannot help feeling that Montezuma was a monster and the sacrifice of the captives a ritual murder.
Anointed with the sacred blood, the emissaries were now purified to speak. Displaying their picture writing in support of their words, they began to tell of the wonderful things they had seen and heard. Of the cannon, writes Sahagún, they said: ‘The sound of the command to fire them was very startling. The thunder following the command deafened us. The shot burst out of the cannon’s belly with a spray of sparks. The smoke smelt horribly and made us giddy. When the ball hit a tree, the tree turned to dust.’ Of the Spaniards themselves they said: ‘They were armed in iron, with iron on their heads. When they mounted their deer, they were roof-high. Only their faces were visible, white and very lined. Some had black hair, some yellow, and the yellow haired had yellow beards. They did not eat human hearts. Their dogs were very big, with folded ears, great hanging chops, and fiery flaming eyes, pale yellow eyes and hollow belly. Tongues lolling out, they were always panting, and their hair was flecked like a jaguar’s.’ Sahagún adds: ‘When Montezuma heard this tale, he trembled with fear and almost fainted.’
Montezuma was now fully convinced that Quetzalcoatl had landed, and on learning that the god wanted to come to Mexico city, he was overwhelmed with awe. As the upholder of the Mexican religion, he must welcome him and bow to his will, whatever it might be, even resigning to him the throne. As the head of the Mexican state, his duty was to his country. He could not surrender it to another. If, then, he must neither resist the god nor betray his people, a compromise must be found. Could he not persuade the god to return to his paradise? It might be done with gifts, perhaps, or by magic. Force on no account must he use. But if the god could be peacefully induced to change his mind and go, the crisis would pass.
Deciding to try this course, he planned to recognize Cortés as Quetzalcoatl by sending him the insignia of the god, as well as many other valuable presents. His envoys would also take a most respectful greeting, but would hint that a journey to Mexico city was out of the question. Along with them he would despatch the most adept of his enchanters who, by every means known to them, astrological and incantatory, would seek to deflect the god from paying him a personal visit.
The insignia of Quetzalcoalt consisted, among other things, of a mask worked in a mosaic of turquoise, attached to which was a lofty crown of long green feathers (quetzalli). The features of the mask were formed by the undulations of a snake. Besides the mask there were a mantle and a mitre. The envoys should dress Cortés in these things. They should also present him with a hundred loads of valuables. The most important of these were two circular calendars, each as large as a cartwheel, one of gold, the other of silver, elaborately engraved with astrological hieroglyphs. In addition, a quantity of golden ornaments were sent, some in the form of ducks and dogs, jaguars and monkeys, others being collars, necklaces and sceptres. Addressing the envoys formally before their departure, Montezuma is recorded by Sahagún as saying: ‘Our Lord Quetzalcoalt has arrived. Go and receive him. Listen to what he says with great attention. These treasures that you are to present to him on my behalf are all priesdy ornaments that belong to him.’
With the envoys went a party of what Sahagún calls ‘sinister people, the enchanters, the man-owls, the witchmasters’, who were instructed to ensorcel Cortés, entangle him in incantations and cause him to go back. Among them was a man whose name has come down to us in the Spanish form of Quintalbor. He was the exact double of Cortés, whose portrait had been sent up to Mexico along with the pictures of his guns, dogs and horses. In Mexican magic the double of a god had various parts to play. It is perhaps significant that this Quintalbor is reported by Bernal to have fallen ill later. His illness, if purposely induced, may have been in the nature of a spell to make Cortés ill and so persuade him to leave.
The envoys and magicians took the road for the coast in all haste, a large party with their litters and porters, the important among them in embroidered mantles, the porters naked except for their loin-cloths.
Meanwhile Cortés and his men had remained in camp on the sand dunes. It was exceedingly hot and the mosquitoes were very troublesome. Cuidalpitoc had been left behind to look after the visitors. Happy that he had not been sacrificed, he humbly tried to make them as comfortable as possible. He procured plenty of food, including turkey, then unknown in Europe, and covered their huts with palm leaves against the sun. It took the envoys only a week to go and return. One morning early they arrived with the presents. Cortés received them with the affectionate embraces which were his charming custom. The presents were laid out on mats and, when their enormous value was perceived, the Spaniards did not conceal their joy. But the message that came with them was not so agreeable. Cortés was politely informed that to visit the capital was impracticable, though there was no objection to his staying on where he was for a while. The journey to Mexico city was long and arduous, explained the envoys, food difficult to get, he would tire himself out. Montezuma did not wish to put him to such trouble. Cortés assured them it would be no trouble and asked them to take back a message that if, after coming so far, he failed to see Montezuma, the Emperor Charles, whose envoy he was, would be very disappointed.
The envoys left, telling Cuitlalpitoc not to be so amiable. To feed the Spaniards up was to invite them to stay. To get them to leave was what was wanted. Supplies should be cut down: The enchanters were at work trying to force Cortés out. He, of course, was quite unaware of their magical attentions. But he understood by now that they all believed him to be some god, who, it had been foretold, was to come from the East. With Marina and Aguilar to translate and explain, he could not have failed to gather as much, but he made no attempt to take the role. Indeed he continued as before to represent himself as an envoy of Charles V and to invite them to see the Mass. Nor did he hide his detestation of their cruel religion. One is obliged to presume that he did not take seriously the mistake about his identity. It had been useful to him so far. He could not otherwise have landed without rousing the whole country to resist him; and there was the fortune in gold he had been given. But the misunderstanding might not remain useful. Without knowing what was in Montezuma’s mind, one could make little sense of what had happened. The Mexicans called him a god, but asked him to leave. Well, he was not leaving. Somehow or other he would get to the capital. The fact was that he could not return to Cuba and Velázquez. He had to devise a way of going forward. So when, a week later, a second refusal to let him come up was received from Montezuma, he merely deferred the visit. ‘Some day, please God, we will go and see him,’ he told his soldiers.