Three months were to elapse before Cortés marched on Mexico. During this time (15th May to 15th August 1519), he made a political discovery which changed the military situation. The period also saw his transformation from the leader of an expedition sent by the Governor of Cuba, into the Captain-General of ‘the very Great and Powerful, and very Catholic Prince, most Invincible Emperor, our Lord’, as Cortés in his letters called Charles V. That Charles had never heard of him was no matter, as will shortly be shown.
Further back it was said that Velázquez sent some of his friends with the expedition to see that Cortés ran straight. These people, with the soldiers that they had brought, composed a substantial proportion of the force. Up to date Cortés had managed to deceive them. It will be remembered that before he left Cuba, Velázquez tried to arrest him. Nevertheless, Velázquez’s friends stayed with the expedition. Cortés had convinced them that Velázquez was mistaken in suspecting him. Moreover, he handled them very cleverly, bribing and making them splendid promises. They wanted to go and believed they could guarantee that Velázquez would be well served. But now a trial of strength between the parties occurred. Cortés perceived that if he were to make his march on Mexico, he must be undisputed master.
Things came to a head in this way. Velázquez’s friends thought the time had come to return to Cuba. The expedition had been wonderfully lucky. For reasons not altogether clear to them, but evidently having to do with his religion, Montezuma had allowed the expedition to land and had made a present of a quantity of gold. But he had refused to see Cortés and plainly hinted, first by reducing supplies, and then by discontinuing them altogether, that he expected him to leave soon. There were large Mexican forces somewhere inland. The sensible course was to go now with the treasure and report to Velázquez. What else was there to do? They could not stay among the sandhills indefinitely. To move to better ground and settle there would bring the Mexican army on top of them. As for marching on Mexico, the idea was lunacy. They had done very well; better go while the going was good.
Such were the arguments that Velázquez’s friends put forward. But for Cortés to go back would have been as ruinous as it was risky to go forward. All the gold would have to be delivered to Velázquez, who, after deducting the Royal Fifth, would be entitled to dispose of the rest. He could not be relied on to share it out fairly. As Cortés was in his bad books, he might even have difficulty in getting back his expenses. Indeed, Velázquez might do worse; despite the big gold return, he might say—as was true—that Cortés had sailed against his orders and charge him with rebellion. In that case, Cortés would not only lose everything he had won on the expedition (both in reputation and wealth) but also be deported to Spain, thereby forfeiting his estates in Cuba. To return home ruined and penniless after fifteen years’ work in the West Indies was a bleaker prospect than the worst risks that Mexico might bring.
How did he stand? If he could get rid of the opposition, he would have at his disposal a body of men, small but compact, resolute and daring, who would follow him anywhere. He was, by an almost miraculous chance, safely on Mexican soil. That Montezuma planned an attack was by no means certain; the cutting off of provisions proved nothing. (As we know, this estimate of Montezuma’s intentions was correct.) His right, his only, course was to stay on, explore the neighbourhood, add to his information, and sooner or later a chance would present itself of marching on the capital.
The first step, however, must be to outmanoeuvre the opposition and free himself from Velázquez’s control. His experience as a man of law in Cuba suggested how this could be done. That one of the greatest coups of his life was achieved by a legal quibble shows that he had talents not usual among men of action. Besides being an able commander, he was a machiavellian schemer.
Under Spanish law it was permissible for a body of Spaniards, whether in Spain or in the Spanish dominions, to found a municipality and elect its officers if they obtained royal sanction. The officers of such a municipality were directly subordinate to the Crown and no one else could give them orders. Cortés now proposed to hiss upporters—the Alvarados, Sandoval, Puertocarrero, Escalante, and the rest—that the camp be called a town and the soldiers a municipal community. When the expeditionary force had thus ceased to exist, he would resign his command and offer himself for election to the council. They would then make him head of the judiciary and commander of the municipal forces. Charles V’s sanction could not be obtained in advance, since they were too far away, but he would be informed at once by letter of the founding of his new town, which he would recognize if tactfully approached. Pending the arrival of royal sanction, legal fiction would allow that they were already holding from the Crown. Velázquez would cease to be their chief. His right to the gold would lapse and his partisans in the camp, if they raised objection, could be silenced.
Such was the plan which Cortés unfolded to his supporters. It could, he added, be carried through with all the correct formalities, as he had a public notary with him.
Alvarado and his other friends were delighted. To get the troops to agree, their natural loyalty to the Crown had to be exploited. They were told that, if they returned to Cuba, His Majesty would lose the kingdom of Mexico which Cortés planned to give him. As the soldiers believed Cortés could conquer Mexico, it was easy to make them think of Velázquez as a man whose lack of vision would deprive the Crown of a new domain. They also believed that if they returned to Cuba, the gold would not be shared out among them, but if they followed Cortés they would make their fortunes.
Two or three days sufficed to transform the army into a municipality whose elected head was Cortés. The camp looked exactly the same, the soldiers the same, but were not the same, as Velázquez’s partisans soon found out. Surprised and indignant, they repudiated the transactions, but were immediately put in irons for contempt. The shock of this, the sight of documents and seals, of a pillory and a gallows, sobered them. Cortés was able to talk them over and their leader, Montejo, even accepted the office of chief magistrate of the municipality.
Charles V had now to be addressed. Accordingly, the municipal authorities of the Villa Rica de la Vera Cruz (the Rich Town of the True Cross), as the camp of huts was now called, wrote to the Emperor, acquainting him with the adventures of the expedition and telling how, for His Majesty’s greater glory, they had founded a city in his new empire. They begged him to recognize what they had done and as a proof of their devotion sent him the whole treasure which Montezuma had given, though, as they pointed out, only the Royal Fifth was due. Cortés thought this sacrifice essential. It would be the weightiest argument in his favour. Velázquez had his agents at Court and they were ready to spend heavily. But Montezuma’s gold was a bid nobody could beat. Though the poor soldiers got no more than they would have from Velázquez, they were talked into agreeing by promises of future loot. Cortés also sent Charles a letter, the first of a series. This first letter is not extant. Captain Puertocarrero was entrusted with the duty of delivering the treasure and the letters. He set off for Spain in a fast ship.
It is interesting to know that some of the golden treasures sent home were much admired in Europe as works of art. Albrecht Dürer is recorded to have highly praised their craftsmanship. Some of the pieces later found their way to the British Museum. The mask of Quetzalcoatl, which can be seen there by the visitor of to-day, is thought to be one of them.
Having secured his legal position by this masterly comedy, Cortés now made the political discovery which changed the military situation and proved to be of the utmost importance for his plans.
The sand dunes opposite San Juan de Ulúa where the camp lay was in the country of the Totonacs, a people different from the Mexicans and whose culture, like the Tabascoans’, was of much greater antiquity. They had built the great city of Tajín, famous for its richly decorated architecture. They were marvellously skilled carvers of stone, as all will agree who saw their sculpture in the Tate exhibition of 1953. The Mexicans had conquered them some years before. So far the Spaniards had met none of these people, their visitors having been exclusively Mexicans. But one day, after the final visit of Montezuma’s envoys, Bernal and another soldier, who were stationed on the look-out among the sand dunes, saw five men coming along the beach. They approached smiling and asked by signs to be taken to the camp. Doña Marina and Aguilar were called to interpret, but reported that the men spoke a different language. However, two of them stated that they knew Nauatl (the Mexican language), and speaking in it declared that the lord of Cempoalan, a large Totonac town some twenty miles north-west, had sent them to inquire who the strangers were and to offer his services. Cortés gathered from their conversation that Montezuma had enemies. He was delighted to hear this and after flattering and rewarding the two messengers he asked them to tell their lord that he would soon pay him a visit.
Since the Totonacs were friendly, Cortés decided to move into their territory. He could get no more provisions where he was; the soldiers lived on the fish they caught. Accordingly one morning he struck camp and they marched along the coast, the ships keeping abreast, until they reached Cempoalan. Notabilities, carrying cones made of roses, met them at the gate and invited them to enter. Their lord was a very stout and heavy man, they explained, or he would have come out himself to welcome them. ‘As we got among the houses and saw what a large town it was, larger than any we had yet seen, we were filled with admiration,’ writes Bernal. ‘It looked like a garden city, and the streets were so full of men and women who crowded to see us, that we gave thanks to God at having discovered such a country.’ Soon they were in a large square of whitewashed houses. The fat lord was there waiting for them. Cortés embraced him. He was truly very fat. After polite exchanges, they were shown into a large apartment, where the lord left them to dine off turkey, cake and plums.
After dinner he reappeared, attended by his staff in rich mantles. Cortés again ‘embraced him with a great show of caressing and flattery’ and was given a present of gold, jewels and cloth. Said the lord: ‘Please accept this in good part. If I had more, I would give it to you.’ And he complained bitterly of Montezuma and his governors, saying that Cempoalan had only recently fallen under the Mexican yoke. All his golden jewels had been carried off and his people were grievously oppressed. There were thirty towns in the Totonac confederation, he said. Montezuma not only demanded a heavy tribute from them but also victims. Every year many of their boys and girls had to be sent up to Mexico for sacrifice. Resistance was impossible, as the Mexican forces were huge. More than once when the fat lord was speaking of his people’s misfortunes he broke down and wept. (Bernal always calls him the fat lord because he could not remember his name.)
That some of Montezuma’s subjects were disaffected was very good news for Cortés. The Totonacs evidently sought his friendship in the hope of securing his help. The fact was that they had heard of the defeat of the Tabascoans by the Spanish. They now saw with their own eyes the horses and cannon. They knew of the Mexican embassies and that Cortés had been given the insignia of Quetzalcoatl. The prophecy that this god would return and be victorious was common knowledge. With him as an ally, their deliverance was certain.
Some days later an event occurred which threw a lurid light on the Totonacs’ servitude. Their chief men were talking to Cortés when messengers arrived in haste to say that five Mexican tax collectors were about to enter the town. The lord and his counsellors turned pale. Some hurried off to receive the alarming visitors, others prepared them a room, decorated it with flowers, and started cooking a dinner. Presently five Mexicans arrived, attended by servants carrying fly-whisks. Their cloaks and loin-cloths were richly embroidered and their hair elegantly dressed. Each carried a walking-stick and a bunch of roses. They ignored Cortés and passed on their way, smelling their roses in an arrogant manner. After they had eaten their dinner and drunk their chocolate (an intoxicant as prepared in those parts) they severely lectured the Totonacs for entertaining the Spaniards, saying that Montezuma had forbidden them to be supplied. As a penalty, the Totonacs would have to provide at once twenty boys and girls for sacrifice.
The sequel illustrates the boldness and finesse which were characteristic of Cortés. He resolved to use the occasion to obtain a securer hold on the Totonacs. They should rebel straight away and so, for fear of Montezuma’s reprisals, be obliged to fall in with his plans, instead of him having to fall in with theirs. And he would manoeuvre their insurrection in so clever a way as to ingratiate himself with Montezuma. When therefore the fat lord consulted him on what to do, he urged him to arrest the tax collectors. ‘I dare not do that,’ he Altered. ‘I will support you with my men,’ replied Cortés. ‘Your lordship is certainly a teotl (god),’ he replied fervently. Though he still hesitated, he was soon persuaded to make the arrest.
The news spread rapidly to all the Totonac towns and threw the inhabitants into a fever of delight. They swore that they would pay no more taxes. The fat lord now declared he would sacrifice the tax collectors. (The Totonac religion was the same as the Mexicans’, though human sacrifice was on a smaller scale.) That night Cortés arranged the escape of two of the Mexicans and had them brought secretly before him. ‘You are at liberty,’ he told them. ‘Go back to Montezuma and tell him I saved you, and will do the same for your three companions.’ Next day, he accused the fat lord of negligence and, taking the remaining tax collectors from him, transferred them to his ships.
The supposed escape of the two tax collectors terrified the Totonacs. Montezuma would immediately learn the full facts and send a punitive expedition against them. But Cortés reassured them. ‘Anyone coming to molest you will be killed by us,’ he told them with a confident smile.
From that moment the Totonacs were his humble and devoted servants. Montezuma, though very annoyed, decided not to punish them until after the Spaniards’ departure. He still hoped that this would take place, though his enchanters had returned to report that Cortés was impervious to their art. We do not know what other measures he was taking. It may be assumed that he was sacrificing every day and consulting oracles. The answers he got may have encouraged him to think that Cortés would soon leave. At this time he sent down his two nephews to find out what was happening. They brought further valuable presents. Cortés delivered to them the remaining tax collectors, stating that he had rescued them out of friendship for Montezuma. And he sent him this message: ‘I and my men are on our way to visit you.’
The words, when repeated by his nephews, were like the voice of destiny to the distracted monarch. If Cortés came on, irresistibly on as prophecy foretold, it would have to be borne. Yet, he himself would continue to try everything, short of violence, to avoid his fate. Of all the strange facts in this drama, the strangest of all is that he had it in his power to destroy Cortés and his five hundred men, but could never bring himself to give the order. His science compelled him to believe that Cortés was a divine incarnation. Prophecy, divination, portents, astrology, signs, auguries, the calendar, history —all pointed to the awful fact. Greatly learned and experienced in what pertained to deity, he was convinced that a god had come down, not to give a revelation and save him, but to take away his kingdom because of the wrong done by his ancestors, when this same god was driven from the country. To attack the god, to destroy him, would perhaps be to destroy the wind, one of his manifestations, the very breath of life, for without it the clouds would not come, there would be no rain, no vegetation, and all would perish. Therefore he would go on trying to placate this incarnate Quetzalcoatl, and thereby perhaps save his country. But if the worst happened, if the god could not be placated, if he himself must die and his people suffer great tribulations, these evils would be less than to risk convulsing the cosmos by putting an incarnate god to death. It must be borne in mind that the Mexicans were more terrified of the gods dying than of anything else.
When we turn from this haunted creature to Cortés, the Spaniard seems simple and robust. A bright adventurer of the Renaissance, without inhibitions or secret terrors, he wanted riches, glory and power within the frame of the Holy Roman Empire. Nevertheless, he also had his darkness. Both in his actions and what he symbolized he went beyond reason; in his actions because he had set out to do what reason could not sanction, the conquest of an empire with 500 men; in his symbolism because essentially he was what Montezuma thought him to be, not in fact an incarnate god, but a mortal through whom an immortal was to come in. Christ followed immediately behind him, or even led the way as he believed. That he was a vehicle of deity was both a darkness and the justification of any deed of darkness. So it is hard to say which of the two protagonists was the more mysterious, Montezuma awaiting the god, Cortés approaching with the Cross. Neither understood the other, yet in effect their thought was analogous.