A few days later Cortés marched to Tlaxcala. The Totonac city of Cempoalan had been surprisingly beautiful, but Tlaxcala surprised him yet more. ‘It is so large and admirable,’ he told the Emperor, ‘that although I will omit much that I might say, the little that I shall say is almost incredible. It is far larger than Granada and very much stronger. Its population is many more and its provision better. A huge market, jewellers’ shops, as good crockery as anywhere in Spain, barbers and chemist shops and public baths. Order and politeness everywhere in the streets; the people as intelligent as the Moslems. As far as I can judge, the government resembles that of Pisa or Venice.’
Into this large city, so confusingly like a European city, but not really so, the Spaniards entered on September 23rd. The populace welcomed them, as divine beings should be welcomed. An incarnated divinity looks like a man. But these people were not deceived by the mortal appearance of the Conquistadors, for they now knew for sure that they were gods. Besides the crowd of leading men waiting to receive them outside the walls, numerous priests came forward and fumigated them with copal incense burning in pottery braziers. The ears of the priests were bleeding because that day they had offered their blood to the gods, to placate them, one supposes, on so momentous an occasion. ‘They lowered their heads as a sign of humility when they saw us,’ writes Bernal. The streets and the flat roofs of the houses were full of people, all with happy faces. Men and women pressed up to give roses. Quarters had been prepared for the visitors in a building opening off a large courtyard. Each soldier found a mat bed and blankets. ‘We were astonished at the courtesy and affection they showed us. During the twenty days we stayed, there was always more than enough to eat.’
The senior member of the Council of Four was blind. He asked to be led up to Cortés and felt him over his head, face and beard, and over all his body. And he said: ‘Malintzin, I have a beautiful unmarried daughter and I would like to give her to you.’ As Cortés had already two consorts, Doña Marina and the ugly niece of the fat lord of Cempoalan, though the latter had been left behind, he gave the girl to Pedro de Alvarado, saying he was his brother. When she was baptized, which took place shortly afterwards, she was christened Doña Luisa. Bernal says that she had a daughter by Alvarado who married a cousin of the Duke of Albuquerque. The Tlaxcalans were, like the Mexicans, one of the Red Indian tribes of North America, who had migrated to Central America some two or three centuries earlier. That their daughters were now able to move in the best Spanish society shows the level of civilized manners to which the tribe had attained. The episode is illuminating in other ways. The Spaniards had no colour bar. A lady, provided she was baptized, was treated as a lady; the shade of her complexion was of no consequence.
Cortés, with his loathing of human sacrifice, at first wanted to force the Tlaxcalans, as he had the Totonacs, to get rid of their bloodthirsty deities. His companions, however, protested that this would be the height of imprudence. Rolling the images down at Cempoalan had been a close thing; here it would be plain suicide. ‘It would be better, your Honour,’ said the Padre de la Merced, ‘to lead these people gradually to perceive the superiority of our religion.’ The project was dropped. But Cortés got permission to put an image of the Virgin and a cross in a new pyramid temple close by. That was where, after Mass, Doña Luisa was baptized and with her some other girls who had been offered to the Captains.
Cortés now turned his attention to finding out all he could about the Mexicans. The Council of Four told him that Montezuma could put 150,000 men into the field. Some of his soldiers, however, were conscripts from subject cities, who did not fight hard and who used to give warning of a raid. The Four showed battle pictures painted on cloth, which illustrated in detail how the Mexicans fought. They also described exactly the layout of the capital, the depth of its lake, the width of the causeways, the number of bridges, the canals, the water supply and the principal fortifications.
Cortés had now to decide on his next step. He was going to the capital, but how and when? His alliance with the Tlaxcalans had completely changed his situation. They were an independent military power right in the middle of the Mexican dominion. If they marched with him, his chance of victory would be greatly increased. They appeared to be anxious to go with him.
The situation, however, was complicated. Cortés did not know that Montezuma, for magical reasons, had resolved never to use his troops. All he knew was that Montezuma had not attacked him so far. His fictional envoyship had perhaps protected him. No Mexican army had stood across the way, when the Spaniards were toiling up from the coast. Though there was a small permanent Mexican garrison in Xocotla, it had made no sign; nor had it been reinforced. But was that really the explanation? He had come against orders and his suite was not like an ambassador’s. Perhaps Montezuma was afraid of him? If so, why? The Tlaxcalans had not been afraid to fight him. Or was it guile? Was Montezuma luring him on, so as to overwhelm him the easier? But that did not make sense either. By allowing him to come on, Montezuma had not reduced but increased his power; he had let him ally himself with Mexico’s only dangerous enemy. No. Had Montezuma wanted to destroy him, he would have attacked him in overwhelming force before Xocotla, as he came out of the desert, exhausted and starving. The only explanation was that, though he did not want him to come to the city, yet he would let him come. He had not wanted him to leave the coast, but when he left it, he acquiesced. Now again he would give in. Yet it was not possible to be sure without knowing more of his mind. There was nothing for it but to go on and find out. But for him to march on the capital in a warlike manner would be to throw away the chance that Montezuma would receive him as the envoy whom he had always represented himself to be. The Mexican emissaries were still waiting for their answer. He would give a diplomatic answer. He would repeat what he had said from the beginning: that he was an emissary of Charles V and had a message to deliver, that he came in peace, that he had benefits to bestow. For Montezuma this answer was as cryptic as all the rest. He knew Cortés was not an envoy; he knew he was an avenging god.
In his letter to Charles, Cortés relates that the Mexican envoys now suggested that he should let them take him twenty miles down the road to Cholula, one of Montezuma’s vassal towns, where it would be easier to discuss the question of going on to the capital, distant thence about sixty miles. He agreed to this and sent for the lords of Cholula. When they came, he left Tlaxcala. The difficulty was to get rid of the Tlaxcalans, who wished to send their whole army with him. But to arrive at Cholula supported by a host of armed Tlaxcalans would contradict his claim that he was coming in peace. Nevertheless, he was obliged to start with the army. On getting within six miles of Cholula, however, he induced it to return, except for 6,000 men who continued with him to the outskirts, where he told them to remain and not to enter the city. The Tlaxcalans begged him to be careful; to enter Cholula with his small force was to put himself in Montezuma’s power. They alleged a plot; Montezuma was enticing him there with evil intent. They had, of course, the strongest reasons to discourage him from coming to an arrangement with their hereditary enemy.
Cortés was a little shaken by their warnings. Perhaps there was a plot. He entered the town much on his guard, though the people seemed extremely friendly. His immediate plans are well summed up in Bernal’s plain words: ‘We planned to stay there until we could decide how to get to Mexico without having to fight for it, for the great power of the Mexicans was a fearful thing.’