Chapter Eighteen

There was a stirring at the mat which covered the door.

Don Fielding jumped to his feet, snatched his Beretta .22 from its holster, and flung the mat aside. It was the page, Orteguilla, the one Cortes had loaned to Motechzoma and the sole Spaniard in the expedition who had a smattering of Nahuatl.

“Good God,” Don snarled. “Every time I have a private conversation I find one of these Spanish kids under my feet!”

Orteguilla, his eyes wide now, turned and darted away.

Don brought the gun up and drew a bead on the boy’s back. But then he lowered it again and shook his head. If it had been a man—perhaps. Things were desperate.

He grabbed up his entrenching tool, attached it to his belt, returned the gun to its holster. Cuauhtemoc was also standing by now.

“Quickly,” Don snapped. “We must get out of here. The boy will report the talk of revolt to Alvarado, the one you call Tonatiuh, the sun. He’ll have his excuse to execute me. And you with me. What is the best manner to get from the tecpan?”

He led the way out the door.

Cuauhtemoc said, “But all entries are guarded.”

“Which is least guarded?”

“That to the canal to the rear of the buildings. It is there they unload the canoes which carry the supplies for the teteuhs and their allies.”

It was the area where most of the Tlaxcalans were quartered and Don didn’t know it very well. But they hurried in that direction.

At the small dock two Spanish soldiers were posted. Both of them looked bored. They were armed with swords alone, in both cases sheathed. Don knew one of them slightly, Juan Sedeno.

Don Fielding came up and said to him, “Juan, Pedro de Alvarado wants to see you.”

The other looked surprised. “Me? Why? I’m supposed to be on guard duty.”

Don shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. He seems awfully upset about something or other. Listen…”

From the center of the tecpan came shouts and the clatter of men running in armor.

“Por Dios!” the soldier snapped. Holding his sword scabbard in his right hand so that it wouldn’t trip him up, he started for the tumult at a run.

Don Fielding turned to the other, opened his mouth as though to say something, but then let his eyes widen. He looked beyond the soldier at the canal, packed as it was with the transport canoes.

“What’s that!”

The Spaniard spun and stared.

The oldest wheeze in the world, Don thought as he pulled out his entrenching tool and clipped the other on the back of the neck, immediately below the helmet.

“Quick,” he snapped at his Indian companion and jumped into an empty canoe.

He sat in the bottom, knowing he was worthless with paddle or punting pole. It was Cuauhtemoc’s ball now and the other went at it with a vim. He headed straight across the narrow canal for the community house there. As was common in these buildings, an arm of the canal went directly into the establishment for landing stages inside.

Just as they darted into the narrow entry, a crossbow quarrel banged into the masonry. Don involuntarily ducked. They jumped onto the landing stage.

“They’ll be after us in moments.”

His companion laughed exuberance even as he led the way. “I spent my boyhood playing around these buildings, my giant brother. If they can catch us, they deserve to!” They ran through a maze of corridors, courtyards, arches, and in moments Don had lost his sense of direction. They came upon another canal, evidently on the far side of the building, and confiscated another canoe. In moments, Cuauhtemoc had it under way at full speed up the canal.

“We cannot go to our home,” he said. “There the teteuhs might seek us out and the people are not yet ready to resist them. We will go to the home of the Turtle clan. Their chief, Tetlepanquetzaltzin, is a great friend of mine and hates the teteuhs beyond all others.” He laughed his exuberance again. “Except for me.”

Don said, “Does that boy, Orteguilla, know you? Has he ever seen you with your uncle, Motechzoma?”

Even as he paddled, the other thought about it. “I do not think so. I hope not, for tomorrow I lead the dancers in the great square before the temple.”

“What dancers?”

“It is the beginning of the feast of Toxcatl in which we dance and make merry in honor of the god Huitzilopochtli. Tonatiuh, the sun, has given permission to my uncle to hold it.”

“No,” Don said.

Cuauhtemoc looked at him in surprised questioning.

Don said, “If you dance in that enclosure, you will die.”

“But it is a great honor to lead the young warriors in the Dance of the Serpent. It was undecided who to choose and I won out over Ocuitecatl when Xochitl, the high priest, sided with me.”

“If you dance in that enclosure, you will die the same day.”

“You know this, giant brother?”

“Yes.”

The Indian sighed. “And you say you are no magician.” They spent the night in the community house of the Turtle clan and with the friend of Cuauhtemoc. While they sat around and talked, word came that there had been a fight between Cortes’s men and those of Narvaez. Cortes had won hands-down.

“It wasn’t much of a fight,” Don told them. “The weapon used was gold. But now the ranks of the Spanish are more than tripled.”

The shoulders of the two Indian chiefs slumped at that. “Then we are lost,” Cuauhtemoc said lowly. “For even with the lesser number of teteuhs, the people are afraid to rise.”

“Not quite yet,” Don said. He looked at his friend. “When you are preparing to march out to war, how do you summon the warriors?”

“Why, the priests beat the great drums from the top of the great pyramid.”

Early the next day, Don and Cuauhtemoc ascended the pyramid from the far side so that Spanish sentries on the walls of the tecpan could not detect them. They hid in the temple at the top, to the surprise of Xochitl and his priests, and peered out the doorway at the proceedings below.

The dancers in their barbaric finery began to assemble early, excitement in the air.

“That is Ocuitecatl,” Cuauhtemoc said glumly. “He will lead the young warriors in the Dance of the Serpent. It was to be my honor.”

A large group of the Spaniards came over from the tecpan and stood around as though curious to watch. Don noticed that they were strategically placed at each of the entrances to the temple enclosure, but evidently none of the laughing, chattering Indians did. He was sick inside. It was a fiesta; there was not an armed Indian in sight. The Spanish, as always, wore their swords and armor.

The singing and dancing were well under the way when Alvarado gave the signal. At each entry, the Spanish set guards, shoulder to shoulder. Then the balance of them, swords swinging mercilessly, began the attack with cries of “Santiago, and at them!”

Don sat down, his eyes on his feet.

Cuauhtemoc stared at him. “You knew this was to happen?”

Lowly, Don said, “Yes. I knew it was to happen.”

“And you didn’t warn them? Some of them are our kin, blood brother.”

“I know,” Don Fielding said in agony. “But we needed our spark.” He turned to Xochitl, who had, for once, horror in his face rather than madness.

“Begin the sounding of the great drums,” Don told him.

By noon, the Spanish and their allies were under full siege. The square was packed with screaming Indians launching veritable clouds of arrows, javelins, stones from slings. From the top of the pyramid, archers were able to see down into the tecpan courtyards and no man was safe to issue forth from cover. On the walls, the Spanish cannon fired over and over again, cutting bloody swaths in the ranks of the attackers, but still they came on.

In the buildings of the Eagle clan, the war chiefs held a conference. There was one chief from each calpulli, four head war chiefs from the four divisions of the city, one head chief from Tlaltelolco, the sister city of Tenochtitlan, and one each from Tetzcuco and Tlacopan, the other two members of the confederation.

The first item on the agenda was the election of a new First Speaker, Motechzoma being replaced. The position fell to Cuitlahuac, member of the Eagle clan and a brother of Motechzoma.

He was a warrior born. He came to his feet, eyes flashing enthusiasm. “We will now go forth and storm the tecpan and kill or capture them all!”

A shout went up. Arms were brandished. Somewhat to his surprise, Don noted that several of them, besides Cuauhtemoc, bore longbows.

“Here we go,” he muttered under his breath. He came to his feet and held up his arms. All knew him and fell silent.

“No,” he said.

Cuitlahuac scowled. “But you too are their enemy. Why do you not wish to rush in and destroy them all?”

Don said, “Because Malintzin will soon be on his way back. With him are fifteen hundred Spaniards, and they have many guns and almost one hundred horses. If we kill Alvarado and his seventy men at this time, Malintzin will remain on the mainland and invest the city, and the other tribes will come over to him in large numbers because all of them hate your confederation and wish to participate in the looting. With that many men and all his guns, he will eventually triumph, no matter how valiant the Tenochas.”

Cuitlahuac said fiercely, “When he comes, we will sortie out and overwhelm him.”

Don shook his head. “As you are now, you cannot prevail against horsemen and against cannons, no matter how much you outnumber him.”

“Then what are we to do?” the Snake-Woman demanded. “We lay siege to Alvarado. And for the time, we take up the bridges in the causeways so that he cannot possibly fight his way out. We let him send messengers to Cortes, though we do not let them know we are aware of the fact that he has done so. Cortes will come to the rescue. The bridges will be replaced so that he can enter. We will suck him into the trap. Then we will take up the bridges again; all the allies will be summoned, and we will decimate him. His horses are worthless in the city, with all its canals, and the cannon almost so, since there is so much shelter for us. He will try to escape, but we will be upon him. No matter how many of the Spanish we destroy, however, they will come again. We must so defeat them at this time that it will take long for them to recover. We must have time to prepare for future attacks.”

Tlilpotonque, the Snake-Woman, said emptily, “There are many of these teteuhs in the lands from which they come?”

“As many as the grains of corn in your distant fields, my brothers. But they are not teteuhs, which you should know by now. Calling them that name makes the people fear them, since who wishes to fight gods? We must spend every moment of our time in preparation to meet them, for they will come again and again, even though we defeat Malintzin.”

The assembled chiefs thought it out. Obviously, in this first flush of enthusiasm in battle, their whole instinct was to polish off the immediate foe, but on the other hand, the confederacy had not gained its position of supremacy, militarily, in Mexico by being less than efficient warriors. Don’s arguments were obvious.

Cuitlahuac said, “Then what do we do for the present, Magician?”

Inwardly, Don Fielding thought, I’ve put it over. God knows what this will do to the history books. Aloud, he said, “The first important step is to seize the brigantines, the great canoes of the enemy.”

Cuauhtemoc produced his Eagle Knight regalia from a deer hide shoulder bag and dressed quickly. Enthusiastically, he said, “We will fire flaming arrows at them. We will burn them and sink them to the bottom of the lake.”

Don shook his head again. “No. That we must not do. It will cost the lives of many, but they must be seized. Now they ride at anchor with guards upon them. In the middle of the night, when matters are most still, thousands of canoes must sally forth and the ships be overrun. They must be captured, and all the Spanish upon them. They must not be slain, if there is any possibility of not slaying.”

“Why, Magician?” Cuitlahuac, the new war chief, said.

“So that they can be sacrificed to the gods and thus win merit for us!” Xochitl screamed.

Don Fielding would have to have it out with that one later. Now he had enough problems on his hands.

He said, “Because to destroy the brigantines would be madness. Later we will need them. We will need all of the things the Spanish have brought if we are to resist them. For the time, we are unable to utilize these large canoes, but we must learn. The Spanish on them know how to use them. We must capture them so that we can force them to show us how to use the sails and the galley oars—and the cannon, for that matter, since not even I know how to use the cannon.”

Don turned to Cuitlahuac. “Meanwhile, it is necessary to curb your warriors somewhat. Besiege the Spanish, yes, but do not expose yourselves to the cannon and the arquebuses. It is brave to dash full into the mouth of the guns, but a brave man is of no use to us if he becomes dead. Instruct them to fight from cover. If the Spanish sally forth, retreat quickly before them, showering them with missiles, but do not, at this point, meet them face to face, man to man. Their weapons are too superior. Against your missiles they have defenses, their armor, but even the best of armor sometimes fails against a sharp obsidian point.”

He looked at Cuauhtemoc. “Your longbow is such that it can sometimes penetrate the best of mail or even a steel breastplate. It would be well if you put your bow-makers to producing them as rapidly as possible and your best bowmen be put to instructing the archers in the new method of firing.”

Cuitlahuac, the new war chief, was obviously somewhat put out by this comparative stranger usurping his position of command, even though he might be a magician beyond all magicians that had ever been known. He said, “If we are not to destroy these large canoes of the teteuhs and we cannot sail them since we know not how, what are we to do with them?”

“Pull them with your canoes to some place in the lake where they will be safe. Not Tetzcuco because the Spanish army will come through there upon their return from the eastern sea.”

“This you know?” the war chief of Tetzcuco demanded.

“This I know.”

“And you claim not to be a magician,” Cuauhtemoc chortled.

The raid on the brigantines came off as Don Fielding had scheduled. He stood on the top of the pyramid and watched, the night being bright enough under the moon. The slaughter was stomach-churning, but the Tenochas, like the Spartans before them, preferred to die in battle. The cannon blew them down by the scores, but they continued on. Happily, each ship had a guard of no more than four or five. Pedro de Alvarado simply did not have the manpower to provide more. They were overwhelmed and towed off by the victorious, whooping Indians.

And the siege as well proceeded according to the plan Don Fielding had outlined. The messengers to Cortes were allowed to escape. It was noted that they were Tlaxcalans rather than Spanish. Alvarado was not risking any of his precious men and, in his eyes, the Indians were expendable.

A couple of times the Spanish brought Motechzoma out onto the rooftops to order his people to stop resisting the Spanish and to return to their homes, but he was met with jeers and Alvarado gave that up.

Several times, the Spanish footmen sallied forth to try and disperse those who were tormenting them, night and day, with the arrows and slung stones, the javelins and pellets from blowguns. But the Tenochas, under instructions, melted away before them, and the casualties taken in the open were not worth the game. There was hardly a soldier now who had not at least a few wounds. Largely, they were minor, due to armor and the low quality of the Indian firepower, but over the days of combat, one by one the Spanish were losing their effectiveness.

Don Fielding had been amazed at the degree to which Cuitlahuac, the Snake-Woman, and all the rest of the Tlatocan high council had allowed him to dominate their decisions. It didn’t stand up to reality. He was, although an adopted member of the Eagle clan, a stranger and, by admission, no warrior, not to speak of being a chief.

The understanding came with his confrontation of Xochitl, the high priest.

For some time now, most of the other high chiefs had no longer been calling him magician.

The crisis was upon the capture of the seventeen Spaniards who had been on the brigantines. Cuitlahuac, the new First Speaker, the Snake-Woman and Don Fielding and Cuauhtemoc, who had led the assault on the ships, were all who had been present.

Xochitl, insanity in his eyes, had been for sacrificing the white men on the pyramid of Huitzilopochtli so that the Spanish still remaining in the tecpan could witness it going on—an indication of things to come so far as their own lives were concerned.

Don said emphatically, “No!”

The head priest was furious and his mad eyes blazed. Don was beginning to realize why he was head priest: there was religious strength in insanity. But he was surprised the other had enough stability to hold down his office.

“The gods demand it!” the other screamed.

Don shook his head. “We need them to teach us the things they know.”

“They must die! Their hearts!”

Cuauhtemoc looked at the priest, his face ultimately stoical, and gestured with reverence toward Don as he said, “Are you blind, so that you cannot see? His face is white, paler than any of those we thought teteuhs and now know are in truth devils. His beard, when he allows it to grow, is black, as I can witness. To mystify us, perhaps, he tells us he comes from the north, but in truth he has come from the east. He has led us in defense against the devils from across the seas. He foresees the future, correctly as all know. He can bring fire from his fingertips. It is the year One Reed. Would you fly, then, in the face of our returned Lord, Quetzalcoatl?”