At first, he thought the screams were an illusion—some trick of his grieving heart. But as he stood to determine their source, they only grew louder and more distinct. He opened his eyes and saw a funnel of smoke rising up out of the centre of Cholula.
He felt a new dread envelop him. What madness was breaking out in the city below? He had noticed that many of the Cholulan men were not happy with their strange visitors. They had wandered the city all week, whispering to each other and spoiling for a fight. The Tlaxcalans had warned of the Cholulans’ loyalty to the Mexica, but Cortés would not listen.
Now Benicio determined that the screams he had heard were emanating from the enclosed courtyard adjacent to the Temple of Queztalcoatl. As Benicio approached the courtyard, he paused to observe dozens of Spanish and Tlaxcalan soldiers exiting, their swords and clubs in hand, their clothes stained with blood.
Benicio recognised some of the men. They were Cortés’s front line soldiers—the most brutal and cruel of the Spanish regiment. He tried to speak to them, but they were not interested in talk. Their eyes were glazed over and they walked with the lurching, frenzied movements of recently accomplished violence.
Something terrible had happened inside the courtyard.
More bloodied Spaniards passed him as he made his way inside, including Cortés himself, surrounded by a dozen fearsome men. ‘Nice of you to join us, Benicio,’ he commented as he passed, flashing Benicio the evil eye. It was all Benicio could do not to smack the arrogant captain directly in the jaw.
Benicio stepped inside the courtyard to behold the most gruesome spectacle he had ever seen. A hundred Cholulan noblemen lay slain upon the ground. There were even some women, their fine gold-embossed skirts stained with blood. They appeared to have been dressed for some sort of celebration. Not a single one of them stirred.
Benicio spied Rogelio among several men overlooking the carnage. ‘Did you take part in this?’ he asked Rogelio, his voice trembling.
‘I did not,’ said Rogelio. ‘As evil as you believe me to be, Benicio, I do not condone the slaughter of innocents.’ He limped forward.
‘Nor I,’ whispered Benicio. He had witnessed many terrible things during his time in the Indies, but never such a slaughter.
‘I know what you are thinking,’ said Rogelio. ‘You are thinking that you would leave this army now if you could. If it were not for...what was her name?’
‘Luisa,’ Benicio said, though in truth her name felt strange and bitter upon his tongue.
The two surveyed the hellish scene for many long moments. ‘I cannot be a part of this army any more,’ stated Benicio, ‘for an army it is.’
‘Nor I,’ said Rogelio. ‘Though the penalty for mutiny is death.’
‘Death is better than this.’
‘If we could escape on a horse, we might not be caught before reaching Vera Cruz.’
‘With a bounty on our heads.’
‘And without means to purchase safety, or passage back to Spain,’ said Rogelio.
‘I cannot flee now. I must reach Tenochtitlan,’ said Benicio. ‘I am bound to fulfil a promise I made.’ To save Tula’s sister.
‘I must reach Tenochtitlan as well, for there is treasure there, and I know exactly where it lies,’ said Rogelio. ‘Remember, I spoke with the Maya priest.’
‘You tortured the Maya priest.’
‘I regret it. I wish to make amends.’
‘Ha! Was that the reason for the tamales?’ Benicio asked without thinking.
‘The what?’
‘It is nothing,’ said Benicio, trying to brush the comment aside. ‘I know it was not you.’
Rogelio shook his head in confusion. ‘Speak plainly, Benicio,’ he said.
‘This morning atop the hill,’ Benicio clarified. ‘Someone left me tamales.’
Rogelio paused. ‘Ah, yes. It was I. You had been away from the Spanish quarters for so long. I knew that you required sustenance.’
‘Gracias,’ said Benicio joylessly.
So it had not been Tula, as he had hoped, but Rogelio, as he had feared. Benicio let the sad truth wash over him. His only friend had probably found another man to help her rescue her sister—someone far nobler and worthier than Benicio. He doubted he would ever see her again.
‘It must be an equal partnership,’ Benicio said at last. ‘Whatever spoils we obtain we divide in half.’
‘Of course.’
‘And after we are safely out of Tenochtitlan, we shall part ways and never speak to each other again.’
‘Agreed,’ said Rogelio and held out his hand.
But Benicio did not take it. He only shook his head and nodded, hoping the small gesture was enough to solidify the pact that he had just made with the Devil.