Aztec Rage (61 page)

I didn't think Allende had even thought it out; most of the indios spoke Spanish poorly or didn't speak it at all. Not to mention that they distrusted Allende, who, dressed in his flamboyant officer's uniform, was a symbol of tyranny in their eyes. The only thing Allende had going for him was approval of the padre, a man whom the Aztecs revered as a saint.

None of which would help the padre command an army of this size. How could his orders be heard? Who would enforce them without a chain of command enforced by lieutenants, sergeants, and corporals? How would soldiers with no training know how to obey the orders? Who in the lower ranks would pass on the orders?

It wasn't an army but a mob.

The pandemonium started after dark. At first, our indios broke into pulque taverns, which had closed their doors in expectation of a siege. One group of indios went to the jail, opened the cells, and indiscriminately released murderers and thieves along with political prisoners, anyone who pretended they wanted to join the insurrection. But the march to the city had been a long one for most of the indios, and soon they went to sleep.

All hell broke loose at sunrise.

Bands of Aztecs broke into the homes of both criollos and gachupines. They pillaged and destroyed, setting houses afire. Soon thousands of indios
rampaged, smashing windows, breaking down doors of homes and merchant buildings. Loot was carried out by the armful.

Cries of “Death to the gachupines!” rang through the day. People of light-colored skin—criollos and gachupines who had not already fled the city, even light-colored mestizos—were dragged out of their houses and stores and beaten.

A throng of indios attempted to hang a criollo merchant. They had torn most of his clothes off when Allende and his officers on horseback charged into the crowd, with me behind them. The padre was not with us. I knew he spent most of the night checking seized foodstuffs and munitions. The army was in dire need of money; men had to be paid or how else would they support their families?

Allende tried to reason with the would-be hangmen, but they shouted insults back; he wasn't the priest they loved and trusted but just another Spaniard in a military uniform. He surged into them, knocking indios down with his horse, striking them with the flat of his sword, wielding it as a club rather than a lethal blade. The rest of us followed suit, finally breaking and scattering the indios. I hated to battle our own people, but the indios were out of control.

After routing the would-be hangmen, we rode down the finest, wealthiest street in the city. Mobs had attacked the luxurious homes and broken down doors. Allende's own house was on one side of the main square and his brother's on the other.

Joined by Allende's uniformed soldiers, we broke up the savagery and the looting with death threats and brute force, but dealing with the horde of Aztecs was like trying to grasp a fistful of water. No one was in charge.

When the padre finally arrived, he was a calming influence on their raging passions, but not even he could get them to settle down quickly.

Allende confronted him as soon as we had restored order. The criollo officer was red in the face from exertion and anger. “We cannot have this disorder, we'll lose the support of the criollos in the colony.”

“What happened is a terrible thing,” Padre Hidalgo concurred.

I could see from his face that he was conscience-stricken by the atrocities.

“But the Spaniard,” the padre said, “has raped and robbed these indios for their entire lives. We can't expect the slaves to confront their brutal masters with equanimity.”

“They're mindless savages!” Allende shouted.

“Savages?” Hidalgo's voice rose. “Do you forget the atrocities of Cortés and the conquistadors? Do you forget three hundred years of cruelty visited upon these people in the name of gold and God?” Hidalgo's voice became conciliatory but firm. “Ignacio, I share your concern. We both gave our word that no people would be attacked or their property plundered. But look around you. We are now in the third town since our announcement
to drive the gachupines back to Spain. Our cry for soldiers has been answered . . . how many do we have? Ten thousand? Twenty thousand? How many of those comprise our criollo class? A couple hundred? Less than one out of a hundred who have answered the call?”

“They'll join us when they see we're victorious.”

Hidalgo reached across and grabbed Allende's arm. “Amigo, we won't be victorious
unless
we have soldiers. The viceroy has eight, ten thousand trained troops at his disposal? In all likelihood, he's already ordered those regiments to march on us. Soon we'll be in the battle of our lives. And those indios whom you despise will do the fighting . . . and the dying.”

The argument between the two leaders stayed with me as I found shelter for Marina, Raquel, and myself in a convent. The nuns welcomed us inside the gate as added protection. It had to be explained that Marina wasn't our servant.

I could see that the padre and the military officer were not brothers under the skin. Hidalgo was a true man of the people, a visionary who supported independence and a free society open to all races, religions, and classes. But Allende was a type I knew well: the caballero. Horses, fancy clothes—especially military uniforms—señoritas, big houses, all the trappings of an aristocrat. Like me, Allende had been educated more in the saddle than between the pages of books. He saw the insurrection as a military exercise—raise an army, beat the viceroy's army, declare a new nation—one in which he would drive the gachupines back to Spain, installing criollos in their place.

The padre burned with a vision of justice for all. Hidalgo saw the revolt not simply in terms of military tactics but as a personal promise to free exploited people from their bondage and forge a nation of equals.

I suspected that Allende bided his time until the day when he and other criollos could seize the fruits of the revolt. He had no other choice; the Aztecs, not his beloved criollos, would carry the insurrection on their backs and win or lose it with their blood, and they would neither flock to him nor obey him.

The criollo officers had lost control. Not even Napoleon himself could forge an army from this vast multitude of indios, not without time and money. What would happen when they encountered trained troops? Would they turn and run at the first volley of cannon fire and musket fire, as Allende feared? Or was the padre's estimation of the courageous, spirited Aztecs correct: they would fight and die for the cause?

On our march to Celaya from San Miguel, Padre Miguel Hidalgo was proclaimed captain-general of America. Ignacio Allende was made lieutenant-general. Juan de Aldama was third in command, with militia officers who had joined the rebellion assuming other field-grade commands. Warrior-priests walked at the head of the army carrying banners of the Virgin.
Drummers kept up a beat, though none but a few trained soldiers marched to its cadence.

Two days out of San Miguel the padre summoned me, and I met him at the head of the column. We rode together out of hearing range from the others.

“I understand you have declined a commission as an officer,” Hidalgo said.

I shrugged. “That's for men who seek command and glory.”

I didn't tell him that I knew Allende and the other criollo officers neither trusted me nor wanted me in their ranks. To them, I was still half-bandido, a peon who had humiliated and even killed their fellow criollo Spaniards.

“I didn't think you would take it. You aren't the type to enjoy barking orders . . . or taking them. I think of you more as a lobo, a lone wolf, than a peacock.”

I laughed. He had read my thoughts: I'd thought of the criollo officers with their fancy uniforms as peacocks. I only considered a few of them good fighters. Even with his fancy uniform, Allende was mucho hombre and a tough soldier.

“You don't believe in this revolution, do you, Juan?”

I hesitated before answering him. “I don't know what I believe in.”

“I know you said earlier that you would fight for your friends. But now that you have seen this army of Aztecs who dream of liberty, has your heart opened to accept them, too?”

“I've been through so much, heard so many stories even about myself, I don't know what is true and constant, but you've been my friend as have Raquel and Marina. When the time comes, I'll stand by you three, even at the risk of my life. But if you ask me whether I'd give my life for the criollo officers and the indios, the answer is no. As long as any of you three are with the revolution, I will be beside you. Otherwise, this fight has no meaning to me.”

“I'm honored that you would fight at my side. But I want you to know that if your life must be given, I don't want it lost for me but for the people of New Spain.”

He was right: I was a lone wolf. Maybe it was because I grew up unloved. For whatever reason, I traveled light . . . and alone.

“I've had many opportunities to observe you,” Hidalgo continued. “In many ways, you're wiser than me.” He waved away my protests. “No, no. I'm not talking about the books you've read but the life you've led. The rest of us have spent our lives in the Bajío, within shouting distance of towns like Guanajuato and San Miguel. You have seen more of the colony than any of us and have twice crossed a great ocean and fought against the finest troops in the world.”

“I was in a couple of guerrilla actions, padre—”

“What do you think this is? Don't let the size of the army fool you. We
have less training and are more poorly equipped than anything in Spain. No, you have one talent that Allende envies, and every man in the army would also if they knew you possessed it.”

I frowned. “What's that, padre?”

“
Survival
. You escaped a death sentence from the viceroy's men half a dozen times, evaded the clutches of a crazed Mayan king, slipped the hangman's noose in Cádiz, and dodged French bullets in Barcelona only to return to New Spain, flee Méjico City, and now help lead a rebel army. You have prevailed in wars, not skirmishes.”

“My ability to survive is directly related to my ability to duck and run,” I said, laughing.

“Whatever it is, you have a singular ability to blend in here and there, then come back alive. That's why I want you to spy.”

I shot him a sharp look.
A spy?
Spies got worse treatment than traitors when captured.

“I want you to organize and lead a small, select group who can provide us with critical intelligence. We're marching on Celaya and Guanajuato. I need to know their battle plans. Soon the viceroy's armies will attack us from several different directions. I must know the movements and the tactics of those armies, too. After Guanajuato we must take Méjico City.” He gave me a sideways glance. “What do you say, Señor Lobo, will you be my eyes and ears among the enemy?”

“Señor Captain-General, I will serve you until they rip the tongue from my mouth or the eyes from my head.”

“Let's hope it doesn't come to that.”

I rode away from the army to have some solitude and ponder what I had gotten myself into. Another fine mess, no? I could already see Señora Fortuna grinning at my impertinence. But I was sincere when I said I would fight for my amigos. I wouldn't leave Marina and Raquel to the mercy of the viceroy's armies if and when the insurrection turned bad. Nor could I turn my back on the padre, whom I had begun not only to admire but revere.

When I returned to the two women, I gave them a haughty stare. “When I come into your presence, señoritas, I expect you to salute me as your commanding officer.”

They exchanged looks.

“Ah, I see,” Marina said, “you've been made a general, no? Well I have news for you, Señor General, the only man I ever saluted was my husband, and that was when I bid him good-bye after a jealous husband shot him.”

“You two will have to learn respect if you want to work for me.”

“What do you mean, work for you?” Marina asked.

“You want to be secret agents, don't you? I'm the padre's chief spy and spymaster.”

Raquel gasped. “The two of us spies? You mean scouting the viceroy's armies?”

“Whatever it takes. Raquel, you will return to Méjico City, pretend to be loyal to the gachupines and keep your eyes and ears open. What you learn about troop movements and defenses of the city, you'll send the information to me by messenger. You must find friends you trust to carry the messages.”

She squealed. “Has there ever been a female spy?”

I shrugged. “I don't know, but before you get too overjoyed, remember that if you get caught, you'll curse your mother for giving you birth.”

“What of me?” Marina asked.

“The padre will need information about the defenses of Guanajuato and the road ahead.”

“I'm to go to Celaya and Guanajuato and spy?”

“
We
will spy. I'm known in Guanajuato, but now a beard covers my face. Besides, who would suspect that Juan de Zavala, caballero and hacendado, is in town when all they see is a poor Aztec with his donkey and wife? He rides the donkey while his hardworking wife trudges behind, carrying his goods when she is not making his tortillas or finding a pulquería so he can quench his thirst.”

EIGHTY-SIX