Captain from Castile (49 page)

"Pobrecitos!'' she said, eying the two youths pityingly.

In Alvarado's apartment the gods stood dazed before the awesome captains. These also were gods, and in their heart of hearts the Aztec boys believed them mighty as any. They saw Tonatiuh and Xiuhte-cuhtli. Sun God and Fire God, seated in high-backed chairs with their swords across their knees, and the mysterious witch-woman, who had once been an Aztec, standing behind them. Did not the Uei Tlatoani, the great Montezuma himself, tremble before these teules?

But Tonatiuh grinned.

"Tell 'em, Dofia Marina, that we're glad to have kept them alive. We take them under our protection, and no harm shall come to them.

The only service we \vant in return is to know what devilment the Tenochcas are up to. . . . That's the gist of it, eh, Pedrito?"

After Doiia Marina had interpreted, one of the youths threw back his head and made a brief answer.

"They refuse to speak, seiiores," she said.

Alvarado gaped. "How? What? Refuse to speak?"

"Even so, senor."

"But, vive Dios, did we not save the whoresons' lives? Except for us, they'd now be butcher's meat on the way to the pot. Have they no thanks or natural gratitude? Perhaps you didn't explain to them."

"Yes, Senor Captain, I explained; they understand; but they will not speak."

"Now, God-a-mercy," sighed Alvarado, "the longer I deal with these heathen donkeys, the more they puzzle me. Do them a good turn, and it never crosses their thick skulls to render the like. The Golden Rule means nothing to them. Well then, we'll have to encourage them to talk." He shrugged discouraged shoulders and pondered briefly. "The screws or the boot? Hot irons take too long. I'll lay my money on the boot. It loosens the tongue quicker. . . . Hey, Alonso," he called to the guard at the door, "fetch Chavez with a boot. He knows how to fit it. And get a couple of men to handle these boys."

Pedro pinched his chin. He wondered what Cortes \vould have done. Torture seemed crude, and de Vargas, remembering the dungeon in Jaen, shrank from using it; but he could think of no better way. The survival of the garrison demanded as much information as could be obtained about Aztec intentions. The two youths probably knew.

The boot was a contraption of wooden staves bound tightly around the calf of the leg. Wedges were then hammered between knee and wood. It was very effective.

The bewildered gods were forced down upon low stools and held in position. Chavez (the one who had assisted at Pedro's operation in Villa Rica) fitted the boot to the leg of one of the captives, put a wedge in place, and raised his mallet.

"Better explain to them, Doiia Marina," remarked Alvarado. "Tell 'em I don't want to break their kneecaps, but they've got to talk. If the boot doesn't persuade them, other things will."

Doiia Marina interpreted in her gentle voice. The Aztecs ran their tongues over dry lips.

Alvarado nodded. Chavez came down with his mallet. A yelp, as of an agonized dog, sounded. The youth began speaking.

"He will tell what he knows, seiior," murmured Dona Marina.

It was not that the Indian could not stand pain, but if he was ever to fulfill his office as a dying god, he must not be maimed. Only the perfect and unscathed were fit for the sacrifice.

"So much the better," said Alvarado. "I rejoice that he has no stomach. It saves time. Well, what does he know?"

The youth answered Dofia Marina's questioning.

"He says that after the festival they will fall upon us," she translated. "Their chiefs and arms are ready. They await but the word of the gods. We have deceived them about the ships, they say: we have no intention of leaving this land. If Malinche is beaten by the other white men, let him be. If he returns here, he too shall be swallowed up. For they shall let no white teule live. They shall sacrifice them to the gods—all, all. They shall eat their flesh. They shall place their heads on the tzon-pantlis,"

"Cursed thorough of them!" Alvarado grinned.

He and Pedro both laughed, to the amazement of the Aztecs, who sat staring at them. Perhaps the Spanish captains could not have done anything which would have made a deeper impression.

"We've learned little more than we knew already," Pedro observed. "It about shapes up with the other reports."

One of the youths spoke again. "They ask to be freed," said Dofia Marina.

"Freed—to be cut into mincemeat?" exclaimed Alvarado. " 'Slife, that's a strange boon. Why?"

"They wish to be sacrificed for their people. They wish to die for the gods."

Alvarado shook his blond head. "What fanaticism, Pedrito! What ignorance! I've half a mind to let Chavez work on them some more and make Christians of them. Chavez—"

"By your leave. Captain," Pedro interrupted, "we have more pressing things to do and to think about."

"Oh, well, have it your way," the other grumbled. He turned to Dofia Marina. "As to setting them free, no. Tell them that we're giving nothing to Witchywolves, not even their carcasses. Take them off and lock them up. If they want to be sacrificed, perhaps we can accommodate them with a stake and a slow fire."

But when the room had been cleared, Alvarado fell thoughtful, staring at the rings on his broad fingers and twiddling his chain.

"Whew!" he puffed at last. "A bad prospect! I suppose I'm not more of a coward than other men, but I'm not in love with death."

He rose and walked up and down, his wide sleeves flaring, his Olympian head bowed. At last he stopped in front of Pedro.

"Cholula!" he breathed. "That's the answer. It's what Cortes would do if he were here. It's what he did there—in Cholula. Remember?"

De Vargas nodded. Who in the company could forget? He remembered how the chiefs of that hostile city on the road to Mexico had been lured into the Spanish quarters. He remembered the massacre. It had been a ruse of war, a distasteful ruse. Afterwards the city, which had been on the point of rising, lay quiet like a headless snake.

"Well?" he queried.

"Well, Pedrito. It's much the same here as there. The chiefs are here—all of them, the whole dung heap of them. We'll attend the festival tomorrow, not in formation but to view the sight, eh? Do you take me? All their nobles are inside—unarmed. I give the word—say, Espiritu Santo. We block the doors to cut off escape and then lay on. If we watch ourselves, not one of them should get off. A clean sweep. Then who's to lead the dogs against us? I tell you, it's the answer."

De Vargas thought it over. It was a touch-and-go situation. If the tidal wave of the city burst over the tiny garrison, how long could they hold out and from where could they expect help? The end was inevitable. If ever strong measures were justified, it was now. What would Cortes do? Then suddenly, as if from nowhere, the question presented itself: what would his father do? Don Francisco's hawk features hovered vividly an instant in his mind. His father, the soul of honor, who welcomed a fair fight, but scorned a mean advantage, however expedient, what would he do? That was more easily answered than in the case of the General. But all at once it struck Pedro that he must not try to copy either his father or Cortes. The decision was his, to be made according to his own standards and judgment. And at that moment, unknowingly, he passed a milestone in his life.

"Senor Captain," he said at last, getting up in his turn and facing Alvarado, "I think ill of the plan for two reasons. In the first place, this is Tenochtitlan, not Cholula. The people here are Tenochcas, not Cholulans. That was a small town and a soft race. This is a great city of warriors who have conquered the whole country. If you killed all the chiefs in the temple yard, there would still be plenty left to head the people. We would then have war at once. As it is, we have twenty days, and in that time much can happen. Senor Captain, I think that the plan would fail of its purpose and plunge us out of the frying pan into the fire."

This was an argument that Alvarado could follow. He fingered his beard, his eyes uncertain.

"It's a decided point," he admitted.

"The second reason has a different color," Pedro went on. "I think I know the mind of the General as well as anyone, and I know that the Cholula matter weighs upon his conscience. Nay, he has told me as much, regretting that he was overtempted to use means which reflect upon the honor of this company as Christian cavaliers. It is certain that Father Olmedo denounced the action roundly."

"He would," Alvarado muttered. "But what have priests to do with war?"

"I say that Cortes himself would hesitate before what you propose, Seiior Captain. We have given permission for this festival. The chiefs are unarmed."

"I'll bet their weapons are not far off," the other interrupted.

"It may be. But does that justify us, while at peace, in falling on them with our pikes and swords?"

"Aye, if we know that they intend to fall upon us. As between knaves, the one who strikes first wins."

Pedro stiffened. "Fm not yet ready to add a knavish title to my name. Nor, in all honesty, have the Indians acted so. The Lord Montezuma in our presence threatened war. We fobbed him off with a pretext about the ships, but he promised nothing. This Aztec fellow here a few minutes past threatened war after twenty days. Are we to show less honor than these dogs?"

Alvarado's blond mask dropped. "Are you presuming to lesson me on the point of honor?"

"I'm presuming to be interested in my own honor, Sefior Captain."

For a moment they stood icy and alert and silent. Then Alvarado's warm smile reappeared.

"Hark you, Pedrito, there's something in what you say. But the command here and the weight of it are mine. I'm answerable for it to the company. I do not propose to be caught napping by these rogues and I intend to strike first if that promises best. It's what Cortes would do. We'll attend the festival tomorrow and I'll decide then. If it seems likely that we can pull off the stroke to our advantage, we'll do it; if not, not. Much depends on the number there. And scruples be damned when the lives of this garrison are in the balance!"

Pedro set his jaw. "It's against my advice for every reason, sir. You can count me out of the butchery."

"You'll do your duty. Captain de Vargas."

They left it at that. With a sore heart, Pedro returned to his quarters.

"The trouble is," he complained to Catana, when they talked it over, "that it takes a smart man to treat with the devil, and Alvarado isn't

smart enough. He's the kind of man who thinks he decides when events decide for him."

L/

By three and fours, next day, the Spaniards, duly coached by Alva-rado, sauntered over to the great teocalli and mingled with the crowd inside. Only a handful to guard the gates, under the command of Juan Garcia, and the Tlascalans, who dared not show their faces among Aztec warriors, were left in the compound. That the Spaniards were armed caused no remark, for the city populace had never seen them unarmed. The crowd did not welcome their presence, but tolerated it in a sort of scowling your-turn-next mood. Besides, the reHgious ceremonies of the festival drew ofT surplus attention.

Whatever he might have wished, Pedro could not refuse to accompany the others. He was second in command and under Alvarado's orders. Nothing had been decided anyWay. Moreover, it could easily happen that the small body of men, instead of playing the hunters, might be forced into the role of hares; and in that case it would not do for one of the leading captains to be absent.

Together with Chavez, Nightingale Casca, and a crossbowman named Santesteban, he crossed the square gloomily enough, lamenting the absence of those who had marched with Cortes. The cream of the company had been skimmed off for the campaign along the coast. Pedro felt that if the captains who gathered usually at the council table had been here, Alvarado's essentially stupid plan, however plausible it looked on the surface, would not even have been considered.

The size of today's crowd did not equal yesterday's: that was the one comforting point. Whether today's ceremonies were less important, or whether the capture of the two victims had thrown a cloud over the festival, the throng of Aztec notables inside the temple enclosure did not exceed several hundred. De Vargas noted with pleasure Alvarado's crestfallen expression. Honorable scruples aside, even he must admit that the killing of these warriors, though a blow, would not cripple the Tenochcas.

"Well?" Pedro asked, walking up to the Captain-in-Chief.

The latter frowned. "Well, we'll wait. More may come. As it is, I can see some caciques here who might well be spared from troubling us. The quantity might be better, Pedrito, but the quality's of the best."

He fingered his beard. ''For la Virgen, I wish I knew what to do. It may be our one chance. And yet— Mai haya! Why did Cortes leave me in this pickle!"

Around and around, in and out, wove the dance of the warriors, a shifting kaleidoscope of headdresses, masks, prismatic patterns and colors. A cloying perfume of incense and of lilies filled the place. The thumping of drums and squeal of flutes mingled in a discord of sound, which was yet hypnotically rhythmic. In perfect cadence, every gesture and step prescribed, the chiefs were actors as well as dancers. They celebrated, no doubt, certain episodes in the lives of the gods, now to a slower, now to a faster tempo. Gradually the beat quickened, rising toward a climax; it grew hotter, fiercer, stirring the pulses of the Spanish onlookers. The savage intoxication spread. Eyes became fixed, muscles tense. The blaze of the sun, dazzlement of colors, smell of flowers, relentless crescendo of sound, acted like a drug.

Standing on the lower step of the pyramid, Pedro could overlook all of it. He felt his mind drifting, reeling in a whirlpool of sensation. The sudden voice of a speaker near at hand sounded far off, and it took an effort to steady himself.

"Senor captain, we call on you. Now's the time. Now's the time. Give the word."

It was Francisco Alvarez, an officer whom Pedro disliked as a show-off and trouble-maker, a kind of self-appointed tribune among the soldiers.

"Word?" echoed Alvarado, staring at the dance, his face red, a swollen vein on his temple.