Aztec - Jennings Gary - Страница 242

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Well, I need not tell every detail of the one-sided battle; what happened that day is well known. In any case, I can describe it only from what was later told by the day's survivors, though I myself eventually saw occasions of similar slaughter. The Texcalteca fled from the field, pursued by Cortes's native Totonaca warriors, who loudly and cowardly exulted in the opportunity to participate in a battle that required them only to harry the retreating warriors from behind. The Texcalteca left perhaps one-third of their entire force lying on the field that day, and they had inflicted only trivial casualties on the enemy. One horse downed, I think, and a few Spaniards pricked by the first arrows, and some others more badly injured by fortunate strokes of maquahuime, but none killed or put out of action for long. When the Texcalteca had fled beyond range of pursuit, Cortes and his men made camp right there on the battlefield, to bind up their few wounds and to celebrate their victory.

Considering the awful losses it had suffered, it is to the credit of Texcala that the nation did not surrender itself to Cortes forthwith. But the Texcalteca were a brave and proud and defiant people. Unfortunately, they had an unshakable faith in the infallibility of their seers and sorcerers. So it was to those wise men that the war chief Xicotenca resorted, in the very evening of that day of defeat, and asked of them:

"Are these outlanders really gods, as rumored? Are they truly invincible? Is there any way to overcome their flame-spouting weapons? Should I waste still more good men by fighting any longer?"

The seers, after deliberating by whatever magical means they employed, said this:

"No, they are not gods. They are men. But the evidence of their weapons' discharging flame suggests that they have somehow learned to employ the hot power of the sun. As long as the sun shines, they have the superiority of their fire-spitting weapons. But when the sun goes down, so will their sun-given strength. By night, they will be only ordinary men, able to use only ordinary weapons. They will be as vulnerable as any other men, and as weary from the day's exertions. If you would vanquish them, you must attack by night. Tonight. This very night. Or at sunrise, they will rise also, and they will sweep your army from the field as weeds are mowed."

"Attack at night?" Xicotenca murmured. "It is against all custom. It violates all the traditions of fair combat. Except in siege situations, no armies have ever done battle by night."

The sages nodded. "Exactly. The white outlanders will be off guard and not expecting any such assault. Do the unexpected."

The Texcalteca seers were as calamitously in error as seers everywhere so often are. For white armies in their own lands evidently do fight often by night among themselves, and are accustomed to taking precautions against any such surprises. Cortes had posted sentries at a distance all around his camp, men who stayed awake and alert while all their fellows slept in full battle garb and armor, with their weapons already charged and near to their hands. Even in the darkness, Cortes's sentries easily descried the first advance Texcalteca scouts creeping on their bellies across the open ground.

The guards raised no cry of alarm, but slipped back to camp and quietly woke Cortes and the rest of his army. No soldier stood up in profile against the sky; no man raised himself higher than a sitting or kneeling position; none made a noise. So Xicotenca's scouts returned to report to him that the whole camp seemed to be defenselessly asleep and unaware. What remained of the Texcalteca army moved in mass, on hands and knees, until they were right upon the camp's perimeter. Then they rose up to leap upon the sleeping enemy, but they had no chance to give even a war cry. As soon as they were upright, and easy targets, the night exploded in lightning and thunder and the whistle of projectiles... and Xicotenca's army was swept from the field as weeds are mowed.

The next morning, though his blind old eyes wept, Xicotenca the Elder sent an embassy of his highest nobles, carrying the square gold-mesh flags of truce, to negotiate with Cortes the terms of Texcala's surrender to him. Much to the envoys' surprise, Cortes evinced none of the demeanor of a conqueror; he welcomed them with great warmth and apparent affection. Through his Malintzin, he praised the valor of the Texcalteca warriors. He regretted that their having mistaken his intentions had necessitated his having to defend himself. Because, he said, he did not want surrender from Texcala, and would not accept it. He had come to that country hoping only to befriend and help it.

"I know," he said, no doubt having been well informed by Malintzin, "that you have for ages suffered the tyranny of Motecuzoma's Mexica. I have liberated the Totonaca and some other tribes from that bondage. Now I would free you from the constant threat of it. I ask only that your people join me in this holy and praiseworthy crusade, that you provide as many warriors as possible to augment my forces."

"But," said the bewildered nobles, "we heard that you demand of all peoples that they vow submission to your alien ruler and religion, that all our venerable gods be overthrown and new ones worshiped."

Cortes made an airy gesture of dismissing all that. The Texcalteca's resistance had at least taught him to treat them with some shrewd circumspection.

"I ask alliance, not submission," he said. "When these lands have all been purged of the Mexica's malign influence, we will be glad to expound to you the blessings of Christianity and the advantages of an accord with our King Carlos. Then you can judge for yourselves whether you wish to accept those benefits. But first things first. Ask your esteemed ruler if he will do us the honor of taking our hand in friendship and making common cause with us."

Old Xicotenca had hardly heard that message from his nobles before we in Tenochtitlan had it from our mice. It was obvious to all of us gathered in the palace that Motecuzoma was shaken, he was appalled, he was enraged by the way his confident predictions had turned out, and he was agitated near to panic by the realization of what could come of his having been so irredeemably wrong. It was bad enough that the Texcalteca had not stopped the white invaders for us, or even proved a hindrance to them. It was bad enough that Texcala was not laid open for our vanquishing. Worse, the outlanders were not at all discouraged or weakened; they were still coming, still uttering threats against us. Worst of all, the white men would now come reinforced by the strength and hatred of our oldest, fiercest, most unforgiving enemies.

Recovering himself, Motecuzoma made a decision that was at least a bit more forceful than "wait." He called for his most intelligent swift-messenger and dictated to him a message and sent him running immediately to repeat it to Cortes. Of course, the message was lengthy and fulsome with complimentary language, but in essence it said:

"Esteemed Captain-General Cortes, do not put your trust in the disloyal Texcalteca, who will tell you any lies to win your confidence and then will treacherously betray you. As you can easily discover by inquiry, the nation of Texcala is an island completely surrounded and blockaded by those neighbor nations of which it has made enemies. If you befriend the Texcalteca you will be, like them, despised and shunned and repelled by all other nations. Heed our advice. Abandon the unworthy Texcalteca and unite yourself instead with the mighty Triple Alliance of the Mexica, the Acolhua, and the Tecpaneca. We invite you to visit our allied city of Chololan, an easy march south of where you are. There you will be received with a great ceremony of welcome befitting so distinguished a visitor. When you have rested, you will be escorted to Tenochtitlan, as you have desired, where I, the Uey-Tlatoani Motecuzoma Xocoyotzin, wait eagerly to embrace my friend and do him all honor."

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