The Fair God; or, The Last of the 'Tzins

BATTLE IN THE AIR

As Cortes, at the head of his column, drew near the gate of the coatapantli, he saw the inclosure and the terraces on that side of the temple occupied by warriors, and the edge of the azoteas above lined with pabas, chanting in dismal harmony with the deep music of the great drum. Ensigns and symbols of unknown meaning, and rich regalia pranked the dull gray faces of the pile with holiday splendors. Little note, however, gave he to the beautiful effect.

“God helping us,” he said to his cavaliers,—and with such gravity that they knew him unusually impressed with the task before them,—“God helping us, gentlemen, we will do a deed now that hath no likeness in the wars of men. Commend we ourselves each, and all who follow us, to the holy Christ, who cometh yonder on the staff of Father Olmedo.”

So saying, he reversed his sword, and carried the crossed handle softly and reverently to the bars of his helmet, and all who heard him did likewise.

In front of the gate, under a shower of arrows, he stopped to adjust the armlets of his shield, for his hand was yet sore; then, settling in his saddle again, he spurred his horse through the entrance into the enclosure.

Right into the mass waiting to receive him he broke, and whom his sword left untouched the trained steed bore down. After him charged the choicest spirits of the conquest, animated with generous rivalry and the sublime idea that this time the fight was for God and His Church. And so, with every thrust of sword and every plunge of horse, out rang their cries.

“On, on, for love of Christ! Death to the infidels! Down with the false gods!”

On the side of the infidels there was no yielding, for the ground was holy ground to them. When their frail weapons were broken, they flung themselves empty-handed upon the nearest rider, or under the horses, and, dying even, tried to hold fast locked the hoofs that beat them to death. In their aid, the pavement became heaped with bodies, and so slippery with blood that a number of the horses fell down; and, in such cases, if the rescue came not quickly they and their riders were lost. Indeed, so much did this peril increase that Cortes, when his footmen were fairly in the yard, dismounted the horsemen the better to wage the fight.

At length resistance ceased: the inclosure was won. The marble floor bore awful evidences of the prowess of one party and the desperation of the other.

The Christians took up their wounded, and carried them tenderly to the shade, for the sun blazed down from the cloudless sky.

Around Cortes gathered the captains, resting themselves.

“The Tlascalans must hold the yard,” he said, well pleased, and with raised visor. “That charge I commit to thee, Lugo.”

Lugo bared his face, and said, sullenly,—

“Thou knowest, Señor, that I am accustomed to obey thee questionless; but this liketh me not. I—”

“By the love of Christ—”

“Even so, Señor,” said Lugo, interrupting him in turn. “I feel bidden by love of Christ to go up, and help cast down the accursed idols.”

The face of the crafty leader changed quickly.

“Ola, father!” he said. “Here is one malcontent, because I would have him stay and take care of us while we climb the stairways. What say’st thou?”

Olmedo answered solemnly, “What ye have in mind now, Señores,—the disgrace of the false gods who abide in this temple of abominations,—is what hath led us here. And now that the end is at hand, the least circumstance is to be noted; for the wise hear God as often in the small voice as in the thunder. Doubt not, doubt not; the prompting of the good captain is from Him. Be this lower duty to the unassoilzied Tlascalans: go we as the love of Christ calleth. Verily, he who doeth this work well, though his sins be many as the sands of the sea, yet shall he become as purity itself, and be blessed forever. Take thy measures quickly, Señor, and let us be gone.”

“Amen, amen!” said the cavaliers; and Cortes, crossing himself, hastened in person to make dispositions for the further emprise.

The Tlascalans he set to hold the coatapantli from attack without. To the arquebusiers and cross-bowmen he gave orders to cover him with their fire while he climbed the stairways and was driving the enemy around the terraces. When the azoteas was gained, they were to ascend, and take part in the crowning struggle for the sanctuaries. The cavalry, already dismounted, were to go with him in the assault. To the latter, upon rejoining them, he said,—

“In my judgment, gentlemen, the fighting we go to now is of the kind wherein the sword is better than axe or lance; therefore, put away all else.”

He took place at the head, with Alvarado and Sandoval next him in the column.

“And thou, father?” he asked.

Olmedo raised his crucifix, and, looking up, said,—

“Hagase tu voluntad en la tierra asi como en el cielo.”[49 - Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.] Then to Cortes, “I will follow these, my children.”

“Forward, then! Christ with us, and all the saints!” cried Cortes. “Adelante! Christo y Santiago!”

In a moment they were swiftly climbing the lower stair way of the temple.

Meantime Io’, from the azoteas, kept watch on the combats below. Two figures charmed his gaze,—that of Cortes and that of the ’tzin,—both, in their separate ways, moving forward slowly but certainly. Before he thought of descending, the Christians were in the precinct of the coatapantli, and after them streamed the long line of Tlascalans.

As we have seen, the prince had been in battles, and more than once felt the joyous frenzy nowhere else to be found; but now a dread fell upon him. Did Malinche’s dream of conquest reach the gods? Again and again he turned to the sanctuaries, but the divine wrath came not forth,—only the sonorous throbs of the drum. Once he went into the presence chamber, which was full of kneeling pabas. The teotuctli stood before the altar praying. Io’ joined in the invocation; but miracle there was not, neither was there help; for when he came out, all the yard around the temple was Malinche’s.

Then Io’ comprehended that this attack, unlike Escobar’s, was of method; for the ways of succor, which were also those of retreat, were all closed. The supreme trial had come early in his career. His spirit arose; he saw himself the stay of the religion of his fathers; the gods leaned upon him. On the roof and terraces were some two thousand warriors, the fighting children of the valley: Tezcucans, with countless glorious memories to sustain their native pride; Cholulans, eager to avenge the sack of their city and the massacre of their countrymen; Aztecs, full of the superiority of race, and the inspiration of ages of empire. They would fight to the last man. He could trust them, as the ’tzin had trusted him. The struggle, moreover, besides being of special interest on account of its religious character, would be in mid-air, with the strangers and all the tribes and companies as witnesses. So, with his caciques, he went down to the landing at the top of the lower stairway.

A yell saluted Cortes when, at the head of the cavaliers, he appeared on the steps, and, sword in hand and shield overhead, commenced the perilous ascent. At the same time javelins and spears began to rain upon the party from the first terrace. Up they hurried. Half the height was gained and not a man hurt,—not a foot delayed! Then, slowly at first, but with longer leaps and increasing force, a block of stone was started down the stairs. Fortunately, the steps were broad, having been built for the accommodation of processions. Down sped a warning cry; down as swiftly plunged the danger. Olmedo saw three figures of men in iron follow it headlong to the bottom; fast they fell, but not too fast for his words of absolution; before the victims touched the pavement, their sins were forgiven, and their souls at rest in Paradise.

The stones and timbers placed on the landing by the ’tzin’s order were now laid hold of, and rolled and dragged to the steps and hurled down. Thus ten Christians more were slain. Even Cortes, deeming escape impossible, turned his battle-cry into a prayer, and not in vain! From below, the arquebusiers and cross-bowmen suddenly opened fire, which they kept so close that, on the landing, the dead and wounded speedily outnumbered the living.

“The saints are with us! Forward, swords of the Church!” cried Cortes.

Before the infidels recovered from their panic, he passed the last step, and stood upon the terrace. And there, first in front of him, first to meet him, was Io’, whom pride and zeal would not permit to retire.

The meeting—combat it can hardly be called—was very brief. The blades of Io’s maquahuitl broke at the first blow. Cortes replied with a thrust of the sword,—quick, but true, riving both the shield and the arm. A cacique dragged the hapless boy out of reach of the second thrust, and took his place before the conqueror.

The terrace so hardly gained was smoothly paved, and wide enough for ten men to securely walk abreast; on the outer side there was no railing or guard of any kind, nothing but a descent of such height as to make a fall certainly fatal. Four times the smooth, foot-worn pavement extended around the temple, broken in its course by six grand stairways, the last of which landed on the azoteas, one hundred and fifty feet above the level of the street. Such was the highway of the gods, up which the adventurous Christians essayed to march, fighting.

“To my side, Sandoval! And ye, Alvarado, Morla, Lugo, Ordas, Duero,—to my side!” said Cortes, defending himself the while. “Make with me a line of shields across the way. Let me hear your voices. No battle-cry here but Christ and St. James! When ye are ready, shout, that I may hear ye!”

One by one the brave gentlemen took their places; then rose the cry, “Christo y Santiago! Christo y Santiago!”

And then the voice of Cortes,—

“Forward, my friends! Push the dogs! No quarter! Christo y Santiago!”

Behind the line of shields moved the other cavaliers, eager to help when help should be needed.

And then were shown the excellences of the sword in a master’s hand. The best shields of the infidels could not bar its point; it overcame resistance so quietly that men fell, wounded, or slain outright, before they thought themselves in danger; it won the terrace, and so rapidly that the Christians were themselves astonished.

“Ola, compañeros!” said Cortes, who in the fiercest mêleé was still the watchful captain. “Ola! Yonder riseth the second stairway. That the heathen may not use the vantage against us, keep we close to this pack. On their heels! Closer!”

So they mounted the steps of the second stairway, fighting; and the crowd which they kept between them and the enemy on the landing was a better cover even than the fire of the bowmen and arquebusiers. And so the terraces were all taken. Of the eight other Christians who fell under the stones and logs rolled upon them from the heights above, two lived long enough to be shrived by the faithful Olmedo.

The azoteas of the temple has been already described as a broad, paved area, unobstructed except by the sacrificial stones and the sanctuaries of Huitzil’ and Tezca’. A more dreadful place for battle cannot be imagined. The coming and going of worshippers, singly or in processions, and of barefooted pabas, to whom the dizzy height was all the world, had worn its surface smooth as furbished iron. If, as the combat rolled slowly around the terraces, rising higher, and nearer the chiefs and warriors on the summit,—if, in faintness of heart or hope, they looked for a way of escape, the sky and the remote horizon were all they saw: escape was impossible.

With many others disabled by wounds, Io’ ascended to the azoteas in advance of the fight; not in despair, but as the faithful might, never doubting that, when the human effort failed, Huitzil’, the Omnipotent, would defend himself. He passed through the ranks, and with brave words encouraged the common resolve to conquer or die. Stopping upon the western verge, he looked down upon the palace, and lo! there was a rest in the assault, except where the ’tzin fought, with his back to the temple; and the thousands were standing still, their faces upturned,—each where the strange truce found him,—to behold the hunted gods in some majestic form at last assert their divinity. So Io’ knew, by the whisperings of his own faith.

Again he turned prayerfully to the sanctuaries. At that instant Cortes mounted the last step of the last stairway,—after him the line of shields, and all the cavaliers,—after them again, Olmedo with his crucifix! Then was wrought an effect, simple enough of itself, but so timely that the good man—forgetful that the image of Christ dead on the cross is nothing without the story of his perfect love and sorrowful death—found believers when he afterwards proclaimed it a miracle. He held the sacred effigy up to be seen by all the infidels; they gazed at it as at a god unfriendly to their gods, and waited in awe for the beginning of a struggle between the divine rivals; and while they waited, Cortes and his cavaliers perfected their formation upon the azoteas, and the bowmen and arquebusiers began to climb the second stairway of the ascent. The moment of advantage was lost to the Aztecs, and they paid the penalty.

Io’ waited with the rest; from crucifix to sanctuary, and sanctuary to crucifix, he turned; yet the gods nursed their power. At last he awoke; too late! there was no escape. Help of man was not possible, and the gods seemed to have abandoned him.

“Tezcuco! Cholula! Tenochtitlan! Up, up, Tlateloco, up!”