Mexica: A History Podcast
Mexica: A History Podcast
Entering the Land of Mexico (Ep 6)
In Episode 6, Cortes continues his march toward Tenochtitlan with a fateful and violent stop in Cholula.
Part 1 - Cholula
Cortes and his 400 Spanish soldiers enter Cholula while the nearly 10,000-strong Tlaxcala and Totonac armies wait outside the city. Here they commit one of the worst atrocities ever committed in the Conquest of the New World.
Part 2 - Word of the Destruction of Cholula
Word of the incomprehensible destruction of Cholula spreads, and with it; fear.
Part 3 - Up the Volcano
Diego de Ordaz heads the volcano Popocatepetl and gets the first glimpse of Tenochtitlan and Lake Texcoco.
Part 4 - Drunk Men Speak Truth
Mexica representatives are intercepted by a drunk man who blasts them with his truthful words.
Part 5 - Departing Cholula
The Cortes Expedition sets out for Tenochtitlan on the final leg of the journey.
Part 6 - Chalco
The Expedition arrives in the Chalco region, and moves to Moctezuma's doorstep, just two miles from Tenochtitlan.
Episode 6 Credits
Written, produced and performed by Jeremy Lipps.
~ Music ~
Away by Meydän
Surreal Forrest by Meydän
guitar percussion by bangcorrupt
Daniel Birch, www.danielbirchmusic.com
Sustained Light
Breathe
The Gates Are Locked
intro by lost dream
Bountiful by Podington Bear
~ Sound Effects ~
rumble loop by unfa
horses by arnaud coutander
walk on dirt road by mikeypme
horse snort by bruno auzet
horses whinnying by leandiviljoen
ancient old time battle combat horses snorting... by ylearkisto
stones falling by iwanPlays
orest stream between mekhanizatorov settlement and akhtyrka vilage moscow region by halfofthesky
water-lapping by ceivh93
soft wind by florianreichelt
fire 2 by pushtobreak
horse whinny by inspectorj
coopers hawk by blimp66
walking2-gravel by tec-studio
Episode 6 - Entering the Land of Mexico
Last time in Episode 5: The Spanish convoy set out from the coast toward Tenochtitlan and Cortes and his men pass through harsha landscapes, and battle the Otomi and Tlaxcala armies before declaring a truce and finding new allies.
Cholula is about 30 miles from Xicotencatl’s palace in Tizatlan, one of the four cities of the Tlaxcala Confederation. To the people of central Mexico, Cholula was a religiously charged city akin to Mecca, Jerusalem or Vatican City. The main pyramid was the largest by volume in the New World, a mountain of a structure. The small city had hundreds of temples each dedicated to one of every god known. Cholula was also allied with the Triple Alliance and a partner in the wars against Tlaxcala and others. Since Cortes had arrived in Tlaxcala they had filled his head with their hatred of the Mexica and their allies Tlacopan and Texcoco. They told of their poverty, and how many went without warm clothes for lack of cotton. There was no natural salt deposit in their region, so they always yearned for it, often getting gouged by traders from the Lake Texcoco salt ponds. They complained of their young men being killed or taken as slaves or for sacrifice, of their women being taken and enslaved.
The hostilities between the Triple Alliance and Tlaxcala went back generations and had been formalized into Flower Wars. These ritualized wars essentially metered out combat deaths and abductions by Mexica soldiers. Flower wars also allowed the noble class an opportunity to display their battle prowess. While these arranged battles were often less lethal than traditional battle they had devolved into bloody, bitter affairs on occasion in the past. Ultimately, it was akin to a bully setting up a fight and it was peak Mexica war culture inflicted directly on whoever agreed. The larger Mexica armies generated stronger warriors and more of them. Despite the pre-arranged rules and evenly-matched numbers of a Flower War the favor often sat with the Mexica. Still, this was better for their opposition than the devastation of traditional war.
For three weeks the Spaniards and their Totonac allies stayed in Tizatlan, capital of the Tlaxcala Confederacy and home of Xicotencatl the Elder. The four cities of the Tlaxcala Confederacy wrapped along the northern foot of the dormant volcano, now called La Malinche. Cortes received Mexica representatives there who offered him feathers, cotton and precious metals. The men reiterated Moctezuma’s invitation to come to Tenochtitlan, and urged the Spanish to pass through Cholula.
After generations of war and death inflicted by Moctezuma and his forefathers, the Lords of Tlaxcala now had the ear of the most powerful fighting man to exist on their continent in all of history. And they shared a similar ambition: to dominate Moctezuma. Xicotencatl the Elder gave Cortes command of between five and six thousand warriors for their march to Mexico, which stood just 65 miles away. The addition of these troops brought his total command to nine or ten thousand Totonac and Tlaxcal soldiers, plus 400 Spaniards and a few smaller groups of men from Xocotlan and other smaller towns.
Part 1 - Cholula
The sun came up on the plain between Cholula and Tlaxcala where the Spanish caravan had camped on the Tlaxcalan side of a river. Four hundred Spaniards and their few thousand Totonac allies climbed up off the ground, their first night camping in three weeks. They stretched and wiggled to get their bones set again after a night on the dirt. Across the river a contingent of about 100 men arrived to greet Cortes, among them several nobles. Through the translations of Marina, the Cholulans begged forgiveness for not coming to greet them in Tlaxcala, but that these were their mortal enemies and they did not feel safe. The men welcomed Cortes and his men but pleaded that the Totonac and Tlaxcalan armies remain outside the city. This request did not calm Cortes’s paranoia of what lay ahead in the first big Mexica-controlled city they had arrived in.
Guided by the Cholulan nobles who had come to greet them, the caravan of Spanish, and a few of their trusted Indigenous advisors entered the city of Cholula, most of the indigenous armies left behind, outside the city. There were no throngs of people, no dancers or flowers as there were in Cempoala, Tizatlan or Xocotlan. A few people gathered to stare, some priests fanned incense on them as they walked. The silent mood was distressing to the Spanish, who had largely been seduced with shows of celebration in other places. One of their indigenous guides, Teuche, was also alarmed by the lack of people and other signs he saw, like stones piled on rooftops and barricades ready for deployment in the tight streets of Cholula. It’s hard to say, maybe it was construction, maybe it was paranoia, or maybe it was a trap. The mood was tense, nevertheless, as the sound of the horse’s hoof-falls on the hard-packed ground was the loudest noise to be heard among the shuffling of the caravan.
The men were shown to some houses that they felt were not fitting of men representing the King of Castile, even if they did shine with sweaty grime and smell like bovines. They were provided with water, firewood and some meager amount of food. The men shot looks at each other as they all sensed the lack of hospitality in the cold dealings of the Cholulans and the meager offerings. And over the next couple of days the offerings became less than meager, representatives were rare and the town seemed largely abandoned.
A soldier named Bernardino Velazquez de Tapia, whom Cortes had sent on a failed mission to Tenochtitlan earlier, let Cortes know that when he passed through Cholula they had very fine accommodations for he and Pedro de Alvarado, who also went on the trip. For days Cortes tried to get the attention of anyone in power. He appealed for more food, more water and more firewood. Things were becoming outright hostile in their quarters and it was going to get aggressive soon. And so Cortes called a meeting with the lords of Cholula. And they agreed.
Before the meeting Cortes coordinated an attack on the entire contingent that was to arrive later that day. He would call the leaders to a separate meeting where he could accuse them and urge confessions with which to justify his coming attack. When the soldiers heard the arquebusier discharge his weapon they were to slaughter the nobles, temames and attendants. And with that, Cortes would send a message against treachery to Moctezuma and all who thought to challenge him. With the plan cooked, the men set out to the courtyard in the neighborhood they were living in.
The Spanish entered the courtyard, horses first, with the riders glaring down at the indigenous workers below them. Plate armor glittered in the sun, bells on the horses rang, heavy hoof falls of the horses rumbled the packed dirt street as these violent conquerors entered the courtyard. Behind Cortes and the ten horses came the foot soldiers. As they entered they fanned out to cover gates and low spots where panicked Cholulans might try to squeeze as they escaped the coming bloodbath.
A tamemeh, sixteen years old, had carried a load of firewood from Tochimilco to Cholula as a tribute for Cortes. He stood along a wall looking up at the horsemen as they entered. He glanced at one horseman’s hairy, grisled face as the European looked back for a split second. He seemed a hundred feet high to the small boy from the small town on the side of the volcano. The steel edge of his sword, which was drawn from its scabbard and held at his side, pointed forward ready for swift action. The boy’s eyes moved from the blade to the horse, its flowing mane, powerful chest and thin, deer-like legs. He could smell the animal, it smelled like urine and sweat. He had never seen such a beast, twice as high as a man, with another man upon it. The hooves shuffled and skipped about, the beast snorted and cried, the man on top seemed barely able to contain its power. The boy was terrified, exhilarated. The horses filed past him, then a stream of uncountable men. Their odor was overwhelming.
It was a chill, sunny day. The Spanish had entered the courtyard and largely piled to the front, except for those blocking the exits. Cortes called for the leaders to come forward and meet with him. About 30 men stepped forward. Cortes guided them back to a room off the courtyard where he told them he had heard of a plan to attack his men. He berated them for treachery, deceitfulness. He said they could have been friends, and then he drew his sword, whispered over his shoulder to the gunman behind him and a shot let out.
The boy from Tochimilco caught a sword-butt to the cheekbone, shattering his skull and killing him almost instantly. The boy next to him was stabbed through his right side puncturing both lungs and his heart. They fell and died next to the firewood their fathers had packed for the Spaniards. His body was trampled and crushed by horses, like many of the other tamemes from his town and district. The nobles were hacked apart just the same by freshly sharpened swords. Horsemen decapitated panicked Cholulans as they ran into each other and in circles looking for an exit. A few men tried to fight, but that was a hopeless endeavor wearing cotton cloaks or loin cloths. Bodies piled up as two or three thousand men and women from Cholula and the wider region were massacred. There was no defense, no hope of escape beyond playing dead in the piles of dying.
Hearing the sound of gunfire and fighting the Tlaxcalans, who had been outside the city, came rushing in to pillage and kill after generations of murder and war by the Mexica and their Cholulan allies. Nothing was sacred, everyone was fair game. The Spanish poured out of the courtyard attacking anyone who tried to defend the city, and any who were fleeing. The Tlaxcalans and Totonacs pushed in from the city limit toward the city center. Whatever barricades the Cholulans could erect were quickly overrun. A group of priests at the top of a temple continued to pray for victory, sacrificing whoever the warriors could bring them. In a final stand with their ill-fated gods they burned alive, refusing to surrender, devout to the end. As the Spanish watched and listened to the men scream, in a way, some of them admired the priest’s stoic demise.
For two days this pillaging continued before Cortes finally called off the Spanish and indigenous armies. If there were any saving graces for the Cholulans it was that many families had fled before the Spanish arrived and taken their valuables and food.
Several days after the massacre some of the surviving nobles and priests returned and begged for peace. Cortes now urged them to go and return with their women and children, that there would now be peace. And they did. And somehow, within a few days the markets were open and people were in the streets. Word of a new faith was spreading and it seemed clear enough which people had the favor of their god. Crosses began to appear in Cholula, which today is still known for its spiritual power and many churches.
Before the blood in the streets had begun to dry the messenger network lit up like a bolt of lightning in all directions as word of the tragedy spread far and wide. The great holy city of Cholula had been destroyed and it’s people massacred. This news was incomprehensible. Slaughtering some band of savage Maya in the southern wilds was one thing, but to raze one of their cities, and one so critical and spiritually protected as Cholula was groundshaking. Old women across the land gasped as they heard the news. Old men wiped away tears as they took in the unbelievable words. A place so many had made the pilgrimage to at one time in their life, a place so eternal, had been toppled.
Word of this heartless massacre also reached Moctezuma, who was already shaken and being pressed by Cortes’ advance. To hear this continent-shifting news cut whatever hope he had out from under him. Moctezuma had been outplayed in every move he made, or perhaps simply Cortes’s singular vision could not be strategized against; only countered with force. It seems Moctezuma’s mind always went the route of etiquette, flattery and kindness; like politely asking a starving jaguar to leave the turkeys alone.
Part 2 - Word of the Destruction of Cholula
Moctezuma could hardly believe the news. Cholula could not have burned. Its thousands of priests had to be walking the streets still. He had been there, prayed at the great pyramid of Cholula. Yet the messengers began to stack up with the same news. The Spanish, with the Tlaxcalans, had murdered the town’s leadership, slaughtered thousands and toppled the gods from the temples. The great Tlatoani of the Mexica fell into a chair and dazed off while his brain was rewired for a world in which the places he knew were burning and being erased. These foreigners had destroyed or turned every group they had come across.
Perhaps, as Moctezuma grappled with this turn in history the two fates of subjugation or conquest seemed all he could see. Not a single force had slowed their advance. The only ones who escaped death and mutilation were those who allied with them, like the Cempoalans and Tlaxcalans. In the South Chief Tabscoob’s Yokot'an Maya succumbed after several bloody conflicts. The Otomi were routed. The Tlaxcalans had tried to play sides against the Spanish but also saw the writing on the wall and opted to ally with them before they were erased. The Cholulans were coldly deceived and murdered. If the most powerful leader on the continent won’t wield the full force of his army against such treachery then peaceful subjugation was his only goal, it seems.
With his heart full of fear and fatalistic visions of death Moctezuma called for his relatives, the kings of Tlacopan and Texcoco, Totoquihuatzli and Cacama, as well as Moctezuma’s brother Cuitlahuac. Cortes’s arrival in Tenochtitlan was imminent. These tense moments brought up a memory, or perhaps it was his sense of magnitude the coming weeks would have on his legacy, these emotions took Moctezuma back to his coronation. In those days Moctezuma was an esteemed military commander, a handsome son of the Tlatoani Axayacatl. His youthful confidence was an aura that shone around him. He longed for that weightless ego in these dark days. On that day, 16 years ago, King Nezahualpilli of Texcoco and King Totoquihuatztli II of Tlacopan helped him through the ceremony, guiding him to a bench, as incense billowed. There they pulled his hair and cut it short in the traditional haircut of the Tlatoani. They placed through the cartilage in his nose a jade tube, in his ears they placed large gold plates and through his bottom lip a finely crafted gold labret of a serpent. The sacred cotton timatls of the Tenochca sovereign were placed on his shoulders. Finally, Nezahualpilli placed the jade crown on his head, the new Tlatoani of Tenochtitlan and Emperor of the Triple Alliance, the Valley of Mexico and the lands beyond.
In the smokey chamber, in front of the assembled nobility, Totoquihuatztli looked Moctezuma in the eyes, peering first at Moctezuma’s right, then left eye. He was looking deeply into him. Searching for the demeanor of a king. He seemed to find what he was looking for in the new leader’s eyes. “Remember the old men and women, who gave their youth in service to our people but who now cannot feed themselves. Remember the poor, who are the hands and feet of the cities. And remember to honor the lords, who stand against our enemies Tlaxcala, Michoacan and Metztitlan and others that surround our borders. Remember to always keep the weapons sharp.”
As the king of Tlacopan went on, Moctezuma’s heart grew heavy as he took on the responsibility of Tenochtitlan’s most vulnerable, of keeping the armies ready, of feeding an empire. This was the beginning of the anxiety that racked his mind and body now. The relentless march of Cortes and these violent conquerors was a fitting climax to years of mounting pressure at the borders. Campaigns in Oaxaca had pushed far to the South, the Totonacs resisted in the East. Tlaxcala persisted to the Southeast. And now these unstoppable foreigners had pushed the situation to a hard boil.
Once Moctezuma had been crowned, and the duties of his title had been spoken and placed upon him, a parade of nobles began to greet the new Tlatoani. Each offered gifts and reaffirmed their commitments to Tenochtitlan. In those days Moctezuma was still as strong as his youthful visage appeared. And he brought favor upon Tenochtitlan. Moctezuma was a respected king who improved life for his people. After his coronation he personally went to Oaxaca to lead an attack which secured 5,000 slaves and sacrifices. His mixed force of 60,000 men undermined the city walls and hacked apart the stonework allowing for the army to pour into the streets. He returned to the Valley of Mexico as a conquering hero, behind his cadre of captured slaves intended for sacrifice at his own inaugural festivities. A far cry from the man who nervously paced about the royal palace now.
Moctezuma announced his intent to give Cortes his father’s palace as a residence. Cuitlahuac urged him to resist, to keep Cortes out of the capital. Cacama, Lord of Texcoco, agreed with his uncle Moctezuma, there was little recourse and that aligning themselves in some way with the Spanish was the most logical course. Moctezuma ordered Cacama to go to Cortes, bring him gifts and usher him to Tenochtitlan hoping that courtesies may curb the obvious momentum and intent of the Spanish.
Cortes and his army stayed in Cholula for two weeks. In that time they had gutted the city’s leadership, toppled the hundreds of deities and replaced many with crosses. He had exchanges with Moctezuma’s messengers. He told them the elders of Cholula said a trap had been set on the orders of Moctezuma. For this his stance toward peace had changed, and that he intended to bring war to Tenochtitlan. The messengers assured Cortes they had not heard of such a plan, and before he moved so hastily to allow them to go to Moctezuma for his counsel, which Cortes agreed to. It was just one more manipulation on his part, anyway. In addition to military dominance, Cortes had turned every possible perceived slight into a massive grievance to hold over Moctezuma’s head, forcing the courteous leader into an apologetic stance. All of this psychological gamesmanship was backed by a proven history of genocidal violence.
Part 3 - Up the Volcano
While in Cholula Diego de Ordaz, who was not one of Cortes’s favorites for having schemed against Cortes in San Juan de Ulua, approached Cortes for permission and supplies to climb the volcano Popocatepetl. He would see what he could find up there. Cortes approved, perhaps the idea of Ordaz catching a volcanic rock to the head was a worthwhile risk for the intel he could gain. The supplies were given and Ordaz set out up the mountain with two other Spaniards and a few Tlaxcalan guides. About half way up there was a small altar to the volcano, and the Tlaxcalans would not go beyond it. So Ordaz and his two companions pushed on without them, breaking a holy seal in the eyes of the Tlaxcalans.
The rumbling of the mountain increased as the men neared the crater at the top. The bellowing gasses and ash made it tough to breath, occasional rock slides and raining stones belched out of the volcano forced the men to cover under overhangs. They did note the presence of sulphur, a critical ingredient for gunpowder. And as they climbed, Ordaz saw something spectacular. On the far side of the volcano, he could see the shimmering emerald blue of Lake Texcoco, and the island city of Tenochtitlan. He could see the great temple, the causeways, the canals. On the shore he could see the many other cities that dotted the landscape. They took their time to soak in the sight, it was like Eden, or the Gardens of Babylon, but more amazing. After the shared moment of awe, the men headed back down the mountain to Tlaxcala where they filed their report to Cortes, including the marvels of the lake city they had seen and the road over the mountains.
Part 4 - Drunk Men Speak Truth
The cold bit at the Mexica magicians and ambassadors who were at the foot of Popocatepetl on the outskirts of Amecameca as they headed toward Cortes. The ambassador brought a message for Cortes, the magicians brought curses. Near the town of Amecameca the small contingent came upon an old man, drunk on some intoxicant. When this old drunk spotted the messengers with their rich Mexica garb he knew who they were and where they were going. Everyone knew the Foreigners were headed this way. The messengers passing through the towns didn’t have to speak a word. Their hurried pace, and increased frequency was like a drumbeat building toward a climax. He was coming.
This drunk called out to them as they approached, “Ah, has Moctezuma finally woken up?”
“Why do you come here? What does Moctezuma intend to do? Is he afraid yet?” the drunk man shouted at them. “He should be. He has already made his great mistake. The future is written. The crimes and brutalities of the Mexica will be repaid.”
This man spoke with the incredible power of truth. Perhaps the pulque in his veins empowered him. Perhaps he had seen enough futility from Tenochtitlan. Or perhaps he was a spirit sent to warn the magicians of their fate. The power of his words forced the magicians to reckon with him. So they prayed, and lit incense to drive these visions from the man, to make him stop. But he did not.
“I’ll never take notice of Mexico again. You will not enjoy my support again, nor will I defend you. What you go up this mountain to do cannot be done. Go back to Mexico, go away from here,” he commanded. “Look!” he shouted pointing behind them, “look at your city.”
A priest turned around and from the mountainside, he could see Tenochtitlan. The city was burning. The great temple was topped with roaring, orange flames; the fires lit the rooftops and the glow reflected off the lake water. Moctezuma’s palace was also in flames, as were all the temples of the sacred precinct, the youth academy called the calmecac was ablaze. They thought they could hear the sounds of fighting and shouting in the streets, the sounds of war. The Mexica men fell to their knees, disbelief and fear gripped at their hearts. In the commotion of the vision the drunk man had slipped away, but his threats had burrowed into their minds.
The men could not bear to go on. It was as if someone had pointed out the color of the sky when they had never looked. They shouldn’t need a vision to see the sky is blue, it’s plain before them. Just like Moctezuma’s inaction.
“It would have been fortunate had Moctezuma seen what we have seen,” one magician said to another as they headed down the mountain back to Tenochtitlan.
“Indeed,” the other replied.
Part 5 - Departing Cholula
Having considered several roads to tenochtitlan, one favored by Moctezuma’s men, and the other, the steep path between the two volcanoes. On his expedition to the summit of Popocatepetl Ordaz had followed a well travelled road up the mountain that led through the volcanoes and down the other side to the Valley of Mexico. Cortes’s Tlaxcalan and Totonac allies urged him not to follow the Mexica road, that it was treacherous and had been made more difficult in anticipation of their passage. And so Cortes opted to climb what was called Eagle Pass, presumably to counter Moctezuma’s plan to ambush him.
The Spanish and Indigenous force marched out of Cholula in the usual formation, horses up front, with the best soldiers next, followed by the older men, artillery, women and the growing amount of freight they carried. They marched up the foothills of Popocatepetl, spending the first night in a small village called Iscalpan where they were greeted well and given a small amount of gold, and a few young women. That night the nobles from Huejotzingo and other towns on the slopes of Popocatepetl arrived to meet with Cortes. Being allies of the Tlaxcalans, they advised Cortes to be cautious, that the Mexica were deceitful and the road to Tenochtitlan had been set with traps for them.
The next day the force set out from Iscalpan up the volcano toward the frigid pass. As the men neared the summit they came upon a sort of communal waystation with some basic shelters. The terrain was mountainous and lined with a mixed pine forest of Mexican white pine, pino de las alturas, Montezuma’s pine and other high altitude Central American pines. The men were well supplied from Cholula and Talxcala, but the biting cold of 10,000 feet of altitude was only kept at bay by raging fires and huddling together. Sentries kept a wary eye on the forest line as Mexica spies were suspected to be near.
Part 6 - Chalco
The next morning the caravan set out down the other side of the pass, making a steep descent down a trail of cutbacks and mountainside trails. They came to Amecameca, a well built town of about 20,000, where the caravan was again welcomed and put up in very nice rooms. That night Cortes and his men were fed and town leaders from throughout the Chalco region came to meet with Cortes. They presented him with gold and 40 young women, who were added to the growing harem of disposable girls and women. Some were married to Captains, others used by the soldiers. Very few are remembered.
The men of Chalco told a similar story to others on the coast. Moctezuma and the Triple Alliance had been demanding tribute and brutalizing their people for too long. They were exhausted and poor from feeding the Mexica war machine. Cortes tried to ease their worry, saying he would deal with Moctezuma and release them from their obligation to Tenochtitlan, but that they had to be patient. Eager to shirk the heavy tributes demanded of them they eagerly accepted Cortes’s promise. And after two days the caravan moved on to the shores of Lake Chalco where they entered the town of Ayotzingo.
The town of Ayotzingo was built into the southern tip of Lake Chalco, its chinampa gardens and canals making the city appear to float. The men were again well treated and fed by Moctezuma’s subjects in Ayotzingo, however they still managed to complain about the heavy-handed treatment they received from the lords of Mexico. The Spanish Caravan spent one night here and in the morning were alerted to a Mexica emissary approaching from Tenochtitlan. The man at the center of the caravan sat in an ornate litter, decorated with silver and gold designs and green feathers. He was dressed richly with colorful robes representing his rank and family. He wore a gold breastplate and ear plugs, a colorful feathered cape and small jade crown representing the throne of Texcoco. Lord Cacamatzin, had arrived with a group of nobles to negotiate with Cortes, who was now just a few miles outside of Tenochtitlan. In the Nahuatl language, for nobles, the suffix t-z-i-n, or tzin, was added to the names of lords and honored people. Cacama, becomes Cacamatzin, Totoquihuatzli becomes Totoquihuatzin. For Moctezuma, or as his real name was spoken, Motecuhzoma Xocoyotl, becomes Tlatoani Motecuhzoma Xocoyotzin.
Cortes went out to meet Cacamatzin. The impressive young chief was lowered from the litter and the ground before him swept clean by attendants. The two men greeted each other on the road outside of Ayotzingo with much formality, incense burning and an exchange of gifts. Cacamatzin brought a large tribute of gold, silver and cotton robes and Cortes offered beads. Cacamatzin continued, through translations by Marina, that Moctezuma was very sorry for the hardship Cortes had endured on his journey but that he would ensure Cortes’ delivery to his home in Tenochtitlan, where he was welcome to stay.
Cortes, his caravan and Lord Cacamatzin, with his entourage, continued on along the southern shore of Lake Chalco. The lake had numerous villages along the shoreline, as well as banks of chinampa gardens watered by artesian wells along the shore. The chinampas looked like a lush greenbelt between the dark, brackish waters of Lake Chalco and the dry hills behind the villages. As the Spanish marched along the lakeshore they noted an island village an arrow shot’s distance out in the lake, it was the island of Mixquic. Today this place is called San Adreas Mixquic and is known for its vibrant Day of the Dead celebrations, among the most beautiful in modern Mexico.
Further on they came to a causeway with a small city built in the middle, it was the island-town of Cuitlahuac. Cortes and his men debated about the wisdom of entering an island with such tightly controlled entry points, but there were enough reasons to risk the convenient crossing. For all the bravado Cortes put forward, his paranoia never ebbed. As it turns out they were greeted well here and fed. The chief of Cuitlahuac invited them to stay the night but the men could not find calm on the isolated island with only the one causeway to enter and exit and so they moved on. Some of the men felt they had avoided a trap by moving through the island city but they had only been treated with kindness. The Spanish came off the causeway onto a peninsula that separates Lake Texcoco from Lake Chalco. They moved north across the peninsula to Itztapalapa on the shore of Lake Texcoco. The Spanish were just now two miles from Tenochtitlan.
On the afternoon of November 7, 1520 the men marched into the heart of the Valley of Mexico and before them were cities that stretched out into the water and lined the shore. To the West the long, flat causeway leading to Tenochtitlan reached across the water. Stone temples rose up all around them, on the mainland and in the lake cities, of which there were several. When they neared Itztapalapa a contingent of nobles came out to greet them. The procession was led by Lord Cuitlahuatzin, ruler of Itztapalapa and brother of Moctezuma. His richly colored cotton robes and gold chest plate marked him as the ruler. This was the fanfare the Spaniards had hoped for. The soldier Bernal Diaz felt as if he were in a dream, Itztapalapa was like a paradise. The city was bright white with newly whitewashed halls, temples and palaces. Every corner and rooftop was full of lush gardens. Small aqueducts fed pools and tanks throughout the town.
That evening as Cortes and his captains met with Lord Cuitlahuatzin and other local nobles from the towns of Chalco the soldiers wandered the town in awe of the fountains, pools and canals, many stocked with fish and ducks. In Itztapalapa one couldn’t tell where the lake started and the city ended. For Diaz it was difficult to consider such a beautiful place as something created by a heathen people - it was divine. From the docks the men watched the final rays of the sun retreat from the valley, as Tonatiuh entered Mictlan again. The alien Spaniards gazed over the chinampas out across Lake Texcoco to see the island of Tenochtitlan. It was an unbelievable sight, its many pyramids and temples rising above the lake, reflecting off the reed-dotted waters like a dream. At night Itztapalapa was lit with pine-bundle torches that burned brightly, their rich sap crackling through the night. Across the lake, Tenochtitlan shined like a mountain range, it’s plaster ad stucco chining like snow in the moonlight. The great Temples of Tenochtitlan and Tlatelolco rose out of the golden torch-lit streets, looming like giants. The Spaniards looked out across the lake and a sense of dread could not be avoided by most of the men who saw that massive island city, knowing they were headed there. Tomorrow they would march into the heart of the Mexica capital.
Next time, in Episode 7: Moctezuma and the Lords of the Triple Alliance meet Cortes in the streets of Tenochtitlan and a long tense stay in the capital leads to violence.
