Chapter Thirty: THE GLORY OF OTUMBA

The Jade Steps
Chapter Thirty:  The Glory of Otumba

They set off as dawn broke to stumble into Tlacopan where the chiefs of the city met them with fear in their eyes.

"Malinche!" they addressed him.  "We warned you to stay here where you would be safe, and not to go to Tenochtitlan.  Now you have been destroyed, and we with you, for the Aztecs will soon follow to kill you and us."

Cortez stood arrow-straight and calmly spoke to Malinali.  "Doña Marina, inform these gentlemen that we greatly value their friendship and shall see they not suffer for it."

The chiefs remained worried.  "You must not stay here, Malinche, for the Aztecs are sure to attack.  Not far from here is the temple of Otoncalpulco with a large courtyard surrounded by a wooden wall.  There you will be safer.  I will order our people to carry your wounded on litters and help in which ways we may."

Cortez thanked them profusely and the chiefs issued their orders.  One of them turned to Malinali.  "Malinche must know that we are Tepanecs, not Aztecs.  Our kingdom was the first to be enslaved by them.[1]  It was our hope that Malinche was the answer to our prayers to be free of their rule."  He looked pleadingly into Malinali's eyes.  "Is there any hope left?"

Malinali returned his gaze.  "As long as Malinche is alive, there shall always be hope."

Crossing the two small streams of Tepzolac and Acueco, they reached Otoncalpulco by noon.  There they were met by a chief of great dignity.  After speaking with him for a few moments, Malinali announced to Cortez and the men:

"We have been welcomed here by the Lord of Teocalhueycan (tee-oh-kal-way-con), which is not far.  He asks that you rest, for you are weary and have suffered heartaches.  Water, maize, tortillas, eggs, turkeys, and fruit will be provided for us all.  Here you may be in peace and restore yourselves."

Everyone collapsed in relief.  Malinali spent the rest of the day tending to the men, cleaning and bandaging their wounds, bringing them water and food.  It wasn't until evening when Cortez summoned her.  He had set up his quarters in two rooms in the temple.

"My Lady, I know my men are grateful to you for all that you have done for them.  Now I need you to do one thing more." 

She raised her eyebrows but said nothing.

"It is to answer the question of most importance to us.  We cannot stay here for long.  Our only hope is to reach the sanctuary of Tlaxcala.  But – will the Tlaxcalans welcome us, or fall upon us?  In our weakened state, we shall be defenseless against them.   Hundreds of them have been killed fighting with us and there are but a few dozen left.  Go among them to gauge their mood, to see if they remain willing to guide us by the safest paths to Tlaxcala, and learn how we will be greeted there."

Nodding silently, she slipped away and was back after an hour.  "You need not worry," she reported.  "The Tlaxcalans burn with desire for revenge upon the Mesheeka.  All they talk of is getting you to Tlaxcala, from where you can lead an army of their warriors to sweep Tenochtitlan from the face of the earth."

Now Cortez said nothing.  He stood silently looking at her, and Malinali could see what emotion his eyes were expressing, the look of admiration.  This was always how she dreamed a man would look at her.  Then she saw the look change.  The admiration was still there, and something more – desire.  She took his arm and led him into the adjoining room where a sleeping mat of straw and blankets had been prepared.

All that next day[2] everyone rested and ate well.  That evening, the chief of Teocalhueycan arrived to advise that a force of Aztecs was on the way and they should soon make their way to his town, for it sat on a fortified hill protected by a barrier of rocks.

They set off in the midnight darkness, moving slowly with those best capable of fighting in the front and rear and the wounded in the middle.  Although the distance was less than two leagues[3], it wasn't until after dawn that everyone was within the rocky protection of Teocalhueycan.

After another day of rest, the chief came again.  "You must keep moving north to go around Lake Texcoco to reach Tlaxcala," he said.  "My brother is the Lord of Tepotzotlan (tay-pot-zoat-lan) and will provide for you there.  Beyond that is where the land of the Tepanecs end.  May the gods smile upon your journey, Malinche."

From the description, Cortez judged the distance to Tepotzotlan to be about five leagues.  He decided to stay where he was for one more day, then march through the entire night to reach the town by dawn.

It proved too much.  Too many men were too weak, even when helped by the Tepanecs.  Many of the horses could not be ridden due to their injuries and had to be walked.  By daylight, they were still a league away – and the Aztec attacks began.  They were small ambushes, just a few Mesheeka throwing rocks and slings, firing arrows.  But several hit their mark, and four Spaniards never reached Tepotzotlan.

They found the town deserted.  The Tepanecs from Teocalhueycan explained the inhabitants were afraid of the Mesheeka and had run into the mountains nearby.  Nonetheless, great stores of food had been left, and the Spaniards feasted well.

Yet hardly any of them had recovered from their wounds, and hardly any of them had not suffered a wound or injury of some kind.  Their Tepanec helpers said they could get them to the next town, Zitlaltepec lying at the top of Lake Texcoco, and then they must strike east for Tlaxcala by themselves.

Another night march to another abandoned town – but this time there was no food.  They headed east, guided by the Tlaxcalans.  Men began to die of their wounds.  They had to forage for food and found only wild cherries, corn stalks, and grass.  The harassing Aztec attacks continued, picking off a man at a time.

As they approached a small range of mountains the Tlaxcalan guides said must be crossed, there was yet another ambush, in which the Aztecs shot a number of bolts into the horse of Cristobal Martin de Gamboa.  The Spaniards drove them off but the horse died.  "We shall all have meat tonight," declared Cortez.  He had the horse divided carefully so that all had a portion, cooking it in fires among the mountain rocks.

"We shall soon be in the land of meat and bread, among our friends and the beautiful women of Tlaxcala," he told the men as he walked among them to raise their spirits.  Not once did he show any concern or worry, nor share even with his officers what Malinali had told him earlier.

The harassing Aztecs were constantly shouting something at them and it seemed to be the same words.  Cortez asked her what it was.  "They say ‘You are going to a place where you will perish to a man'," came her reply.  "Have you asked the Tlaxcalans what this means?" he asked.  She hesitated.  "Yes.  They say the only way to Tlaxcala is through a valley on the other side of these mountains.  The Mesheeka know this and will be waiting there, the Tlaxcalans say, to destroy us."

"Does this valley have a name?" asked Cortez.

"It is called Otumba."  She lowered her eyes.  "I did not want to concern you, my Captain."

He lifted her chin to look at him.  "Nor I you, my Lady.  You need have no fear.  This valley of Otumba, it shall be our glory."

*  *  *  *  *

Malinali walked among the men, gathered in small groups around the cooking fires.  How many of them would be alive by tomorrow night? she asked herself.  Perhaps none at all.  For she had not told Cortez all she had heard.  The Tlaxcalans were saying that Cuitlahuac had formed the largest Mesheeka army ever known, an ocean of warriors to meet them at Otumba.  What possible chance did these men have?  Every one of them was sick and weak and wounded.  She had seen them win before when it seemed impossible, but now it seemed ridiculous to even hope.  What she understood least of all was how Cortez could remain calm – even confident! – facing such doom.

"Doña Marina!" a voice called out.  It was Bernal.  He was with Aguilar, both enjoying their bit of horseflesh.  She sat down next to them and stared into their fire.  "You seem full of worry tonight," Bernal observed.  She looked up at him.  "You are not?

He had a sad smile.  "Of course we are, all of us.  But of what use is that?  We know what we may face tomorrow – yes, Aguilar has been talking to the Tlaxcalans like you – yet what can we do but fight our best?  We must trust that our Father in Heaven has brought us here for good reason – and that He will guide us and Captain Cortez tomorrow."

She could not hold back her tears.  Clutching her crucifix, she said, "Thank you, Bernal.  I need to have that trust myself."  She looked at them both.  "If I don't see you again, if this is the last…. Thank you both for being my friend.  Your friendship has meant so much to me. I… I…"  She could not continue.  Before they could respond, she stood and had to walk away.

She stumbled through the camp wiping away her tears.  She felt a firm hand on her arm to steady her, and heard a voice.  "May I be of assistance to you, Doña Marina?"  It was Pedro de Alvarado.  He bade her sit down.

She looked at him in wonder.  "How… how can you face tomorrow so calmly?" she asked at last.

He gave her that dazzling smile for which he was so famous.  "Ah, Doña Marina, how can I not be when I face it with all my brothers?  All five of us are here – wounded, yes, but all in one piece.  Our Lord did not have us all survive thus far in vain!"

She looked at all of them – Garcia, Gomez, Gonzalo, Jorge, and of course, Pedro.  It was astounding they had survived even La Noche Triste together.  They seemed almost… happy.

"You still seem puzzled, Doña Marina," said Pedro.  "Shall we tell you a secret?"  She nodded.  "We are professional soldiers, trained to fight with military discipline.  These Aztecs, they can fight like maniacs, but without training, without discipline.  Yes, we have armor and Toledo steel, but these are far more important.  And let me explain something else."

He walked over to his horse tethered nearby.  "No Aztec has ever faced the charge of one of these in battle," he continued.  "They have no idea what it is like to face being trampled by a charging war horse.  They have only seen them on the streets in Tenochtitlan."

"But there will be so many," she mumbled.

"But they will not be led by Captain Cortez," he replied.  He stepped up to her and whispered in her ear.  "Who needs you tonight, Doña Marina."

All her worries and fears suddenly vanished.  All she could think of was to be with Cortez on this night above all others.

*  *  *  *  *

The Spaniards broke camp by dawn and made their way through the mountain pass in the early morning hours.  When they reached the other side to gaze upon the valley floor of Otumba they were stunned and speechless. 

As far as their eyes could see was an ocean of men wearing white cotton armor, so that it looked like an angry sea of frothing whitecaps.  They carried brightly feathered shields, many with fantastically feathered headdresses, all were brandishing obsidian-toothed wooden swords and other weapons, all had painted their faces and bodies in a wild array of colors.

Cortez had asked for a count of his men.  They were down to 347 men, 27 horses, and some 60 Tlaxcalans. They had no cannons, no muskets, no crossbows, only swords and a few lances.  Every one was suffering from wounds and hunger, some so sick they could barely stand. Before them were over 100,000 Mesheeka warriors all wanting their blood.  

Cortez had Father Olmedo lead the men in a Mass, then placed him, Padre Juan Diaz, and Malinali in the protection of a dozen Tlaxcalans who had sworn to get them safely to Tlaxcala should disaster occur.  Malinali dropped to her knees and began praying to the Virgin Mary.  Cortez astride his horse addressed his men:

"Gentlemen!  It has been the highest honor of my life to lead you, the most courageous and honorable men I have ever known.  But know this!  Today shall not be our doom."  He pointed to the sea of Aztecs.  "It shall be theirs!  Today will be a day about which the poets of Spain will compose songs, songs sung for centuries.  Have no fear, but know our God and Savior stand beside us.  Gentlemen, today will be our glory."  He turned his horse towards the Aztec army and raised his sword.  "Santiago – and at them!" he yelled.  He spurred his horse and charged.

Three hundred and forty seven men attacked an army of 100,000.

Cortez had given orders for his horsemen to aim their lances directly at the faces of the enemy, not their bodies.  The soldiers had been told to thrust through the bodies of their foes with their swords, rather than swinging and striking.  The horses were to charge as hard as they could, crashing into the enemy and trampling them, with the soldiers to follow.

They plunged straight into the morass of Aztecs, cutting a wide swath of crushed and bloodily mangled bodies before them.  For a moment it seemed their foes would panic, but their were far, far too many, and soon they were enveloped, a small island  in the enemy's sea.  And yet… and yet, Malinali watched as the island remained, it was not washed over by waves of warriors, and began to move, slowly cutting its way across the plain.

As always with the Aztecs, only the warriors directly at the front of their mass mattered.  The ones behind them did no fighting.  As the Spaniards cut down an Aztec, another would immediately take his place, yet still they only had to fight one warrior at a time.  The Aztecs seemed terrified of the horses, especially the one ridden by Gonzalo de Sandoval.  He would plunge forward crushing foes, then would quickly wheel his horse around to charge others.  He kept darting back and forth as did the other horsemen, helping to push the island forward.

But this all served to engulf them deeper into the enemy sea.  An hour passed, then another.  They cannot keep this up, Malinali thought.  The island was still there, still moving, but too slowly.  Many of the men had fresh wounds.  Cortez had a large gash on his head, with blood streaming down the side of his face.  Several men had died, with the Aztecs carrying away their bodies in whooping delight. 

As the sun rose high in the sky, Malinali saw the men were at last getting too tired to fight.  The horses fell back to protect the men, rather than charging and pushing forward.  The screams and war-cries of Aztecs became louder, as they sensed the annihilation of the hated Spaniards was near. 

She saw Cortez stop fighting to rise in his stirrups and look over the battlefield.  He could only do this for a few seconds before forced to fight more.  The third time he did this, he froze, staring at something.  She saw that some distance away, on a slight rise in the plain, a group of magnificently dressed nobles had appeared.  One in particular wore a robe of gorgeous feathers, with a huge feather headdress into which were woven jewels that sparkled in the sun.  Strapped to his back was a staff, on top of which was a spectacular banner of bright yellow feathers displayed above him.  He was carried on a litter, held up high so he could see the battle.

Yes!  It was the cihuacoatl, commander of the Aztec army. It might be Cuitlahuac, but at this distance she could not be sure.  She was sure, however, that he was the commander. The banner was the emblem of his authority.  Cortez had spotted him.  Did Cortez recognize who he was? 

Cortez quickly wheeled his horse around and charged through the melee to five other horsemen.  Even this far away, she could see who they were – Gonzalo de Sandoval, Pedro de Alvarado, Cristobol de Olid, Alonso Avila, and the fifth… the fifth, yes, it was Juan de Salamanca.  Cortez pointed his sword at the nobles and together as one the six horsemen charged. 

They slashed their way through the surprised Mesheeka, crushing and spearing and cutting down all in their way.  In a moment, it seemed, they had reached the nobles, Cortez's horse slamming into the litter, knocking the commander to the ground, scattering the litter bearers and the other nobles, who were cut down by the other horsemen.

As the commander sprung to his feet, Cortez drove his lance into his shoulder, pinning him to the ground.  Juan de Salamanca jumped off his horse, stabbed the commander to death with his sword, tore the staff and banner off his back, and thrust it into Cortez's hand.  Standing in his stirrups astride his horse, holding the captured banner high above him so that all could see, Cortez shouted a bellow of victory. 

All eyes, Spaniard and Aztec, turned to him.  By now, those litter bearers and nobles who had escaped from the killing horsemen, were running away and screaming.  The warriors they ran into started doing the same.  The Aztecs gazed in horror at the sight of Cortez, for they knew it meant their commander was dead, and now they did not know what to do.  The Spaniards gazed in joy.  They fell upon the enemy horde with ferocity.  Malinali saw lines of panic radiate through the Mesheeka mass.  Suddenly there was an ocean of fleeing bodies running in every direction, trampling and running over each other.

The Spaniards and the Tlaxcalans were in vicious pursuit.  Their energy had been renewed.  Cortez and the other horsemen raced across the battlefield cutting down as many of the enemy as they could.  All the Aztecs could think of was to run away and they were slaughtered as they ran. 

Finally the slaughter was over.  Thousands upon thousands of Aztec bodies lay dead over the plain. Those who escaped had vanished in the distance. The Tlaxcalans danced around those of rank and gathered up feathered booty.  Malinali slowly made her way with the padres and the guard to where Cortez was assembling his men by the body of the Aztec commander.  Her mind was blank and her body was numb.  Her prayers had been answered but she still did not believe it.

As she got close to the body, she saw it wasn't Cuitlahuac.  Why didn't he command his own army?  she asked herself.  No matter.  He obviously was a noble and commander of the highest rank, and he was dead at Cortez's feet.

She had expected him to shout and exult, and all the men with him.  Instead he stood there silently until all the men stood around him in a crowd.  He asked for a count of the Spanish and Tlaxcalan dead.  After a moment, it was provided by Cristobal de Olid:  "Eighteen dead, Captain, plus twenty-four men of Tlaxcala."

Cortez looked out upon the entire battlefield strewn with so many thousands of Aztec corpses, then looked to his men.  "Let us pray to the Lord of Hosts for granting us this victory," he said, and to a man, they all got down on one knee and bowed their heads while Father Olmedo pronounced a prayer in Latin.

They stood and Cortez began walking among his men, murmuring a word here and there, seeing that those with fresh wounds were cared for, grasping the shoulders of his officers.  Then he came to Malinali. Standing before her, his armor splattered with Aztec blood, his own blood caked in his beard,  he said not a word, just gazing into her eyes while he briefly ran the tips of his fingers caressingly across the side of her face.  Then he mounted his horse.

"Now let us make our way to Tlaxcala," he announced.  "And as we do so, let each and every one of you reflect on the greatness of your achievement here on this eighth day of July in the year of our Lord, one thousand five hundred twenty."

Leaving behind a small burial detachment and Padre Juan Diaz to hold services over the slain Spaniards, the expedition began marching east with the sun at their backs across the plain of Otumba.

[1]  1428.  See p. 4 of Chapter 19, The Tale of Taclaelel.

[2]  July 1, 1520.

[3]  Three miles to the league..