together we could bring peace, she argued. If we encouraged other soldiers to do as we had done, then there was no reason why we could not create a true and lasting settlement and live a life of happiness together.
But I could feel that we were returning to the world of aggression and despair as surely as the tides must ebb and flow. And, as we emerged from the narrow creek of the plantation and sailed once more onto the great lake, we noticed distant fires flaring up on the horizon. The waters were filled with people fleeing the city in low canoes. We could hear the unmistakable sounds of warfare in the distance: orders given, swords striking, women screaming.
‘You see,’ Ignacia told me, as if she had expected everything. ‘Men and violence. It will never end. You love this more than life.’
‘It’s not true. I am not as other men,’ I argued.
‘You look at this and tell me it’s not true? You have no choice but to be a man. It cannot be otherwise.’
She steered the boat towards the causeway.
‘Keep your head low.’
Silently she manoeuvred the boat tight against the side of the causeway so that we were hidden under its lip, lost in its dark shadow. Ignacia tied up and motioned me to follow her through the gate. A whole street had been destroyed and I could see our soldiers fleeing with idols from the temples they had desecrated.
‘Go now,’ she said, ‘back to your people, as I must return to mine.’
Pedro leapt ahead down the street.
‘Stop, Pedro, stop,’ I called. He waited at the corner, but was impatient for me to join him. It was now dangerous for all three of us, and if we were seen together we could be attacked by any side.
I told Ignacia that I could not live without hope of seeing her again.
‘Quien bien ama tarde olvida. He who loves well is slow to forget …’ Ignacia said and kissed me.
‘I will always love you,’ I said.
‘And I you …’
Then Ignacia pushed me gently away. I watched in despair as she turned and ran, disappearing down distant streets.
Night was falling. The evening birdsong that I so loved had disappeared beneath the cries of battle. I had no choice but to run through the city in search of the secret passage by which I had come. The Mexican people were raising the drawbridges that linked the houses and streets over the lake, and many had stationed themselves on the rooftops to hurl stones at any Spaniards below. Clinging to the walls of the buildings, and making our path through the shadows, avoiding exposed avenues and keeping under the balconies and parapets, we ran in abrupt and darting movements through the city, until Pedro finally stopped at a wooden door at the back of one of the temples and began to bark. On opening the door we could see the passage by which we had come. The Mexicans were daubing the walls with blood and pulling down the statue of Our Lady that we had placed there.
Pedro and I now plunged back into the dark cavern, illuminated by flares and candles under the faces of gods and demons in our path. The strange underworld was filled with people taking all the weapons, jewels and stored supplies they could lay their hands on, piling provisions into crates as if they too were trying to leave the city. All was panic. I could not imagine anything other than the fact that the Mexicans must be in revolt, and that some calamity must have befallen our leader.
Making my way to the treasury, I discovered that Montezuma’s spoils had already been divided – and that our soldiers were in the midst of preparations for a heavily guarded departure. While I had been disporting myself on the plantation, Cortés had been forced to travel back to Vera Cruz in order to defend our mission against an unruly band who had been sent from Cuba to recall our expedition and profit from it themselves. He had left one hundred and fifty men in the capital under the command of Pedro de Alvarado, who had seized the opportunity for the surprise attack he had always advocated, and had turned on the Mexicans as soon as they had tried to free Montezuma.
Surrounded by this chaos, I searched about the treasury. ‘The king’s fifth’ had already been allotted, and was packed in crates ready for our departure. The friar told me that Cortés had claimed one fifth, and that, after double shares for the captains, horsemen and crossbowmen had been allotted, there was virtually nothing left for the common soldier. At this point I must confess that I was filled with a frenzied covetousness, pulling back boxes, peering in chests, casting treasures aside, until at last, in a dark corner, I found the vase with the cacao beans. This I claimed as mine own.
I had discovered the treasure with which I would return and I, alone among my companions, knew its worth. The other soldiers laughed to see me carrying such an object but knew nothing of its contents, and could not imagine the glory it would bring me when I presented it to my betrothed.
I had succeeded in my quest.
Our captains shouted that we should flee, for to defend our position was hopeless, and our most pressing duty was to remove both ourselves and the treasures that we had secured. Yet when we attempted to make our escape some four thousand Mexican soldiers attacked us.
In the ensuing chaos the city became a place of fear and desperation. It rained heavily, and our horses lost their foothold on the slippery flagstones of the courtyard. Blood and water washed down the streets, and sixteen of our men were killed in the first attack.
In the hell that followed, Montezuma appealed for calm but was stoned to death by his own people. Any attempt at the restoration of order was futile. Cortés returned but had no choice other than retreat. Our horses spurred ahead, fleeing the city, as the Mexicans took to the lake in their canoes, firing at us from all angles, determined that none should live. They broke off sections of the causeway so that we were forced to fight with our bodies chest high in water and could only proceed by holding up our shields, hacking away with the utmost brutality at any who stood in our way. It was a night of blood and rain in which no tactics were effective and the lake slowly filled with the dead, the dying and the terrible remnants of war.
By dawn we had made our way back to the town of Tlaxcala, where we stayed for the next twenty-two days, cauterising our wounds with oil and bandaging them with cotton. We were exhausted, and had no choice but to rest, wash, eat, and recover.
During this time a large section of the gold that we had stored was stolen and the remaining share could not rest in our possession without becoming a source of danger and argument. Cortés took me aside and asked if I would take a group of men back to Spain with the treasure, and put his case for further reinforcements.
I had to follow these orders, and the thought of returning home to Isabella should have filled me with pleasure and relief, but I found that I could think only of Ignacia.
I had to see her again.
The thought of life without her was impossible.
Over the next few nights I began to plan how I might steal away and see her once more. If I was quick, I might be able to return before dawn, without anyone knowing of my departure.
Moving through the creeks and under the trees at nightfall, I knew that any time together would be desperately short, but to part from this land and never see Ignacia again was something I could not tolerate. Pedro checked the route ahead and I crawled through the undergrowth until, at last, we came to the small hut where we had known such happiness.
Ignacia emerged from the doorway,
