she placed her naked body against me.
As she pressed her lips to mine, and I could feel her breasts against my skin, my body surged with excitement. She pulled me down towards her. Her nipples hardened into sharp tips, and she began to move underneath me, pulling me inside her. I was unsure what to do, being, I must confess, a virgin, but let her rock me back and forth. I closed my eyes, imagining that she was Isabella, but then opened them again to look at the rise and fall of her breasts. Her eyes widened and she pushed me deep inside her. Within seconds I was brought to the peak of excitement and exploded like cannon shot. It seemed that we could not be more fully conjoined, our sweat and flesh mingling as one body. For a few minutes we lay panting to regain our breath, until the girl pushed me away from her, put on her skirt, and left the room.
It was over.
I was no longer a youth but a man.
Pedro trotted in through the now open doorway. He sniffed at me, rather contemptuously I thought, and then lay down as if to sleep. I began to dress, and made ready to rejoin the men.
When I finally emerged, with a tired Pedro following reluctantly, I saw that my companions had been waiting for me.
Doña Marina came forward.
‘That didn’t take very long.’ She smiled.
It seemed that nothing I did would ever be secret, and that everyone must know my business.
‘I’m not sure …’ I began.
‘If she was a virgin? I hope she wasn’t …’ Doña Marina replied.
‘I cannot marry her,’ I said firmly.
‘You are not required to do so. Would you like to see her again?’
‘No,’ I said, but then thought of her breasts against me. ‘How long will we be here?’
‘Seven nights.’
Doña Marina looked at me, taking my silence as assent.
‘I will send her every night.’
I did not know whether guilt or excitement was the stronger of the two emotions flowing through my body, but I knew that I had failed the very first test of my quest.
In the next seven days we began to plan our approach to the magnificent city of Mexico, for we had heard that this was where the greatest treasure lay. The Tlaxcalans urged us against such an undertaking, so outnumbered would we be by the forces of that great city. Even if peace was offered, we were not to believe any of the promises made by its chieftain, Montezuma. But Cortés was adamant, arguing that the whole purpose of our journey was to reach Mexico. He then asked the Tlaxcalans about the best path to the city.
A volcano stood before us, impeding our progress. This was Popocatépetl, and the local people held it in great awe as it rose out of the hills, threatening to spew forth rocks and hot lava over all that surrounded it. We had never seen such a sight and I decided that this was the moment to try my bravery. I offered to climb to the top and report on the best possible route ahead.
Cortés was amused by my boldness, asserting that the loss of my virginity had given me renewed courage, and granted me permission for the ascent. Two chiefs from the nearest settlement of Huexotzinco were to be my companions. They warned that the earth could tremble, and that flames, stones and ash were often flung from the mountain top, killing all in their wake; but I was determined to meet the challenge, whatever the dangers.
It was a difficult ascent and we had to stop at several stages to regain our breath. The light wind seemed to increase the higher we climbed, and the ground was uneven under foot. Pedro picked his way ahead of us, confident despite the sharp stones that lay beneath the snow. At times we had to scramble using our hands across ice and scree, looking down as seldom as we dared. I had never been so far from the level of the sea in my life, and a strange lightness entered my soul, as if I was no longer part of this world. The higher we climbed the smaller things seemed, just as events from our past life recede in the memory and pass into oblivion. Frightened by the unevenness of the ground and the possibility of falling, it seemed at times as if I was dreaming, and I imagined Isabella at the top of the volcano, like the Virgin Mary, dressed in white, judging my infidelity.
As we neared the summit the wind increased, and we could not hear each other speak. But then, looking out into the distance, I saw the gilded city across the plain, shining like a new Jerusalem in the evening light. It was as if I was both in heaven and in hell, and no other land mattered.
The purpose of my journey was clear. Even if I became blind at this moment, I would still have seen the greatest sight on earth. I had done what no man of my country had yet done, and, at the end of my life, when the darkness was closing in, I would be able to say to any man who asked that I, Diego de Godoy, notary to General Cortés, servant of our Emperor Charles, was the first Spaniard to climb the volcano that guarded Mexico. All roads, all settlements, and everything the eye could discern led across the Elysian fields to that noble city. It seemed to float on the water, a cascade of houses, each with its own battlements, each with its own bridge to its neighbour. I had heard people tell of the Italian city of Venice, but this was surely far finer, stretching out in an eternal immensity, lit by a light from highest heaven, beckoning all who saw it to journey across the plain.
I could not see how anyone could ever vanquish such a place, and understood now, in a moment, how all the surrounding peoples could not but submit to its glory.
Hearing of this vision, Cortés became all the more resolved to leave on the morrow, telling the Tlaxcalans that it was God’s will that he should continue. It was the eighth of November fifteen hundred and nineteen. Everything we had done on this journey, and perhaps even in our lives, had been leading to this moment.
Four chieftains now approached, carrying a bejewelled palanquin, canopied with vibrant green feathers, decorated with gold, silver and pearls, and topped with a turquoise diadem. The interior was adorned with blue jewels, like sapphires, suggesting the night sky. The figure at the centre stared ahead impassively. Men swept the road before him, and none dared look him in the face.
This was the great Montezuma. He was perhaps some forty years old, olive-skinned and with a slim figure. His hair was dark rather than black, and he wore a well-trimmed beard. His eyes were fine; I could not ascertain their colour, but what surprised me most was the mildness of his demeanour. He seemed gentle, despite his power, as if, perhaps, he never had to raise his voice. Supported on the arms of two chiefs he stepped down and wished our General welcome.
Cortés produced a series of elaborately worked Venetian glass beads, strung on a golden filament and scented with musk. Montezuma bowed to receive them. He then took from his aide a necklace of golden crabs, worked with fabulous intricacy, and hung it on our leader’s neck.
‘You are welcome to my city, and will stay in my father’s house,’ he began. ‘These men will show you the way, and my people will be happy to receive you. Rest a while and then feast with me this evening.’
He turned away, and his servants carried him off into the distance.
We had never seen such a man, and longed to speak amongst ourselves, but Cortés insisted that we remain silent, warning us to be constantly on the alert, lest we be the victims of some fearsome trap.
That night I wrote my first dispatch.
Sent
