"I defy you, and I defy him," the condemned man replied, indicating the priest.

The executioner, hearing this new blasphemy, clapped his hand over the man's mouth while the marquis and the two priests were led away. The fire was lit, and the man to be burned watched the flames falter and flicker along the edge of the pyre. It seemed they would not fully catch the first time and he laughed. The old general looked at his friend and wondered what potent evil had taken possession of the man. Then a burst of flame intervened between them and the last the marquis saw of the man at the stake was a pair of eyes calmly watching the flames as they approached his face. From this pyre there was no last-minute outcry.

The official of the Inquisition, watching the behavior of the marquis at the seventh stake, observed to his a.s.sistant, "There's another we might well watch."

"He's the hero of Granada," the a.s.sistant warned.

The official turned coldly as the hot flames writhed nearby and observed, "No one is too powerful or too mighty."

It is a matter of record in my family that on the spring day in 1524 when my ancestor Fray Antonio Palafox was watching the seven heretics burned in Seville, another ancestor, the Altomec Indian Lady Gray Eyes, was secretly explaining to her granddaughter in City-of-the-Pyramid the mystery of the new G.o.ds who would shortly rescue Mexico from barbarism. 'This is a Mother who loves," Lady Gray Eyes repeated, pointing to her treasured image, "and this is her Son, who has come in gentleness to save us."

The child Stranger could not comprehend, for she had never known a G.o.d of mercy, so Lady Gray Eyes explained once more. "Here we suffer under evil G.o.ds, and men are constantly killed. But soon these gentle G.o.ds of the newcomers will occupy our temples, and injustice will end." She could say no more, but as she clutched the emblazoned parchment to her cheek she felt her tears drifting across it. How long must we wait for the G.o.ds of mercy? she prayed silently.

That evening in Seville, while Lady Gray Eyes waited in the noontime heat of Mexico, Fray Antonio, the agency of salvation for whom she waited, rode away disconsolately from the burning plain. Ahead, in equal confusion of spirit, rode the marquis of Guadalquivir, but the crowds through which the horses moved appeared to experience no distress. They had enjoyed the burnings, which brought drama to an otherwise drab week, and their merriment as they trudged back to the city supported the contention of many authorities that a good public execution now and then did wonders for the morale of a city. Furthermore, it demonstrated the cohesiveness of Spain as it gathered strength for the salvation of the New World; Mexico might lie in remote parts of the world, but its presence was constantiy felt in Seville, where the galleons stood in the river for all to see.

Something of this excitement overtook Fray Antonio as he rode through the crowds, so that whereas he was repelled by the populace's reaction to the burnings, he was nevertheless impressed by their sense of loyalty to the Church and to the nation that b.u.t.tressed it. Dire enemies like Martin Luther were abroad, and they required strict measures to keep them from polluting both the Church and the country, and he did not doubt that he would encounter the same enemies in Mexico. He hoped that he would have the courage to combat them, but even as he expressed the wish he called to mind the young priest who had tried vainly to save the soul of the Jewish woman as the fires consumed her, and he knew instinctively that it had been this young priest, and not the executioners, who had spoken for humanity and G.o.d on that burning afternoon.

It was in this confused frame of mind that Fray Antonio returned to the center of the city and followed the marquis as the latter rode past the cathedral, past the Moorish tower and across the plaza to his palace. When the two men reached the high wall that protected the residence, they saw that the bra.s.s-studded gates were open and that Leticia's carriage was depositing her in the orange-tree courtyard. Seeing her father approach, she waited in the doorway while the carriage wheeled about the graveled circle and departed. She now ran up to him crying, "You looked handsome in the procession, Father."

"I was surprised to see you-especially at the stakes," he said reprovingly, but his words had little effect on Leticia, who led the way into the arabesque interior, saying, "I'm starved. We'll eat now."

But the marquis was still distraught from the death of his former companion and could not erase from his memory the eyes of the bewitched man as he stared back through the flames, so he told his daughter, "Arrange for us to eat a little later. Father Antonio and I will be in the garden." He led the priest into the private garden, where the Roman columns reminded him of the stakes at which the heretics had burned. When he was alone with the young priest he abandoned the caution that had marked the discussion on Sat.u.r.day night and said with visible agitation, "No man can predict where this will end. Even as I was pleading with my friend to recant, the Dominicans were marking me. I could be next ... or the emperor." He strode back and forth along the garden paths for some minutes and then said with great force, "Antonio, when you get to Mexico you must prevent this evil thing from taking root."

The priest drew back. "Evil thing?"

The old marquis showed no inclination to retreat. "Yes, evil. The last twenty years have seen the evil of burning Jews and Moors."

The priest gasped and recalled, "Last evening we agreed that the Church must extirpate Jews and Moors who practice their abominations secretly."

"Isolate? Imprison? Perhaps," the marquis snapped. "Burn alive? No!"

Again the priest drew back in alarm. "I will keep your thoughts secret," he mumbled.

"Don't bother. I'm an old man and I've always been willing to fight the enemies that might destroy Spain."

"You consider the Holy Inquisition an enemy?" Antonio asked with dry lips.

"Yes," the marquis said bluntly.

"But last evening ..."

"Last evening I had not seen my friend burn to death," the old man said forcefully.

Dressed in a shimmering gown of lace and silk, drawn tighdy about the waist, Leticia appeared to announce dinner. But once more her father asked her to wait, and while she stood framed in the doorway with the light behind her, Fray Antonio was trapped in the dilemma she had devised. As a young man he wanted to enjoy the ravishing sight of the exquisite form the shadows revealed, but as a priest who had already taken holy orders he knew that he must not. His confusion was solved by the marquis, who took his arm and led him to the opposite end of the garden, where he said quietly: 'The important matter, Father Antonio, is that when you reach Mexico you must use your influence to prevent this from happening there. Promise me."

But Antonio was looking past the marquis and toward the doorway, and his thoughts were becoming so jumbled-the attack on the Inquisition was as disturbing as the presence of the girl silhouetted by the light-that he suddenly became dizzy and felt that he had to leave the garden. He went past Leticia, who did not move, so that he had to brush against her, and into the courtyard. Asking the servants to open the huge gates, he ran out into the city, calling over his shoulder, "I shall come back later."

We know from the records in our family that in profound spiritual and s.e.xual agitation he walked along the banks of the Guadalquivir and back to the site of the burning, where townspeople had whittled away the charred stumps of the seven stakes, selling fragments as souvenirs, those from the stake where the Jewess had died bringing the highest prices. He studied this grisly business for more than an hour, then came back to the heart of the city and to that street which for more than a thousand years has enraptured the minds of all who visit Seville, the winding, narrow alley called Sierpes, its name meaning Serpent. From the town hall it creeps between shops whose upper floors are almost connected; it pa.s.ses cafes where Gypsies dance; it winds through markets heavy with fruit and fish: it is the center for silversmiths and booksellers and the carvers of rosaries. It is the most extraordinary pa.s.sageway in Spain.

Had Antonio Palafox been a muleteer down from Salamanca, or a student on vacation, it could have been predicted that he would seek out this renowned alleyway, but for a young priest to be there walking alone in the night occasioned some surprise. A Gypsy girl from one of the smaller cafes shrugged her shoulders and said to her companions, "Why not?"

She followed Antonio until he reached a darkened part of the Sierpes, then accosted him: "Would you like to see my room?"

He looked at her in the shadows and realized with hunger how much he would like to join her. "Yes," he said, and she quickly ducked out of the Sierpes and motioned him to follow.

With both apprehension and desire he trailed some distance behind her, and she must have feared that he would lose his courage, for she fell back and took him by the hand, the first time any girl of mature age had done so, and he became less fearful. But when they reached her room near the riverbank and he saw how miserable it was, and how wretched she was in spite of her youthful beauty, he felt a deep revulsion and fled.

He wandered through the city for three hours, tormented by the events of the day: the impa.s.sioned sermon of the Inquisition leader, the burnings, the wild attempt of the young priest to save the Jewess, the memory of Leticia in the doorway and the repugnant encounter with the Gypsy. It was after midnight when he realized how tired and hungry he was, and headed back for the marquis's palace. When he banged on the gates he was surprised at how promptiy they were opened, but then he saw that Leticia had remained waiting for him just inside the courtyard. She had at her side a silver tray of wine and cheese, which she offered to him, and as he ate he saw that she was still dressed in the silk and lace drawn tightly about the waist. When he was finished she took a candle and led him not to his room but to hers.

By the time the galleon was loaded for the long trip to Mexico, it was apparent to the marquis that his headstrong daughter and the priest had fallen in love, and he suspected that not all the night sounds he had been hearing along the corridors were due to the wind. He was aware that Spanish custom required him to do something about his daughter's honor, but he had already successfully married off his older daughters and recognized what a lot of nonsense went into the procedure; with Leticia he was inclined to let nature follow a somewhat simpler course. Furthermore, he was in no way repelled by the idea of a priest's taking a wife, for the custom had been commonplace throughout Spain until the late 1490s, when Ferdinand and Isabella had tried to stamp out the practice, with no success. So there were still many priests throughout Spain who had wives and children. The marquis imagined that in Mexico conditions must be much the same.

On the day of the galleon's departure, the old marquis led Antonio once more into the garden with the pillars and asked bluntly, "Have you talked with my daughter about taking her to Mexico?"

Antonio blushed and replied, "I could not appear before Cortes with a wife."

"Not at first, perhaps," the old soldier growled. "But in Mexico these things are no different than in Spain. Later-"

"Later I would be proud to be your son," Antonio replied.

"You are already my son," the marquis responded. "Leticia is headstrong. My future here is uncertain. It might be better if she were safe in Mexico."

A month later they rode together, the marquis, Leticia and Antonio, to the dock where the galleon was preparing to stand out into the river for the long journey down the Guadalquivir to the sea, and at the ship's side they said farewell. The young priest wanted desperately to kiss Leticia good-bye, but they had done this through most of the night and now they merely gazed at each other.

Antonio had had no previous experience that would have enabled him to gauge how seriously Leticia had taken their nights together, but as for himself, he was shattered by the thought of leaving her, and as the noisy preparations were being made aboard ship for sailing down the river, he was tormented by the agony of leaving her. Then he clenched his fists and mumbled: "G.o.d forgive me for this transgression. Let me put it behind me," and he turned away from Leticia.

"Man the ropes!" came the captain's cry.

"Aye, aye!"

"Up the anchor!"

"On deck and lashed down."

"We sail!" and the creaking galleon was warped out into the river, laden with nails and horses and handsome leatherwork and the flexible steel swords of Toledo and empowering letters from the emperor.

At the last moment, as the ship broke away from sh.o.r.e, Antonio looked frantically for Leticia, but she had turned to enter her father's carriage. "Leticia!" he bellowed like a lovesick boy of seventeen, and she heard him. From the step of her carriage she swung around and, seeing his anguished face, with the tips of her fingers imitating the flight of swallows she threw him a kiss.

Chapter 11.

SPANISH ANCESTORS: IN MEXICO.

BECAUSE THESE WERE the good years when voyages from Seville to Veracruz were not threatened by pirates, English, Dutch or French, all l.u.s.ting for the precious metals of the New World coming eastward from Mexico and the riches of Spain, traveling westward-the leisurely month-long sail across the Atlantic-was a delightful experience. Antonio conducted morning and evening prayers. He conversed with the captain, who had made two such voyages before. And he watched as the navigator marked off on his parchment chart each day's slow progress. It was a gentle introduction to a new world and a new life.

Antonio was awed by his first sight of Mexico-a snowcapped volcano rising majestically out of the clouds that hung over the ocean. He later recorded his sensations at that moment: "I felt as if the finger of G.o.d were indicating my new home to me, and I entertained the disturbing premonition that once I had set foot on the mighty land hidden beneath that finger I might never be allowed to depart."

He landed at the swampy port of Veracruz, and before the rowboat in which he was ferried ash.o.r.e had gone ten feet he was covered with buzzing insects that punctured his skin in hundreds of places that began to itch. This was his introduction to mosquitoes. Ash.o.r.e he found mud, filth, vegetation so dense it could be penetrated only with axes, and a few Spanish settlers covered with unfamiliar kinds of sores. A priest from Salamanca stumbled up, a shivering wreck of a man, weeping with joy at seeing a fellow clergyman.

"I'm going home ... on that ship," the sick priest mumbled, but before he could explain why, he fell to coughing and spitting blood, whereupon a soldier, thin as death, led him away.

What impressed Antonio more than the fellow priest, however, was his first sight of the Indians of Mexico, who now crowded in to inspect the new arrivals. They were for the most part naked, squat and blank-faced, displaying none of the superiority either of intellect or physical endowment that was supposed to mark the adversaries of Cortes, for they were jungle primitives, as he found out, whom the Spaniards had enlisted into forced-labor gangs. And it became obvious that false reports had been circulated throughout Spain in order to lure young men to a strange country with an unhealthy climate.

This suspicion was fortified wherever Antonio looked, for in late 1524 the port of Veracruz had already become what it was to be throughout the centuries of Spanish occupation: one of the ugliest and least hospitable anchorages along the Atlantic, the deplorable gateway to a n.o.ble land. For three miserable days Antonio languished there in the intense heat amid the sickening swarm of mosquitoes, catching not even one glimpse of the greater civilization he had come to Christianize. Without exception the Indians he saw were low brutes, while the Spaniards he talked with were disillusioned adventurers. From a rude room crawling with bugs he sent his first letter home to his brother, Timoteo, reporting his disgust with the new land. In spite of its harsh tone, it has become an epistle much honored in Mexican literary history because of its honest appraisal of daily life in that early period.

We eat strange foods prepared in filth, fight strange insects whose wiles are superior to ours, and are attended constantly by as low and mean a body of natives as it has pleased G.o.d to put on this earth. Many mumble that they have been deceived, and if I were you, Timoteo, and not a man of the Church, and if someone invited me to join Cortes in Mexico, I would most quickly say no, for this is a mean land unless one has a taste for bugs that bite with a most furious intensity. What , has impressed me most, I think, is that the air seems so unusually heavy, as if it were compressed by weights and laid oppressively over all things. One breathes, and the air he inhales is hot and wet and heavy. One sweats all day, but the heavy air keeps pressing upon him, making him ever more damp. From the ocean, on our first sight of Mexico, we beheld a majestic volcano rising above the clouds, but on land we see nothing, absolutely nothing, to inspire the mind or gladden the heart. We live at the foot of that volcano, whose slopes are forever hidden from us, swamped in a green maze of jungle whose trees produce no fruit. I take solace in only one thing. The stolid brutes I see, the brown-skinned Indians, require the saving grace of Jesus Christ like no other human beings I have ever witnessed, and that I shall be the agent for bringing the light of G.o.d into those empty eyes is the only boon among the manifold disappointments of Mexico.

Antonio's disillusionment continued during the long march from Veracruz to the capital, for the route was ugly, forbidding and dangerous, and the Indians encountered were even less civilized than those at the port. Yet once, during a night that was refreshingly cold, the young priest awoke to adjust his blankets that had slipped off, and he happened to look through a clearing in the trees toward the moonlit sky, where a gigantic peak, snow-white and perfect in its conical beauty, rose serenely in the heavens. He gasped and looked again, but before he could verify that he had actually seen the lovely mountain a veil of clouds enveloped it, and in the succeeding days he saw nothing of it, so that he was again convinced that he had come to a land of chimeras.

But on the eleventh day the troop of newcomers broke out of the jungle, leaving the tangled vines and the insects, to discover themselves on a vast plateau bigger than any in Spain, rimmed by volcanoes even more majestic than the one Antonio thought he had seen at night and marked by carefully tilled fields that bespoke of an organized society. As the Spaniards marched through the cool morning they felt the oppressive humidity of the coastal areas replaced by the most bracing air in Mexico: the cool, crisp air of the upland plateaus.

To Antonio's disappointment, the troop skirted the cities that Cortes had conquered on his way to the capital. Tlaxcala lay to the north, an intriguing city enclosed by a brick wall. Mighty Puebla and holy Cholula lay hidden in the south, but evidences of their power were visible everywhere in the good roads, the ca.n.a.ls and the rich fields. From time to time groups of tall Indians in good raiment pa.s.sed on official business, and Antonio studied their faces to find them not unlike his own and marked with an equal intelligence.

Fed by such evidence, his judgments of Mexico began to soften, a fact that he reported in his second letter to Timoteo: I fear I was too hasty in Vera Cruz when I condemned this land as barbaric, for the upland areas provide quite a different impression, and along the well-paved road one meets tall, straight men of obvious breeding and capacity. To win these men to G.o.d would prove a substantial victory, and now I am eager where before I was depressed. But I think that much of this change has been due to the salubrious air that has attended us once we broke free of the jungle. Here among the volcanoes it seems to rush joyously into one's lungs, urging one on to explore the next bend in the road. For three days I have been amazed at the beauty of this new land.

More important, however, to our family history was a more secret letter, which he wrote to Leticia in Seville and which was taken to her by a sailor returning to that port city: I dare not address you as my dearest or my beloved, for the rules of my life and my chosen occupation forbid that. But in the night watches aboard ship, in the steamy fastness of the jungle, and when the great volcanoes gleam down at me like guideposts, I am tormented by our nights together. In a saner moment this morning, as I saw the new land opening ahead of me, now that the jungle is gone, I had the wild thought that Mexico needs women like you, women with grace and courage, women capable of building a new nation in a new land, and my heart called out "She should be here." If you were, even though we could not be wed, I would feel extraordinary strength. In my imagination you are in Mexico.

It was on the fourteenth day of his travel that Fray Antonio received impressions that would never fade from his memory during the fifty-six years that he was to labor in Mexico, for toward noon his troop approached the enormous lake across which lay the shimmering City of Mexico. Even though its highest pagan towers had already been pulled down by tjie conquerors, it still presented an imposing face to the newcomers, who were enthralled by its grandeur.

Its general aspect, seen from across the lake, was a light gold broken by the greenery of many trees. Its houses and public buildings were of uneven height, which lent the city a kind of rippling quality well fitted to a metropolis surrounded by water. About its sh.o.r.es there was a constant movement of boats whose pa.s.sengers, wearing bright garments and the plumage of brilliant birds, could occasionally be seen. But what princ.i.p.ally characterized the city was its sense of extreme solidity and efficient operation, an impression that grew stronger with each step the Spaniards took along the causeway that led across the lake.

The soldiers who were seeing the great city for the first time thought: It has already been looted. How fortunate the first ones must have been. But Antonio, renewing the sense of dedication that had possessed him in Salamanca, thought, What an admirable city to win for G.o.d, and as specific houses began to take shape and as he saw the physical beauty of what the Aztecs had accomplished, the conviction grew that here was a prize worth any effort required for its salvation.

He was now in the area where small boats abounded, and he could see their cargo-the fish, the myriad strange fruits, the corn, the woven cloth, the threads of gold and the brilliance of the feathers-and it occurred to him that not even in Salamanca had he seen such riches. He entertained for the first time the suspicion that this rude, violent land of Mexico with its towering volcanoes would one day be more powerful than Spain. Spiritual battles of greater significance would be fought here, and in generations to come, Mexico would loom larger in the world than its mother country. "I must send for Timoteo quickly," he decided. "He's the kind of man this country needs."

He had now reached the portals to the city itself, and from the watchtowers friendly Spaniards called down greetings to the new troops; Captain Cortes, hearing the news of their arrival, hurried to greet them at the gateway. With marked deference the conqueror first welcomed the priest and found to his pleasure that Antonio was from Salamanca. Then he quickly pa.s.sed on to soldiers to ascertain how many and how worthy they were, for he was already engaged in vast new conquests that had carried the flag of Spain to Guatemala and was planning others that would in later years consolidate all the territory between the City of Mexico and what would later be called California.

When he had satisfied himself that the troops were able, he returned to Antonio and led him by the arm into the heart of the city, where for three years the able young priest served the conqueror in an administrative capacity.

Two significant events occurred during Antonio's service in the capital, the second deriving its importance from the first. In 1525, after he had worked in Mexico for less than a year, he received an anguished letter from his brother, Timoteo, advising him that their father, the Salamanca professor, had been arrested by the Holy Inquisition on charges of heresy: After you left, Antonio, Father kept repeating in his lectures that with the discovery of great riches in Peru and Mexico and with the costs of developing them so exorbitant, new ways of financing the industries must be found, and although he was always careful to add that the new ideas he was proposing would have to be developed with the teaching of the Church, many interpreted his words as justifying usury, so that Maestro Mateo, his relentless Dominican adversary, was able to bring the charge of heresy against him in a public accusation. The Inquisition hauled him away to their dungeons, where I was allowed to see him and I found him in good spirits, eyen though his right arm had been broken during the torture. He thinks he will escape with lashes and a reprimand, but there are others who fear he may be imprisoned for life or even executed. If you can think of anyone to whom we can apply for help, please do so at once, for you and I are in danger, too.

Fray Antonio was shaken by his brother's letter, for he knew how unlikely it was that a man charged with intellectual heresy could ever clear himself, and he could visualize the extreme tortures to which his father was being subjected in the attempt to force his admission of sin. Walking through the streets of the New World, Antonio thought constantly of the Old and caught himself wishing that his father had been less outspoken on matters that were of no real concern but which nevertheless put him at odds with the teachings of the Church. Why did he have to speculate on such matters? he asked himself again and again.

In response to his brother's plea for help, Antonio drafted a long letter of supplication to the marquis of Guadalquivir-the letter still exists in our family files-but he did not send it, realizing that on the one hand the marquis would be powerless and on the other that this particular n.o.bleman was not an appropriate one to appeal to, since he was himself probably suspected by the Inquisition, so that any intervention from him might work to Professor Palafox's detriment. There was nothing Antonio could do to help his father but wait for the infrequent ships that reached Veracruz with dispatches from Spain.

He did, however, have to consider what might happen to him and his brother if their father was convicted of major heresy and his. Yellow robe of shame hung in the cathedral of Salamanca as an evidence of proscription. Since he, Antonio, was already a priest he could not be disbarred from the clergy, but his advancement would be forever halted and he would be looked upon with suspicion. But the case of Timoteo was more serious: he had not yet taken orders, nor had he joined the army, and if his father was convicted by the Inquisition, he would be permanently shut off from either career. It therefore seemed essential to get Timoteo established quickly, and this matter preoccupied Antonio as he worked.

It was in this frame of mind, beset by uncertainties and apprehensive over his father's fate, that Antonio was walking one day near the palace in which Cortes lived and happened to come upon an Altomec Indian who had hiked in from the west carrying some raw silver, the metal that had helped place Professor Palafox in a dungeon and his younger son in jeopardy. Asking the Indian if he could examine the silver, Antonio weighed it in his hand. "Father was right," he muttered to himself. "This is the real power, and he's in jail because he spoke in defense of it. Well, I will get this power for myself."

In that moment, standing by a ca.n.a.l in the City of Mexico, Fray Antonio Palafox was seized by the conviction that to possess silver was to possess authority and power. He knew instinctively that somewhere in the west, probably in the unconquered area around City-of-the-Pyramid, there must be silver mines of magnitude, and he believed that if his family could gain control of those mines, it would be in a position to fight back against whatever judgment the Inquisition might dictate against his father.

That night he dispatched a letter, which is still retained by the Palafox family, addressed to his brother, who had remained at his cla.s.ses at the University of Salamanca: My dearest brother Timoteo, This day I have satisfied myself that certain rumors that have been whispered are true. Keep this letter private on pain of condemnation, but somewhere in the west the Altomec Indians possess a secret that could be of great importance to our family. Enlist at once in the service of Captain Cortes and meet me in Mexico, where I shall share with you what I already know.

Your brother, Antonio.

He hoped that Timoteo would appreciate the importance of getting into the army before the Inquisition handed down its judgment, but on this matter he was apprehensive, for he knew that his brother's great love for his father might prevent him from leaving Salamanca while the professor's fate was still uncertain.

Decisions of the Holy Inquisition were never reached in a hurry, and it was not unusual for trials to drag on through three or four years, for although the Dominicans were remorseless once heresy was proved to their satisfaction, they were not arbitrary in finding guilt where none had been proved, so with dogged dedication they might devote years to following leads that would either condemn or acquit. Of course, during those years whoever they were investigating languished in prison to be brought out for periodic torture at the hands of the Dominicans, who sought to clarify some obscure point in the testimony. Complete acquittal was unheard of, but there were hundreds of instances each year in which the accused were let off with four or five sessions of torture, stiff fines and public humiliation, after which they were welcomed back into normal citizenship. Such an outcome was prayed for in the case of Professor Palafox during the four years from 1525 to 1529 that he lay in the dungeon.

Throughout the first two years of this anxious period Fray Antonio worked diligently to convince Captain Cortes of his dedication to Church and emperor, so that the ruler of Mexico a.s.sured him, "No matter what happens to your father, your future in Mexico is secure," and he gave his young a.s.sistant additional responsibilities. As soon as Antonio felt safe under Cortes, he started quietly suggesting that he, Palafox, be sent to subdue the Altomecs. At first Cortes replied that those Indians were the most dangerous remaining enemy in Mexico, and he refused to hear of Antonio's marching against them, saying, "I have no captain whom I can spare to accompany you."

"I could serve as captain," Antonio replied and Cortes laughed.

"You'd do better than the fools we send, but you remain my priest."

In 1527, Cortes finally acceded to Antonio's request and the expedition was authorized. It was as a kind of soldier-priest that the first Palafox approached the high valley, for although a captain of minor category had been sent along to command the troops, Cortes knew that in the field young Fray Antonio would quickly establish and exercise superior authority. Of his first view of the Altomec capital, the soldier-priest wrote: The idea of building a great new city in Mexico had possessed me ever since my vision of Toledo in Spain, and when I first saw the City of Mexico I was pleased to discover that my new land could provide the bricks, the masons and the artists required for building a city. But I had always imagined myself starting from nothing, on an empty plain filled with cactus and maguey, and. when I asked men who had explored for Cortes "Where is the wild land that no one wants?" they all said "The land of the Altomecs. It's as wild as its owners." It was with this destination in mind that I led my donkey along rough Indian trails, a.s.suring the soldiers who accompanied me, "Soon we'll be there." And then one morning as we climbed a hilly pa.s.s that carried us into a high valley we saw with astonishment that we were looking down upon a fine Altomec city with a towering pyramid, temples beyond counting, gardens and substantial homes, a metropolis requiring only a cathedral and a name. I asked the captain to halt the troops, and from our summit I proclaimed, "This shall be the city of Toledo," whereupon we fell upon our knees to give thanks to G.o.d, and we were in this position when the Altomecs attacked.

The conquest of City-of-the-Pyramid required fifteen weeks of uninterrupted fighting, during which the incompetent captain of the troops several times lost heart and would have abandoned the siege had not Fray Antonio forbidden him to do so. The Altomecs were terrifying enemies, who charged with feather headdresses and the faces of eagles. Neither horses nor bullets nor Spanish bravery discouraged them, and they seemed not to care how many warriors they lost in their counterattacks. Their defense of City-of-the-Pyramid became one of the highlights of Mexican history, for in the end neither side won. An honorable truce was arranged on the Altomec principle that "this could go on forever, and that would be foolish, for we are both strong peoples." The peace treaty was later represented in murals by Indian artists, such as Rivera and Orozco, who took pride in this siege as proof of their ancestors' courage. Several times in my father's book, The Pyramid and the Cathedral, he referred proudly to the fact that, alone of the Mexican tribes, the Altomecs had never been defeated by the Spaniards, and as a child he taught me to be proud of my Altomec blood, for it was the blood of heroes.

At the same time my Palafox uncles took care to teach me, "Never forget, Norman, that it was a Palafox who took control of this city. When the others were afraid and would have run back to Mexico City, Fray Antonio stood fast. Read what he wrote about the battle."

During the siege a strange event took place, from which each army seemed to derive strength to continue the fight. Each morning during the fifteen bitter weeks, about half an hour before dawn, atop the pyramid that commanded the city, a slack-headed drum began throbbing, sending its echoes throughout the city and across our encampment, which crowded the walls. And this drum exercised a spell on all who heard it, for to the Altomecs it was a summons by their horrible G.o.ds to offer fresh human sacrifices, which took place at sunrise atop the pyramid so that all of us could see, and we observed with horror that the condemned were apparently not slaves but the bravest warriors we had been fighting against in previous days, for at times we could recognize them, or thought we could. Nor did the condemned struggle or appear in any way to protest their fate, but marched gladly to the stone slab where their hearts were torn out by foul and bloodstained priests. To us Spaniards the drum was a command to new battles, and each time we heard it I summoned the leaders of our force and conducted prayers for the poor victims about to be sacrificed, and if our prayers had any power, some of those unfortunates gained heaven.

Through the first eight weeks the hatred of the Spaniards for the rites of human sacrifice that they were forced to observe was based simply on moral outrage, but early in the ninth week events occurred that stunned the Spaniards and left them grimly determined to humble this arrogant city and lay waste its evil pyramid. At dawn the drum had sent its echoes pulsating over the encampment and Fray Antonio had summoned his captain to prayer, when to his horror he discovered that the day's living sacrifice was to be one of their own companions who had been captured along with several others some weeks before by the Indians. This time there was a violent struggle at the altar, and in the Spanish camp prayers ceased while in horrified fascination the soldiers watched the death throes of their friend.

From that moment on, the battle for City-of-the-Pyramid degenerated into barbaric ruthlessness, for each morning the Spaniards a.s.sembled in mute rage to watch the priests atop the pyramid cut out the heart of another comrade, and during the course of the day the invaders killed-not always quickly-any Indians they caught. But what provided the ultimate horror was an incident that occurred in the eleventh week: on the walls of the city in full sight of the Spaniards there was a small parade of feathered Altomecs accompanied by three Spanish soldiers, or so it seemed until it became apparent that the three were not alive-they had been skinned alive, with their heads left on, and Altomec priests had crawled into the white skins, pulling the heads down upon their own, so that the dead bodies walked and looked much as they had in life.

Groups of outraged Spaniards leaped toward the walls to avenge their comrades, but they were driven back, and that night Fray Antonio erased from the minds of his companions any thought of retreat from this dreadful city. "We are engaged with demons from h.e.l.l," he preached in the darkness, "and we have been chosen by G.o.d to humiliate this enemy, to destroy his temples, and to convert all we find to the love of Jesus Christ." In the days that followed, it was Fray Antonio who led the troops, and his tall, stoop-shouldered body, dressed always in black, became a symbol of his men's determination, but as the fifteenth week dawned the two armies remained in stalemate: the Altomecs showed no signs of irresolution and continued to sacrifice Spaniards at dawn or to flay them alive at midday, while the Fray's Spaniards pressed the siege and engaged in their own tortures.

Then what is known in history as the Miracle of Toledo occurred, for at nine o'clock on Thursday morning, after what appeared to the Spaniards to have been a scuffle inside the city, a dignified woman of about fifty appeared at the princ.i.p.al gate leading a beautiful little girl, and the Spaniards saw, to their surprise, that the woman was carrying aloft a parchment banner showing the Holy Virgin and the Christ Child. A cry went up and fighting ceased; Fray Antonio and the captain were sent for. In great solemnity, as in numerous later reenactments of the event, the woman and the child approached the priest and the soldiers.

From the troops came the shout "It is a miracle!" And when the woman reached Fray Antonio, who had been wondering how long he could sustain the courage of his army, he knelt before the banner, bringing it down to his lips and kissing it, as each new governor of Toledo has been required to do for the past four hundred years.

The occupation of the city was arranged by interpreters, and the woman summoned from within the walls the military leaders, who ratified the arrangements not as a surrender, for they remained willing to fight, but as a decision between equals. Before noon that day Fray Antonio led his soldiers to the pyramid, which he and the woman climbed, accompanied by sixteen Spanish veterans and about fifty Altomec women. At the top of the pyramid the Spaniards and the Indians ransacked the temples, smashed the drum, and with the aid of long poles tumbled the hideous idols down the face of the pyramid.

In the next five days the Spaniards destroyed more than two thousand Altomec statues, burned nearly half a mile of tanned animal hides on which the history of the city had been recorded, and eradicated almost all visible signs of culture. During the first of these days Fray Antonio, caught up in a religious frenzy, led the rampaging troops, but on the morning of the fourth day, when much had already been lost, Lady Gray Eyes and her little granddaughter came before the priest and by means of an interpreter indicated that he was to come with them. They led him to a crypt in the palace containing the most valuable codices-those now in the Vatican-and urged that these records of the Altomecs be saved. All that I have related about my Indian ancestors, their triumphs and their defeats, has been taken from those few precious records that Lady Gray Eyes managed to rescue.

This was the year 1527, the year in which Lady Gray Eyes arranged her truce with Fray Antonio Palafox and deposited with him the parchment bearing the portrait of the Virgin and Child. Thanks to the intervention of die queen, the pacification of the Altomecs was speedy, and before the end of the year Fray Antonio had completed his fortress-church and started the ma.s.s conversion of the people, but he was disturbed by the refusal of Lady Gray Eyes to be baptized in the blood of the Lord or to permit her granddaughter to undergo the rite. Obstinately she insisted, "I have been a Christian for six years," and she explained how the parchment had effected her conversion.

Fray Antonio, a purist, reasoned, "But that's impossible. There were no priests here at the time."

"We won't argue about it," she replied, and although she was instrumental in making her people undergo formal baptism, she forswore the rite for herself.

One day Fray Antonio asked her, "If you were powerful enough to make your generals surrender the city-"

"We did not surrender," she argued.

"I mean, if you were strong enough to end the war, why didn't you do so sooner?"

"For a very good reason," she explained. "Our men are warriors. My father was the bravest of all the Altomec generals, and if we had surrendered cravenly, we would now be living in shame. But we fought you to a truce, and now we are free to live with honor."

One day she added a strange observation: "Men are men and they are happiest when they live as men. Our men wanted to test themselves against the Spaniards, and they did."