Duplicity Page 3

  ‘You were,’ said Archie dryly, and walked through the wall.

  ***

  Word count: 1138

  This ghost story was written in February 1977 for a school puppet show and was very well received. Because of its theme, and also because I had no idea where to send it, I did not attempt to have it published.

  Monte Meets The Conquistadores

  Monte watched his grandmother expertly turning the cakes which she was baking on the flat stone in the heart of the fire outside the house.

  ‘No one in all Mexico can make such tortillas as my grandmother,’ he boasted.

  Marilia, his friend ever since they could crawl, was sitting beside him, marvelling at the deft way the old lady used her hands to flatten and shape the cakes. The girl wanted to see everything, to learn how to be as quick as Monte’s grandmother. She was to marry Monte in two years, when they both reached the age of twelve, and she wanted to be a good wife to him.

  In a few minutes, the old lady piled the tortillas on to a flat wooden platter. ‘That will be enough,’ she said smiling, as she handed the plate to Monte, who took two, giving one to Marilia and biting hungrily into the other.

  ‘Grandmother, tell us about Montezuma, King of all the Aztecs,’ he begged. He loved to hear about their king, the greatest king who had ever lived, after whom he had been named.

  ‘I have told you many times,’ the old woman said. She was now sitting cross-legged, like the children, on the ground.

  But the boy knew that she liked to tell about the journey she had made as a young woman - over the mountains to see Montezuma’s Palace in the lake city of Tenochtitlan. ‘Please, my grandmother, tell us again.’

  ‘We Aztecs are blessed by our gods to have such a good king,’ she began. ‘His palace is within the city’s walls, next to the Temple of the Humming Bird. It is large, very large.’ Her brown wrinkled face had a faraway look as she recalled the wonder she had felt when she had seen it, so majestic in the waters of the lake.

  ‘How many bedrooms did it have, Grandmother?’ prompted Monte, although he already knew the answer. He never tired of listening to her tale.

  ‘Over a hundred, each one with a stone bath and running water.’ Her tone was hushed in reverence.

  Overcome by the thought of such magnificence, Marilia asked, ‘Was the palace the only large building, Old One?’

  ‘Oh, no. There were many temples, each to a different god, and another palace that had belonged to Montezuma’s father. There were streets, and canals, and fountains, and many, many wonderful houses. There were other buildings also, where young ones like you could learn how to read, and write, and count. All those things were started by the great Montezuma himself, and the houses he built for his lords were all made of stone.’

  The grandmother rose and brushed the dust from her long black skirt. ‘Go now, Monte, my boy, and gather some wood for the fire, before your father comes back from the fields.’ She pulled her embroidered shawl back off her head, bent down and passed through the low open doorway of the mud house which was their home.

  Marilia accompanied her friend to help him gather the wood, and they made their way down the steep mountain path. ‘What a great king Montezuma must be,’ she whispered as they stepped carefully through the stones. ‘Building all those beautiful places and caring so much for his people.’

  ‘My father says that he is not always so good,’ Monte told her. ‘He says that the gods the king worships are cruel and they have to be fed with human hearts. He sends out his tax-gatherers and any person who cannot pay his taxes is taken back to Tenochtitlan and given to the gods as a sacrifice.’

  Marilia shivered. ‘He does not sound so good after all, this Montezuma.’

  ‘He is good in all other things. It is only his religion that is cruel. Father says the king lives in fear of the god Quetzalcoatl - the feathered serpent - who was driven out of the kingdom by the other gods hundreds of years ago. The sacred books foretell that he will come back to claim the city in the year of One Reed.’

  Turning pale, Marilia grabbed his arm. ‘But this is the year of One Reed. I heard my father say so.’

  Monte nodded. ‘That is why the king is so afraid. The traders and the men at the market have told my father that there is news of a great army coming to capture Tenochtitlan.’

  She looked at him with pride. He knew everything that went on in the world, but she did hope that what his father had heard was not true.

  They were alarmed at that moment by the sound of someone shouting, although it was difficult to judge how far off the person was because of the echoes from the surrounding mountains. To their relief, a moment later a man came running round the bend in the path.

  ‘Father!’ cried the boy, but the terror in the man’s eyes made him add, ‘What is wrong?’

  It was some time before his father could find enough breath to tell them, and Marilia felt herself starting to shake in fear at the thought of what he might be going to say.

  ‘The great army is coming,’ he managed to gasp at last. ‘I was finishing my work in the main field when I saw clouds of dust in the distance. I waited until I could see what was causing this - sometimes the llamas stampede if they are frightened by a rattlesnake or a puma - then I saw them. Many, many men are on their way with banners and flags. The god Quetzalcoatl must have sent them to destroy Montezuma’s kingdom.’

  ‘But what are we to do, Father?’ The boy asked as the man started to run again.

  ‘I do not know, my son, but we must go home at once.’

  The grandmother was not so easily alarmed. ‘The army will not harm us if we do not put up a fight,’ she said when her son had breathlessly given her the news. ‘If Quetzalcoatl sent them, they will want only to capture Montezuma’s city. He must be warned.’

  ‘I will go,’ offered Monte. ‘I will take the mule and ride over the mountain. The great city lies at the foot of the other side, does it not?’ He knew that from his grandmother’s stories.

  She spent no time in arguing, but cut some tortilla, laid out some fruit and a flask of goat’s milk on one of her shawls, tied them up and handed over the bundle. ‘Take this to eat. It is a long, long journey to Tenochtitlan.’

  As he passed other mud huts like his own, Monte pointed back and shouted, ‘The army is coming! They have come to destroy the king’s city.’

  It took some hours for the boy and the mule to clamber up the rocky mountain, and when they reached the top, Monte halted the sturdy little animal and stared down in surprise. He had always known that the city of Tenochtitlan was beautiful, but even from his grandmother’s descriptions of it he had never imagined anything as large as the panorama spread out in the valley below.

  It was not until he was much nearer that he could see the white buildings and giant temples reflected in the waters of the lake - the fabulous Halls of Montezuma. As he tore his eyes away from the glorious sight and looked around him, he saw smoke rising from another mountain not very far off. The Mountain of Fire. He had heard his grandmother speak of it, and she had said its real name was Popocatepetl.

  Gaining renewed strength, Monte urged the mule onwards. He could not bear the thought of the beautiful city being invaded by enemies. His father had told him that the Sacred Book foretold this, and that the invaders were to be led by a tall, white-skinned, black-bearded man, whose followers would unleash thunder and lightning on Tenochtitlan.

  After another hour or so, he heard what sounded like the hooves of many mules, but coming much faster than mules could travel. Looking over his shoulder, he saw about fifteen men riding strange animals, larger than mules and much more impressive. This was no great army, so he relaxed and waited for the men to catch up with him.

  As they passed, they shouted to him in words which he could not understand, and carried on down the path. He urged his
sturdy steed forward again, but the beast was exhausted from the long hours they had been travelling, and could go at only a very slow pace.

  Some time later, he again heard sounds behind him and turned round. This time, it was indeed an army, descending on Montezuma’s city, now only a few miles off. Dismounting, he led his mule to some nearby bushes; from this hiding place he watched while hundreds of men rode past. Leading them, on an animal like those which had passed before, was a tall man, white-skinned and black-bearded, just as the Sacred Book said. After him came men with crossbows, men with chained hounds and last of all came men with strange rods in their hands.

  He watched while they entered a small village farther down the mountain, with mud houses like his own. Some of the Aztec men tried to stop the army from going on, but suddenly the men at the rear of the line took up their strange rods and made thunder and lightning spit past the local men, making them jump back in alarm. He waited until the army had moved on, and then rode into the village.

  ‘Who are they?’ he asked one of the wailing women, who had come out in curiosity.

  ‘He said his name is Hernando Cortez,’ she answered. ‘He has come to capture Montezuma’s wonderful city. He comes from a land called Spain, far across the ocean, and they have conquered the rest of Mexico - the Maya, the Toltecs and all the smaller tribes - and now he wants to claim Tenochtitlan and all of Montezuma’s gold and treasures for his own king. He called his men conquistadors, and they mean to capture the city with their crossbows and rifles. The rifles are what made the thunder and lightning. Fifteen men on horses - the strange animals are called horses - have gone on before. Cortez said there will be no bloodshed if our king gives up peacefully.’

  It was too late now for Monte to warn the king, but he carried on down the mountain path, anxious to find out what was happening. When he neared the city, he saw that Montezuma himself had come to the gates, and was waiting at the end of the broad causeway which had been built across the lake as an entrance. His golden throne was carried by eight lords in silken robes, and his jewelled crown was also decorated with green plumes. Even the soles of his sandals - visible from the way he was sitting -looked to be made of pure gold.

  The boy lay down behind a group of bushes to watch and to listen. Surely the great king would be able to stop this army from plundering the city?

  When Cortez and the conquistadors came closer to him, Montezuma looked scared, but ordered his bearers to lower him to the ground so that he could speak to the strangers. Monte wished that he could hear better, so he crept as close as he dared. Cortez had dismounted from his horse and faced the king boldly.

  ‘If the god Quetzalcotl has sent you to destroy my city,’ Montezuma said, ‘I beg you to listen. I will give you all my gold and jewels and any other riches you want, if you will leave all the buildings I have worked so long to have erected.’

  Monte’s eye was caught by a man in plain clothes who appeared then. The face was familiar but it was a moment or so before the boy recognised him to be the Wise One, who travelled amongst the villages on the mountain, and who was said to have visited many foreign lands. He went fearlessly up to the leader of the army and was translating what the king had said. Cortez listened carefully, then turned and spoke to two of his men, who stepped up to the king and took hold of his arms.

  Monte held his breath. Were they going to kill Montezuma? But the king smiled, and they all went inside the city gates - the king and the two men holding him, Cortez and the Wise One.

  The rest of the Spanish army were standing outside the walls, so Monte plucked up his courage and walked past them, into the city where the Aztecs were murmuring together. ‘They have taken our king a prisoner,’ said one man.

  ‘We must fight the enemy,’ said another. ‘They must not destroy our lovely city.’

  One of the lords stepped forward now. ‘They will kill Montezuma. Without a king we will be lost, and they will kill us all.’

  ‘I will be your king.’ A tall, cruel-faced man pushed himself forward. ‘Montezuma is a coward and will put up no fight, but I will lead you to victory.’

  Some of the other men cheered, but Monte heard one woman whisper to her husband, ‘He is wicked, that one. Many men will die before he, too, is killed.’

  The husband nodded. ‘He could never be as good a king as Montezuma.’

  Cortez, who had been talking with the king and trying to reach an agreement, suddenly brought him out to the city walls to tell his people what had been decided. Most of the Aztecs went down on their knees to show their king that they believed in him, but the self-appointed ruler issued orders to the slingers to let loose their ammunition on the invaders. With the first volley, Montezuma himself was struck on the head by a stone and fell to the ground.

  An eerie silence fell now, then the slingers were again told to fire, and Cortez and his conquistadors turned and retreated. They joined the rest of their army and left Tenochtitlan.

  Running up to the Wise One, Monte asked, ‘What will happen now? What are they going to do?’

  The man shook his head sadly. ‘Hernando Cortez intends to gather a larger army and come back to destroy the city. Montezuma had said that they could have all his gold and treasures, and Cortez had promised that there would be no fighting, that they would leave the city as it is. Now this new king has ruined everything, and there will be much bloodshed. It will be the end of the Aztecs.’

  ‘Would you have liked our city to fall into the hands of the conquistadors?’ Monte asked.

  ‘They are not wicked men, although their religion is different from ours, my son. They worship only one god, a good god, who asks for no human sacrifices. He even sent his son, Jesus Christ, to earth to show the people how he loved them. Their religion is called Christianity.’

  When he went home a few days later, Monte told his friend some of what had happened.

  ‘So Montezuma joined their Christianity?’ Marilia said, happily, ‘and all ended in peace?’

  ‘It did not end like that. The people of the city chose another king to lead them, a cruel man. Montezuma went out on to the walls to speak to them, and when they saw him they knew they still loved him, and went down on their knees before him. The other man was angry and ordered our slingers to let loose a volley of stones at Cortez and his men, and Montezuma was accidentally struck on the head. He died just a few hours afterwards.’

  ‘Then Cortez won the city for Spain?’ Marilia’s eyes had filled with tears of sorrow.

  ‘No, our people defended bravely and the Spaniards had to withdraw, but Cortez vowed that he would collect a larger army and come back to win all Mexico for his emperor - Charles the Fifth, of Spain.’ His face assumed a determined expression. ‘I hope that I will be old enough to fight when he comes back. I would not like to see Tenochtitlan fall into the hands of the Spaniards … and yet … their Christianity sounds better than Montezuma’s religion, and Cortez did not mean to fight.’

  After briefly thinking this over, Marilia said, ‘Yes, with Montezuma gone, it would be better if Cortez and his men were to rule over us instead of this cruel new king.’

  ‘We must live in hope that the conquistadors do return.’

  ***

  NOTE:

  Hernando Cortez went on to gather a much bigger army, and built a huge fleet of ships to cross the lakes. He and his conquistadors destroyed the city of Tenochtitlan in November 1519, and it was in this place that Mexico City was built.

  The Aztecs were a Mexican tribe ruled by Montezuma. They were good at building stone houses and making tools, but they had no wheel, nor any form of transport except boats and mules. They were dark-skinned and black-haired, and the men had no beards.

  ***

  Word count 2878

  This story was written in 1981 for a competition run for the Writers’ Conference, held once a year in P
itlochry. Most of us who attended were only would-be writers but enjoyed listening to REAL authors talking about their work. I was disqualified, because the story had to be written for reading to children, and the age had to be stipulated. I put the age as 10-12 and the judge maintained that children of that age did not want to be read to. I pointed out that I had been teaching this age group for some time, and they loved having stories read to them. I did not send it anywhere else, and it is only included here because it is different from anything I wrote later.

  The Bobbydazzler

  ‘But Mam, a’ the ither loons’ve got bikes, an’ they mak’ a richt fool o’ me ‘cos I havena gotten ane.’

  ‘I’ve tell’t ye afore, Jeemsie. We jist canna afford to buy a bike for ye wi’ yer faither laid up like he is. There’s naethin’ comin’ in, an’ the little I’d laid past has to buy food for the six o’ us an’ mixters for yer Da. I’m hard put to manage as it is.’ Lizzie Wilson wished with all her heart that her eldest son would be reasonable. He should have more sense, him being ten years old. Why couldn’t he take no for an answer?

  ‘But I’ve been thinkin’, Mam. I’ve often seen auld bits o’ bikes lyin’ on the dumps, an’ if only I could get the right bits, I could mak’ ane for masel’.’

  His mother sighed. It was bad enough trying to make ends meet since her Jeems had been taken ill again, without having Willie pestering her like this. He was more bother than the other three put together. ‘Weel, weel,’ she muttered at last, considering it easier than arguing any more. ‘Jist you cairry on an’ try to mak’ a bike, loon.’ At least it would keep him occupied for a while and give her some peace, though she doubted if he would ever produce a roadworthy vehicle.

  Every day now, after school and after he’d had his supper, Lizzie could see him pottering about in the backyard with the things he’d found on the rubbish tips, a lantern illuminating his labours. He was utterly engrossed in his self-appointed task, having shooed his young brothers away when they showed an interest in what he was doing.’Ye should jist see Jeemsie,’ she told her husband one evening when she went to take away his supper tray. ‘He’s up till his elbows in grease a’ the time, an’ he leaves muck on a’ the doors. I dinna ken fit I’m gan to dae wi’ him, for he tak’s nae notice o’ me tellin’ him to wash his hands at the pump afore he comes inside.’