Alvarado

April 15, 1520

Pedro de Alvarado's knuckles were cracked and torn. His tired gaze passed down to his black leather boots, the dark surface scuffed. His once proudly sharp spurs were choked with the cursed mud that seemed to be everywhere in these jungles. He rubbed his chin, feeling the scratchy, mossy beard that used to be his defining feature back in Spain.

What he would give to find that damned monkey that made off with his buckled pouch of hygiene products...

Pedro groaned as he removed his steel helmet, throwing it onto the table to his left. His massive headache pounded harder as the clattering rang throughout the small guest quarters he had been gifted inside Moctezuma’s palace. He had been forced to attend all the dreary official meetings and ceremonies after the initially tense arrival of the Spaniards in the beautifully exotic city of Tenochtitlan.

The city really was beautiful, he thought, feeling the breeze from the window. He saw the city stretched before him, winding streets and water causeways crossing the city like silk strands in a spiderweb. He could see the Mexica peoples engaged in their daily trips around the chaos, traveling to the market or working with their families inside the mud and straw huts that made up the majority of the island city. Closer to the palace lay adobe homes of higher status, until finally extravagant mansions circled around the main square of the city. The main plaza contained the Temple, the ball court, and various official centers. The distribution of the social classes encircling the main square was perhaps the only similarity this New World had with his beloved España.

Pedro observed the crowded plaza that stretched out in front of the palace. Even after spending these last few months in these horrid jungles, speaking with, trading with, and fighting these peoples, this Mexica empire still bewildered him. Wearing obscenely little clothing, their dark brown skin exposed to the hot sun, the savages seemed accustomed to these humid, sweltering rainforests.

Their proud warriors were adorned in the patterns of animals. Some wore what looked like the skin of leopards he had seen in Moorish manuscripts back in Spain, while other warriors were covered in a coat of white eagle feathers. Their helmets resembled the fierce animals’ heads, with their maws were forever open in either hunger or indignation. Their hair was pulled and groomed into outrageous styles, shaved bald in some parts and letting it grow long in others.

He had not even tried to learn their guttural, sharp language. He preferred the beautiful flow of his native tongue and was glad that already these peoples were learning his language instead of the other way around.

Pedro stretched his aching back, turning back towards his tiny room. He nearly jumped in fright.

There, in the arched doorway adorned with carved animals and heads, was one of the savages.

He was huge, taller than any of the indians he had seen so far. Though he didn’t want to admit it, this man may have been taller than himself.

He was bare chested except for a red and white plate that wrapped around the middle of his rippling brown torso. His tan skirt was tied about with a white sash, and his feet were strapped to what could only be called sandals. The man kept his midnight black hair long, the shining locks pouring down from his cap of rainforest feathers like a hellish waterfall. The man’s face was scuffed and scarred; his wide nose was pierced with three seperate nose rings made of bone.

He craned his neck to look into the tiny room, looking down at Pedro’s scattered armaments in disgust.

“I hear...sound. Happened?”

Pedro was taken aback. A lowly indigenous servant addressing him, a knight of Spain?

“Well, you weren’t exactly here to help me doff my armor. Here’s the rest of it.”

Pedro slipped out of his breastplate, throwing it to the floor in another crash that rattled his headache. Pedro smirked to the muscled servant.

“You can shine everything you see here. Any clean cloth and liquid should be able to get most of the scuffs and dirt out.”

The servant raised a thick eyebrow, matching Pedro’s smirk. Untying the white sash from around his waist, he loudly cleared his throat. Unleashing a thick wad of spit into the cloth, he threw it to the ground at Pedro’s feet.

“Clean cloth, and....liquid.”

With a yellow smile, the servant stomped off down the hallway.

+++

Pedro sat up from what was supposed to be his bed, in reality little more than a stone slab under a thin pile of animal skins. He rubbed his eyes, squinting from the harsh morning glare streaming in through the window. He stepped off the bed, nearly tripping on his armor he had refused to clean. Pedro grabbed his wineskin from his his pack, swishing the purple liquid around his dry mouth. He nearly spit it out in surprise.

“You again! How dare you show your face to me! What is your name, you hulking bastard?”

Pedro pointed to the servant who was again standing in the arched doorway.

The servant showed no emotion, his stoic slab of a face unmoving.

“...I is Tonauac.”

“I will have you executed! Your head will be floating in a trough of your own blood.”

Tonauac either didn’t understand or didn’t care. He looked down into Pedro’s eyes.

“Food for you.”

Tonauac took his hand from behind his back, revealing a generous pile of breakfast. Pedro snatched the heaping platter, his mouth watering.

“Well...perhaps you aren’t completely useless.”

The plate was filled with steaming meat and some wonderful sweet fruits he had learned to love throughout his trip into the heart of Mexico. He hadn’t eaten like this since his last evening in Seville too long ago.

“Thank you...You are dismissed.” said Pedro, turning his back to say a blessing over the food.

When he was finished, sitting down on his bed, he saw that Tonauac was still there. The huge man was leaning in the corner, gripping Pedro’s breastplate in his rough knuckles. His gargantuan hands smoothed over the metal curves of the armor with a clean washcloth, doing remarkably gentle work.

Pedro was surprised the man had a change of heart. He awkwardly sat silent, eating his food.

Suddenly, the Tonauac’s booming voice broke the silence.

“Last night was...joke.” he said, nodding down to Pedro’s armor.

Pedro looked up, his mouth full. He could only let out a grunt in acceptance.

Tonauac gave Pedro a bemused glance.

“What your name?”

“I am Pedro de Alvarado y Contreras, son of Gomez de Alvarado, grandfather of Juan Alvarado ‘el Viejo’” said Pedro, smugly adding all the flairs and extravagant pronunciations that would make the names nearly incomprehensible to the enormous Aztec before him.

Tonauac frowned.

“No like name. You name is... Tonatiuh. Tonatiuh.” a wide smile grew on Tonauac’s face.

“No...I’m pretty sure it’s Pedro de Alvarado y Co-”

“It is Tonatiuh.” stated Tonauac, handing his shiny breastplate back to Pedro. “Come Tonatiuh, we have...talk you will go to.”

Pedro took the breastplate, buckling it around his leather undershirt and slipping on his boots.

“What do you mean a ‘talk’? I thought all of our official meetings were over. How much more do I have to attend?”

Tonauac motioned for him to hurry, ducking into the hallway.

“No, no meeting. You are called.”

Pedro decided he would get little more information out of Tonauac, either he knew little or he didn’t want to tell him.

He followed Tonauac down the hallway, taking in the sights of the palace walls. They had been beautiful in yesterday’s evening light, they were stunning now. The stone walls were carved and painted with exquisite artwork and stories, telling the legends of their culture going back thousands of years. Pedro saw dragons, jungle cats, colorful birds, but no letters. Apparently that was how this people communicated, through pictures and symbols like the lost civilizations of Egypt. They certainly had the pyramids to match.

The morning light streamed in through the windows in the ceiling, the rays perfectly landing on the bright green plants that adorned the palace. The palace was a swirling rainbow of bright colors, the hallway being the spine of the structure that broke off into the adjacent rooms.

Each room was an island of extravagance and indulgence, some were steaming bath rooms and others social parties that ran all through the day and night, the highest of society spending their time drinking this dark brown liquid that filled each and every one of their cups. It didn’t smell like the expensive wine he was used to back in Spain. This was something completely different.

Pedro walked up to the left of Tonauac.

“...Tonauac,” said Pedro, butchering the strange pronunciation,” what is that they’re drinking?”

Tonauac smirked.

“That, Tonatiuh, is xocatl.”

Pedro watched as one Aztec statesman chugged down a large mug of the substance before turning back to his cheering friends.

“Well...what does it taste like?”

Tonauac held up a palm.

“Quiet, Tonatiuh, we have...job. Maybe you get drink xocatl soon, but not now.”

Pedro was disappointed, but understood Tonauac’s caution. They were nearing the end of the hallway, and before them lay the immense doors that guarded the Emperor’s chambers and throne room. The only doors in the palace, they were obviously holy. Runes and symbols covered these doors more than anywhere else in the palace. Pedro ran a hand through his long blond shock of hair, hoping it looked presentable. If he had known he was meeting the Emperor, this legendary Moctezuma, he would have worn different pants, that's for sure.

Pedro’s anxiety increased by the second before Tonauac turned to a harsh right into a smaller alleyway, then stopping at the first doorway.

“I wait at room, Tonatiuh.” said Tonauac before gliding back into the main hallway and leaving Pedro alone.

“Wait! Who am I meeti-” started Pedro before remembering he was only seconds away from the Emperor’s chambers. Perhaps yelling wasn’t the most polite thing to do.

“Come in, Pedro.” called a familiar voice from inside the room.

Pedro smiled, the nervous feeling fading away like the harsh bite of winter in springtime.

“Ah....Hernándo Cortés.”