Spanish Conquistadors vs. Aztec Warriors : Hernan Cortes & The Death Of Montezuma

Southern Mexico, June 24, 1520. Less than 30 years after Christopher Columbus's first voyage to the New World, a group of Spanish conquistadors, led by Hernan Cortes, marches into an urban metropolis that is bigger than anything they had ever seen in Europe. There are markets, neighborhoods, endless crops, massive pyramids with thousands of nearly vertical steps that seem to ascend into the clouds, and a zoo, complete with an extensive collection of jungle snakes, birds, and a pair of bison, all of which are the first of their kind these Spaniards had ever seen. On most days, the markets bustle, the crops are worked, and citizens and slaves alike go about their daily tasks as they would in any city throughout the world. But on this day, as Cortes and his contingent plod wearily through the stone-lined streets, the entirety of this metropolis seems cloaked in an eerie silence and stillness. This is not the first time these men have been here. On November 8th of the previous year, the 34-year-old Cortes, an accomplished soldier and conquistador, had led his force of nearly 1,200 Spanish conquistadors, crossbowmen, arquebusiers, cavalry, and indigenous allies into the city all to great ceremony. The ruling monarch, Antezuma II, had made a great show of showering the Spaniards in magnanimity and presence. Viewed by his people as a sort of hybrid god-king, Antezuma had intended to awe the Spanish with great demonstrations of his power and opulence. His hope had been that Cortes and his cohorts would be cowed by the enormity and scope of this great society, take their gifts of gold and trinkets, and return to their king in order to inform him of the futility of any further attempts at conquest. Unfortunately for himself and his people, Antezuma had wildly underestimated the Spanish thirst for land and riches. He had, to be sure, heard plenty about these ironclad invaders who for months now had been trudging their way inland after sailing to the Yucatan Peninsula from Cuba. The Aztec had ruled a vast majority of southern and central Mexico for centuries by this point, after a rise to power that had come via much warfare, bloodshed, and conquest. They had begun as a wandering tribe of mercenaries who had constructed their mighty city, known as Tenochtitlan, upon the swampy edges of a vast lake. Through decades of dogged construction, expansion, and warfare, they had risen from poverty to prominence. They held their rivals and neighbors in states of perpetual apprehension via constant warring and raiding upon them. The Aztec viewed themselves as a chosen people whose gods had given them much and thus expected much in return. The Aztec worldview and society was based largely on their religious practices and those practices were steeped in blood. Though they are ardent polytheists, it is their sacrifices to their patron god, Huitzilopochtli, god of sun and war. Without sufficient blood sacrifice, the Aztecs believed their crops would fail and their families would fall victim to pestilence and disease. Thus, the warfare they made upon neighboring tribes was conducted not with the express intent of killing, but of taking prisoners. These prisoners would become gristle in the mill of industrial sacrifice upon which Aztec society depended. They would be bound and taken back to Tenochtitlan, where they would be kept in cages like livestock. Then, when they were needed for their ultimate ends, each prisoner would be extracted, one by one, and taken to meet their fate. Though ritualistic sacrifice was not a daily occurrence, it is safe to say that it occurred in some capacity on more days than not throughout a calendar year. On these days, atop the largest pyramid structures in the Western Hemisphere, men, women, and children would be ceremonially adorned in paint and costume, then forcibly walked up the steep stairs and bent face up over a large rock. Their arms and legs would then be held down by four priests, themselves adorned in gold, turquoise, and feathers. The high priest would then take an obsidian knife and plunge it into the victim's torso. The priest would extract the victim's vital organs and throw them onto a skillet sizzling nearby in order to discern the intentions of the gods through the rising smoke and vapors. The Aztec believed that the more the victims were terrified and made to weep and wail, the more efficacious the sacrifice would be. This macabre, merciless scene would take place with such regularity that it necessitated a near constant state of warfare against neighboring tribes in order to provide a sufficient number of sacrificial victims. This need for sacrificial victims drove the rapid expansion of the Aztec Empire, and crafted them into a formidable military, economic, and political force in rapid succession. They were unrivaled in their wealth and territory, real estate, and gold. This rise to power had, of course, come at the expense of the surrounding tribes, and fostered great resentment towards the Aztecs among their rivals. It was these neighboring tribes, already weakened under the yoke of Aztec rule, that had either thus far been trampled underfoot or submitted to terms as Cortes and his men swept inland from the coast on a quest for glory, gold, and, they believed, God. Among Cortes' ranks of grizzled soldiers and hardened crossbowmen were a number of Catholic priests. The Spanish, their politics being as indivisible from their theology as the Aztecs, considered the presence of Catholic priests to be a prerequisite on any campaign in the name of king and country. Thus, the Spanish viewed their expansion of territory and acquisition of riches as fundamentally inseparable from the expansion of their faith. The conversion of new souls to Christianity, whether by coercion or by force, was seen as a preeminent matter in any successful campaign. These newly conquered converts had, in many cases, beseeched Cortes and the Spanish to continue westward, where they would not only find great fortune in gold and treasures, but great numbers of souls to convert. Cortes saw this as an impassable opportunity to garner great riches for himself and his men as well as curry great favor with not only the King of Spain, but the Pope. Thus, every gift of gold and jewels that Montezuma bestowed upon Cortes and his men only served to steal their resolve to take this great metropolis over in the name of their king, their country, and their God. And so, rather than taking their leave from the enormous, bustling city of Tenochtitlan with gifts in hand and heads bowed in awe, Cortes and his men placed Montezuma under arrest. For weeks, the ostensibly infallible God-King had existed under a tacit house arrest, relaying messages and directives to his people and subordinates, even wandering around the city, but clearly no longer in charge. Even before the arrival of the Spanish, the internal workings of the Aztec hierarchy had been fraught with deceit, scandal, nepotism, and greed. Many of those serving under Montezuma felt that the ruler was not only unfit to serve his people, but actively leading them into disaster. Increasingly, Montezuma's own subjects began to disdain and mistrust him, and a pall of social and political unrest settled over the city of Tenochtitlan. In early May of 1520, intranational conflict called Cortes back to the coast to deal with an attempted usurpation by his rival Panfilo de Narváez. Cortes left his close friend Pedro de Alvarado in charge of overseeing Montezuma and the city of Tenochtitlan. On May 20th, 1520, after hearing rumors of a plot to attack the Spanish during the Festival of Toczcatl, Alvarado ordered what he claimed to be a preemptive attack on the Aztec. Thousands of unarmed civilians were cut down by Spanish swords and arrows, and several members of the Aztec royal court were put to death at the direct order of Alvarado. Following the attack and executions, the Aztec had relentlessly attacked the Spanish who were forced to barricade themselves inside Montezuma's royal headquarters, the palace of Toczcatl. Now, over a month later, Cortes and his men make their way through the stark silence of the city streets unmolested. They arrive to find the palace in disrepair after incessant attacks, and their comrades mentally and physically exhausted. They are greeted as saviors by their comrades, who have all but resigned themselves to death, trapped here in the middle of the city with limited ammunition and vastly outnumbered. But the joviality and relief of the moment are quickly overshadowed by Cortes' rage towards his temporary replacement, Alvarado. He berates Alvarado for his cowardice and short-sightedness. Alvarado insists that had he not attacked the Aztecs first, the entire Spanish contingent, left behind by Cortes, would have been wiped out. But Cortes has received word while on his return trip from Montezuma himself via a letter snuck out of the city, that the Aztecs had in fact gained permission from Alvarado before making their typical preparations for their festival. Had he solely intended to thwart their attack, suspending the festival preparations would have been a far more obvious and less costly option. Instead, Alvarado had attacked, and in the process damaged the trust of not only the Aztecs, but of the other surrounding tribes who were now rightfully dubious as to the sincerity of the Spaniards. Now, Cortes knows, a hornet's nest has been irreversibly stirred, and he and his men will have to deal with the immediate consequences. He is furious with Alvarado, proclaiming that, "...I wish to God Montezuma had escaped and I had never had to listen to this story." Cortes exercises no corporal punishment on Alvarado, only demoting him from second-in-command and replacing him with the more level-headed Gonzalo de Sandoval. Though the size of his force had dissuaded an initial attack from the Aztec, they are now essentially trapped inside the city. Their food is running low, and with the Aztec markets closed and the people hostile and unwilling to barter or trade, the prospect of running out of food and potable water is becoming more and more plausible by the minute. As the totality of his predicament becomes more and more apparent, Cortes' anger boils over towards Montezuma as well. He suspects the Aztec ruler of colluding with his rival Narváez in secret correspondence, promising him great riches and power should he assist in ridding Tenochtitlan of his troublesome countrymen. Montezuma, who has spent the majority of his time shackled and despondent inside the palace walls as the citizens who once revered him now intermittently attack his palace and hurl insults at his overseers, is elated to see Cortes return. Through interpreters, he asks to meet with Cortes. This further enrages the already-riled conquistador. "'Meet with me! Why the dull will not even keep the markets open!' Cortes exclaims. Montezuma explains, pitifully, that he no longer wields the power he once did. The god-emperor that had ruled over Tenochtitlan and the whole of the Aztec world has, since Cortes' arrival, fallen to the internal disputes and external machinations of his people. But Cortes, however aware he might be of the validity of Montezuma's claims, refuses to listen. He insists that if Montezuma does not hold the necessary sway over his people, he should choose an underling whom he believes does, and that man will be sent out from the palace to convince his fellow Aztecs to reopen the marketplaces. Montezuma chooses his brother, Coihitlahuac, who is also being held prisoner in the palace. Cortes, in a decision he will later regret bitterly, agrees and sends Coihitlahuac out to placate the festering conflict. However, instead, Coihitlahuac sends word forth that the time to attack the Spanish is now, when they are weakened, tired, hungry, and trapped. He meets with the remaining political elite who had not been arrested or killed in Alvarado's attack, and an emergency council is held, officially nullifying Montezuma's power as ruler. Instead, Coihitlahuac is installed as the new ruler. The morning after releasing Coihitlahuac, Cortes sends out a lone messenger, headed for the coast, with an emergency dispatch calling for reinforcements. It is assumed that, with the streets empty, he will pass out of the city with ease and be on his way to call for assistance. However, in less than thirty minutes, the messenger rushes back through the gates of the palace, bearing fresh wounds from Aztecs' slings and arrows, and insisting that the city is crawling with amassing forces, readying to attack the palace. Cortes' guards, stationed at portholes around the palace's walls, soon confirm the messenger's chilling report. To their horror, a veritable cloud of Aztec warriors is now sweeping their way through the streets in full war regalia, with shields, obsidian clubs, and feathers gleaming brightly in the harsh Mexican summer sun. The more seasoned conquistadors among the men begin to deliberately prepare for what, many assume, will be their last fight. Many of the less experienced men, who had been left behind under the command of Alvarado and endured the weeks of intermittent attacks and nightly torment and taunts from the Aztecs, are now at their veritable breaking point. Hernan Cortes seems completely preoccupied in his own rage towards his subordinate commanders and towards Montezuma. He believes the ineptitude of Alvarado, coupled with the corruption of Montezuma and his cohorts, are to blame for his current predicament, and he is irate. Montezuma, the man who had once been treated as a divine being anywhere he strode throughout his kingdom, now sits dejectedly in a dingy corner of a back room. His wrists and ankles, once covered in the finest jewelry, now ache and chafe under the confines of his iron shackles. As his former subjects now amass in front of his once opulent palisade, Montezuma hangs his head in equal parts despair and resignation. He tells his captors that he no longer desires to live, and that they, too, will perish here, under the war clubs and arrows of his Aztec countrymen. He has accepted his fate, he says, and so must they. Cortes' rage, already white-hot, is only stoked further upon hearing Montezuma's pitiable calls to surrender to their fate. He barges into the room in which Montezuma is being held and storms up to the Aztec ruler, their faces only inches apart. Through gritted teeth, Cortes demands Montezuma walk out onto the exposed palace wall and order his people to stand down. They must, Cortes still believes, listen to their deified ruler. But Montezuma insists, again, that he no longer holds any consequential power amongst his people. He is, in fact, now a figure of great derision amongst the population of Tenochtitlan. Should the warriors now swarming outside catch sight of him, they will surely kill him, Montezuma insists. But Cortes will hear none of it. He orders two Spaniards to take Montezuma, forcibly, to the top of the wall facing the throngs of Aztec warriors, readying to make their attack on the palace. The two conquistadors pull Montezuma to his feet and march him out to the top of the wall. As they advance to the exposed position, arrows, stones, and spears fill the air, and they are only spared death by covering themselves with their heavy shields. Still arguing that this tactic was all but suicidal, Montezuma is dragged the final few steps to the top of the wall and ordered, once again, to address his people. Accounts vary on what happens next, with one version attesting to the fallen king's attempts at overtures of peace to his people. The other states that the disgraced ruler was not even given a chance to speak. In either case, Montezuma is, in short order, met with a hail of arrows and stones, at least three of which strike him in the head and chest. The Spaniards hurriedly reclose their ad hoc shield wall around his body and drag him back to the relative cover of a palace room. As Montezuma now lies mortally wounded, slipping in and out of consciousness, Cortes determines, in traditional conquistador fashion, to take the offensive, and orders Diego de Ordaz and a few hundred men to charge out of the gates and take the fight to the Aztecs. Cortes hopes the firepower of the Spanish muskets and crossbows will drive off the attack of the Aztec. But this idea, too, falls under a hail of stones and arrows, and de Ordaz and his surviving men soon rush back into the palace, defeated and crestfallen. De Ordaz has been badly wounded in three places, and while he was out, Cortes, too, has taken a grievous wound to his left hand from an Aztec war club. Roughly eighty other Spaniards also lay injured in various spots throughout the palace compound. Cortes, left hand dangling uselessly at his side, orders a relentless series of volleys from the muskets, cannons, crossbowmen, and archers into the Aztec hordes at the palace gate. Again and again, shots are poured into the attacking Aztec, seemingly to no effect. Soon, flame-tipped arrows begin to fall into the palace, igniting any wooden structures within and engulfing the compound in smoke and flames. Cortes and his men hurriedly work to put out the flames, heaping dirt and mud upon them as they simultaneously shoot into the attacking crowd of Aztecs and hack at those attempting to crest the walls. For the better part of a week, the battle rages on. At night, cloaked in darkness, Aztec priests hurl curses from their gods upon the Spanish, berating the conquistadors and their indigenous allies as cowards, and taunting that they would soon sacrifice them and feast upon their bodies. On the 29th of June, Montezuma finally succumbs to his wounds. The great chief who had descended from such a storied lineage, who had overseen an empire to rival the greatest rulers of the world, and who had believed himself divine, now lies cold in death. The Aztec world has been irreparably changed, and the beginning of their end has now officially arrived. Whether the citizens of Tenochtitlan and the warriors raining down hellfire upon the Spanish inside the palace compound know it or not, their way of life is now, effectively, over. In a year's time, their city will fall to the mighty Spanish Empire. Their gods will be outlawed, their temples destroyed, and vast swathes of their population will fall to mysterious diseases brought over by these alien invaders. However, even as the fallen king lies in permanent repose, Hernan Cortes and the men under his command are still trapped inside the ruins of this once opulent testament to their enemy's The story of their escape, as well as the subsequent takeover and pillaging of the once mighty metropolis, is one of the most brutal, jarring accounts of history in what Europeans would come to know as the New World. But the tale of Cortes' ultimate escape and revenge, as well as that of the Aztec's macabre fall into destitution and despair, are, for tonight, other stories for other times. Thank you for joining us on this episode of History at the OK Corral. Be sure to click the like button, share this episode with a friend, and become a subscriber. 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