500 Men vs an Empire: Hernán Cortés and the Conquest of Mexico — Part 2

When I saw so many cities and villages built in the water and other great towns and dry land, I was amazed. Indeed, some of our soldiers asked whether the things we saw were not a dream. Bernard Diaz del Castillo. They had climbed for days, higher and higher, leaving behind the steaming jungles of the Gulf Coast. The Spaniards crossed rugged mountains and icy passes, each presenting their own unique challenges. Each had to be surmounted through sheer force of will.

Then, at last they reached the summit. Before them the mountains fell away, stretching to the horizon, laying immense valley. At its centre shimmered a vast lake, and rising from its waters, a city. Not a village, not a collection of huts, a great metropolis. Broad Causeway, straight as an arrow, stretched for miles across the waters. Thousands of whitewashed buildings glinting beneath the Mexican sun. Towering pyramids rose above the rooftops.

Canals crisscross the streets, crowded with canoes carrying every imaginable commodity. Aqueducts brought fresh water from the surrounding mountains. Marketplaces teemed with 10s of thousands of merchants. Smoke drifted lazily into the morning air as life unfolded beneath them. For a long moment, no one spoke. Many of these men were experienced soldiers. They had fought in Italy, conquered Grenada, bore witness to the grandeur of Seville and Cadiz. They'd walked the broad promenades and sweeping piazzas of Lisbon, Rome and Venice.

Yet nothing in Europe had prepared them for this. It's name was Technocticlan. In 15/19 it was one of the largest cities on earth. Within two years it would lay in ruins. Welcome to ancient recent My name is Joseph Parkinson and today we continue our story of Hernán Cortés and the conquest of Mexico. To support the podcast, please press the subscribe button to be sent notifications of new episodes out every Saturday and available on YouTube, Spotify, and Apple Podcasts.

A slight disclaimer here, in this episode I will be attempting to pronounce now Wattal words and they're a real tongue twister for someone from Manchester. So no laughing at the back of the class, but I'll do my best. Technocticlan was the capital of the vast and mighty Aztec Empire, or rather the Mexica Empire. For you see, the people we today called the Aztecs did not call themselves Aztecs at all. They called themselves the Mexica. The name Aztec comes from the legendary homeland of Ashtalan, the place from which, according to their own traditions, they had begun a great migration generations before. Where Ashtalan actually lay remains one of history's enduring mysteries.

Some scholars have suggested it lay somewhere in present day northern Mexico. Others have argued for the deserts of the modern American Southwest. Truth be told, no one really knows. What is clear is that sometime during the 12th or 13th century, the Mexica joined a broad movement of nawatal speaking peoples who gradually migrated S into the fertile Valley of Mexico. At first they were nobody Poor, landless, exploitable, despised by the other city states that already dominated the valley. The Mexica survived as mercenaries, hiring out their warriors to whichever local ruler would pay according to their own traditions.

Their patron God, Wetsella Puktele, instructed them never to settle until they found a remarkable sign, an eagle perched upon a prickly pear cactus devouring a serpent. At last, in 1325, on a small swampy island in Lake Teshkoko, they claimed to have found it. There. They founded a settlement. They called it Technocticlan. Few could have imagined that this inhospitable island, surrounded by shallow marches, would one day become one of the greatest cities in the world. The Mexica prospered.

They mastered the waters, constructed artificial islands known as Chinapas, creating some of the most productive farmland in the Americas. Stone causeways linked their islands to the mainland. Aqueducts carried fresh water into the growing cities. Then, in 1428, came the moment that transformed their fortunes forever. The Mexica joined forces with the neighboring cities of Teshkoco and Tlachopan to overthrow the Teshpanek Kingdom of Ashcarpol Salco, then the dominant power in central Mexico. Together they formed what became known as the Triple Alliance. Although the three cities shared power in theory, it was Technoticlan that steadily came to dominate the alliance. Campaign after campaign extended Mexico rule across central and southern Mexico.

Defeated people were not usually annexed. Instead, they were compelled to pay tribute. Gold, cotton, cacao, precious feathers, food, weapons, and sometimes people. Captives taken in war were offered to the gods, and ceremonies the Mexica believed were essential to maintain the order of the universe. By the time Hernán Cortés landed on the coast of Mexico in 1519, the Mexica ruled an empire stretching from the Gulf of Mexico to the Pacific Ocean. Their emperor commanded millions of subjects. Their capital was amongst the largest cities on Earth. But beneath the slender cracks had already begun to appear. Many of the peoples the Mexica ruled did not love their masters, nor Basque in the radies and sun of the glory of the Mexica Empire.

To them, the Mexica were foreign invaders, unwelcome usurkers, upstart imperialists. For these people, ground under the heel of the Mexica, they yearned for revenge. When word arrived at the coming of strangers from across the vast ocean, as alien as they were incomprehensible, some began to dream. Perhaps these foreigners, with their unintelligible language, bizarre religious practices, and startling appearance, could be of use.

Perhaps, for these people from the Mexico, deliverance was at last at hand. In 1519, the Mexica Empire was at its greatest territorial extent. It was an empire for which the sun never set. At the peak of its imperial power, the Mexica emperor was Moctesoma the Second, and he was the master of all he surveyed. He was a warrior, a statesman, a high priest, and one of the most formidable rulers in the Americas. Born in 1466 into the Mexica nobility, Moctezuma had not inherited the throne by simple right of birth.

Unlike many European kingdoms, the Mexica crown was not automatically passed from father to son. When an emperor died, the leading noble selected a new ruler from among the royal family. Ability mattered, military achievements mattered, leadership mattered, and Mokchi Zuma had all three. Mokchi Zuma had proved himself on the battlefield. As young commander, he had LED campaigns against rival peoples, taking captives of sacrifice and earning A reputation for courage and discipline. He had also served as one of the empire's highest priests. To the Mexica, there was no separation between religion and government.

The favour of the gods determined victory in war, the coming of the rains and survival of the world itself. A ruler had to command armies, but also had to serve the heavens. When Emperor Ahuitzotl died in 1502, the nobles chose Moxizuma as his successor. He inherited an empire at the height of its power, rather than million during its riches, he sought to consolidate its control. He surrounded himself with loyal advisers. He elevated members of an ability to positions of authority.

He reinforced the distinction between the ruling elite and commoners, making the imperial court more formal and more magnificent than ever before. Foreign ambassadors approached him barefoot. Many were forbidden even to look directly into his face. His court became 1 of extraordinary ceremony. But behind the splendor stood a calculating politician. Campaign after campaign extended Mexica influence. Those who submitted paid tribute. Those who resisted faced war.

Vast wealth of all sorts flowed into Technocticlan. Yet every conquest carried a cost. The Empire did not rest upon loyalty, It rested upon power. Many cities obeyed the Mexica not because they love them, but because they feared them. Moctezuma understood this. He knew an empire held together by fear could not afford to appear weak. For 17 years he had preserved that balance. Few rulers in the world could command such wealth, such power, such might.

Few possessed greater authority or greater prestige. His word was law. His every whim was a command. With the raising of a single finger, cities would burn, nations fall and men die. At the height of his power, no state on this side of the great divide between this world and the next could possibly challenge His Imperial Majesty. But then what was to come was from across just that divide, from another world. As the fleet sailed West across the Gulf of Mexico, the coastline gradually emerged from the morning mist. At first only distant mountains and forests and rivers stretching away beyond the horizon. The land seemed endless.

For many aboard, it came as a profound surprise. The Spanish still believed they were charting the coast of what they assumed was the island of Yucatan in what now lay before them looked far too vast to be a mere island. Could this, they wondered, be part of the Asian mainland? Or perhaps somewhere beyond these unfamiliar shores lay the long sought passage to China itself? Officially, Hernán Cortés's mission was not one of conquest.

The governor of Cuba, Diego Velasquez, had instructed him to continue exploring the lands discovered, quote UN quote, during the early expeditions, search for any Spaniards who might still be alive from previous voyages, establish trade with the native peoples, and reports on whatever riches might be found. The first major stop was the island of Cosimel. Here the Spaniards encountered something wholly unexpected. The inhabitants possessed finely built stone temples. They cultivated prosperous towns, and they owned painted books recording the history, religion, and astronomy. This was no primitive society.

It was a civilization. Communication proved difficult. Fortunately, 1 member of Cortés's expedition had already acquired some knowledge of the local language. With his help, the Spanish attempted to explain the Christian faith to the Islanders. But the Spanish were not here to engage in theological debates. But people, they assumed, were little more than savages. To the Spanish, the Christian faith was the truth. The indigenous people, as humans, possess reason and as such, once instructed in the truth of Christianity, have no grounds on which to reject it. All of the faiths, including those of the mind people, LED away from the truth of Christ and as such were the work of Satan.

All of the gods were merely representations of the devil and must be destroyed lest they risk the immortal souls of the Islanders. To tolerate other faiths was not an act of open mindedness, but a supreme selfishness. How could the Spanish, as compassionate and reasonable men, allow the indigenous people to continue practicing their faith which was certain to lead them to the eternal flames of hell? It was not just the right, but the duty of the Spanish to save their native brothers from eternal damnation. By force if necessary, the Spanish said about smashing the idols of the indigenous people.

In their place they erected a wooden cross. To the Spanish this marked the triumph of Christianity. Yet when Cortes later returned to Cozumel, he found the crosses still standing. The Islanders had not rejected it, but to the Spanish his astonishment, neither had they abandoned their own gods. To the Mayan, adding another deity to an already crowded spiritual world presented no contradiction. To the Spaniards devoted to a single or powerful God, this was almost impossible to understand.

As far as they were concerned, when either accepted Christ or one did not. The idea that Jesus might simply be one God amongst many was beyond the Spaniards comprehension. Soon another remarkable discovery followed. Word reached Cortés that white men were living amongst the indigenous people. Eight years earlier, in 1511, a Spanish ship had wrecked on the Yucatan coast. Most of its survivors had either been sacrificed or died in captivity.

Only two remained alive. One of them, Jeronimo de Aguilar, agreed to join Cortés after years of living amongst the Maya. He spoke fluent Mayan. The other survivor, Gonzalo Guerrero, refused. He had married into Mayan society, fathered children and become a respected military commander. He no longer considered himself Spanish. As the expedition rounded the Yucatan Peninsula during March 1519, the coastline seemed to continue without end.

If this was truly an island, it was unlike any island Spaniards had ever known. The fleet entered broad rivers and encountered settlements built not from simple huts, but from substantial stone buildings demanding food and supplies. The Spaniards quickly came into contact with local inhabitants. When their demands were ejected, fighting broke out. Outnumbered many times over, the Spaniards nevertheless possessed advantages their opponents had never encountered Cannons, steel, crossbows and above all, horses.

At the Battle of Poto Chan, these strange animals caused panic amongst the defenders. Many believe in the horses and riders to be a single terrifying creature. The town fell into Spanish hands. A few days later, local rulers returned under a flag of peace. They bought food, cotton, gold and 20 women. Communication remained extraordinarily difficult. The local people spoke a different Maya language from that known by Aguilar. That much was misunderstood, much simply guessed. Yet Cortés possessed supreme confidence. Where words failed, he interpreted gestures, expressions, and silence itself.

The local rulers, he concluded, had willingly accepted the sovereignty of the King of Spain, had embraced Christianity, and they had gladly rejected their old gods. Whether they had intended to say any such thing is another matter entirely. Amongst the women presented to the Spaniards was one who would change the course of history. Her name was Maletisine. After her baptism, she became known as Donna Marina. Unlike anyone else in the expedition, she spoke both Noatell, the language of the Mexica, and Mayan. Together with Jeronimo de Aguila, she created a bridge between 2 worlds.

Within months she would become Cortés's closest advisor, his interpreter, his mistress, and perhaps the single most important indigenous ally the Spanish would ever acquire. Soon Donna Marina added Spanish to her linguistic repertoire, making Aguilar redundant. Donna Marina, already Cortés's mistress, now formed a duet with the conquistador and served as a conduit between the Spanish and indigenous peoples. The Spaniards rested only briefly before continuing their voyage W along the coast of Mexico.

On the 21st of April 1519, Hernán Cortés and around 200 of his men came ashore near the small island of San Juan de Olais. The land belonged to the Tautonaks, unlike many of the people's Cortés had encountered. Further E the Tautonaks did not greet the Spaniards with hostility. Food was brought, shelter was offered. Soon local nobles arrived to welcome the newcomers. Yet these men did not rule in their own rights. They represented a greater power far in land, in the great city of Technoticlan.

They had come on behalf of the Emperor himself. Moctezuma Cortés greeted the emissaries warmly. He presented gifts on behalf of the King of Spain and asked that they be conveyed to the Emperor. The envoys departed inland, carrying Spanish presence and extraordinary news. Moctezuma had in fact heard rumors of these mysterious strangers before Spanish expeditions had appeared along the Gulf Coast in both 1517 and 1518.

Reports had who reached Technopticlan describing pale skinned men with beards, animals unlike anything seen in the Americas, weapons that spat fire and Thunder. Small parties of Spaniards had repeatedly defeated much larger indigenous forces. Naturally, the emperor wanted to know more. Messengers were dispatched, Scouts watched every movement. Artist painted pictures of the strangers, their ships, their horses and their curious weapons. Amongst the gifts Cortés sent was one of his steel helmets. The Mexico returned it, filled with finely worked gold. To the Spaniards it was a generous diplomatic gesture. To Cortés it confirmed something far more important. If the Mexico could casually fill a helmet with gold, how much more lay hidden in their empire? Latest Spanish Chronicles claim that Moctezuma believed Cortés might be the returning God Casa Quatal. The year 1519 corresponded to the sacred year SA Akhtal, or one read a date later associated with traditions surrounding Kesa Atoll.

According to these reports, ominous signs and ancient prophecies convinced the emperor that the gods themselves have returned. It's a compelling story, perhaps too compelling. Most modern historians treat these accounts with considerable caution. Nearly all were written after the conquest. They conveniently portray the Spanish victory as inevitable and Moctezuma as a weak figure paralysed by superstition and fear. Yet the indigenous sources paint a rather different picture. They reveal A ruler gathering intelligence, testing the newcomers, attempting to understand an enemy unlike any they had previously encountered.

Nor was this the first time Moctezuma had attempted diplomacy. The previous Spanish expeditions had accepted gifts and eventually sailed away. Perhaps, the emperor believed, these newcomers could prove no different. A few baskets of fruit, some fine cotton garments, a handful of trinkets, and a slave girl or two, and these strangers would surely be on their merry way. But Hernán Cortés was not like other explorers. The gifts had precisely the opposite effect.

Rather than satisfying Spanish ambitions, their appetite only grew with the eating. If such riches could be afforded so freely, what unimaginable wealth awaited further inland? The Mexican envoys politely urged the Spaniards not to continue towards Techno Ticlan. The road was difficult, the journey treacherous and climate harsh. Plus, for such illustrious guests, the Emperor would wish to see them in person. But alas, Moctezuma was busy and could not spare the time. Also, there was of course little else to see. A few mountains, a stone temple or two, nothing comparable to the grandeur of Spain.

Yes, the Spaniards had seen the highlights. Best to go home. Cortés smiles and ignored every word. Moctezuma's representatives were not the only ones keen to bend the Spaniards ear. Emissaries from other indigenous cities made their way to the court of Cortés, and they sung a very different song. They spoke of a land ripe for rebellion, of cities groaning under the heel of Mexica imperial domination. They urged Cortés not to listen to the fine words of Moctezuma's emissaries. There were a great many cities eager to welcome their Spanish liberators and throw off the yoke of Mexica domination. Cortés only needed to lead, and they would follow. Cortés realised that all of the pretensions of the Mexico, what lay before him, was not a united empire, but a patchwork state held together by fear.

With the correct application of force, the whole structure of Moctezuma State could come crashing down like a House of Cards. It was. The empire of the Mexico was far from united. The Spanish and Courses camp were hardly singing from the same hymn sheet. Diego Velasquez, the Spanish governor of Cuba, who was, after all, Cortés's superior and on whose orders Cortés was supposedly acting, had given Cortés strict instructions. Cortés's mission was one of diplomacy, intelligence gathering and trade, not conquest. Many of Cortés's officers argued that they'd achieved their stated objective.

They had gold, women, fine artefacts and more than enough food for the journey back to Cuba. They had encountered sophisticated civilizations, got into a few minor scraps from which they emerged mercifully unscathed. Best not to press their luck. They knew the stories of human sacrifice were not rumour. They were reality. Better to cash out, quit while ahead and sail off before becoming acquainted with the sacrificial altars on which many of the Mexica victims enter the next life. But others saw things entirely different. They reasoned the Mexica empire was a paper tiger. Word had already reached them of Norwegians ready to rally to the Spanish cause.

The Mexica had proved themselves poor warriors who rarely stood when confronted with cannon or horse. What lay before them was the jackpot, an empire rich beyond comprehension and all theirs for the taking. Were they really going to hand this over to others when all they had to do was to pick the most ripe golden fruits for themselves? Cortés listened patiently as the arguments raged. Then, to the surprise of many, he appeared to concede. Perhaps the camp was poorly situated. Perhaps they should first look for a better anchorage before making a decision about returning to Cuba. An expedition was organised to survey the coastline. Curiously, many of those most vocal in demanding and immediate return to Cuba found themselves assigned to the mission. Whether by accident or design, the loudest voices of opposition was suddenly absent.

With the opportunity presenting itself, Cortés acted on the mainland. He formally established a new settlement. He named it Villa Rica de la Veracruz, the rich town of the True Cross. To modernize this may seem like an unremarkable administrative exercise. In reality, it changed everything. By founding a town, the Spaniards ceased to be merely an expedition sent by the governor of Cuba. They became settlers, residents of a municipality established in the name of the Crown of Castile and Spanish towns possessed rights.

Amongst the most important was the right to elect a municipal council known as a Cabildo. The newly established Cabildo promptly assembled it's members then proceeded to elect the obvious choice as their captain and Chief magistrate, Hernán Cortés. When those favouring a return to Cuba protested, they demanded to see his Commission. His orders, they insisted, had come from Diego Velasquez, governor of Cuba. Those orders had been fulfilled.

The expedition had explored the coast. Trade had been established. Gold had been acquired. His authority had ended. Ordinarily they would have been right, but Cortés calmly replied that he no longer derived his authority from the governor of Cuba. He had resigned that Commission. Instead, he had accepted office from the newly constituted municipality, and now his authority came directly from the king, not from Velasquez.

It was an extraordinary piece of legal ingenuity. Or perhaps theatre. Years earlier, Cortés had briefly studied law at the University of Salamanca before abandoning his studies for adventure. He never became a lawyer, yet he learned enough to appreciate one fundamental truth. Power was strongest when it appeared lawful. By carefully following the forms of Castilian law, he transformed what might have been a naked mutiny into something that looked remarkably like legitimate the government. Whether the governor of Cuba accepted this ingenious argument was, of course, another matter entirely. With opposition finally silenced, Cortés was free to advance.

Or so he thought. But some still challenged his decision. Some still argued it was time to return to Cuba. Cortés decided to act. He took a dramatic decision from which there could be no return. The fleet, his one lifeline to the outside world, was hauled ashore, its sails removed, its rigging stripped. Then, one by one, the ships were deliberately scuttled. There would be no retreat, no return to Cuba. Whatever lay ahead, the expedition would either conquer or perish. On the 16th of August 1519.

And then Cortés marched inland. Around 400 Spaniards, several 100 Tutanak warriors, a handful of cannons and 16 horses. It was a tiny force preparing to March into one of the world's most powerful states on earth. No sooner have they departed than fresh complications emerged. News arrived that another Spanish expedition had appeared along coast. It had been sent by Francisco de Garai, the governor of Jamaica. Eager to claim these rich new lands for himself, Cortés moved swiftly.

The envoys were intercepted. Some were detained. Others, persuaded by promises of wealth and glory, abandoned Garai altogether and join Cortés's growing army. On the 16th of August the March resumed. The expedition climbed steadily into the mountains. Behind them the humid Gulf Coast disappeared beneath a blanket of cloud. Ahead lay towering peaks and unfamiliar country. Crossing the Sierra Madra Oriental, they descended onto the high central plateau.

The countryside changed dramatically. Dense tropical forests gave way to cooler valleys and open plains. Food became scarce. The March grew harder. Every village, every stream, every sack of maize became precious. On the 24th of August, the Spanish reached another important town. Here they were received by representatives of Moctezuma's government. The conversation proved invaluable. For the first time, Cortés began to grasp the true scale of the empire he intended to enter. Moctezuma was no local chief, no regional warlord, no barbarian strongman.

He ruled a vast network of tributary cities stretching across central Mexico. His capital, they were told, was unlike anything the Spanish had ever imagined, a city of broad avenues, magnificent temples, bustling markets and immeasurable wealth. Yet they also heard darker stories of prisoners marched to the Temple of Blood, flowing down stone staircases of thousands offered in sacrifice to the gods. Whether every tale was true hardly mattered. The Spanish believed them.

The imperial officials politely encouraged Cortés to take another route. His destination, they suggested, lay elsewhere. Cortés's Totomac allies immediately became suspicious. It was a trap they want. Cortés ignored the advice. Instead, he sent indigenous messengers ahead, proclaiming that the Spaniards had not come to enslave the people of Valley, but to free them from Mexica domination. Cortés waited days past, but the emissaries did not return. The road ahead fell strangely silent. The Spaniards advanced cautiously. The road wound between rolling hills and open fields. Long grass swayed in the breeze.

Scattered Woodlands hung to the slopes, while rocky gullies and folds in the landscape offered countless places for enemies to hide. The countryside seemed alive. Every rustle, every movement upon a distant Ridge, every shadow beneath the trees seemed to conceal unseen eyes. The tension became almost unbearable. The chatter of birds drifted across the valley. Quail burst from the long grass before disappearing into the scrub. Then the birdsong stopped and an easy silence settled over the hills.

Then, without warning, the silence was pierced for the cries of hidden assailants. A storm of arrows, Spears, and stones burst from the surrounding hillside. War cries echoed through the valleys as thousands of warriors charged from concealment. Their bodies were painted for war. They surged down the slopes and through the scattered Woodlands. And in an instant, whereupon the Spanish. For a moment, the Spaniards reeled beneath the assault. The sheer momentum, the determination, the ferocity of the attack seemed to sweep the Spaniards back like the incoming tide.

But these were experienced soldiers, veterans of many battles. The Spaniards quickly regained their composure. Cannons rod crossbows cracked. Officers shouted their men into formation. Horse throats barked words of encouragement and urged one another to stand firm. Steel swords met Obsidian blades. The razor sharp Obsidian weapons of indigenous warriors could inflict terrible wounds shattered upon the impact of Spanish armour.

The tightly woven cotton armor worn by the warriors, so effective against traditional Mesoamerican weapons, offered little protection against Spanish steel. Spanish blades cut down the warriors in their droves. Bodies began to pile upon the grounds. Cannons hurled iron balls that shattered bodies whilst the deafening roar spread terror as well as death. As the warriors assault began to lose momentum. The Spaniard seized the initiative.

Forward came the cavalry. Never before had the indigenous warriors faced anything like them. Great horses bounded. Onwards they came, teeth biting, hooves kicking, riders swinging, flashing swords that cut down warriors with a single blow. Limbs severed, skulls crushed, brains scattered, blood spilled. Defeat became route as the warriors fled. The Spanish horsemen pursued relentlessly, driving their long lances into the backs of the retreating warriors. When at last the fighting ceased, the ground was littered with the dead and the dying.

The fighting did not end with the first battle. Again and again, indigenous warriors from a people called the Trash Kalan's attacked the Spanish columns. Each assault was fierce. Each was repulsed. The Spaniards, the victorious, were paying a price. Men were wounded. Horses were injured. Disease had begun to spread to the camp. The tiny expedition could not afford many more victories like this. Then, at last, the indigenous envoys whom Cortés had sent ahead finally returned.

They brought unexpected news. The attack, they insisted, had not been ordered by the rulers of the city. The Spaniards were approaching. The warriors who had assaulted them belong to another faction, the city itself. They claimed wish to receive the Spaniards as friends. The explanation was not entirely false, nor was entirely true. Flash Kalan was not a single city, but a confederation of city states, rather like the republics of Renaissance Italy.

Together they formed one of the few major powers in Central Mexico that is successfully resisted conquest by the Mexican. Around 100,000 people lived within the confederation. For generations they had fought almost constant war against the empire of Moshe Zuma. Yet among the Trash Lacan themselves, there was no agreement about what should be done with these strange newcomers. Some argued they should be destroyed before they became a greater threat.

Others urged caution. Perhaps these foreigners could become valuable allies against the Mexico. A compromise emerged. The attacks would continue, but unofficially. Raiding parties would harass the Spaniards while the rulers of Trash Lacan denied responsibility. The strangers would be tested if they proved weak. It would be destroyed if they proved strong and alliance could still be made. Cortés, meanwhile, was playing his own careful game.

Rather than pursuing the retreating warriors into Tashlakhan territory, he limited his response to punitive raids against nearby settlements. He wanted to demonstrate Spanish strength, not provoke a war of extermination. At the same time, fresh emissaries continue to arrive from mock Desuma. The emperor offered gifts. He declared himself willing to acknowledge the king, Spain as his friend, even his overlord, according to some Spanish accounts. But there was one request.

Do not March on Technoticlan. The road, the ambassador warned, was dangerous, food scarce. The tribes ahead could not be trusted. The warning achieved precisely the opposite of his intended effect. If these hostile people truly lay beyond Mexico control, then perhaps Moctezuma's empire was not as united as it first appeared. Each attempt to discourage the Spaniards only strengthen Cortés's growing conviction that the empire rested upon fragile foundations.

Eventually, the trash Lacan reached their own conclusion. The Spaniards had survived every assault. Their horses, their steel, their cannon had all proved terrifyingly effective. Destroying them would be difficult, perhaps impossible. Far better to turn these formidable warriors against a common enemy. Peace was proposed, gifts were exchanged. An alliance was concluded. On the 18th of September, 1519, Cortés entered Flash Calan in triumph.

For almost 3 weeks the Spaniards rested. It was perhaps the most valuable pause of the entire expedition. The wounded recovered, weapons were repaired, supplies replenished. Most importantly of all, Cortés secured the friendship of the elder Trash Lacan leaders. He insisted repeatedly that he had not come to enslave the Trash Lacan, but to defend their liberties against Mexico domination. Unlike other Spanish commanders, he also enforced strict discipline upon his own men.

The Trash Lacan were to be treated as allies, not as subjects. Yet one source of tension remained through Cortés's stay. Ambassadors from Moctezuma continue to visit the camp. They urged him to March 1st to Cholula, one of the Mexico Empire's principal allies. The Trash Likan protested. They warned the Cholula was a trap. They urged the Spaniards instead to March directly on Teknon to clan. A compromise was reached. Cortés would travel to Cholula, but he would not go alone. Thousands of Trash Likan warriors would accompany him. Spanish messengers would also ride ahead to inform Montezuma of their approach.

Exactly what Montezuma intended remains one of the great mysteries of the conquest. The Spanish chroniclers portrayed Montezuma as a fearful and suspicious ruler desperately attempting to buy time, while the relentless Cortés outmanoeuvred him at every turn. The indigenous accounts suggest something rather different. They depict an emperor calmly attempting to manipulate 2 dangerous enemies. The trash Lacan had defied Mexico authority for generations. Perhaps these strange newcomers could be used to crush them once and for all.

After all, Montezuma ruled millions of subjects. Cortés commanded only a few 100 Spaniards. However formidable their horses, cannons, and steel weapons appeared, they scarcely looked capable of overthrowing an empire. Perhaps the emperor believed he was the one directing events. If so, he had overlooked one possibility, that the Spaniards and the Trash Lacan might cease to be enemies and become allies. On the 8th of October 1519, the Spaniards departed Trash Kalan. 4 days later they arrived at one of the greatest cities in all of central Mexico, Cholula.

The Spaniards could scarcely believe what lay before them. This was no provincial town. Perhaps 100,000 people lived here. It's skyline was dominated by temples. It's markets bustled with merchants from across Mesoamerica. Centuries, pilgrims had travelled to Cholula to worship the great God KET Sal Kuatul. It was one of the religious hearts of Mexico. The inhabitants, the cholo Tekan, greeted the Spaniards with ceremony.

Cortés admired their fine cotton clothes, their elaborate jewelry, their music. Everything spoke of a prosperous and sophisticated civilization. Yet something felt wrong. The city was jointly ruled by two high priests. Neither appeared to welcome the Spaniards personally. Food was provided, but only in limited quantities. The atmosphere was polite, yet unmistakably cold. Cortés began to suspect he was walking into a trap.

Then came a remarkable development. According to Spanish accounts, Donna Marina befriended a local noble woman. The woman quietly warned her that the Chol Tekken had been ordered to destroy the Spaniards. Hidden warriors were said to be gathering outside the city. Pitts had supposedly been dug to trap Spanish horses. Women and children had begun quietly leaving their homes. Whether every detail of the story was true, or whether it later served to justify what followed, remains 1 of history's greatest controversies.

Some Spaniards argued that enough was enough, They should abandoned their March and return safely to the coast. Others, encouraged by their indigenous allies, insisted they could only be one response. Strike First, Cortés made his decision. Messengers were sent to the city's rulers. He announced that the Spaniards would be departing. Before leaving, however, they wish to bid farewell to the city's nobles. They assembled in one of Cholula's great courtyards.

The entrance was closed. Cortés addressed them. He declared that he knew of their alleged conspiracy, that he knew they intended to murder the Spaniards. Then the killing began. Spanish soldiers fell upon the assembled nobleman. Crossbows fired into the crowd. Swords flashed outside the trash. Lacan poured into the city. For two days, violence engulfed the city. Thousands were killed. The city's leaders perished. It's temples and houses were looted. Many prisoners were carried away by Cortés's indigenous allies, who sacrificed them according into their own customs. The massacre of Cholula remained one of the most disputed events in the conquest.

Spanish writers insisted they'd uncovered a genuine ambush and acted in self defence. Many modern historians remain unconvinced. Perhaps a conspiracy did exist. Perhaps Cortés exaggerated the evidence. Or perhaps the massacre was intended from the outset as a calculated demonstration of Spanish power. Whatever the truth, the effect was unmistakable. News spread rapidly across central Mexico. Resistance, the Spanish had demonstrated, would be met with terrifying violence. Cortés informed Moctezuma's ambassadors that he knew the emperor had stood behind the supposed conspiracy. The ambassadors denied everything. They insisted their master had played no part. Instead, they brought yet more magnificent gifts. Again they urged the Spaniards not to continue on to Technoticlan.

The emperor, they said, would send whatever riches they desired, only do not March upon the capital. The Spanish chroniclers interpreted these repeated appeals as evidence that Moctezuma had become fearful. The indigenous sources suggest another possibility. Perhaps the emperor was still attempting to load the Spaniards into a position where they could be destroyed. Whatever his intentions, Cortés was not turning back.

Early in November, the expedition marched W once more. Rather than taking the shortest route to Techno Tiplan, they crossed the mountains by a more circuitous route. The direct approach they suspected were heavily guarded by Mexica forces. Scouting parties rode ahead. Messengers from neighboring towns continue to arrive. Some warned of ambushes, others quietly advised which roads were safest. Many complained bitterly of Mexico domination. As the Spaniards climbed higher, the weather turned bitterly cold.

Snow lay upon the volcanic peaks. The winding mountain paths gave way at last to a breathtaking view. Beyond the passes spread the great Valley of Mexico. As they descended, still more delegates arrived, bearing gifts from Moctezuma. When messenger even came to speak in the Emperor's own name, Cortés remained cautious. He accepted the presence, ignored the warnings and pressed steadily onwards. Then, as the great city drew nearer, the Emperor's welcoming procession finally came into view.

The morning of the 8th of November 1519. Dawn cold and clear, the Spaniards descended from the mountains into the great valley of Mexico. Then, for the first time, they saw it. Technocticlan. There are moments in history when words seem almost unequal to the task before them. This is one of them. Before the Spaniards rising from the waters of Lake Teshkokko, stood one of the greatest cities on earth. It seemed almost to float upon the lake. Broad stone Causeway stretched across the waters, linking the island city to the mainland.

Hundreds of canoes glided silently through it's canals, carrying merchants, nobles, farmers and fishermen. White temples and palaces shimmered beneath the autumn sun. Tower after tower rose into the sky. The Spaniards had expected villages. Instead, they found a metropolis. Bernard Diaz de Castillo later recalled that some of the soldiers wondered whether what they were seeing were dreams. So extraordinary was the site that many compared it to Venice. Others insisted it surpassed Venice altogether. No European city possessed such broad avenues, such magnificent temples, such dazzling white buildings from the middle of a great lake.

As they advanced along the southern Causeway, thousands of people lined the routes. They climbed rooftops, crowded onto bridges, filled the canals with canoes. All had come to see the strangers from across the sea. The Spaniards stared back with equal fascination. Here were men and women dressed in brilliantly coloured cotton garments, nobles draped in rich feather work jewellery of jade and gold, warriors wearing magnificent costumes, fashion from the skins of Jaguars and eagles, transforming themselves into living embodiments of the Empire's greatest military order. Then the procession ahead came to a halt. A magnificent litter appeared, carried upon the shoulders of richly dressed noblemen.

Above it rose a canopy of brilliant green feathers that shimmered in the sunlight. Every moment caught the eye. Every ornament proclaimed supreme authority. This, at last, was Moctezuma, the ruler of the most powerful empire in Mesoamerica. As the litter reached the Spaniards, the emperor descended to the ground. His attendants immediately spread fine cotton cloak before his feet so that he would not tread upon the bare earth.

No one dared look directly into his face. No one dared touch him. To the Spaniards, this was unlike any monarch they had ever encountered. Moctezuma seemed almost divine, a figure separated from ordinary humanity by an invisible wall of ritual and reverence. Cortés stepped forward. According to Spanish custom, he attempted to embrace the emperor in greeting. The surrounding nobles immediately intervened. No foreigner, no common man could lay hands upon the emperor. Instead, gifts were exchanged.

Words of welcome were offered, formal courtesies observed beneath the smiles. Each side measured the other, each search for weakness. Each wondered what the other truly intended. The Spaniards could barely believe the magnificent surrounding them, the vast markets, the endless canals, the towering temples, the splendid palaces. Yet all was accompanied by something else, a growing unease. They numbered barely 400. Behind them marched their Tashla Khan allies. Around them stretched a city of perhaps 200,000 people. Every street, every rooftop, every canal was filled with subjects of Moctezuma.

If the Emperor gave the order, there would be nowhere to run, no walls behind which to shelter, no ships awaiting upon the coastline. The Causeway that had carried them into this astonishing city could just as easily become a trap reached the greatest prize they had ever imagined. But as they passed beneath the shadow of Technoticlans temples, many could not help but ask themselves one question. Had they entered the richest city in the world or their own tomb? Thank you for listening to Ancient Theresa, my name is Joseph Parkinson.

Next week, we will continue the story of Hernán Cortés and the conquest of Mexico. To support the podcast, subscribe today and receive notifications of new episodes out every Saturday and available on YouTube, Spotify and Apple Podcasts.