The Jaguar's Roar - An Aztec Timeline
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I am sorry if I am doing a mini-necro-posting here, but there's a serious revision and probing questioning over the fact that the Mexica were really doing human sacrifices at a mass and institutionalized scale, and whether they are actually doing sacrifices, since most of the history of the Mexica was written by the Spaniards after the conquest of the Mexica/Nahuatl lands.
It's in addition to whether the Mayans were the ones to sacrifice people, which was subsequently debunked in recent scholarship. The Mayans and the Mexica doing sacrifices was just a myth, exaggeration and made-up, like a bogeyman or the monster in your closet, but insidious.
www.reuters.com
www.ucl.ac.uk
www.mexicolore.co.uk
www.mexicolore.co.uk
It's in addition to whether the Mayans were the ones to sacrifice people, which was subsequently debunked in recent scholarship. The Mayans and the Mexica doing sacrifices was just a myth, exaggeration and made-up, like a bogeyman or the monster in your closet, but insidious.
‘Aztecs’ did not sacrifice their leaders to counter pandemics
Claims that the Aztecs or the Mexica sacrificed their own leaders have no basis, experts say. A popular allegation online says they did so in times of pandemic or famine, but there is no evidence that they sacrificed their leaders at all or that they immolated anyone in times of disease.
www.reuters.com
The Myth of Human Sacrifice
Nearly everything taught about Aztec ‘sacrifice’ is wrong
Nearly everything you were taught about Aztec ‘sacrifice’ is wrong
www.mexicolore.co.uk
“There is no such thing as ‘Human Sacrifice’”
What is meant by Aztec human sacrifice?
www.mexicolore.co.uk
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Did you not read your own sources?I am sorry if I am doing a mini-necro-posting here, but there's a serious revision and probing questioning over the fact that the Mexica were really doing human sacrifices at a mass and institutionalized scale, and whether they are actually doing sacrifices, since most of the history of the Mexica was written by the Spaniards after the conquest of the Mexica/Nahuatl lands.
It's in addition to whether the Mayans were the ones to sacrifice people, which was subsequently debunked in recent scholarship. The Mayans and the Mexica doing sacrifices was just a myth, exaggeration and made-up, like a bogeyman or the monster in your closet, but insidious.
‘Aztecs’ did not sacrifice their leaders to counter pandemics
Claims that the Aztecs or the Mexica sacrificed their own leaders have no basis, experts say. A popular allegation online says they did so in times of pandemic or famine, but there is no evidence that they sacrificed their leaders at all or that they immolated anyone in times of disease.
The Myth of Human Sacrifice
Nearly everything taught about Aztec ‘sacrifice’ is wrong
Nearly everything you were taught about Aztec ‘sacrifice’ is wrong
“There is no such thing as ‘Human Sacrifice’”
What is meant by Aztec human sacrifice?
The Reuters article talks about how "human sacrifice had an important role in Mesoamerican cultures, including the Mexica and the Maya, which “believed that human sacrifice nourished the gods.”". The article specifically debunked the false claim that they sacrificed their own leaders in the event of a pandemic. Not that pandemics were even really a thing on any scale for the Mesoamericans before the Spanish arrived.
Your mexicalore source seems more keen on pointing out cases of Old-World human sacrifice, which were never in question whilst the article tries to say people never talk about it, pointing out the public and brutal nature of the inquisitions and reframing it in the Mesoamerican context as 'human offerings' and even 'human gift giving' which veers into the grotesque in my opinion.
Denying the many issues with the Aztec empire is not at all necessary to levy criticism against the similarly (more) atrocious things the Spanish did afterwards.
It is incredibly well evidenced that mesoamerican societies practised various forms of human sacrifice, with the Aztecs specifically doing it on a larger scale.
Do wonder how the English are doing with their colonial ventures, if they're commencing them at all... maybe Henry's still too busy getting his dispensation. They were last seen back in Part 10 where Henry did not launch his attack ITTL due to fear of lack of Imperial support, though that's at least a lot of florins not going down the drain for that futile campaign.
Also and this is admittedly a very tangential part towards English fortunes TTL, but I do wonder what the Mary Rose's fate will be here... maybe it'll be sunk thru actual combat in the din of battle as opposed to being basically tipped over
Also and this is admittedly a very tangential part towards English fortunes TTL, but I do wonder what the Mary Rose's fate will be here... maybe it'll be sunk thru actual combat in the din of battle as opposed to being basically tipped over
Looking forward to more of this story!
Mary Rose’s problem was that seakeeping wasn’t an exact science back then - the shipbuilders refitted her to be too unstable, then the navy overloaded her, so any strong breeze would’ve been fatal.
Do you know something I don't? As far as I'm aware this tl isn't dead or anything. This is AH, people often take a long time between posting. The last threadmark was only a little more than 2 months ago.RIP to this amazing thread
RIP to this amazing thread
What? That there is not update for two months doesn't mean that it is dead. Sometimes writers have either some writers' block or then have too much doing on their real lives.
This is no way to encourage an author to create more, don't be a nagging or guilt tripping jerk.RIP to this amazing thread
What was said above, that’s very rude and there’s no sign the story is actually dead, saying “rip this thread” after an update doesn’t happen for two months is just going to discourage the author. We will get an update when we get an update, don’t act like the story is dead when it’s only been two months.
Part 21: The Sun meets the Sea
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Part 21: The Sun meets the Sea
Part 21: The Sun meets the Sea
Port of Tumbes
November 4, 1544
November 4, 1544
Despite the great expectations placed upon the expedition he became a part of, Juan Pizarro wasn't quite sure what to expect from his destination. Though he was only 33 years old, the conquistador-turned-mercenary felt, rightly perhaps, that he had lived twice as many years over the course of his short yet checkered life. He had helped conquer Florida with his brothers Francisco, Gonzalo and Hernando (and became the only survivor of this quartet), fought in the Siege of Tenochtitlan, served as a guard during the Council of Teotihuacan and was about to land on the shores of an empire whose greatness was rumored to rival that of China. While the distance covered by this specific voyage was only a fraction of the trip he took to reach the New World in the first place, it managed to be far more perilous due to its very purpose.
Namely, to break Spain's stranglehold over the Pacific Ocean, and establish formal relations with the Tawantinsuyu without Spain's interference.
Ah, Spain. While conquistadors like Pizarro were loyal to coin first and foremost, the idea of acting so brazenly against the interests of his mother country (on behalf of a pagan monarch, no less!) still left some conflicting feelings within him, even now. Of course, the rewards he was sure to get once he returned to Mexica territory would be more than enough to assuage those feelings. If he made it back alive, that is: the stretch of sea between the Triple Alliance and the Tawantinsuyu was crawling with Spanish patrols, and while the vessels they came across believed this ship was one of their own, there was no telling they'd fall for the same ruse during the return trip. Plus, there was always the risk of running into a storm, or of getting on the Sapa Inca's bad side because of some mistake or misunderstanding.
Oh well, such was life in the New World. Hopefully he'd live long enough to write about this stuff someday.
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While trade and other forms of contact between North and South America were known to have occurred during pre-Columbian times (with one of the main hypotheses for the Purépecha Empire's unusually advanced metallurgy being a possible contact with the Andean peoples), the scale of the connection between the two continents before the Europeans' arrival is still a subject of much debate. What is not up for debate, however, is that, by the 1540s, both the Triple Alliance and the Tawantinsuyu were well aware of each other's existence, and the two empires were very interested in breaking the Spanish monopoly over maritime commerce in the west coast of the Americas. And while the Sapa Inca had a growing number of internal issues to deal with, along with the arrival of more Europeans in his realm (1), the Mexica possessed, at this point, two decades' worth of experiments and knowledge to turn their interests into reality.
Compared to other technological fields, the Triple Alliance's shipbuilding sector evolved by leaps and bounds in the years that followed Hernán Cortés' defeat in 1520. With little to no maritime experience whatsoever, and not accustomed to build anything other than canoes with which they could navigate the lakes of the Valley of Anahuac, the Mexica began to design ever larger vessels as time went by, thanks in no small part to the help provided by Martin López, one of only 60 members of Cortés' expedition who were spared from sacrifice. Spanish carracks and caravels became a common sight in the shores of the tlatoani's domain following the Treaty of Tlatelolco, as were Europeans eager to share their secrets in exchange for gold and silver.
However, since Cuauhtémoc focused the bulk of his efforts during his early reign on improving the army, in order to prepare it for the wars he intended to wage against the Tlapanecs, Mixtecs, Maya and finally the Purépecha, any projects to establish an oceangoing navy were sorely neglected. Of course, everything changed after the Siege of Tenochtitlan and, most importantly, the huge territorial losses brought about by the Treaty of Xallapan. The Mexica needed to forge as many alliances as they could make if they were to have any hope of ever retaking their lost lands from the Spanish, and the only way they could do that was by taking to the sea. But it would take time for them to build a seaworthy vessel, not just because they never built one before, but because they had no ports with the facilities required to maintain it.
Thus, the central government's first priority was to determine the location of this new port, and it didn't take long for their eyes to settle on the village of Acapolco. The bay in which the village in question was located made it an excellent natural harbor, so much so that Spanish galleons stopped by every now and then on their return trip from Madrid's new domains in the East Indies.
The port of Acapolco in its early days.
From 1537 onward, Acapolco became a hotbed of nonstop activity. Thanks to the help of Mexica workers and architects who were at least somewhat aware of what modern ports like Veracruz and Havana looked like, as well as Spaniards willing to offer their services in exchange for the usual reward of precious metals, a growing number of wharfs and docks were built in its limits, slowly turning the once humble village into a true seaport. A road linking Acapolco to Tenochtitlan was also completed within a few years, securing a constant supply of men and materials for the nascent city. By the 1540s, Acapolco possessed enough infrastructure for the Mexica to attempt to build a maritime ship. This was a far bigger project than the brigantines designed by Martín López two decades before, and it took several failed attempts before a seaworthy vessel was finally built in late 1543.
It was a carrack, not unlike the ones the Spanish and other Europeans used on their transoceanic voyages during the 16th century. Besides the relative ease of building a ship with an already existing design instead of coming up with a new one altogether, the very nature of the mission this vessel was about to be sent into required that it look as similar as possible to its Spanish counterparts. Madrid would, without a doubt, react poorly to any attempt to breach its monopoly in the Pacific Ocean, and the ship would be certainly captured if its true purpose was ever revealed (2). The carrack was given the name Santa Rosa, and 18 men out of its crew of 57 were Spaniards - a number which included the man assigned to lead the expedition, Juan Pizarro (3). Besides their superior experience when it came to sailing on the high seas, the Europeans' presence was invaluable in order to keep up the disguise (many Spanish ships in the Americas had natives fulfilling various roles, so the relatively small number of Europeans wouldn't raise too many eyebrows (4)).
Important note: while the Santa Rosa has long been immortalized with the name Tlachipahua ("Sunrise" in Nahuatl (5)), thanks to Temilotzin's poem of the same name, there's no historical evidence that the ship in question was ever given such a name (6). Of course, the symbolism was there all the same: the Santa Rosa represented the dawn of a new era for the Triple Alliance, one in which its power would no longer be restricted by the sea, but would instead be felt in many distant lands.
The Santa Rosa's perilous departure from Acapolco.
The Santa Rosa's expedition began on August 26 1544, and ran into trouble almost immediately after leaving the safe waters of the Bay of Acapolco. The sea was unusually rough that day, and the carrack almost ran aground on multiple occasions before its crew put it on the right course. With that first stage of the journey over, the Santa Rosa hugged the coast on its way south, regularly stopping in order to stock up provisions and make sure it was headed in the right direction. The expedition made contact with more and more Spanish vessels as its voyage down the west coast of the Americas continued, and things got dicey for the crew of the Santa Rosa when they made a stop at Panama City, by then one of Madrid's most important strongholds in the New World. However, they avoided detection and eventually reached Tumbes, the northernmost of the Tawantinsuyu's major ports, on November 4.
After a few days of trading with the locals in Tumbes, the Santa Rosa's true purpose was finally revealed to the local administration, who promptly dispatched a message requesting orders from Cusco. Having served as Sapa Inca for sixteen years full of wheeling and dealing with Europeans whose offers of weapons and technology came with more strings attached than anyone could bother to count, the idea of a foreign ally who wasn't bent on converting his subjects was extremely appealing to Huáscar. Not only was he open to negotiations with the Mexica, he authorized them to sail all the way to Pachacamac so that the talks between him and these new foreigners went as smoothly as possible. Though some in the crew voiced reservations about going so far south, the opportunity, however slim it might've been, of talking to the Sapa Inca in person was too good to pass up, and so Pizarro gave the order for the Santa Rosa to travel to Pachacamac.
They reached the city in question on November 29, and one could only imagine Pizarro's disappointment once he learned that Huáscar wasn't there to greet the expedition. Still, their relative proximity to Cusco - Pachacamac sat at the end of the most direct route from the coast to the Tawantinsuyu's capital - meant negotiations between the Sapa Inca and the Mexica were far quicker than they would've gone had the Santa Rosa stayed at Tumbes. The existence of a common language (Spanish, of course) with which the envoys of the two empires could talk without one side having to learn Quechua or Nahuatl also helped, for obvious reasons.
The talks between Cusco and the Mexica agents were courteous but, ultimately, amounted to nothing more than a promise of mutual aid sometime in the future. All in all, a predictable outcome: neither the Triple Alliance nor the Tawantinsuyu were in any shape to seriously challenge Spain's dominance of the eastern Pacific just yet, which meant a ambitious agreement would likely be impossible to enforce - for now. Loaded with gifts like fabrics made from vicuña wool, several gallons of chicha beer, various objects made of gold and silver and, most important of all, the knowledge that Huáscar was open to an alliance with Tenochtitlan, the Santa Rosa left Pachacamac on January 16 1545. Little did its crew know that the most dangerous part of their journey was about to begin.
Nearly two decades of increasingly valuable trading with the Tawantinsuyu gave Spain a sizable network of agents within the Sapa Inca's dominion, especially in the northern reaches of the empire, where Tumbes was located. Thus, despite Pizarro and his colleagues' best attempts to keep their mission a secret, it was only a matter of time before word of a Mexica attempt to start relations with Cusco without Madrid's interference reached the ears of Sebastián de Belalcázar, the Spanish governor of Panama (7). Thus, while the Santa Rosa's crew negotiated with Huáscar's officials and loaded their ship with the gifts to be delivered to Cuauhtémoc's desk (metaphorically, at least), Belalcázar issued orders for every Spanish warship available to capture or sink it once it was found.
A 17th century artist's impression of the Santa Rosa's first encounter with the Spanish.
Needless to say, it is unlikely the ship was surrounded like this during the chase.
The Santa Rosa's first brush with the enemy took place near Chan Chan, capital of the empire of Chimor before its conquest by the Tawantinsuyu, on January 27 1545. The crew caught sight of a Spanish caravel that day, but its disappearance after a few hours of manouvering, followed by the onset of night, convinced them they were out of danger. Their assumptions were proven wrong on the dawn of January 28, since the caravel was not only still nearby, but had in fact been joined by two other vessels. The chase was on, and as the hours went by it became clear the Spanish were gaining ground on the Santa Rosa, which was laden with supplies and the Sapa Inca's gifts. Faced with what would be a hopeless battle the moment the pursuers caught up, Juan Pizarro ordered the crew to dump most of their provisions and cargo overboard so as to reduce their vessel's weight. This decision gave the Mexica carrack the extra speed it needed to escape, and the Spanish squadron abandoned the pursuit on the next morning.
It was a costly victory: while the Santa Rosa slipped away from its pursuers' grasp, it only managed to do so after letting go of most of its priceless cargo and, most importantly, the supplies the crew needed to survive the journey back home. The situation became critical in a matter of days, and so they made landfall at the mouth of the Jequetepeque river, a little over a hundred kilometers north of Chan Chan. They spent several days there, resting and replenishing their supply of drinking water, before leaving sometime in early February. Unfortunately, the expedition's reprieve was short lived, since another Spanish squadron, this one made up of no less than six vessels, caught sight of the Santa Rosa near the Illescas peninsula and gave chase on February 22. The situation deteriorated in a matter of hours, with one of the pursuers catching up to the Santa Rosa and opening fire. The carrack retaliated, unleashing the first broadside fired by a Mexica ship at sea.
While the Santa Rosa got the upper hand during the exchange of cannonballs that ensued, with a lucky shot bringing down its assailant's main mast and forcing it to retreat, the situation was, nonetheless, dire. It was only a matter of time before the rest of the squadron caught up, after which Pizarro and the rest of the crew would have to either surrender or face a watery grave. Thus, the captain ordered, once again, for most of the supplies the crew had so zealously gathered during their time on land to be thrown overboard, and followed that order with a command to sail west, away from the coast. Believing it would only be a matter of time before the Santa Rosa was forced to return to the shore in order to gather new supplies, the Spanish gave up on the pursuit.
The Santa Rosa's second clash with the Spanish navy.
Once again, it is unlikely it was surrounded by its enemies, and its size is clearly exaggerated here.
But despite the crew's best attempt to return to their original course, the Santa Rosa kept sailing westward, carried by the waters of the Humboldt Current towards an area of the ocean they were neither willing nor ready to explore. Faced with the unbearable tropical heat and dwindling reserves of fresh water, many or perhaps even most of the Spaniards in the crew believed they were facing divine punishment for daring to serve a pagan king, if Pizarro's account of the expedition is any indication. Fights took place over the increasingly meager rations available, reduced to food that was often rotten and/or half eaten by rats and some precious few gulps of water. To make matters worse, an outbreak of scurvy left much of the crew barely able to stand, many men reduced to delirious, sickly shells of their former selves. The Triple Alliance's first foray into the ocean was about to end, not with a triumph or even a valiant defeat at the hands of the Spanish, but with a long, drawn out whimper.
And then someone saw land. To be more specific, a collection of islands so unremarkable that, even though their existence was already known, were yet to be claimed by the Spanish Crown, and they were promptly forgotten by most except the most learned of travelers after their discovery. To the crew of the Santa Rosa, however, they were a godsend: while fresh water was rare in most of the archipelago, the islands possessed thousands of giant tortoises (so many, in fact, that they were named the Galápagos Islands after them), which provided an excellent food supply for the exhausted sailors. Dozens of these animals were taken into the Santa Rosa to serve as live rations, and the ship left the Galápagos Islands on March 21, after a stay of almost two weeks, setting off on a northerly course.
The unintentional detour into the Pacific Ocean paid off, and the Santa Rosa didn't encounter any Spanish vessels during the rest of its journey back to Acapolco. The carrack at last returned home on May 7 1545, and those of the crew who survived the journey - 29 men out of an original force of 57, wracked by starvation and disease - were given a hero's welcome by the Mexica authorities, which included the presence of tlatoani Cuauhtémoc himself.
It was the last great celebration the Triple Alliance would hold for a very long time, since an old enemy was about to rear its ugly head.
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Notes:
(1) This will be addressed in the upcoming chapter.
(2) The Portuguese did everything they could to stop Ferdinand Magellan's expedition IOTL, so the Spanish would almost certainly act the same way.
(3) There were plenty of "turncoats" acting against the interest of their home countries IOTL. Case in point, Magellan.
(4) The Spanish used native auxiliaries in their colonial armies IOTL, so I hope this isn't too much of a stretch.
(5) I used this site to find that word: https://nahuatl.wired-humanities.org/content/tlachipahua
(6) From what little information I could find about him, Temilotzin was an accomplished poet and one of Cuauhtémoc's lieutenants.
(7) Belalcázar was active in Colombia IOTL, so I figured the governorship of Panama was a plausible post for him ITTL.
PEAK MESOAMERICAN FICTION HAS RETURNED! And contact has been made. The seeds of a pan-Meso/Southamerican alliance have been sown...
Let all Spain tremble.
Let all Spain tremble.
What an amazing update!
The trials and tribulations of the Santa Rosa will certainly be immortalized in song and legend.
The trials and tribulations of the Santa Rosa will certainly be immortalized in song and legend.
It was about time they got some more attention! If you liked this chapter, you'll probably like the next one even more, since they'll get the time on the spotlight they deserve.