The conquest of the Aztecs was a horrible time for Mexico. I should know, I was a big part of it. I’m Maruti Lammantez (Ma-ru-ti). I was 14-years old when Señor Cortés arrived with 500 Spanish troops, dogs and priests to conquer our proud and feared nation. I lived in the Aztec village of Potochan (Po-to-chan) with my father Caruni, my mother Munni, my older brother Metzi and my sister Manni.

My father was the town’s governor. My mother was the one who held our family together. My brother was a proud but snooty Aztec boy, with a quick temper. My sister, on the other hand, was loving, caring and passionate. Everyone loved my sister Manni. She was the most beautiful girl in our village and nobles from the capital often came to visit my family, although I suspected they came mostly to see her.

I am very proud of my family and Aztec nation. I was a gifted person, for I was a master strategist. I always thought ahead as I maneuvered my toy soldiers against my brother’s as we played war games in the rust-colored dirt.

Because of my father’s position, we were considered nobles. It was common for nobles to have slaves, and our slave was Doña Maria. Doña Maria spoke many languages. She taught Manni, Metzi and I to speak Nahuatl and many other local dialects. She also taught us math, writing and the art of war. I had heard of  many people beyond our village and I hoped I could one day meet some of them. My brother said that if there were people out there then we were going to have to fight them. I hoped not! I wanted to learn from them!

Señor Cortés arrived in Mexico in 1519, or one reed in the Aztec calendar. I was down by the ocean fishing when I saw five great big canoes coming towards me. The day I had feared had come. I ran as fast as I could to find my father. My father told everyone to hide in their homes until he could find out who the people were, what nation they were from, and what they wanted. In the midst of all this confusion, my father also sent messengers to warn other villages, towns, and our great Emperor Montezuma.

Señor Cortés didn’t attack that day, which gave us some time to get help from the nearest nation of the Tabascans who had an army of 12,000 strong. When Cortés finally came to our town, gifts and orders arrived from Emperor Montezuma, as well as a great gold sun and a silver moon disk. The Tabascans didn’t respond to Montezuma’s request for peace, and instead fought with Cortés and later lost 10,000 of their army. Cortés even took Doña Maria! With a determined look on his face, Cortés left, but not before leaving fifty of his men and burning any remaining ships, forcing the troops to stay at our village.

With Doña Maria gone, I felt very lost; even with my family around. I was wondering what will happen now? Would I become a native soldier for Cortés? Would I be a Potonchan warrior against Cortés, like my brother? I didn’t know. I wished Doña Maria was around to help me!
The next morning was cold when I woke to find seven Spanish warriors sleeping in our home. I was surprised to see the soldiers and when I went outside, I found my brother talking to his friends explaining how all the strong boys have to fight the Spanish warriors or become slaves. I hoped not!

Throughout the week, my father received word about Cortés of his meeting with the Emperor. When the fifty Spanish warriors received word of the discovery of the vast gold in our empire, the warriors went through our town trying to find our hidden gold storages. This made our brave village warriors very mad. Mad enough to attack the Spaniards. During the fight, many people were killed and injured, while our good villagers stayed in their homes. We killed more than forty of their warriors and captured the rest. I could not bring myself to fight, and when I went through all the wounded and dead, I saw the saddest thing.

I was told that my brother was the leader of the battle and that he was shot by a Spanish crossbowman who had survived the battle, while my brother did not. Metzi gave his life for our village. I decided then to help our cause as well.

With the loss of my brother; my parents and sister were immensely sad--but also proud, more than I had ever seen. My father and mother said that Metzi would find a place with our ancestors, and not to mourn for him. To be killed in battle is a great privilege for a warrior. But my brother’s death gave me a feeling that I’d never felt before. I wanted to risk my life for my empire as well; I wanted to live up to my brother’s memory.

A month passed after the death of my brother. During that time, we heard rumors that Cortés had been defeated and had retreated. At the same time, we also heard that our 21-year old ruler Montezuma had also died and that Montezuma’s cousin, Cuauhtémoc (Cuauh-té-moc), was now in command. Cuauhtémoc favored war over peace. My father told me that Cortés and his warriors had murdered thousands of our brothers and sisters. We had sent some of our warriors to the capital and others to protect the surrounding farms and villages from attacks from Cortés’ army.  My father gave me a group of men to protect a local fishing village, which was my chance to live up to my brother’s memory. 

We protected the local village for two months, with seventy warriors and thirty local fishermen. One day, a tribe of 150 of Cortes’ warriors attacked our village. The battle lasted six weeks. My strategy was to attack the enemy from above and below, which worked for the first two days before they figured a way around it. We lost five warriors and ten fishermen in the first two weeks.

I do have a story of how I fought my first man, how I actually got the courage and bravery to do it. I was talking to a group of my village soldiers when the enemy attacked. They came on two fronts, from the ocean and the surrounding forests. I sent ten of my good archers to the ocean and another ten into the woods. I sent twenty fishermen to the ocean because they knew the ocean much better than our attackers, and ten fishermen to ambush the enemy by water from the surrounding islands. I sent the rest of my archers into the trees to ambush Cortes’ men from above, which is where I joined them. When the fighting finally started, we caught them by surprise and suffered no casualties at all.

It was a dark and misty night. Most of the men were still sleeping when the last wave of enemies came to fight. I was almost asleep myself when I heard a bone-chilling yell and saw a group of enemy warriors coming our way. I woke my men and told them to get into position and get ready to fight. Wave after wave came and wave after wave the enemy fell. It was during the last wave that my life lesson really took place and I learned both mercy and peace.

The onslaught seemed to never end. My men were getting tired. I saw one of their combatants cut down one of my seasoned warriors. I knew his next target was going to be me. I told my men to leave him for me because all of our days of fighting, I believed that the best way to live up to my brother’s memory was to kill and to not show any mercy. My anger had taken over. I was determined to kill their leader and when I saw my chance, I took it. I got past his defense and knocked him to the ground. I saw the fear in my opponent’s eyes and I had so much anger that I looked past it. I took a deep breath, and instead of giving me the energy to fight, it calmed me down. I suddenly had this thought: killing is something monsters do. Not seeking revenge, being merciful, is what peacemakers do.”

I realized that killing--for any reason, was a terrible thing and that it is better to show mercy to those around us because we are all human and share the human experience. In that instant, I made a decision to spare my opponent's life.

In the weeks that followed, I fought many battles but I showed mercy to every single soldier, asking them only to swear loyalty to the Aztec people. Soon after, we received word that the capital had been captured by Cortés and that his army had killed our emperor, Cuautémoc. We were now under Cortes’ rule. I realized that my life was to change again.

With the war finally over, my forces returned home. I also left my village When I arrived, I learned that my father had sworn complete loyalty to Cortés. I decided to go find Cortés and swear my allegiance. Cortés had already heard of my mercy to his soldiers and decided to put me in charge of Aztec loyalists to convince them to work with Cortés and to bring further peace to our nation. I took it as my mission to get the Aztecs and Spanish to work together to improve our community, to learn about each other’s culture and celebrate our different traditions.
   
Twenty years have passed since I swore my loyalty to Cortés and took responsibility to be the negotiator between the Aztec people and the Spanish conquerors. The job was never easy.  Some people were mad that Cortés used the Aztec people as slaves in the mines. He had our sacred death temples destroyed and replaced them with a huge cathedral. It was my job to calm the people who tried to revolt against the Spanish and ensure peace.

Cortés was very generous with people who helped him keep control of his new empire. He gave me a lot of money for my loyalty and leadership. He even built me a great two-story house. It was a  two-story, clay-walled house, with no straw roof and had colors of blue, red, yellow and gold. It had three rooms on the bottom and four rooms on top; on the bottom floor was the kitchen and the dining room, while the top floor was for sleeping, playing and praying. Cortés and I became respectful friends. He married my sister, Manni, while I married a wonderful fishing woman I had fallen in love with back in my village. Her name is Ramanu and we have two kids, named Metzi, in honor of my brother, and Cappano.

After the war, I asked that Doña Maria be freed, and Cortés granted my request. She remains a great friend and is teaching my kids what she had taught me so many years ago. She teaches many children and is paid for her services. My father and mother recently died of old age and there is a shrine for them in my home village. I will always miss them and will also honor their memory. My sister Manni seems very happy with her husband. She misses the small village life and returns home from time to time. I always try to see her during her visit. When we are together, we speak of our youth, when we were a proud village; of the war that changed our lives, and the new world we have created with the Spanish. Last time we were together, I said, “Our people remember our fighting history but we cannot fight change and must put peace first. We must live with change if we are to survive.”