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THE MALINCHE CODE: THE SYMBOLOGY OF FEMALE DISCOURSE IN POSTCLASSIC MEXICO

Geoffrey G. McCafferty and Sharisse D. McCafferty

Dept. of Archaeology, University of Calgary

Draft 1/23/05 - Please do not quote without permission of authors

Groups develop means of coded communication, verbal as well as visual, that are used to transmit in-group messages at the same time that the coded system excludes out-group participants. Language is an obvious example of this principle, where jargon, slang, or so-called prestige languages construct identity while limiting participation to group members. In prehispanic Mesoamerica, for example, the Zuyuan dialect was used by Maya elites, and nobles had to pass a “princess and the pea”-like test, demonstrating their aptitude in Zuyuan before they could assume rulership (Lopez Austin and Lopez Lujan 2000; Marcus 1992). Similarly, the Aztec nobles used a form of ‘lordly speech’ called tecpillahtolli. As Frances Kartunnen (1997: ) describes it

"In 'lordly speech' indirection and reversal are all-pervasive. Elaborate courtesy requires that one say the opposite of what one means . . . Native intuition cannot help with this; one must be schooled in it."

Martin Wobst (1977) suggests that material culture can operate in a similar way, as visual information is exchanged on different levels depending on degree of familiarity. Returning to the Zuyuan case, highly decorated textiles, ceramics, and other elements of material culture, in what is termed the Mixteca-Puebla style, were exchanged among elites as a means of displaying coded symbols significant of elite identity (Lopez Austin and Lopez Lujan 2000; McCafferty 1994; McCafferty and McCafferty 2002). Anthony Wonderley (1982) has used what he terms ‘material symbolics’ of decorated pottery from Naco, Honduras to contrast foreign elites using the Mixteca-Puebla style with local decoration as a form of native resistance.

As archaeologists have begun to consider social ‘sub-cultures’ through agency, additional group identities are coming into focus, including class, ethnicity, and gender (Meskell 2002). One of the challenges of an engendered archaeology is the male bias that has too often permeated interpretation, in part the result of an assumption that material culture is predominantly produced by and for male actors (Conkey and Spector 1984; Wylie 1992). Instead, a goal should be to identify and explore how other genders (and other non-dominant groups) used objects to communicate their own symbolic messages (Hodder 1982). This paper will consider the topic of female discourse in Postclassic Mexico, using elements of material culture, indigenous depictions, and ethnohistoric sources in order to suggest patterns of female symbolism.

Female Discourse in Postclassic Mexico

The 16th century Florentine Codex was compiled by the Spanish priest and chronicler Fray Bernardino de Sahagún from native informants, for the most part elite males, and so while it provides encyclopedic breadth on the Aztec world, it cannot be considered comprehensive (Klor de Alva 1988). In fact, several feminist scholars have criticized the androcentric bias found in the text (Brown 1983; Hellbom 1967; Joyce 2001; McCafferty and McCafferty 1988, 1991), especially in comparison with the illustrations where the representations of the indigenous artists contradict the Spanish interpretations. Despite the inherent bias, Sahagún did record some elements of female speech. For example, he noted the “very good discourses of the sort which women say; and very good are each of the metaphors” (1950-82, Book 6: 151). In Book 6, Rhetoric and Moral Philosophy, the admonitions of female midwives are recorded in relation to pre-natal preparations and childbirth (Sahagún 1950-82, Book 6: 151-182; 205-208), in which “man’s talk” was used to address the newborn boy while “unintelligible mutterings” were directed to baby girls. Book 11, Earthly Things, deals with the natural world of the Aztecs, including plants and animals. While many of the descriptions are succinct and to the point, others, particularly those dealing with food and herb lore are quite elaborate, possibly reproducing a female voice. For example, compare the descriptions of xoxocoyoli (oxalis) vs. mexixin (watercress) (Sahagún 1950-82, Book 11: 138):

"Xoxocoyoli: It is sour, edible; edible raw, cookable in an olla.

Mexixin: It burns. Its leaves are small. It is edible uncooked. When much is eaten, it burns one, blisters one. It is cookable in an olla; it can be ground. It can be made into tortillas or into tamales called mexixquillaxcalli ... Its seeds are yellow, small but broad, very hard. It is really the food of the servants, and is a medicine for the flux. It expels the flux. They make an atolli from the seeds, which cleans out, moves out the flux which is in the intestines ... "

Other examples include first-person descriptions of gathering and preparing the foods, tasks that were probably done by women or servants (e.g., “Etenquilitl: I gather etenquilitl. I gather etenquilitl greens. I cook etenquilitl in an olla. I eat etenquilitl” ).

Notwithstanding these possible exceptions, the ethnohistorical accounts are predominantly male-oriented, and so provide a distorted and ambiguous perspective of female sub-culture. We are told that the “good woman” worked diligently in the house, cooking, caring for children, spinning and weaving. The umbilical cord of a baby girl was buried beside the household hearth to signify that her place was in the home (Sahagún 1950-82, Book 4: 3-4). This has led some scholars to infer that women were subordinated, with little power in Aztec society (Klein 1994; Nash 1978; Rodriguez-Shadow 1988). Others have inferred a “structural equivalence,” or complementarity between male and female genders that included women in positions of both public and domestic authority (Joyce 2001; Kellogg 1988; McCafferty and McCafferty 1988, 1991, 1999). Unfortunately, the information on female practice is limited, and generally stereotyped. Reading between the lines of the ethnohistorical accounts, especially when bolstered with archaeological evidence, can provide a more robust vision of prehispanic female practice and symbolic discourse.

The androcentric accounts provide scant opportunity to study female sub-culture, but the art historical and archaeological records hold more promise. One important domain of female activity was in textile production, both in the spinning of fiber and the weaving of cloth (Brumfiel 1991; McCafferty and McCafferty 1991). Ethnohistoric sources clearly and consistently identify this as women’s work: “look well, apply thyself well, to the really womanly task, the spindle whorl, the weaving stick” (Sahagún 1950-82, Book 6: 96). This quotidian task was reinforced through the religion, specifically in the personae of members of the female earth/fertility cult (McCafferty and McCafferty 1991, 1999; Sullivan 1982). Goddesses such as Tlazolteotl, Mayahuel, and especially Xochiquetzal were closely linked with domestic crafts, including spinning and weaving. In pre-Columbian and Colonial pictorial manuscripts these goddesses are portrayed carrying and wearing spinning and weaving tools, not simply as utilitarian objects but as symbols of their productive and reproductive power (Figure 1). Spinning and weaving were metaphors for sexual reproduction, as described by Thelma Sullivan (1982:14):

"Spinning goes through stages of growth and decline, waxing and waning, similar to those of a child-bearing woman. The spindle set in the spindle whorl is symbolic of coitus, and thread, as it winds around the spindle, symbolizes the growing fetus . . . Weaving, too, the intertwining of threads, is symbolic of coitus, and thus spinning and weaving represent life, death, and rebirth in a continuing cycle that characterizes the essential nature of the Mother Goddess."

Goddesses with spinning and weaving tools are represented as midwives, metaphorically taking captives. “And when the baby had arrived on earth, then the midwife shouted; she gave war cries, which meant that the little woman had fought a good battle, had become a brave warrior, had taken a captive, had captured a baby” (Sahagún 1950-82, Book 6: 167). Women who died in childbirth were accorded honors similar to warriors who died in battle, and were destined to ascend into the heavens to accompany the sun on its daily journey (ibid: 162). At night they returned to haunt the living while searching for their lost clothing and spinning/weaving tools (ibid: 163).

A metaphoric relationship existed between male weapons and female weaving tools (McCafferty and McCafferty 1995). Wooden battens (Nahuatl tzotzopaztli), used to separate the warp strings on a loom to allow the shuttle to pass through to form the weft while weaving, are called machetes in contemporary Mexican Spanish, literally ‘swords.’ In the prehispanic Atemoztli ritual, battens were used to slice open dough effigies as a form of sacrifice (Sahagún 1950-82, Book 2:29): "they opened their breasts with a tzotzopaztli, which is an instrument with which women weave, almost like a machete; and they took out their hearts and struck off their heads," and ate the effigy. Cihuacoatl, the goddess associated with death and rebirth, carries a weaving batten as one of her icons (Figure 2).

As another parallel between weapons and weaving, the goddess Xochiquetzal is shown in the Codex Cospi (1988:25) holding a spearthrower, but with a spindle in substitution for the actual spear (Figure 3). Ethnographic spindles of the Otomi are shaped like arrows, with a carved point at one end (Sayer 1988: 21), which may continue this metaphoric association while also serving functionally for drop-spinning.

The parallel between textile tools and weapons is also seen in spindle whorls. Spindle whorls function as fly-wheels in processing raw fiber into thread. They are generally made of baked clay, in a disk form with a hole in the center to accommodate a slender wooden spindle (Figure 4). They are often decorated with mold impressions, and can also be slipped and painted. As described in Sahagún (1950-82, Book 6: 160), the woman in labor is admonished to “take up the little shield” for her battle. The term used for “little shield” is tehuehuelli, in contrast to chimalli normally used for a war shield. The tehuehuelli is identified as a particular style of shield that was characteristic of the war god, Huitzilopochtli, and featured feather tufts around the edge of the shield, often in a quincunx pattern (Figure 5). Sahagún (1950-82, Book 6: 97) noted that “all the little shields could rest in thy hand.” We have noted similarities between spindle whorl patterns and decorations found on shields from late pre-Contact and Colonial pictorial manuscripts and, consequently, have suggested that the “small shields” may in fact have been spindle whorls (McCafferty and McCafferty 1991, n.d.).

Spindle whorls, or malacates, were often used metaphorically in the Florentine Codex (Sahagún 1950-82), to describe such things as teeth, seeds, flowers, mushrooms, and willow trees (McCafferty and McCafferty 1998). The gladiatorial stone of sacrifice was known as the temalacatl, literally a stone spindle whorl (Durán 1994: 171-172), and was a circular platform with a hole in the center where captive warriors, wearing paper crowns from which “little shields” hung, were sacrificed (Figure 6). The famous Tizoc stone, found in downtown Mexico City and featuring relief carvings of the conquests of the Aztec emperor Tizoc, may be one such sacrificial stone. Following the sacrifice, a long pole was erected in the center hole with a paper ‘serpent’ twisted about it, like a spindle wound with fiber in its whorl (Durán 1994: 190-191; Sahagún 1950-82, Book 2: 147).

Archaeological Spindle Whorls from Postclassic Cholula

The strong connection between spinning and weaving tools and female identity, at least in the Postclassic period (900-1520 CE) of central Mexico, allows for speculation on the use of these objects of material culture in relation to female symbolic discourse. An extensive corpus of spindle whorls from Postclassic Cholula (Puebla), provides an exceptional database for study (Figure 7). Cholula was a major urban center in the central highlands of Mexico, with strong religious and economic importance (McCafferty 2001). Occupied since at least the Middle Formative period (ca.1000 BCE), it had a population of 30-50,000 in the Postclassic, representing one of the most powerful city-states in the region. While it was never part of the Aztec empire, a prominent component of its Late Postclassic population was Nahua, the same ethnic group as the Aztecs, and so Sahagún’s observations are at least partially relevant. Cholula was also an artisan center for the production of pottery using the Mixteca-Puebla style, and elaborate textiles (McCafferty 1994; McCafferty and McCafferty 2001).

Cholula has a long history of archaeological exploration (Marquina 1970; McCafferty 1996). In the 1960s and early 70s the Proyecto Cholula conducted extensive excavations into and around the base of the Great Pyramid, Tlachihualtepetl. In the process, hundreds of spindle whorls were recovered. Other excavations in the city have also recovered whorls, notably the UA-1 excavation of an Early Postclassic house and surroundings (McCafferty 1992) and a Late Postclassic midden from UA-79. We have used these materials to interpret textile production at Cholula (McCafferty and McCafferty 2001), and in 1998 we conducted a detailed analysis of approximately 800 whorls from the Proyecto Cholula collections (McCafferty and McCafferty n.d.). Based on such morphological criteria as diameter, height, weight, and hole size inferences can be made about how the whorl functioned, including the possible fiber that was spun, the spinning method employed, and characteristics of the finished product.

Of the Cholula whorls, over half are decorated, mainly with mold-impressed designs. We argue that spindle whorl decorations present a distinctly female-oriented iconography (Figure 8). In our design analysis we distinguished between anthropomorphic/zoomorphic, botanical, and geometric motifs. Within each of these major groupings are smaller divisions, or ‘types.’ After defining these different types, they were compared with other sources of imagery, including shields, painted manuscripts, and ceramics. Shields are a particularly good source of comparison (Figure 9), because they were often described in the Florentine Codex and the Primeros Memoriales with Nahuatl glosses to identify the patterns and other contextual associations.

Spindle whorl patterns rarely feature human subjects, though ‘were-human/animal’ figures are more common (Figure 10). The major subject of zoomorphic imagery is avians, depicted either complete in plan view or segmented (Figure 11). Emphasis is placed on the head and beak, and the wings and tail feathers. A raptorial hooked beak is typical, perhaps relating to the midwife’s admonition for the woman in labor to be ‘like an eagle warrior.” She also called upon the goddess Quilaztli, also known as Lady 13 Eagle, for blessings (Sahagún 1950-82, Book 6: 179). During the bathing ceremony, the newborn was described as “the tail feather, the wing feather” (ibid:176) as s/he was presented to Chalchiutlicue, an aspect of the goddess particularly related to childbirth. Small offerings, possibly including spindle whorls, were deposited in springs and wells as petitions to the goddess for pregnancy (Durán 1971: 269). The whorl decoration of wing and tail feathers may be related to this practice.

A more ‘practical’ reference on these whorls may be in relation to their function as feather whorls. In his discussion of feather workers, Sahagún (1950-82, Book ) described shallow whorls that were used for spinning feathers. In the Cholula analysis we found a distinctive category of whorls with a very low height/width ratio and a large center hole that would have been well-suited for the slow rotation needed for spinning feathers (McCafferty and McCafferty Tickle, 2000). This material was probably plied with cotton, but would result in a colorful and lustrous thread. We also suggest that woven feathered threads could carry meaning related to the ‘feathered serpent,’ Quetzalcoatl, who was also related to elite production. Other feather whorls actually have feather patterns on them (Figure 12).

Botanical motifs are quite common on spindle whorls from the Cholula collection. Plants and flowers are both depicted, usually in plan view. Motifs vary from simple to complex, multi-element patterns (Figure 13). Some patterns incorporate geometric elements with the floral motif. Flowers played an important ritual and symbolic role in Aztec religion (Heyden 1985). The depiction of floral motifs on whorls may represent a wide range of flowers from the pre-Columbian environment.

The representation of leaves and/or petals can be seen on whorl UA-79 #768 (Figure 14a) that incorporates a central motif of four pointed petals with detailed leaves and tendrils in the space between the petals. This pattern is similar to a representation of the teccizuacalxochitl flower (Sahagún 1950-82, Book 11: 209, ill. 710; Figure 14b) which is also known as the ‘palace flower’ or ‘adultery flower,’ (McCafferty and McCafferty 1999. When Cortés and Malinche entered Tlaxcala they were given an offering of this flower by the ruling cacique (Muoz Camargo 1981: folio 253r, 31). In the Lienzo de Tlaxcala (1979: plate 45), Malinche is shown carrying a shield with this same pattern. A related plant, the huacalxochitl or ‘basket flower,’ has a similar leaf and curlicue. This flower may be represented on the huipil (blouse) of Malinche (Muoz Camargo 1981: folio 248v, 23; discussed below).

Whorls with floral motifs are well-represented in the botanical group (Figures 16). The hole in the whorl becomes the flower’s center, with the petals radiating around it. The number and shape of the petals vary, as does the detailing of the petals. Petals are squared, rounded, and pointed. There can be as few as four petals, or multiple petals in rings circling the center hole.

Flowers were an essential part of Mesoamerican ritual, and were used in ceremonies for both male and female deities. The goddess Xochiquetzal, literally ‘precious flower,’ was closely associated with both the domestic and the sexual arts (Figure 17). In Aztec myth, flowers were created when a bat (created from the semen of Quetzalcoatl) traveled to the paradise of Tamoanchan and bit Xochiquetzal on her “sex organ” (Boone 1983: 206; McCafferty and McCafferty 1999). As a result, flowers came to represent all sensual delights, including love, art, and music. Flowers were also used for their medicinal properties by midwives and other followers of the goddess cult.

A particular flower that appears often on Cholula spindle whorls is the marigold (Tagetes sp.), known in Nahuatl as the cempoalxochitl (Figure 18). The flower can be identified by its yellow/orange color, and the jagged and serrated edges of the petals. The whorls with double petal rows and zig-zag elements may be representations of the marigold. The plant is important for its ritual, medicinal and culinary uses, as well as its aromatic properties where both leaves and flowers are used. In prehispanic times they were similarly associated with the Ochpaniztli ceremony, in which women performed the “hand-waving dance” in which they waved bunches of marigolds (Sahagún 1950-82, Book 2: 118-119; Figure 19). The women affiliated with the goddess complex, including female physicians, midwives and ‘pleasure girls,’ participated in a mock battle between themselves, pelting each group with balls of Spanish moss, reeds, cactus, and marigolds. The marigold has a very prominent ritual use in modern Cholula, where they are symbolic of Day of the Dead in November.

Another flower that may occur as a whorl pattern is the sunflower, or chimalxochitl (literally ‘shield flower’ but using the more typical chimalli for ‘shield’). The goddess Chicomecoatl carries a shield with an 8-petal flower in the Primeros Memoriales (Sahagún 1995: 262r; Figure 20a) that was identified as a tonalochimalli, or in the Florentine Codex (Sahagún 1950-82, Book 1: ill. 7) as the tonatiuhchimale, translated as a ‘sun shield’ (ibid: 13). The Cholula whorls feature similar imagery in several examples (Figure 20b), ranging from more botanically accurate to more stylized.

The greatest number and variety of whorl patterns fall into our Geometric category, and range from simple to complex geometrics (Figure 21). One of the most simple of patterns features concentric circles around the center hole (Figure 22a). This pattern is characteristic of the shield of the old goddess Toci/Teteo Innan. Sahagún (1950-82, Book 1: 16) recorded that “Toci’s golden shield was perforated in the center” like a spindle whorl (Figure 22b).

Some whorls have wavy lines radiating out from the center hole (Figure 23a). Wavy lines may have a significance with ‘shiny’ and/or ‘water.’ This pattern is found in association with several members of the goddess complex, including Cihuacoatl, Chicomecoatl, and Chalchiutlicue. Xilonen, a goddess associated with corn, carries a shield with wavy lines (Sahagún 1993: folio 263v), though they do not radiate from the center (Figure 23b).

Whorls may also have a combination of radiating lines and dots (Figure 24a). In the Lienzo de Tlaxcala (1979: plate 22), Malinche carries a sword and a shield with this pattern during the assault on Tepotzotlan (Figure 24b).

One of the most common whorl designs features semi-circular elements arranged around the edge of the whorl. Whereas the semi-circles are the consistent design element, the configuration of the elements often forms an interior pattern ranging from a cross to a multi-point ‘star’ (Figure 25). Some examples feature additional decoration in the central area around the hole. The semi-circles themselves are often embellished with hatched lines, in a pattern highly reminiscent of the feather tufts that occur on the tehuehuelli shield carried by Huitzilopochtli (Figure 26). Durán (1971: 72-73) described this shield as having feathers arranged to create a cross pattern; Seler (1908: 181-182) described it as consisting of five tufts arranged in a quincunx cross pattern.

Another major design group are the spiral frets, which can range from simple to more complex stepped frets (Figure 27). The fret motif was sometimes used to indicate water in Nahua iconography, while in other cases it represented a cut conch shell that was a costume diagnostic of Quetzalcoatl. The more complex stepped fret, or xicalcoliuhqui, was a characteristic of the merchant god Yiacatecuhtli, and avatar of Quetzalcoatl (Figure 28). The spiral fret pattern is also used as a decorative element on costume, including the skirt and blouse of Malinche (Figure 29)

While the relationships between whorl designs and other elements of female identity is suggestive, it remains to demonstrate the extent to which this symbolism may have been manipulated as a form of arcane knowledge or visual discourse. In the remainder of the paper we present a case study from the time of the Spanish Conquest in the early 16th century, involving one of the most (in)famous characters in the Conquest, La Malinche, a woman who many blame for the ensuing genocide of the native Mesoamericans.

Malinche in Postclassic Mexico

One of the most enigmatic figures in the Spanish Conquest of New Spain was a disenfranchised princess from the southern Gulf Coast of Mexico (Kartunnen 1994, 1997; McCafferty 2000). Malinche became part of Hernán Cortés’ conquering army when she was given to the Spaniards by the Chontal Maya ruler of Potonchan as a member of a group of 20 women, allegedly to cook and provide other ‘comforts.’ She was initially given to one of the other officers, but when Malinche demonstrated her proficiency as a translator she was claimed by Cortés. Information on her activities were recorded by Bernal Díaz del Castillo (1963), a soldier in Cortés’ army, and by Francisco López de Gomarra (1964), Cortés’ private biographer who wrote an account of the conquest some 30 years after its conclusion. Notably, Cortés ( ) never mentions Malinche by name, only referring to “the Indian woman who accompanied the army.” Following the fall of the Aztec capital of Tenochtitlan, Malinche gave birth to Cortés’ son, Martín, who was legally designated his heir (Lanyon )

A second source of information on Malinche is found in pictorial manuscripts created by native scribes, including the Lienzo de Tlaxcala (1979), Descripción de Tlaxcala (Muoz Camargo 1981), and the Florentine Codex (Sahagún 1950-82). In these depictions she is shown in native dress, acting as interpreter for Cortés and participating in the battles. These pictorial manuscripts provide a distinctively emic perspective, yet have not been incorporated into analyses of the Conquest.

The term ‘Malinche’ is probably a corruption of her indigenous name, Malintzin, which in the Nahuatl language means ‘precious grass’ (malinalli = grass + tzin honorific). She was baptized as Marina, and it is by this name that she was most often referred by the Spanish chroniclers, although it was consistently with the honorific doa, as Doa Marina. In the Descripción de Tlaxcala (Muoz Camargo 1981: ) she is glossed as both Marina and Malintzin.

Malintzin/Marina is such an enigmatic figure because of the reputation she acquired as La Malinche beginning in the Republican period of Mexican history (ca. 1810-1900) but continuing to the present. La Malinche has become synonymous with treason in most accounts, as the woman who sold out her people by supporting the Spanish invasion (Cypess 1990). In other interpretations, she heralded the new Mexico, by giving birth to the first mestizo (Lanyon 1999). All in all, Malinche is a fascinating subject whose mythical history continues to unfold nearly 500 years after her death.

Our interest in Malintzin is much more related to contextualizing her life in Postclassic Mesoamerica. Based on the sparse sources, it is likely that she was born in the southern Gulf region, the daughter of noble parents. In Postclassic Aztec society, noble children attended special schools, called calmecac, where they were taught practical skills that would enable them to rule (Calnek 1988). These lessons probably included administration, international relations, etiquette, languages, religious ritual, and military strategy, among other topics. Although comparable schools are not recorded for the Chontal Maya of the southern Gulf Coast, we are presuming that similar training would have been available. Malintzin was also trained in the noble speech, tecpillahtolli, which would allow her to communicate with the highest lords of the land (Kartunnen 1997). Unfortunately for Malintzin (perhaps), after her father died her mother remarried and bore a son. In order to clear the path of succession for her half brother, Malintzin was sent away, first to Xicallango and eventually to Potonchan Some accounts say she was sold into slavery, where she suffered before the arrival of Cortés (Díaz de Castillo 1963).

We are skeptical of this interpretation, and instead propose that a likely destiny for a disenfranchised noblewoman would be to enter the female priesthood. Little was recorded about religious life by the Colonial chroniclers, though some hints exist of priestesses dancing with warriors and even being ‘rented’ for the night (McCafferty and McCafferty 1999). Durán (1971 ) describes temple maidens with their long flowing hair and elaborate dress, performing services for the Temple of Huitzilopochtli, the war god. They may have played a role in the military as healers, and there are accounts of women who goaded warriors in battle. The archaeological site of El Zapotal, located on the Gulf Coast not far from Malintzin’s home, preserves elaborate ceramic statues of priestesses associated with the god of death, Mictlantecuhtli, and the skeletal remains of dozens of young women who may have been members of the temple society.

If Malintzin entered a religious community, her education would have continued, probably with additional focus on ritual and, perhaps, medicine. She would not have become affiliated with any specific household, as would a slave. Consequently, when the Spaniards arrived she and the other women would have been available to join the group, and their training would have been valuable to the war party. Once Malintzin’s additional skills in linguistics, negotiation and military strategy were revealed, she became invaluable, and probably the success of Cortés’ adventure depended to a large degree on Malintzin’s abilities.

But does this make her a traitor, as is so often alleged? The political landscape of Postclassic Mesoamerica was a complex mosaic, with numerous small city-states creating short-lived alliances through conquest or strategic marriage or negotiation. Very late in that process the Aztecs emerged at the head of their Triple Alliance, and over several decades were able to conquer or terrorize surrounding polities into joining their tribute empire. This situation was not without resentment, however, as demonstrated by the many ‘subject’ communities who joined with the Spanish in their assault on Tenochtitlan. There is no evidence that the southern Gulf Coast had become part of the Aztec empire, and it was not until Cortés and company reached Cempoala that they first encountered ambassadors from the Aztecs. Consequently Malintzin should not be accused of betraying her ‘people’ since she was not Aztec. To generalize the situation to one of treason to her native heritage takes on a simplistic ‘cowboy and indian’ mentality that ignores the complex political and ethnic relations that existed in the Postclassic.

One major role played by Malintzin in the Conquest was as interpreter (Kartunnen1994). The language barrier faced by Cortés was initially resolved when, while still in Maya-speaking territory, he rescued a ship-wrecked Spaniard, Aguilar, who was then living as a slave, where he had picked up rudimentary Maya vocabulary. Potonchan was a multi-lingual community of merchants where Aguilar could translate from Maya to Spanish for Cortés. But continuing north to Cempoala, they encountered other groups speaking other languages, and Aguilar could no longer communicate directly. The Cempoalans probably spoke Totonac, a completely foreign language, and some in the community undoubtedly spoke Nahuatl, the language of the Aztecs and other groups in central Mexico. Nahuatl at that time was the lingua franca of merchant groups, and Malintzin had learned it as a youth, perhaps among several other mercantile languages. So Malintzin was able to translate from Nahuatl (and perhaps Totonac) to Maya, and then Aguilar could translate from Maya to Spanish in a complex game of ‘telephone.’ There is some evidence that Malintzin eventually became proficient in Spanish, and thus Aguilar was eliminated from the chain of communication.

Something which is rarely considered in this process is the important role that Malintzin played, not simply in translating, but in the active negotiations that must have occurred. Detractors, such as Octavio Paz, contend that Malinche was passive at best, a mindless robot consumed by her love for her Spanish master. This concept reproduces Victorian ideals of gender roles, with women excluded from intellectual activities including politics, and is ignorant of the active participation of women in Mesoamerican practices (McCafferty and McCafferty 1988, 1999, 2004). Schooled in elite practice, Malintzin would have been well capable of understanding the political intricacies of the Conquest, as well as the implications of her own participation. It is unreasonable to believe that Cortés could have negotiated the alliances, much less the subterfuges that apparently took place, ignorant of the intimate workings of the society and incapable of speaking directly to informants. Aguilar, with a slave’s vocabulary and a European peasant mentality, would be in an even worse position. We contend that Malintzin had the necessary skills and knowledge to orchestrate the events leading to the Conquest, but did she have the motivation?

One way of measuring the success of the Conquest from Malintzin’s perspective is to consider the outcome. Based on what little we know of her situation before the arrival of Cortés, she was either a slave or a temple priestess–either way she had relatively little personal status. It is unknown how old she was when she joined Cortés, though Kartunnen speculates that she may have only been an adolescent (1997: ). The images of Malintzin in the pictorial manuscripts represent her as an adult, albeit with the flowing hairstyle of a young woman. It is unlikely, we think, that she was much beyond her teenage years. And yet, within a few years of meeting Cortés she bore him the heir to a vast empire and, upon marrying Juan de Jaramello, a lieutenant in the Cortés’ army and therefore likely a Spanish nobleman, Marina received a sizable encomienda near Orizaba, on the route between Mexico and Veracruz (Lanyon 1999). Based on legal documents following her death, it is apparent that the lands were given to Marina, not her husband, as a reward for her service (ibid ). Based on these results, it is obvious that she did very well for herself, indeed.

Another hint of Marina’s own feelings relating to the dramatic turn of events is found in Díaz del Castillo’s (1963: ) account of a meeting between her and her mother, during a subsequent expedition to Guatemala. In that meeting, Marina greeted her mother warmly, though the mother was apparently afraid, and Marina gave thanks for the opportunity she had received to become a Christian and to participate in such historic events. While Díaz del Castillo’s account was written long after the events of the Conquest, and often contains apocryphal additions influenced by his love of historical romance, the impression given is that Marina did not regret her change of fortune and welcomed her new circumstances.

The Malinche Code

Up to this point we have attempted to establish the ideas that:

1) Postclassic society was complex, with both linguistic and symbolic conventions for distinguishing groups;

2) gender was one of the significant arenas of social identity that was also discriminated by linguistic and symbolic means;

3) spinning and weaving were practices strongly associated with female identity, with spinning and weaving tools used metaphorically as female ‘weapons;’

4) spindle whorls were metaphorically associated with ‘little shields,’ and at Cholula carried symbolic icons of female identity, particularly of the goddess complex; and

5) Malintzin/Marina/Malinche was a prominent historical agent with the skills and capabilities to deeply influence political change during the Spanish Conquest.

In this concluding section we argue that an aspect of Malinche’s activities during the Conquest related to female symbolism, and that a subplot of the Conquest may relate to aspects of the ‘sacred feminine.’

As described above in relation to spindle whorl iconography, Malintzin was depicted in indigenous pictorial manuscripts carrying shields that included whorl designs common to female deities. This was not unique to her, as other shield patterns also paralleled whorl patterns, but her shields were consistently related to the female patterns.

She also wears indigenous style costume, including a long skirt and huipil blouse. These were decorated with textile patterns that also appear on spindle whorls, such as the spiral fret that probably references the cut-shell motif characteristic of Quetzalcoatl and the huacalxochitl flower on her blouse.

Her costume provides a further link to Cholula. In one of the key events of the Spanish Conquest, and the one in which Malinche’s role as pro-Spanish becomes crystalized, she reports on a possible ambush planned at Cholula. En route to the Aztec capital of Tenochtitlan, Cortés and his army detoured through Cholula, perhaps to eliminate a potentially dangerous center from their line of retreat to the Gulf Coast (Peterson and Green 1990). Upon entering the city the Spanish were settled in plush lodgings, while their Tlaxcaltecan and Cempoalan allies camped outside the city, in part because of factional conflicts between these groups and the Cholulans. After several days in the city, as reported in Días del Castillo (1963: ), Malinche was approached by an old noblewoman who warned her of an impending attack, and offered to protect her if she would marry her son. Malinche took this information to Cortés, however, who allegedly summoned the nobles of Cholula into the town square where he launched the infamous Cholula massacre (McCafferty 2000).

This well-known vignette takes on additional significance when the ethnic complexity of Postclassic Cholula is considered. In the Early Postclassic Cholula was the highland capital of the Olmeca-Xicallanca, a merchant group with origins in the southern Gulf Coast, precisely the area in which Malintzin grew up. In the Late Postclassic the Tolteca-Chichimeca group became dominant, with strong connections to the Nahua of northern Mesoamerica, but the Olmeca-Xicallanca continued as a prominent faction in the southern portion of the city (Olivera and Reyes 1969). Consequently, when Cortés and Malinche arrived, Cholula was a multi-ethnic city divided by factional politics. Malinche would have been recognizable by her dress and speech as a member of the Olmeca-Xicallanca group, and as a noblewoman herself may have even had kin in the city. The 1581 Descripcion de Cholula notes that the women of Cholula wore costumes similar to those of Campeche in the southern Gulf Coast (de Rojas 1927). The old woman who offered Malinche shelter could have been acting along these factional lines.

Why, then, would Malinche ‘betray’ the Cholulans? Again, looking at the outcome of the Massacre offers a potential solution. In the Lienzo de Tlaxcala (1979) Malinche is depicted actively directing the assault on the main pyramid of Cholula (Figure ). Shortly after the carnage, which included the indigenous allies entering the city to continue the slaughter, a second group of Cholula nobles approached Cortés, claiming to be a separate faction, and welcomed him (Diaz del Castillo ). It is unclear from the sources, but if Malinche also warned her kinsfolk of the massacre, then this could have been a strategic ploy to shift the balance of power in Cholula back in favor of the Olmeca-Xicallanca. Notably, Cholula contributed a large army of warriors for the subsequent assault on the Aztecs, an unlikely development if Cortes was the least bit suspicious of the Cholulan’s loyalty.

One of the concerns that the Spanish had in employing indigenous allies in battle was that they wore similar battle insignia (to Spanish eyes), and there was a danger of misidentifying friend from foe in the heat of battle. Munoz Camargo (in Leon Portilla) notes that for the Cholula battle the allied warriors took off their traditional headdresses and instead wore headbands of twisted grass. Recalling that malintzin means “precious grass”, this could signify that they were acting as Malinche’s army.

There is also a religious element to the Cholula massacre. There has been long speculation that Cortés’ arrival may have been linked to an omen that the god Quetzalcoatl was destined to return from the east to take up his reign in central Mexico. Upon reaching what would become Veracruz, ambassadors brought clothing and jewelry appropriate for the god (Cortés 1986: ). Neither Cortés nor Aguilar could have recognized this, so it must have been Malintzin who made the connection. Yet if Cortés was imitating Quetzalcoatl, why go out of his way to Cholula, the highland center for the Quetzalcoatl cult, and attack the main pyramid of the cult?

An answer may lie in the alternative goddess cult. When Malinche was warned of the supposed ambush, it was by an ‘old noble woman.’ In Nahuatl, this would translate as ilama + tecuhtli. In the aftermath of the Massacre, Malinche and Cortés are depicted kneeling before a woman glossed as Doa Maria Ilamatecuhtli in the Codex of Cholula (Simons 1968). And in the Codex of Cuauhtlanzinco, a noble woman also named Maria Ilamatecuhtli is described as having an elaborate complex featuring sweatbaths (Starr 1976). In the Mexican goddess cult, Ilamatecuhtli was identified as another name for the old goddess, Toci, the goddess of midwives and healers known by different names throughout Mesoamerica, including Lady 9 Grass of the Mixteca of Oaxaca (McCafferty and McCafferty 1994). Jeanette Peterson ( ) has noted that Malinche’s name, derived from malinalli, may indicate her affiliation with this cult, as would our speculation that she had spent time in a temple before joining Cortés. This evidence suggests that Cholula may have also featured a prominent temple dedicated to the goddess cult, and that it may have been affiliated with the Olmeca-Xicallanca, as opposed to the more Tolteca-Chichimeca oriented Temple of Quetzalcoatl. One of the major ways of carrying out a conquest in Mesoamerica was to conquer the patron temple, precisely as is demonstrated in Malinche’s assault on the temple of Quetzalcoatl in the Lienzo de Tlaxcala.

In sum, Malinche may have been a priestess of the goddess cult, skilled in the arts of warfare and negotiation from her noble birth but also privy to the symbols and practices of the ‘divine feminine.’ Upon arriving in Cholula, she was met by members of her own ethnic group, the Olmeca-Xicallanca, and perhaps even an ilamatecuhtli of her temple. In order to overthrow the Aztec-allied Toltec-Chichimeca, she instigated and even directed the attack on the Pyramid of Quetzalcoatl that symbolized their authority, so that shortly after the smoke had cleared her own faction could return to pledge allegiance to Cortés and then continue on as members of his army in the final attack on Tenochtitlan.

This paper has argued that there existed in Postclassic Mesoamerica a distinctive set of verbal and visual codes used by women, especially those such as midwives that were affiliated with the goddess cult. In depictions of Malinche in pictorial manuscripts from the early Colonial period, she appears wearing clothing and carrying shields decorated with these symbols. Upon arrival in Cholula she was recognized by other members of this cult, and used her position to manipulate Cortés into an attack that sent a message to Tenochtitlan, but also profoundly changed the political situation of Cholula in favor of her own group. Instead of betraying her people, as has so often been claimed, this event demonstrates Malintzin’s loyalty to the Olmeca-Xicallanca as well as her own agency in improving her own standing in the eyes of the Spanish.

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Figure 1: Goddesses with spinning and weaving tools

Figure 2: The goddess Cihuacoatl holding a weaving batten/sword

Figure 3: Goddess Xochiquetzal with spindle in spear thrower

Figure 4: Spindle whorl in use

Figure 5: Huitzilopochtli with tehuehuelli shield

Figure 6: Temalacatl as gladiatorial stone

Figure 7: Map of Mesoamerica showing Cholula

Figure 8: Selection of Cholula spindle whorls

Figure 9: Shield patterns from Codex Mendoza (Anawalt )

Figure 10: Were bird-man design

Figure 11: Avian designs

Figure 12: Feather design

Figure 13: Plant motifs

Figure 14a: Whorl UA-79 #768; 14b teccizuacalxochitl flower (Sahagún 1950-82, Book 11: 209, ill. 710

Figure 15a: Cortez and Malinche offered teccizuacalxochitl flower ( ); 15b: flower on blouse of Malinche

Figure 16: Floral motifs

Figure 17: Goddess Xochiquetzal

Figure 18: Spindle whorls with marigold pattern

Figure 19: Temple women performing the hand waving dance (from Sahagun

Figure 20a: Goddess Chicomecoatl with ‘sun shield’ (Sahagun ); 20b: spindle whorl with sunflower motif

Figure 21: Geometric whorls

Figure 22a: Spindle whorl with concentric circles; 22b: shield with concentric circles and perforated center carried by goddess Toci (Sahagun

Figure 23a: Spindle whorl with wavy lines radiating from center; shield with wavy lines carried by goddess Xilonen (Sahagun1993: folio 263v)

Figure 24a: Spindle whorl with grouped lines and dots; 24b: Malinche carrying shield with similar pattern (Lienzo de Tlaxcala 1979: plate 22).

Figure 25: Spindle whorls with the semi-circle pattern

Figure 26: Huitzilopochtli carrying his tehuehuelli shield (Sahagún 1950-82, Book 1: ill. 1)

Figure 27: Spindle whorls with spiral fret patterns

Figure 28: God Yiacatecuhtli with stepped fret motif on shield (Sahagún 1950-82, Book 1: ill. 19)

Figure 29: Malinche with spiral fret pattern on skirt (Muoz Camargo folio 255v)

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