Cortés made bold to present a necklace of pearls to Montezuma, who reciprocated with two necklaces of his own. Benicio saw a sly smile cross Cortés’s lips as his new friend Montezuma made a welcome gesture. Come, friend, and see my beautiful city, he seemed to be saying to Cortés. And so it was that Montezuma invited the Spanish–Totonac–Tlaxcalan army into his great city, and the world would never be the same.
If Tlaxcala was a church and Cholula a cathedral, then Tenochtitlan was the Vatican itself. Benicio could scarcely believe his eyes as they travelled past garden islands bursting with vegetables and crops, permanently watered by the very lake that surrounded them. But the agricultural wonders were just a start. With its endless gathering halls, schools and tlachtli courts, its coddled gardens, pristine parks and even a menagerie featuring animals of every shape and colour, Tenochtitlan seemed to shout out its greatness to all who would listen.
Benicio was listening. Against his captain’s commands, he smiled and waved at the jubilant children and the throngs of boatmen, who followed in canals that paralleled the roads, just as they did in Venice.
Soon, the holy precinct of Tenochtitlan rose up around them in a fluorescence of shapes and colours. At its heart was a large plaza that appeared to be perfectly aligned to the four directions, with sets of pyramids to mark each. At the plaza’s head rose the tallest and most magnificent edifice of them all—the double pyramid that the Spanish called the Templo Mayor.
‘There it is, Tula,’ Benicio muttered to himself. ‘Perhaps your sister is inside somewhere.’
The Spaniards were quartered in the grand palace of Montezuma’s late father, which lay but a few hundred paces to the north of the Templo Mayor itself. The rooms were luxurious and comfortable, with lavish wooden furniture and bed mats stuffed with duck feathers.
Still, sleep eluded Benicio that night. He knew that Tula’s sister and the other captives were being kept somewhere near, he just did not know where. Nor had Rogelio told Benicio where the treasure lay, saying only that he would tell him when the time was right. Benicio could not wait any longer. He did not want to be in Tenochtitlan when Cortés unleashed his cannons.
Benicio pulled on his boots and padded quietly down the tile hallway. When he pushed open the door, he gasped in surprise. Tenochtitlan’s holy precinct spread before him, awash in moonlight. The full moon must have risen sometime after dark, for now it glowed at the top of the sky, illuminating everything.
Benicio wandered across the plaza, not surprised to find himself standing at the foot of the Templo Mayor. There was not a trace of blood upon its steep steps and Benicio wondered if they had been washed in anticipation of the Spanish arrival. The glowing white structure did not seem ominous, as Benicio had feared, but beautiful and holy. It beckoned him and he began to climb.
For the first time since he had touched the shores of this new world, he was doing something he truly wished to do. He lunged up the stone steps, huffing his breaths. Was he mad, or did the moon seem closer already?
He wondered if Tula was looking up at it, too.
Benicio arrived upon the large platform at the top of the pyramid, panting and spent. He was rewarded with the most beautiful view he had ever beheld. Tenochtitlan, surely the greatest city in the world, slept beneath the moon. There was no movement in the streets or canals, and the limewashed buildings seemed to bask in the otherworldly light. Beyond the city, the inky waters of Lake Texcoco spread out like a dark skirt.
Like Tula’s skirt, he thought. He wondered where Tula was right now. Did she still cringe at the memory of his cruelty to her? Or had it faded with time, as the blood upon the map Benicio carried?
Over the past several years, Benicio had filled his heart with many regrets about the things he had done. Strangely, none stung so sharply as the wrong he had done to her that day by the river. And as hard as he had tried to forget Tula, she always sneaked into his thoughts. Just like a thief.
Benicio stared out at the moonstruck city for many long moments. He had known her for but a short time, but it was as if he had known her for much longer. And now, he missed her. God, how he missed her. His thief. His ally. His Tula.
Was he mad, or was the sky already beginning to change? He thought he could see the faint brush of light marking the beginning of the sunrise and it occurred to him that if he was facing east, it meant the Templo Mayor was the westernmost temple in Tenochtitlan.
That was strange. The Maya priest’s map showed that the Templo Mayor lay in the north, not the west. Perhaps the old priest had not oriented the map to the true directions. Surely that was the case. If Benicio had been trying to draw a map on his own deathbed, he probably would have made the same error.
He peered behind him at the expansive platform that held the two sacred temples: on the left, the temple dedicated to the Rain God, Tlaloc; on the right, the temple dedicated to the Sun God, Huitzilopochtli. By day Benicio had observed the temples’ distinguishing colours: for Tlaloc, dark blue, like the water; for Huitzilopochtli, yellow-red, like the rising sun.
He stood on Tlaloc’s side of the platform and far from the terrifying rack of skulls on Huitzilopochtli’s side. Between the two temples was a menacing empty table that stood at waist height and stretched the length of a person. Benicio shivered, imagining the doomed souls who awaited their deaths in this terrible place.
The air stirred somewhere close, tickling the hairs on his chest. Perhaps the Wind God Quetzalcoatl was telling him that it was time to go. He stepped close to the edge of the steep steps and took one last look at the moon.
‘Goodnight, Tula,’ he said.
A familiar voice rose up from below the pyramid’s edge.
‘Goodnight, Benicio.’
Chapter Twenty-Eight
He jumped forward as she reached the top and for a moment she was afraid he might go tumbling down the pyramid himself. She reached out to steady him, placing her face beneath the light of the moon so he would recognise her.
His expression froze and she feared she had unleashed his anger once again. She had not meant to startle him. She had only meant to speak with him alone.
‘Benicio—’ Tula whispered, but he would not let her finish. He wrapped his arms around her and lifted her into his embrace.
‘You returned,’ he whispered. ‘My dearest Tula.’ He stepped back on to the platform, then spun her around in a dizzying circle. ‘You returned to me.’
She was too startled to speak. He seemed overjoyed to see her and, as he held her in his arms, she realised that she, too, was awash in joy. Her feet hovered far from the ground and she was aware that the true earth lay somewhere far beneath them. Yet feeling his arms around her, it was as if she were walking upon solid ground for the first time in many, many days.
Slowly, he placed her feet upon the blue tiles and stared down at her in wonderment. She could make out the chiselled features of his handsome face and could see the sheen of emotion in his large blue eyes.
‘My heart is happy,’ he said slowly, pointing to his heart. ‘Do you understand?’ Without waiting for her answer, he buried his head in her loose hair. He breathed in deeply of her scent, sending a chill across her skin. ‘Can you forgive me?’
He collapsed to his knees and bowed his head. ‘Please forgive me,’ he repeated. He took her hands in his. ‘You did not deserve to be treated the way I treated you. Lo siento. Will you forgive me?’
‘Shh,’ she said, though she felt like shouting her answer. Yes, I forgive you! Instead she placed two soft kisses on each of his hands and lifted him to his feet. They could talk more later, when they were safely off the temple and well out of sight. She glanced around nervously.
She had hoped to wake him in his chamber in the night, but when she had arrived there in the useless hours, he was gone. Disappointed, she had stepped out into the holy square and was alarmed t
o discover him traipsing up the most sacred structure in all the world.
‘We are in danger here,’ she whispered, adjusting the quiver of arrows across her back.
He stared at her in vexation, clearly shocked by her command of the Spanish tongue. There was no time for an explanation, however. She peered into Tlaloc’s temple just beyond them. The sacred embers still burned inside the braziers, casting their delicate light against the walls. But the blood of the midnight priests no longer permeated the air, having long been consumed by the flames.
The priests who heralded the birth of the Sun God would arrive soon. If they discovered Tula and Benicio here, they would kill them on sight.
‘We go now,’ she whispered, hoping she had said the Spanish words as Malinali had taught her. ‘Down.’
She moved to the edge of the pyramid and bent to take her first step. But he caught her by the sleeve of the doublet she wore—his doublet—and pulled her into his strong arms. His breath was pouring out of him and he pressed his face against the top of her head.
‘Oh, Tula, I have missed you,’ he whispered.
Part of her wanted to embrace him in return. Part of her wanted to collapse into his strong arms and give herself to him, body and soul. She had missed him, too, and pressed against him like this made her heart seem to rest and a strange sense of peace suffused her body. She sighed. Part of her wanted to stay with him like this for ever.
But she could not do that, because he did not love her. He hugged her and cared for her, but he stared at another woman’s picture, and whispered her name in the night. Luisa. He loved Luisa.
Perhaps he desired Tula, but it was only desire, not love. Surely it was desire that had made him touch her during the snowstorm, and desire that had stretched out his manhood beneath the agave stalk that evening on the high plain. And the sweet things he had said to her just before the battle? They were nothing but the expression of a man’s lust. His body was drawn to hers, but only as any man’s body might be drawn to any woman’s.
None of it meant anything. Tula was merely Benicio’s ally. Therefore, she could never let him be her love.
‘The priests come now,’ she said. ‘We go.’
At any moment, the sunrise priests would begin their slow climb up the steps of the temple. They would emerge on the platform like soldiers, their golden masks upon their faces, their sacrificial knives inside their hands. They would find Benicio and Tula, and they would not hesitate to begin their work.
Tula squirmed to release herself from Benicio’s embrace, but he would not let her free. She lunged backwards with all her weight, but he held her fast and stepped around her, placing himself closest to the edge. Then he began gently pushing her backwards towards the small set of stairs that led to Tlaloc’s sprawling shrine.
They might have been dancing. She struggled to keep her feet beneath her as he pushed her further and further away from the pyramid’s edge and closer to the earthly home of the God of Rain.
They arrived at the three sacred steps that led to the temple and he lifted her to the highest one. Paces away were the three arched entrances to the holy sanctuary where Tlaloc was served and adored. It was a structure meant only for religious men and women—priests who spent their lives studying the sacred codices, meditating and representing the needs of the people to the gods. Tula and Benicio did not belong here.
The world began to spin as he removed her quiver and eased her back on to the cold tile of the top step. He stared down at her, though his face was all in shadow.
She tried to sit up, but he pressed her shoulders to the ground and straddled her. Then she felt his lips upon hers.
She tried to pull away, but he would not let her. She struggled and squirmed, but he stretched atop her body and quieted it with his own. She was aware of the temple behind her, its flickering braziers, its faint smell of blood overlain by a thick, perfumed incense. It was an affront to the gods that they were even here. To be kissing on this hallowed ground was nothing short of sacrilege.
Still, something deep inside of her did not want him to stop. He kissed her urgently, as if he had saved up some important message that he couldn’t wait to tell her, his restless mouth seeming to ply and knead and saturate her with its important news. How many times had she secretly yearned for this?
She began to move her lips with his. She kissed his cheek softly and breathed him in, and the fearsome, holy smell of the air was replaced with his familiar, musky scent.
‘You returned,’ he said, continuing to kiss her, tenderer now. ‘You came back to me.’ He pushed against her legs with his own, moving them apart so that his hips rested upon hers. A deep, throbbing yearning began to pulse inside her and she tried to remember who she was: a good woman, a loyal woman, a woman with a duty to her family and her people.
She could not let this dark desire be the master of her. They needed to get down from atop this giant stone gift to the gods, or they would become gifts themselves.
‘Luisa,’ Tula whispered, but it was as if he had not heard her. ‘Luisa,’ she said again, hating herself. ‘Luisa.’
‘Shhh,’ he said. It was not working. He was ignoring the name of his true love.
Confused, Tula sat up. ‘We go. Now,’ she commanded.
And that is when she spotted them—a crowd of living shadows floating towards them like ghosts.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
‘Benicio!’ Tula shrieked. There must have been twenty of them, each displaying the same frozen expression, the same hollow, black eyes. They were not ghosts. They were priests—sun birth priests—wielding sacrificial blades and wearing ceremonial masks of pure gold.
‘Stay behind me,’ Benicio said, jumping in front of Tula, who gathered her quiver. The priests were surfacing upon the lower platform like a swarm. Ten, then twenty, then forty. Their daggers pointed at the sky, their long ropy locks moved and writhed like snakes against their black robes.
‘Come now,’ said Benicio, grabbing Tula’s hand, and he pulled her towards Tlaloc’s temple.
‘No,’ Tula said, unable to move. She could not enter that terrifying space. It was the Rain God’s inner sanctum—not meant for human eyes. Besides, if they entered, they would surely be trapped by the priests. She stood unmoving upon the platform.
Then she realised that she was no longer standing at all. Benicio was carrying her. He rushed her across the high platform and they passed into the shadows of the Rain God’s home.
The stink of blood inside the temple was overwhelming—a thick, putrid scent that mixed with the woody smell of incense in a sickening evocation of the flowery death. Tula could see very little, for the midnight braziers burned low. But she could hear the sound of flies buzzing in hidden corners and a slow, echoing drip that she knew was not water.
Benicio stumbled against a low object, catching Tula and placing her on the ground beside what appeared to be a cage. ‘Please help!’ shrieked a young voice in Totonac. Tula nearly fainted in surprise. She bent to discover a young Totonac girl with the thick cheeks and hollow eyes of one being fattened for sacrifice.
‘We will help you,’ Tula promised. Could it be true? Had they stumbled upon the Totonac captives? Tula stood and looked out over what appeared to be several dozen cages. ‘Xanca, are you here?’ she called out.
For a long while, there was no answer. Tula heard the menacing shuffle of the priests’ footsteps nearing the temple’s entrance. Then a small, familiar voice broke through the silence. ‘Tula?’
Tula was too startled to speak. It was a voice she knew. A voice she loved. She shook her head, wondering if she was living inside some wishful dream. ‘Xanca?’ she repeated.
‘Tula?’ returned the voice.
Tula and Benicio ran towards the cage from which her sister’s voice emanated. Tula reached her hand down through its wooden ba
rs to discover the top of her sister’s head. Xanca’s fingers linked with hers. ‘Is it you, Tula? Could it be you?’
‘It is I,’ Tula said and let out a desperate sob as the first priest stepped beneath the arching entrance. It was as if the Rain God were toying with her, dangling Tula’s greatest hope before her just at the moment Tula was certain she would die.
‘The cage requires a key,’ her sister whimpered hopelessly.
The first of the priests was approaching them now. ‘Benicio, I need time,’ she whispered. ‘Will you fight?’ She knew that what she was really asking him is if he would die.
‘I will fight for you until my end, dear lady,’ he said. He grasped her by the arm and placed the cool metal of his hand blade into her palm. ‘Use this to cut through the bars. Do not give up!’ He found her lips and gave her one last, burning kiss.
Tula heard the clash of metal upon metal and saw Benicio’s shadowy figure meeting a host of black-robed foes at the shrine’s entrance. ‘Xanca, move to the side,’ she commanded. She took the blade and began to saw what she determined to be the thinnest of the wooden bars. She pressed with all her might, sawing frantically until she could feel a distinct groove forming.
She pulled her own hand blade from beneath her belt and handed it to her sister. ‘Use it to cut upwards from below,’ she commanded. Her sister did as instructed, and soon the thick wooden bar was weak enough to kick in two. Xanca pushed back the wood and squeezed out of the small opening.
The two sisters embraced. ‘Are there others?’ Tula asked.
‘Yes,’ said Xanca. ‘All the Totonac women are here.’
‘And the men?’
‘Inside the Sun God’s shrine.’
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