by Zoe Saadia
“What would the royal princess do running around the Goddess’s temple at night?” he said, unable to hold his tongue.
Mecatl elbowed him once again. They better not anger her; she had yet to guide them out, safe and undetected.
“I’m doing my time under the priestly guidance,” answered the girl proudly. “I’m sure you are aware of the custom that requires the noble girls to be trained at the temples. Or have you gotten into calmecac by the merits of your abilities only, like some gifted commoners?”
Now even Mecatl was outraged. “We are of noble families!” he called out, while Atolli gasped, speechless at her effrontery. “His father is Tecpatl, the Honorable Chief Warlord himself. And my father is the leader of the warriors, too.”
“I see,” said the girl calmly, but something in her voice changed, and her gaze lingered as if trying to decipher Atolli’s features in the darkness.
She walked on briskly, indifferent to their efforts to keep up. In the shadow of the wall she halted.
“There is the gate, over there. It’s always open. Only the wall facing the marketplace is guarded.”
The question burst out of Atolli’s mouth as if of its own accord, surprising both youths. “What is your name?”
She straightened her gaze and did not look surprised. “My name is Cuetlaxochitzin, but I’m known as Chictli.”
Chictli, he thought, rolling this name around his tongue.
Then the lights of the torches were upon them; and the smell of rot and unwashed bodies. The priests!
“What is going on here?”
He heard Mecatl cursing softly under his breath. But for his friend’s ankle, he would have dashed for the dark mass of the wall, scaling it with the agility of a jaguar that he was famous for in school.
Chapter 2
Sakuna stood on the flat roof, waiting for the sun to appear. The thick darkness enveloped her like a soft cloak, sheltering, reassuring. She listened to the water trickling soothingly in the artificial ponds of their spacious gardens down below.
She had not greeted the sun like this for a long time. As the moons passed and the seasons changed she moved further and further away from her past, her childhood, the time of her youth. She forgot the ways of her people. For the sake of her new life, she’d sacrificed the memory of their customs. But had this new life been so satisfying?
She shivered and pulled a cotton blanket closer around her. It was beautifully embroidered, warm and soft, decorated with exquisite feathers of tropical birds. She loved its touch, the way its color set off her dark eyes and her long silky hair. She always kept her hair long, as long as it would grow. And she bathed with special oil that made it shine. Tecpatl loved her hair. He would always run his fingers through it to part the separate tendrils, marveling at their softness.
So, today she would wash it with a special care. He was coming home, at long last. Away for more than a moon. Always away, always on his endless campaigns. But since the war with Culhuacan had broken, his expeditions had become shorter. Culhuacan was just down the shore of the Great Lake, a journey of a few days by land and a short sail. Unlike the distant lands of the Mayans. Oh, she was grateful for the problems Culhuacan had created. It made him busier, but nearer; his absences shorter and easier to cope with.
Her heart accelerated at the thought of his return. He would spend the day in the Palace, of course, reporting, discussing and planning more of his wretched raids. But toward the evening he’d descend the paved road, reaching the best neighborhoods inhabited by Azcapotzalco’s highest nobility, reaching his home. And she would be waiting, wearing the best of her blouses and skirts.
The turquoise one, she thought. The one that would wrap around her slender waist and show off her ankles.
What anklets? she asked herself. The topaz ones, of course. And the bracelets to match. She felt the warm wave spreading through her stomach, making it flutter. Oh, she would wait for him!
But now, she was waiting for the sun to appear. She didn’t stay awake through the whole night as she used to do when still a young girl. That foolishness belonged to the past. She had a complex household to run now. In Azcapotzalco the noblewomen did not sleep through the day. Their duties were various and many. They had a small army of slaves to direct, to make sure their spacious houses and gardens would remain properly tended, beautiful to look at.
Beauty was of paramount importance, but she did not object to that. She liked it that way. Still, the slaves were somewhat difficult to manage. If only they respected her more.
She frowned and narrowed her eyes against the brightening sky. Today was the day when the sun would remain in the sky for the longest period of time. The day when the Sun Stands Still. How many of those had she missed since arriving here?
She knew exactly how many. Fifteen. Fifteen summers had passed. Atolli, her firstborn, was fifteen summers old. She had already been with child when she first arrived in Azcapotzalco. She had conceived on her way here.
Her smiled blossomed as the memories swept her. Their journey to her new home! Walking the desert toward the rising sun at first, then leaving the familiar lands and turning to the south.
Side by side, always near, always touching, smiling foolishly most of the time, walking toward their new life. The traders had trod alongside, carrying their heavy bundles, undermanned and sweating. They may very well have not existed. The young lovers had hardly noticed their presence.
Only at nights, to keep some decency, they would spread their blankets at some distance and love each other, exchanging their warmth. When he had to keep watch in case of an enemy approach, she would accompany him, and they would talk and love and talk some more.
She wanted to know everything about her new life, and she would listen intently and never argue. She was determined to be happy in Azcapotzalco, among the pyramids and marketplaces. She would be the best wife, she decided. He would never regret the decision of bringing her along.
Ah, but it hadn’t been an easy decision. She frowned, remembering the way they had met. He was so insolent, so arrogant, so violent at times. Never with her, but she knew he’d despised them all, her included.
Then there was the short journey with the traders. He’d insisted she should accompany him, to translate, allegedly. How furious her father had been! But he did allow her to go. He needed Tecpatl.
Oh, her father was a complex man, and not always as good as she had previously believed. He was prepared to sacrifice her, his daughter, to achieve his ends. But she didn’t know that back then. She had been as frightened as she had been excited. Oh, this outlandish warrior was a challenge. Overlooked by her father all her life, she’d wanted to best the warrior, to help her father, to prove herself worthy of respect.
When she had decided to sleep with Tecpatl, it was an impulse. She had wanted to know what it would be like. She’d been attracted to him after all, and he would leave shortly thereafter, and she would forget all about him.
But in the lovemaking, he was gentle and considerate. It was a pleasure she hadn’t known before. And then, the next night they had been attacked, and he’d fought bravely and saved them all. But she’d shown herself as brave; she hadn’t panicked like the rest of their party, and she’d kept her presence of mind and helped him.
From that moment, she knew, he had fallen in love with her. Not the night before, making love to her, but the day they had fought together. Wounded in the ancient canyon, with the rest of their people killed, he had trusted her and her judgment, and she had been elated. She had mattered to someone. Someone as important, as prominent as him, had appreciated her.
But still they had argued. The ways of their lives were too different. She knew it was a gulf that could not be bridged. Excited and flattered, she knew she could not, should not, leave with him.
And then, her city was attacked, and she was imprisoned by her father and thought Tecpatl had been killed. Oh, that was a hideous day! She shivered, remembering the dark suffocating cellar, t
he cries of the people dying outside, her bottomless desperation. When he had found her, wounded but alive, having saved the city, she knew she could not let him go.
The decision to leave with him was as spontaneous as the decision to make love to him. It had no logic or reason, but she knew she could not do otherwise. And so, she had arrived at Azcapotzalco. A new, very excited, very expectant bride. A savage from the Far North. It hadn’t taken her long to understand that. Even their slaves thought themselves better than her. Afraid of their master, they would never show an outright insolence, but she knew they despised her. There were many ways of letting her know.
His family raised a brow and proceeded to treat her cordially. So did the rest of Azcapotzalco’s nobility. The nobles were not as snobbish as the lower classes. Many warriors would bring back all kinds of women.
Yet, as the seasons had passed and he had steadily refused to take an additional chief wife of better origins, his family’s attitude changed. Now he was criticized openly. A man could marry a barbarian, could have children by her, but he had to amend the matter by taking another wife of a good Tepanec bloodline. Better still, of Toltec origins. A man should not waste his seed on a woman of doubtful breeding. Yet Tecpatl did just that. Lived happily with his imported barbarian and made children only by her. Outrageous! Oh, how angry they were, with him and with her.
The sky was turning grey, and she could decipher the shapes of the pyramids. The wide avenue, leading to the Palace and the plazas around it, materialized out of the darkness, slowly, hesitantly. Yet the sun was nowhere to be seen. The Great Pyramid had blocked the sky line, and only the pinkish glow around its upper levels announced the dawn break.
Once she thought Great Houses, the imposing city of her people, was huge. Oh, how little she had known. Azcapotzalco made it look like a small village. But upon her father’s rooftop she could greet the sun properly, watch the generous deity ascending its usual path, while the Tepanec sun was distant and aloof, as arrogant as the citizens of the Great Capital. There was no point in waiting for it to appear. It didn’t want to be greeted.
She could hear her household stirring. The slaves were waking up to their usual duties, moving about, lighting braziers to banish the morning chill. The women would then sit to spin and weave, and the men would go about their heavier tasks. Then, toward midmorning, they’d prepare a breakfast for the mistress and her children, and have a quick snack themselves.
However, today it would be different. Today she’d send many of them to the markets. Today Tecpatl was coming home, and she’d make sure his homecoming feast would reflect her elation. She’d make sure there would be no shortage in tortillas and tamales stuffed with rabbit or dog meat he’d loved so much. And, of course, plenty of octli and a chocolate drink. She’d need to send them all out, in case they needed to search through all the markets of the city, she thought as she hurried down the stairs.
The women at the spinning room stared as she burst in, obviously finding it strange that the mistress of the house was wandering the roof instead of sleeping snugly as a civilized woman should. Further evidence of her being a pure barbarian. She didn’t care. She was too happy to pay them any attention.
“The markets first,” she announced briskly. “And please, hurry. Make sure you are not coming back if something is lacking. Particularly the octli and the chocolate!” She frowned. “Come on, hurry up!”
The squat middle-aged woman with a thick accent of the Mayans got to her feet, pointed in her slowness. “How many women would you like to send out, Mistress? Surely not all the servants should be scattered around the markets.”
“I want half of them out and the other half busy cleaning. If they find everything we need quickly enough, the ones who will not be busy cooking, can go back to spinning.” She stared the woman down, holding her ground. Why did they always question everything she said?
The Mayan raised her brows and talked to the rest of the servants in one of their dialects. What she said made them laugh.
Sakuna narrowed her eyes. “Hurry up. I want all the food I request here before midday,” she said with all the haughtiness she could muster.
Turning around, she bumped into a boy, who had run into the room, breathless and agitated. He was eight summers old, short in stature and mischievous in disposition. His yet uncut hair fell onto his face, obscuring his vision, his large almond-shaped eyes wide-open.
“Mother,” he called. “I want to go hunting. Coatl said we can go with the boys from calmecac. He said I can join. I’ll be old enough for the school this year anyway. I want to go. It’ll take only a day or two.” He paused for breath. “I can hunt things, bring things home,” he finished, eyes flashing.
She hugged his fragile shoulders. He was so thin and lively, fragile yet strong, bubbling with life, always full of dreams and ideas, such a free spirit, fitting yet not fitting with his surroundings. He reminded her of herself at the same age.
Her older children were Tecpatl’s alone, Atolli, her firstborn, and Flower, his younger sister. Serious and dedicated, they were perfect Tepanecs, sober, proud, determined, domineering. But Tecuani, her youngest, she understood the best.
She beamed at him. “I don’t think it’s a good idea. But we’ll ask your father. He is coming home today, did you know that?”
The boy’s face lit with joy. “Today! Today, today, today!” he whooped, making the women in the spinning room raise their eyebrows even higher. More savagery in the best of Azcapotzalco’s neighborhoods.
Gently, she propelled him out of the room. “Don’t go anywhere today, all right? You can play by the pond or up on the roof.”
He slipped out of her grasp. “I’ll go out, but not far. Only to Coatl’s house.”
She could smell a faint odor coming from downstairs. “Only to Coatl’s house. No farther.” She sniffed the air. “What’s that smell?”
“Oh, the priest is here.”
“What? Which one? For how long? Why haven’t I been informed?”
“I don’t know, I just saw him. I think Flower is talking to him right now. She is so eager to get her temple training. She loves priests. I guess she’ll get used to the stench quick enough.” He wrinkled his nose. “Silly girl!”
“Don’t talk like that,” admonished Sakuna, afraid someone might overhear. “The priests are not washing their bodies in order to honor the gods. Flesh matters are not important to them.”
“They eat and drink, so they use their flesh,” observed Tecuani thoughtfully. “And they take women. I think Flower will marry a priest. Imagine how she’ll kiss him, ugh!”
“Tecuani!”
He said nothing, but his eyes twinkled as he turned and ran off. Even the sound of his steps bounced mischievously off the plastered walls.
Sakuna shook her head. He was unruly, this last of her children, so outspoken, so trusting, so cheerful, bursting with life, not abiding to the unspoken rules of society.
She feared for him. How would he fare under the strict discipline of calmecac? Or worse. Would he manage to undergo the military training of the young warriors without earning punishments twice a day?
The stench increased as she proceeded toward the set of rooms adjacent to the spacious patio. She would have to burn much incense, she thought absently. It would take at least two burners to banish all traces of that smell.
She could see the slender back of her daughter, standing in front of the cloaked man. Wrapped in his dark hooded gown as if he was cold, the priest squatted beside the nearest of the braziers. At lease, the slaves had enough sense to bring in a brazier, even if they didn’t find it necessary to inform the Mistress of the House.
She neared them, walking with as much of an indifferent composure as she could muster, hoping drinks and refreshments were on their way.
The squatting man raised his head.
“Greetings,” he mumbled, his speech difficult to understand, the daily offerings off his own flesh, mostly the tongue, taking its toll, refl
ecting on his ability to speak.
She knew the man well. One of the priests of the mighty Quetzalcoatl, a friend of the family.
“I greet you to my house, oh Honorable One,” she said, as always uneasy with the servants of the gods; any of them.
She should have added more flowery pleasantries; the reproachful glance of her daughter told her so. Yet, she could not bring herself to do it. She didn’t want any of these people in her vicinity. The congealed blood in the man’s matted hair screamed of his recent activities. That, and the stench.
The priest smiled fleetingly.
“I apologize for keeping you waiting,” she added, making an effort for the sake of the girl. “I’m sorry it took me time to—”
“The time is nothing,” mumbled the man, cutting her off with no additional thought. “What means a little wait for our mighty gods? Such matters of the flesh should not concern their servants.”
“Yes, of course, but still…” Now it was her turn to mumble.
The man shifted his gaze to Flower. “Your daughter is such an observant, attentive girl,” he said. “She’ll make a good pupil. I’ll make sure she’ll be asked to serve her time in mighty Quetzalcoatl’s temple himself.”
Sakuna could feel the girl beside her gasping, holding her breath. Such a pretty thing, she reflected, so tall and slender, with her naturally graceful movements, a wonderful waterfall of shiny hair and a pair of liquid, dark, bottomless eyes. Why was she attracted to the gods and their temples?
“It would be such a great honor,” she heard herself saying. “Our gratitude would know no bounds.”
The cloaked head nodded calmly. “She will begin her training toward the Winter Solstice Festival.”
“So soon?”
She almost brought her hand to her mouth, to stop her last words from traveling any further. The distress in Flower’s eyes was difficult to bear.
“How old is the daughter of the Honorable Warlord?”
“She has seen close to thirteen summers.”
