Young Jaguar, The

by Zoe Saadia

  “It is a proper age for the girl to be admitted into the temple’s services.”

  “Of course.”

  An uncomfortable silence prevailed.

  “We have had word from the Great Warlord,” said the cloaked man after a while. “He and his warriors will be entering the city at high noon.”

  “Oh, that is great news!” Now she could forgive this man everything, the mumbling, the smell, even the attempt to take her daughter away into the bloody ways of his people.

  The priest raised his unkempt eyebrows. “Yes, it will be good to have the Chief Warlord back among us. I hope his victories were great and his harvest for the glory of our gods rich.”

  She shivered involuntarily. This side of Tecpatl’s activities she kept away from her thoughts with a conscious effort. She didn’t want to think of the prisoners he was sure to bring along. Their fate would not interfere with her joy of his return.

  She glanced around. “I’m so sorry you had to wait. I’ll make sure the refreshments are on their way.”

  The man raised his hand. “It is too early to eat and drink,” he said, preaching. Once again she had said something wrong. “I would like you to ask the Honorable Warlord to visit me in my temple as soon as he comes home.”

  She fought her growing anger. “It might not happen early. He’ll be sure to spend most of the day in the Palace.”

  “Of course,” answered the man, rising to his feet. “But I’ll wait for him, even after the nightfall. The trouble with his son is grave and cannot be taken lightly.”

  She could feel Flower tensing by her side and had to lick her lips to utter the words. “What trouble?” And when the man did not answer, she added in a breathless rush. “Who is in trouble? Surely not Atolli.”

  The priest’s gaze did not waver. The cloudy eyes stared at her, dull and unreadable.

  She swallowed, fought the raising panic. “Is he all right?”

  The man shook his head. “He is not all right. He may be expelled from calmecac.”

  Her relief was so endless she had to fight the urge to smile. He was not hurt.

  Then she began to comprehend. “Expelled from calmecac? But that’s impossible! What has he done?”

  The priest turned away and began trotting toward the garden. “Make sure the Warlord comes to visit me tonight.”

  Chapter 3

  The old ruler was dying. There could be no mistake about that, knew Tecpatl, kneeling before the pile of mats, his sandals and weapons removed. The man was already old when he came to rule the empire – a royal heir of more than fifty summers – but still a proud, cruel, warlike leader, wise and domineering, a fit emperor for the great city of Azcapotzalco.

  The leading men of the nation were pleased, expecting much from this particular royal progeny. Yet in the course of the fifteen summers that shone upon Acolnahuacatl’s rule, the man had outdone any of his subjects’ expectations.

  With no hesitation, he had launched series of raids against the troublesome Aztecs, making the uncouth newcomers understand which nation around Texcoco Lake was the most powerful to be reckoned with. Then, after thoroughly humbling the most warlike of their neighbors, he promptly took them under Azcapotzalco’s protection, against the wrath of Culhuacan.

  The small Aztec nation was safe for now, but there was a price to pay. The Aztecs were to supply their new patrons with an unlimited amount of warriors whenever demanded.

  And the mighty Tepanecs didn’t make them wait. While the Aztecs were busy founding their new capital upon one of the muddy islands of the Great Lake, the demands began trickling in. The old ruler had decided to turn on Azcapotzalco’s historical rival–Culhuacan.

  Reinforced by a horde of the warlike new subjects, Azcapotzalco’s warriors had pounced on its sister-city, in less than ten summers succeeding in taking over most of their trading routes and dependable towns and villages. The surrounding districts and settlements, which had paid a tribute to Culhuacan up to these days, began sending their yearly payments to Azcapotzalco instead. The Tepanecs’ empire was expanding.

  And he, Tecpatl, took a considerable part in this rapid conquest, he reflected with satisfaction. So many raids, so many battles, so many victories. He shook off the memories and concentrated on the fading features of the dying man.

  “I’m glad you came back in time,” muttered the old Emperor. “My gratitude to the gods knows no bounds. In their kindness they’ve allowed me to receive news of yet another victory before sending me on my Underworld journey. I hope they’ll allow me to stay around you, mortals, for a little longer, to witness the captives you brought being sacrificed to the glory of our wonderful keepers.”

  “I pray for this, Revered Emperor,” answered Tecpatl gravely. “I pray you will guide us for many moons to come, before embarking on your Underworld journey.”

  “We all join in the Warlord’s prayer,” murmured the men in the background. There were four more of them, the ruler’s closest advisers, and they stood at some distance, apparently not missing a word.

  Tecpatl fought the urge to wipe his forehead, to get rid of the sweat that accumulated above his eyebrows, threatening to penetrate his eyes, running down his back. The unbearable heat of the midsummer could have been tolerated more easily inside the plastered walls of the Palace, but for the two braziers glowing in the proximity of the revered person, whose old fragile body was carefully swathed in feathers and soft skins.

  The old man smiled faintly and shook his head.

  “Come closer,” he whispered.

  Tecpatl shifted forward, uneasy with the request. He wasn’t allowed so near the Revered Emperor before. Very few of the advisers were, and he was not even one of them.

  He blinked, hoping the sweat beads would remain where they were, as he watched the old man raising his head with an effort.

  “Closer.”

  The reek of the dying flesh hit Tecpatl’s nostrils worse than the stench of the temple priests. He forced his face to remain still, not allowing his throat to swallow.

  “Keep an eye on Tezozomoc. He will rule after me. He is not the First Son, but he is strong. He will keep the empire together. He is good at managing things. My other sons will receive each a province for themselves, to rule as they see fit.” The dying man coughed and his strained gaze blurred. Tears ran from the old watery eyes. Tecpatl shuddered and was about to rise in search of some water, when the heavily lidded gaze cleared, holding his. “Beware of Xicohtli, the First Son. He may… try take… take control. Tezozomoc is better fit to run the Empire. I have chosen him. Xicohtli can’t rule, he’ll ruin everything I have achieved with so much hard work. Make sure, will you?”

  “But how can I?” Tecpatl stared at the old wrinkled face, dumbfounded, at a loss. He was the Chief Warlord, but he was not even a member of the council. His Great Uncle was. The old ruler should have talked to his uncle or some of his peers. They were all there, waiting anxiously outside the royal chamber.

  “You are my Chief Warlord,” blurted the cracked voice. “You are the best of my warriors. I trust you. Advisers are not for this; they have their own interests to take care of, you understand?” There was a hint of a sly, almost playful smile in the corners of the empty mouth. “You came back in time. It’s a sign. Make sure. Tezozomoc is to rule the empire. He is the one I chose. Make sure.” The blurry gaze clouded, drifted. “Make sure. It’s so cold. They should carry me out into the sun. Tell them. Now go.”

  Obediently, Tecpatl rose to his feet, his body stiff after kneeling there for a long noon.

  Every pace measured, he went past the group of the closest advisers, trying not to notice their gazes scanning his face, attentive, consumed with curiosity.

  They peered at him, desperate to know what had transpired, what had been said, why the dying ruler had chosen to whisper into his Chief Warlord’s ear.

  Ignoring them, he picked up his weapons and sandals, relieved to step through the wide doorway into another set of richly decorated ro
oms.

  So, Tezozomoc is to rule, he thought. Well, he is not a bad man. He may prove as fierce, as powerful, as domineering, as his father, not a complete nonentity to be sure. He would abide by his great father’s laws and guidelines, so the empire would not fall apart.

  On the positive side, he, Tecpatl, as a Chief Warlord, was likely to receive more independence to plan his campaigns. It will be good, he thought. He would finish Culhuacan once and for all.

  “Nephew.”

  The deep voice tore him from his reverie, ringing eerily between the plastered walls.

  “Welcome back, Nephew.” The older man looked up at Tecpatl. A whole head shorter than his nephew, he was almost as wide in his shoulders, which gave the impression of an exaggerated thickness. The small, usually squinted eyes, set in a broad, weathered face reinforced the feeling, adding a measure of cruelty and danger for the onlooker to beware. “I heard your victories were great.”

  “Thank you, Revered Uncle.” Tecpatl lowered his head, acknowledging the compliment with just the right amount of humbleness. “I’m glad I was able to serve our people once again.”

  “Your return could not be timed better.”

  “I regret to return under these sad circumstances.”

  “Has the Emperor spoken to you?”

  “Yes.”

  A fleeting silence prevailed as the eyes watching Tecpatl narrowed.

  “What did he tell you?”

  “He said he was glad to hear of yet another victory of our people. He said he hoped to witness the Great Festival’s sacrifice.” He hesitated. “He said Revered Tezozomoc, the Second Son, is to rule after him.”

  “Is that so?” The thickset man’s gaze slipped over Tecpatl’s face as if appraising the younger man with a new amount of interest. “What else?”

  “Nothing much. I don’t know if Revered Acolnahuacatl meant what he said. I’m not the right person to talk to about these matters. His mind might have been already taking the path of the dead.”

  The penetrating gaze did not waver. “Did he speak to you privately?” The deep voice held a slightest trace of surprise.

  “Yes, he honored me with a short conversation at the closer proximity to his divine person.”

  “That is highly unusual.”

  Tecpatl nodded, glancing toward the wide opening in the wall, catching a glimpse of the beautiful garden outside. He could hear the water trickling in the ponds.

  The eyes boring into him went flat. “Do you think Tezozomoc would make a good ruler? Would he be the right choice?”

  Tecpatl returned the gaze. “It is not my place to judge on such matters.”

  The heavyset man nodded and relaxed almost visibly. He was getting old, reflected Tecpatl. Once upon a time this formidable man would not be readable under any circumstances.

  The urge to escape the Palace welled. He thought of the spaciousness of his own gardens, of the feast that was sure to contain every delicious snack he had ever indicated as his favorite, of the ardent, exuberant welcome-home which was sure to await him.

  He could see her, dressed in the best of her clothes, bathed and groomed, waiting for him, exalted and impatient; still beautiful, still desirable, still in love with him, still unruly and not fitting, just like fifteen summers ago when he had met her for the first time.

  “You are sure Tezozomoc will give you all the commands you might desire.” The older man made it a statement.

  Tecpatl forced his mind to concentrate. “I hope he will trust me as has his father before him.”

  “How long will it take to make Culhuacan crumble?”

  “Not very long. Their warriors have grown soft. They are not a worthy enemy anymore.” Relieved to steer from the dangerous ground of politics, he added: “I’ll be happy to finish them off and re-open the war against the Mayans.”

  “Not the Aztecs?”

  “Oh, the Aztecs make good warriors. But they are barbarians. They are few and unimportant. Culhuacan is the worthy enemy. They are our equals, our peers.”

  The face of the elder man remained still, but something in the depths of the narrow eyes changed. “You do wise staying away from the Palace’s affairs, Nephew. You are a warrior and you better keep it that way.”

  “I thank you for your invaluable advice, Revered Uncle,” answered Tecpatl politely.

  They strolled toward the entrance, unhurried. “Will you go home now?”

  “If my presence is not required in the Palace, I would rather go home, if for no other reason than to bathe thoroughly and change.”

  “Of course.” The smile of the older man was almost genuine. “You might also want to sort out your son’s problems.”

  Tecpatl halted abruptly. “What happened? Is my son in trouble?”

  “Yes, your elder son by the barbarian woman of yours is about to be expelled from calmecac.”

  The air left Tecpatl’s lungs at once, as if a fist had crushed into the softness of his stomach. It made him feel dizzy. “What has he done?”

  The thickset man shrugged. “I don’t know exactly. I heard it rumored around the Palace’s chambers this morning.”

  Tecpatl strained to achieve a calmness he did not feel. “I thank you sincerely, Revered Uncle.”

  “Do not thank me. While you are usually attentive to good advice, there are times you do close your ears to reason. You should follow more of our wise ancient customs. It’ll keep you from trouble most of the time.”

  ***

  Tecpatl walked up the wide, well-swept road, his legs swallowing the distance without noticing. He considered going straight to the temples and the school’s district, but then decided it would be better to visit his home first. He had to know what the trouble was before he could think of how to cope with it. He also needed to bathe and change his loincloth and cloak. And to see her.

  The longing for her swept him, made him hasten his step. She would be waiting now, as always, so eager, so ardent, not bothering to conceal her love as a civilized woman would. Should.

  Yet, curiously, this behavior of hers had never upset him, never left him embarrassed. He loved her loving him so. She made his home a safe haven to relax, to drop any pretense. Inside his own walls, he had no need to be alert or watchful or on guard. He could lay back and be himself, although sometimes he wished they had had no slaves sneaking around.

  He wiped his forehead and glanced at the sky. It was high afternoon and suddenly he realized he would not be expected; not yet. The Emperor’s condition released him from the usual meetings and procedures, but the rumor would not make it to the city so fast.

  On a sudden impulse he switched his direction, then looked around and, seeing almost no passersby, sneaked along the low wall. Reaching the rear of his spacious dwelling, he looked around once again, then feeling light and boyish, took off his sword and scaled the low stone partition leading toward his gardens.

  Sure enough, she was there, kneeling among the flower beds, wholly engrossed in yet-another-unladylike occupation of her. It was only recently that she’d developed a passion for herbs and their magical quality, so now, she would spend her days tending her plants and hanging around the kitchen areas, boiling potions, making the kitchen slaves angry. She, who had done everything to avoid working her people’s fields in her youth, he thought amused.

  Moving like a true jaguar, he came closer, making no sound, disturbing no leaf or pebble. Oh, she did look like a barbarian, kneeling in the dirt, her skirt pulled high, revealing the smoothness of her thighs, now marred with lumps of earth.

  He felt himself stirring. Once upon a time, so long ago, at her people’s lands, she had come calling for him, coming straight from the fields, wearing nothing but a breechcloth with an apron, her young skin sweaty and smeared with earth. His urge to take her back then had been almost overwhelming. He'd had a hard time restraining himself. She had not been his to take. But now…

  He closed the distance between them in one graceful leap, and she jumped and cried out,
startled, even afraid. Her eyes widened, and she stared at him gaping, unable to comprehend his presence just yet, so he scooped her off her feet, then arrested anything she might say with a forceful kiss.

  She fought a little, then relaxed in his arms, her lips reacting, her body clinging to his, her arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him closer. He put her down carefully on the wet earth and reclined beside her, not caring about her plants, nor about the slaves that would be appalled at such savage behavior.

  The journey, the Palace, the dying Emperor, even his son’s trouble faded away, melting in the warm afternoon sun, in the gentleness of her touch, the softness of her skin, the love in her large bottomless eyes, open for most of the time, radiating her elation and warmth.

  Exalted and fulfilled, they lay on their backs and stared at the cloudless sky. A slight breeze rustled in her plants, those that were not rumpled under their bodies. He felt her stirring and gathered her in his arms.

  Her laughter trilled.

  “So, this is how you, warriors, take the women you conquer?” she asked, snug in his embrace.

  He ran his fingers through her messed up hair as she moved her head closer, placing it comfortably upon his shoulder. “This is how we, warriors, take the women we love.”

  Her fingers slid down his chest. “I didn’t expect you before nightfall. I was just about to take a long bath and dress in turquoise to make myself as pretty as I could for you. I can’t believe you caught me so unprepared.”

  “I see you all beautiful and groomed all the time. This was a nice diversion.” He chuckled. “When I saw you like that I couldn’t help but remember the way you were working the fields of your people.”

  She giggled. “Oh, I do remember how aroused it would make you. That first time, when you were resting by the spring and I was sent to bring you back to the town.” She laughed and raised her head, peering at him with such an amused reproach, he wanted to laugh. “Your eyes were reflecting everything that you wanted to do with me, even if your self-control enabled you to stay calm.”

  “I should have taken you and headed back for Azcapotzalco that very evening. It would have saved us much trouble.”