Young Jaguar, The

by Zoe Saadia

  She laughed and smoothed the embroidered cotton skirt down her beautiful legs. “The servants will be appalled.”

  He shrugged. “Let them.” Then another thought occurred and he hurriedly rearranged his loincloth. “The children are nowhere around, I trust.”

  “I think not. Flower should be in her rooms, spinning most probably. She is such a good girl. Not like her mother at all.” Her wide smile was free of any guilt. “As for your son, he is most probably out somewhere, getting into this or that trouble, as usual.”

  The word “trouble” hit them simultaneously, and they jumped to their feet, their happiness evaporating. Atolli!

  “Tell me everything you know.” He helped her up and began rearranging his mud-smeared loincloth once again.

  “I don’t know much.” She stared at him, helpless, voice trembling. “The old Askatl came this morning. He told me to let you know that Atolli was in trouble and that you should see him as soon as you come home. I asked what happened, but he just told me Atolli might be expelled from school. He insisted you have to visit him. Then, later on, Tecuani came from running around the city–when I told him not to!–and he said it was all over the marketplace. Atolli and Mecatl broke into one of the temples. They drank octli and attacked a girl of the royal blood.” Her shoulders sagged helplessly. “I can’t believe it to be true. Atolli is not like that. I would sooner believe Tecuani did some of those things at the same age. But not attacking the girl!”

  Tecpatl felt his face draining of blood, his lungs unable to get enough air. “If he was drunk he could do all sorts of stupid things,” he said, busying himself with brushing the mud off his richly decorated cloak. “Come on, let us get into the house. Even if half of it is true, he is in grave trouble, and I’ll have to see more people than just old Askatl this afternoon.”

  Chapter 4

  The cubicle was small and airless, crammed with baskets and empty pottery jars. Stretching, Atolli and peered at the crack near the low ceiling.

  The sliver of light was still there, for too long now to excite him. How elated he had felt when it first appeared out of the darkness, glowing gently and soothingly, reassuring, promising the near dawn break.

  He shifted and grimaced at the pain in his back and upper legs, the parts that took the worst of the beating. The pain was nowhere near unbearable, but the humiliation of receiving such punishment was almost more than he could stand. As if he were a filthy commoner!

  He ground his teeth, then forced himself to breathe evenly, deeply, inhaling as much of the moldy air as he could.

  The suffocating closeness of the small cubicle was oppressive. He hated being closed up. The fear that he would never be able to come out had haunted him for as long as he could remember himself, made him stay away from closed rooms. But this time it was beyond his power. This time he may very well stay there forever.

  He shivered. How could he have been so stupid, so reckless, so irresponsible? Yet, they had done it so many times, breaking away from school and sneaking back unharmed and undetected. It had become a habit. Nothing out of the ordinary. Tremendous fun, recently made so much better by bringing along a flask of octli.

  He cursed silently. It had taken only one slip to get caught. Only one silly mistake, and now, they were caught, and their future was ruined. All because of him.

  He felt his nails sinking into his clenched fists and welcomed the pain. It took an edge off the frustration, off the bottomless desperation.

  He deserved much more than that. It was he who had made them bring octli; it was he who had picked a fight with Elotl and drawn the attention of the drunken market frequenters. From that moment the events had gotten out of hand, and he hated the sensation of helplessness it brought. The way they had fallen onto the temple’s grounds, the way they had had to be discovered first by the haughty princess who should not have been there in the first place, then by the priests themselves.

  Chictli!

  He cursed aloud. Undoubtedly to save her own skin, the little whore had maintained that they had forced her to lead them to the open gate, which, of course, soared their score of crimes right up to the sky. An assault of a royal family member on top of leaving school without permission, drinking octli and breaking onto the temple’s garden.

  Such a whore!

  He should have broken her skinny royal neck while he’d had the chance, he thought fiercely. Just strangle her, run for the gates and be off, with no one the wiser.

  He relished the thought, then shifted once again, bumping some pottery with his legs, but taking care not to break anything. They had enough against them as it was.

  Cursing some more, he remembered the hideous night. First, slapped by the stinking priests, then, hauled back to school to receive more beating and slapping. Then locked here, in this windowless, airless storage room to await the decision. Which, of course, could be anything but favorable. Their humiliation had been endless.

  They would be expelled for sure, that much the priests and the veteran warriors who ran their calmecac had promised them. Which in itself was practically the end of their lives. But who knew what else the inventive minds of their tormenters would think of to make an example out of them for the other pupils to fear?

  He could hear Mecatl stretching, than going back to his even breathing. How, in the name of the Underworld, could he sleep under such circumstances? Atolli himself did not manage to close his eyes even for one single moment, although he wished he could. It would make the waiting more bearable, perhaps.

  His stomach tightened as the thought of his father surfaced, popping up against his will. He had suppressed it with some success during the night. He would never be able to face his father, never! He had brought disgrace upon his family, upon the Great Chief Warlord himself.

  He shut his eyes to contain the pain. If only they would let him out! He would do anything, would take any punishment, would work as hard as a slave, even bring himself willingly onto the sacrificial stones, to amend the matter. But nothing was expected from him anymore; he was not to be given the chance to redeem himself.

  “Are you all right?” Mecatl’s voice was deep, as though he’d had an undisturbed night’s sleep.

  Atolli drew a deep breath. “Of course. Why not?”

  “You’ve been grunting and murmuring, and I’m not sure you have any teeth left after grinding them all night long. One can’t sleep with all this cacophony.”

  “You seemed to be able to sleep well enough.” Amused against his will, Atolli chuckled. “Like a woman who wants to look her best for her nuptials.”

  “I want to look my best when they take us out for more beating. When they shave our heads, my face will be beautifully refreshed, while yours will be like that of an old woman – blue shades and no teeth.”

  “Shut up.” Atolli could not contain his laughter anymore. “I wish they would just take us out already.”

  “Would you rather be tied out there for everyone to smirk? I kind of like it here.”

  “They would never do something like that!”

  “Who knows? We are outlaws now, no? They can treat us as they please, to make an example of us before throwing us out of school.” There was a trace of bitterness in Mecatl’s voice now.

  Atolli clenched his teeth. Under all the lightness and humor, his easygoing and seemingly unconcerned friend understood the situation clearly.

  “I’m sorry. It was all my idea. It was I who dragged you into all this. I wish I could do something. I told the old Coyotl yesterday, when he was preaching on my unworthiness, but he just slapped me harder and told me to shut up and listen. I’ll tell them again, when they take us out.”

  “Save your breath. They won’t listen and, anyway, they would not accept anything like that. I’m responsible for my own actions.” Now there was a smile in Mecatl’s voice, and it made Atolli feel better. “I could have stayed. You didn’t drag me out by force. Not now, not the twenty times before that. I could have stayed at school and mi
ssed the fun. I don’t regret anything.”

  Atolli’s throat tightened. “You are my best friend,” he said gruffly. “No matter what happens to us, I will always remain your friend.” A thought surfaced. “We can enlist as regular warriors and make our way into the ranks by our own merits, you know?”

  Mecatl grunted. “To fight with a spear or a club, ugh! It’ll take us countless seasons to make it to the real sword.”

  “What choices do we have?”

  “Not many.”

  “Listen, it could be a good idea.” Atolli was warming to the proposed solution. “We enlist as any peasant or trader, for the next raid no matter where. Well, not for Culhuacan. My father is leading those raids.” He swallowed and banished the thought of his father, determined not to let it spoil his only spark of hope. “We’ll go to the lands of the Big-Headed Mayans. We’ll join any leader who would be willing to take us. Think about it! We are so much better than any commoner. We will outdo all of them, and in no time. Two, three captives to bring home and here we are, qualified to apply for the elite warriors’ caste anew. Getting back our swords and all.”

  Mecatl did not hurry to answer, but Atolli didn’t mind. The ensuing silence gave him time to examine this brilliant idea, to seek out its possible flaws. There were no flaws, of course!

  “If no leader would have us here in Azcapotzalco thanks to what happened, we can go away and enlist for another altepetl, maybe Tlacopan or Coyoacan. We can return back here as heroes, our hair locks decorated with much evidence of captured enemies. Think about it!”

  “It could work,” muttered Mecatl, the lightness in his tone gone. “It may get us out of this mess. The harder way, but we have no choice, have we?”

  “No, no choice at all.” His excitement piqued. “But it will work. You’ll see it will.”

  The door was pushed aside forcefully.

  “You, out!”

  Unaccustomed to the strong light, Atolli’s eyes found it difficult to recognize the silhouette in the doorway.

  “You out, you stay,” repeated the man curtly as both youths began to get up.

  His limbs aching, Atolli picked his way carefully between the scattered baskets.

  “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere,” he tossed to Mecatl, forgetting they were not alone anymore.

  “Silence, you insolent brat!” growled the man and thrust his face forward, threatening.

  Atolli lowered his gaze and proceeded to go out, knowing better than to pick another fight. Blinking in the soft afternoon light, he paused, his eyes adjusting with difficulty after spending so much time in the darkness.

  He fought the urge to lean against the wooden frame of the building, his head spinning, throat burning, his muscles cramped, his body aching as if after a long, strenuous effort.

  Clenching his teeth, he followed his guard who walked away briskly, not paying attention to the prisoner and his ability to keep up.

  ***

  The beautiful plate in front of his father flickered gold. Atolli stared at it fixedly.

  It stood upon the woven dais and was full of tamales stuffed with meat. The engravings covering the smooth metal surface glittered gently in the last of the daylight. Dusk was nearing, and he could hear the usual sounds from the outside, the slaves preparing for the nighttime, making sure everything was in order now that the Master was back.

  “What you have done is unforgivable.” His father’s voice was hollow and it rang empty in the semidarkness of the master’s quarters, echoing between the plastered walls and the various weapons scattered everywhere in a seeming disorder. “I cannot begin to understand you.”

  He would rather have his father rant and rave, maybe even hit him. The indifferent, detached tone sent waves of panic down his spine. It was as if his father had already given up on him.

  “Look at me!”

  He tore his eyes off the golden plate with an effort. To straighten his gaze took some more of his strength.

  Meeting the dark penetrating eyes, made him winced at the pain they radiated. The pain and the barely hidden… contempt? He shivered.

  “Your behavior was appalling, despicable, unworthy of a warrior. Any warrior, let alone the elite one! A common boy from telpochcalli would have known better. But you? One of the most promising pupils of your calmecac, after so many summers of training, no more than a season short of your first campaign!” The dark eyes lost some of their previous detachment, filled with anger. “Why would you possibly do such a thing?”

  It was worse than a beating. His father did not deserve it. Atolli dropped his gaze to examine the golden plate anew.

  “And you know what I can’t forgive you the most?” The cutting voice hardened, not pausing, not expecting an answer to the rhetorical question. “You put me, your father and the Chief Warlord of the Tepanec nation, into the most awkward of positions. If I decided to help you, I would have to embarrass myself by seeking a favor among my peers. You’ll make me humiliate myself in order to get you out of the mess you got yourself into without a single good reason or excuse.”

  Atolli made an effort to look back at his father, but then he wished he hadn’t, the anger and desperation upon the chiseled face were too obvious and deep. He clenched his fists to stop his hands from trembling.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered and could hardly hear it himself.

  “You are sorry?” A hint of a bitter smile stretched the thin lips. “I’m sure you are. Unlike your brother, you are not a natural troublemaker. Yet, now I see that when you do get yourself into a trouble, it’s one of the gravest.” The dark gaze examined Atolli’s face as if trying to recognize it, reflecting still a hint of an amused twinkle. “You brother is always in trouble, but his misdeeds are small, and he makes sure he doesn’t get caught most of the time. But you? What were you thinking? Breaking into a temple, of all things! Attacking a girl of the royal family! Did you think you would not get caught doing this?” The rough palm jumped up, stopping Atolli as he tried to say something. “But, of course, you were not thinking at all. Do you know why only grown warriors are allowed to drink octli? Because this particular drink plays with your mind, if you don’t know how to handle it. It influences your mood; it influences your thinking. Only a grown warrior, who knows how to control himself, can drink octli in public. This is the law. Did you know that?

  “But of course you did. You received the best education in the whole city. You know the laws. You know what happens to the commoner who drinks octli outside his house or is caught roaming around under its influence. Such a man would be put to death! This is the law. You are lucky you are not a commoner. But I am unlucky my son was caught doing this. My son, of all people. You brought disgrace upon me and my family. Do you understand that? Since I entered Azcapotzalco on the morning, I’ve encountered the accounts of your deeds. From the Palace to the marketplace, I hear people talk about my son, not with praise or compliment. No! They speak about the son of the Chief Warlord with shock and disbelief, shrugging, wondering. In itself it is humiliating enough. But the necessity to find someone willing to take you as his shield bearer, a youth now famous for insubordination and lack of self-control, is a task I would avoid at any cost. Any cost!”

  His father’s gaze swept over the various weapons decorating the walls, dwelled upon the stand with the row of human skulls. “You will have to work very hard to redeem your name in my eyes. The evidence of your deeds will have to mount before I respect you again. That is, if I’m able to persuade some veteran to take you as his shield bearer.” The gaze bore into Atolli, stern and full of pain. “In only a season or two many veteran warriors would have been competing to have you as their shield bearer, one of the best calmecac students. But now?” He sighed, raised the rough weathered palm in dismissal. “You may go.”

  “Father.”

  The man turned back quickly; too quickly. Did he expect some explanation, justification, maybe a pleading to be forgiven?

  “I… I’m grateful for
what you are willing to do for me. I don’t deserve it, I know.” He licked his lips and wished he could drink a whole flask of cool water. Or even a tepid, putrid one. He had been offered no food or drink since last night, and his throat was so dry he felt its walls clinging to each other. “I would never have you humiliate yourself. I’m sorry I disgraced you. I don’t want you to humiliate yourself any further. Don’t ask anyone, please.”

  He could see the dark eyes focusing, reflecting a flicker of a genuine interest. “What would you do, then? They are sure to expel you from calmecac.”

  “We will enlist as commoners, I and Mecatl. We will prove our worth the harder way.”

  The expressionless face remained still, but the dark eyes changed somehow, still boring into him, but changed.

  “We have the advantage of our training. We are better than any enlisting commoner. We can redeem our reputations this way.”

  A hint of a smile dawned. “I see.” The stern gaze left Atolli’s face, brushed past the plate and the woven dais. “I’ll think about it. In the meanwhile, go and take a bath. Let your mother use some of her herbs against your cuts and bruises. I’ll talk to you again in the morning.”

  He saw the smile widening and almost cried with relief. The detachment was gone out of the stern gaze. The man was his father once again.

  Chapter 5

  Sakuna watched him, helped by the moonlight pouring through the opening in the wall. She loved watching him sleeping, his face open and unguarded, almost childish in its calm sincerity.

  He had so much to worry about, so many responsibilities to bear, always busy, instructing, organizing, listening. She’d never thought a leading warrior would have to do so much listening. She thought the warlord of a victorious nation would bark orders and move to conquer. But it turned out he had to listen a great deal, be attentive to the people he led.