by Zoe Saadia
She caressed his chest lightly, running her fingers along his stomach, then sliding then up again, careful not to disturb his sleep but only to let the pleasant sensation enter his dreams. During the day she had to share him with many important people, but while asleep he was hers alone.
She sighed. Oh, how she wished to take him away. Away from the clamor of the beautiful capital, away from its spoiling magnificence, its riches, its tension, its dangers.
He was worried, she knew. The looming death of the Emperor affected him more than he cared to admit. She could see that. It preyed on his nerves and ruined his homecoming. Why was he so troubled about it? The Chief Warlord should not be affected by the succession of rulers. Or should he? He was not an adviser, not a close person to the mighty Emperor. He’d always kept away from the Palace’s politics, maintaining he was not cunning enough to mingle in those circles.
Well, a new emperor should not interfere with the ways his Chief Warlord managed campaigns. Why would he? Tecpatl was always good, always successful. The new ruler would appreciate him, would let him continue his raids.
And then there was the trouble with Atolli. Her stomach turned at the thought of her son. The look in the youth’s eyes had made her heart sink.
After the interview with his father, the boy went straight to his rooms, refusing to go out for any reason, brushing aside her offering of food or herbal treatment. The cuts and bruises were nothing, although she winced remembering how bad his back had looked when he came out of the bath. But the look in his eyes! So drawn and strained, black with repressed anger, with desperation.
She bit her lower lip. Her son had grown up through this day, she knew. He was not a boy anymore.
I wish I could take them all away, she thought. Atolli, his father, and the rest of the children. Find a pastoral village somewhere in the forest or on the slopes of the magnificent mountains around the Great Lake. Tecpatl would hunt, and she would run their simple household, with the children helping. They would eat simply and drink only water, and they would bathe in streams and forget all about the elaborate steam baths of Azcapotzalco. Away from the city and its demands.
Tecpatl stirred and murmured, his face no longer calm. Caressing with more intensity, her fingers willed him back into peacefulness.
There was no chance they could enjoy her dream. Someone would attack their quiet village. His people or their enemies. There was no peaceful existence in these lands. But then, was there such a thing anywhere?
Once upon a time, she hadn’t been aware of any of this, growing up in the Far North, her city, Great Houses, so large and formidable, the center of the whole region, their stone constructions towering and imposing. She hadn’t known anything about war. Her people were peaceful and happy. But now?
Now Great Houses no longer existed. Michin, the leading Azcapotzalco’s trader, had told her so a few summers ago, upon his return from her region. She remembered the way his eyes had measured her, compassionate and calm. The man had not relished being the bearer of such news. He was not a bad man. Yet, he had told her he had found Great Houses completely abandoned, with not a soul living among the stone ruins. Her home was now an ancient ruin. Her people! Not some distant ancestors.
She felt the tears welling and blinked them away. There was no point in mourning the place she had abandoned more than fifteen summers ago. She went away and did not look back, happy and in love. She had no right to mourn it now. But the tears ran of their own accord, and then Tecpatl’s arms were around her and she could hide in his warmth and the familiar muscular smell of his.
“What’s wrong?” he whispered.
“Nothing,” she sobbed. “It’s nothing.” Then clung to him letting him rock her back to sleep.
***
Acolnahuacatl, the mighty Emperor, was dead. He had entered the realm of the gods in those misty pre-dawn hours when the sick and the old and the very young ones would leave, not destined to walk this world of the Fifth Sun any longer.
Although expecting this outcome, Azcapotzalco was in an uproar. The most exalted of the nobility flooded the Palace, while the rest filled the adjacent grounds, with the commoners jamming the roads all the way down to the marketplace.
From one of the artificial hills at the Palace’s gardens, Atolli watched the road nearest to the wall, packed with people of all classes. Dressed in their best attire, they waited for the funeral rituals to begin, not looking too mournful or troubled. Most likely, the commoners were just happy to get a day off from their usual occupations, to loiter about and watch the magnificent ceremonies, he reflected.
Bother this! He wished his father had not made him come along. The side glances of the nobles congregating around the Palace made him uncomfortable. Obviously, most of them knew about his blunders, some curious, some compassionate, some smirking, happy the son of the Chief Warlord had embarrassed his powerful father.
He saw the gate clearing momentarily and fought the urge to sneak away. But he remembered what his father had told him this morning.
“You are coming along, and you are putting this nonsense out of your mind,” the formidable man had said when Atolli tried to protest. “You will come, and you will look as proud as you can, as if nothing happened. If you feel bad about it, it’ll show. Appear angry and frustrated, or scared and guilty, and they will classify you as such. Whatever the charges against you, whatever the rumors, you have to brush them aside when you appear in public. Feel bad and guilty in the privacy of your room if you must. But outside be sure of yourself, remember who you are, remember your merits. Hold your head high and most people will receive and accept your message. Whatever the charges against you, whatever the law says.
“How do you think a captured warrior feels when he is hauled up the pyramid for all the crowds to see? They all know he has committed the worst of blunders by letting himself be captured alive. Moreover, they are his enemies, they hate his guts. Yet, if he remains unafraid, arrogant and disdainful, they will calm down and watch him die with respect. No one will jeer, and no one will throw rotten vegetables at him. They will cheer him and name their children after him. But what do you think happens to a warrior who shows fear or uncertainty?” The stern gaze lingered upon Atolli’s face, dark and heavy with meaning. “Think about today as more of your training. Show me that you can make the accusing crowd respect you in spite of what happened. Go to this trial aloof and arrogant; show them the world is still yours for the taking. If you know it, they’ll know it too.”
Ah, but it was so much easier back at home, having his father’s strength to rely upon. He straightened his shoulders and looked around with all the pride he could muster, returning people’s gazes, making them drop theirs. When someone tugged at his cloak, he whirled so fiercely, the man backed away. But it was only one of the Palace’s slaves.
“Master, would you be so kind as to follow, please?” mumbled the slave in confusion.
“Where to?” asked Atolli curtly, enjoying the man’s fear. Yes, this technique was working, he thought with a surge of sudden pleasure.
“Please, follow. I was ordered to bring you along.”
He fought the urge to frighten the fellow some more, aware that to vent his frustration on slaves was not an admirable urge.
“All right, lead the way.”
They headed down the hill, passing by the beautifully arranged beds of rare flowers. Was it Father who had sent for him?
His curiosity welled. Would he be allowed to enter the Palace? He had never been there before, but maybe Father had arranged an elite warrior to take him as a shield bearer after all?
That morning, the formidable Warlord had made him understand he’d respected his son’s decision to face the consequences of his misdeeds, to fight it all the harder but the more independent way.
Since their evening conversation, the attitude of the Master of the House had changed dramatically. The respect had returned. Once again the man was his father, formidable but kind, full of priceless adv
ice. Not too warm or too friendly, but then he was always like that, relaxing only with Atolli’s mother and only when he thought no one was watching.
The path delved deeper into the artificial forest. He listened to the birds chirping among the rare trees.
“Are we not going to the Palace?”
The slave shook his head, puzzled. “I was asked to help you find your way around the gardens, Master,” he said, sweating.
So not the Palace; therefore nothing to do with his father. Ashamed by the wave of acute disappointment, Atolli frowned. Have you been hoping to get the easier way of the shield-bearer after all? he asked himself, furious.
“Here you are, Master.” The slave melted away before Atolli had a chance to thank him, had he wished to do so.
He looked around, consumed with curiosity. A hooded figure on the edge of the mosaic pond looked familiar. She sat there, throwing flowers into the clear water that abounded with small, sparkling fish.
“Well, well, if it is not our drunken warrior?”
The familiar husky voice made Atolli clench his teeth. He took a deep breath and said nothing, composing his thoughts.
As she raised her head, he could see she was as beautiful by daylight, even more so, displaying the perfect Toltec cheekbones and the large, doe-like eyes, adorned by the thick eyelashes that seemed as if some dark color had been applied to them. He tore his gaze off her full lovely mouth.
“So,” said the girl, tossing her head. “How are you?”
“Good. Couldn’t be better,” he stated, his irritation mounting. Just like the previous night, she made his nerves prickle. “Well, it could be better, but thanks to you it is not!”
Some of her amusement fled. “How dare you speak to me like that?” she demanded, the frown not sitting well with her lovely features. “And anyway, it has nothing to do with me. I was not the one to sneak out of school. It was not me who had drunk octli and broken into the temple’s grounds.”
“We did not break into the temple! You, of all people, should know that. We fell over the wall and only tried to find our way out without disturbing anyone. You knew it well enough. But what did you do? You told them the drunken calmecac boys broke in and attacked you.” He clenched his fists and was pleased to see her eyes turning angry, losing some of their haughtiness.
“You were drunk. You were caught with a flask of octli. A half empty flask!”
“A half flask would not make you lose your senses to the point of breaking into a temple in an attempt to force a princess.”
She winced, and her cheeks flooded with color. “If you talk to me like that once again, I’ll make sure you will be punished so severely, your current situation will look like the realm of the gods to you.” She measured his face with a glance, taking in the bruises. “Evidently the beating you took in calmecac was not sufficient.”
He knew he should leave, but he could not, he was too angry. “What are you going to do? Call the servants and tell them I was trying to attack you – to force you – once again?”
She glared at him, breathing heavily, obviously searching for the correct words to squash him. The bright cotton blouse peeking from under her cloak revealed her neck, the light material setting off the golden shade of her skin.
“Why did you bring me here?” he asked, mostly to make some progress, to enable him to ease away with some of his pride still intact. He did not want to turn and leave, in case she might think he was afraid of her.
She made a visible effort to calm down. “I wanted to know if your father found a warrior willing to take you on your first campaign,” she said, still frowning.
“No.”
“Why not? Has the Chief Warlord not enough influence?” The disdain was back in her voice, in full control once again.
“Of course he has enough influence. He has enough influence to find you a warrior willing to take you on a campaign.” He wanted to strangle her right there by the pond. “But I won’t have it. I will not make my father humiliate himself.”
Now she was genuinely surprised. “What? Why-ever not? What sort of humiliation is that, to ask a friend to take his son along, one of the best calmecac pupils anyway?”
“I’m not one of the best anymore, remember? Thanks to you I’m a drunkard, famous only for his insubordination. My father does not deserve this.”
She considered his words. “I understand. But then what are you going to do?”
“Enlist as a commoner. It’ll take me a little longer to reach the top, but reach it I will.”
The large eyes narrowed. “It would be a terrible waste.” Her face brightened. “I’ll talk to my Father.”
“Don’t!” He took a step back. “I want no favors. Don’t do it!”
“It might be a good idea,” said the girl as though he had not spoken at all. “I’m thinking. Don’t interrupt.”
“Stop thinking about that. I want no favors.” He measured her with a glance, puzzled and almost amused for a heartbeat. “And anyway, to whom will you be talking? The dead Emperor?”
She raised one delicate brow. “You are not that bright, are you? How can I be the Emperor’s daughter? I’m too young for that. I’m the first daughter of the Emperor’s First Son, the mighty and wise Xicohtli.”
“Oh.”
“Yes, and my Father is very powerful. He is to rule Coatepec, but who knows? He may very well end up ruling Azcapotzalco itself. Will you serve him faithfully when your time comes?”
Atolli frowned, puzzled. “Of course I’ll serve the Emperor, any emperor.”
“Not any emperor.” She seemed irritated as if expecting something from him. “You should serve my Father. Promise to serve him well.” On her feet now, she took a step forward and stood in front of him, almost as tall as he was. A faint aroma of rosewater reached his nostrils, raising in his mind pictures of her visiting a steam bath this morning. The doe-like eyes clung to his, pleading and commanding at the same time. “Promise!”
“I promise,” he muttered, embarrassed by the pictures his mind drew too vividly.
She smiled and offered him a small, delicate wrist. The touch of her cool palm made him shudder. “I’m glad you decided to help. He may need your services sooner than you expect. I hope we will meet again.”
The aroma of the rosewater lingered after her cloaked figure disappeared down the twisting path.
Chapter 6
“I don’t like it,” exclaimed Tecpatl. “Why would Xicohtli ask him by name? It does not make any sense, even if the temple’s incident had never happened.” He stared at the plate of cooked beans and slices of rabbit meat spread on a bed of tortillas, not touching the food. “It doesn’t make sense, and I don’t like it.”
Sakuna reached for another piece of avocado, never hungry in this early part of the day when Azcapotzalco’s nobles and commoners were having their main meal. More barbarism on her part.
“I don’t see a problem. Why wouldn’t anyone want Atolli in his personal forces? And not only this particular ruler, but anyone. Atolli was one of the best pupils in calmecac. His training is still with him, in spite of this drinking-in-public incident.”
“He did much more than that and you know it. And he attacked a princess, who - coincidentally - happened to be one of Xicohtli’s daughters. Now, why would he want to take such a warrior with him to Coatepec? Unless it has something to do with Atolli being my son.”
The avocado stopped in midair. “Why? What might he want from you and why through your son?”
“I don’t know, and that is what worries me.”
She could see he was not telling her all of it. His eyes indicated that he withheld something. She knew him so well by now, reading his moods as if drawn on a bark-paper.
But it didn’t matter, she thought. He would tell her in good time. Oh, how lucky she was. Since their early marriage he had fallen into the habit of talking to her, recounting his battles, his travels, sharing his thoughts, even listening to her opinions.
No
civilized person would do this, she knew. A noblewoman’s job was to run a household and bear children – a difficult, strenuous, thankless job. Wives were to see and not be seen, to be there when the need for them would arise, to make sure the family functioned perfectly, to provide the warrior with a correct background to shine against.
Yet, once upon a time, when they were attacked on their way to Great Houses, running and fighting and doing their best to survive, Tecpatl had told her she was worth twenty warriors, and he did not change his opinion of her ever since. He would never do this in public, but in the relative privacy of their spacious dwelling he had treated her almost like an equal. Well, not an equal, but at least as one of his most prized subordinates.
She smiled to herself and forced her mind back to their current dilemma. “Do you think Atolli would like this?” she asked carefully.
“I’m not sure I’m about to tell him.”
“Why not?”
“He has not enough life experience to judge such matters.”
“He may do well in Coatepec.”
And it would be a thousand folds safer than to enlist as a commoner. As a regular warrior he had so many chances to die; or even worse. She had been horrified ever since Tecpatl had informed her of her son’s idea of clearing his name, bursting with pride and satisfaction at the youth’s decision. She hadn’t been able to say a word for a little while, afraid she might not be able to control her voice.
But as a personal guard of the Emperor’s brother, the ruler of Coatepec? Oh, she liked that idea very much, whatever the political implications. Not that she would sound such thoughts aloud; she knew better than that.
“How is the new Emperor?” she asked, changing the subject.
Tecpatl shrugged absently, still deep in thoughts.
“Did he talk to you?”
“Actually, yes.” He looked up, surprised. “He graced me with a short audience, startling everyone. He told me he appreciates the success of my campaigns. He said he would love to see me finish Culhuacan once and for all. He even told me he knows how I feel about it, that I would prefer to wage a war against the Mayans. He promised to see what could be done about it. He really surprised me.”
