War God (19 page)

‘Four months ago,’ said Malinal, ‘strangers appeared in the Yucatán, in the lands of the Chontal Maya. They were bearded and white-skinned, they came from across the eastern sea in boats as big as mountains and they made their way to the town of Potonchan near the mouth of the Tabasco river. They had great powers, these strangers. They were few in number – about a hundred – but they possessed fearsome weapons and they defeated an army of ten thousand before they returned to the sea. Some thought they were human beings, some thought they were gods, maybe even the retinue of the god Quetzalcoatl himself, come to herald his return – it’s still not settled.’ She lowered her eyes. ‘I am of the Chontal Maya,’ she confided, and I was born in Potonchan. My people fear Moctezuma. They’re not his vassals, they don’t pay him tribute, but they like to please him. They sent word to him, paintings on bark, and an eyewitness to describe the strangers with a full account of the battle … That’s how I came to know about this …’

‘From the witness?’

‘He spoke only Maya, and when the Great Speaker wanted to question him I was summoned to interpret. I’ve been a slave in Tenochtitlan for five years but I have a gift for languages and I’ve learnt fluent Nahuatl.’ Malinal paused, looked at Tozi, then at Coyotl: ‘Does it seem odd to you that a slave such as I was chosen for so important a task rather than some diplomat?’

Coyotl was indignant. ‘No! You were chosen because you’re beautiful … I bet the diplomats are all ugly!’

Malinal tousled his hair. ‘Thank you!’ she said. ‘That’s very sweet!’ Her manner changed. ‘But I think the real reason I was chosen was because I was expendable. Anyway, this is what happened. The witness and I were bound hand and foot and forced to kneel in the audience chamber of the palace, in front of an empty throne, until Moctezuma came in and was seated. We saw just his feet, his clean brown feet in gold sandals, and the hem of his robe. We were told we must not look at his face, must keep our eyes downcast at all times, or we would die. Then the guards left the room. The voice of the Great Speaker is soft but very cold. He told me that the witness should describe the strangers – their appearance, their manner of speech, their manner of dress and their weapons. The witness gave his report, described their beards and their white skins and the deadly weapons they used. I interpreted and all the time I felt the atmosphere changing, becoming very dark, very heavy, like a funeral. Twice, just for a heartbeat, I risked a glance and I saw that fear had come upon the Great Speaker as he received the news. Believe me! I saw it! His jaw hanging loose! His hands shaking! His eyes sliding from side to side. You don’t expect the Speaker of the Mexica to be a coward, Tozi, but that’s what Moctezuma is, a coward – even though the witness did tell a terrifying story! I put it faithfully into Nahuatl and when I’d given it all, Moctezuma groaned. He clutched his belly! His bowels turned to water!’ She let go a peal of laughter: ‘He just shat right there, Tozi, in front of us! There were terrible farts and … you know … other sounds. The most awful smell …’

Tozi was laughing too; some of the other women around joined in. Coyotl giggled, but Malinal’s voice had become serious again. ‘After he was done,’ she said, ‘he moved about, I think he was cleaning himself but we didn’t dare look. Then we heard him talking at the door. Soon afterwards a group of guards and priests entered. The poor witness never knew what hit him; he was strangled on the spot. The executioner turned to me, put his hands round my throat. I thought I was done for until Ahuizotl came storming in and stopped him. “No!” he said. “I want this woman for sacrifice!” There was no one to overrule him – Moctezuma had left the room – and in this way I was set aside.’

‘But,’ said Tozi, ‘obviously not for sacrifice …’

‘Not at first. Ahuizotl used me for sex these past four months … Uggh! His breath smells of carrion.’ Malinal made a face and blushed. ‘This is what you told me you didn’t need to know,’ she said apologetically, ‘but here we are back at it in a roundabout way.’ She shrugged. ‘So he used me for four months then, last night, guards took me from the house where he kept me prisoner and threw me in here. He’d had what he wanted from me, I suppose, so he sent me for sacrifice.’

‘You’re a knife at his throat,’ said Tozi, ‘as long as you’re still alive.’

Malinal nodded. ‘Because of his vows … I know. He’d be afraid I’d bear witness against him. But really – celibate priests! Believe me, it’s a joke! It’s easier to find a virgin in a whorehouse than a celibate in the Temple.’

Tozi made a habit of being aware of people in her surroundings at all times, so she noticed immediately that the two hellions from Xoco’s gang had followed her here. They would never give up, it seemed! They were whispering to other Tlascalans around them, and some who’d been friendly enough moments before were now giving them ugly glances. Tozi heard the word ‘witch’. Coyotl heard it too and huddled closer. Malinal looked scared but calm somehow.

‘Witch! Witch! Witch!’

It’s all starting again
, Tozi thought wearily. She tried to marshal her strength and found she had nothing left to give. If these Tlascalans decided to tear them to pieces now, she knew she would be helpless.

But then there came a commotion, the swaying, undulating dance in the plaza abruptly ceased, some of the lanterns fell to the ground, the gates of Moctezuma’s palace swung open and a phalanx of heavily armed soldiers marched out.

A lot of soldiers!

They cut across the plaza, straight towards the fattening pen.

At their head, flanked by his two acolytes, was Ahuizotl.

From the direction of the forest a storm of arrows whirred around Shikotenka in the dusk, passed him on both sides and smashed the Cuahchics down before they could close with him.

He turned with a broad grin. All fifty of his men were out of the trees and coming on at a run, a second volley of arrows already nocked to the string. But they lowered their bows and slowed to an easy walk when they saw the Cuahchics were no longer a threat. Two were dead and the third writhed on the ground, bristling with arrows and filling the air with screams and curses.

‘A nice surprise,’ called out Shikotenka. ‘I thought I was on my own.’

The plan had been to meet three hours later by a sweet-water spring in the depths of the forest. There was no reason for his men to be here.

Panitzin was out in front. He was nicknamed ‘Tree’ for his massive size, stolid features, dark skin the colour of
ahuehuete
bark and long, wild hair. ‘Too many mosquitos at the spring,’ he growled as they embraced.

‘No reasonable man could be expected to stand it,’ agreed dagger-thin Acolmiztli, who’d jogged up right behind Panitzin. At forty-two he was the grandfather of the squad, but had proved his worth in countless battles and could outrun warriors fifteen years his junior.

‘So you just decided to wait here instead?’

Tree spoke again, which was unusual for such a taciturn man. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘More comfortable.’

‘And close to the path,’ added Shikotenka’s cousin Tochtli, ‘so we would spot you as you entered the forest.’

Tochtli, whose name meant ‘Rabbit’, was the newest and by far the youngest member of the squad. His smooth complexion, slight stature and soft brown eyes contributed to a gentle, almost womanly manner that exposed him to constant ridicule. Perhaps to compensate for this, and to win the approval of the more experienced fighters, he’d taken what Shikotenka considered to be unnecessary risks during both the prior skirmishes with the Mexica in which he’d so far been engaged.

Shikotenka frowned. ‘Spot me as I entered the forest, eh?’ He snorted and spat. ‘That sort of plan usually goes wrong …’

Tochtli’s face immediately fell and he looked round uncertainly at Tree and Acolmiztli.

‘But today it went right!’ Shikotenka laughed, taking the pressure off his cousin. ‘If you’d stayed where you were supposed to, I might have had my work cut out here.’

As the rest of the squad milled around, laughing and joking, Tree unslung his great mahogany war club, strolled over to the surviving Cuahchic and dealt him a single massive blow to the head. His screams stopped abruptly as his shaved skull shattered, spattering warriors standing nearby with fragments of brain and bone, provoking roars of complaint.

‘All that yelling was giving me a headache,’ Tree explained with an apologetic shrug.

Shikotenka clapped him on the shoulder: ‘Looks like you gave him a worse one,’ he said.

The squad was formed of five platoons of ten, with Tree, Chipahua, Etzli, Acolmiztli and jade-nosed Ilhuicamina as the platoon leaders. They were battle-hardened, clever, calculating men, but they were also independent and argumentative and the death of Guatemoc had provoked controversy.

‘I don’t see the problem,’ said Tree, who liked nothing better than a good battle. ‘You fought Guatemoc and you killed him. Dead men don’t tell tales.’

Shikotenka was repairing the broken obsidian teeth of Guatemoc’s
macuahuitl
from the squad’s stock of spares. ‘Sometimes they do,’ he said as he slotted another of the razor-sharp blades into place. ‘If the Mexica find his body it’ll put them on high alert. They’ll have search parties out combing the area. Our task tonight was hard enough anyway. I fear this will make it much harder.’

‘Do you want to call it off?’ asked Chipahua. His bald head was as big as a chilacayohtli gourd, smooth and domed on top, narrowing somewhat at the temples but widening again to accommodate his prominent cheekbones and full fleshy face.

‘No,’ said Shikotenka. ‘We can’t call it off.’

‘Then all this is empty talk.’ A brace of white-tailed deer roasted on spits over the banked-down fire and Chipahua reached out, worked loose a steaming chunk of bloody meat and transferred it to his mouth. He chewed slowly, almost lecherously, smacking his sensual, sneering lips and making a great show of sucking his fingers. ‘Reckon that’s ready to eat,’ he said.

The entire squad was gathered round the fire and now everyone dived into the feast. There had been an element of risk in cooking it, but the men needed their strength for the trial that lay ahead. They’d found a place a mile into the forest, boxed in tightly by great stands of trees and undergrowth, where there was almost no chance a fire would be seen. The roasted meat would more likely be smelled, but there was nothing to be done except bolt it down quickly.

Acolmiztli’s eyes glittered and the planes of his narrow face caught the glow of the fire, emphasising his usual hollow-cheeked and ghoulish appearance. ‘If they’ve found Guatemoc the whole camp’s going to be buzzing like a hornet’s nest,’ he complained. ‘We’ll not get anywhere near Coaxoch’s pavilion, let alone inside it to kill him.’

Etzli was with him. ‘We should think again. We’re fifty but they’ve got four regiments. With surprise on our side we might have pulled it off; without, we don’t stand a chance.’

‘Perhaps the death of Guatemoc will make things easier for us?’ Tochtli dared to offer. He’d been watching the older warriors, his eyes shifting eagerly from man to man, obviously summoning up the courage to make his voice heard. ‘The Mexica won’t know exactly what happened, or who knifed their prince. Could be just the distraction we need.’

‘Quiet, little Rabbit,’ snarled Etzli, showing teeth filed to sharp points. ‘What do you know, who’s fought in only two battles?’ Etzli’s name meant Blood and, despite his caution this evening, he was a seasoned, brutal killer. It must have taken some nerve, Shikotenka realised, for Tochtli to contradict him.

But support came from Ilhuicamina who looked scornfully at Acolmiztli and Etzli. ‘You’re both turning into old women,’ he snapped. A livid scar where a
macuahuitl
had struck him traced a thick, puckered, horizontal track from left to right across the middle of his face. His prosthetic nose, fashioned from small jade tiles to cover the most hideous part of the injury, glittered eerily in the firelight. ‘The boy’s right. We can still do this.’

‘I’m certain we can do it,’ agreed Shikotenka. ‘But the risk will be great.’

‘For a chance to kill a piece of shit like Coaxoch,’ said Ilhuicamina, ‘I’ll take that risk.’

Shikotenka’s men were sworn to follow him even into death, and in return he gave them the right to speak their minds. The time had come to tell them the truth about this mission. The stakes were higher than any of them knew. ‘To be honest,’ he said, his face deadpan, ‘if this was just about Coaxoch, I’d call the attack off.’

Ilhuicamina blinked. Even Tree sat up and paid attention.

‘But Coaxoch is only the bait.’ Shikotenka lowered his voice so everyone had to lean a little closer, and in the fire’s glow he told them the plan.