War God (32 page)

Cuitláhuac led Malinal and Tozi across the plaza, where gangs of enforcers surrounded the prisoners who had not yet begun to climb the pyramid, keeping them in order with goads and whips. Malinal had held onto the torch and Tozi insisted that these last victims, too, must be examined by its light, but Coyotl was not amongst them.

Huge numbers of priests were still present, clutching their flickering orange lanterns. No longer dancing, they stood solemnly in place, their red-painted faces set in expressions of bemusement, even fear. No drums beat, no conches blared, and even the wind, which had blown so wildly before, seemed to have fallen still. Indeed, since the dramatic pause in the sacrifices, the extraordinary behaviour of the Great Speaker, and the bolt from heaven that had struck the temple, a deadly uncertainty had settled upon the proceedings.

Cuitláhuac strode directly towards the northwest side of the plaza. He seemed to be making for the fattening pen where they’d so recently been held. Malinal stiffened: ‘What’s this?’ she demanded. ‘We’re to be set free.’

‘You will be,’ said Cuitláhuac grimly, ‘though I’d prefer otherwise. If this was my decision I’d find out what you know about Ahuizotl and then have you killed. But Moctezuma has spoken. I have no choice but to obey.’

‘Why would you wish me dead, Cuitláhuac? Don’t you remember our nights together?’

‘I remember them – to my shame. But at least I’m not a priest sworn to celibacy.’

‘You were dull and clumsy,’ Malinal recalled.

‘And you’re a whore,’ Cuitláhuac said, ‘a whore and a witch. You were meant to die four months ago and you lived. You were meant to die tonight and yet you live again.’

Tozi was walking quietly along beside them, deep in thought. ‘It’s because the gods will it,’ she now said. ‘Don’t you know the gods always get their way?’

Adjacent to the women’s fattening pen, but towering above it, was the empty palace of Axayacatl, Moctezuma’s father. It now became clear that this was where Cuitláhuac was heading – not to the imposing main entrance, which stood directly opposite the western face of the pyramid, but to a small door at the northern end of the huge building.

On either side of this door stood two hulking spearmen wrapped in long cloaks.

Again Malinal hesitated, still mistrusting Cuitláhuac’s intentions, and he sighed with exasperation. ‘You
will
be freed!’ he repeated. ‘I may not agree with the Speaker’s decision but I’m a man of the law. You and your friend will go safely from our city. You have my word on it.’

He snapped a command to the spearmen, who swung open the door, admitting them to a long, narrow corridor smelling faintly of mildew overlaid with copal incense. The door closed again behind them, leaving the spearmen outside, and Cuitláhuac hurried forward. ‘Quick now,’ he growled. ‘I don’t have all night.’

Malinal cast a sideways glance at Tozi, who was once more lost in reflection, her head down and her eyes half closed. No doubt the teenager was grieving for her lost friend Coyotl, but she seemed to sense no danger and that was surely a good sign. Besides, the more Malinal thought about it, the more confident she became that Cuitláhuac was telling the truth. He was a dogmatic advocate of the lawful procedures and hierarchy of Mexica society, at the apex of which sat Moctezuma. Others, like Ahuizotl, might be willing to frustrate the Speaker’s will, but not this nit-picker.

Most reassuring of all, however, as she now recalled from previous visits to Axayacatl’s palace – which members of Moctezuma’s close family were sometimes permitted to use for entertaining – was that a secret postern at the rear of the grand building led via a narrow alley directly onto the Tacuba causeway, the principal western exit from Tenochtitlan. It seemed that Cuitláhuac had chosen a quick and discreet route to get them out of the island city.

Though kept unoccupied since Axayacatl’s death, the grand banqueting halls of the palace, its audience chambers and countless bedrooms and living areas were all fully furnished. A permanent staff of servants and slaves maintained the facilities, and it was even rumoured that Axayacatl’s royal treasure was still kept somewhere on the premises, walled in to a secret chamber on Moctezuma’s orders.

Cuitláhuac led Malinal and Tozi to the palace kitchen, barked instructions at the pair of elderly male retainers on duty there and abruptly left the room, saying he would be back within the hour. One of the retainers scuttled off, leaving the other watching them fearfully, but soon returned accompanied by a team of eight female slaves carrying huge tubs of steaming, scented water. With eyes averted, the slaves offered to bathe Malinal and Tozi and plucked off their torn and bloodied paper garments. Not a word was said to them during the entire process, and neither did they speak to each other, but Malinal watched Tozi in amazement as the layers of gore and grime and paint were washed from her skin and hair. What emerged was much more than a skinny fourteen-year-old waif. The events of the last day, she realised, had transformed her friend into a young woman – a beautiful, fey young woman whose dark eyes glittered with a deep and formidable inner strength.

At all times avoiding looking them in the face, the slaves offered them towels, then brought in piles of skirts and blouses of the finest quality, sturdy sandals and heavy travelling cloaks, signalling them to take their pick. When they had finished dressing, they were given backpacks filled with fresh and dried provisions suitable for a long journey. Finally Cuitláhuac reappeared, raised an eyebrow at their changed appearance, and told them once again to follow him.

Minutes later they exited the postern and found themselves in the darkened alley behind the palace. The wind had risen again and thunder still rolled ominously overhead. Cuitláhuac gripped Malinal’s upper arm. ‘Before I let you go,’ he said, ‘I want you to tell me the exact location of the secret house where you say Ahuizotl kept you prisoner.

‘Why don’t you ask him yourself?’

The nobleman hesitated. ‘I can’t. He fled the pyramid and we don’t know where he is. But if your story’s true then he’s committed sacrilege.’

Malinal found herself filled with fierce pleasure at the prospect of the terrible death she hoped would very soon be inflicted on the high priest. ‘My story’s true all right,’ she said. ‘He’s holding five other women captive. They’ll back me up. Search street seventeen in the district of Tlatelolco – about halfway along, I’d say. Big house, all of stone, three storeys, an orchard in the garden. It shouldn’t be too difficult to find.’

Cuitláhuac gave her a harsh shove and released her arm. ‘Whore,’ he growled, as she stumbled and rebounded off the wall of the alley. ‘You’ve been told to leave Tenochtitlan, so leave it. Now! If you or your little friend ever return to our city I’ll hear about it and, mark my words, I’ll have you killed.’ He spat, turned his back on her, stooped through the postern into the palace, and was gone.

Tozi rushed to Malinal’s side and they embraced. Tozi was trembling, though whether with fear or anger Malinal could not tell.

As they emerged from the alley and joined the throng of human traffic moving in both directions on the two-mile length of the Tacuba causeway, the rainstorm that had been threatening all evening broke at last and a heavy downpour began, soaking them to the skin. The crowds commuting across Lake Texcoco between Tacuba and Tenochtitlan were still numerous, despite the late hour, but now rapidly thinned, with only the most determined still braving the deluge. All the rest ducked into doorways and under the awnings of the countless shops and homes built up on stilts along the causeway’s flanks.

Sturdily constructed of stone, and wide enough for ten people to pass comfortably abreast, the causeway was raised twice the height of a man above the surface of the lake. Approximately every three hundred paces, however, intervals occurred where the stone paving was replaced by bridges of thick wooden planks. These were designed to be removed quickly in the unlikely event that any of the Mexicas’ enemies were foolish enough to use the causeway to mount an attack on Tenochtitlan. Guardhouses two storeys high loomed over every bridge. Approaching the first of these, Malinal’s heart beat faster. She reached out and clutched Tozi’s hand but, as they crossed the bridge amidst a cluster of housewives, merchants and servants in too much of a hurry to take shelter, they saw that all the sentries had been driven within by the rain.

‘It’s all right,’ whispered Tozi. ‘You’re still afraid Moctezuma will change his mind and order our arrests, but I’ve been thinking about it and I don’t believe he will. Not tonight anyway. He was scared out of his wits. He had to let us go.’

‘You saved our lives,’ Malinal exclaimed, putting all the gratitude and awe she felt into her voice. ‘I still can’t believe what you did to him!’

‘I did nothing,’ Tozi replied.

‘What do you mean you did nothing? You said your powers had come back – and they did! I
saw
what happened. Only magic could have done that.’

‘Maybe so,’ Tozi allowed, ‘but it wasn’t my magic. I couldn’t even find Coyotl! It was the magic of Hummingbird that saved us.’

Malinal frowned in puzzlement and wiped rain from her eyes. ‘Hummingbird? I don’t understand you.’

‘He was there. I saw him. Moctezuma was talking to him. Hummingbird ordered you freed and he touched me with his flame. He chose us, Malinal, and he protected us!’

‘But that makes no sense!’

‘It’s not easy to make sense of what the gods do, but there’s only one possible answer. Hummingbird has a plan for you … And for me too.’

Malinal fell silent, her mind reeling. Her years in Tenochtitlan had left her in no doubt about the nature of the Mexica war god. He was a being of pure evil. So if he had a plan for them, as Tozi said, then it followed that only evil could come of it.

The very idea made her feel nauseous, and utterly helpless. Tozi must be imagining all this. It could not – it must not! – be real.

They came to another bridge. As they crossed it she squeezed her friend’s hand tightly, but once again there was no challenge. Only a few people walked alongside them now, their heads bowed and their shoulders hunched. The rain hissed down and the wind churned the waters of the lake into angry waves that beat against the solid mass of the causeway. Thunder groaned in the heavens, the heavy clouds flickered and glowed, lit from horizon to horizon by great sheets of lightning; in the distance behind them, carried through the storm on a gust of wind, they heard the leaden beat of the snakeskin drum and the blare of conches announcing that the sacrifices had resumed.

They both turned, as though forced by some giant hand. The hulking silhouette of the palace of Axayacatl reared up behind them, dark as a breach in the night. Beyond it, dwarfing every other structure of Tenochtitlan and blazing with the eldritch glow of braziers and torches that no earthly downpour could extinguish, the summit of the great pyramid seemed to threaten even the sky.

When they reached the end of the causeway, they walked through almost deserted streets into the main square of Tacuba. The rain was still sheeting down and, other than a few beggars hunched beneath awnings, the square was deserted.

As they took shelter under a projecting roof, Tozi said fiercely: ‘We’ve got to put a stop to it. Don’t you agree?’

‘Put a stop to what?’

‘The Mexica, what they’re doing. We have to put a stop to their sacrifices or they’ll damn this land forever.’

Malinal laughed, and the sound was hollow in her ears. ‘Stop the sacrifices? Sweet one, you might as well try to stop this rain, or the wind blowing, or the sun rising tomorrow. The Mexica are addicted to sacrifice. It’s their drug. No one will ever be able to stop them.’

‘Hummingbird stopped us being sacrificed today and he’s the worst and most evil of the gods …’

‘Which means he must have had an evil reason for doing it,’ Malinal said, giving voice to the fear that had gripped her the moment Tozi had mentioned this horrible idea on the causeway. But even as she spoke she thought,
It’s not real. It cannot be real
.

‘Maybe so …’ Tozi continued oblivious. ‘But at least it proves the gods can stop any sacrifice if they want to.’

‘Well, yes … I suppose they can – since it’s in their name that all the sacrifices are made.’

‘But there’s one god who never demanded human sacrifices – who condemned all sacrifices, except of fruits and flowers.’

‘Quetzalcoatl,’ Malinal said. And suddenly she got a glimpse of where Tozi was taking this strange conversation.

‘Exactly! Quetzalcoatl – who, it was long ago prophesied, would return in a One-Reed year to overthrow the rule of wickedness forever.’

‘Yes,’ Malinal breathed. ‘So it was prophesied.’

‘And are we not now,’ Tozi asked triumphantly, ‘in a One-Reed year?’

Again Malinal could only agree. ‘The year One-Reed has just begun,’ she said.

‘And didn’t you tell me today,’ Tozi continued, ‘that the retinue of Quetzalcoatl was seen four months ago emerging from across the eastern ocean to herald his return? Didn’t they come ashore in the lands of your own people, the Chontal Maya, and isn’t that why you were called to interpret when the messenger of the Chontal Maya came to Moctezuma?’