Bride of Thunder (50 page)

Pacal had walked out of the forest, Xia said, and the copal branch, dead these seven years since it was found on the cross, a transmutation of the dead body of her son-sacrifice, had come at the instant into full leaf, and the incense on the altar began to smoke and perfume the air. Pacal had been sent by the ancient ones, but he was ready to revere the Talking Cross and join with the Cruzob in a great holy war that would force the
ladinos
into the sea, breaking their power forever.

The
tatich,
who had for years helped maintain the mechanisms and trappings enhancing the cross's mystery and rule, wasn't visibly impressed with Xia's miracles, but he questioned her much as the owner of a theater would interview a magician or stage act, trying to calculate drawing power and effect.

At last, rubbing his plump chin, he asked abruptly, “Why should the cross aid this Pacal? What does he offer that we don't have?”

“A fresh miracle, Great Father.” Xia bowed her head respectfully. “In the weeks he's been among us, he's visited and won the support of a number of villages along the frontier that don't presently serve the cross. At least a thousand men will follow him. And, Great Father, he will lead in battle himself, an inspiration to the soldiers.”

Was the
tatich
's cold stare a rebuke for Xia's subtle reminder that he no longer led excursions and attacks? He summoned forward Crescendo Poot, and he examined him with careful, deliberate questions that were answered with the same dispassionate caution.

Had the general of the plaza talked with this Pacal? Was he an impostor?

Pacal was magnificent, fit to be a king. As the
tatich
knew, it was sometimes more important to have the appearance than the fact. There was no doubt that Pacal had captured the enthusiasm of the frontier Mayas.

Was he capable of leading them?

Most capable. And lead them he undoubtedly would, with or without the Cruzob.

The
tatich
stared at the aging but formidable soldier who, with him, ruled the Cruzob. “Does this mean, old friend, that you, general of the plaza, would be willing to fight beside Pacal?”

“Yes!” Poot's answer rang out like clashing machetes. “Whether he really is the returned king of Palenque, I don't know or care. He can make even Pacificos eager to fight. You know already, Great Father, that I believe we should take advantage of the
ladino
revolution to reclaim the whole country. If we waste this opportunity, can the cross forgive us?”

Pondering, the
tatich
suddenly ordered all the soldiers out except for Poot. “Now,” he said, “we can consider this matter without fear of false impressions getting out. General, you need not guard your words. Tell us in detail your observations of this Pacal.”

Poot did so, clearly finding in Pacal a hope for achieving the long-awaited Mayan dream of freedom from the
dzuls
, with Mayan country wholly back in Mayan hands, united by the Talking Cross.

Next the
tatich
cross-questioned Xia. After probing her at length about Pacal, he rapped out suddenly, “Your child was crucified for power. Through his death, you won the place you enjoy. What will you not do to dominate men's minds?”

Xia's eyes glowed. She controlled herself with obvious effort. “My brother sacrificed my son, as commanded by God, to give the Mayas a savior. It pleased God to replace my son with a copal branch that has worked many cures and is much revered. As a mother, I mourn my child. As a Maya and servant of the Heart of Heaven, I'd offer him again if it would hearten our men to overcome the foreigners!”

“If a dead copal branch can be replaced with a leafed one, such a branch can also be substituted for a boy's body.” The
tatich
's dark eyes bored into the priestess. “Did you hide your son away in some village? Does he still live?”

Mercy cast a side glance at the spy. Could his men have uncovered the truth about Salvador? Or was the
tatich
attacking to learn all he could?

“I didn't change my son's body,” returned Xia. “I saw my child on the cross and swooned and prayed and wept. When I roused, the branch hung there.” She added softly, “It was a sign from God. Whatever else, it was that.”

Novelo motioned her to one side and called the
tata nohoch zul
forward. It was soon clear that his spies had learned nothing to discredit either Xia or Pacal.

The
tatich
seemed lost in meditation. At last, sighing, he said, “Where is this Pacal?”

“He fasts and prays at a sacred grotto an hour's journey from here,” said Poot.

“Send for him.”

The general knelt, was blessed, and left the chamber. The
tatich
commanded that Xia be given a room in his palace, and he called in a guard to escort her to it. She passed within a few feet of Mercy, who shrank as much as possible behind the chief spy, averting her half-covered face, holding her breath as Xia moved past her without a glance.

“Now,
señora,
” called the
tatich,
“I will hear your thoughts.”

Her weakened knees slowly regaining the ability to carry her, Mercy obeyed his gesture and sat on the stool he indicated. “I hardly know my thoughts,
señor
. I have only questions.” Thinking fast, she decided, why not be open with him? What had she to lose? “That's the woman who betrayed me to the Englishman,” she said, “the one I already told you about. Of course,
I
don't trust her. Where did she find this Pacal? Who is he, really?”

“You don't even consider that he could be the king resurrected?”

“No more than you,
señor
.”

A slight smile edged his lips at that. “Leaving that aside,
if
the Mayas rally,
if
they overwhelm the
ladinos
, what do you think would happen? Would the outside world leave us in peace?”

“I'm no prophet,
señor
. Ask your
H-men
or the Talking Cross.”

“I ask you!”

Mercy shrugged. “I would guess that Mexico couldn't blink at a rebellion or the loss of Yucatán's products. The only way you could hold them off would be through an alliance with some major power.”

“Like England?”

“Yes. But if you make such a pact, the United States would see it as a European intrusion. As you yourself said,
señor,
Yucatán might become a battlefield for two foreign powers.”

The weary eyes lanced into her. “You're to marry a wealthy
dzul
. You say what you think will help him.”

“I say what I think, as you ordered,
señor
.”

“Why did the priestess lure you for the Englishman?”

“She greatly desired my fiancé.”

“You hate her?”

Mercy thought back to Eric's assaults, to the times she'd suffered in his hands, but even more to how those she loved at La Quinta must have despised her for presumably running away to the States. “What's hate?” she said at last. “Xia is to me a deadly viper.”

“You don't want her to know you got away from Belize. That's why you draped that absurd scarf over your head.” When Mercy didn't answer, the
tatich
surveyed her under down-dropping eyelids. “I thought to use you for a miracle to strengthen Chan Santa Cruz, but now we have a leafy copal branch and nothing less than Pacal! If he impresses me as much as he has our general of the plaza, there'll be no need for you at the shrine. The
batab
can have you.” The
tatich
chuckled softly. “Strange, wouldn't it be, if the
batab
sold you to your
dzul
in time for you to be our prisoner again?”

He made a sign of dismissal. The chief spy followed Mercy out, saying harshly in her ear, “You will not wander in the woods today or until I give you leave. The
tatich
may want you.”

Mercy didn't answer. He knew, damn him, that she had to obey. As she made her way along the edge of the plaza, where soldiers still talked excitedly and peered toward the palace, she hoped desperately that this Pacal would annoy or disappoint the
tatich;
otherwise, it seemed all too likely that the cross would speak, decreeing war.

Was there any way to warn La Quinta? Any chance that Poot would somehow arrange to spare one
ladino
hacienda? In all-out war, that seemed impossible, though the general's gratitude might stretch to sparing Zane's life if it rested in his hands.

And Xia? Why did she plot the destruction of the man she loved? Could it be this Pacal was now her lover, that she no longer wanted Zane?

If only Dionisio were back! He might be able to sway the
tatich
. And at least Mercy wouldn't have felt so sinkingly, horribly alone with her worst enemy likely to see her. Had it been wise to tell the
tatich
that Xia was her foe? He may have known, anyway. With his network of spies, his bits and pieces of information must be like a magpie's trove, full of glittering bits, some useless, some to be patched together for valuable clues.

Unless Pacal's group traveled at night, which it almost surely wouldn't, it couldn't reach Chan Santa Cruz before tomorrow.

It would be an excruciating wait.

Her sleep was full of nightmares. A dead Mayan king pursued her with a copal branch writhing with serpents' heads while Xia smiled at the
tatich,
who kept his back to her. Dionisio fell into a swamp, then sank out of sight till his outstretched hand was swallowed up. Zane came home to a La Quinta burned and overgrown by the jungle, while she screamed soundlessly from the tower, which flamed around her.

Unrefreshed, both desiring and fearing the dawn, Mercy was up at the first light. Avoiding the palace area, she went to the
cenote
and did her laundry, spread it to dry around the bushes by the hut, and wished she had more work, something to keep her busy. After a breakfast of coffee and a leftover tortilla with honey, she brushed her hair, braided it, and, deciding the
tatich
wouldn't want to see her that day, settled down with her father's letters. How she wished she had some of Zane's!

Why didn't that war end so he could come home and see to things? While revolutionists were trying to take Mérida, a Mayan attack could demolish both sides, and if the man she loved hadn't been in the line of fire, she could almost have hoped the Mayas would win.

But not quite—not to butcher Doña Elena or the helpless, or slaughter thousands who'd been born and reared in Yucatán and knew no other home. If war was agreed upon, Mercy knew she'd have to try to find some way to send a warning before the frontier started going up in flame.

The head spy's voice broke into her thoughts. “Why haven't you come to the
tatich,
woman?”

Mercy got up from the log stool. “I didn't think he'd want to see me today.”

“It's not for you to think,” returned the spy sourly. “Come immediately!”

Grabbing her scarf, Mercy arranged it as protectively as possible around her face while she accompanied this most detested of her captors. She'd hoped the
tatich
would be in his private rooms, where Xia would be less likely to appear, but Novelo was at his usual ease in the hammock on the arcade.

“Tell me all you know of this Xia,” he said at once. He consumed several mangoes with lime juice while Mercy told him what Zane had told her, except for the substitution of the copal branch for Salvador and what had become of the boy. She was determined to reveal nothing that spies couldn't easily learn.

“You've said the priestess had a lust for your
dzul
,” the
tatich
mused. “She's very lovely. Do you think him so virtuous as to refuse her?”

Mercy flushed. “He … admired her.”

“They were lovers?”

“How would I know? I have no
tata nohoch zul
.”

The
tatich
laughed but persisted. “Women know such things.”

“You must remember that we became engaged only a few days before Señor Falconer left. Till then I was his employee—bond-servant, really. It was not my place to pry into his personal affairs.”

“How decorous!” scoffed the mestizo. “You almost persuade me, though I know women in love are governed by nothing—certainly not by etiquette!”

“Nevertheless.” Mercy spread her hands.

The
tatich
flashed ivory teeth. “You will watch when this Pacal arrives. Who knows, he might be some ambitious soul lured off your
dzul
's hacienda! What I must know is: Is he Xia's tool, or is she his, or are they evenly matched?”

“I can't judge,” Mercy protested. “I met Xia only once. That last time, in the dark, scarcely counts.”

The
tatich
smiled and mimicked Mercy's gesture of widespread hands. “Nevertheless.”

It was doubtless part of his strategy of learning all he could about everybody that led the
tatich
to command Mercy's presence at Pacal's reception. And if Xia recognized Mercy, her reaction would give the
tatich,
that wily manipulator, further insight into her aims and character.

Getting out the cloth she'd cut from the bottom of one leg of her second divided skirt in order to walk more freely, Mercy opened the wide hem and fringed the material. It made a respectable shawl, much better for concealment than her small scarf. This took a long time, which seemed longer because, as her fingers unraveled threads, her mind tugged vainly at the snarled tangle entwining her life and love with Xia, the Cruzob, and this mysterious Pacal.

She was sipping corn gruel when the Buddha-like young spy came to the door, tinkled the bells, and said she was wanted in the
tatich
's reception room. Pacal was approaching.

Again there were sentries at the cross streets, the band playing incongruous polkas, and soldiers massing in the plaza. Her escort took Mercy through the crowd to the palace. The
tatich
's throne-like chair was empty, but his religious assistants were there and there were enough officers and guards for Mercy to hide behind.