Naamah's Blessing (38 page)

I
n the courtyard outside the palace, Bao and I were reunited.

My
diadh-anam
rose and danced within me at the sight of him, at his wry, regretful smile.

All the guilt I had repressed crashed down upon me. It didn’t help to have Lord Cuixtli and the Nahuatl porters and warriors standing by, my palanquin loaded with the Emperor’s gifts.

But it was Bao.

My Bao.

I hugged him, burying my face against his throat and breathing in the scent of his skin. “Are you well?”

“Well enough.” He slid a hand beneath my hair, cupping the back of my head. “And you?”

I nodded, blinking against the sting of tears. “How was the Emperor’s youngest wife?”

“Young,” Bao said in a laconic voice. “Young and terrified. No one consulted her or asked for her permission in this bargain, and the Emperor’s senior wives had filled her head with terrible tales of the strangers across the sea and their depravities. For all I know, half of them were true.” He shrugged. “I didn’t lay a hand on her, Moirin.”

I was glad.

And I felt guilty for it.

Bao looked sideways at me. “And how was the Emperor?”

I glanced at the palanquin, noting that several bags of the
cacao
beans that served as currency in the Nahuatl Empire had been added to it. “Generous.”

“So he ought to be.” Bao pressed a kiss against my hair, silently absolving me. “Shall we return to our companions?”

I nodded. “Yes, please.”

Once again, I travelled across Tenochtitlan in a palanquin. This time, it was different. There was a quiet respect in the Nahuatl gazes that followed our progress; and whether it was due to the honor Achcuatli had accorded me, or the salve my actions had spread on their pride, I could not say.

In the ceremonial square, I asked Lord Cuixtli to halt before the great temple dedicated to the rain god Tlaloc and Huitzilopochtli, the god of war. My bearers lowered the palanquin, and I disembarked. Beneath the bright blue sky, I gazed upward at the towering twin staircases, faint traces of blood rusty in the creases where the stones were joined.

I stared at the hollow-eyed skulls in the
tzompantli
, trying to envision a sea of cut flowers. The skulls stared back at me, jaws parted in mockery, teeth bared in an eternal cheerful grin.

I touched one, feeling the smooth, sun-warmed bone beneath my fingers. “Greet the sky and live, blossom.”

“Moirin?” Bao gave me an inquiring look.

I shook my head. “I am trying to understand, that’s all.”

He frowned at the
tzompantli
. “Why? I do not think the Nahautl would celebrate death so if they had endured it.”

I touched his cheek, feeling warm, living skin. All too well, I remembered Bao’s death and rebirth. “The Emperor said somewhat to me before I left that made me think. And I believe we may have need of understanding before this is done, my magpie.”

“A vision?” he asked.

I shook my head. “Only a feeling.”

Bao sighed, rolling his shoulders. “Moirin, I will be glad when this is done, and we can get down to the business of making fat babies.”

I smiled. “So will I.”

Our journey across the long causeway to the Aragonian fortress on the distant shore was an uneventful one; but on the far side of the lake, the reception we found among the Aragonians was markedly unpleasant.

It was a dreadful scene.

“Whore!” Diego Ortiz y Ramos spat the word at me as soon as I stepped from the palanquin. The guards had spotted our approach from the watch-towers and the commander was awaiting us in the square, his cheeks flushed and hectic with color, the point of his neatly trimmed beard quivering with indignation. “You lied!”

I felt an answering flush of anger rise. “No, my lord,” I said in a precise tone. “I did
not
lie. If you and your men had not offended the Emperor, I would not have been driven to make the bargain I did.”

“Do you expect me to believe that?” He pointed a finger at me. “Half-breed or no, you D’Angelines are all alike with your filthy morals, your filthy gods, and your filthy ways! You came here with every intention of using sex—”

Without warning, Bao swung his staff, connecting hard with the Aragonian commander’s steel helmet. There was a dull ringing clang, as though he’d struck a defective bell. The fellow gaped at him in disbelief, wobbling on his feet. Knowing Bao, I guessed he’d used exactly the amount of force he intended to rattle the man without knocking him down.

It happened so fast, the Aragonian guards stood staring for several seconds before drawing steel. Lord Cuixtli gave a sharp command, and the Nahuatl warriors took offensive stances and raised their studded clubs. There were only six of them, but they represented an entire empire.

Balthasar Shahrizai arrived at a run, followed by most of our company. Sizing up the situation at a glance, he ordered them to stand down.

Bao ignored them all. “Apologize,” he said in a flat tone.

The commander looked blankly at him, one hand on his helmet as though he wasn’t sure what had struck him. “Are you mad? I’d be within my rights to put you in chains for assaulting a commanding—”

“You will apologize to my wife, or I will beat you very badly,” Bao said with unnerving calmness. When the commander dropped his hand and made a move toward his sword-hilt, Bao feinted a jab at his face.

Diego Ortiz y Ramos flinched, but held his ground. “I will not!” He glanced at Balthasar with indignation. “You are a sensible man, Lord Shahrizai. Our countries are allies. Do you want to provoke a diplomatic incident here?”

“Oh, mayhap,” Balthasar said in his languid drawl. “Mayhap I’ll send a few of my men here back to Terre d’Ange to report that the Aragonian commander withheld information that might have saved the Dauphin’s life. Do you reckon that will sit well with your patrons in Aragonia?”

Diego blanched. “You would not send away your only ship!”

“Why not?” Balthasar shrugged. “The consensus seems to be that none of us are coming back from Tawantinsuyo alive.”

The commander turned to me, his face still livid. “This is absurd. Doña Moirin, call off your husband.”

“No,” I said thoughtfully. “I don’t think so.”

“I have just spent an entire night trying to convince a very frightened young woman that I did not intend to harm her, while my wife paid for the offense you and your men gave the Emperor.” Bao whipped his staff upright, planting it with a thud. “If you do not wish to apologize, so be it. Draw your sword, and we will fight like men.”

The Aragonian commander hesitated. Lord Cuixtli and the Nahuatl watched the proceedings with interest.

Balthasar contemplated his fingernails, picking idly at a flaw. “If I were you, Commander, I would swallow my pride and apologize. Messire Bao has the reach of you with his pole, and he’s
very
skilled at
wielding it.” He nodded toward the Nahuatl. “Also, it would be wise not to offend them a second time.”

The fellow’s struggle was reflected on his face. At length, he forced himself to say the words in a wooden tone. “Forgive me, Doña Moirin. I apologize.”

“And I accept.” I paused. “Denis?”

Denis de Toluard came forward. “My lady?”

“Will you translate something into Aragonian for me?” I asked him. “I would have the commander and all his men hear it.”

“Of course.”

I thought about what I wanted to say. “Although I did not choose this bargain, I do not regret it. Emperor Achcuatli showed me kindness and respect. He treated me with honor, and I am grateful for it.”

Denis translated my words. Diego Ortiz y Ramos and his men heard them with sullen disapproval, but I saw Lord Cuixtli’s lips curve in a faint smile, and I knew my message had found its intended audience.

“We will not presume on your hospitality much longer, my lord,” I added to the commander. “I am sorry for having unwittingly provoked unpleasantness here.” Beckoning to Denis, I pointed at one of the bags of
cacao
beans in the palanquin. “Please accept this as a token of my apology, and in compensation for lodging and feeding our company.”

It embarrassed the fellow. “No, no!” He waved a hand in dismissal, his Aragonian sense of chivalry belatedly asserting itself. “You have accepted
my
apology, and that is payment enough.”

I smiled sweetly at him. I did not want any debt between us. “Oh, but I insist.”

Without waiting for a word from me, Denis tossed the sack at the nearest guard, who caught it out of reflex.

“And now I would like to retire for a few hours,” I announced. Turning to Lord Cuixtli, I inclined my head to him. “Please thank the Emperor again for his generosity,” I said in Nahuatl.

Lord Cuixtli touched his chest and brow in a gesture of respect far less casual than his salute at our first encounter. “I will tell him.”

Once we had returned to our shared chamber, Bao was restless and moody, pacing the small space, moving in and out of the sunlight that slanted through the crude window and spinning his bamboo staff in his hands. I sat quiet and still on the coarse reed-stuffed pallet atop the wooden bed-frame, watching him pace through light and shadow, not wishing to disturb him.

“I was not angry until that idiot opened his foul mouth,” he said abruptly. “Then…” He shrugged. “I was.”

“I’m sorry,” I murmured.

“It’s not your fault.” Bao sighed. “I meant what I said, Moirin. I knew who and what you were when I wed you.”

“That doesn’t make it any easier,” I said.

“No.” He twirled his staff in an intricate pattern. “It doesn’t. And fellows like that Aragonian make it harder. I shouldn’t have hit him, should I?”

“I think you needed to.” I smiled. “For my part, I found it quite satisfying.”

That earned a reluctant answering smile from Bao. “Did you see the look on his face?”

I nodded. “He was gaping like a fish on dry land.”

Laying down his staff, Bao sat beside me and took one of my hands in his, lacing our fingers together. “I am not angry at you, Moirin. I swear it.”

“I know.”

“I have been thinking of what you said to Desirée at her father’s funeral,” he said. “That it was all right to be angry at the gods sometimes. You told her that the gods understand sorrow—and anger, too.”

“She asked why they send so much of it,” I said, remembering. “And you told her it was to make us stronger. That it was hard, but it was the only way.”

“Yes.” Bao took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “It helps to remember why we are doing this.”

“For Desirée?”

He squeezed my hand. “Yes. For her, I can be strong.”

“Strong like a dragon?” I asked, echoing the young princess’ words.

Bao smiled. “Exactly.”

FORTY-TWO

A
day later, all was in readiness.

The steel tools we had brought had been delivered to the Emperor’s palace, keeping back only the hatchets and adzes that Septimus Rousse gauged we might need to create vessels to navigate the jungle rivers.

For that alone, I was grateful that he had chosen to accompany us. Even Bao, my resourceful magpie, admitted such a need would not have occurred to him.

Emperor Achcuatli assigned two
pochtecas
to guide us into the verdant wilderness of Tawantinsuyo.

It was strange to see him once more after the lone day and night we had shared. Truly, we were intimate strangers. His obsidian gaze lingered on me with a certain tenderness as he made the introductions. I could not but help remember his weight upon me as I sank into the feather pallet, the feeling of him inside me.

I pushed those memories away.

Bao maintained an expressionless face.

The
pochtecas
were an uncle and nephew. Neither were young; indeed, the elder of the two, Eyahue, was a wiry old fellow with skin tanned like leather by time and sun, his black hair gone to grey, his mouth sunken around missing teeth. At least he looked to be in reasonably good spirits regarding the journey. His nephew, Pochotl, was a sturdy fellow in his late forties, and he looked none too happy to obey the Emperor’s order.

Rounding out our company was the spotted warrior Temilotzin, and he looked downright cheerful at the prospect. I had the impression Achcuatli had assigned him the duty simply because Temilotzin had taken a liking to us.

Standing atop a gilded dais in the great temple square of Tenochtitlan, the Nahuatl Emperor bade us a ceremonial farewell, publicly announcing that we were under his protection as far as the empire extended. He invoked the blessing of the gods on our journey, adding that offerings of flowers and honey would be given to Xochiquetzal, goddess of desire, in my name—every day until our return, or a year had passed.

I found myself unexpectedly touched by the gesture. The Nahuatl folk seemed to approve.

Bao raised his brows at me, but he kept his silence.

And then it was done, and there was nothing left but to bow deeply to Achcuatli, offer thanks for his generosity, and take our leave.

I cannot imagine what an odd sight our caravan made as we departed the city of Tenochtitlan and crossed the broad southern causeway for what might well be the last time. Forty D’Angeline warriors, sunlight bouncing off their steel helmets, bright reflections wavering in the placid water of the lake along which they marched. Our two
pochtecas
, one wizened, one sullen. Temilotzin in his jaguar hides and a wooden helmet with a feathered crest, a club in one hand, spear in the other, his wicker shield slung over his shoulder. Bare-headed Septimus Rousse, his coppery red hair a blaze beneath the blue sky. Bao with his staff lashed across his back, resembling no one else in our company. Three laden pack-horses, and me riding astride the fourth.