Obsidian & Blood (10 page)

  "I'll be back," I said, and climbed on the platform to meet Yaotl. 

  "Acatl," he said, bowing slightly.

  I did not bother with pleasantries. "What's the meaning of this?" I didn't wait for him to answer, either. "You tell me I am in charge of this, you tell me I should get some sleep, and the moment I leave you start indicting him!" 

  Yaotl nodded. "Not much choice."

  "Choice?" I looked at the priest with Ceyaxochitl. His blue-streaked face was unfamiliar; but his cloak was finest cotton, embroidered with frogs and sea-shells.

  A priest of Tlaloc, God of Rain. And if he was not high in the hierarchy, he was close to someone who was. "I'm not sure I–" 

  "I think you do," Yaotl said.

  Ceyaxochitl bowed to the priest and to the magistrate. The magistrate headed back into the Imperial Palace, while the priest walked away, back towards the Sacred Precinct.

  A priest of Tlaloc. Even if Huitzilpochtli was now the only guardian god of the Mexica Empire, the priests of the Storm Lord still wielded considerable political power.

  "Politics." The word left a sour taste in my mouth. "Someone wants a culprit?" 

  Yaotl nodded. "It has to be solved, and fast."

  I watched Ceyaxochitl walk towards me. "That priest forced you to do this?" I asked.

  She had the grace to look embarrassed, but not for long. "I'm a Guardian, Acatl. I don't make the laws."

  "You promised–" I started, and realised how childish I sounded.
  I settled for "Neutemoc can't be charged. He's innocent."
  "You can't know that."
  Sometimes, I hated her shrewdness.

  "He's still entitled to a trial, Acatl." Ceyaxochitl leant on her cane, looking old and frail in the sunlight. Healing Emperor Axayacatltzin must have been sapping her energy. And yet she'd still stayed up last night to help me. "It's not over yet."

  I turned, briefly, in Neutemoc's direction: sitting in his cage with his knees drawn together, he was the living image of the defeated warrior. "It's late for him," I said. "Very late. What's to say the magistrate won't have the same attitude as you?"

  "He wouldn't dare," Ceyaxochitl said. "Penalties for corruption are severe."

  She was deluding herself. If she, the Guardian of the Sacred Precinct, had given in to pressure, why should a mere magistrate resist? But I didn't say that. I simply asked, "Who's the priest?" 

  "His name is Nezahual. But he speaks for his master: Acamapichtli, High Priest of Tlaloc."

  I'd thought so. "Acamapichtli wants a conviction?"

  Ceyaxochitl shook her head. "He wants revenge, Acatl."

  I mulled on this for a while. "He supported Eleuia's nomination as Consort, I presume."
Politics
. A word that could only be spat. Priests should serve the gods, not indulge in base power-grabbing. 

  It was a useless fight: every priest cherished the hope of serving at the Imperial Palace. I'd seen that, all too well, back in calmecac school; it had been one of the reasons why I'd turned my back on the most prestigious priesthoods, those of Huitzilpochtli or the Storm Lord, and chosen to make a living as a priest for the Dead, beholden to no one but grieving families.

  Ceyaxochitl was watching Neutemoc. "High Priest Acamapichtli had an interest in her. He doesn't like losing pawns."

  For some reason, Teomitl's face came back to me, shining with admiration for Eleuia. "I hope his interest was only political," I said, darkly. "She looked as if she was drawing attention, and not because of her talents."

  "For some of them, at any rate," Yaotl said, with an amused smile. "You forget that she served the Goddess of Lust." 

  My fingers clenched of their own accord. "I don't find this funny." 

  "A shame," Yaotl said.

  Ceyaxochitl banged her cane on the platform. I winced. Below the platform, a few passers-by had gathered to watch us: Eagle Knights in their feather uniforms, artisans carrying birds' cages and bars of silver, housewives with their ceramic wares on their back. "Enough, both of you," she said. "Acatl, I apologise for the discomfort, but I had no choice. And neither have you."

  "It doesn't mean I'll bow down meekly," I snapped.

  Her gaze was wryly amused. "I didn't expect you would. Have you made progress?"

  She meant well, but I still didn't feel I could share information with her. "Yes."

  Her lips tightened. "I see. We'll leave you to it, then."

  "Stay out of it," I said, as calmly as I could. "No more interference." 

  "I can't promise that. I'm not the mistress of High Priest Acamapichtli," Ceyaxochitl said, clambering down from the platform. "You're intelligent enough to realise I cannot."

  Yes. I didn't like it, but it was a given that once the High Priest of Tlaloc had started interfering, he wouldn't stop. If I wanted Neutemoc to have a fair trial, I needed to act quickly. I approached his cage, and knelt to peer through the bars.

  "No improvement planned on my situation, I take it," Neutemoc said.

  I sighed. "No. Not in the immediate future. How are you feeling?" "You have some nerve," Neutemoc said. "You're the one outside, asking the questions."

  "Yes," I said. "And I'm not the one who had a long-lasting affair with a priestess, not to mention a child."
  "We didn't–" Neutemoc started, then fell silent.
  "Neutemoc?" I asked.

  His eyes gazed beyond me, towards the throng in front of the palace. After a moment's hesitation, I turned, and saw a tall woman making her way straight towards us, carrying a baby in a shawl tied around her chest.

  Huei, and Neutemoc's youngest child, Ollin, born this last dry season. This was obviously not the moment to broach the subject of illegitimate children.

  Huei walked towards the platform as if fighting her way through a press of warriors. She wore a long, flowing tunic with an elaborate pattern of glyphs, and a skirt the colour of jade.

  Her hair was brushed in the fashion of married women, in two braids, with the two ends of the braids raised to form two tufts on either side of her forehead, like small horns. Her face was grim, every step deliberate. Neutemoc was clearly going to have an unpleasant moment.

  "I think I'll leave," I said.

  Neutemoc's gaze didn't move, but his lips tightened. I couldn't tell if he was ashamed, or simply embarrassed. "Please, Acatl." 

  "It's private," I said. But Huei was already close enough to hear us. 

  "No," she said. "It's not private. Not once you're arrested and exposed like a common criminal."

  Uh-oh. She was really furious, though I couldn't blame her. 

  "Huei," Neutemoc said.

  Her gaze swept him, up and down. "What in the Fifth World did you think you were doing?"
  "I know it's not a favourable situation–"
  "It's not 'unfavourable'," Huei said. "It's a disaster, Neutemoc. Tell me what I should tell the children, when they ask me about their father."
  "There's been a misunderstanding–"

  "No," Huei said. "You were foolish enough to get caught bloodyhanded in a priestess's room. I don't think I want to know why." 

  "Huei," I said. "I don't think this is the time."

  "Then when?" she asked. "After they've strangled him, or crushed his head?"

  She clearly knew what was going on. Those penalties she had mentioned were those for killing a woman, and for adultery. 

  "Priestess Eleuia isn't dead," I lied. "We'll find her, and she'll explain."

  "Acatl." For the first time I saw pity in her gaze. "Don't lie to me." 

  "I'm not–"

  But Huei had already turned back to Neutemoc. "I can't believe you've been such a fool," she said. Her hand rose: if the cage had had larger gaps between its bars, she'd have hit him.

  Neutemoc said nothing. He looked through her, as though he'd already lost her. "I don't think you'd understand, even if I explained."

  I glanced to the side of the platform. If my dispute with Ceyaxochitl had attracted some people, it was nothing compared to the crowd that gathered now: a throng of several dozens, men and women, freemen, noblemen and slaves, all staring quite shamelessly at the spectacle before their eyes.

  "Why shouldn't I understand? Some words are so simple to say. Some feelings are easy to demonstrate." Huei lowered her hand slowly. "But then you could never do that, could you?" Her voice was bitter.

  Hearing them, I felt… out of place, as if I'd tumbled into some other age of the world, where my brother, my successful brother who could do nothing wrong, was awaiting trial; where he and his wife were tearing at each other, oblivious to my presence.

  Their marriage had always been happy; they'd had all I could lay no claim to… Hadn't they? The world, as in an earthquake, had shifted under my feet, and I couldn't mould it back into the right shape. 

  Neutemoc didn't answer Huei. They stared at each other for a while; finally, Huei said, "Acatl. Will you walk me home?" 

  I had known her for years, from the time she and Neutemoc had been engaged; and in her tense stance I read, very clearly, that she wanted to speak to me, but not before her husband.

  I glanced at Neutemoc, who owed me some explanations. But my brother was sitting, dejected, in his cage, not looking at me. Getting him to talk to me was going to be hard, not to mention painful for him. And I needed to be out of here. I needed to be alone, to have a place to breathe, to think. 

  "I'll come with you," I said to Huei.

 

She was quiet as we walked through the streets of Moyotlan. The baby on her back slept, wrapped in cotton cloth.

  "I can't believe he's such a fool," she said, as we crossed over a canal.

  The smell of cooked maize wafted from a street-food seller; my stomach growled.

  "He was just in the wrong place–" I started, unwilling to cause her pain.

  Huei looked at me, her wide eyes shining in the sunlight. "Do you really believe that?" she asked.

  "No," I said, finally, and it was the truth. "I don't know what to believe in any more."

  She laughed, bitterly. "That's two of us, then. I knew he didn't love me any more, Acatl. It's not hard to see."

  Save, of course, if you had been distancing yourself from the family for years, as I had. "How long has it been going on?" 

  She shrugged. "Two, three years? It's always hard to determine. He's been such a good father," she said. "A good husband, better than anything I deserved." 

  "You deserved the best. And so did he." 

  Huei smiled. "Always such a liar, Acatl?"

  I wanted to tell her it was only the truth – that the slender, shy girl my brother had brought home, so eager to learn everything she could about my own life, had deserved so much more than the taint of adultery – so much more than seeing her husband in a cage. But the words couldn't get past my lips.

  She guessed them, all the same, and raised a hand to placate my protests. "No, I know you mean well. But you blind yourself. No marriage can last if there's no trust."

  "I don't see any lack of trust," I said, though it was only a lie to comfort her.

  We'd reached the pyramid temple of our family's calpulli, where a handful of novice priests were busy sweeping the ground with reed brooms, in preparation for the next sacrifice. A throng of people, most of whom I'd known in childhood, turned to stare at us as we passed. News travelled fast in Tenochtitlan. I had no doubt they knew about Neutemoc's arrest.

  Huei sighed. "He'd go out at night, you know? He'd walk the streets, with the light and smell of parties spilling ahead of him. He told me he did it to remind himself of what he was." 

  "I had no idea he was lonely," I said.

  "He shouldn't have been." Her voice was low, fierce. "I took care of him, of his household. Why, Acatl?" 

  "You think he killed Priestess Eleuia?" I asked.

  She shrugged. "I think that he could have had the decency to keep his affairs private."

  "But you don't like the idea of his having an affair," I said, wondering how bluntly I could go about the subject. Accusing her of murder in front of the calpulli clan didn't seem a good idea. 

  "What wife does?" Huei asked. "I'd be lying if I said it left me indifferent."

  We'd reached a low, white-washed building adorned with frescoes of leaping jaguars: Neutemoc's house. The smell of spices, mingled with the sweeter one of copal incense, rose to my nostrils, a reminder of a time I'd been a regular visitor here. "Come inside, will you?" Huei asked. "I know Mihmatini will ask after you." 

  "I didn't know she was back," I said, finally. Mihmatini was still in school: she and her comrades had left a year ago on a retreat on the slopes of Popocatepetl's volcano, a day's journey to the south of Tenochtitlan. I had visited her once or twice; but I had got the impression that once her retreat was over, she would join the clergy, not come back to Neutemoc's house.

  "She came back a month ago," Huei said. "She thought you still in Coyoacan. As did we, to be honest."

  What a family we made. Not even capable of keeping track of each other.

  In the courtyard, I asked Huei, "What day were you born on?"
  She looked surprised, but not totally disoriented by the question.
  "Eight Death," she said. "Why?"
  "Nothing," I said.
  "Not 'nothing'," she protested gently as we entered the reception room.
  "Nahual magic," I said, curtly.

  The reception room had changed in four years: all the walls were now covered with frescoes, depicting Huitzilpochtli, our protector God, in His guise as a young warrior. He trampled bound enemies under His huge feet, and a procession of lesser gods with bowed heads followed Him across the walls of the room. On the wicker chests were silver and jade ornaments, and jaguars' pelts covered the ground. An elaborate fan of green quetzal tail-feathers rested against one of the frescoed walls: an object worth at least two years' living for a poor peasant. Neutemoc had clearly earned a larger share of the tribute in the past years, and his family was enjoying the riches that came with his higher status.