The Goldsmith's Daughter (15 page)

“You, boy! What do you want here?”

“I come to do the emperor's bidding. The lord Axcahuah sent for me. I am the goldsmith.” My throat was so tight with terror that my voice came out high. Girlish. I swallowed several times, trying to moisten the cords of my throat that I might deepen it when I spoke again.

But the strangers paid little heed to my voice. The cry was hurled from man to man until it reached deep into the palace. “Bring Axcahuah! Bid him come to the gates.”

I stood astounded at the power of these guests to command their hosts. Then the doors swung open, and the nobleman stepped out to greet me.

He had never once looked at me: of that I was certain. Girls are invisible. He had no notion of who I truly was. Yet what courage it took to look him full in the face! From earliest childhood I had been told to avert my eyes, to lower them, to bow my head. I had done it for so long it had become instinctive. To now raise my chin and meet his gaze without flinching took all the resolve I had.

“You are not the goldsmith,” he said brusquely.

“I am his apprentice, my lord. My master has been taken with a sudden sickness. He sent me in his place.”

The noble made no answer, but his face twisted with anger.

“I know my master's methods, my lord,” I continued urgently. I was sure my father would come in pursuit when he observed my absence. If the god's plan was to succeed I had to enter the palace at once. “He has trained me well. I believe I can work to the emperor's satisfaction.”

“I hope you are right,” answered Axcahuah, his lips thinned to a tight line. “We shall both pay the price if you fail. As will your master.”

Gesturing for me to follow him, he led the way inside. I thought I heard my father's shout, distant across the temple precinct, but I did not turn. The doors swung shut behind us. I was closed in with whatever fate the god planned for me.

The palace interior had also changed. The air that had once been so richly fragrant with sweet blossom had become thick with the aroma of human sweat. Incense had been sprinkled liberally but it was not enough to mask the odour of unwashed bodies. The dogs had been allowed to roam freely, urinating on pillars, defecating in corners; and, though the emperor had many slaves, no amount of cleaning could wipe away the animals' stink. It was worse still in the first courtyard we passed through. Here the gigantic creatures they rode astride were now housed. Their iron-clad hooves had cracked the delicate tiles they stood upon, and the place was awash with urine and dung. The stench was overpowering.

“What are these creatures?” I asked.

“They call them horses.” Axcahuah could not disguise his fear of these beasts. He edged carefully past, his shoulder pressed against the wall to keep as far away as possible. When the animal closest to him threw up its head and snorted hot breath in his face, Axcahuah broke into a run. His panic provoked great mirth amongst the strangers and their laughter rang in my ears as I pursued him.

Having left the courtyard, we walked deeper into the interior. The transformation was astonishing. Where once there had been gracious tranquillity and peaceful repose, there was now only the grating noise and raucous laughter of Tlaxcalan men. The jugglers who had daily practised their skills for the nightly entertainment of our emperor now performed in bright, glaring sunshine for the strangers who sat in idle groups to watch them. Sweaty palms were clumsy; as we passed, one dropped a club and was jeered at by his audience.

Then I saw a sight that made me stop. Standing beside these men were women of our city. I watched as a girl no older than I was clasped by one of the foreigners. He pulled her to him and – in full view of all – fondled her breasts. I was aghast, yet her face was a frozen, unfeeling mask as if she had become dulled to such usage. To touch a slave thus would have been shaming enough. But this girl was well dressed; I could tell in a glance that she was high-born, one of the elite. Seeing the direction of my stare, Axcahuah likewise paused.

“Who is she?” I asked.

“Tecpan, niece to Montezuma,” he answered coolly. “She is given to them.”

“Our emperor gives his niece as a gift?” I asked, horrified.

Axcahuah nodded. “His daughters too. To their leader.” He gave a small, throaty grunt that could have been contempt. “Our lord will give anything to buy their favour.”

He said no more. It was treason to do so. We could neither of us doubt the judgement of our emperor. But as we continued my heart quaked with misgivings. I felt exposed, sick to the very core of my being with the thought of what these men might do to me if I were discovered. My decision was foolish beyond belief! I had made a grave error in coming here.

Trembling with fear, I followed the noble to the slaves' quarters. He led me to the selfsame place where I had worked beside my father. But no screens now marked off the area where I was to labour. Instead the workspace was bordered by gold: ornaments, jewellery, shields and breastplates all heaped high. There were ancient Mixtec pieces of such exquisite craftsmanship that they stole the breath from me. I was walled in with treasure.

As I stood astonished at the wealth so casually stacked about me, there was a deafening bark. The slobbering hound by whom I had been so disgustingly licked on the causeway leapt at me and I recoiled, nearly falling into a pile of gold. But a sharp word of command recalled the beast and it sat, tail thrashing across the tiles, grinning up at me with its savage teeth. When I looked to see who had saved me, my stomach lurched.

Staring at me from across the courtyard was the youth with curling hair.

A
lthough the youth had gazed with fascination at the girl on the causeway, to the boy before him he barely gave a glance. Indifference was written on his face. A brief nod of greeting was all I received before he turned his attention back to the dog at his side.

It was from Axcahuah that I learnt the reason for his presence.

“As your master has informed you, our lord emperor commands a statue to be made in honour of our guests' gods. This man has been sent by their leader to oversee your work. He will tell you what the figure is to represent.”

“How, my lord?” I asked. “Who is to interpret?”

“He speaks our tongue,” Axcahuah replied.“I will go now. If there is anything you require, send a slave to me with word.”

“I will, my lord.” I bowed my head respectfully, and watched as he withdrew. I was left alone with the stranger.

For several pounding heartbeats I stood with my back to him, looking in the direction the nobleman had gone. I lacked the courage to turn and face him. My tongue seemed fixed to the roof of my mouth; my palms sweated; my skin was suffused with sudden heat; my blood rushed not with fear but with an emotion that alarmed me much more. Only when he spoke, smoothly and in my own language, did I recall my purpose.

“Come, let us begin,” he said. “We have a task to achieve, have we not? My leader, Cortés, is anxious to see the piece. He is not famed for his patience.”

“No more is mine.” I swung round. Crushing my resolve into a ball that sat hard beneath my ribs, I said, “You must tell me what I am to make. Which of your gods is to be honoured?”

He did not answer me at once, but took the wooden idols I had seen carried aloft across the causeway from a large chest and set them down before me. Putting my mind firmly to the task, ignoring his close proximity as well as I could, I knelt to examine them.

“We worship the one true god,” he said. “The creator of all.”

“Only one god?” I echoed, eyebrows raised as I surveyed the figures. At random I picked up the carving of the man who carried a small child upon his shoulder. “Is this your creator god?”

“No … that is a saint. A holy man. St Christopher is his name. He protects travellers such as ourselves.”

“But he is not a god?”

“No.”

I pulled towards me another figure – that of the man fixed to a cross. His beautiful face was contorted with pain, his hands and feet pierced with knives that pinned him to the wood. In his side was a wound from which gushed blood.

“That is Jesus,” the youth informed me. “He is the son of god.”

I looked at the loveliness of that anguished face. He was like Tezcatlipoca. “He is divine… And yet he takes the form of a man?”

“He is a man – was a man. He lived here on earth. But he is also divine. Now he is in paradise.”

“But why does he suffer like this? Was he given in sacrifice?”

“He was killed. For our sins. And thus was born our faith.”

“In the blood of sacrifice,” I muttered to myself. “As was ours. Perhaps our gods are different in name alone.” I frowned, struggling to understand. “If Jesus is divine, you must have two gods: father and son. They cannot be one.”

“They
are
one. There is a trinity, three in one: father, son, holy spirit.” He held his hands up in apology and sighed. “I am sorry. I have not yet sufficient words of your tongue to explain these holy mysteries!”

“No matter. Tell me which of these figures I am to make, and I shall begin.”

He leant towards me and pulled the form of the dying man from my hands, replacing it with that of the woman draped in blue. In her arms she held an infant boy.

“This is the madonna,” he explained. “The virgin Mary, the mother of god. It is to her our leader most often prays. It is by her grace that we are here. By her favour our two worlds have met.”

I was puzzled. This woman was surely the goddess from whose body the earth had been moulded. Here our faiths did not diverge. But why then had he said the creator god was male? “
She
is the creator?” I asked. “The origin of all?”

“No.”

I frowned. “Then the baby? He is the one true god you speak of?”

“He is Jesus.”

“Jesus? Who was sacrificed? She is his mother?”

He nodded.

“Then why do you call her the mother of god? Is she not rather his lover?”

The youth threw his head back and laughed. “You tie me in knots! I cannot explain. I am no priest.”

I could not share his laughter; he made me feel stupid and awkward. Embarrassed, I said quietly, “If this woman is the one whom my emperor wishes to honour, I will do his bidding. I shall copy this in gold.”

Rising from the ground, I began to gather the materials I needed. But he had not finished.

“You find my faith strange,” he said. “To me yours is equally puzzling. Such an array of gods! And all so fearsome!”

I was stung by his mockery. “Our gods are good to us,” I replied. “They bring us rain. They make the maize grow.”

“And for that they demand the blood of your people!”

My temper stirred. “Without it the sun cannot rise!”

He said nothing, but the arch of his eyebrows incensed me.

“It is necessary!” I told him. “Do you think we would do these things if it were not? Do you think sacrifice is easy?”

He gave a caustic laugh. “I am sure it is hard to watch,” he said. “Yet it is harder still for those that must be put to the knife.”

Sudden fury made me reckless. “To die in this way is a great honour! There is constant rivalry amongst the young men. They compete for such a privilege…”

He looked at me assessingly. “Is it an honour you have sought?”

“No! Of course not!” I spat. “How could I—?” In my rage I had almost told him I was a girl! Swiftly I covered my error with more ill-chosen words. “The young men go willingly, joyfully.”

The youth snorted in disbelief.

“It is true!” I shouted. “My own brother is to be honoured in this way. We delight in it! At the spring festival he will—”

I could not continue. Emotion choked my throat; grief contorted my face. I could not disguise it. The youth stared, his eyes piercing mine for long, slow heartbeats until he had read the truth in them and my soul lay bare before him.

“Your brother does not go willingly,” he said quietly.

“I did not say that.”

“You did not need to.”

My eyes blurred with tears. He turned away from me, giving his attention to the dog, and for that I was grateful.

I feared to draw the notice of the god by speaking further. Struggling to compose myself, I reasoned that this alone was why my fingers trembled and my blood rushed so noisily in my ears. It had no connection whatsoever to this youth – this heathen! – who had seen so clearly what I had long kept hidden in my heart.