Читать книгу Ahuitzotl - Herb Allenger - Страница 15

VI

Tizoc sat alone brooding in his chamber. He had dismissed his escorts after he left the conference, expressing a wish to be by himself. Solitude eased his troubled soul, and in the recent months he sought it out more than had been his usual habit. Many moods flashed through him, ranging from extreme vexation when he recalled Ahuitzotl’s insubordination and how he failed to take forceful action in castigating him to abject fear at the recollection of the terror in the priest’s eyes when he gazed upon him. While he so reflected, Tlalalca entered from behind a curtained doorway and, on seeing him, sensed the unease he was afflicted with.

“Forgive my intrusion, Tizoc,” she said. “If you want to be by yourself, I shall leave.”

“No, Tlalalca,” answered Tizoc, pleased at seeing her and in need to discuss his torment. “Stay. It’s my introspection—I know that can be uncomfortable for others.”

“You become so quiet when you are disturbed. I think it’s better to speak about it.”

“As usual, I have your concern to comfort me. You are very dear to me, Tlalalca; if I am reluctant to speak of the things troubling me, it’s to spare you from the problems facing me.”

His words penetrated Tlalalca to the heart; she loved him deeply, extending her complete devotion to his care, and she cherished those sentiments that affirmed his own affection for her, even if voiced under duress.

“Oh, Tizoc. In trying to spare me your problems, you instill greater worries in me.”

Tizoc gazed into her eyes, grasping the anguish she felt “Ah, Tlalalca,” he began, still visibly perturbed. “They are looking for the great warrior-king to lead them to glorious conquests and to bring in captives by the thousands for sacrifice. This is our divine mission—what the gods created us for and gave us abundance for. It’s what my grandfather bequeathed to us and what my brother Axayacatl carried to absurd proportions. They look upon me to continue this exercise in lunacy—that is what it surely must be—so they can boast of their honors while we are much despised by our neighbors, distrusted by our so-called friends, and feared by our enemies. I see no virtue in this.”

“Who are they, my Lord?”

“Our lords. The priests. The adjudicators. All want war. I am endangering our existence by my lack of zeal in this cause. Certain priests have been particularly outspoken in their criticism— and look at all the captives we have working on the Great Temple. Their demands weigh heavily on me. There is much I want to build. I prefer expending my energy on that instead of leading us in these destructive wars they clamor for.”

“Destructive? Surely you did not mean this. Are not the priests correct when they say our world is sustained for us by the blood of captives taken in war?”

“The priests themselves establish the quota on the numbers that are sacrificed. These do not have to be increased merely because our conquests are increased. We can be benefited more by using the captives as I am doing—in building our gods their temples.”

“My poor Tizoc. Is there nobody to share your views?”

“No, I am alone on that,” Tizoc replied and then, after reconsideration, added, “Perhaps Nezahualpilli does. I think he also tires of our bloodthirsty routine.”

Tlalalca, by training and inclination motivated to her husband’s well-being, began to massage Tizoc about the neck and back to alleviate his discomfort.

“My conduct is fraudulent,” continued Tizoc. “I, with my distaste for war, must rule over the most martial people in Anahuac and uphold our warrior tradition—yet all my convictions run counter to this purpose. Am I wrong?”

“No, my Lord,” Tlalalca consoled him. “As you said, the gods are not displeased with you. It does not matter what the others say.”

“If only my chief minister would speak these words. And there is my commander-in-chief, my most persistant aggravation. He has a way of belittling me. Even when it’s not intentional, his actions and ill-chosen words have a humiliating aspect about them that are injurious to me.”

“Ahuitzotl?”

“Yes, my brother. He must always dominate the scene. Whether on the battlefield or in my court, he must prevail over everyone else. He has an annoying talent for coming out the master of a situation—people are drawn to him for advice and purpose. It rankles me beyond belief.”

“You should be above jealousy, Tizoc.”

“You think it’s jealousy?” Tizoc lashed at her. “No, Tlalalca—it’s fear! He intimidates me.”

Tlalalca shrank back, recoiling over Tizoc’s angry outburst that startled her, and he, sensing her alarm, felt compelled to make amends.

“I’m not angry with you, Tlalalca, but at my own inability to cope with this. I, as Revered Speaker, should put him in his place whenever he makes a display of his arrogance, but I’m unable to. My mind does not think fast enough as it happens—only afterwards does the reply I should have made come to me. I find myself endlessly humiliated by him. Rightly or wrongly, I magnify my injury when I’m around him so that I can’t confont him with a composed frame of mind. It’s as if his very presence is an impediment to me.”

“You are too hard on yourself, Tizoc. These fears you have are not baseless. I share them.”

“You fear him?”

“I feel he means to harm you—it frightens me.”

“Come now, Tlalalca. He may dislike me, but he knows that to wish malice upon the Revered Speaker is blasphemous. He cannot hide such profanity from the gods. I need not fear bodily harm from him—it’s his derogatory insinuations I fear.”

“Why be concerned then? Words cannot hurt you.”

“You’re wrong. They can be more damaging and painful than a wound inflicted by arms.”

“He is ambitious and young, and you are also young. Am I to believe that he will be content to spend his lifetime as your subordinate?”

“He would not incur the wrath of the gods upon his head.”

“He fears nothing. That will not constrain him.”

“Only a fool does not dread the gods.”

“Perhaps he is a fool.”

“Why tell me this?” Tizoc again raised his voice. “It’s as if I were not afflicted with enough adversity that you should add to it.”

Tlalalca was astounded that she should be reproached for cautioning Tizoc on what she felt was in his best interest. “But… but I only wished to alert you,” she told him. “It’s my concern for you that prompted me to say this.”

“It has compounded my problem.”

“I meant to help you and thought you would appreciate it. I am dismayed that you do not.”

Tizoc’s irritation was mollified by her apparent dejection. “Forgive me,” he was moved to say, “I’m such an ingrate. Maybe I do underestimate his aspirations. It’s just that this comes as an added blow to one I received in today’s assembly. It has not been a good day for me.”

At first, Tlalalca was averse to probing into the matter as she was no longer confident if she was of any assistance, but then her inquisitive nature demanded an answer.

“What happened?” she asked.

“The priest!” Tizoc trembled as the encounter flashed across his mind again. “I asked him if any prognostications concerning our proposed Toluca operation had been imparted. As he stepped forward to reply, he looked at me and was suddenly overcome with abject fright. His panic braught him to a halt. You should have those eyes!—as though he gazed upon cruel death. He recovered from his paralysis, but too late. Nothing said in conciliation afterward could have erased the horrifying impression dealt me.”

“What did he say?” a tense Tlalalca asked.

“That he was siezed by—by an uncontrolled reflex induced by the potions he drank.”

“It’s possible. The juices of the ololiuhqui plant, which the priests drink to attain their visions, have such an effect. I learned this when I served the goddess, Tlazolteotl.”

“No! No! This was different! I know about the divine potions. No drug could have struck him with such immediacy. His alarm was ignited by something he saw—in me!”

Tlalalca was at a loss for words. His mere description of the encounter infused her with dread—to have actually undergone it, as Tizoc did, and worse, been the object of it, as Tizoc was, would have unnerved her completely. Yet her instincts drove her to allay his fears.

“You misread it,” she said. “Priests are known to exaggerate. They are a pretentious lot.”

“Their interpretations are not subject to our conjecture. They voice the words of the gods.”

“It’s not the words they receive I dispute, but rather the manner in which they relate them to you. I suspect there is some effort applied in presenting them more dramatically than is necessary.”

“I disagree.”

“I’m trying to comfort you and you thwart me at every turn. If the actions of the priest caused you this distress, why not call on him and speak to him about it? Get a further clarification.”

“Protocol will not permit it. They are granted their immunity.”

“Then there’s no help there, but as for your brother, I believe I can learn his intentions concerning you. He is enraptured with one of your court ladies—Pelaxilla. Perhaps through her we can discover what he hides within himself.”

“Just like him to tamper with my women—another show of contempt for me! Pelaxilla? The little charmer?”

“You have too many mistresses.”

“I’m too often with you to notice the others. What do you expect Pelaxilla to learn?”

“Ahuitzotl’s true regard for you. Whether he schemes against you, or contrives disloyalty among our lords, or encourages disobediance. If he seeks your throne. A lot could be learned.”

“By the gods!” groaned Tizoc. “Has it come to this, that I should harbor such fears. If indeed these things are learned, what am I to do then?”

Tlalalca was amazed at his timorousness and wondered how she had failed to notice it previously. “Why, you bring him before the Tlacxitlan, the tribunal for the nobles,” she said, “with charges of treason.”

Tizoc studied the prospect at length, viewing it more as an imposition upon himself than a justifiable cause on which to prosecute Ahuitzotl. Then he gave his consent. “Very well,” he said, “find out what you can. I shall decide what steps to take once I see the kind of information we get.”

By now Tizoc had sufficiently recovered from his earlier despair to turn his attention on the amatory sensations Tlalalca so readily aroused in him. As he caressed her, smelled her exotic perfumes, and felt the soft brushes of her raven hair on his flesh, fire flared in his loins and overwhelmed him with a passion to possess her. He removed her clothing with an adeptness acquired from practice and smothered her body lavishly with kisses and strokes. Then he slipped off his own attire and the two lay interlocked in erotic embrace upon the many layers of matting. While he expended himself in his ardor, Tlalalca gazed blankly at the ceiling and was, for the first time in her memory, unmoved by Tizoc’s efforts. She uncovered much from her talk with him and questioned if she ever had really ever known him, and whatever else she may have thought of him, there was one thing she came to realize: he was somehow diminished in her eyes.