Читать книгу Ahuitzotl - Herb Allenger - Страница 20

XI

All that afternoon couriers, running in relays with each one covering a stretch of approximately five leagues, carried eagerly anticipated words from the Mexica ambassador at Toluca for his monarch in Tenochtitlan. His message, written on paper in the pictographic style of the scribes, was transported in a deerskin pouch slung over each runner’s shoulder. In this manner, the distance between Toluca and the capital was traversed in less than half a day and as the sun was setting, a final runner crossed the Tlacopan causeway and entered the central plaza heading in the direction of the royal palace. He nearly dropped from exhaustion when he handed his pouch to the court orderly who immediately took it to the main hall where Tizoc was in conference with his major priests and commanders.

“Your message from Toluca, Lord!” he said as he transferred the pouch to Cihuacoatl. Everyone stood still as the minister removed the papers and gave them to Tizoc; all eyes were focused on him as he unfolded the codices and read them section by section without a trace of emotion. Finally, when his spellbound audience was at its breaking point, he looked up.

“It’s confirmed,” Tizoc announced. “Our ambassador offered Zozoltin a final plea for surrender and was rejected. He properly reminded the Tolucan that his refusal amounted to war, presenting him with a shield, bow and arrow, and the protective tunic.”

“Excellent!” rejoiced Ahuitzotl. “At the sun’s rising tomorrow, we shall sound the war drum to assemble our warriors.”

“Let a priest dress himself as Painal, Huitzilopochtli’s messenger, and proclaim this war to everyone with his rattle and shield,” Tizoc added.

Tizoc, whose lack of enthusiam for this venture strained his audience, wished to be alone and soon those in attendance acceded to his desire and hastily departed—all but Nezahualpilli. Long after the hall had been emptied, the brooding monarch sat quietly in his throne, absorbed in his cogitation, while leaving his guest to pace the floor at much discomfort to himself.

“If my lord will tell me what troubles him,” Nezahualpilli spoke out, finding the silence intolerable, “perhaps I can be of some assistance.”

“It is nothing.”

“You are usually more generous with your hospitality, Lord. Am I to just stand here over nothing?”

“You know the way to your chamber. Do not stay here on my account.”

“It’s too early.”

“If you wish to be entertained, go to one of my mistresses. I’m not disposed towards amusing anyone this evening.”

“I have more than enough of them so that they no longer entertain me. No, Tizoc, I prefer that we should speak. We do not see each other often and when we do, we should conduct ourselves in a manner befitting the lords that we are and share our mutual concerns.”

“Yes, you’re quite right—excuse my contemplation if it seems rude. I am thinking about this entire sordid affair. It appears what we considered a prudent alternative to Toluca’s destruction is seen as a monumental joke by its own ruler. Where did we go wrong?”

“There were weaknesses in the plan that we failed to give due regard. The more one thinks of it, the more they come to light. We cannot be certain if their ambassador, Tecolotl, even related our ultimatum. Zozoltin may be of such temperment that he vents fury upon envoys bearing ill tidings. Tecolotl, knowing this, may have said nothing, or distorted your words to him. It’s one of many ways in which our intent could have been miscarried.”

“True, but the Tolucans knew, when they refused their tribute quotas, war was inevitable.”

“Maybe Ahuitzotl is correct in thinking that they want this war.”

“What madness! How can Zozoltin possibly believe he can stand up against our might?”

“That I can’t tell you. He may well be demented.”

“And all his nobles too, I suppose.”

“Under a delusion, Tizoc—expecting they can escape our wrath. They miscalculated our intent to maintain the domain established by the revered Motecuhzoma and Axayacatl.”

“Is this because I am the Revered Speaker?”

“I’m not clear what you allude to, Tizoc.”

“There are those who say that because I prefer seeking other solutions to conflicts than war, I am perceived as weak by our enemies—that this even may have inspired Zozoltin to carry out his rebellion, and accounts for his present defiance. Surely you’ve heard this.”

“I do not place much value on such talk. Revolts against the imposition of our tributes have been happening since our realm was founded. Axayacatl waged frequent wars on people he had previously conquered. It is nothing new.”

“What about my aversion for wars?”

“Is this true?”

“There’s no denying we achieved great power through our aggressiveness, and no doubt have ingratiated ourselves to the gods for this, but we haven’t generated any amiability among our neighbors. Ultimately this will prove disastrous for us. It would be beneficial for all if we struck a more favorable accord among us—our ceaseless wars contribute nothing to this.”

“You contest our reason for being, Tizoc. As a ruler, it is your sacred duty to discharge our divine obligations.”

“Do you actually believe this?”

“It’s what the priests tell us.”

“Then it must be so!” Tizoc exclaimed sarcastically.

“It is so, Tizoc! And it’s dangerous for you to challenge this. A Revered Speaker cannot relinquish himself from these ordained responsibilities—he is sworn to uphold them! I’m not that fond of wars myself—they disrupt my devotion to the arts—but I see them as necessary.”

“You are by reputation the most learned man in the realm, Nezahualpilli,” Tizoc said, unable to hide his disappointment over the Texcocan’s counsel, “but you speak to me as if I were incapable of clear thought. We are both kings. We understand the demands of our office, especially when it comes to preserving our priestly institutions and their credibility. As a scholared man, I cannot accept you haven’t speculated over this web we’ve spun for ourselves and find ourselves trapped within. Do you know of what I speak?”

“You have my attention.”

“The priests say our divine mission is to sustain the gods, and so we make the sacrifices they prescribe for us. We are told that the more nations we conquer, the greater a favor we are asking of the gods and must accordingly make more sacrifices in order to propitiate them into granting our requests. Each nation we subjugate, we add its gods to our own, and so increase our requirements for sacrifice even more. The question that comes to mind is: why was it once sufficient to sustain our world with the sacrifice of hundreds when it now requires thousands to do the same thing? These nations existed before we came upon the scene and our gods managed to survive with our previous lesser offerings. What have we gained from all this? Where will it end?”

“Take my advice, Tizoc. Do not dwell on such questions. They will not ease your burdens. We were chosen kings to enhance the expectations of those who appointed us. We must satisfy many institutions—all interlocked by our relationship with the gods. We commit ourselves to this sworn duty when we accept the crown.”

“You’ve said that before.”

“You must not lose sight of it.”

“I expected more from a man of your renown. I speak of issues I see as eventually leading to our downfall, which we must face sooner or later—as kings, we cannot ignore them.”

“Hear me, Tizoc, because what I tell you is for your safety. Not only is it unheard of for the Revered Speaker to proclaim himself a pacifist, but it is intolerable. It threatens our very existence. A state polity, religious and civil, has been constructed, and has flourished, under a belief that it thrives on, and is sustained by, the shedding of blood. To challenge that which is arranged and regulated does not fall within our prerogatives. These are not matters of individual discretion—these are accepted practice. If you wish to torment yourself in trying to make sense out of it, that is your personal affair. But do not—and I strongly emphasize this!—do not even think of putting a stop to this. That would be the greatest folly.”

“Then such is to be our destiny,” Tizoc concluded, not satisfied with his colleague’s advice. “Oh, I shall do my part, Nezahualpilli. You needn’t worry about that—after all, It appears we’re going to destroy Toluca over it. The tradition must be preserved.”

“It would be better if you actually believed it, Tizoc, otherwise it may affect your performance. It’s not enough that battles must be waged, they must be fought with great zeal; as Revered Speaker you are instrumental in injecting such fervor among our warriors. You trouble me. I caution you—do not approach this war half-heartedly. Your actions will be detected.”

“Do not fear, Nezahualpilli. They’ll get a good performance out of me.”

“Worthy of a Revered Speaker. That is all we can ask.”

“Come, let’s go to the garden us so we can forget about the grim tasks facing us tomorrow. Even under torchlight, I can show you my latest creation—a unique flower of soft vermillion texture. Its aroma will delight your senses.”

And so they ambled into the garden. Tizoc, Revered Speaker of the Mexica-Tenocha, seeking relief from duties he found distasteful, was showing his guest a new strain of flower which bore his interest. In his garden Tizoc discovered his most pleasurable moments, experimenting with many forms of plantlife and developing fresh varieties through cross-breeding techniques. This was his refuge—a haven which granted him the solace he needed to get away from the pressing demands of an office he increasingly despised. Nezahualpilli, although similarly possessing a predilection towards gardening, was not quite as prepared to block out the coming events from his mind, and as he listened to Tizoc expounding his successes with flowers, he heard little of it owing to his reservations over the ease in which his friend dismissed the approaching campaign. He wished Tizoc would embrace the venture with more enthusiasm and was not misled by a diversion which he recognized as an attempt at escapism. A long evening awaited him, he thought.