Читать книгу Ahuitzotl - Herb Allenger - Страница 22

XIII

“Ochpaniztli is here!” Ahuitzotl scornfully related to Tizoc while the Mexica leaders were gathered before their armies to await the arrival of Zozoltin and his delegation as decreed by custom in place among nations.

“You’ve served your purpose in coming here,” Tizoc sarcastically countered. “Without your declaration, I would have forgotten.”

Ahuitzotl was left bewildered over Tizoc’s seeming unfriendliness and noticed, when he glanced at Nezahualpilli, that the Texcocan’s expression intimated a similar puzzlement. He refrained from saying anything further, deducing that the monarch’s unusual behavior was in part due to his impatience over meeting an antagonist who, for some inexplicable reason, held a strange ascendancy over him.

If Tizoc was anxiously anticipating this encounter, the same could not be said for his adversary, for half the morning had already elapsed before a band of dignitaries was spotted emerging from the city.

“He comes!” announced Tizoc. “It is Zozoltin!”

“At last we will see Zozoltin,” Ahuitzotl sneered, “this self-appointed insurgent who would deliver his city from our domination.”

“Will you be silent!” Tizoc rebuked his commander. “He comes to us with the burden of his personal doom and the fate of his people upon his shoulders. Render him proper respect!”

“As my lord commands,” replied Ahuitzotl, embarrassed.

By the time the party advanced to within a hundred paces from the Mexica, its leader could be readily discerned, being taller than his compatriots, walking in a bold and proud manner indicative of his station. The nearer he came, the more distinctively declared stood the regal countenance in which he bore himself, and when he finally presented himself in front of Tizoc, his commanding presence clearly denoted him as an authoritarian figure born to rule. He wore a tilmantli of blue feathers and a silver embroidered breechcloth, and his headdress was adorned with the long plumes of the prized quetzal bird emanating from a golden crown. Jade and gold ringlets extended from his earlobes. His stance was calm before Tizoc and for a time the two rivals mutely gazed upon one another as each assessed the other’s apparent attributes. Then he spoke.

“I am Zozoltin, Lord of Toluca, here under the protection of the Revered Speaker’s word.”

Tizoc was impressed; the deep, assured inflections of his opponent’s voice signified a practiced familiarity to issuing commands that could only have been borne out of frequent usage.

“I, Tizoc, accorded you this pledge so we might speak about the conditions exacted on you.”

“Speak, Lord Tizoc!”

“You have opposed our dominion over you by your failure to meet our assigned tributes quotas, and you have done this openly and defiantly in view of all our subject states. You were told by your ambassador of the terms imposed by our council, and have apparently ignored these. In this opposition you have set Toluca apart as an example to be emulated which constitutes a threat to our power and demands retaliation. This we must do; however, in conformance with the accords existing between our realms, we are obliged to once again offer you these terms—the lives of your supporters and yourself in exchange for your city’s salvation. You have until noon to reconsider. If no answer is received by then, we will commence our attack.”

“The issue is decided,” Zozoltin replied. “If you want Toluca, you will have to take it.”

“Surely you must know,” Tizoc said worriedly, “that your people will fare badly for it.”

“We have chosen to accept our fate”

“I see,” Tizoc said, greatly disturbed by a response that reinforced the awe in which he held his adversary. “Can it be so miserable to live under our dominion? Are we such inhuman beasts that death is preferable to living in our servitude?”

“You rob us of our dignity, our autonomy, and our bounty. Your voracious gods take from us our most promising young men and women. You sneer at us and hold us in contempt, and flagrantly flaunt your imagined superiority over us. We are men as good as you, and not deserving of your shameful treatment and endless degration. Yes, Lord Tizoc, it is indeed that miserable to live under your yoke, and for these reasons we have, to a man, decided to challenge you and take our chances in battle.”

“And your women and children? Don’t you care what happens to them?”

“Of course we care. But if we are to continue our existence oppressed by the policies and dictates of the Mexica, which strangle us, then no acceptable future exists for them. It’s better to control our own affairs than to have those whom we despise determine this for us. As this is not possible while we remain under your domination, death is favored by us and by them.”

“What you say makes no sense, Zozoltin!” Tizoc burst out indignantly. “We have not been unduly harsh on Toluca. The tributes we demand from our subjected states are not excessive and place no undue hardships on them.”

“It’s not that they can’t be met, Lord Tizoc,” Zozoltin said, sensing Tizoc’s legitimate concern on this matter, “but by submitting to them we are constantly reminded that we are not masters of our own house. It represents an incessant humiliation for us—as it would for you!—which we, as worthy and honorable men, will not permit ourselves to endure any longer.”

“Do you think by your action you can change all this? That is the way of our world. There will always be masters and those who must serve them. Gods created this—it is according to their fashion this has been made so.”

“No, Lord Tizoc, that is the work of men! We have lived for a long time within the confines of this valley. Our gods have been good to us. They have blessed us with rich lands and have brought us good harvests and fresh waters, and all this they gave us with no demands for us to make war on our neighbors beyond our valley. They were pleased—our sacrifices were sufficient for them and insured us life and prosperity. Then you came to us, a vile intruder, and you told us it takes a hundred times—no, even more!—our sacrifices to satiate your gods into doing for you—not us!—what ours have done for so long. I see this and am to listen to you say it is their work that things should be so. You are wrong, and I do not accept that.”

Tizoc gazed at Zozoltin, astounded that the Tolucan monarch so accurately voiced his own sentiments. “Accept what you will, Zozoltin,” he said after a lengthy pause, “but understand this: in our eyes a divine calling brings us here and my warriors will fight with the zeal invoked by such a belief. Once we are embattled, it will be difficult to restrain them. If you fail to surrender by noon, certain destruction awaits you. Now go and think on this.”

“I have given my answer.”

“I know, but you have until noon to ponder its wisdom. Discuss it again with your lords and subjects. Should your position remain the same, then bring forth your army.”

“I thank you for permitting me this opportunity to speak,” Zozoltin said. “May the gods grant victory to whom they favor this day.”

“So be it,” Tizoc nodded his assent, and added, “It’s a pity you have chosen to direct your talents against us, Zozoltin. I would rather have men of your ability as allies.”

Zozoltin gave Tizoc a comprehensive glance and knew him to be sincere. He then slowly turned about and proceeded back to his city with his ministers trailing behind.

“So this is Zozoltin,” Ahuitzotl said to Nezahualpilli standing beside him. “He has a noble bearing, if nothing else.”

“Why shouldn’t he?” Tizoc injected, having overheard his commander. “He is a king.”

“An enemy king, Lord,” declared Ahuitzotl, “and so shall he be treated.”

Nezahualpilli, noting the Revered Speaker’s vexation, grabbed Ahuitzotl by the arm in an attempt to prevent him from further inflaming the situation, but his efforts came too late.

“What does it take,” fumed Tizoc, “to get you to understand that a great man can be respected and yes, even admired, in spite of being an enemy? A lord of such worth deserves honors, no matter what cause he espouses.”

“What you say is alien to me,” answered Ahuitzotl. “I have not said I did not respect him.”

“You have a poor way of showing it. Now, remember, I want Zozoltin taken alive! Make sure our warriors know this.”

“So do I,” Ahuitzotl affirmed. “It shall be as you say.”

“Good. You may proceed assembling our forces.”

Thundering drums and blaring conch shells marshaled the warriors into their prearranged battle configuration, a long line arched slightly inward in the middle and extending for nearly three leagues. The Army of Tenochtitlan constituted the right wing with its Tlatelolco section closest to the center while the Army of Acolhuacan stretched from there to the left with the Army of Tepaneca at the extremity. In addition, selected squadrons from each of the armies comprised a reserve element that was positioned along a second line about a hundred paces behind the first. A heavy squadron of four hundred Order of the Eagle knights was posted around Tizoc to function as his bodyguard.

Ahuitzotl presented himself on the right halfway between the his army and directly ahead of his Order of the Eagles division, and with him was Tlohtzin, whose Jaguar knights extended further right. Nezahualpilli and Chimalpopoca remained with Tizoc, centered amid the armies a short distance behind the forward wall of bodyguard Eagle knights, and allowed their own commanders to lead their armies. Also with Tizoc stood the advisors he brought with him, as well as most of the priests. Motecuhzoma was in front of his mazatl squadron which made up the left flank of the Tlatelolco section and was thus nearest to the Revered Speaker, with the young officer standing but a hundred-some paces from him.

Like silent sentinels they stood, eagerly waiting for the sun to arrive at its daily apex and watching what appeared to them a deserted city with no signs of life detectable from within its confines. Then, with startling suddenness, they heard the rapid pounding of drumbeats, followed by repeated deep drones of trumpets. All eyes were riveted on Toluca which abruptly sprang into vitality, bursting forth with armed warriors brilliantly clad in battle array. Within minutes, the opposition took up a similar line, covering nearly an equal length as the Mexica’s, only that their ranks were more shallow with but three rows deep and they appeared to have no units in reserve as far as Ahuitzotl could see. They whistled, whooped, and clashed spears against shields as they marched out to take up their battle stations.

The Mexica, not to be outdone, responded in kind, beating their own drums and sounding trumpets, and likewise rapping their weapons against their shields so that the entire field resounded with the clamorous collision of arms and the shouts and whistles of men in an tumultuous bluster. This fanfare was allowed to continue until the Tolucans were solidly emplaced along their line, at which point Ahuitzotl raised his clenched first over his head and motioned his warriors into obedient silence. Zozoltin’s army followed this example and soon an eerie stillness, very daunting to an observer, encompassed both forces standing poised to strike upon the given order.

The strained quietness rankled taut nerves as it attained an unbearable peak, acting as a leashed restraint on impulses and sinews itching to spring into action. At last Tizoc nodded to his chief priest signifying that the battle should commence. Directly, the priest raised a huge shell horn, pressed it to his lips, and pierced the stillness with its deep resonance. Its blare was echoed and re-echoed by additional votaries spotted at specified intervals throughout the force, and upon hearing the blast nearest them, warriors roared out their repressed eagerness to fight and moved forward. Archers opened fire, launching arrows toward the enemy lines with an intent not so much to inflict injury as to lay down a protective cover for the advancing ranks, and after releasing several volleys, they stepped aside so as not to impede the drive of their attacking compatriots.

First and most zealous to rush on the Tolucans was the right wing under Ahuitzotl whose exhibited enthusiasm for the engagement had a contagious effect on his soldiers. When it closed on them, the stonethrowers and slingers hurled their projectiles into the enemy rows to create confusion and consternation among them while, at the same time, inhibiting their ability to counter the assault. An instant later, the first wall of warriors collided with the opposition in a vociferous clash of shields, clubs, and swords. Within minutes, the whole of the force was locked in fearsome battle.

Warrior fell upon warrior, crashing shield into shield, parrying and thrusting swords, bashing clubs, and stabbing with spears as each attempted to gain the upper hand over the other, all amid the painful and terrible cries of those cut down and the exultant cheers from the triumphant. The maquauhuitl, wielded by powerful arms, smashed through helmets and crushed skulls; lances penetrated armored tunics and tore into vital chest cavities; clubs hacked at exposed limbs, tearing flesh and breaking bones, and blood spewed profusely forth from horrible wounds. And almost as quickly as contact was initiated, enemy captives were seized and dragged behind the lines by groups of priests, prowling about like ravenous wolves, who stripped a number of them naked, flung them over improvised altars, and cut out their hearts to let the hot blood spill on the field as an offering to Huitzilopochtli for his aid in securing a victory.

On the right, Ahuitzotl seemed everywhere present in the thick of the fighting, directing one squadron to replace another, issuing commands and shouts of encouragement to his embattled warriors, and striking down opponent soldiers daring enough to reach him between the ranks with deft blows of his maquauhuitl. Under his ferocious assault, marked by an exuberance bent on speedy conquest, the weaker Tolucan lines began to crumble as the boldly led Mexica attackers broke their resistance. At that moment, Tlohtzin, fighting alongside his commander, happened to glance behind him and saw a startling sight.

“Look!” he roared out. “A large force attacks Lord Tizoc!”

To the amazement of Ahuitzotl and all the Mexica, Zozoltin had assembled more than a thousand of his strongest warriors into a massed wedge formation which plunged forth from Toluca under his personal command and charged headlong toward the Mexica center. In a tactical move borne out of utter desperation Zozoltin risked everything on this one bold stroke aimed at capturing Tizoc in the hope that they could bargain for their sovereignty with his life. Nobody had ever seen such a maneuver.

“Send our forces to the center!” shouted Tolhtzin in his alarm. “We must reinforce it!”

“Wait!” Ahuitzotl countermanded him. “It could be a ploy.”

“What!” Tlohtzin could not believe it.

“I said to wait!” repeated Ahuitzotl sharply—he thought of the priest’s vision and instantly perceived he could bring about its reality. “Continue to press our right!”

At the Mexica center, an insufficient front wall of warriors could not hold their positions against the heavy concentration of Tolucans presented by their formidable wedge and one by one were beaten back, falling in writhing heaps where they dared to stand their ground. Tizoc stood aghast when he saw the fearsome juggernaut hammering its path through the ranks and bearing down on him, and while his bodyguard Eagles took up a half-circle in front of him, they were clearly at a numerical disadvantage and he doubted if they would be able to hold up against such an overwhelming host.

“They’ve broken through!” Nezahualpilli warned Tizoc. “We must make a stand!”

“There are too many!” Tizoc yelled back.

“There’s no choice! We must fight!”

“No!” Tizoc was now frantic. “We cannot allow ourselves to be taken!”

“We only need to hold them off for a short while. Reinforcements will be sent.”

“Don’t be a fool, Nezahualpilli! Come on!”

“Stand fast, Tizoc!” Nezahualpilli shouted as sternly as he could. “A Revered Speaker cannot leave the scene of battle!”

That instant, in a deafening crash, the point of Zozoltin’s wedge met the bodyguard force; Nezahualpilli and Chimalpopoca, shield and club in hand, ran forward to join their embattled Eagle knights trying to repulse the fanatic horde caving in on them. Heroically, the Mexica kept their place, furiously determined to protect their monarch, but fell in increasing numbers under the spears and swords of their wildly screaming attackers, dying beneath advancing feet.

Panic-stricken, Tizoc could no longer contain himself; with the situation desperate, and believing his capture imminent, he issued a stunning order.

“Move behind the right wing!” he commanded. “There we’ll be safe.”

No argument came out of the alarmed priests and ministers who were with him; they hastily complied with the directive..

“The Revered Speaker flees!” shouted someone from the bodyguards fighting for his life.

“Tizoc flees!”

Like a rampaging fire, these electrifying words raced through the ranks, striking as a shock-wave the Eagle squadron warriors in their deadly struggle. Almost immediately their resistance faltered: Nezahualpilli and Chimalpopoca were extremely pressured to encourage continued fighting and strove by their courageous example to sustain it.

At the very same instant that Tizoc chose to retreat from the field, Motecuhzoma, whose squadron had already smashed its opposition guarding the city, saw the fearsome battle being waged in the center. He accurately assessed the situation and directed his warriors to come to the Revered Speaker’s assistance. Responding to the order, his unit rushed toward the beleaguered center to strike at Zozoltin’s rear—a move that did not go unnoticed farther on the right.

“What squadron is that?” snarled Ahuitzotl.

“By it’s banner, the mazatl squadron, Lord!—from Tlatelolco,” answered Tlohtzin.

“They’ve broken the battle order.”

“They’re doing what we should have done moments ago,” Tlohtzin bitterly reproached his commander. “They’re trying to save our Revered Speaker!”

Unaware yet of Tizoc’s fateful decision, Ahuitzotl seethed as he saw his plans go awry. With the possibility of Tizoc’s imperilment snatched away, he could no longer hold back and ordered his entire wing, which by now had totally crushed its resistance, to wheel inward and attack the Tolucan wedge from behind. Even as the Mexica saw their ruler fleeing, Tenochtitlan’s army was coming back to entrap Zozoltin’s force.

In the course of a few minutes, the Tolucans, who had Tizoc’s capture within their grasp, now found themselves hemmed in between the bodyguard force which was holding its ground under the valorous efforts of Nezahualpilli and Chimalpopoca and the right wing, first under Motecuhzoma and then Ahuitzotl, which fell upon their rear. They knew it was over for them; their all-out drive to seize Tizoc had failed, primarily because of an unexpectedly strong defense put up by his protective Eagles which robbed them of critical minutes and permitted reinforcements to arrive. Had they succeeded, they could have used the monarch’s person to keep his rescuers at bay, retreated back to their city, and obtained acceptable terms for his release. Zozoltin’s entire plan rested on this single daring move. Now all was lost.

Doomed, the Tolucans refused to concede defeat and faught tenaciously against captivity, enraging the Mexica who resented this break in convention—battles were waged to acquire prisoners for eventual sacrifice—and now were forced to beat them into submission. They hacked viciously at their attackers, who came at them from all sides, and struck them down in great numbers, only to be compressed tighter and tighter until they were too cramped to wield their weapons. Many, in their death throes, leaped at the nearest assailant and furiously embraced him, biting and clawing to immobilize him so he could be slain by the others. Into this constricted heap of battered bodies, the Mexica hurled and jabbed their lances: obsidian tipped projectiles gored necks, chests, and abdomens of entrapped warriors. Everywhere the blood ran, spurting over bodies and spilling to the ground; the dying, squirming in pain, choked in it. This gruesome slaughter, while ferocious and intense, lasted but a short time until more than half of Zozoltin’s force lay in gory piles about him.

“Stop the killing!” Zozoltin roared out. “We yield to you!”

“Hold off!” responded Ahuitzotl. “We want them alive!”

Shortly thereafter the fighting ceased and the Tolucans dropped their arms, offering no more resistance as they stood shocked and dazed, hearing the moans of their wounded and dying all about them. Their conquerors quickly took hold of them, binding their hands behind their backs. Zozoltin was brought before Ahuitzotl who had by now learned of Tizoc’s flight.

“So this is how you planned to win,” Ahuitzotl taunted his captive. “It explains everything—the deceptions, the failure to seek allies—a truly bold design. It almost worked—Tizoc will vouch for that. You’ve made it difficult for us. For that, your city will pay the price.”

“You are a mad dog!” raged Zozoltin. “It is Lord Tizoc I wish to appeal to.”

“Unfortunately—for you!—you have chased him from the field so it is I, Ahuitzotl, who will enter Toluca. By the time he returns, my work there will be finished. Take him away!”

“Monster! May you be cursed!” screamed Zozoltin as he was being dragged off. “May the gods damn you!”

Ahuitzotl had commenced issuing orders directing his units to regroup for their assault on the hapless city when Nezahualpilli, thoroughly exhausted from his arduous ordeal, came forward.

“What took you so long?” he puffed angrily.

“We were heavily engaged on the right. I couldn’t come any earlier.”

Nezahualipilli’s intense glare told Ahuitzotl that the Texcocan did not believe him. “Their lines were thin,” he said, “and they employed the bulk of their force in their drive upon our center. You could have easily sent half your army to relieve us when you first saw this.”

“Leave me be!” Ahuitzotl growled, “We have unfinished work to do!” With that, he ordered his attack.

Nezahualpilli, outraged but spent of energy, felt in no mood to restrain him and, even as the reservists were taking their bound prisoners to the Mexica camp for internment, Ahuitzotl and his remaining front line squadrons stormed into Toluca.

The carnage that arose was absolutely frightful. Soldiers, infuriated over the stiff resistance encountered earlier and its resultant unexpected high losses, were given a free hand to vent their fury upon a defenseless populace and cruelly sacked the city. Unusual for the Mexica, whose ethical standards and discipline prohibited rapine and slaughter of noncombatants, this resultant brutality, which arose almost spontaneously, was more due to a loss of restraint over hot-headed individuals than out of any intentional design yet nonetheless proved disastrous for Toluca’s inhabitants. Defenseless women were dragged screaming from their homes by howling warriors to satisfy their carnal appetites, and when they resisted, were clubbed to death or strangled. Houses were set on fire, with some still holding occupants too frightened to come out of hiding who perished in the flames shrieking horribly, and everywhere looting prevailed. The rampaging soldiers ran into pockets of resistance where priests and old men, and even some women, armed themselves to make a stand. These they quickly dispatched, but when they reached the central temple, hundreds of armed priests awaited them at its front steps.

Motecuhzoma’s squadron was the first to come upon them and unchecked, without waiting for specific instructions, it charged headlong against them. In a scene straight out of an unspeakable nightmare, amidst the blackened smoke and glowing fires of a city in destruction about them, Motecuhzoma and his frenzied warriors hacked their way step by step up the temple’s platforms, killing the priests opposing them and dodging the bodies rolling down beneath their feet. The priests were no match for the better armed and better trained warriors and fell in rapid succession before the stone eyes of the god they were pledged to protect, a butchery that continued unabated to the upper stage and into the temple’s shrine until the last of them was struck down directly in front of the idol while desperately pleading to it for a divine last instant intercession. Then the Mexica toppled the statue from its pedestal, carried it through the narrow doorway, and rolled it across the platform to the steps where it bounced down in dull thuds over the bodies of dead and dying votaries until it crashed into pieces at the bottom. Next, they set fire to whatever would burn inside the shrine—this was the work of one squadron out of an army run amok.

Ahuitzotl, horrified over the extreme violence he had unleashed, called forth his leading commanders. “Stop your men from this madness!” he shouted.

“But we thought you sanctioned this,” answered one of the captains.

“Fool! Do you think I would condone this kind of savagery? I had no idea it would come to this. The people were to be enslaved—not brutalized! We must put a stop to this!”

“It’s impossible now—they’re beyond our control!”

“I said to stop them!” Ahuitzotl raged. “Upon pain of death, obey my orders!”

Frantically, the captains ran from unit to unit, bellowing out commands to subordinate chieftains who, after tremendous effort that included actually dragging soldiers from out of houses they were looting and threatening them with punishment by death, eventually managed to attain some semblance of discipline. Gradually order was restored and the warriors, their heated passions enervated, now stood red-faced and ashamed of their gruesome conduct and gathered up the remaining prisoners—mostly weeping women and children and a few old men—and sheltered them from additional abuse as they were assembled in a group.

All this was taking place during the time span in which Tizoc and his entourage fled towards the protection of the army’s right flank and, upon seeing the danger passed, returned to their former position where Nezahualpilli and Chimalpopoca were still standing, fatigued from their hard fight. At seeing the monarch, Nezahualpilli’s disdain heightened.

“You have committed the gravest error!” he denounced Tizoc. “Today’s action will forever be held against you!”

“I did what was prudent,” Tizoc answered, vigorous in his attempt to minimize the blunder. “Had I been taken, there would have been no victory for us this day.”

Nezahualpilli may have perceived the truth in this, but also knew such a justification would never be acccepted. As for Chimalpopoca, he said nothing in his embarrassment and refrained from eyeing Tizoc.

“You should have stayed!” Nezahualpilli said. “I told you we could hold them.”

“I could not have known that at the time. I do not wish to belabor the point. I see the city is in flames. Who authorized this destruction?”

“Who do you think authorized it?” Nezahualpilli replied in bitterness.

Tizoc gazed over the devastation in disbelief. Huge black billows of smoke from raging infernos clouded the afternoon sky, blocking out the sun and darkening the surrounding plain, and he heard the horrible and repeated distant screams of women and children arising from the conflagration. “He got his way after all,” he thought aloud, and then turned to his colleague and added, “We may as well investigate this and learn first hand what he has done.”

The three monarchs, along with their advisors and head clerics, on entering Toluca’s streets, were greeted by an appalling spectacle, the likes of which they had never witnessed before, with naked bodies of slain women, young and old, grotesquely twisted where they fell, and blood-soaked children wailing next to their dead mothers, and corpses of old men and priests strewn about smoldering wrecks of houses and temples—sights which stunned them into grim reticence. A massacre contrary to all standards of decency, it imparted as a horrific shock on them. Tears of rage and remorse flowed from a petrified Tizoc who viewed the ruin of this once proud city in abject horror, and he cursed himself over and over for not having been present to prevent it.

When they came to the main plaza, they met the first group of warriors escorting lines of captives from the vicinity—Tizoc could not look upon them. Then, at seeing the stacked bodies of the priests on the temple tiers and steps and the shattered fragments of the statue which had been hurled from its upper platform, their revulsion was heightened; the Mexica priests babbled nervously among themselves, exhibiting shocked expressions, especially when they saw the broken idol. A short distance from there, they noticed Ahuitzotl with Tlohtzin appearing to give out orders to a number of his chieftains standing about, and Tizoc, not disposed to dismiss this slaughter, headed straight for him, his vehemence mounting at every step. Ahuitzotl, who knew he faced condemnation, observed his approach in soberness.

“I see you’ve done your work well,” muttered Tizoc when he reached his commander; he was so enraged that he trembled as he spoke. “Are you satisfied now?”

Ahuitzotl, himself still aggravated and nerves on edge, was in no mood to receive further criticism but, for the moment, held back from answering.

“Is this how our warriors must demonstrate their bravery?” Tizoc stormed on. “Were we in such need of our exhibition that we had to inflict it upon defenseless women and children and enfeebled old men? This is what you led them to?”

“I’ll not endure this insult!” Ahuitzotl suddenly exploded. “I did not intent this, nor did I order it! I am as sickened as you over what happened here, so do not prod me, Lord, else I shall forget myself and commit my own act of brutality—against you!”

Tizoc recoiled, stunned over his commander’s open indiscretion, as was everyone else witnessing this outburst, including Nezahualpilli whose patience with Ahuitzotl was running out.

“You dare threaten the Revered Speaker?” he interjected in his apparent shock.

“Pardon my ill-chosen words,” Ahuitzotl backed off. “They were spoken in haste out of my disgust over this massacre. I will not be made the villain in this!”

“Then how do you account for it?” Tizoc pressed.

Ahuitzotl deeply resented this sort of interrogation coming from a man he regarded as his inferior, but he remembered his obligations and was not about to add another transgression above an already untenable breach of conduct. “We lost control,” he admitted, “and what you see here is the result. Our warriors were mad with rage, due to Zozoltin’s refusal to fight conventionally, and could not be constrained. By the time I could get order reinstated, it was too late. This is the truth—I swear it before Huitzilopochtli.”

An oath such as this was unquestioned and convinced Tizoc of Ahuitzotl’s sincerity, and although his anger abated, he remained horror-stricken over the wreckage around him.

“By all the gods in heaven!” he cried out. “How can we face our allied rulers and speak of honor after this? What a day this has been! How will I tell my people I forsook the battlefield in order to assure our victory? Who will believe it?”

“We have both done damage to ourselves it seems,” replied Ahuitzotl, “so let’s absolve ourselves of our misdeeds and draw no more attention to it, if that is acceptable to you.”

“Forget this?” Tizoc faltered.

“Yes, as I must forget your fleeing before Zozoltin.”

After a lengthy pause, Tizoc nodded his agreement, not because he felt he could dispel any repugnance over what he had witnessed—his nature would never permit this—but that he knew his was a far graver infraction than Ahuitzotl’s. He knew himself to be false, which bore heavily into his consciousness. Even how he rationalized his flight, as necessary for their triumph, was deceitful, for he fled out of fear, perpetrating an unspeakable act of cowardice which, had it been committed by a lower ranking noble or warrior, constituted an offense that demanded execution. Nezahualpilli was correct in saying this would forever be held against him.

The rest of the day was spent in mopping up operations which entailed taking the wounded to physicians, accumulating the dead, counting them, and burning them on pyres, and amassing weapons taken from the defeated. The captives, including most of the city’s residents and surviving warriors, among them Zozoltin, were gathered into a containment area guarded by sentries. A long debate ensued among the victors about the wisdom of leaving Toluca in desertion and in the end they decided that a majority of local citizens, along with a number of soldiers, should be released and permitted to rebuild their city with the help of their neighboring tribesmen. Even Ahuitzotl concurred with this, largely out of misgivings he felt over having been responsible for the cruelty inflicted on the city, and there were no objections by the warriors who ordinarily could have made claims on individual prisoners but were still shamed by their conduct and found it awkward to insist upon this right under the circumstances. Zozoltin, while grieved over the ruin of his city, nevertheless was able to give thanks to Tizoc for what he deemed an act of atonement for the Mexica’s excessively ruthless vengeance. When all was done, the Mexica had counted three thousand captives, several of whom were women who had either chosen to remain with their taken husbands or were selected as desireable for slaves or sacrificial victims.

So ended the first day of the month Ochpaniztli. In the passing of a single afternoon, the Mexica exacted their punishment and in the process the lives of the principals who had taken part in the drama were decidedly altered. For Zozoltin and his followers, it forged a climactic finish to what they had dreaded the most—the inevitable outcome of challenging a superior power in an attempt at sovereignty against almost all hope. For Tizoc, already unpopular, it added one more stain on his effectiveness as a ruler and appeared to portend a beginning, rather than an end, to greater difficulties. For Nezahualpilli, it festered lingering doubts and supicions towards men he once regarded as true friends and whom he thought he had understood. As for Ahuitzotl, it exposed how fragile his control over his forces was in its reality, how easily it could be lost, and, more importantly, the dangers of injecting his own solutions into events decreed by greater powers. The vision of the priest had been fulfilled, but not at all as expected, and worse, Ahuitzotl could not capitalize on it, as he might have wanted to, because of his own misdeeds. For all of them, it had been a most memorable day.