Propelled by many rowers, the canoes rapidly skimmed over the water for a place known as Pantitlan, near the lake’s northern end, where it drained amidst strong currents forming a large whirlpool. All along the route, a ceaseless chanting of intones coupled with the haunting melodies of numerous flutists and dull thuds of drums marked their passage. After arriving at the sacred spot, they waited, still singing and playing their instruments, until the whirlpool attained its maximum strength and width. At this point, Tizoc raised both hands over his head, holding them parallel to each other with palms extended forward, and by this signal brought the chanting and music to an abrupt halt. He nodded to the foremost priest who shared his canoe and the ceremony began.
“Lord Tlaloc!” chanted the priest, “Protector of our Fields and Provider of Fresh Waters! We beseech you and pay our debt for the gift of life you bestow on us. We ask for your dominion over us, your continued abundance, and that you accept our offerings to you and your glory. Receive these, Oh Lord of Waters, and grant us your bounty!”
With his invocation thus completed, drums were beaten in rapid succession as other votaries broke out in more incantations in praise to Tlaloc. Faster and faster rolled the percussions until they approximated the thunderclap of a rainstorm—Tlaloc’s voice! Then, after building up to a crescendo of deafening rumbling, the chief priest raised his hands and all fell silent again.
In the canoe bearing the litter, one of the priests next took their gift to Tlaloc from its covering and lifted her over his head for all to see. The second priest removed a small spear from his sash and, as his companion brought the girl down, slashed its sharp obsidian point across her fragile throat and sliced open her jugular veins. She gave out a brief whimper when her flesh was penetrated and was quickly extended over the canoe’s edge so that the hot blood gushing forth fell into the water, and, upon striking it, her dying body was cast into the eddy and disappeared from sight as if Tlaloc had swallowed it up.
After she vanished beneath the swells, music and singing resumed as the lords passed the spot into which she had been thrown and tossed their jewelry, precious stones, necklaces and bracelets into it. One by one, the canoes rowed by and were lightened of the valuable belongings and when the last of the lords had delivered up his gifts, an eerie stillness befell on them as all voices ceased and all instruments stopped playing; under this blanket of reverential solemnity they returned to the city.
By the time they disembarked from their canoes, most of the day had been spent and the notables were invited to a banquet held in the royal palace that evening. As protocol dictated, Tizoc sat centered at the hall’s end with the rulers of Texcoco and Tlacopan on his immediate right and left; Ahuitzotl was next to Nezahualpilli and Cihuacoatl beside Chimalpopoca; the remaining guests were circled around this group. No ladies were in attendance. They dined lavishly, enjoying succulent dishes prepared with care by the cooks which the bounty of the land watered by the grace of Tlaloc offered, while in the god’s temple, his priests fasted to demonstrate their devotion and reverence. The feasting had gone on for an appreciable length of time before Nezahualpilli deemed Ahuitzotl’s conspicuous silence, brought on by his apparent brooding, as somewhat disconcerting.
“You are strangely quiet tonight, Ahuitzotl,” he commented, “unusual for a carouser like you. Did the ceremony displease you?”
“It went well enough,” said Ahuitzotl, “but since you speak of it, there is a puzzling feature in it. Tell me, as a point of curiosity, how is it that the child sinks so quickly at Pantitlan?”
Nezahualpilli turned grim. “The currents are strong, the waters deep, and the child is dead. I would expect her to sink.”
“I would have expected her to swirl around for awhile before submerging out of our sight.”
“Tlaloc has approved of our offering and has readily accepted her into his domain.”
“No doubt you are correct. Ignore my foolish fancies. I entertained a notion that the priests may have weighted her down with stones concealed underneath her pretty garments.”
Nezahualpilli, always suspicious of Ahuitzotl’s piety, glared hard at him, his displeasure obvious. “How dare you blaspheme like this? On the very night we honor him, you mock Tlaloc.”
“Not Tlaloc—I revere him as much as Huitzilopochtli—but perhaps his priests.”
“You are a dangerous man.”
“Forget what I said. My idle speculation—a private rebellion against the constraints I find the priests have placed upon me. Do not take it seriously.”
“It has spoiled my evening.”
“For that, I am sorry. I should not have disturbed you with my personal grievances.”
“You already have, and by so doing have invited my counsel. Be warned, Ahuitzotl! Never try to separate the priests from the gods they serve; they are one and the same. The gods speak through them and impart their knowledge and demands on them. If you scorn one, you also scoff at the other. You will be well advised to heed my counsel, for if you do not…” Nezahualpilli paused to take a bite of the grouse on his plate.
“Yes?” Ahuitzotl was eager to hear him finish.
“You will bring calamitous misfortunes upon yourself, if not on our people.”
“For their devotion to the gods, I respect them, and for their services to them, I honor them, but I think they too often meddle into the affairs of men that go beyond the requirements of their office. I haven’t as lofty an opinion of them as you do.”
Tizoc, who spotted Nezahualpilli deep in conversation with Ahuitzotl, noticed how it left his colleague in obvious discontent; uneasy over what subject could impugn such an impression, he was compelled to know its cause.
“What does my brother say to you, Nezahualpilli, that so affects you? I see your alarm.”
“We discussed today’s ceremony, Tizoc. A small disagreement over it, nothing more.”
“Surely not small—it had an unsettling effect on you.”
Nezahualpilli caught a glimpse of Ahuitzotl’s impassioned eyes and felt himself pierced by them; he perceived something more was involved here than he supposed. But it was clear to him that Tizoc was bent on having a reply and he saw no reason for withholding it.
“We were questioning the role of the priests. Ahuitzotl is of the belief they go further in their duties than is necessary or demanded by the gods they serve. I opposed him on that issue.”
“Ah,” grinned Tizoc, relieved that it was nothing worse. “He’s still smarting over what I told him. Our chief commander is angry with the priests because their laws forbid him to marry outside of the royal families.”
“Now it makes sense,” Nezahualpilli laughed. “I presume we speak of the Lady Pelaxilla.”
“You have heard about her?” asked Ahuitzotl in amazement.
“Only by name. See?—your amorous escapades have reached even my court in Texcoco. She must be quite a woman to have turned your head so. I should like to meet her.”
“She is agreeable, but not extraordinary,” Tizoc noted. “My brother’s tastes are mundane. Dozens of royal princesses wish to be claimed by him, but he has eyes only for my mistress.”
“That’s understandable,” Nezahualpilli concluded. “Cheer up, Ahuitzotl. It should be no barrier to you. I have my wives, and my Tula Woman, who I prefer above any of them. The priests also say I cannot marry her, but if you asked any of my wives, they will tell you I already am.”
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