Cihuacoatl was by this time in such a state of strained agitation over his next anticipated move that he could not focus on anything said to him. He felt a weakness in his knees.
“What’s wrong?” Tizoc voiced his concern when he noticed the minister’s discomfort. “You are quite pale, and you sweat profusely. Are you ill?”
“I feel a dizziness. Do you have something to drink?”
“No, but let me call my servants.”
“No!” Cihuacoatl sharply reacted. “Perhaps if I rest for a moment, it will go away.”
“It’s no problem. I shall call them.”
“It’s not necessary!” the minister exclaimed, then wiped the perspiration from his brow.
He gave the signal. Huactli and three other associates, who had arrived only a short time ago, were concealed behind a thicket of bushes a few paces away when they saw it. They broke from their foilaged cover and, carrying a goblet and pitcher of water with them, proceeded for Tizoc and the minister. Tizoc saw them coming.
“Why are they here? I called no meeting.”
“They come at my request, Lord!”
Apprehension came over Tizoc who had never known his minister to take on this kind of prerogative without his consent. “What does this mean?” he said in his consternation.
“Your end!” Cihuacoatl grimly informed the startled monarch.
“What!”
“Do not yell out! Listen to all I tell you and obey my instructions. If you do not, Tlalalca, your sons, and your daughters will perish this day. Do you understand?”
Dazed, Tizoc stared unbelievingly at his minister whose words struck him with devastating impact. When at last he regained some composure, he was surrounded by the other conspirators.
“You must be mad!” Tizoc gasped.
“Mad you say? Oh no, Lord. Not at what I’m doing now, but perhaps I was mad when I appointed you to succeed your worthy brother Axayacatl. You have disgraced your office, and I have stood by to observe it happen, doing nothing, and all the while seeing our realm deteriorating under your spineless rule. Indeed I was mad, Lord—mad at not having sought this solution earlier!”
“I did not ask to be the Revered Speaker!” Tizoc angrily retaliated. He now grasped the severity of his situation and fully understood that the steps taken by the minister and his accomplices were irreversible. He was fighting for his life. “You apppointed me,” he raged on, “with no regard whether I wanted the title or not. Now you want me to bear the brunt of your erroneous judgment. The blame rests with you!”
“So does this remedy we now seek. We must put an end to you if we are to reverse the realm’s decay—the rot from within.”
Tizoc’s nervousness increased, and his knees were shaking so badly that his tilmantli could be seen quivering. His heart pounded at a frightening pace. “I knew I wasn’t meant to be Revered Speaker soon after having assumed those duties,” he whimpered now. “But how could I abdicate? The priests would never permit it—nor would you!”
“You could have refused the appointment. Surely you must have had some indications even then about your abilities to run a state.”
“How was I to know? I did not comprehend the demands of this office.”
Cihuacoatl was not impartial to Tizoc’s impassioned defense and for an instant even wished that he could somehow overturn the events which carried him to this point. He had certainly been most responsible for Tizoc being named Revered Speaker and now he doomed the young man over this misjudgment—not an easy thing to dismiss.
“It’s most unfortunate, Lord,” Cihuacoatl sympathized. “Perhaps you can take comfort in that we undertake this at the peril of offending the gods and may suffer greatly for it. Such is the distress you have driven us to.”
Tizoc understood. Somehow he had suspected that this was the only possible way it could have ended, and his lamentation was more over the dismal circumstances, including his own woeful inadequecy, which directed him to this fate than out of any resentment for his minister. Fearfully, he watched the potion being stirred in the goblet held by Huactli, and after it had dissolved in the water, Cihuacoatl took the cup and handed it to his distraught master.
“Here, Lord. Drink this.”
“And if I refuse?” Tizoc asked in a broken voice. “You cannot be so cruel as to extend your crimes to my family.”
“Drink it!” Huactli demanded, becoming irritated over the delay. Cihaucoatl placed his hand on Huactli’s shoulder to indicate his annoyance over the interruption.
“Know our position, Lord,” the minister explained. “We are desperate men and have nothing to lose by whatever measures we take, for we are doomed if we fail here. It is to be your life alone or that of your entire family. Have courage, Lord, and take the reasonable option. You will enter Tlalocan, the South Heaven, a much better place than is in store for us who will most likely go to Mictlan for having committed this heresy. Take the cup and drink.”
With his hand trembling, Tizoc reached for the goblet but stopped before taking a hold of it.
“No! I will not drink it.”
Cihuacoatl glanced at Huactli and readity discerned what he was thinking. “He is a coward to the end,” Huactli sneered. “What sort of man would have his wife and children die with him?”
“He will drink,” Cihuacoatl assured him. “Give him a little more time to ponder on it.”
“I have waited long enough. Let us kill him now!” Huactli said as he pulled a knife from under his cloak.
“Wait!” Tizoc cried out. Huactli replaced his weapon.
The game was over for him. At last, no longer seeing any possibility of relief, Tizoc resigned himself to the inevitable. Tears of anguish came to him as he clasped the goblet with his shaking hands; he trembled uncontrollably and felt as if his heart would stop under his duress.
“Will it be painful?” he uttered weakly.
“For a short while,” Cihuacoatl answered. suddenly overcome with remorse.
“What will happen to Tlalalca?”
“She will be taken care of, as will your children, but only if you retain your silence about us after we leave you. I promise you this.”
Tizoc gazed straight into the minister’s eyes and, despite his intense nervousness, seemed to sense the sorrow which had struck Cihuacoatl. In his acuity, he apprehended how troubling this step must have been for him, and his dismay that the minister was part of this conspiracy left him. “I believe you,” Tizoc told him. Then, with no more hesitation, he brought to cup to his lips and drained it while the conspirators held their breaths.
Cihuacoatl was so deeply touched by Tizoc’s expression of faith in him, even though he had betrayed his lord, that he could scarcely hold back his tears, and as he watched his pitiful monarch empty the cup, he had to repress urges to intercede on his behalf by calling for help. When Tizoc had finished, and it was too late for any countermeasure, Cihuacoatl felt as if his heart would break.
Feeling faint over the knowledge of his imminent death, Tizoc had to sit down on one of the stone slabs he so abundantly emplaced through the garden while the conspirators remained about him awaiting an appearance of the first symptoms like vultures hovering over a dying animal. He knew why they stayed, and if he withheld any hopes of getting to a physician, they were shattered as effectively as the world which had collapsed on him this afternoon. Still he retained some concern over what was to come.
“Who