“I see it as a challenge, Lord,” replied Motecuhzoma eagerly.
“You will find things considerably different here than in school, Motecuhzoma. Once in command, you are expected to know what to do, not to learn. You have a strong presence about you—make use of this by approaching your work with confidence. Be forceful and direct when issuing orders to your warriors. They are inclined to naturally follow the leader they believe knows what he is doing—especially in battle. You come to us at an opportune time and may find yourself leading your unit into combat in but forty days. We will be engaging the Tolucans—worthy of the challenge you seek. Does that prospect alarm you?”
“No, Lord,” Motecuhzoma calmly answered, “I consider it fortuitous.”
“Do you?” Ahuitzotl deemed the remark conceited. “You will discover that the first time into battle as a commander will tax your ability to the utmost. Now as to your station. You are to head the Mazatl squadron, in the Tlatelolco section. I will send a messenger to your division chief so he can expect you. Will you be residing in the royal palace?”
“Some of the time. I am also to work an apprenticeship under one of the court ministers.”
“Good. We ought to see each other at times. I now entrust you to my drillmaster. He will give you further guidance.”
With their meeting terminated, Motecuhzoma left the chamber while Ahuitzotl remained to deliberate over their encounter. His disposition was sober and he speculated over why Tizoc would pull Motecuhzoma out of school now. Certainly Motecuhzoma gave a good account of himself and should manage his squadron well enough, but is this the actual reason behind his accelerated advancement? Often the station occupied when great events are in the offering does more to enhance a career than any individual’s action. Clearly Motecuhzoma was provided with a good position; what he makes of it will depend largely on his own doing and the benevolence of the gods.
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.”