“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.
XII
KA-RA-BOOM! KA-BOOM!
In a succession of deafening dull thuds, the panhuehuetl, an enormous war drum, shattered the morning bliss as its deep reverberations thundered out the call to arms heard in every quarter of Tenochtitlan. Within minutes after it first beat, soldiers began to assemble in the plaza, coming from its connecting streets and avenues and entering through the four gates of the serpent’s wall. They formed up under each standard bearer, thousands of them massed in units, one next to another while the supply squadrons brought them their weaponry from the city’s arsenals—a sublime spectacle.
Ahuitzotl, resplendant in his eagle-headed helmet, with his maquauhuitl slung over his left shoulder and a shield strapped to his back, strutted proudly forth to take his position at the head of the legions. In passing before the Tlatelolco component, he noticed Motecuhzoma standing stiffly before his mazatl squadron. A smile came to him and he halted upon reaching the young officer.
“Your first command in battle—if the gods favor us, Motecuhzoma,” Ahuitzotl remarked.
“I’m eager for it, Lord,” beamed Motecuhzoma.
“I shall keep my eyes on you. Perhaps your deeds will match those of my noble brother, Axayacatl.”
Reinforcing Motecuhzoma’s spirit through this encouragement, Ahuitzotl next proceeded to his post. On arriving there, he turned to face the warriors, looking them over unit by unit as if they stood for inspection and relishing the glory of this moment. Then he began to address them.
“Mexica, Tenocha, Allies! The Lord of Battles, under whose domain we live, honors us! A war is in the making and the gods are rejoicing in want of those who are to die! Already they are choosing those among us who must kill, and those who must be killed whose rich blood will give them life, as we are once again called upon to carry our divine mission. Oh Great Lord! Let those warriors who die be received by the sun and earth who are the mother and father of all. We know that you wish them to die because that is why you sent them to this world—so that they can give life to the sun and earth. We ask you to accept them in your house, with love and respect, to take their place among those eagles and tigers who have gone before them and are now serving our lord, the Sun. Let them depart from us to the greater glory of your realm, where happiness abounds and there is no more pain. We go to war, Mighty God, knowing that you will do what is best for us.”
When he finished his oratory, the thousands cheered wildly and lifted their spears and shields over their heads to demonstrate their approval and determination. Their roar echoed through the palace halls just as Tizoc and Cihuacoatl were preparing to enter the square and came upon Nezahualpilli who had observed the proceedings from the doorway.
“What means this outburst?” asked Tizoc.
“Ahuitzotl has just spoken to the warriors, Lord,” Nezahualpilli said. “A speech worthy of Huitzilopochtli’s high priest.”
“He has a way with them—that I will grant him.”
“Wait until we join them, Lord. A path has been well set for you.”
And so it had, for when Tizoc emerged from his residence and came into view, he was met by a tumultuous reception even louder than earlier. His presence unleashed a torrent of applause, thunderous as a roaring cascade, rendering hearing difficult.
“Will my lord speak to them?” Cihuacoatl asked.
“Ahuitzotl has done admirably enough. There’s no need for me to add more. See to the city while we are gone.”
While the cheering continued, eight bearers came with the monarch’s litter and, after Tizoc climbed into its canopied couch and was lifted upon their shoulders, the acclamation accorded him attained an even greater intensity. Not until he was being carried off did Ahuitzotl, who thoroughly relished this show of exuberance, raise his hand and quiet the square.
“Commanders!” he bellowed