It was still morning when the Army of Tenochtitlan made contact with some patrols of the advance parties and, after the fanfare of a joyful reunion had worn off, they regrouped with the ranks of their fellow warriors and together proceeded on the march. They had by now entered the fertile valley of the Tolucans and noticed that most of its farms and community centers had been abandoned—unmistakable evidence that Zozoltin was marshalling his people and resources so he could field as large an army as possible—signs indicating Toluca would have to be taken by force.
Shortly after the sun had crested along its daily path, the Army of Tenochtitlan arrived upon a green plain criss-crossed with innumerable plots of irrigated land edged by forests and dense brushes and lying between two widely separated mountain ranges; its warriors espied the distant towering structures overlooking the surrounding countryside.
“The temples of Toluca, Lord!” Ahuitzotl shouted.
“I see them!” replied Tizoc. “We shall be there well before the day is spent.”
They were soon met by chieftains of the reconnaissance detachment and the priests who had advanced ahead of them and had assembled beneath the shade of a cypress grove only two leagues from Toluca at the site selected for their camp. Ahuitzotl stepped forward and carefully scanned the plain, noticing its cleared ground and gradually descending slope to the city, making for easy troop deployments and affording open fields of fire for his archers: He nodded his assent on the well-chosen location.
The next few hours were a hub of activity that saw the encampment being prepared for its occupants. Field directors constructed drainage and drinking facilities; unit locations were spotted; waste disposal areas set up; subordinate and command headquarters were established with shelters erected for the lords, ministers, priests, and chieftains; guides were posted to direct the trailing armies and remaining contingents to their designated sites. Much of the campground was still being laid out when the Army of Acolhuacan made its appearance and, with its additional soldiers to help, the work progressed rapidly. By the time Army of Tepaneca arrived at dusk, everything was in place and only a minimal amount of extra labor was required to provide for it.
That evening, Tizoc called on his expected command meeting around a bonfire set up in front of his headquarters to cover the battle plan He declared his intention to give Zozoltin until noon for his surrender before launching an attack. In spite of the evidence that Zozoltin had massed his people in Toluca, the Mexica believed that he remained in a numerically inferior position, a view strongly held by Ahuitzotl. As a result, Ahuitzotl proposed attacking on a broad front thereby requiring Zozoltin’s stretched lines to be spread even thinner and making any part of his force vulnerable to penetration. With everyone agreed on this, Tizoc allowed Ahuitzotl and his chieftains to go and work out the details while he stayed with his ministers, head priests, and the rulers of Texcoco and Tlacopan to participate in informal conversation with them. He longed to speak with his esteemed friend, Nezahualpilli, whose counsel he valued above all others, but this opportunity came late with the group dispersing slowly, and, when finally the two of them were alone, he opened himself to a subject of deep concern to him.
“What manner of man can this Zozoltin be?” Tizoc pondered aloud. “To have a city choose enslavement or death rather than submission for his sake?”
“You’re still disturbed by this,” Nezahualpilli said. “Why is it so important to you?”
“Its sheer novelty. I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“I’ll make my assessment of him when I see him.”
“To have such a hold on his subjects. He willingly receives an obedience the rest of us must attain through force. There’s power in that. Would the Acolhuas accept death for your sake?”
“I doubt it.”
“That’s my point. Surely you must be impressed by what Zozoltin has achieved.”
“You make too much of him, Tizoc—a mistake. He is no greater king than you or I, and if he has the consent of his subjects, it’s because they are unified in their opposition to us. Such circumstances magnify a leader’s greatness in the eyes of his people, but it does not mean he is so superior a man that the rest of us should stand in awe of him. Tomorrow we shall see that he is a king like any other king, nothing more.”
“Yes, and you will see something unique about him. No ordinary man defies his overlords with such a flagrant disregard of their retribution.”
“Tizoc, I’ve heard enough. I will not have you extolling some arrogant king to exaggerated proportions—a king you have never met to know if he even merited so lofty an acclaim out of you. You are the Revered Speaker of the greatest power in the world. It it is Zozoltin who should stand in awe of you. That is our reality—believe it! I shall see you in the morning. Think on what I said.”
This was one of the rare times Tizoc had seen Nezahualpilli in anger and it imparted an unsettling effect on him. Seated alone by the fading fire, he shuddered over the possibility of alienating his ally, the only person he could still call a friend. He was becoming increasingly unsure of himself and correspondingly relied more on his colleague to assist him in his decision-making, and this realization alarmed him. Nezahualpilli was right in asserting there was no greater ruler than the Revered Speaker of the Mexica, Tizoc was thinking, and he had to act the part. Absorbed in such introspection and unhappy about what he saw in himself, and ever more self-conscious over what he perceived as grave shortcomings in his ability to rule, Tizoc was to spend a long drawn-out and sleepless night abusing himself with torments he could neither ignore nor face.
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