The Mexica, not to be outdone, responded in kind, beating their own drums and sounding trumpets, and likewise rapping their weapons against their shields so that the entire field resounded with the clamorous collision of arms and the shouts and whistles of men in an tumultuous bluster. This fanfare was allowed to continue until the Tolucans were solidly emplaced along their line, at which point Ahuitzotl raised his clenched first over his head and motioned his warriors into obedient silence. Zozoltin’s army followed this example and soon an eerie stillness, very daunting to an observer, encompassed both forces standing poised to strike upon the given order.
The strained quietness rankled taut nerves as it attained an unbearable peak, acting as a leashed restraint on impulses and sinews itching to spring into action. At last Tizoc nodded to his chief priest signifying that the battle should commence. Directly, the priest raised a huge shell horn, pressed it to his lips, and pierced the stillness with its deep resonance. Its blare was echoed and re-echoed by additional votaries spotted at specified intervals throughout the force, and upon hearing the blast nearest them, warriors roared out their repressed eagerness to fight and moved forward. Archers opened fire, launching arrows toward the enemy lines with an intent not so much to inflict injury as to lay down a protective cover for the advancing ranks, and after releasing several volleys, they stepped aside so as not to impede the drive of their attacking compatriots.
First and most zealous to rush on the Tolucans was the right wing under Ahuitzotl whose exhibited enthusiasm for the engagement had a contagious effect on his soldiers. When it closed on them, the stonethrowers and slingers hurled their projectiles into the enemy rows to create confusion and consternation among them while, at the same time, inhibiting their ability to counter the assault. An instant later, the first wall of warriors collided with the opposition in a vociferous clash of shields, clubs, and swords. Within minutes, the whole of the force was locked in fearsome battle.
Warrior fell upon warrior, crashing shield into shield, parrying and thrusting swords, bashing clubs, and stabbing with spears as each attempted to gain the upper hand over the other, all amid the painful and terrible cries of those cut down and the exultant cheers from the triumphant. The maquauhuitl, wielded by powerful arms, smashed through helmets and crushed skulls; lances penetrated armored tunics and tore into vital chest cavities; clubs hacked at exposed limbs, tearing flesh and breaking bones, and blood spewed profusely forth from horrible wounds. And almost as quickly as contact was initiated, enemy captives were seized and dragged behind the lines by groups of priests, prowling about like ravenous wolves, who stripped a number of them naked, flung them over improvised altars, and cut out their hearts to let the hot blood spill on the field as an offering to Huitzilopochtli for his aid in securing a victory.
On the right, Ahuitzotl seemed everywhere present in the thick of the fighting, directing one squadron to replace another, issuing commands and shouts of encouragement to his embattled warriors, and striking down opponent soldiers daring enough to reach him between the ranks with deft blows of his maquauhuitl. Under his ferocious assault, marked by an exuberance bent on speedy conquest, the weaker Tolucan lines began to crumble as the boldly led Mexica attackers broke their resistance. At that moment, Tlohtzin, fighting alongside his commander, happened to glance behind him and saw a startling sight.
“Look!” he roared out. “A large force attacks Lord Tizoc!”
To the amazement of Ahuitzotl and all the Mexica, Zozoltin had assembled more than a thousand of his strongest warriors into a massed wedge formation which plunged forth from Toluca under his personal command and charged headlong toward the Mexica center. In a tactical move borne out of utter desperation Zozoltin risked everything on this one bold stroke aimed at capturing Tizoc in the hope that they could bargain for their sovereignty with his life. Nobody had ever seen such a maneuver.
“Send our forces to the center!” shouted Tolhtzin in his alarm. “We must reinforce it!”
“Wait!” Ahuitzotl countermanded him. “It could be a ploy.”
“What!” Tlohtzin could not believe it.
“I said to wait!” repeated Ahuitzotl sharply—he thought of the priest’s vision and instantly perceived he could bring about its reality. “Continue to press our right!”
At the Mexica center, an insufficient front wall of warriors could not hold their positions against the heavy concentration of Tolucans presented by their formidable wedge and one by one were beaten back, falling in writhing heaps where they dared to stand their ground. Tizoc stood aghast when he saw the fearsome juggernaut hammering its path through the ranks and bearing down on him, and while his bodyguard Eagles took up a half-circle in front of him, they were clearly at a numerical disadvantage and he doubted if they would be able to hold up against such an overwhelming host.
“They’ve broken through!” Nezahualpilli warned Tizoc. “We must make a stand!”
“There are too many!” Tizoc yelled back.
“There’s no choice! We must fight!”
“No!” Tizoc was now frantic. “We cannot allow ourselves to be taken!”
“We only need to hold them off for a short while. Reinforcements will be sent.”
“Don’t be a fool, Nezahualpilli! Come on!”
“Stand fast, Tizoc!” Nezahualpilli shouted as sternly as he could. “A Revered Speaker cannot leave the scene of battle!”
That instant, in a deafening crash, the point of Zozoltin’s wedge met the bodyguard force; Nezahualpilli and Chimalpopoca, shield and club in hand, ran forward to join their embattled Eagle knights trying to repulse the fanatic horde caving in on them. Heroically, the Mexica kept their place, furiously determined to protect their monarch, but fell in increasing numbers under the spears and swords of their wildly screaming attackers, dying beneath advancing feet.
Panic-stricken, Tizoc could no longer contain himself; with the situation desperate, and believing his capture imminent, he issued a stunning order.
“Move behind the right wing!” he commanded. “There we’ll be safe.”
No argument came out of the alarmed priests and ministers who were with him; they hastily complied with the directive..
“The Revered Speaker flees!” shouted someone from the bodyguards fighting for his life.
“Tizoc flees!”
Like a rampaging fire, these electrifying words raced through the ranks, striking as a shock-wave the Eagle squadron warriors in their deadly struggle. Almost immediately their resistance faltered: Nezahualpilli and Chimalpopoca were extremely pressured to encourage continued fighting and strove by their courageous example to sustain it.
At the very same instant that Tizoc chose to retreat from the field, Motecuhzoma, whose squadron had already smashed its opposition guarding the city, saw the fearsome battle being waged in the center. He accurately assessed the situation and directed his warriors to come to the Revered Speaker’s assistance. Responding to the order, his unit rushed toward the beleaguered center to strike at Zozoltin’s rear—a move that did not go unnoticed farther on the right.
“What squadron is that?” snarled Ahuitzotl.
“By it’s banner, the mazatl squadron, Lord!—from Tlatelolco,” answered Tlohtzin.
“They’ve broken the battle order.”
“They’re doing what we should have done moments ago,” Tlohtzin bitterly reproached his commander. “They’re trying to save our Revered Speaker!”
Unaware yet of Tizoc’s fateful decision, Ahuitzotl seethed as he saw his plans go awry. With the possibility of Tizoc’s imperilment snatched away, he could no longer hold back and ordered his entire wing, which by now had totally crushed its resistance, to wheel inward and attack the Tolucan wedge from behind. Even as the Mexica saw their ruler fleeing, Tenochtitlan’s army was coming back to entrap Zozoltin’s force.
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