Aztec Autumn - Jennings Gary (книга бесплатный формат .TXT) 📗

"It is not a fetus. It is a—a male thing."

The ticitl smiled tolerantly. "Did some meddlesome midwife tell you it would be a boy because you are carrying it high? That is only an old superstition."

"No midwife told me anything!" Tiptoe declared, getting more and more agitated. "I did not say a boy—I said a male thing. The thing that only a male person..." She paused, shamefaced, then said, "A kuru. A tepuli."

Ualiztl gave her a searching look. "Let me have a word with your eminent friend here." He drew me out of the women's hearing and whispered, "My lord, does this perhaps involve an unsuspecting husband? Has the young woman been unfaith—?"

"No, no," I hastened to defend her. "There is no husband at all. Several months ago, Pakapeti was raped by a Spanish soldier. I fear that her dread of bearing an enemy's child has somewhat addled her faculties."

"Unless Purempe women are built differently than ours—which I doubt—something has addled her insides, as well. If she is carrying a child, it is growing more in the area of her stomach than her womb, and that is a thing impossible."

"Can you do anything to give her relief?"

He made a face of uncertainty, then went back to lean over Tiptoe again. "You could be right, my dear, that it is not a viable fetus. Sometimes a woman can develop a fibrous growth that only mimics pregnancy."

"I told you it is growing! I told you it is not a fetus! I told you it is a tepuli!"

"Please, my dear, that is an unbecoming word for a well-bred young lady to utter. Why do you persist in speaking so immodestly?"

"Because I know what it is! Because I swallowed it! Take it out!"

"Poor girl, you are distraught." He began searching for something in his pouch.

But I was staring agape at Pakapeti. I was remembering... and I was wondering...

"Here, drink this," said Ualiztli, holding out a small cup to her.

"Will that rid me of the thing?" she asked hopefully, almost pleadingly.

"It will calm you."

"I do not want to be calm!" She dashed the cup from his hand. "I want to be free of this hideous—"

"Tiptoe," I said sternly, "do as the ticitl tells you. Remember, we should shortly be on the road again. You cannot come with me unless you get well. For now, just drink the potion. Then the good physician will consult with his fellow ticiltin as to what measures will next be taken. Is that not right, Ualiztli?"

"Exactly so, my lord," he said, concurring in my lie.

Though still looking obstinate and defiant, Tiptoe obeyed me, and drank down the cup he had refilled. Ualiztli gave her permission to rearrange her clothing and take her leave. When she was gone, he said to me and Ameyatl:

"She is worse than distraught. She is demented. I gave her a tincture of the nanacatl mushroom. That will at least alleviate her mental turmoil. I know nothing else that can be done, except to cut into her with an obsidian lancet, and few patients survive such a drastic exploration. I will leave you a supply of the tincture, to be administered whenever she gets delusional again. I am sorry, my lord, my lady, but the signs prognostic are not at all promising."

In the ensuing days, Ameyatzin occupied a throne slightly smaller than my own, and slightly below and on the left side of my own, and she joined in my conferences with the Speaking Council when there was occasion for those elders to convene, and helped me with many of the decisions that my other officials came to ask for, and relieved me of much of the wearisome burden of dealing with petitions from the common folk. Ameyatl kept always at her left side our dear Pakapeti, mainly as a precaution against the girl's doing something harmful to herself, but partly also in the hope that Tiptoe's mind might be diverted from its dark obsession by the activities in the throne room.

We three were there on the day that an army messenger came to tell me, "The Tequiua Nocheztli sends word, my lord, that the warriors of Yeyac are as fit as they ever were."

"Then bid Nocheztli to come hither and to bring that Arrow Knight with him."

When they came, the knight, whose name was Tapachini, humbly stooped to make the tlalqualiztli touching of the throne-room floor. I let him remain in that subservient posture while I said:

"I offered you and your comrades in treachery three ways of dying. All of you chose the same, and this day you will lead those men marching to that death. As I promised, it will be a death in battle, good in the eyes of the gods. And this I tell you for the first time: You will have had the honor of waging the opening battle of what will be a total and unconditional war to oust the white men from The One World."

Tapachini said, his head still bowed, "An honor we could hardly have hoped to merit, my lord. We are grateful. Only command us."

"Your arms and armor will be returned to all of you. Then you will march southward and attack the Spaniards' town of Compostela. You will do your best to obliterate it and its white inhabitants. You will not succeed, of course. You will be outnumbered ten to one, and your weapons will be no match for the white men's. However, you will find the town fatuously believing itself safeguarded because of the pact it made with the late Yeyac. Compostela will be unprepared for your assault. So the gods—and I—will be desolated if you each do not dispatch at least five of the enemy before you fall yourselves."

"Rely on it, my lord."

"I expect to hear of it. The news of such an unprecedented slaughter will not be long in reaching my ear. Meanwhile, dismiss any delusion that you and your men will elude my eye as soon as you leave Aztlan."

I turned to Nocheztli. "Pick sturdy and loyal warriors to serve as escort. Have them accompany Knight Tapachini and his contingent along the southbound trails—it should be a march of no more than five days—until they get within striking range of Compostela. When the Knight Tapachini leads the charge against the town—and not until then—the escorts are to return here and report. Along the way south, they are continuously to keep count of their wards. The knight and his men number one hundred thirty and eight as of this moment. That same number is to attack Compostela. Is that understood, Tequiua Nocheztli?"

"Yes, my lord."

"And you, Knight Tapachini," I said with heavy sarcasm. "Are those conditions satisfactory to you?"

"I can scarcely blame you, my lord, for having found us less than deserving of your trust."

"Then be gone. Much may be forgiven you when you have spilled a whole river of the white men's blood. And your own."

Nocheztli himself went along with Tapachini's men and their escorts during their first day's march, then turned back at nightfall, and early the next morning reported to me:

"No one of the condemned men tried to escape, my lord, and there were no untoward incidents, and there were still one hundred thirty and eight of them when I left them."

I not only commended Nocheztli for his assiduous and continued attention to every aspect of this mission, I promoted him on the spot.

"From this day, you are a cuachic, an 'old eagle.' Further, I give you permission to select for yourself the warriors who will serve under your command. If any of the haughty knights or the other cuachictin have any complaints about that, tell them to complain to me."