Aztec Autumn - Jennings Gary - Страница 71

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"But they were warriors," I continued to object. "They still are warriors, unless the earth opened and swallowed them. They know no other way of life. Together or separately, what will they do with their lives now? Resort to vulgar skulking banditry? That would be unthinkable for a warrior, however dishonorably he had behaved otherwise. No, I can think of only one thing they must have done."

I turned to the Yaki woman and said, "In a time before time, a certain G'nda Ke turned good men into bad, so you must be well versed in the matter of betrayal. Do you think those men treacherously resumed their alliance with the Spaniards?"

She shrugged indifferently, "To what end? As long as they were Yeyac's men, they could expect favor and preferment. Without Yeyac to lead them, they are nobodies. The Spanish might accept them into their ranks, but would utterly despise them—rightly reckoning that men who had turned against their own people could easily turn again."

I had to admit, "You speak with logic."

"Those deserters would find themselves the lowliest of the low. Even that Arrow Knight would be degraded to yaoquizqui in rank. Certainly he and all the others would have known that, even before they deserted. So why should they? No warrior, however desperate to escape your wrath, could have accepted so much worse a fate."

"Well, whatever they did," said Ameyatl, "they did it between here and Compostela. Why not send another quimichi scurrying to find out?"

"No!" snapped G'nda Ke. "Even if that troop never got near Compostela, the news will inevitably have got there. Any rustic woodcutter or herb-gatherer taking his wares to the town's market must by now have mentioned having seen an armed and menacing force of Azteca in the vicinity. That Governor Coronado may already be bringing his soldiers hither to forestall your planned insurgency by laying waste to Aztlan. You can no longer afford, Tenamaxtli, merely to afflict the Spaniards with random engagements—like this failed one and those of the Michihuacan women. Whether you are ready or not, whether you like it or not, you are now at war. Committed to wage war. Total war. You have no alternative but to lead your army into it."

I said, "It galls me to admit again that you are right, witch-woman. I wish I could deny you your greatest pleasure, that of seeing blood spilled and destruction widespread. However, what must be, must be. Go you, then, since you are the most war-eager of all in my court. Send word to every knight of Aztlan, to have our army assembled in the central square at tomorrow's dawn, armed and provisioned and ready to march."

G'nda Ke smiled her vile smile and left the room in a hurry.

To Ameyatl I said, "I am not going to wait for the Speaking Council's assent to this deployment. You can summon them at your leisure, cousin, and inform them that a state of war now exists between the Azteca and the Spaniards. The councillors can hardly countermand an action already taken."

Ameyatl nodded, but not joyfully.

"I will detach a number of good men to remain here as your palace guard," I went on. "Not enough to repel an assault upon the city, but enough to rush you to safety in case danger threatens. Meanwhile, as regent, you again wield the authority of Uey-Tecutli—the Council knows that—until such time as I return."

She said wistfully, "The last time you left, you were gone for years."

I said cheerfully—trying to cheer her—"Ayyo, Ameyatl! On my return this time, whenever that may be, I hope it will be to tell you that our Aztlan is the new Tenochtitlan, capital of a One World rewon, restored, renewed, unshared by aliens. And that we two cousins are the absolute rulers of it."

"Cousins..." she murmured. "Time was, oc ye nechca, we were more like brother and sister."

I said lightly, "Rather more than that, if I may remind you."

"I need no reminding. I held you very dear, then, when you were only a boy. Now you are a man, and a most manly man. What will you be when you return again?"

"Not an old man, I trust. I should hope to be still capable of... well... worthy of your holding me very dear."

"I did and I do and I will. When that boy Tenamaxtli departed from Aztlan, I gave him only a wave of farewell. The man Tenamaxtzin deserves a more heartfelt and memorable leavetaking." She held out her arms. "Come... my very dear..."

As in her youth, Ameyatl still so gushingly personified the meaning of her name—Fountain—that we repeatedly enjoyed our mutual surges, all the night long, and finally fell asleep only when our juices were totally exhausted. I might have overslept the appointed assembly of my army, except that the uncouth G'nda Ke, never a respecter of privacy, strode unbidden into my chambers and roughly shook me awake.

Curling her lip at the sight of myself and Ameyatl intertwined, she brayed loudly, "Behold! Behold the alert and keen and vigilant and warlike leader of his people—wallowing in lechery and sloth! Can you lead, my lord? Can you even stand? It is time."

"Go away," I grunted. "Go and sneer elsewhere. I will steam and bathe and dress and be with the army when I am ready. Go away."

But the Yaki woman had to fling a rude insult at Ameyatl before departing:

"If you have drained Tenamaxtli of all his manhood, my lustful lady, it will be your fault should we lose this war."

Ameyatl—having the grace and wit that G'nda Ke did not—only smiled with drowsy, happy satisfaction and said, "I bear witness that Tenamaxtzin's manhood will stand any test."

The Yaki gnashed her teeth and dashed angrily out of the room. I did my ablutions, donned my quilted armor and the quetzal-feather-fan headdress of command, then leaned to give a final kiss to Ameyatl, still abed and still smiling.

"This time I will not wave good-bye," she said softly. "I know you will return—and victorious. Only do try, for my sake, to hasten the day."

To the gathered army, I announced, "Comrades, it appears that Yeyac's despicable warriors have again betrayed us. They have either failed or disobeyed my order to sacrifice themselves in an attack on the Spaniards' stronghold. So we will make an assault in full force. However, it is likely that Compostela now is expecting us. For that reason, you knights and cuachictin, pay heed to my instructions. During our first three days of going southward, we will march in standard column formation, to advance as rapidly as possible. On the fourth day, I will issue different orders. Now... we go!"

I rode, of course, at the head of the train, with the three other mounted men abreast behind me and, behind them, the warriors in a column of fours, all of us proceeding at a brisk walking pace. G'nda Ke trudged along at the tail of the procession, without arms or armor, for she was to do no fighting, but merely accompany us on our expedition—after the fighting—to recruit other warriors from other nations.

There exists a certain small tree-dwelling animal that we call the huitzlaiuachi, the "prickly little boar"—it is the puerco espin in Spanish—which is bristled all over with sharp spines instead of fur. No one knows why Mixcoatl, the god of hunters, created that particular animal, because its meat is distasteful to humans, and other predators sensibly stay clear of its unassailable coat of innumerable spikes. I mention it only because I imagine our marching army must have resembled the prickly little boar, but an immensely large and long one. Each warrior carried on one shoulder his long spear and, on the other, his shorter javelin and its atlatl throwing-stick, so the entire column was as bristly as the animal. But ours was much more brilliant and gaudy, for the sunlight glinted from the obsidian points of those weapons, and the column also flaunted the severally colored flags and standards and guidons of its separate contingents—and my own flamboyant headdress at the front. To any distant observer, we must indeed have looked impressive; I could only wish that there had been more of us.

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