‘Taak’in,’ he said. ‘Gold.’ He pointed to the circle at the top of the diamond and she nodded again. But did she really understand? He needed her to know that he was not like Cortés. He did not wish to steal her gods. He only wished to steal her enemy’s gold.
Tula tilted her head suddenly, seeming to strike upon an idea. She pointed to him. ‘Gold,’ she repeated. She pointed to herself. ‘Sister.’
Benicio could hardly believe his ears. She had learned a Spanish word, but how?
‘Malinali,’ Tula said, seeming to read his mind. Cortés’s translator had marched with the Totonac maidens for much of the day. Benicio had guessed that she had been trying to console the Totonac women over the loss of their gods. Apparently instead she had been giving them lessons in the Castilian tongue.
‘Sister,’ Tula repeated, then pointed west. ‘Tenochtitlan.’
Was she trying to tell him that her sister was in the Mexica capital of Tenochtitlan? She crossed her arms at the wrists and raised them in the air. ‘Sister,’ she said. ‘Tenochtitlan.’
‘Your sister was taken to Tenochtitlan?’ Benicio asked. He knew of the mass abduction at the Totonac tlachtli court. It had occurred the same evening that he and Tula had fallen into the cenote. ‘Your sister was abducted?’ he asked. She could not possibly understand him.
Or perhaps she could. The eyes that only moments ago were in tears now shone with an inner light. She pointed at him again. ‘Tenochtitlan. Gold.’
‘Yes, yes,’ he said. ‘I wish to find gold in Tenochtitlan.’
Instead of pointing at herself, however, she continued to point at Benicio. ‘Tenochtitlan. Sister,’ she said, then she pointed at herself. ‘Tenochtitlan. Gold.’
Slowly he absorbed her meaning. She repeated the command. ‘Benicio. Tenochtitlan. Sister.’ She pointed again at herself. ‘Tula. Tenochtitlan. Gold.’
He nodded, studying the fierce, radiant woman with whom he had apparently just struck a deal: If he would help her save her sister, she would help him find his gold. He held out his hand. In response, she held her finger in the air.
One last thing, she seemed to say, and she pointed at his nose.
His nose? He touched it curiously, then winced. It was still tender from the break and still very much bent.
She nodded her head hypnotically and he found himself nodding his head in return. But what exactly was he was agreeing to?
She took a deep breath. Then she placed both hands on the side of his face and quickly and violently snapped the broken bones back into their places.
‘Ah!’ Benicio hollered, and an unbearable pain radiated through his body. ‘Bruja!’
But she would not indulge his cries. Coolly, soberly, she held out her hand and spoke. ‘Benicio. Tenochtitlan. Sister. Tula. Tenochtitlan. Gold.’ Their agreement was still valid. She had merely put him in his place.
Reeling in pain and a strange kind of awe, Benicio took her hand in his.
And he shook it.
Chapter Nineteen
The road out of Xalapa rose sharply and for the first time in her life, Tula felt the unfamiliar sting of frost upon her cheeks. Benicio had warned her to keep her hands covered over the mountain pass. He had demonstrated how to blow hot air into his own hands and had urged her to try.
When she hesitated, he had taken her hands in his and blown into them for her, making her laugh at the strange action. He had stared at her gravely, a mixture of worry and frustration knitting his brow: Clearly staying warm was not a game to him.
She blew into her hands now, as she had been instructed. The simple action helped slow the chill, as did his doublet, which he had insisted she wear, though there was still the problem of her sandal-clad feet.
Tula could not ask him for further advice now. As a foot soldier, he was required to walk with the other soldiers well ahead of the women and porters. Still, she knew that if he could walk with her, he would. He had done quite a lot for her already, including shaving his beard, renouncing his own god and, incredibly, promising to save her sister.
Tula was strangely pleased. All her life, she had worked to keep her family safe and comfortable. Now this man seemed to be trying to do the same for her. Although she knew that he was only using her for her knowledge of Tenochtitlan, he had shown her kindness and treated her like an equal, and for that she was grateful.
Indeed, he seemed to hold some strange reverence for her—something beyond simple friendship. When she had finally looked into his eyes yesterday evening, she thought that she had seen something resembling desire. She cautioned herself not to imagine ghosts. Still, it was the memory of that gaze that was helping her stay warm now, as the cold winds swirled all around.
The landscape became sparse. Tall, woody trees gave way to low bushes and soon the square outcropping of rock that defined the top of the Nauhcampatepetl Mountain was the only thing in view. The road became a trail. It wove back and forth in a hundred miserable switchbacks that seemed designed to break a person’s will. Tula paused often, trying to catch her breath. She was not alone. As she looked above her, she could see the entire grave procession, fighting to keep the pace.
At the front were the Spanish war dogs—a dozen ferocious beasts that barked and growled at the passing mists. Next came the flag bearer atop his giant deer, which the Spanish called a horse. He waved the banner of the red cross, though he did not need to, for the Wind God played with it like a toy.
More men riding on horses marched behind him—Chief Cortés among them, his floppy red hat with its single long feather distinguishing him from the others. The horsemen were followed by the rest of the bearded soldiers—three hundred warriors carrying swords and bows and hollow sticks that threw fire.
Tula searched that solemn procession, trying to catch sight of Benicio. He and many other Spaniards had chosen to wear the traditional cotton armour of the Totonacs, for it was effective against the blades of their enemies and much cooler in the lowland heat.
Other bearded ones had remained inside their heavy iron shells—a choice that had seemed foolish as they trekked through the sweltering jungle. Now, however, as the mountain cold gripped them, Tula noticed that the iron ones were the only members who did not jump to create warmth, or cower against the bitter wind.
She searched among the men in white cotton for Benicio’s tall figure and shorn face, and she thought she caught sight of him—the tall, broad-chested soldier with the graceful gait. Her heart leapt—probably from the increasing cold—and she quickly lost him in the parade of men.
Behind the Spanish soldiers marched their Totonac allies—an endless line of fierce, feathered warriors wrapped in thick cotton armour, some carrying spears and atlatls, others wielding the thick, club-like obsidian blades for which they were known.
The Totonac warriors were led by a lesser chief and his drummer, whose unwavering rhythms kept everyone on pace. They were followed by half as many porters—both Totonac and Taino men who had come with the bearded ones from Cuba. They trudged up the slopes under the weight of heavy baskets and hauling large ovens that cooked metal balls instead of food.
The women, of course, were last. They fell into a shivering line behind the porters—eight Totonac concubines and several dozen Maya women who had been gifted to the Spaniards at Potonchan. Leading them all was Malinali—or Marina, as she was now known—Cortés’s beautiful, brilliant interpreter. In the morning, Malinali had ridden with Chief Cortés himself, then had dropped back to spend the afternoon ‘among her own kind’, as she put it.
She spoke with ease to all the women, keeping the mood light as snowflakes began to fall and the trail narrowed. Tula fell in behind her, hoping she might catch some of Malinali’s special warmth.
‘It will not be long before we are over the pass,’ Malinali observed in perfect Nahuatl, keeping her eye upon her pat
h. ‘Then the journey really becomes difficult.’
Tula gave a nervous laugh. ‘I cannot wait. The walk so far has been far too easy.’
‘All that rises must descend,’ Malinali mused. She gathered her long, colourful cloak around her. ‘Tenochtitlan lies in a temperate valley, thank the gods.’
‘Have you ever visited the great floating city?’ Tula asked.
‘I travelled there once a girl, yes,’ said Malinali. ‘My early life was one of privilege and luxury.’
‘Perhaps you will live in luxury once again,’ said Tula, blowing on her hands.
‘I will indeed, for I march on the side of the victors.’
Tula raised a brow, surprised by Malinali’s statement. On the trail above them, one of the bearded men collapsed in a fit of cramps. ‘I know what you are thinking,’ Malinali continued. ‘How do I know that the bearded ones will prevail?’
Tula said nothing, though it was in fact exactly what she was thinking.
‘It is because of you.’
‘What?’ Tula asked.
Surely Tula had misunderstood. Or perhaps Malinali was speaking in jest. Malinali turned around to face Tula and stopped. She pushed her hand out from between the folds of her cloak. There on her finger was the large jade-and-diamond ring that Benicio had traded for Tula that night at the banquet. Cortés must have given the ring to Malinali as a gift.
‘It was your ring that gave me the idea for how Emperor Montezuma will be defeated,’ Malinali said. Malinali returned her bejewelled hand beneath her cloak and resumed her swift, tireless gait.
‘Cortes intends to defeat Montezuma?’ Tula asked softly.
‘Of course he does.’
‘But how?’
Malinali kept her voice low. ‘Let us see if you can guess how. What year is it in our Xihuitl calendar?’
‘This year? It is One-Reed.’
‘And what god presides over One-Reed?’
‘The Feathered Serpent, Quetzalcoatl, of course,’ said Tula. The god carved on to the ring.
‘Tell me about Quetzalcoatl.’
‘He is the God of Wind and of Learning; of Culture and Civilisation.’
‘What legends are there of him?’
‘There is the legend that he created the people of the Fifth World—the world that we live in—by going to the Underworld and pouring his blood upon the bones of our ancestors.’
‘What else?’
‘There is the legend that he was a rich and cultured king who never practised sacrifice, for he had nothing to fear from the gods. He was dethroned by the God of Earth and Death, Tezcatlipoca, and sent to the east where he became the brightest star in the sky. The morning star.’ Tula paused, slowly recognising Malinali’s plan.
‘And?’
‘And it is said that he will return one day to the most civilised city in the world—to Tenochtitlan—to reclaim it.’
‘And what does Quetzalcoatl usually wear on his face?’
‘A beard.’
‘What colour is associated with the Feathered Serpent?’
Tula scanned the slope above her and found Cortés’s large red hat, its single feather blowing with the wind. ‘Red,’ Tula said. She lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘Do you really believe that Cortés is the Feathered Serpent?’
‘Of course not. But I am just a woman. I know very little.’ Malinali slid Tula a fiendish grin. ‘Captain Cortés treats me well and he is very clever,’ Malinali continued, ‘but I do not trust him. Sometimes I despise his actions.’
‘But you despise the Mexica more?’
Malinali did not answer. ‘It is more than that. I have seen the reach of Mexica greed. They have created a mighty empire, but they take too much. Their debt to the gods grows too high. All of the blood in the world cannot repay it.’
Tula shivered. Malinali spoke truth. The Mexica took too much. Far too much.
‘You have suffered beneath the Mexica as I have,’ said Malinali, as if she had read Tula’s mind.
‘My two nephews and their father were taken,’ said Tula. ‘Since then, my eldest sister does not speak. It is as if she died with them. Now my youngest sister has been taken. Only seven days ago.’
‘And you intend to save her from the flowery death?’
‘I will save her.’
‘I will help you if I can.’
‘You would help me?’
‘My debt to you must be repaid,’ Malinali said, holding up her ringed finger once again. ‘Without the ring that was given for you, we would not be on this journey now. I owe you. It is the law of the world.’
‘My new master has said that he, too, will help me in my mission to save my sister,’ Tula said, searching again for Benicio’s tall figure on the hillside. ‘We have an agreement. An alliance.’
‘Do not place too much trust in him. Remember that he values treasure more than he values you.’
‘The sickness of the heart?’
‘It consumes them all,’ said Malinali. ‘And one day their civilisation, too, will fall.’
Tula nodded. ‘The Spanish will fall just like the Mexica will fall, just like the Toltecs fell, and the Teotihuacanos before them, and the Maya before them and the Old Ones before them.’
‘You know your history,’ remarked Malinali.
‘My father taught me. He said that kingdoms rise and fall just like worlds,’ Tula mused. In the ancient story, it was not cities, but worlds that collapsed, one after the other.
‘That is how it will always be,’ Malinali said. ‘When it happens, it is better to be on the side of the victors,’ she said.
Cortés had stopped at the top of the pass and was signalling with his red hat. ‘Speak of the future,’ Malinali said, plastering a smile across her face and waving back at Cortés. ‘I must rejoin my master now. It has been very nice to speak with you...er...’
‘Tula.’
Malinali stepped off the path. ‘I am humble, Tula,’ she said. ‘Some call me Marina now, but you and I know that I will always be Malinali.’
‘And I will always be Tula.’
‘Take care that it is so.’ Malinali flashed Tula a look full of fire and mischief, then turned and walked without effort up the steep, rocky slope.
Chapter Twenty
The storm would not relent. It only worsened as the army made its way down the other side of the mountain to a forest of twisted, low-growing trees. When they finally halted, the Sun God was all but dead. Snow continued to fall and the wind blew like a monster’s breath as they scrambled to make camp.
Tula was searching the forest for a sheltered place to sleep when Benicio finally found her. She gasped when she saw him, for she had given up hope that he would seek her out in the storm. She could no longer feel her feet and was so cold that her lips quivered uncontrollably, as if in fright.
She was frightened. She had never felt so cold. It was as if her whole body was turning to stone. She did not protest when Benicio lifted her from the ground and carried her to a cluster of boulders. There, he placed her on a rock and motioned for her to wait while he did battle with several nearby trees, slicing their branches with his long sword.
Tula could do little but sit and watch him. Her feet had become too frozen to stand upon and it was as if that deadly ice was now creeping up her legs. She blew furiously into her hands, trying to keep the ice inside her from growing while the soft white flakes of ice rained down. The moments stretched out long and desolate, and she felt a strange, intimate cold, like the breath of death whispering into her ear.
‘Aaaooh!’ yelled Benicio, heralding a small porter who seemed to materialise amidst the snow. ‘Big Tree!’ Benicio cried, followed by a string of salutations Tula could not understand. The trembling man carried a large bundle, which
he dropped at Benicio’s feet. Benicio studied the man, then sat him down beside Tula. He dug in the bundle and produced a thick blanket, which he wrapped around both of them.
Tula and the stranger huddled together as Benicio busied himself gathering firewood, which he piled in a great heap beneath their feet. He made sparks fly by cracking steel upon flint and soon a blaze was warming their toes.
Tula bent as close to the flames as she dared, feeling their magnificent heat restore movement to her cheeks. The man, too, seemed to return to life. He held out his hands to the flames and muttered prayers of thanks to his gods. He was even able to stand—something Tula still could not accomplish.
But survival was different for women. They were of the moon, not the sun. They did not keep the warmth inside their bodies like men did. Why had she not thought to bring a feather cloak?
Benicio worked with urgency in the firelight, glancing at Tula with concern. He swept together all of his branches, dividing them into two piles, then began leaning them against the boulders. Soon, two small, lean-to shelters appeared, reinforced with piled rocks and mounded dirt. Benicio placed Tula’s sleeping mat inside one shelter and his own sleeping mat in the other. It was only after many moments of staring into the dying flames that Tula realised there were three people who needed shelter, not two.
As the fire went to embers, she wondered how he planned to divide their shivering group. The snow was coming thick. Benicio kicked the cinders around the outside of both shelters. Then he urged the man to his feet and handed him a second blanket. The man appeared confused. He refused to take the blanket, pointing at Tula in alarm. He held up two fingers and shook his head.
But Benicio insisted and before long the man surrendered, bowing deeply to Benicio and embracing him like a brother. Then he disappeared with his blanket beneath the branches of the first shelter.
Tula had begun to shiver once again. She missed the fire. It had run out of fuel so quickly and all the warmth that had bloomed from it seemed to have emptied out into the dark forest, as if it had never been. She had never feared the night before, but she feared it now. It seemed as if it might swallow her.
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