Tula heard the slice of a blade. In the low light, she watched Benicio slit a priest’s throat. ‘We must work quickly then,’ she told Xanca.
They sawed furiously, struggling to free the captive women. Tula continued to hear the clang of blades at the mouth of the shrine. She knew that any minute Benicio could lose his life. Then the great crowd of priests would come running.
But Benicio held his ground, and soon all the women had been released. On silent feet, Xanca led the group under the archway of the southernmost exit while Tula kept watch. When the last of the women had exited, Tula turned to behold the fighting beneath the northernmost arch.
There he was, surrounded by at least twenty priests. Their fearsome golden masks seemed to float in the darkness all around him and their deadly obsidian blades glinted menacingly in the moonlight. Still, Benicio remained undaunted.
He thrust and swung his sword with impossible speed, holding off the throng and cutting anyone down who dared to come close. Many of the priests ran in terror, for Benicio was killing with a chilling precision. The priests’ lifeless robes were spreading across the platform like black puddles.
Tula should have been aghast. Priests were holy. They whispered to the gods. Their lives were more valuable than other human lives, and when a priest fell, all creation mourned.
But Tula did not mourn. Instead, her heart beat with hope. Watching Benicio fight in the moonlight, so strong and fearless, seemed to stoke her own courage. There he was, risking his very life to save theirs. She felt overcome with gratitude. And something else, she realised: love.
‘Ah,’ she gasped. One of the priests had spotted her. He tapped another on the shoulder, and soon three of the masked fiends were headed towards the group of women. ‘Run to the Sun God’s temple!’ Tula shouted to the women. ‘We must free the men.’
But the women would not listen. ‘They refuse to follow us,’ shouted Xanca. ‘They are afraid.’ Tula watched in horror as the young women sprinted across the platform, heading towards the main set of stairs and their escape.
The three priests paused, watching the women go. They disappeared down the stairs one by one, impossible for the priests to reach. Their haunting black eyes returned to Tula and Xanca.
‘They are going to come for us now,’ whispered Xanca.
‘But they will not have us,’ said Tula and together they ran into the Sun God’s temple.
It was even darker inside the enormous shrine than it had been in the Rain God’s and the smell of blood was so thick it made Tula wretch. ‘Call to the men and wait for them to call back,’ she told Xanca, handing her dagger to her sister. ‘I shall hold off the priests.’
With trembling hands, Tula fixed an arrow in the notch of her atlatl. The first of the three priests was already in range, his dagger glinting. She had only three arrows in her quiver: she needed to make each one count.
She thrust the arrow at the first priest, striking him in the chest. As he fell, the second priest paused, then turned and ran. The final priest paused to regard the second priest and, in that instant, Tula lunged into the temple.
She was many paces inside when the third priest finally caught her. He jumped forward and pushed her to the ground. She squirmed and flailed against him, his long, disgusting locks falling across her body.
He grabbed her by the throat and began to squeeze. His long, twisted fingernails dug into her neck, drawing blood. Tula could not pull his hands free. ‘You will pay for offending the gods,’ he hissed.
She wondered if it was to be the last word she ever heard, for tiny points of light swirled behind her eyes and as she choked for breath.
Benicio, she thought. Benicio. The priest’s terrible golden mask hovered above her and she stared into the black holes of his eyes as she felt her body go limp...
For a moment she believed that she had died. Her throat contracted in a great, painful heave. Then the tight fingers that had gripped her neck went slack. She coughed hard, sucking in air. The priest’s body went limp and a warm liquid trickled on to her chest.
Two strong hands pulled the priest off her. She turned to discover that the priest’s head had been severed from his body. It lay upon the floor, its golden mask staring hauntingly back at her.
And there he was, standing above her—the man she loved. He bent over and lifted her limp body into his arms. ‘Tula?’ For a moment she could not answer. She could only look into his eyes in wonder. ‘Tula, by God! Are you all right? Can you breathe?’
‘Yes,’ she whispered.
He hugged her tightly to his chest.
‘We must help my sister,’ Tula said. ‘Where are you, Xanca?’ she called into the dark space.
‘We must have light,’ Benicio said. He ran to the entrance of the shrine, where a copper brazier smouldered beneath the last of its small coals.
Tula watched as Benicio retrieved the codex from beneath his jerkin. He began ripping the pages and balling them up, then placing them among the embers. Bright new flames began to lick the sides of the pan, then flared, roaring into a blaze that shone with enough light for them to see many paces away.
Soon they were at Xanca’s side, observing a cluster of cages that stretched into the depths of the temple. Tula could not believe her eyes. So many young men. So many doomed lives.
Xanca had straddled a nearby cage and was working furiously to saw through its thick wood. But in the months since she had been taken, her muscles had withered and she could scarcely keep the knives within her grip.
Benicio placed the brazier on the floor and gently plucked both blades from Xanca’s hands. In seconds, he had plunged through the wood and was peeling back and opening.
A young man jumped out of the cage and bounded into Xanca’s arms. The two held each other for many long moments, rocking together in an embrace that went beyond simple gratitude. Finally, the young man released Xanca and stared at her in wonder, tears of joy streaming down his face. It occurred to Tula that the man was Xanca’s beloved.
‘This is Anan,’ said Xanca, presenting the man to Tula.
‘It is an honour to meet you,’ Anan said and bowed low.
Benicio ripped two more pages from his codex and fed them into the flames. There was no time to contemplate the reunion taking place, or the love that seemed to shine in Xanca’s eyes. Soon the sun would be risen and the citizens of Tenochtitlan would discover what they had done. ‘We shall speak later,’ Tula said, glancing at Xanca. ‘Now we must free the other men and be gone.’
There were three times as many men as there had been women. Benicio continued to feed the flames of the brazier with his pages, lighting the way to where the young captives bent in their cramped cages, awaiting their flowery deaths.
Tula sawed at the wooden bars with all of her strength, but she sensed time ticking away. Xanca and Anan tried to help, but could do very little. For every one man that Tula, Xanca and Anan were able to free, Benicio freed five. He was a whirlwind of strength and determination, and Tula found herself lost in admiration of him.
The freed men greeted them with cries of joy and gratitude, then sprinted out of the shadowy space one by one.
‘Stop,’ Tula called in vain. Like the women, they could not endure a moment longer inside their dark prison.
The four ventured deeper into the space, working tirelessly to release the captives. Soon they had reached the far corner of the temple and the flames of the brazier sputtered. Benicio’s book had run out of paper, but there were still seven men left to free.
‘We work in darkness now,’ said Tula.
‘Not yet,’ Benicio responded.
He revealed two paper envelopes and the sketch that he had shown Tula so long ago—the sketch of his Luisa. Benicio placed the first of the envelopes upon the copper pan of the brazier and they blazed long enough for Benicio quick
ly find the first two cages and saw the men free.
He placed the next envelope on to the fire. It gave him enough light to free the next two men while Tula, Xanca and Anan cut through the bar of the fifth cage. The flames sputtered and there were still two men left. Benicio placed Luisa’s sketch into the fire.
‘No!’ Tula cried, but it was too late. The flames caressed her beautiful neck, then turned it to ash and in that final flash of light, Benicio released the last of the two men.
‘I am humble,’ she heard the man say, then listened to his soft footfalls as he escaped across the shrine.
They stood in darkness again and Tula realised the Benicio had just burned the only image he owned of Luisa. ‘Benicio,’ she whispered. She felt his hand reach for hers across the darkness and she took it.
‘We must go,’ Anan said and the group rushed across the empty expanse of the shrine, towards the night sky beyond.
‘We must follow the others out of the city,’ said Xanca.
‘There are guards everywhere,’ said Tula.
‘Then how shall we escape?’ asked Xanca.
Tula’s mind raced. Tenochtitlan was a strictly governed city, with guards everywhere. In a few short hours the dead priests would be discovered atop the temple and the entire city would rise up in search of the missing Totonac captives. The men and women they had freed had a head start, but by the time their group reached the city gates, word would be out and their lives would be in danger once again.
Tula paused, observing the lifeless bodies of the two priests whom she and Benicio had battled. ‘We shall become priests,’ she said suddenly. ‘That is how we shall escape the city.’
Xanca frowned. ‘Become priests?’
‘We shall cut their hair and wear it, along with their robes and masks.’
‘The gods will strike us down!’ exclaimed Xanca.
Tula looked up at the sky. ‘They have not struck us down yet, have they? Perhaps they favour and protect us.’ Tula stole a glance at Benicio.
Xanca looked from the fallen priests to the sky and then to Anan, who nodded. Xanca gave a resigned sigh. ‘Tell me what to do, dear Sister. We shall follow you until the end.’
Tula held her knife to the blood-matted locks of the first priest. She told herself that cutting hair was no different than cutting the ropes of wrecked ships. Still she kept her eyes closed, praying that the gods would not strike her down where she knelt.
Benicio jumped to her side, removing the beheaded man’s long locks in a few fast strokes. When he was done, he tied the ropes together into long strips that he arranged upon his head.
‘No, no, Benicio,’ Tula corrected in Spanish. ‘You cannot be a priest. You must be...how do you say it?’ She held her hands up as if they were bound.
‘A captive?’
‘Yes. I am sorry. You are our captive.’
Benicio grinned. ‘I fear that I have been your captive for some time already, dear lady.’
Chapter Thirty
She cocked her head in that sweet, puzzled way of hers and he was glad she did not understand what he had said. If she knew how happy she had made him she would surely use it to her advantage somehow. The little enchantress.
Now, he simply nodded in assent. ‘You are right. I shall be your captive.’
They slunk down the steps of the temple like thieves: three false priests covered in black robes and golden masks and Benicio, their Spanish captive, his dagger still wet with blood.
When the group finally reached the bottom of the pyramid, the stars had disappeared. A familiar, portly figure limped out of the pale shadows.
‘What are you doing here?’ hissed Benicio.
‘I should say the same,’ said Rogelio, looking past Benicio to his three gold-faced companions.
‘We are leaving the city,’ said Benicio. ‘You cannot stop us.’
Rogelio limped forward, his face twisted in pain. ‘What? Why?’
‘We have freed the Totonac captives, but were witnessed by many priests. Soon the entire city will be looking for us.’
‘But...what about the treasure?’
‘It does not matter.’
‘You are bound to honour our agreement,’ sputtered Rogelio. ‘You are bound to help me find it.’
‘There is no treasure,’ spat Benicio.
‘You are lying.’
‘I do not lie.’ Benicio pulled the map from his boot and stretched it before Rogelio. ‘Do you see there? Circles around each of the four single points. If those points are temples, they are single temples. Look around, Rogelio. There are only double temples here. And the Templo Mayor is in the west. According to the map, it should be in the north.’
Rogelio blinked in disbelief. ‘If the treasure is not here, then where is it?’
‘I do not know and I do not care,’ said Benicio. ‘There is no treasure. Therefore, there is no agreement.’
A single ray of sun touched the tip of the Templo Mayor. ‘I am sorry, Rogelio, but we must go now.’
‘You cannot leave me here alone. They will think I helped you.’
Benicio studied the wretched man who had tried to kill him that day on the beach. His face was pale, his body bent in pain and blood leaked through his hose. He was dying.
A strange pity invaded Benicio’s heart. ‘You may come with us, but you must obey my commands, whatever they are.’
Rogelio straightened and Benicio thought he saw the sheen of emotion traverse his countryman’s eyes. ‘I am glad you see fit to honour our agreement,’ Rogelio said.
Benicio ripped open his leather jerkin and dropped it upon the ground. He sliced his knife across the garment with fierce precision, creating a dozen long strips. ‘Bind him,’ Benicio told Tula. ‘I am going to find us a horse.’
In minutes Benicio was back at the foot of the Templo, towing a fine Spanish mare behind him. He boosted Rogelio to his place atop the horse and Rogelio moaned in pain. ‘Lie on your stomach,’ commanded Benicio.
Rogelio scowled, but did as he was told, stretching himself over the horse’s back like a sack of cotton. Tula lifted her mask and Benicio held out the reins.
‘This is called a horse,’ said Benicio, trying to speak simply. ‘Do not fear.’ Tula nodded warily, reluctant to take the reins.
‘She will follow you,’ said Benicio. ‘Come, let us give her a name. What do you wish to call her?’
Tula thought for a moment. ‘Big Deer,’ she said, adjusting her golden mask.
Benicio lifted himself atop Big Deer and sprawled on his stomach beside Rogelio while Xanca and Anan bound his hands and feet. Then the unlikely companions began their journey down the large promenade leading out of Tenochtitlan.
The people came out of their houses to behold the priests and their strange prisoners. They gasped and whispered, studying the unusual beast with unrestrained wonder.
Meanwhile, Benicio was experiencing a wonder of his own. Once again, Tula had amazed him with her cleverness. Their disguise was working brilliantly and, while news travelled throughout the city of the escaped Totonac captives, their group clip-clopped down the central promenade, above suspicion.
* * *
The sun was high in the sky by the time they arrived at the main causeway bridge linking the island city to the lands beyond. A man in a long white toga stepped forward, then dropped to his knees before Tula in requisite obeisance. When he returned to standing, his eyes were full of suspicion. Behind him, four soldiers holding stone clubs stood at attention.
The man in the toga walked around Big Deer carefully. He lanced several questions at Tula and Benicio sensed her faltering. Benicio readied himself for a fight.
Chapter Thirty-One
Tula was glad for her golden mask, for it concealed the nervous sweat tr
ickling down her face. ‘The prisoners’ blood is unclean,’ she explained to the Keeper of the Bridge. ‘We have been ordered to sacrifice them far from the city.’
‘Why do you speak with an accent, holy one?’ the Keeper asked her.
‘I was recruited to the priesthood from far away,’ Tula lied in her imperfect Nahuatl, wishing that she had paid more attention to her father’s lessons.
‘Why is your voice so high? It sounds like a woman’s.’
‘I need not explain that to you,’ Tula said, feigning offence, ‘though I am sure you are aware of the final step in a young priest’s apprenticeship.’
‘Please, remind me,’ said the Keeper.
‘The removal of the male burdens,’ said Tula, trying to sound irritated. ‘I am surprised you did not know that. May we cross now?’
The Keeper said nothing. Instead, he took an interest in Benicio, lifting and inspecting each of his legs as if he were a hunted beast. He walked around the horse and bent close to Benicio’s face. ‘And this one? I do not see any evidence of his corruption.’
‘He suffers from a peculiar disease of the heart,’ said Tula, fumbling for some credible explanation for Benicio’s captivity. ‘It cannot be seen, but it has invaded his body and twists his mind.’
The Keeper grabbed Benicio by the hair and lifted his head. He searched Benicio’s eyes. ‘Why does he not wear a beard like the others of his kind?’
Tula searched for the right answer. ‘It is part of his disease. He wishes to be someone other than who he is.’ The Keeper nodded, seeming to accept the explanation. ‘We shall move on now, Keeper,’ said Tula with as much authority as she could gather. ‘Montezuma wishes these men bled by nightfall.’
‘Of course you may go, holy one,’ the Keeper said at last. ‘And I shall give you two of my men to help you on your way.’ He motioned to two of the guards.
Tula cringed beneath her mask, but managed a bow. ‘Keeper of the Bridge, you are very generous. Montezuma and the gods thank you.’
The Keeper bowed low and the two guards took their positions behind Big Deer as they started across the long bridge that would deliver them from Tenochtitlan.
The Spaniard's Innocent Maiden Page 19