Jaguar Princess

by Clare Bell

  “It is a condition of the skin that occurs periodically in her family. It is not contagious. I can say nothing else about it,” the old scribe answered. From the tone of his voice and the expression on his face, Mixcatl knew that Nine-Lizard was stating the truth, or as much of the truth as he could. But she sensed that there was more that he knew, but could not or would not reveal. It was the same look that had come across his features when she lay in her chamber and begged him to tell her what had happened to her.

  “I cannot tell you now, for I am not certain,” he had said then, smoothing her sweaty forehead. “If I tell you my fears, it will only worry you, and I may be wrong. No. It is better that we wait and see what happens.”

  And she’d had to be content with that.

  Although the healer treated her with courtesy, he made his examination much more thorough than she would have liked. Soon the coolness of the air on her unclothed skin and the discomfort of having an unfamiliar man touching her body made her wish for the ordeal to be over. She couldn’t help wondering, half resentfully, if Wise Coyote would have to be subjected to the same sort of intensive scrutiny before he was allowed to meet her!

  The healer finished and spoke over his shoulder to his assistant. Then, while Mixcatl was dressing, the healer went over Nine-lizard, speaking his findings to the assistant, who jotted them down as best he could.

  Finally the healer finished and washed his hands in a bowl of agave suds.

  “Let it be stated that I have examined the glyph-painters Nine-Lizard Iguana Tongue and Seven-Flower Mixcatl. To the extent of my skill and knowledge I affirm that they are free of any fevers, agues, wastings or other ailments that could pose a danger to the House of Texcoco.” He nodded to Nine-Lizard, who was still dressing. “The boat awaits you. You may go.”

  Mixcatl followed Nine-lizard back past the House of Scribes to the waiting craft. Torchlight gleamed on the polished sides of the canoe and on the backs of the men who paddled it. The wind from Lake Texcoco made the firebrands flutter and sent a chill through Mixcatl, huddling beneath her cloak, clutching her bundle. There were three passengers to be picked up, herself. Nine-lizard and an escort from Ilhuicamina’s court, who was to oversee the transport of the partially completed history from the House of Scribes to Wise Coyote’s palace at Tezcotzinco.

  Who was Wise Coyote? Mixcatl had heard only a little about him from Nine-lizard. The old man described the ruler of Texcoco as a wise and scholarly man. She was still not entirely sure why the king would want her at his palace, although she suspected that the incident with the priest and the jaguar skin had much to do with it. She did not think her life would change—after all, she was still a slave and moving from one master to another would not change that.

  She thought of Six-Wind, the boy at the calmecac who had promised that when he came of age he would buy her and set her free. He had been at least three or four years older than she and by now must have gained manhood.

  Where was he now? She couldn’t remember when he had last seen her. Perhaps he had found prettier girls and regretted that hasty promise. Perhaps he had told himself that he need not honor a vow made to a slave. Or he had just forgotten.

  Nine-lizard sat beside Mixcatl, and when the boat left the shelter of the canals for the open lake, he wrapped a portion of his cloak around her. Neither spoke, for the escort was sitting just in front. And even if he hadn’t been there, she would have remained quiet. To the questions she wanted to ask, she knew that Nine-Lizard would have no answer.

  She listened to the soft splash as the paddles were dipped and the liquid gurgle as they were drawn back and up again. With every stroke, she felt the boat pull forward. She could hardly believe she was finally leaving Tenochtitlan. During the last few days she had become a guarded prisoner in her chamber, under suspicion of sorcery and threatened by death. Frightened as she was, she had kept painting, for only by losing herself in work could she keep calm.

  Now the danger was behind her and growing more distant with every paddlestroke. She had no idea why the king of Texcoco had bargained for her safety, but she was too grateful to question. Texcoco would be a refuge for her and Nine-Lizard, where they could work on the history in peace.

  Even as she pictured the life to come, it was overlaid with images from the day in the plaza when the schoolboys tormented her and the later incident with the youthful priest. Would things like that happen in Wise Coyote’s house? Mixcatl knew she had left a part of the danger behind, but another part she could not be rid of. It traveled with her, inside her. And she sensed that it had only begun to awake and grow.

  She hoped that Wise Coyote did not wear a jaguar skin and then weariness overwhelmed her and she sank into slumber.

  Mixcatl peered up through the mists of sleep at the thin gray dawn that hung over the lake. The dugout was no longer moving forward, but rocking and bumping. Knuckling her eyes, she saw that the boat was moored at a stone dock at the base of a steep hillside. Nine-Lizard rose, took her arm and helped her out.

  After a night on the canoe, Mixcatl found herself weaving and staggering along the stone dock, and when she saw the stairway cut into the sharp slope, she feared she would be too dizzy to climb it. Determinedly she shook away the giddy feeling and mounted the steps, Nine-Lizard behind her. Her legs were aching from the long climb before they were halfway up. The rising dawn turned the damp stone pink and touched the clouds to the west with fiery orange.

  At last they reached the top, where a flagstoned walkway led between little pools and waterfalls. Spring water ran in glazed troughs from pool to pool and fed the luxuriant gardens that had been planted. The flowery scent and the humming of the bees about the dew-moist blossoms got into Mixcatl’s head and made her dizzy.

  And then came another smell, one that made her widen her eyes and lift her chin. What it was, she didn’t know, at least she could not have spoken it. In her mind however, the scent raised shadows—fleet shadows with long legs and strange crowns of horns. The thoughts made her hunch her shoulders and change her gait, so that she walked with a slow, measured step.

  “There are animals here,” she said to Nine-Lizard. He glanced at her with an odd look, as if the tone of her voice had changed. She felt strangely dreamy, yet alert and intensely excited. “Take me to see them!”

  Nine-Lizard only muttered under his breath, then took Mixcatl’s arm and hurried her along the path. “I did not think that our host indulged in the princely habit of keeping tame deer on the palace grounds,” he grumbled. “I hope he will take my advice and pen them, or move them elsewhere.”

  The musky scent in the damp morning air intoxicated Mixcatl. The thought came into her head that, if she struggled, she could probably escape Nine-Lizard. She felt strong enough to overpower him. Once she was free, her nose would lead her to the source of the scent.

  Even as she tensed to wrench herself loose, the odor faded in her nostrils and a part of her mind flashed a warning at her. Turn against Nine-Lizard? Her friend, teacher and mentor? He had kept the angered priest from plunging a knife into her that day in the House of Scribes.

  The shock of what she had wanted to do drove the thoughts away. A breeze blew in her face, damp with the wind from Lake Texcoco. She drank it in, letting it cleanse the strange feeling from her mind.

  Another flight of stone steps and then another walkway brought them to the palace of Tezcotzinco.

  It was a handsome edifice, made of sapphire-colored blue and green stone, inlaid with mosaic tile. It was built into the side of a hill, so that it had more than the usual two or three levels. Mixcatl noticed that several of the little streams which tumbled down the hill had been redirected to run underneath the palace’s foundations and emerge in covered troughs.

  Here the escort that Ilhuicamina had sent with them departed, to be received in a manner worthy of his status and class. The two slave-scribes were taken in through an unobtrusive side-entrance by servants. They were received by a man who introduced himself as a
n assistant estate manager. His job was to look after the small staff of slaves and servants who maintained Tezcotzinco when the king was not in residence.

  He showed the two slave-scribes to a large, airy chamber that looked out over the lower gardens. A partition was set up to separate Mixcatl’s sleeping mat from Nine-lizard’s, but otherwise, they shared quarters.

  The assistant estate manager informed them that Wise Coyote would not be arriving for many days, as he had business in his capital city. They were to make themselves at home and continue their work on the document for Ilhuicamina. If they needed or wanted anything, they could make a request of a servant, who would then convey the message to him.

  Mixcatl, who had been needing to relieve herself, noticed that there was no pot available for the purpose. When at last she asked a servant, she was shown to a small chamber, almost a niche in the rock walls of the palace. The little room was narrow but deep, curtained off for privacy. Mixcatl expected to find a vessel akin to the pisspots she had emptied while in the calmecac, but instead she found only a low stone slab with a hole in it. From the hole came rushing and gurgling sounds that dismayed her. When she did peer through, she saw a stream of water running beneath the hole.

  Why Wise Coyote had made a stream run under his house, she did not know, but when she used the hole for its apparent purpose, she realized that the swiftly running current swept everything away so that there was no remaining smell. Another trickle of water to one side continually filled a stone basin and drained down into a channel on the floor. There was an empty bowl she could use to dip and rinse with as well as drying cloths hung on pegs.

  What a clever man Wise Coyote was, she thought. With a little room one could go to there was no need for chamberpots which stank or, worse yet, overturned and spilled their noisome contents unless they were quickly emptied. She wondered if there were other little chambers for other rooms in the palace. How nice it must be for Wise Coyote’s servants, not to have to collect all the pisspots and go outside to dump them.

  She told Nine-lizard of her discovery and he inspected the water room, nodding, although he declined to make use of it. Then the two ate breakfast served to them on a turquoise-inlaid tray. After that, they began work on the history.

  Though painting the document was absorbing, Mixcatl occasionally grew weary and needed time away from her paints and brushes. She asked for permission to go beyond the confines of her quarters. The assistant estate manager sent word that she might explore the gardens and the palace, as long as she did not enter any rooms or go too far from her quarters. She soon realized that, apart from herself, Nine-Lizard and the resident staff of servants, the palace was empty.

  She decided that the absence of anyone else at Tezcotzinco was connected with the examination she and Nine-Lizard had undergone before crossing the lake. In addition, she had a feeling that the assistant estate manager had been directed to keep a close watch on them through the servants. Even if the healer had passed the two newcomers as being free from sickness. Wise Coyote might keep them away from the rest of his household until he was certain.

  How long would he keep them alone, she wondered. She enjoyed the simple life of rising early, breakfasting, then painting glyphs all morning and taking walks after lunch. But there was something about the isolation here and the sense of being observed that made her feel unsettled. She wanted Wise Coyote to return, so that she could see for herself what sort of man he was.

  One day in the early afternoon, Mixcatl was strolling the blue-tiled hallways of the palace near the library when she heard the echoing slap of sandals on stone. She thought at first that a servant might be approaching, although they seldom went near this part of the house. She quickly decided that it was not a servant. The loud ringing steps spoke of confidence, as if the one approaching knew he had a perfect right to be there.

  Perhaps it was Wise Coyote himself, returning unannounced to see how his scribes were doing. She halted, feeling frightened as the steps grew nearer. Perhaps she should run back to her room. He might not appreciate her wandering around his palace. If he wanted to visit her, he would do so. She shouldn’t thrust herself in his way. After all, as Nine-Lizard had told her, he was the ruler of Texcoco.

  As these thoughts went through her head, a young man came around the comer, swinging his arms and singing to himself. He was tall, but not broad of chest like a warrior. Instead he had a graceful slimness like a dancer or a runner and a bounce to his step that went with his engaging smile. He wore a cloak and loincloth of dark jade-green, with a matching headband. On his hands and thighs were smears of an odd green dust and Mixcatl could see some on his clothes as well. He looked as if he might have come from a craftsman’s workshop.

  It was too late to duck around a corner. He had seen her and was coming toward her. Well, if this was Wise Coyote, she would get her chance to meet him. She did not fall to her knees as she had seen others do when approached by one of noble status. She only bowed her head, as was proper, so she would not look him in the face.

  “Look up, child.” His voice was light with happiness, but resonant and strong. “The sun is pouring in the window and the dust motes are dancing. It is too beautiful a day to cast your eyes down.”

  “Are you Wise Coyote?” Mixcatl peered up at him.

  “No. I am one of his many sons. It is said that I resemble him greatly. I am Huetzin.”

  She studied the newcomer’s face and decided that if Wise Coyote was similar to his son in appearance and manner, she would like him. Huetzin’s face was slightly long, his complexion dark, his eyes deepset. In another, such features might have given a gloomy or moody impression, but there was a certain luminosity of spirit that lighted the young man’s face.

  “You must be one of the two scribe-painters that father told me about,” said Huetzin. “Are you enjoying life at Tezcotzinco?”

  “Very much,” answered Mixcatl politely, and added, “it is nice not to have to empty pisspots.”

  Huetzin laughed. “Of all the things to praise about Tezcotzinco, and you choose that. Well, I will tell you a secret. Father hated emptying pots too, so he built those little water rooms. I didn’t like them when I was small—I nearly fell through the hole.” Shaking his head, he chuckled to himself.

  “I would like to meet your father. Will he come soon?”

  “I think so. He sent me word that I could come and use the library. That means he is satisfied that it is safe to let you have contact with others of his household.”

  “He seems to be a wise and cautious man.”

  “Yes. His practice of keeping newcomers to the household separated from the rest has saved us from several plagues that swept through the courts of other kings. Neither he nor I understand why the method works, but it does.”

  “Why haven’t I seen you before this?” Mixcatl asked.

  “I do not stay here. I have a workshop close to the palace grounds and I sleep in a small shelter nearby. It is not the life of luxury pictured for a king’s son, but I have what I want.”

  Mixcatl wanted to know what that was.

  “Why, the same thing as you have been given, young scribe. The freedom to work at my art without being disturbed.”

  It was easy to talk to Huetzin, with his smile and his open manner. She soon learned that he was a stone-worker and a sculptor. As a king’s son, he did not have to work, but he enjoyed doing statuary for temples and creating pieces from his own inspiration. It was not enough to live on, but Wise Coyote kindly supplied the difference.

  “Would you like to come into the library? I am sure my father would not mind,” the youth said, drawing aside one edge of a doorhanging.

  To Mixcatl, a library was a chamber where scholars stored and read sacred texts. When she followed Huetzin into the room, she saw many bound-up manuscripts on shelves. Pieces of artwork and sculpture stood on the floor or rested on pedestals or special brackets.

  She quickly saw that Huetzin had not come to study the books, but
to draw inspiration from the figurines and bas-relief carvings of Wise Coyote’s collection. He handled each piece with reverence and care, studying it closely before replacing it on the shelf. Some he took over to the windows, where a rich yellow sunlight was streaming through.

  “These are all images of gods and spirits from times long past,” he said to Mixcatl. “Some were lost; others now make up our present religion. My father seeks in them the beginnings of a god he can worship without getting blood on his hands.” Huetzin’s face turned pensive as he turned away from the window. “And I seek to create an image of a god that has no form. Perhaps, as some say, it is a foolish task.”

  Mixcatl did not understand Huetzin’s words, but she felt in them something similar to longings that she had known, but could not yet put into words. As she let her eyes travel along the shelves of beautifully wrought or carved objects, her gaze came to rest on two that stood slightly apart from the rest. One was a composite figure of a broad-shouldered and deep-jawed man holding the figure of a grotesque baby. The other was a single figure, not stiffly upright but down on one knee, with head and hands raised. Looking closer, she saw that the hands looked more like paws and the face was a strange blend of human and great cat.

  An odd feeling like a shiver ran down her back as she looked at them, yet she felt a compulsion to pick them up, touch and study each one in turn. There were strange echoes of familiarity in both, as if she had once known what they meant, but had somehow forgotten. Feeling her heart start to hammer in her chest, she quickly moved away.

  For an instant she had forgotten Huetzin. Now, as she sent a glance toward him, she saw a questioning look on his face and his mouth moving in words that he spoke only to himself.

  “Thank you for letting me see the library,” she said, trying not to let her voice betray the strange shakiness that had come over her at the sight of the two figurines. “I should go now. Nine-Lizard will be wanting to start work soon.”

  “May I come and visit you both later?” asked Huetzin. “I know where your quarters are. I would be eager to see your work, if you don’t mind.”