THIRTY-FIVE
Come morning, we broke our fast with the mayor of Orgullo del Sol, dining once more in the courtyard on fresh fruit, eggs topped with a spicy sauce, and more of the flatbread Porfirio Reyes told us was made from a grain called maize. It was the staple item of the Nahuatl diet.
As the mayor gave us further advice on our journey, my mind wandered.
I remembered dining on a dish of spice-laced eggs and flatbread made of lentils with the Rani Amrita and her son, Ravindra, in Bhaktipur, and I wished I were there instead of here. I wondered how tall solemn Ravindra had grown since Bao and I had left, and how the women and children we’d rescued from the Falconer’s harem were faring.
I wondered if the vast change the Rani had implemented, banishing the practice of regarding no-caste people as untouchable, had begun to spread throughout Bhodistan or if it remained confined to Bhaktipur.
Thinking on the mayor’s lack of compassion and gazing at his unlovely face, I thought I would give a great deal to see Amrita again, to hear her musical laugh as she teased me affectionately.
But Bhaktipur was far, far away. Our business was here in Terra Nova. With an effort, I made myself concentrate on Porfirio Reyes’ advice. I might not like the fellow, but the truth was, he was being generous with us.
“… brought horses with you?” he was inquiring.
“Four pack-horses, all geldings,” Balthasar replied. “Don’t worry, we mean to respect the Aragonian ban on trading horse-flesh and steel weaponry.”
“Good, good.” Porfirio nodded in approval. “As long as you hew to the insistence that it’s forbidden by your gods, Achcuatli shouldn’t give you too much trouble. As much as he’d like to get his hands on them, he’s a superstitious fellow, too. But if I may give you an additional piece of counsel, you’d be well advised to spare one of the horses that Lady Moirin might ride.”
“Why?” I asked.
“In order to command respect,” he said to me. “My lady, I’ve seen your magic, and I’m willing to believe you’ve a measure of experience in the world, but there’s no telling what the Nahuatl will do when they get their first glimpse of a European woman. The more respect you can command, the better.”
Balthasar raised his brows. “Do they practice heresy?” He clarified in the face of the mayor’s incomprehension. “Do they force themselves on the unwilling?”
“Ah.” Porfirio’s expression cleared. “I’d forgotten that was the D’Angeline term. Given the opportunity, I don’t doubt they would.”
“Actually, it’s not a common practice among the Nahuatl,” Denis de Toluard murmured.
“It’s not?” The mayor appeared surprised.
“I learned a few things about them during my time here,” Denis said dryly. “I don’t dispute their many cruelties, but that doesn’t seem to be one of them.”
“Even so, it’s not a bad idea,” Bao said.
“I don’t want to ride while everyone else has to walk,” I protested.
Bao gave me a look. “I made a promise to your father, Moirin—and you have a knack for finding trouble. If there is a chance the Nahuatl will be hopelessly inflamed by your green eyes and foreign beauty, and a chance that riding astride will help convince them that you are a great and powerful royal lady whose person must be respected, I will take it.”
I shrugged. “All right, all right!”
Porfirio Reyes looked relieved. “A wise decision, my lady. I’ll see that you’re loaned a saddle.”
Shortly after we’d concluded our breakfast, Captain Septimus Rousse came to report that all was in readiness for our journey. The sailors were lodged for the duration in an Aragonian inn, and Edouard Durel remained under guard. The ship was unloaded, trade goods distributed among our four pack-horses. He took the news that we were to lose one of them in stride.
“We’ll hire a few of those porters,” he said. “Our men are already burdened enough marching in armor.”
“You might visit the slave market,” Porfirio suggested. “In terms of cost, it’s likely more effective to purchase several slaves and sell them when you reach Tenochtitlan.” He caught my uneasy look. “I understand your discomfort, my lady, but it’s the way things are done here. It’s customary among the Nahuatl.”
I shook my head. “The folk of the Maghuin Dhonn hold their freedom dear. I could not bear knowing I’d treated another human being as nothing more than chattel, no matter how briefly.”
The mayor patted my hand. “Ah, I’d forgotten what the delicate sensibilities of real women were like! No doubt your captain can hire the services of a few free porters.”
Porfirio Reyes insisted on accompanying us to the harbor where our party was assembled in preparation for departure. I had to own, they looked quite resplendent. House Shahrizai had seen to it that our fighting force was outfitted in a manner appropriate to the climate and the need for extended foot travel, and all forty of Balthasar’s hand-picked men were clad in shirts of the finest chain-mail D’Angeline smiths could forge, over which they wore suede brigandines dyed Courcel blue and studded with rivets. Steel vambraces, greaves, and conical helmets that flared to protect their necks completed their ensemble, all polished to a high shine and glittering in the bright morning sun.
“This is going to be beastly hot,” Balthasar predicted in a dire tone, donning his own helmet.
Bao eyed him. “Is it really necessary for the journey?”
Balthasar buckled his chin-strap. “If we want to command respect, unfortunately, yes.”
Bao spun his staff with obnoxious good cheer, looking cool and comfortable in light attire. “Glad I fight better without it, then!”
“No need to gloat,” Balthasar said sourly.
Septimus Rousse, the only other unarmored, bare-headed man in our party, oversaw the matter of unloading one pack-horse and procuring Nahuatl porters in short order, and the horse was saddled and bridled with the mayor’s borrowed tack.
“Lady Moirin.” Porfirio Reyes took my hand and bowed, kissing it. When he straightened, his heavy-lidded eyes were grave. “I would ask you one last time not to do this thing. I do not want your death on my conscience.”
I felt guilty at having conceived a dislike for him, for he had shown us a good deal of courtesy and generosity. I did not think he was a bad fellow—just a man, with any man’s faults and flaws. “I’m sorry, my lord mayor,” I said gently. “But I must try. Please, be assured that this is on no one’s conscience but mine. I am grateful for your assistance.”
He released my hand. “Farewell.”
There was a finality to the word. Like Duc Rogier de Barthelme, the mayor of Orgullo del Sol did not expect to see me alive again. To his credit, at least the latter did not welcome the prospect.
Still, I prayed I might prove them both wrong.
“Moirin?” Bao touched my shoulder. “Ready?” When I nodded, he cupped his hands to give me a boost into the saddle.
Unaccustomed to being ridden, the pack-horse sidled sideways and shook his head, ears flapping in protest at the change in routine. Leaving the reins slack, I touched its thoughts with mine, soothing it. “Be still, brave heart,” I murmured in Alban, reverting to my mother-tongue for the sheer comfort of it. “I do not weigh nearly so much as the burden you were meant to carry, do I? And I am told we must command respect here, you and I.” My mount planted his hooves and shivered; and then its head came up, ears pricked, and I stroked its withers. “Well done.”
“I’d forgotten you talked to animals, Moirin,” Balthasar remarked.
It evoked a long-ago memory of Jehanne, posing me a similar question in a sweet, poisonous voice, long before things had changed forever between us, long before Jehanne had become my unlikely rescuer, when she’d caught me whispering to the long-legged filly that had been Prince Thierry’s gift to me. Do bear-witches speak to animals?
Ah, gods! Even the memories of her early unkindness hurt to remember.
“I do,” I said in D’Angeline, echoing my long-ago reply. “It doesn’t mean they speak back to me.”
Balthasar Shahrizai, my unlikely ally, smiled at me. “Shall we go?”
I inclined my head to him. “By all means.”
Thus began our journey to Tenochtitlan, the heart of the Nahuatl Empire.
For the first two days, we marched through tropical warmth, the men complaining and sweating through the padded gambesons they wore beneath their armor, the Nahuatl porters trudging uncomplaining in simple breech-clouts with packs on their backs and tump-lines bound around their foreheads; me feeling guilty at riding while others walked, feeling guilty at reveling in the palm trees that swayed above us, dreaming their hot, languid dreams. Whether or not Bao and Septimus Rousse felt guilty in their more comfortable attire, I could not say.
At last, the smoking White Mountain of Iztactepetl drew nearer, and we began to pass beneath its shadow, glancing apprehensively at the plume of smoke that trailed from its peak, hoping the volcano rested easy.
For now, it did.
On the third day, another footroad converged with ours, and we saw our first travelling Nahuatl merchant party.
Pochtecas.
The merchants were unassuming; later, I would learn that it was their way to appear modest and conceal their wealth. Indeed, whatever goods they carried would be hidden upon arrival in Tenochtitlan. There was a long line of porters—or more likely, slaves—carrying bundles in the same manner as ours.
But the warriors guarding the expedition—now, they were as resplendent in their own way as our company. They wore curious armor of quilted cotton that had been soaked in saltwater to stiffen it, and carried wooden shields on which devices had been worked with bright feathers. One of them was dressed head to toe in the skin of a spotted beast, and a great headdress of feathers towered above him.
I was so fascinated, I forgot to be frightened at first.
Balthasar held up one hand, and we all halted. The Nahuatl party halted too, conferring amongst themselves. Then the spotted warrior and the others strode forward, clearly intending to engage us in some way. At a glance, their numbers looked to be even with ours.
Now my heartbeat accelerated, and I silently cursed Porfirio Reyes for planting seeds of fear in me.
“They look like they’re ready for a masquerade, don’t they?” Clemente DuBois said nervously.
“Shut up, Clemente,” Balthasar said in an absent tone. “All right, let’s see what they want, shall we? Denis, you’re our translator.”
Surreptitiously, I strung my bow.
“No foolish ideas, Moirin,” Bao warned me. “You’re staying behind, and I’m staying right beside you.”
“I’m just being prepared,” I retorted.
The Nahuatl carried throwing spears and club-like weapons set all around the sides with rows of sharp obsidian blades. The good thing about the latter, Denis had told us, was that obsidian was brittle and shattered easily, especially against steel. The bad thing about the former was that the Nahuatl used handheld tools to hurl the spears with exceptional force, which Denis reckoned might be sufficient to pierce brigandine armor.
I made myself breathe through the Five Styles and remain calm.
The two parties met where the roads converged. Balthasar’s men didn’t draw steel, and the Nahuatl didn’t raise their weapons. At one point, the spotted warrior glanced over at me. His expression was stoic, but there was a spark of curiosity in his eyes. He gestured with one arm, making an inquiry.
From atop my mount, I watched Denis reply. I did my best to keep my own face empty of expression.
After a brief exchange, the pochtecas and their porters advanced to join the warriors. Denis de Toluard beckoned to us. “Moirin!” he called. “They wish to meet you.”
“Bad idea,” Bao muttered.
I glanced down at him. “I’ll never command respect if I show myself to be a coward at the outset.”
He sighed. “You have a point.”
I rode forward slowly, Bao walking beside me. Septimus Rousse stayed behind with our porters to keep a hand on the pack-horses’ lines.
The Nahuatl eyed me with interest, but they made no move, threatening or otherwise. When I reached them, I drew rein. Bao moved a few feet away and held his staff in a deceptively casual defensive pose. My former pack-horse stood stock-still beneath me. I met the spotted warrior’s gaze impassively.
“Lady Moirin, this is the Jaguar Knight Temilotzin.” Beneath his steel helmet, rills of sweat streaked Denis de Toluard’s face, but his voice was steady. “He is in command of this expedition.”
I inclined my head a fraction. “Niltze, Temilotzin.”
The spotted warrior gave me a fierce grin and touched his brow and his chest, speaking too rapidly for me to catch more than one word in three.
“Temilotzin says that it is clear the women of Terre d’Ange are braver than the women of Aragonia, who cower on the far shores of their ocean and dare not show their faces in the Nahuatl Empire,” Denis translated for me. “He thanks you for allowing their party to precede us, since our progress is woefully slow. For our courtesy, he will put in a good word for us with the Emperor’s chief advisor.”
“Tlazocamatli, Temilotzin,” I said politely. “Tell him I am honored by his gracious words, and I thank him for his kindness.”
Denis obeyed.
The spotted warrior chuckled and repeated his gesture, touching his brow and chest, then turned to his party and issued a sharp order.
“Fall back to let them pass!” Balthasar called out.
All of us obeyed, clearing the junction. The pochtecas’ party tramped past us at what was indeed a far more efficient pace than our own.
Once the last man had passed, Bao lowered his staff to rest the butt on the ground. “Guess they weren’t hopelessly inflamed after all, huh?”
I gazed after their baggage-train as it began to dwindle in the distance. “So it seems.”
“Be glad of it,” Balthasar said wryly.
I laughed. “Believe me, I am.”