The Goldsmith's Daughter (14 page)

The strangers had entered the city on Quetzalcoatl's day.

Gods have many shapes and many aspects. On this day the usually benign god is at his most fearsome, taking the form of a tempestuous whirlwind that destroys everything in its path. Our priests tell us that this is a time to be dreaded, for on this night robbers, wizards, murderers and rapists are free to do their worst while their victims lie powerless in a trance-like slumber.

No criminals roamed the streets; no violence was done to anyone. Yet people seemed dazed as though they had been dealt a crushing blow to the head. An eerie quiet thickened the air from sundown to sunrise. And I myself sat as though turned to stone. The face of the youth was branded on my mind; I could not avoid it. I did not want to.

The strangers had been welcomed in the style of honoured guests and were now lodged in the palace. Their Tlaxcalan followers – although dressed for war and painted for battle – had been received by our emperor as if they were their loyal retinue. He had not bowed before them, nor treated them as conquerors, and there was some relief in that. No blow had yet been struck. But whether it would fall this night or the next we did not know.

As we ate the meal Mayatl placed before us, my father began to murmur, “He let them in. With not one word of protest he let them in! Did you see him, Itacate?”

“I did.”

“He let them in and went with them like a child!”

His distress was profound. I had never seen him so unsettled. Never heard him question the wisdom of our ruler.

“He has made a gift of us all. Placed our fate in the hands of strangers. He may as well have given us all to be slaves.”

“It cannot be so. Perhaps they are good men,” I ventured. “If they are indeed ambassadors from some distant land—”

“From what land? Where? Our priests have told us the limits of our world! Have they judged wrong? How can that be?”

I could make no answer. Instead I said, “The emperor has spies, has he not? He surely knows more of these strangers than we do. He must feel they are to be trusted.”

But my father would not be soothed. “He knows what they did in Cholula. As do you. They have a wild – an unnatural – streak of cruelty threaded through their hearts. He has unleashed a monster in our city! And taken the Tlaxcalans – our enemy – to be his guests.”

“Yet they have not struck.”

“They do not need to! If they hold our lord, they hold us too. We are helpless now; our emperor has made us so. We must keep far away from them. You too, Itacate. I saw the stare you were given. Do not venture near the palace. You are not to go there. Not on any account. Do you hear me?”

I nodded, for I could do nothing else.

But as I lay on my mat through that long, sleepless night I could neither sweep the image of the youth from my mind, nor wipe the feel of his gaze from my skin.

In the days and weeks that followed, the city's inhabitants moved as though stupefied. With each breath we expected the hand of fate to bring our doom. Yet nothing happened. Life seemed to go on as before. There were changes in the marketplace but I thought at first these were small things, of no great import to anyone but myself.

There was no gold to be had in Tlaltelolco, and those who traded it were absent from the market. It seemed they had been told to take their wares straight to the palace. Our emperor wished to ease the terrible sickness that had brought the strangers to our city in search of a cure.

I felt the loss of gold like an aching tooth. With none to craft, what purpose did I have? What could distract me from my thoughts? What could ease the gaping wound of my brother's loss? I walked behind my father as he meandered between the sellers of gems and polished stones, but I could see the goods they displayed were of poor quality. I presumed that those of greater value had been poured into the laps of the strangers.

Popotl was not at market. I did not miss him – I disliked the trader – and yet his empty stall unnerved me. Whether he had perished at Cholula, or whether he had delivered his wares in person to the palace, none could say; but whatever the reason, it was the strangers who had caused his absence.

As I cast my eyes about me, I saw more that coloured my mind with disquiet. Those who traded fruit and vegetables had laid their produce on reed mats as they always did. But it seemed to me that the tomatoes were piled less high, the sweet potatoes spread more thinly, the chillies less abundant than they had ever been. The strangers numbered a few hundred men, their Tlaxcalan followers many thousands. They were all our guests. With so many extra mouths to feed, much produce must have been delivered to the court. For now – so soon after the harvest, when the grain stores were full – our supplies would be sufficient. But how long were these foreigners to reside in our city? When winter began to bite, how would we feed them? How many would go hungry to provide hospitality to those we had never invited?

Troubled, we at last came to the edge of the market. My father was empty-handed. Sighing, he said, “We should go home. There is nothing here for us today.”

Only then did I remember that I had promised Mayatl I would bring meat for our noonday meal. “I must go back!” I replied. “I told Mayatl—”

I did not finish my sentence. Over my shoulder my father had seen something that caused him such alarm that he seized me by the arm and pushed me ahead of him. Turning, I caught a glimpse of flashing metal. The strangers had come to market and were striding amongst the stalls, examining the wares.

“Our meal!” I gasped as my father propelled me before him, away from the square. “Mayatl wished me to return with meat.”

“I have no fancy for meat today,” he snapped. “Let us have fish instead. You trade for it in this direction, do you not?”

He steered me along the street that led to the lake shore. But when we came to the place where the fishermen moored their canoes, a disturbing sight met our eyes.

The tall willow trees that had once given such pleasant shade had been felled. They lay stripped and bare, split into long, thin planks. And those who had cut them down and now worked them into the shape of large canoes were not men of Tenochtitlán, but strangers.

O
ur meal was a meagre, quiet one, and so we heard the approach of Axcahuah long before he set foot in our house. The tinkling of his bells announced his arrival, but still he called loudly as he crossed the threshold, demanding my father's attention.

“Goldsmith!”

My father stood. “I am here, my lord. You are welcome. Will you eat with us?”

Axcahuah brushed aside my father's courtesies as if batting away noisome flies. With no preceding civilities he stated, “You are ordered by the emperor to come to the palace.”

Fear spasmed across my father's face. “Now, my lord?”

“No. On the morrow. You have time to gather such tools as you will need. Our emperor wishes you to make another figure.”

“Another?” My father was astonished. “Were not two sufficient for his needs?”

Axcahuah snapped angrily, “Do you question the will of Montezuma? Are you reluctant to do his bidding?”

“No, my lord!” my father replied hastily, bowing his head. “I know well the great honour he gives this humble goldsmith. With all reverence I shall do as I am commanded.”

Somewhat soothed, the nobleman spoke again. “He wishes to present a gift to our guests. It seems they have their own gods. Montezuma commands that a figure be made to honour the deity who steered them to our city.”

My father nodded. “It shall be done, my lord. I will come. My daughter will accompany me to fetch and carry, for she can do so with discretion.”

I marvelled at the skill with which my father slid me into the scheme; but it was not to be.

“No,” the noble replied curtly. “This commission is no secret. There are slaves to run such errands as you wish. The girl stays at home.”

Axcahuah left as swiftly as he had come and my father went to his workshop. His pale face and grey lips spoke eloquently of his terror at what was to come, yet he gave me not one look or word of reproach. But I berated myself. Accused myself. Hated myself. I raged at malicious Tezcatlipoca, who had given me the talent that should have belonged to Mitotiqui. My misplaced skill had condemned not only my brother but also my father.

Quietly he gathered what tools he would need and laid them out on the floor. Slowly, with trembling hands, he rolled them in a cloth for the morning. Then he said, “I will go into the city, Itacate. I feel the need to walk.”

“Do you wish for company?”

“No. I will go alone.”

He left me, shoulders hunched, back bent, looking suddenly old and frail. He did not return until after sunset, going straight to his chamber without a word.

That night I lay in the dark, dreading what would happen. It tore at my throat with teeth as sharp as those of the mighty dogs who did the strangers' bidding. Unable to sleep, at last I crossed the courtyard. Kneeling before the household shrine, I pricked my flesh with thorns until the hot blood flowed. Reverently, desperately, I begged the gods to show me some way to evade the coming disaster.

When the night was at its blackest, the chill breath of Tezcatlipoca cooled the heated ardour of my prayers. His cold touch stilled me. And while I sat, motionless, waiting, the god slipped a thought into my head; I saw a plan as clearly as if he had whispered the words in my ear.

My hands had placed my father in danger of his life. My hands alone could save him.

He could not make the statue; I could. But I was a girl. A girl could do nothing, be nothing, go nowhere. Were I a boy I could have gone in my father's place. Had I been born one… Or had I the appearance of one…

The young men of my city wear their hair loose about their shoulders. Only when they have taken captives in battle can they put it up into the warriors' prized topknot. Girls of marriageable age such as myself bind their hair, coiling it tightly at the nape of the neck. If it were unbound, nothing would distinguish mine from my brother's.

A woman's garb is simple: a long shirt and a skirt that reaches to the ground. That of a man is simpler still: a length of cloth about the hips bound in a knot at the groin; and a cloak, tied at the neck, which hangs open at the chest. Yet some prefer to wear their cloaks beneath one arm, and make the knot upon the opposite shoulder. With a large cloak might I not do the same? The generous quantity of cloth would hang in folds, concealing my small breasts. And to ensure the fabric did not fall apart, I could stitch one side to the other.

The risk was great. If I was discovered, I would be killed. Yet my father's death was already certain. His failing sight, his lesser skill, guaranteed it. And when he offended the emperor, was not my own doom equally assured? The words of Montezuma echoed in my ears:
If you once displease me, all trace of you and your family shall be removed from the earth.

I could not sit meekly and await this fate.

Before the sun rose I dressed myself in the manner of a youth. At first light I slipped through my sleeping father's chamber and crossed the courtyard to his workshop. Taking his tools I went silently from the house. And, not knowing if I had yielded to the god's will or fallen into a malevolent trap of his devising, I set forth for the palace.

T
he palace had changed since the arrival of the strangers.

Every building in Tenochtitlán is open to the street. From the humblest peasant's hut to the emperor's vast dwelling, there are no barriers preventing entry. Until these foreigners came to our city we had no notion of what a door was. As I stood before the palace, I saw huge planks of wood fastened together to bar the entrance. None might pass through without permission. And those that granted access were not the servants of the emperor, but iron-clad strangers astride their mounts.

Overcome with fear, I knew not how to approach. I might perhaps have turned and fled, but one called to me in my own tongue, and I was compelled to answer.