Naamah's Blessing (Moirin's Trilogy #3)

Naamah's Blessing (Moirin's Trilogy #3) Page 34

He, too, began railing at Denis in a voluble tone, waving his arms in the air, all the while ignoring Denis’ aggrieved replies. Balthasar attempted to inject himself into the conversation, and was roundly ignored by both of them.

I lost my temper, and loosed a shout at the top of my voice. “Enough!”

It rang loud enough that it startled them into silence.

I took a deep breath. “Thank you. Now, will someone please tell me what in the seven hells this is all about?”

The Aragonian commander spat on the ground. “Have you no shame?” he demanded in a thick accent. “And you!” He glared at Denis. “To use a woman thusly! I did not think even D’Angelines would fall so low!”

“Commander Ortiz y Ramos is under the mistaken impression that you’re a gift for the Emperor, Moirin,” Denis said wearily.

“What?” I stared at him in shock. “No!”

Diego Ortiz y Ramos pointed at the palanquin and the waiting Nahuatl. “Then why have they come to take you to him?”

“I don’t know!” I said helplessly.

“Why don’t we ask them?” Denis said in an acidic tone. “As I recall, your grasp of the Nahuatl tongue was uncertain, messire.”

Once tempers had cooled, the matter was sorted out. It seemed our spotted warrior friend Temilotzin had indeed spoken favorably of our encounter to the Emperor’s chief advisor, who in turn had reported it to Emperor Achcuatli himself. The tale of a D’Angeline noblewoman in Terra Nova had piqued the Emperor’s curiosity. Without bothering to wait for a request, he’d sent Lord Cuixtli—that was the slender fellow waiting beside the palanquin, who explained the matter to Denis with an air of bored patience—to invite us to the palace for an audience.

“And the Emperor understands that I’m not a—a tribute-gift of some kind?” I was anxious to make that point perfectly clear.

Denis conferred with Lord Cuixtli. “Yes, of course,” he reported. “That’s why he sent the palanquin as a gesture of honor.”

I sighed with relief, and offered a slight bow to the Nahuatl lord. “Tlazocamatli, Cuixtli.”

He inclined his head in reply.

Grateful though I was, after ten days on the road, I’d vastly prefer to meet the Emperor after a bath and a good night’s rest. Not trusting my tentative skills in the Nahuatl tongue, I asked Denis to ask Lord Cuixtli if it would give offense if I asked for a day’s grace, adding assurances that I would hasten to accept the Emperor’s generous offer if it would.

The Nahuatl lord considered the request, his face impassive, at length giving his reply.

“He says it would not give offense,” Denis translated. He gave Diego Ortiz y Ramos an uneasy glance. “If anyone has given offense here today, it is the Aragonians. Lord Cuixtli will return tomorrow two hours after dawn to escort you and five men of your choosing to the palace.”

I thanked him again, and he gave me a faint smile, flicking his fingers toward his brow and chest in a casual approximation of the salute the spotted warrior Temilotzin had offered me. At a gesture, the warriors fell in line and bearers picked up the empty palanquin and began trotting toward the gates after him.

“Well, then,” Balthasar Shahrizai drawled. “Now that that’s over, may I present Lady Moirin mac Fainche to you, Messire Ortiz y Ramos? As well as her husband, the esteemed Messire Bao?”

The Aragonian commander had the decency to look abashed. “Forgive me, Doña Moirin, Don Bao.” He offered a courtly bow. “It was a misunderstanding. But may I ask why a D’Angeline noblewoman would choose to come to Terra Nova?”

“You may,” I said. “If you’re inclined to make amends with an offer of hospitality, I’d prefer to answer it over the course of a meal.”

His chagrin deepened. “Yes, yes, of course! I will see that your men are lodged and fed, and you and your chosen companions must join me.”

It was an awkward dinner. Although Diego Ortiz y Ramos did his best to make up for the misunderstanding with generous hospitality and courteous manners, the matter lay unspoken between us. He’d been quick to think the worst of me, quick to think the worst of Terre d’Ange—as though we would so profane Naamah’s gifts in exchange for easy commerce. And, too, I could not forget that the commander had deliberately withheld advice that would have benefited Prince Thierry. While he was relieved to find that our intention was to trace the Dauphin’s path rather than seek to establish trade with the Nahuatl Empire, it was clear he thought it madness.

Unlike Porfirio Reyes, he did not try to dissuade us.

I liked him less for it.

When the meal ended, it was a relief. I was grateful to retreat to a private chamber with Bao.

“Moirin.” Bao whispered my name.

I buried my face against the firm curve of his throat. “Aye?”

“Nothing,” he murmured against my hair. “Only that I love you.” I felt his lips turn upward in a smile. “You cannot blame the man for thinking what he did.”

“No?” I glanced up at him, uncertain.

Bao kissed me. “No. But only for all the best reasons.”

“Tell me.”

One by one, he did.

And in the end, it was a good night after all.

THIRTY-SEVEN

Come morning, Lord Cuixtli returned.

I had to own, I felt a bit foolish climbing into the palanquin after all the formal introductions that had been omitted in yesterday’s confusion had been made. I may have been descended from three royal lines, but at heart, I was still my mother’s daughter, raised in a cave in the Alban wilderness.

But I’d learned the value of appearances in Terre d’Ange, and it was important to command respect here. So I took my seat beneath the ornate feathered canopy, and four strong Nahuatl bearers hoisted the palanquin onto their shoulders.

On Lord Cuixtli’s command, we departed the Aragonian garrison and set out for the city of Tenochtitlan.

The great causeways connecting the city to the mainland were even more impressive than I’d reckoned, broad enough to allow five men to walk abreast in comfort, well nigh half a league in length. Here and there, the shallow lake was dotted with chinampas, artificial islands rooted to its marshy bottom, spread thick with rich soil and planted with crops. Whatever else was true, the Nahuatl were indeed an ingenious folk.

I wondered what the Emperor was like.

I wished I were more fluent in the Nahuatl tongue. Denis de Toluard had done his best to teach us aboard the ship during our long journey, but he was a natural-born scholar, a scion of Blessed Elua’s most learned Companion Shemhazai, and he grew impatient when skills that came easily to him did not come easily to others. But in truth, I was allowing myself to rely too heavily on him here in Terra Nova. I resolved to make a greater effort, knowing I could do far better than I had thus far.

Still, I had chosen Denis to accompany me to the audience with Emperor Achcuatli, along with Bao and Balthasar and Septimus Rousse, rounding out my roster of five companions with Brice de Bretel, who had impressed me with his steadiness aboard the ship. Brice carried our tribute-gift for the Emperor, a large, very fine mirror set in a gilded frame studded with gems, wrapped in ornate brocade and gold braid.

I hoped it would find favor with him, and he would be willing to provide us with aid. One knowledgeable guide could mean the difference between success and failure, mayhap even life or death.

At last our company traversed the length of the great causeway and entered the city proper. We passed many low dwellings, as well as open squares where markets were held, throngs of folk buying and selling goods in a calm manner. Everything in Tenochtitlan seemed very clean and orderly.

It wasn’t until we passed through a gate into the main central square where the great temples loomed that I began to feel uncomfortable.

The largest of the temples was truly immense, with twin staircases stretching up into the blue sky to reach a pair of shrines impossibly high above us. I glanced uneasily at it. All seemed quiet and there was no indication that the stairs had run red with blood anytime recently, but there was no mistaking its purpose. Tall racks of human skulls lined the base, hollow-eyed and grinning. There must have been tens of thousands of them altogether. Some were clearly ancient, long ago picked clean by scavenging birds and bleached by the elements.

Others still bore traces of weathered flesh and skin.

I swallowed hard, trying not to shudder.

Following my gaze, Lord Cuixtli spoke to Denis. I caught the gist of his words, which was that he understood the custom was distasteful to the strangers from beyond the sea, and no sacrifice was scheduled for today.

“When is the next?” I made my first attempt since Orgullo del Sol to hold an actual conversation in Nahuatl. “Soon?”

“Not soon, no.” Lord Cuixtli shook his head. “Only during the high—” He used a word I didn’t know. Seeing my lack of comprehension, he addressed Denis in a spate of rapid language. Denis nodded, listening with a mixture of repressed horror and a scholar’s perennial fascination.

“It’s as I told you before, Moirin,” he said to me when the fellow had finished. “The Nahuatl have gone some way toward accepting Mithras Sol Invictus as a substitute for Tonatiuh, their sun god.” He licked his lips as though they’d gone dry. “The Aragonians have imported sacrificial bulls for the sacred rites, and that appears to be… satisfactory. Lord Cuixtli himself is an initiate in the mysteries. But the Aragonians have no worthy substitute for the rain god or the war god, so as a precaution the Nahuatl continue to offer the appropriate sacrifices at the high festivals.”

“I see.” As I recalled from Porfirio Reyes’ tale, the rain god was the one who required the tears of children. I pushed the thought away. It would do me no good to loathe the Nahuatl for their beliefs when we so urgently needed their goodwill.

The Emperor’s palace was on the far side of the wall that bordered the ceremonial square. There, my bearers lowered the palanquin so that I might disembark and proceed on foot along with the others.

Although not so elaborate in construction as the Palace in the City of Elua, or the Celestial City in Shuntian, the palace was every bit as imposing in terms of scale. Inside, it reminded me more of the Celestial City in that there were a great many people going about their business with a sense of tremendous order and purpose.

The stone walls of the palace were thick, and I felt them pressing in on me, a sensation that had not troubled me for some time. My head felt thick, my skin felt hot, and there was an uneasy stirring in the pit of my belly.

“Are you all right, Moirin?” Bao murmured. “You look pale.”

“Man-made stone.” I made myself breathe the Breath of Wind’s Sigh, inhaling deeply through my nose and drawing air into the space behind my eyes until my head began to clear. “I’ll be fine.”

Bao nodded, understanding.

After a brief wait, Lord Cuixtli ushered us into the throne room and the Nahuatl Emperor’s presence.

Emperor Achcuatli was seated on a gilded throne inlaid with jade. He regarded us with an impassive mien, although it was to me that his gaze went first. He was a fellow of some thirty-odd years, with a warrior’s bearing. His eyes were as black as obsidian and gave nothing away. There were round obsidian plugs in the lobes of his ears, and a plug of gold piercing the skin beneath his lower lip. He wore a feather headdress finer than any I’d seen, a mantle of feathers over his shoulders, and an embroidered cloth wrapped around his waist. His brown chest was bare, save for a collar of gold. On his feet, he wore sandals that laced to the knees, and the soles were made of solid gold.

My uneasy feeling returned.

All six of us bowed deeply to him. His sharp gaze passed over each of us, returning to me.

“So it is true,” he said in Nahuatl, slowly and distinctly enough that I could understand him.

Unsure of the protocol, I inclined my head. The intensity of the Emperor’s gaze made me raise it again.

His fingers drummed on the arms of the throne. “You seek your kinsman who came here before you?”

“Yes, my lord,” I said, concentrating hard on every syllable. “We come to beg for help.”

The Nahuatl Emperor made a sweeping gesture with one arm. “So beg.”

Fearing my lack of eloquence might hurt our cause, I signaled Denis de Toluard with my eyes.

Clearing his throat, he stepped forward. “I do not know if his majesty remembers, but we have met. With your permission, I will speak for Lady Moirin.”

In slow, careful Nahuatl, Denis outlined the reasons for our quest, describing it in glowing terms as a matter of honor. He exaggerated my status in Terre d’Ange, speaking passionately of the vision that had led me here and the hardship and sacrifice it entailed. He beckoned to Brice de Bretel, who approached the throne to offer our tribute-gift on bended knee, his head bowed.

One of the Emperor’s attendants accepted it, untying the gold braids and unwrapping the thick brocade to reveal the mirror.

Achcuatli studied his reflection in it, tilting it back and forth. “Very fine. And?”

Denis described the goods we had brought to trade, especially the steel tools and implements, lingering over their superior efficacy. By the time he had finished, he was sweating. “All this, we are willing to trade for your aid, your majesty,” he finished. “All we ask is that you assign a pochteca with knowledge of Tawantinsuyo to guide us in the search for our missing companions.”

The Emperor was silent.

Pressure beat about my skull. I breathed the Breath of Wind’s Sigh, but it didn’t seem to help.

“This one is different.” Achcuatli pointed at Bao. “Why?”