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

Naamah's Blessing (Moirin's Trilogy #3) Page 68

She gave an indignant sniff. “I did no such thing, lady!”

I smiled. “As you will.”

The high priestess Iniquill acknowledged me with a grave bow of her silver-haired head, and I returned it with dignity.

Ocllo surprised me by seizing me in a fierce embrace, pressing me to her stalwart bosom, then releasing me just as abruptly. “On behalf of the ancestors, I thank you,” she said in a formal tone. “And on behalf of my granddaughter…” Her voice broke. “Please thank the twice-born for making it swift and merciful.”

I stared at her. “Cusi was your granddaughter? You did not tell me!”

Tears glinted in her eyes, but did not fall. “No, I did not. But it is true. And young as she was, I do believe the gods chose wisely when they guided Lord Pachacuti’s hand in sending her to you.”

I kissed her lined cheek. “Her courage shames us all. I will never forget her, I promise.”

Ocllo blinked. “I should hope not.”

One day after Raphael’s cremation, we departed the city of Qusqu at dawn. Behind us, the slanting rays of the rising sun kindled the snowy mantles of the western mountains, turning them gold. The air was dry and crisp, and I breathed it deep into my lungs. I had my yew-wood bow and quiver slung over one shoulder, my battered satchel with a few wordly goods and a fair share of supplies over the other.

A long journey faced us. A long, long journey.

We would serve as our own porters. Every man among us, Prince Thierry included, carried a woven basket on his back, tump-lines of corded wool stretched across their brows. They carried baskets laden with stores, with samples and specimens, bits and pieces of gilded, jade-studded Quechua workmanship tucked amidst potatoes and maize, sacks of powdered cinchona bark, nuts and seeds from myriad plants, and the stores of herbs Eyahue had assiduously gathered.

Bao sighed, shifting his shoulders. His bamboo staff rode high atop his back, thrust through the handles of his basket.

“Home,” I reminded him.

He echoed the word, his voice wistful. “Home. I am not sure what it means, but I like the sound of it, Moirin.”

“So do I,” I murmured.

SEVENTY-SIX

It was a long journey indeed.

It was a very, very long journey. We followed well-kept footroads in the empire of Tawantinsuyo, curving along the crests of mountains, camping in the arid open beneath a sky filled with countless stars. We crossed hanging bridges that swayed above rushing torrents, and we forded broad rivers that had never been bridged, picking our way with care.

We descended from the mountains and fought our way through jungles. We crossed vast savannahs. We marched until the light began to fade, and rose every day at dawn to resume our journey.

Those of us who could hunt, did. When we encountered villages, we bartered what we could.

Betimes we were hungry, but we did not starve. We were tired and footsore, but by this time all of us had long since grown inured to the hardships of travel. Even Balthasar kept his grumbling to a minimum.

After enduring the misery of the barren swamplands, we gained the isthmus and wound our way along the sloping spine of the long mountain range that divided it, catching glimpses of the sea. Septimus Rousse muttered to himself, scratching notes and maps on a piece of crude parchment he’d obtained in Qusqu.

The whole of the journey does not bear telling. I leave it to mapmakers like Captain Rousse to chronicle in exhausting detail the landscape we spent so many months traversing on our return. Suffice it to say that it was long and arduous, but at the end of it, the majority of our company reached the lands of the Nahuatl Empire alive.

Alas, not all.

There were losses suffered. One of the men from my original company, Bernard de Vouges, perished when he lost his footing during a difficult river-crossing. The swift current carried him downriver, dashing his head against a boulder and splitting open his skull, ribbons of blood staining the water.

At least we were able to retrieve his body and bury it with honor.

Two of Prince Thierry’s men, Féderic Bardou and Perrin de Fleury, died in the mountains in a sudden rockslide—or so we were forced to presume. On Thierry’s orders, we spent the better part of the day digging frantically amidst the rubble to no avail. Only the ominous creaking sounds from the slopes above us and Eyahue’s urgent warnings persuaded Thierry to abandon the effort.

We mourned them and continued, entering the territory of the Cloud People, where we posted multiple sentries every night. We passed through without incident, those of us who remembered Pochotl’s betrayal breathing a sigh of relief, and crossed the invisible boundary that marked the southern verge of the Nahuatl Empire.

There, we were greeted with astonishment. Eyahue and Temilotzin were hailed as returning heroes. And I began to believe that mayhap this seemingly endless journey had an end after all.

Without the burden of plate armor slowing the men, our pace was quicker than it had been at the outset. Still, rumor ran ahead of us.

We were some two weeks away from the city of Tenochtitlan when a startling sight greeted us—a company of mounted Aragonian soldiers in full armor, trailing a long line of pack-and saddle-horses, Commander Diego Ortiz y Ramos riding at their head.

Our own company halted, uncertain.

“Drop your packs,” Thierry murmured, suiting actions to words. He laid one hand on his sword-hilt. “And be ready for anything.”

My throat tightened, and I prayed silently that the Aragonians had not grown ascendant in our absence.

Commander Diego Ortiz y Ramos drew rein, his gaze sweeping over our weary, footsore crew and settling on Thierry.

“Your highness.” He bowed from the saddle. “I am pleased to see that the rumors of your return are true, and that you are well. With the blessing of Emperor Achcuatli, my men and I are here to escort you and your people to the city of Tenochtitlan.” His lips thinned above his pointed beard. “I hope that you will speak kindly of us when you return to Terre d’Ange and lay claim to its throne.”

I felt like cheering. Clearly, the fellow had not forgotten that Balthasar had threatened to report that the commander had deliberately withheld information that would have assisted the Dauphin of Terre d’Ange.

Beside me, Bao chuckled.

Thierry de la Courcel gazed up at the Aragonian commander, a slow smile spreading across his lean, sunburned face. “Ah, the demands of diplomacy!” He gave a gracious nod. “By all means, Commander. We would be grateful for your aid.”

In remarkably short order, our remaining goods were redistributed among the pack-horses and our company mounted.

After travelling so many leagues on foot, it felt strange to sit a horse. We travelled at a steady jog. I had to stifle a laugh at the sight of Eyahue jouncing in the saddle, his skinny legs dangling and his scrawny elbows akimbo as he sawed ineffectively at the reins, his mount sidling sideways and tossing its head in protest.

“Hold tight with your thighs,” I advised him. “And use a gentle hand on the reins.”

The old pochteca glared at me. “I’d sooner a woman’s thighs gripped me, lady! I’ve a gentle enough hand with them.”

I smiled. “So I hear.”

Eyahue snorted.

“It puts me in mind of the first time Tortoise tried to ride a horse,” Bao said, eyeing him. “Remember, Moirin? Only Eyahue sits more like a bag of sticks than a sack of cabbages.”

“I remember.”

Our eyes met. We had so very many shared memories between us, Bao and I. Some were wondrous, and some were terrible.

Some were both.

“Poor Tortoise,” Bao said softly.

The remainder of the journey passed swiftly. After so long away, even returning to Tenochtitlan with its splendid, bloodstained temples and its mighty causeways felt like somewhat of a homecoming. I’d thought that the commander would wish us to lodge in the Aragonian stronghold, but it seemed that under the terms of his agreement, he was to escort us directly to Emperor Achcuatli.

Indeed, our approach had been noted, and a reception awaited us in the temple square beneath the rows and rows of hollow-eyed grinning skulls in the tzompantli. I could not help but steal a glance at them, and breathe a sigh of relief to find no fresh offerings among their ranks.

The Emperor himself was seated atop a gilded dais beneath a feather canopy, clad in the full regalia of his office, golden sandals and all. A faint smile touched his lips at the sight of me, and I felt myself flush.

At an order from one of the Emperor’s attendants, we dismounted and approached on foot, the Aragonians remaining behind.

Beneath his feathered canopy, Emperor Achcuatli inclined his head ever so slightly. “Prince of Terre d’Ange,” he said to Thierry. “I am pleased that the gods have spared you. I welcome you back to our city.”

Like Diego Ortiz y Ramos, Achcuatli had withheld information that would have benefited Thierry, but there was no hint of apology in his voice. Unlike the Aragonian commander, the Nahuatl Emperor could not be dismissed for creating a potential diplomatic incident with an ally nation of long standing.

And I daresay Thierry understood it, for he bowed deeply in reply. “Your majesty, I thank you for your hospitality and for your generous aid.” He gestured at Eyahue and Temilotzin. “Without your clever pochteca and your brave and loyal warrior, my countrymen would never have found us.”

“I am pleased.” The Emperor took stock of our meager baggage and our ragged, threadbare condition. “I fear your long journey met with little success. Have you aught left to trade?”

“No, your majesty,” Thierry said candidly. “We have a few goods with which to return to Terre d’Ange. But we have gained knowledge, and that is more valuable than gold. And we have… that is, most of us have… returned with our lives, on which no price can be set.”

“Your people place a great value on life,” Achcuatli observed.

“I do not value my life above any other man’s,” Thierry said. “But I have a duty. I would live to see it done. I owe it to my people.”

“That is spoken like a true ruler,” the Nahuatl Emperor said in approval. “For as long as you wish, you will be my guests. You will rest and refresh yourselves in the palace of Tenochtitlan.” He jerked his chin at Diego Ortiz y Ramos, hovering in the background. “When you are ready, the men of Aragonia may have the honor of escorting you on your journey to the city by the sea that they have built.”

Thierry bowed again. “Thank you, your majesty.”

Emperor Achcuatli rose and descended the steps of the dais, attendants sweeping the path before him with handheld brooms. His gold-plated sandals clanked with every step, but he managed the descent with practiced dignity. He paused before me, his obsidian eyes glinting. “It has been over a year since you departed,” he remarked. “And yet I found myself thinking of you and dreaming of flowers, thousands upon thousands of them. And so I ordered the offerings of flower and honey to Xochiquetzal, goddess of desire, to be continued in your name. I do believe they pleased her, for here you are.”

Again, I flushed. “You honor me, your majesty.”

Once more, he inclined his head ever so slightly before stepping into the litter that awaited him. “We will speak later.”

When the Emperor’s litter was receding across the square, Bao raised his brows at me.

I raised mine back at him. “I did not ask for this.”

“No,” he said. “And yet it seems to find you anyway, Moirin.”

SEVENTY-SEVEN

Emperor Achcuatli was generous.

Our entire company was lodged within the vast walls of the palace. Attendants brought us all the food we might have desired. They stoked the fires of the temazcallis that we might sweat the grime of our long journey from our pores, and brought clean attire to don afterward. Rendered indolent by luxury, we spent three days there.

On the second day, the Emperor sent for me.

“You don’t have to go, Moirin.” Bao wore his shuttered expression, his face unreadable. “You could refuse to meet with him.”

“Is that what you want?” I asked him. He didn’t answer. “If it is, I will,” I added. “Only tell me.”

Bao sighed. “No. He’s given you no cause to refuse.” He rumpled his unruly hair. “Just…”

“I won’t,” I promised.

He frowned at me.

“Stupid boy,” I said fondly. “Whatever lies behind this, it’s not Naamah’s prompting, at least not on my end of the matter. That means I am free to choose.” Sinking my hands into Bao’s thick, springing hair, I pulled him toward me and kissed him, feeling our diadh-anams intertwine. “And I choose to be faithful to you, my husband.”

His expression eased. “Oh, aye?”

I kissed him again. “Aye.”

As it transpired, the decision was not entirely as easy as I reckoned it would be.

Summoned by Lord Cuixtli, I met the Emperor Achcuatli in the gardens. As we had done before, we strolled them together, gazing at the blooming flowers and the birds in the aviary, familiar strangers trailed by a horde of attendants. The Emperor kept his silence and I kept mine, waiting for him to break it.

It took some time.

“Since we were together, I have been unable to stop thinking of you,” Achcuatli said at length, his tone formal.

“I am honored,” I replied truthfully.

He turned toward me and laid his hands on my shoulders. “I ask but one more night before you go. Your husband may have his pick of my wives this time since the last one did not please him. And I will give your Prince of Terre d’Ange what he desires. The prince came here seeking glory. What he salvaged from Tawantinsuyo is a pittance. He seeks trade rights on equal footing with those I have granted to the men of Aragonia, does he not?” He gave a sharp nod, gazing intently at me. “I will see to it that his ship rides low in the water beneath the weight of Nahuatl gold and chocolatl beans. Whatever you desire. I will take it on trust that the favor will be returned. Only say yes.”