much about Mexica women?" I asked.
He snorted. "How can you know so little about them? Any fool knows that. It's too delicate to be a man's ornament."
Teomitl shook his head, impatiently. "It doesn't matter, Acatl-tzin. Don't you see? A woman was here."
I glanced at Cuixtli, who was looking at the bead thoughtfully. "I didn't know sacrifices were granted spouses." In very rare cases, such as the sacrifice of Tezcatlipoca's incarnation, the victim was granted all his earthly desires – and, as he ascended the steps of the Great Temple, everything was stripped away from him: wives and jewellery, and then finally clothes, to leave him as empty-handed as in the hour of his birth.
Cuixtli spread his hands. "Our last hours are spent with the gods, like those of our afterlife. How men make peace with that varies. I don't begrudge them." But his frown suggested he didn't approve.
"So you didn't know about the woman?"
He shook his head. "No. But I can enquire. Do you want me to send word?"
"Send it to me," Teomitl said.
"Indeed." Cuixtli looked at him, waiting for something – an introduction?
"Ask for Ahuizotl, the Master of the House of Darts."
The man's face froze – it was barely perceptible and didn't last long, but I saw it clearly. "I see. And why does the Master of the House of Darts concern himself with such lowly folk?"
"Lowly? You are the bravest in this palace." Teomitl's voice was low and intense. "You give your life; you give your blood on the altar-stone for the continuation of the Fifth Age. You die a warrior's death for all our sakes."
The warrior's face puckered, halfway between puzzlement and pride. "I see," he said again. "Thank you."
Teomitl made a dismissive gesture, and ducked back into the room. I followed him after bowing to the warrior.
"Teomitl?" I asked, once we were inside.
He was looking once more at the dead man, with that peculiar frown on his face – anger? I'd only seen him truly angry once, when Tizoc-tzin had belittled his wifeto-be in front of the court – but that hadn't been the same. His face had gone as flat as obsidian, his eyes dark. Now he just looked thoughtful – but much like a jaguar looked thoughtful before the hunt.
Southern Hummingbird strike me, I needed to stop this. Paranoia was all well and good, but applying it to those few people I trusted was stabbing myself in the throat.
"Yes, Acatl-tzin?"
"Eptli's case," I said. "What happened? Coatl told me the prisoner was contested between him and Chipahua."
"The case?" Teomitl looked surprised. "I don't remember – there was nothing special, Acatl-tzin. Those two claimed the same prisoner. They wore near-identical battle-garb, with similar standards."
"Coatl told me it was a difficult decision to make."
Teomitl's eyebrows went up. "Coatl likes simple decisions. He's a warrior, through and through. There is your side, and the enemy's side, and you shouldn't have to wonder about more than that."
"And you're not like him?" I asked. Not that I was surprised: politics couldn't be dealt in such a simplistic fashion. Mind you, I couldn't blame Coatl: I preferred my divisions clear-cut, but I was aware that the gods seldom gave you what you liked best.
"I can think," Teomitl said, contemptuously. "At any rate – we questioned the warriors of the clan-unit, and the prisoner Zoquitl, and we thought it likely Eptli was in the right."
"Wait," I said. "Zoquitl was willing to testify before a Mexica tribunal?" I couldn't see for what gain. Either way, he would die his glorious death on the altar-stone – and if there was no conclusive evidence, he would be given to the Revered Speaker, and the end-game would be the same.
"He's a warrior," Teomitl said, with a quick toss of his head that set the feathers of his headdress aflutter. "He wouldn't cheat a fellow warrior."
I had my doubts. After all, as my brother Neutemoc had proved, warriors – even Jaguar Knights – were like the best and the worst of us. They walked
He snorted. "How can you know so little about them? Any fool knows that. It's too delicate to be a man's ornament."
Teomitl shook his head, impatiently. "It doesn't matter, Acatl-tzin. Don't you see? A woman was here."
I glanced at Cuixtli, who was looking at the bead thoughtfully. "I didn't know sacrifices were granted spouses." In very rare cases, such as the sacrifice of Tezcatlipoca's incarnation, the victim was granted all his earthly desires – and, as he ascended the steps of the Great Temple, everything was stripped away from him: wives and jewellery, and then finally clothes, to leave him as empty-handed as in the hour of his birth.
Cuixtli spread his hands. "Our last hours are spent with the gods, like those of our afterlife. How men make peace with that varies. I don't begrudge them." But his frown suggested he didn't approve.
"So you didn't know about the woman?"
He shook his head. "No. But I can enquire. Do you want me to send word?"
"Send it to me," Teomitl said.
"Indeed." Cuixtli looked at him, waiting for something – an introduction?
"Ask for Ahuizotl, the Master of the House of Darts."
The man's face froze – it was barely perceptible and didn't last long, but I saw it clearly. "I see. And why does the Master of the House of Darts concern himself with such lowly folk?"
"Lowly? You are the bravest in this palace." Teomitl's voice was low and intense. "You give your life; you give your blood on the altar-stone for the continuation of the Fifth Age. You die a warrior's death for all our sakes."
The warrior's face puckered, halfway between puzzlement and pride. "I see," he said again. "Thank you."
Teomitl made a dismissive gesture, and ducked back into the room. I followed him after bowing to the warrior.
"Teomitl?" I asked, once we were inside.
He was looking once more at the dead man, with that peculiar frown on his face – anger? I'd only seen him truly angry once, when Tizoc-tzin had belittled his wifeto-be in front of the court – but that hadn't been the same. His face had gone as flat as obsidian, his eyes dark. Now he just looked thoughtful – but much like a jaguar looked thoughtful before the hunt.
Southern Hummingbird strike me, I needed to stop this. Paranoia was all well and good, but applying it to those few people I trusted was stabbing myself in the throat.
"Yes, Acatl-tzin?"
"Eptli's case," I said. "What happened? Coatl told me the prisoner was contested between him and Chipahua."
"The case?" Teomitl looked surprised. "I don't remember – there was nothing special, Acatl-tzin. Those two claimed the same prisoner. They wore near-identical battle-garb, with similar standards."
"Coatl told me it was a difficult decision to make."
Teomitl's eyebrows went up. "Coatl likes simple decisions. He's a warrior, through and through. There is your side, and the enemy's side, and you shouldn't have to wonder about more than that."
"And you're not like him?" I asked. Not that I was surprised: politics couldn't be dealt in such a simplistic fashion. Mind you, I couldn't blame Coatl: I preferred my divisions clear-cut, but I was aware that the gods seldom gave you what you liked best.
"I can think," Teomitl said, contemptuously. "At any rate – we questioned the warriors of the clan-unit, and the prisoner Zoquitl, and we thought it likely Eptli was in the right."
"Wait," I said. "Zoquitl was willing to testify before a Mexica tribunal?" I couldn't see for what gain. Either way, he would die his glorious death on the altar-stone – and if there was no conclusive evidence, he would be given to the Revered Speaker, and the end-game would be the same.
"He's a warrior," Teomitl said, with a quick toss of his head that set the feathers of his headdress aflutter. "He wouldn't cheat a fellow warrior."
I had my doubts. After all, as my brother Neutemoc had proved, warriors – even Jaguar Knights – were like the best and the worst of us. They walked
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