Simon Levack - Shadow of the Lords

‘That’s never it there?’ Handy cried suddenly. ‘The one with the tall pole in the courtyard?’

I had to smile in spite of myself. ‘Oh yes,’ I said, without troubling to follow his stare, ‘that’ll be it. The tallest tree in Toltenco.’

The tree was a shorn trunk, dragged across the lake from where it had been felled on one of the hillsides on the mainland, and stood upright in the middle of my parents’ home. It was there for the annual festival of the Coming Down of Water, when we honoured the mountains that surrounded our valley, on account of the dark clouds that gathered around them, and the other gods who brought rain, such as Quetzalcoatl Ehecatl, Lord of the Wind, and Chalchihuitlicue. The coming night and the next day, I recalled suddenly, would see the climax of the festival. The pole would be pasted with banners made of rubber-spotted paper and offerings made tothe gods. There would be a vigil, followed by a feast. Most of my family would be at home and there would be many guests the following morning. This was one of our more enjoyable festivals, especially if you could afford to celebrate it in style. In the morning there would be food and drink in abundance, and even sacred wine, which at other times commoners were forbidden to touch.

Organizing all this was no small undertaking, and it was not cheap either. I was sure my mother would claim it was all on account of my father’s bad leg. It was especially important for the lame to placate the mountain gods. No doubt the fact that none of her neighbours could afford to put on such a show had something to do with it, though.

‘Tie up at the landing stage here,’ I said.

‘Your people do all right for themselves,’ my companion remarked as the canoe glided to a stop. ‘We couldn’t afford to set up our own pole, not when it means having to feast the singers and musicians as well. We always go to a neighbour’s house.’ There was a wistful note in his voice, no doubt because he would be missing the next day’s celebrations.

‘That’s on account of my brother. Lion sends enough home for my mother to be able to make a big splash and spend the rest of the year complaining about the mess.’

I heard my family before I saw any of them. There were not so very many of us — my parents and their grown-up children, five besides myself, and my nieces and nephews — but put them all together within the walls of a small courtyard and they could sound like a busy day at Tlatelolco market.

‘It’ll be worse tomorrow, after the guests arrive,’ I assured Handy

‘I’m sure. What are we waiting for?’

We were still standing on the landing-stage, to one side ofthe entrance, so that we were not visible from the courtyard. I pretended to inspect an imaginary crack in the smooth, newly whitewashed plaster on the wall beside me while I pondered Handy’s question. Why was I hesitating?

On my previous visit here, my father and my brothers, apart from Lion, had been away. All commoners, except slaves whose labour belonged only to their masters, could be made to work for their parish or the city, and it had been their turn. However, their task would be done by now, and they would probably be here this evening.

It had been many years since my father and I had been able to meet without practically coming to blows. Each of us had too much to resent ever to have been able to let it drop. He begrudged the price he had paid to get me into the Priest House, which had all gone to waste when I was thrown out. I blamed him for the ridicule and petty insults that had been heaped on me at home for failing in a way of life I had not chosen but had grown to love, and the bitterness and humiliation that failure had caused me.

No doubt that was it, I thought, not wanting to dwell on the alternative explanation: that when I stepped through the doorway, it would be to say goodbye for ever. Even if I tried to save my life — if, say, I were to paddle my master’s canoe to the edge of the lake and run clear out of the valley — I would surely never be back here again.

‘Nothing,’ I muttered. ‘Better go, I suppose …’

The final decision that it was time to face my family was taken out of my hands by a shrill but strong voice.

‘Who are you?’

I looked about me, startled. ‘Who said that?’ The voice seemed to have come from nowhere.

‘Me!’

‘Try looking down, Yaotl,’ suggested Handy. ‘I can tellyou’re not used to children!’ He crouched down next to me. ‘What’s your name, then?’

I would have put the newcomer’s age at about three. He was naked apart from a short cloak that barely covered his loins. He took no notice of Handy but looked curiously up at me and sucked nervously on a finger. ‘What did you do to your face?’ he mumbled.

I opened my mouth and then shut it again when I found myself unable to think of a sensible answer. I looked hopefully at Handy, who was standing up. ‘He fell over,’ he said.

For some reason this struck the child as funny He started giggling.

‘Well, he seems to like you,’ the commoner said. ‘One of your nephews?’

‘Possibly. Or a great-nephew, even.’

‘His name,’ said an icy female voice, ‘is Quiauhtli. Quiauhtli, this is your great-uncle Yaotl. What are you doing here?’ she asked me. ‘It’s no use scrounging for food, you know — the fast doesn’t end till tomorrow!’ In a slightly milder tone she added, ‘And who’s your friend?’

My elder sister Quetzalchalchihuitl, ‘Precious Jade’, had come looking for her child. I noted with some amusement that she had obviously run out of the courtyard in a hurry, and in the middle of washing her hair, since it was still plastered wetly to the back and sides of her head and her blouse was sodden where she had pulled it hastily back on.

‘Hello, Jade,’ I said wearily. ‘Meet my friend Handy He’s working for my master. Aren’t you supposed to be fasting before the festival? How come you washed your hair?’

Those households that had the means and the inclination to set up a pole and make offerings for the festival of the Coming Down of Water also committed themselves to a fast over the four days preceding it. During the fast it was permitted towash your face and neck but nothing else, and no soap was allowed.

My sister looked at me as if I had just asked her why tortoises could not fly ‘Because obviously there won’t be time tomorrow before everyone gets here,’ she said shortly, before turning her attention to my companion. The modest angle of her head belied the blush that darkened her face and the hint of a sparkle in her eyes as she greeted him formally: ‘You have come a long way, you are tired. Please come and rest. I am sorry we can’t offer you anything to eat …’

I felt a grin creeping unbidden across my face as I stepped carefully around my sister and the child who was now clinging to her skirt. ‘I’ll leave you to it,’ I said, knowing they would be quite safe. Jade did her best not to act her age, but she would not be able to keep the pretence up for long with her own grandson by her side. Besides, Jade’s husband, Amaxtli, would be in the house somewhere. And I felt sure Handy would jump in the canal rather than have to endure whatever Citlalli would have to say to him if he misbehaved.

‘That can’t be the musicians already? It’s too early! The Sun hasn’t set yet, we’re not ready, where’s Jade got to? One of you … Tlacazolli, stop staring at that pole like a cretin, go and fetch your father! Are those paper streamers ready? Neuctli, the streamers, I said … Oh.’ The old woman’s head had been swinging sharply from side to side as she rapped out orders to her children as if they were eight-year-olds. When it finally came to rest, with her clear eyes narrowing as they finally took in the appearance of the man standing in front of her, the squawking tailed off into a kind of nasal drone comprised of disappointment, chagrin and something like resignation. ‘It’s you.’