A WOMAN OF DISCORD

"I am amazed once again," Achitometl commented, "at how much your people have changed the face of Tizapan. It speaks well of the Mexica people, my young friend."

Ocelopan glanced at him. And I am sure, he said silently, that you did not expect it, my Lord Achitometl. When you gave us the land of Tizapan in which to make our home, you knew quite well that it was a swamp, infested with venomous snakes and biting insects. As he walked along, he mentally reviewed his peoples' recent history. The last of the seven groups of Nahuatl-speaking people to emigrate from their homeland at Azltan, hundreds of miles to the Northeast, they'd undergone many terrible trials in their journey to the Anahuac, the Heart of the World. On their arrival, though, they were hardly welcomed with open arms--in part because of their rough ways, ways seen as crude by the civilized inhabitants of the Anahuac. It seemed they'd been fighting ever since they came here, allied first with this city, then that one. After several of these wars they had been given a grudging respect--as fierce fighters, at least.

But it was not for the benefits of their alliance that Achitometl had given them Tizapan as a homeland. Like the Mexica leaders, Ocelopan was certain that Achitometl had believed they'd all die there, and the Valley would be spared their presence. But they had proved as hardy as they were fierce, and they had not only survived in Tizapan, they'd thrived there. Taking advantage of Achitometl's consternation about this, the old priest Cuauhtloquetzqui had approached the Lord of Culhuacan and had boldly asked him to give them his youngest--and his favorite-- daughter to be their queen. In the Valley this was not uncommon, the placing of a young person from an old and highly cultured city like Culhuacan on the throne of a city populated by peoples seen as crude and barbaric. Such an arrangement allowed the Mexica to assume Culhuacan's enviable mantle of respect, while it assured Culhuacan a secondary force of hardy fighters in time of need.

The king hadn't given it a second thought. The idea of his precious daughter Xochipapalotl enshrined as a living goddess, ruling a rising city, was irresistible to him. Without even consulting his counselors he'd agreed, Xochipapalotl had been given to the Mexica, and she herself had not been at all displeased with the bargain. Now, the day of her wedding, her symbolic marriage to the Mexica's tribal god Huitzilopochtli, was upon them. Naturally, her father had been invited to the affair, and he'd brought with him a large number of his senior counselors. Just outside the village one of his armies, which accompanied him when he traveled, was camped.

Reaching the temple, Ocelopan stood by the doorway while Achitometl and his senior captains entered. Inside, the women who tended the temple were waiting for them; they'd arrayed soft mats for their guests to sit on. Once they were inside, the Ocelopan and the other Mexica entered, taking seats near the door.

The building wasn't terribly large as temples went, but it was impressive nonetheless, especially as it had been constructed by people with so few resources. The ceiling was quite high, supported by two heavy wooden pillars in the back--where the guests were seated--and, down in front, a series of eight of them, four in front and four behind, rising from a low stage. A torch on the front of each of the front pillars provided a low and contrasty light, which was augmented by even lower light from a long narrow pit in front of the stage. At each end stood a large brazier. Copalli fumes rose steadily from them, the base of the column of smoke illuminated redly from the burning charcoal within. Vaguely, the shapes of musicians could be seen on the stage, almost obscured by the pillars.

In response to some silent signal, one of the musicians blew a long mournful blast on a conch-shell horn. A drummer started a rhythm; the conch-shell player played a second blast, and more drummers and rattle-players joined in. After a few moments, a young woman came out onto the stage. The full-length gown she wore was made of rough cotton fibers and decorated with crescent-moon symbols; there were balls of unspun cotton in her hair. Moving to the right of the stage, her steps light and graceful, she tossed something into the brazier there and it flared with brighter light; as it did she turned and looked out at the audience. Her eyes were huge, her face delicately lovely. It slipped back into shadow as she danced across the stage.

"Who is she?" Achitometl asked in a whisper. "She is quite striking."

"Her name is Chahuatl," the old priest Cuauhtloquetzqui told him. "Once she was the daughter of a nobleman among the Tecpanecs. But she was taken captive during a fight in one of their villages."

"Ah. I see," the Culhuacan king said as the girl moved to the other brazier and lit it up briefly as well. Then, her steps light and perfectly aligned to the drumbeat, she came back to the center. Just before she arrived there, unseen workers stoked up the fire in the pit in front of the stage, and Chahuatl became more somewhat more brightly illuminated. As the light came up, five men, almost naked, their faces and bodies painted black--making them invisible until then--could be seen approaching her, two from each side and one from the back. Chahuatl glanced to her right, then to her left; then she closed her eyes and dropped to one knee. Her other leg slipped into view through a slit in the gown, glistening like bronze in the soft red light. She held up her hands, her left at the level of her shoulder and her right much higher, her elbows bent sharply.

The pace of the men was such that they all reached her at precisely the same time. One of them--the one who'd come up behind her--was carrying a macuauhuitl, the classic wooden "swords" the peoples of the Valley used--except that, instead of being edged with razor-sharp obsidian blades that typified such weapons, it was edged with cotton instead. He stood erect, holding the weapon; two of the other men laid their hands on Chahuatl's shoulders. She remained passive; the men pulled her gown up and off of her with a clearly practiced, absolutely smooth, movement. As the gown disappeared, she was left completely naked. Her skin looked incredibly smooth; her breasts were high and erect, her nipples prominent, her waist very small, her thighs slim. Her groin was completely hairless. As the firelight flickered, it looked almost as if her skin was afire.

She lifted her chin, then extended her arms, her palms up. One of the men produced a headdress which was decorated with four rows of small feathers and a number of tiny golden bells. They tinkled slightly as the man put it on her head. Another man produced a small dark blue chimalli, a shield, also decorated with the crescent-moon symbols. The other men had brought other objects; a rope tipped with carved wooden snakeheads was tied around her waist, and she was given wristbands with carved fanged heads at the upper edges and sandals to match, the fanged heads facing her heels.

Then the man standing behind her placed the hilt of the cotton-edged sword in her right hand while the other placed the grip of the shield in her left. Her fingers closed around them; at the same time the fire in the front firepit was stoked higher. She rose, and the black-painted men fell back from her.

"It is I, myself, in person," she said in a clear voice, "Coyolxauhqui, She of the Golden Bells, Lady of the Moon." She shook her head and the bells tinkled. "I seek my mother, Coatlicue," she went on, gesturing threateningly with the sword. The black-painted men fell back further.

And, at the rear of the stage, a new figure appeared. He was wearing an impressive long-plumed headdress; his face was painted blue above and yellow below, and his legs were painted with broad blue and white rings. In his right hand he held a white shield; in his left he held a macuauhuitl which was only superficially similar to the one Chahuatl held. His was painted blue, and it had a tip carved into the form of a serpent's head.

And it was edged with obsidian chips, which glittered in the slowly rising light.

"I am here, my sister," he said in a deep level voice. "It is I, myself, in person, your brother, Huitzilopochtli. And I say you nay, you shall not harm our mother, she is innocent of the acts you mean to hold her accountable for."

She turned to him, then stepped backward and sideways to the right of the stage, holding her macuauhuitl in a defensive position. "You," she intoned, "will not stop me. And I do not believe you!" As she moved so did the man, stepping to the left and forward. Facing each other, they froze in position for a long moment. The light rose, and the tempo of the music increased.

Then Chahuatl stepped forward and struck at the man with her macuauhuitl. She didn't hold back; the stroke would have split his skull if it had landed there, in spite of the cotton balls. He caught her blow with his shield and swung at her in turn, aiming at her waist. She danced back, and the sword sang through the air in front of her. For the next several minutes they took turns swinging at each other, but it was obviously a choreographed dance; each seemed to know where the blow was coming from and countered it easily.

Then the man impersonating Huitzilopochtli gave her an almost imperceptible nod and drew his macuauhuitl back for another swing. She bit her lip, but when the swing came she did nothing to counter it.

He did not swing it terribly hard this time--but this time it also made contact, slicing into her left shoulder and cutting deep. She gave a strangled little cry and dodged away, but her shield fell from her fingers as blood started streaming down her arm. The man gave her a moment to collect herself before advancing on her again and swinging again. This time the keen edges of the obsidian blades bit into her left hip, just at the junction of her leg, and again she was deeply cut. Blood erupted, painting her thigh bright red in seconds. She fought to keep her feet. The costumed man moved close again and slashed at her again, opening a deep incision in her right hip, almost perfectly symmetrical to the other.

She dropped to her knees, using the last of the strength in her legs to turn herself so that she was facing the onlookers. The man stalked around behind her and hacked at her right shoulder with his macuauhuitl. Her own macuauhuitl clattered to the floor as fresh blood spurted. Breathing hard and bleeding profusely, she remained kneeling, her arms hanging at her sides, her hands on the floor. The costumed man moved in behind her. Knowing he was there, she lifted her chin; he grabbed her hair behind the headdress, pulling her head even further up. He shook it, making the bells tinkle.

Then he placed the edge of his special macuauhuitl--the weapon known as the Xiuhcoatl, the Fire Serpent--against the side of her neck. Her body shook violently but she offered no resistance as he drew the bladed edge back toward himself, cutting deeply into her neck. Blood squirted out, showering the stage. The man switched to the other side and cut her again. Long before he'd finished this cut, her body was shaking and twitching without coordination. He cut on, pulling her head up as he cut into her neck, and after a moment her head popped free in his hand. Blood fountained up, spotting his costume with red.

As the headless body fell, the man held her severed head up for a moment, then laid it down near the center of the stage. Returning to the body, he raised her left arm and, starting with the incision he'd already made in her shoulder, he severed it as well. Her other arm went next, then each of her legs. Once the body had been dismembered he carefully placed the torso under the head and put each arm and leg, the elbows and knees bent, in their proper places--with a small gap left between the pieces and the torso, illustrating her dismemberment graphically. The whole assembly was arranged so that it would have fitted nicely into a circle.
 

Coyolxauhqui

Then he stepped back, and the fire in front of the stage was stoked down. On a nearly-dark stage, another figure came out, and this person--a woman--took the man's hand and began a stylized dance with him. Ocelopan could hear Achitometl take in a quick breath as he recognized, in this woman's face, the features of his beloved daughter. For several long seconds the couple danced in near-darkness; then the fire began to slowly come up again. Achitometl and the other nobles from Culhuacan rose and began moving forward, preparing to honor Xochipapalotl as a living goddess.

Ocelopan tensed. The moment they'd all been waiting for was at hand. As he waited, he thought back on the days since old Cuauhtloquetzqui had brought Achitometl's daughter back from Culhuacan.

The young princess had been sent from Culhuacan with a royal retinue consisting of at least a hundred Culhua warriors and laborers; her father had spared nothing. Beautifully dressed, wearing a headdress rich in the rare green quetzal plumes, she had been carried into Tizapan on a litter borne by four strong workers, a Culhua priest spreading flowers in her path as she crossed into the village. Ocelopan, waiting for her just inside the gates of Tizapan, watched the parade go by. Xochipapalotl sat on the litter with her head high and her eyes straight ahead, looking both regal and distant. If she was at all disgusted with Tizapan, which compared very poorly to the magnificence of her home city, she did not in any way show it. She had been well-trained, Ocelopan thought, and that might make the next few days easier than he had been expecting.

The bearers carried the litter up to the steps of the main temple, and there they put it down. Xochipapalotl rose and stepped off of it. The Tlatoani--the leader of the Mexica--was there to greet her, and she accepted his greeting with dignity. Standing close by, Ocelopan was able to get a good view of her face. She was strikingly pretty, her eyes very large.

Then, to everyone's surprise, a small child squeezed through the ring of warriors and priests surrounding the temple steps. Before anyone could lift a hand to stop her, she ran right up to the just-arrived princess. A Culhua warrior moved toward her, his hand out to restrain her.

But Xochipapalotl waved him back. She dropped to one knee in front of the little girl, and her face broke into a smile--a smile that Ocelopan found absolutely delightful. It was, he thought, like a sunrise after a stormy night; one of those rare smiles that made one feel good to be alive just to witness it.

"What is your name, little one?" the princess asked in a smooth contralto.

"I am called Nahui Cipactli," the girl answered, giving her day-name. She gazed up at the newcomer with wide eyes. "Are you really a Culhua princess?" she asked.

"Yes, I am," Xochipapalotl said. "Now, I would like to talk to you some more, but right now we have a lot of business to attend to. You understand?" The little girl nodded. "Good. You go back to your parents then, for now. Tomorrow, perhaps, or the next day, you can come and see me and we'll talk. Is that okay?"

"Yes," the girl said. Her eyes were still huge.

"Good." Xochipapalotl stood up. "Go now, then. And tell your parents I said you should not be disciplined for running to me. All of the children of the Mexica will be welcome in my presence."

The child nodded, backed away, then turned and ran. The ring of warriors parted to let her pass; the Culhua princess stood, her rich smile gone, all formality and business once again. Once the welcoming formalities were over, Xochipapalotl was handed over to Ocelopan and Cuauhtloquetzqui, who showed her to her quarters in the main palace. There, in the company of serving girls and maids, they left her to rest from her journey. Her retinue from Culhuacan was feasted, then put up for the night; early the next morning they left for home.

Ocelopan, assigned by the Tlatoani and by Cuauhtloquetzqui to watch over the princess, had spent the night in Spartan quarters in the palace. The next morning, Xochipapalotl, dressed very simply in a huipil--a dress--and sandals, came out to find him waiting for her. After he'd told her he was there to attend to her needs and wants, she told him she wanted a tour of Tizapan, her new home.

To begin, he took her to the marketplace, where she examined the wares of several of the merchants. When she expressed interest in a small jadestone pendant, the seller gave it to her and was rewarded with a brilliant smile and seemingly sincere thanks. From there they went to the schools, and then wandered for a while among the homes of the common people. Many times she stopped to speak to someone; she seemed genuinely interested in her new people, and very direct about getting to know them.

Around noon, Ocelopan took her to the edge of the lake, where the Mexica laborers were hard at work reclaiming more land from the swampy waters. "You can see," Ocelopan pointed out, "how we set logs upright in the muck on the lake bottom, a short distance out from the shore, beyond the wall we've already built. Then we lay logs flat behind them and fill in soil atop it. Once that has been done and the soil has dried somewhat, we take the back section of logs up and move them out into the lake again. So we have claimed this land from the water."

She nodded. "Very ingenious," she said. "Done much the same as we--and you, as I have already seen--build the chinampas, the floating gardens. Except that you don't let this land float."

He smiled. "No. Floating land is not good for building houses, temples, and palaces."

She watched the men work for a moment. Then, to his surprise, she took off her sandals, pulled up her huipil to her knees, and waded out into the muck toward the working men. Startled, he did nothing for a moment; then he kicked off his own sandals and followed her.

"My Lady, where are you going?"

She gave him her radiant smile. "Just to look more closely at the work, Ocelopan. After I am wed to your god Huitzilopochtli, I will be the queen of the Mexica. It is my experience that the teotl--the gods--do not take much interest in everyday affairs like the reclamation of land. Therefore, such will fall to me, and it would be best if I understood the procedures fully." Not giving him a chance to respond, she slogged on out to the area where the men were setting the posts. The water was deeper here, and she hiked her dress up almost to her hips--revealing two of the loveliest legs, Ocelopan was sure, that he had ever seen. In spite of that, though, her dress started getting wet. She didn't seem to notice, or care.

The workmen were astounded to see her out there; nobles, in their experience, watched from a distance and from dry land. But they answered all her questions, and, when she finally left them, she was probably more familiar with the processes and problems of reclaiming land than most of the Mexica nobles were.

She was, however, a mess. Her dress was wet beyond her waist, and her legs were covered with mud.

"I believe," she said with another of those smiles, "that I need to go back and clean up a little!" She pointed to his legs, which were just as muddy as hers. "And so do you!" Ocelopan laughed, agreed, and took her back to the palace. Once they arrived there, she took the lead; to his surprise she apologized to the servants who swept the hallways for tracking mud on the floors, and, once back at her quarters, asked her girls to prepare her a bath. At her door he took his leave of her and went to the general bathing area to clean himself up. That did not take long; afterwards he returned to his quarters to wait for her to emerge.

But, as he arrived there, one of her maids was waiting for him. "I am instructed, my Lord Ocelopan," she said deferentially, "to bring you to my Lady's quarters upon your return."

"Ah, she has bathed already? That was quickly done!" He followed the girl into Xochipapalotl's rooms.

And stopped short when he realized that she had not finished bathing.

"My Lady, excuse me, I was told--"

She waved an arm at him, beckoning him closer. "No need for apologies, Ocelopan. Come. Yei Tochtli made no error, I told her to bring you as soon as you returned."

Obeying, the young priest came closer. She smiled up at him from the tub she was kneeling in, then suddenly stood upright. He could not help but stare at the slender but muscular body before him, the tiny waist, the pert breasts, the almost-hairless groin.

Then he realized he was staring and he quickly turned his head. Realizing that he was being obvious, he turned it back--but gazed fixedly at her face.

Not that that was much better. And not that he was not being obvious in any event--the maids, who were then drying her body with soft cotton towels, could not suppress giggles.

"There is no need for embarrassment, Ocelopan," she said. She herself was not laughing, but she looked like she was close to it. She stepped out of the tub and walked toward him, utterly casual about her nudity. "In fact, this brings me to another matter I suppose I should speak to you about. Before and unless it should become a problem." She turned to the maids and told them they could go. Then, taking Ocelopan by the hand, she led him to a pile of mats nearby and suggested he be seated. He obeyed, waiting for her to get dressed.

But she did not; instead, she sat down on a mat across from him, still completely naked.

"My Lady, don't you think you should... I mean, ah--"

"Get dressed?" she asked. "Why? I'm quite comfortable. We're not going out at the moment. There is no need."

"But--"

She pulled up her knees and rested her forearms on them. Her sex was quite visible between her thighs, smoothly curved folds hiding the opening within. "I can imagine," she went on, cutting him off, "that the Mexica would expect a certain decorum from their queen. That I will provide for them, to an extent, at least. But here, in my own chambers, I expect the right to be myself. Do you imagine there would be a problem with that?"

"No, my Lady, of course not."

"Good. Now, let me be very direct here. I am, in a few days, to be wed to your patron god Huitzilopochtli."

"Yes, my Lady."

"This I understood before coming here. But of course, one who is wedded to a god has a husband who is not physically present. Is it not so?"

He nodded. "That is so."

"It is not my wish, Ocelopan," she said, her fascinating smile playing around her lips, "to live a celibate life. I do not know what might be expected of a princess of the Mexica, but celibacy is not expected of a princess of Culhuacan." He said nothing. "I hope," she went on, "that I am not going to be expected to live a celibate life here."

"Uh... that would be your choice, my Lady... I mean... well... er..." he flushed, swallowed hard, then plowed on. "It would be, ah, awkward if you were to, er, uhm, become pregnant, you understand, but otherwise..." He caught himself, and he wondered, considering what he knew, why he'd even bothered to say that.

She nodded. "I understand. I would be expected to be carrying the child of Huitzilopochtli himself, and that would not be so, of course." She smiled and stretched her arms up, pulling her perfect breasts into sharp relief. "I am relieved, Ocelopan. This was the only concern I had." Her arms came down; she held one wrist with the other hand and let her arms rest atop her head. "I can assure you, Ocelopan--even though you didn't mention it--that I can be discreet about such things. I have no plans to drag men in from the street!" She grinned; obviously this was supposed to be funny, so he smiled as well. "Especially," she added, "when there are attractive men already here..."

He frowned; it didn't even occur to him, for several seconds, that she might be referring to him. When he did understand, he flushed. "Uh... my Lady, I... thank I can't you... uh..." He stopped, confused.

She laughed, musically, at his embarrassment. Quickly, she tried to soothe him, but it was too late for that. Saying he had duties he had to attend to at the temple, he took his leave of her and departed.

But, even if he had wanted to, he could not stay away; he had been assigned to look after her by Cuauhtloquetzqui and the rest of the council. He did stay away the rest of that evening, but the next morning he came back. He found her dressed normally and behaving as if nothing whatever had happened. She wanted to again go among the common people of the Mexica; he tried to discourage her, but she, as he was quickly learning, could be very stubborn and headstrong. Finally he gave in, and again they wandered among the huts of Tizapan, stopping frequently to talk to people. On several occasions she stopped to interact with--and even play with--the Mexica children. She expressed a desire to try to find the girl who called herself Nahui Cipactli, but Ocelopan did not know where that particular child lived. He said he would ask about, and this seemed to satisfy her.

Their next stop was the temple, where, to his intense chagrin, she'd encountered Chahuatl, who was then practicing for her role on the day of the sacred wedding. In her company was Ixtona, daughter of the Tlatoani of the Mexica, who was teaching her her role. It did not take Xochipapalotl more than five minutes to learn that Chahuatl was to be the ixiptla--an impersonator of a god or goddess, and the one who would in the end be sacrificed--in a sacred drama which was to take place just before her own ritual wedding to Huitzilopochtli, in which she would play the role of Coyolxauhqui.

"I must apologize, I am not familiar," she said, "with the story you mention, the saga of Huitzilopochtli and Coyolxauhqui. Huitzilopochtli is not yet well-known in Culhuacan." She smiled. "We will change that in the days to come!"

Ixtona, a small slender girl of nineteen who was well-known for her bright inquisitive eyes and her quick intelligence, told her the story: "Coyolxauhqui," she began, "known as She of the Golden Bells, was the daughter of Coatlicue, the Lady of the Serpent Skirts. After her birth her mother had taken a vow of chastity and solitude, and spent her days sweeping the temples. One day she found a blue feather on the floor, and she tucked it into her dress. The feather entered her body and she found herself pregnant. When Coyolxauhqui learned of Coatlicue's pregnancy, she felt it was her duty to kill her mother, since she had broken her own vow. With her brothers, the Centzon Huitznahua, she advanced toward the temple where her mother had taken refuge.

"But, as they drew near, Coaticue's son Huitzilopochtli was born. He was born full-grown, already arrayed for battle, and armed with his terrible weapon, the Xiuhcoatl. He attacked them, he slew the Centzon Huitznahua, and he cut off Coyolxauhqui's arms, her legs, and her head."

"I see," the Culhua princess said, nodding. She looked over at Chahuatl. "So you are to be beheaded, then, at the end of your performance," she noted, and the other woman nodded. "Did you volunteer for this role, Chahuatl?"

She shook her head. "No, my Lady." She explained her own history. "So I was brought here as a slave. As such I was chosen by the priests to be the ixiptla in this drama. Naturally, I did not refuse to give service. Not that a war-captive such as myself has any right to refusal in any event."

"Naturally," Xochipapalotl murmured. "I must say I do prefer it when the ixiptlas in these dramas are volunteers. And yet it is so, they are not always such in Culhuacan, no less than here."

"There are never enough volunteers," Ixtona noted.

"No, there are not," Xochipapalotl agreed. "And there never will be. Life is too precious to give it up easily, even when it is given in the service of the teotl." She smiled. "But I can state my preferences, even if it never will be generally so. Of all the ceremonies my favorite is the one for Xochiquetzal, where the ladies of pleasure from the brothels offer themselves up freely to the goddess of love. You do celebrate that one here, yes?"

Ixtona nodded. "Yes, we do. And it just the same." She smiled too. "And that is one of my favorites as well," she added, and Chahuatl nodded her own agreement as well. "Perhaps," Ixtona mused, "it is because we are all three daughters of nobles..." She was gazing at Xochipapalotl intently, and Ocelopan found himself holding his breath lest she reveal something she was not supposed to reveal.

But she did not, and the three women went on, discussing a number of things, mostly more trivial matters. Naturally Chahuatl was less active in this discussion, given that she well knew already that her life would end in just a few days. They remained for quite a while; Xochipapalotl stayed and watched as Chahuatl again rehearsed her role, and they left after she'd given the Tecpanec princess assurances that her last performance would be a splendid one. From there they returned to her chambers, where they had food brought to them by the serving girls.

After they'd finished eating and the dishes had been cleared away, Xochipapalotl dismissed the servants. Then she turned to Ocelopan. "Yesterday," she said without preamble, "I told you, very directly, that I found you an attractive man, Ocelopan. Your response was to run off on an imaginary mission. Do you not find me attractive, Ocelopan?"

Feeling extremely uncomfortable, he turned his eyes away. "My Lady, you are one of the most delightful--no, you are the most delightful--woman I have ever known," he told her. "But--"

"The priests here are not expected to refrain from sexual congress, are they? Nothing such is expected of them in Culhuacan, but I understand there are peoples who--"

"No, my Lady."

"Then have you taken some vow of chastity?"

"No, my Lady."

"Are you married? Betrothed?"

"No, my Lady, but--"

"Then why did you run away?"

He literally wrung his hands. "My Lady, it is not appropriate, I am but a junior priest and you are--"

"A princess," she finished for him. "Soon to be queen of your people. As such I have the right to make whatever choices I deem fit. I choose you, Ocelopan. I will not lie to you or mislead you, you may not be--almost certainly will not be--the only man among the Mexica that I choose to share my mat with, that I choose to be my Rush Hunter, my lover. But I have chosen you." She then paused and gave him one of her brilliant smiles. "But of course I have no right to insist. If you do not wish me to be your Plume Flower, your Jadestone Doll, well, all you have to do is say so!"

"My Lady, I--"

She stood up, pulled her dress up and over her head. Tossing it aside casually, she kicked off her sandals and dropped to her knees on her mat. "I am truly," she said, "a flower in bloom. I have never been made to wait and I do not like to wait. I will charge you to decide, Ocelopan. Come to me now, or tell me you do not wish to have me as your Jadestone Doll. If you tell me this, I shall trouble you with this no more."

Ocelopan stared at her beautiful body, her delightful face--and the mischievous smile she was offering him. He wondered if there was a man alive, in Tizapan, in Culhuacan, or in any of the other cities of the Anahuac, who could have said to her, "No, I have no interest in you."

Certainly he was not capable of saying anything of the sort. He rose from his own mat and went to hers, his manner tentative.

"Now is not a time to be retiring," she said reprovingly, although the mischievous twinkle had not left her eyes. "Now, it is a time for siezers to be seizing!"

He grinned and reached out for her; she came into his arms quickly, her bare breasts pressing against his chest. His hands found their way to them and she, sighing with pleasure, began tugging at his clothing. As it fell away his erection popped up. She took it in her hand and began to stroke it while his hands roamed all over her. Her skin was, he was sure, the finest, softest, and most satiny he had ever felt. Her lips met his and he tasted her, like sweet nectar, and his own passions rose. Unable to wait now, he rolled her onto her back and came atop her; she grabbed his erection again and guided it into herself. As he pushed deep inside her he felt her strong legs come up alongside his hips, gripping him, pulling him close. Her eyes were open and fixed on his face as he began thrusting into her; her eyelids were swelling noticeably, and her skin, on her chest especially, looked even more red than before.

He did not last long before emptying himself inside her. As he climaxed she clutched him to herself; afterwards she did not seem to want to let go. He softened, he slipped out of her; she held him with one arm and continued to watch his eyes.

"Stay with me," she said, her voice throaty. "Stay..." Her other hand went to her groin and began moving very rapidly. He kissed her breasts, rolling his tongue around each nipple, and a moment later she gave a soft cry and arched her body upwards. Then she collapsed back, instantly and totally relaxed.

He started to get up. "No," she said. "Come. Let us sleep. Wherever you are going, whatever you are going to do, it can wait." She snuggled up to him.

She was, he decided, absolutely right. He had nothing to do any more important that this.

He spent the night there, sleeping with her head on his shoulder. The next day, they were closer than ever--and Xochipapalotl, obviously a woman of strong appetites, wanted to have sex again around midday and again in the evening. The remainder of the time she again spent out among the people, taking note of the building projects, riding in a canoe out to the chinampas, and spending a couple of hours with a somewhat befuddled member of the council discussing the ever-shifting alliances among the peoples of the Anahuac. Ocelopan, already extremely fond of her, could not help but be impressed by the way she paid close attention to the life of the city and the affairs of state.

It was never far from her mind, it seemed. That evening, after they'd made love, she laid with her head on his arm, musing about matters of state. "I think," she was saying, "that a priority should be to expand the schools, so that we can allow more of the children of the common people to attend either the Telpochtli--the warriors' school--or the priestly school, the Calpulli. Only in this way can they aspire to leadership. Right after the wedding, I want to--"

Ocelopan could stand it no longer. It was maddening, the way she kept making plans--perfectly reasonable plans, in many cases excellent plans--for what she was going to do when she was enthroned as the Queen of the Mexica. He felt he had to speak, whatever the consequences. "Xochipapalotl," he said, cutting her off, "for you, there will be no afterwards. You will not even be present, as yourself, for the wedding ceremony."

She frowned. "I don't understand...:"

"Before that ceremony takes place," he plowed on, determined to get this over with, "we will conduct a ceremony in honor of Toci, Our Honored Grandmother. You are familiar with that ritual?"

"You mean the ceremony of Ochpanitzli?"

"Yes."

She nodded. "Yes. We perform that ceremony in Culhuacan as well. But what has that to do with the wedding ceremony?"

He set his jaw. "We will perform the ceremony of Ochpanitzli the night before the wedding. At that time, you will be asked to give your service."

She raised her head and stared at him fixedly, as if unable to believe what she was hearing. For several seconds she said nothing. "I am to be sacrificed?"

Ocelopan nodded. "Yes."

"I believed," she said coolly, "when I came here, that I was to reign as the Queen of the Mexica. That was my understanding. That was also, I am quite sure, the way Achitometl, my father, Lord of Culhuacan, understood this matter."

"And so you will," Ocelopan assured her, his words coming out so rapidly they were falling over each other. "We will honor you from that time onwards, we will build shrines for you. You will be one with the goddess Tlazolteotl, and we shall call you Toci, Our Honored Grandmother. And a new sacrifice will be carried out in your honor every year. You will be a legend among our people, you will be--"

"Whatever I will be, I will not be present to appreciate," she noted. She came up to her knees on the mat. "Ocelopan, what can you be thinking? My father was not expecting me to be asked to give service here, of that I am quite sure. This is not something he will take well, I fear."

Ocelopan would not meet her eyes. "We know that," he admitted.

"He will order his warriors to attack you. There is a risk of the whole of the Mexica people being exterminated."

"We know that as well," he answered in a low flat voice.

"Then why would you even consider such a plan?"

"Because," he told her, "our god, Huitzilopochtli, has ordained it."

"Huitzilopochtli has ordained it?"

"Yes."

"And how do you know this? I have not known Tezcatlipoca, or Quetzalcoatl, to come into our city in person and speak to the people."

"Huitzilopochtli speaks to Cuauhtloquetzqui. He tells us the will of the god."

"Ah." She paused. "So it is really Cuauhtloquetzqui who has ordained my death."

"No, Xochipapalotl," he protested. "Huitzilopochtli lives with us, moves with us. He has directed all our movements so far. He--"

"But you yourself," she interrupted, "do not know if what Cuauhtloquetzqui tells you is the true intent of Huitzilopochtli or not."

"Cuauhtloquetzqui is an honorable man and a great priest," he said stiffly. "He would not mislead us. He has not misled us."

Xochipapalotl shook her head. "Ocelopan, there are circumstances where I would not object to giving my service," she said softly. "But I must say, these are not such circumstances. For one thing, I have already become fond of your people and I do not want to be the cause of their extermination." She waved a hand airily. "I wish to return to Culhuacan, as soon as possible. Tomorrow. Please arrange it."

"My Lady, I cannot. You will not be allowed to return to Culhuacan."

Her eyes widened. "I am a prisoner here?"

"In a way. It cannot be denied."

Anger flooded over her features. "This is unacceptable, Ocelopan! I demand to be returned to Culhuacan!"

He shook his head. "It will not be done, my Lady." He spread his hands helplessly. "Please understand, I do not make these decisions. I know what decisions have been rendered. That is all."

She crossed her arms. "I will not give my service," she said firmly. "I refuse."

Ocelopan looked pained. "My Lady..."

"No. That is my decision."

"I beg you to reconsider, Xochipapalotl, I--"

"I will not."

He sighed. "My princess, please, I--"

"I will not reconsider. You cannot take my service at Ochpanitzli. It must be given. I refuse."

"This," he told her, "has been considered by the priests, the council, and the Tlatoani."

She cocked her head. "It has?"

"Yes. And Cuauhtloquetzqui has asked Huitzilopochtli for his decision in this matter."

"And?"

"The decision was that, if you refused the service, it was a sign that you were not worthy of the honor to be bestowed on you. And so, in that event, you are to be taken to the water's edge by two warriors, and there your throat will be slit and your blood allowed to drain into the lake. Your remains will then be returned to your father, in dishonor."

Her eyes widened and she stared again. "Impossible!" she yelled, startling him. "I am not being given a choice! I am not a war captive! That is not the nature of service!"

"My Lady, I regret, all I can do is tell you the decision of the council."

"In which you have no say?"

"No, my Lady."

She nodded. "I thought not." She calmed down. "Were you assigned to explain all this to me?"

"No, my Lady. Cuauhtloquetzqui was to inform you of this." He looked miserably unhappy. "But they had not planned to tell you for three days yet, and the ceremony of Ochpanitzli will take place in four."

"So why did you tell me?"

He sighed. "You... keep planning your future here. You make it obvious you have our peoples' best interests at heart. I could not... I could not let that go on."

She echoed his sigh. "I see. I thank you, Ocelopan." She fell silent for a moment. "So, when Cuauhtloquetzqui does tell me... I will not reveal that I already know."

"Now I must thank you, Xochipapalotl."

"But I will tell him," she went on, "that I will not give my service. I--"

"But my Lady!"

She waved a hand at him. "Let me finish. No, let me ask you a question first. Who would act as Quetzalcoatl when I give my service? Who would wield the knife?"

"Cuauhtloquetzqui."

"I thought as much. I will not give my service to Cuauhtloquetzqui. I would prefer to die by the lake."

"But--"

"But," she continued, cutting him off, "I will give my service if you, Ocelopan, are allowed to act as Quetzalcoatl."

Now it was his turn to stare at her. "My Lady! I cannot do that! I--"

"You are a priest, are you not?"

"Yes, but--"

"Then you can act as Quetzalcoatl."

"But... but... I have never... I might make a mistake! Cuauhtloquetzqui should do it, he is very experienced, and--"

She twisted her lip. "What sort of mistake can you make?" she snapped. "As long as it ends in my death the purpose is served, Ocelopan!"

"But my Lady, no! If I make a mistake I could cause you great pain, pain there is no necessity for you to experience! And--"

"I don't care," she said dismissively. Abruptly, her manner softened. She reached out and touched his cheek lightly. "You don't want to kill me, do you, Ocelopan?"

He looked down at the floor. "No," he answered with a whisper.

"And that is exactly why," she told him, "that I am going to insist that you do it. Otherwise--and I mean this, Ocelopan, I will not change my mind--I will refuse to give my service. They can take me to the lake and slit my throat and send my corpse back to Culhuacan, it does not matter. I will refuse."

He didn't look up. "I don't even know exactly how to conduct the sacrifice for Ochpanitzli," he muttered. "I have seen it, of course, but never from very close."

"I have seen it up close," she surprised him by saying. "Close enough for my huipil to be spattered with the blood of the ixiptla." She moved her fingertips across his face. "We will talk of this, Ocelopan. I will tell you what I know, what I have seen. When the time comes, we will be ready." She pulled him toward herself. "But for now... I do not want to talk about anything, Ocelopan, and I do not want to waste what little time I have left!"

In the hours and days that followed, they were together almost all the time. As she promised, they spent a considerable amount of time talking about the upcoming ceremony. "There is a thing," she said, "that I do not understand. In the ceremony for Ochpanitzli, when the ixiptla finally goes to the temple where she is to give her service, everyone behaves as if she does not know what is about to happen to her. Even the ixiptla herself behaves so. Then, as the last part of the ceremony begins, she is seized by the priests, then forcibly stripped and placed in position to give her service. Why is this necessary?"

"This," Ocelopan explained, "symbolizes the role of Tlazolteotl as a warrior-woman; it is as if she has been taken unaware in battle. Ambushed, as it were."

"Ah. I see." She still looked a little puzzled. "But they act as if they do not respect her very much at this time..."

"Yes. They are at this time sacred warriors, and they are in fear of her. Although they are great warriors, she is, in her role as a warrior, far more than a match for all of them. To keep her from adopting that role as warrior they treat her as they do."

"I still don't really understand."

"Let's say it's just a continuation of the role she plays at the Calpulli before she is taken to the pyramid."

"Now that," Xochipapalotl said, nodding, "is something I know nothing about. I know the ixiptla is taken inside and stays inside for perhaps two hours. I do not know what is done there."

He sighed. "I had hoped," he told her, "that you did know."

"I will," she said innocently, "when you tell me."

"That part of the ceremony symbolizes Tlazolteotl's role as goddess of lust. Within, the ixiptla is expected to couple with a number of the priests, and sometimes some of the jaguar warriors or eagle warriors."

She cocked her head; she did not seem upset by this. "How many?" she asked.

"It varies. Eight or ten or so."

"Are you to be one of them?"

"No, my Lady. I am only a novice priest."

"On that day," she reminded him, "you will be the Priest Quetzalcoatl. There is no priest more senior."

He nodded. "Yes. And it would be permissible. But only if you invited me."

She smiled. "I will invite you, Ocelopan. You will be the last one..."

"You do not have to do that," he told her. "By that time you may be tired, you may be in some pain..."

"It does not matter. You will be invited. Expect it."

"Yes, my Lady." He hesitated. "One other thing. If you try to resist the coupling, you will be held and forced. It will be better, by far, if you do not resist."

"I do not plan to," she answered demurely. "I do not plan to resist anything, Ocelopan. Not if things are to be done the way I have said." She looked sad. "I do fear for your people, though. I know my father, I know what he will do when he learns of this."

"My people," he told her, "have put themselves completely in the hands of Huitzilopochtli. This matter is in his hands."

She nodded. "Then it will be as it will be," she said simply.

Finally, the day arrived when Cuauhtloquetzqui took Xochipapalotl aside and told her what the Mexica had planned for her. Ocelopan was not present but he certainly heard enough about that encounter later, both from the Culhua princess and from the old priest. It had, he was given to understand, almost gone badly; Cuauhtloquetzqui had been angered by her attitude and had, as he later told Ocelopan, been inclined to call forth the warriors to take her to the lake and end her life then and there.

But he'd reconsidered. "You," he told Ocelopan, "will act as Quetzalcoatl in this ceremony. She will have it no other way."

"I understand," Ocelopan replied. "I will do my best, Cuauhtloquetzqui."

The old man waved a hand. "Pah! Yes, do your best. At the end she will be dead, and that is all that really matters," he said, echoing what Xochipapalotl had said herself. He didn't go on; evidently the princess had kept her word, she had not mentioned that she already knew her fate, and she'd doubtlessly acted appropriately startled by this news. If she had not, he was quite sure, Cuauhtloquetzqui would have mentioned it--and probably not in friendly terms. The old priest gave him a quick course in how to conduct the sacrifice for Ochpanitzli, but in the end he told him nothing he had not already learned from Xochipapalotl, in the vivid descriptions she'd given him of the ceremony.

And at last, the day of the ceremony dawned. Neither Ocelopan nor Xochipapalotl had slept much during the previous night; they did sleep through the morning hours, as the culmination of the ceremony was to be held at midnight and the preparations were not scheduled to begin until early afternoon. At that time the priestesses came for Xochipapalotl, taking her away for the first of at least two ceremonial bathings she would receive. Ocelopan retired to the small temple for Tlazolteotl the Mexica had built along the plaza, and spent the afternoon making offerings there, hoping for the assistance of the goddess in carrying out the duties he'd been assigned--the slaying of a young woman he had already become much more than fond of. Meanwhile, preparations for the start of the ceremony were being made in the marketplace; as the time grew close, a young priestess came to inform him. With a deep sigh, he rose and made his way to the palace, to the rooms Xochipapalotl had been assigned.

He found her sitting on her mat, dressed in the royal robes they'd given her, staring into the smoke rising from the copalli on her brazier. He crossed the room toward her. She didn't look up until he drew close.

Her face was open, innocent, guileless. "The time has come?" she asked, though her inflection hardly suggested it was a question at all.

For a moment he couldn't speak. "Yes," he said finally. "At the market, they are waiting for us."

With a graceful, almost liquid movement, she rose. "Then we should go," she said matter-of-factly. "We should not make them wait." She extended her right hand.

He took it; her skin felt so warm to the touch. He gazed into her eyes, feeling like he was falling into those endless dark depths. Breaking the eye contact, she almost led him toward the door. Hand in hand, they walked out and through the courtyards to the plaza where the ceremony was to begin.

The whole central area of the marketplace had been cleared, although there were hundreds of onlookers around the stalls. A group of eight women, physicians and healers and their helpers, greeted her, surrounding her and pulling her away from Ocelopan, who was left standing alone. They gave her a large bag of cornmeal and guided her about the marketplace, staying with her, keeping her surrounded as she scattered it over the ground. This continued for more than an hour, after which the group of women guided her back to the edge of the plaza where Ocelopan, now accompanied by two senior warriors in full regalia, stood waiting.

"Do not be sad," one of the women physicians called. "This is your night of honor." Xochipapalotl did not answer. Led by Ocelopan and flanked by the two warriors, she followed as they took her to the Calpulli. The sun was then setting, and Ocelopan noticed that she was repeatedly stealing glances at it. He could not blame her; it was the last time she would see it.

Inside the Calpulli, in one of the gathering halls, a number of priests waited for them, all of them seated on feather mats. Ocelopan counted quickly; nine of them. In the center of the hall, a larger and thicker mat had been laid out; the whole place was lit by torches mounted along the walls and in floor-standing holders at the four corners of the mat in the center.

"You should go," Ocelopan told Xochipapalotl, "to the center, of your own free will. Remove your robe and lie down, on your back, your feet toward the door. Remember what I told you."

The princess smiled. "I do remember," she said, "And I suppose I should spread my legs, as well!" Without waiting for an answer, she walked to the mat, kicked off her sandals, and stepped onto it. Turning to face one group of priests and then the other, she slowly--and very sensually--removed her robe and threw it casually aside. For a moment she posed for them, her arms over her head, her skin gleaming redly in the firelight.

Then she laid down on the mat, and she did spread her legs invitingly, one knee up and the other leg straight out.

One of the priests rose from his mat and came to her. As he came he removed his own robe, revealing that he was already at least partially erect. He knelt between her legs, then leaned over her; she promptly reached down and started caressing his penis. He touched her breasts in turn, then pushed toward her. With her hands, she guided his now-rampantly erect penis inside herself. Almost immediately she lifted her legs, crossing her ankles over his back, and began pushing her hips up toward him. Ocelopan had a perfectly clear view of his erection pistoning in and out of her; her fluids coated it, glistening in the reddish light. He continued for a while before shuddering as he ejaculated into her; then he rose, quickly, and moved away. Xochipapalotl did not move, and, with almost no pause, another man came to her. She reached for him as he knelt between her legs, and soon her ankles were locked over a different man's back while a different erection slid in and out of her.

This man, older, lasted longer. Xochipapalotl, far from a passive participant, gestured toward some of the other priests, inviting them to come to her even before the second man had finished. One of them did, moving in close alongside her and touching her breasts, tentatively at first but then with more authority. Even as she was thrusting her hips toward the man inside her, she put an arm around the other man's neck and, after tugging his loincloth free, began playing with his erection. Just a few seconds later, the older man had his climax and pulled out; the other man immediately moved around between her legs and pushed inside her.

And again, as she enclosed this man's hips with her legs, she motioned to those waiting to come to her. This time two of them responded, coming to her on opposite sides and kneeling beside her. Turning her head to the one on her left, she quickly removed his loincloth. Pulling him toward her and twisting her body at the same time, she drew him close--and then slipped his erection into her mouth.

Ocelopan was amazed. He had heard of such things, but they were outside his experience. Xochipapalotl, however, seemed to know exactly what she was doing; she worked the glans of the man's penis expertly with her lips and tongue, then pulled the whole thing deeply into her mouth. It clearly excited the man who was then inside her as well, and just a moment later he too climaxed. As he rose, semen from the three men she'd had so far flowed slowly from her vagina. The man she was sucking pulled away, moved between her legs, and pushed his erection in. She turned her head to find the other priest offering his own erection to her face; without even a slight hesitation she slid it into her mouth.

The other priests started gathering around her then; no one, it was obvious, wanted to be left out. Repeatedly her vagina was filled with their semen, filled to overflowing; always she spread her legs and guided the next man in, after which she invariably put her legs up and crossed her ankles. The younger priests who'd already had intercourse with her became excited again, and, by the time they were all exhausted, she'd had sex more than fifteen times.

Xochipapalotl was not exhausted. When no more priests came, she sat up on the mat, a pool of semen between her legs, and she looked straight at Ocelopan.

"I invite you, priest, Ocelopan, Quetzalcoatl," she said. "Come to me..."

He did not hesitate, he went to her. Even before he could kneel on the mat beside her, she was tugging at his loincloth. Grabbing his thighs with both hands, she pulled him close and quickly engulfed his erection. Looking down at her he moaned softly and laid his hands on her head. After sucking him for a few minutes she released him, pulled him on down, and guided him into herself.

"Do not release your seed inside me," she whispered, pulling his head close to her face. "Do not mix it with that of the other priests. Let me know when you are close. This for me, Ocelopan."

He nodded; having watched her for a long time, he was tremendously excited himself and he knew he wasn't going to last very long. Using all the discipline he'd learned in becoming a priest, he held back until she arched under him with a climax of her own. He felt her thighs squeezing his hips, felt her heels pushing into his back. When she was finished, when she looked up at him, he gave her a nod and pulled out of her.

He'd been prepared to release his semen onto her belly or chest. But, to his surprise, she quickly turned herself around and took his rigid erection into her mouth. Knowing he was on an edge, he tried to pull back, but, grabbing his hips, she held him fast--and, a moment later, he started releasing his semen into her mouth. She did not, as he'd expected her to, jerk away; instead she drew it all out and swallowed every trace.

Then she let him go. She came up on her knees, held his face in her hands, and kissed him passionately; he could taste her, and he could taste his own semen on her tongue. After several long seconds she broke the kiss and embraced him tightly.

"When you kill me," she whispered in his ear, "kill me with passion. Kill me as you've made love to me. Hold my breast as you use the knife on me, and you will feel my passion in your hand." She kept holding him until a number of maids, appearing as if from thin air, began gently pulling at her arms. She let him go reluctantly, and he followed as the maids led her to a nearby room where a bath had been prepared for her. The maids bathed her thoroughly, sudsing her hair with yucca soap; he stayed close by the whole time, and her eyes rarely left his. When the bath was over they dried her, lightly oiled her skin, then brushed it dry once more with a fine powder. Finally, her hair was carefully combed out and dried.

"And now?" she asked Ocelopan as they finished combing her hair.

"And now we wait, we wait for midnight. I do not think it will be long. A blast from a conch shell horn, that is the signal for us to go."

Ignoring the maids, who clearly were eager to dress her again in her royal finery for her walk up the pyramid stairs, she went to Ocelopan and held him again, putting her head on his chest. "Do not forget," she told him, "what I have said to you."

"I will not," he assured her, his arms around her. She looked up at him. She seemed to be about to say something else, but before she could, a mournful long blast from a conch-shell was heard.

"You must let them dress you now," he told her. "And quickly."

She disengaged from him. "No, we must not be late." She held out her arms, and the maids dressed her quickly. After that, she and Ocelopan left the Calpulli, where they were met by the two warriors who'd accompanied them earlier. From there they went to the pyramid; Ocelopan led, Xochipapalotl was flanked by the two warriors, and they ascended the steep stair in dignified silence.

Once they'd reached the top the final act of the ceremonial drama began. The "ambush" was first. As she walked toward the center of the ceremonial area, followed closely by Ocelopan, a number of black-painted priests, standing still and silent, were arrayed in two lines; she passed between them. Abruptly--so suddenly it did in reality take Ocelopan by surprise--eight of them broke out of the line and rushed at her. Even if she had wanted to react she had no time; they surrounded her, grabbing at her arms, legs, and body. As she was expected to, she struggled with them, but to no avail.

They did not handle her gently. Jerking her around, holding her wrists so her arms stayed outstretched, they ripped and tore at the robes she was wearing until they'd shredded them, until she was totally naked. One of them moved in behind her and put his arms around her chest, holding her by her breasts; two others grabbed her thighs and pulled them apart. Another reached in from the side and, his hand squarely on her genitals, pushed her hips up. Still surrounding her they lifted her up, eventually holding her body horizontally, her face up toward the night sky. Ocelopan noticed that the man holding her breasts had spread his fingers to allow the tips of her nipples to peek through, and he was moving his fingers back and forth across them. The man with his hand between her legs had by then slipped two fingers inside her vagina, and his thumb was disappearing up her rectum. Passive now, she looked up at the night sky, her face calm and expressionless.

Another priest, a large and powerful man painted black and stripped naked himself, stepped out of the line and stood slightly bent, facing the temple. The group of priests split up, about half of them releasing their hold on her; the rest carried her to the waiting man and lowered her body onto his back. He cocked his elbows backward; the priests moved Xochipapalotl's arms to a matching position, so that their arms were interlocked at the elbows. The big man pulled her close, holding her tightly, pressing her back and buttocks against his own. One of the priests pushed her head back hard, banging it against the back of the man's head. At this point Ocelopan moved in closer. His anxiety was so severe he was almost nauseated; he struggled to keep from trembling.

But then, as the last two priests let go of her legs and stepped back, Xochipapalotl turned her eyes to look at him. She seemed so very calm, so totally under control; it was contagious somehow, and in spite of his fears he calmed down somewhat. Still watching his eyes, the princess extended one of her legs and lifted the other, bending her knee gracefully, a dancer's pose. The priest holding her bent his head further forward, and she, in response, arched her neck backwards so that the back of her head continued to rest against his head and her throat was stretched tight. Bracing his legs, the naked priest held her there.

A conch horn blew, four loud blasts splitting the silence of the night, and as the last tone fell away the drummers began to play a rhythm. As Ocelopan stepped closer to the now-motionless pair, a young priest came from the temple Ocelopan holding a small cushion on high. Ocelopan reached for the cushion and, while Xochipapalotl watched closely, removed a fresh obsidian blade from atop it. He offered it to the four directions and to the sky.

As he brought it down, he turned back to Xochipapalotl. Holding the sacrificial knife firmly in his right hand, he laid his left on her right breast, as she'd asked him to do. The nipple, he could not help but notice, was utterly rigid against his palm. Still watching his eyes, she tipped her chin a little further upward--and he laid the edge of the keen blade against the left side of her throat, just under her larynx.

Then he hesitated. He tried to force his hand to move, but it did not. The moment stretched on.

"Do it, Ocelopan," Xochipapalotl whispered. "Cut me, open my neck, let my blood and my life flow out!"

Pursing his lips, he drew the blade across and around, using light pressure. The edge, freshly-flaked and incredibly sharp, opened a clean shallow slit a quarter of an inch deep. Xochipapalotl did not react other than to close her eyes softly as several streams of blood began flowing from the cut, running down the sides of her neck and onto the other priest's shoulders. Having now marked his course, he carefully put the edge back into the incision he'd already made. She opened her eyes, gazed steadily at him, and took a deep breath. He hadn't forgotten what she's said--"kill me with passion." While she held her breath he made another pass, his hand very steady, his touch firm and strong, cutting much deeper this time. Her legs quivered as the razor-sharp obsidian sliced through the soft tissues of her throat, but otherwise she did not move, and she made no sound at all. As the blade crossed the front of her throat he lightened up, grazing the edge over her windpipe, leaving it intact so she could live and breathe--and bleed--a while longer; as she had explained to him in their discussions of this rite--and as Cuauhtloquetzqui had told him as well--the objective was to have the body of the man holding her totally covered with her blood. It gushed freely from the jugular veins on either side of her neck, pouring over the priest's body.

Xochipapalotl's body began quivering, then heaving. She held onto the priest's arms, but she lifted her legs and, bending both knees, crossed her ankles--her characteristic pose during intercourse. It was as if she had an invisible lover between her legs. She kept trembling, but she kept her eyes open and fixed on his face, and after a moment she arched her body and gave voice to a soft cry--a movement and a sound virtually identical to those she'd made previously when she was having an orgasm. As she relaxed he saw that her breathing was becoming irregular, and he knew that it was time for him to go on, time to finish the ritual.

He put the knife's edge back in the incision, gave her breast a squeeze, and started cutting again, this time bearing down as hard as he could. The glistening black blade sank deep into her neck, opening the carotid artery and letting her blood spurt out. Her eyes widened and her legs began to jerk. He cut across the front of her throat, the full width of the blade inside. Her windpipe crunched audibly as he cut through it. As he moved on, her head started to fall limp, as most of the muscles supporting it had now been cut; he let go of her breast and grabbed her hair. She blinked repeatedly and rapidly as he sliced through the other side of her neck and opened the other artery. Her body began to twitch without coordination; he pushed her head further back, forcing the priest holding her to pull his head down even further. Her throat gaped wide open and blood spilled out in a torrent. Her eyes were glazing, her legs had fallen limp but kicked wildly occasionally. Still watching her face, Ocelopan put the knife back in the surging blood and hacked through her spinal column with two hard strokes, the second firm enough to cut the last of the muscles and skin of her neck. Her head came free in his hand. Her decapitated corpse jerked and flinched wildly, and a stream of urine shot from between her legs. The blood surged for a moment more, then calmed; a priest came to him and took her severed head from his hands. Her eyes were still open; her features suggested peacefulness and perhaps a certain surprise, although he could not imagine what she might have been surprised about.

He looked back at the body as the priests who'd stripped her gathered around to take it off the back of the man who'd supported her. Even headless, Ocelopan told himself sadly, that was a lovely body. He remembered well how it felt pressed against his own.

Then, chiding himself for such thoughts, he turned away. The next phase of the ceremony he did not want to watch. The priests were already rolling the body over, preparing to make an incision straight down the center of the back--which would be followed by peeling away the skin. Her head, being looked after by other priests, was getting the same treatment. Unaware that the bloody knife was still in his hand, he wandered down the steps of the pyramid, not even sure where he was going. Later, as the sun rose over Tizapan, he found himself down by the edge of the lake, staring blankly out across the waters. He wasn't sure exactly how he'd gotten there.

Some hours later, Cuauhtloquetzqui found him there. The old man told him he'd done well, told him he'd be elevated in status as a result, and told him that, as he had taken the role of Quetzalcoatl in the ritual, he'd be given the honor of leading Achitometl and the other Culhua nobles into the temple, where the drama of Coyolxauhqui and the enthroning of Xochipapalotl would take place.

And now that moment was at hand, now Achitometl and the other Culhuas were approaching the stage, their offerings ready, preparing to acknowledge Xochipapalotl as a living goddess. Ocelopan, feeling merely curious as to how this would all play out, watched.

Reaching the stage, Achitometl began throwing incense on a brazier he was carrying. It flared up, adding to the light from the pit. He looked up, and Ocelopan heard him gasp. He had just realized, the young priest was sure, that the person he was looking at was not his daughter at all, but was instead a large and muscular priest--a man known as Teccizquacuilli--dressed in her flayed skin.

The Culhua king reeled back, dropping his brazier on the floor. He turned on his heel and rushed from the temple. "Come, come here, O my vassals of Culhuacan! Come avenge the foul deed done by the Mexicas! They have killed my daughter and dressed a youth in her skin and have made me worship him! Death and destruction to men so evil and with such vile customs! Let not a trace of their memory remain! Let us put an end to them!"¹

Ocelopan did nothing, he just continued to watch. Some of the Culhuas were on the run toward the edge of the city, meaning to summon the armies that waited outside; a few, he was sure, would run all the way to Culhuacan, and more armies would be on their way. Within the span of just a few minutes the Culhua army was in the city, headed toward the temple, dealing death and destruction as they came. From his vantage point atop the pyramid, Ocelopan watched fires break out in the town, marking the path of the advancing army. While the Mexica ran about like ants, in utter disorder, the Culhuas swarmed up the steps of the pyramid. They rushed inside; for some reason they did not even seem to notice Ocelopan. Yells and the sounds of swords hacking flesh could be heard through the doorway; priests, nobles, musicians and workmen alike were being slaughtered. Achitometl emerged, descended the stairs, and stood at the bottom with his personal guard, directing the assault.

Leaving the temple, the men of Culhuacan headed for the palaces, where most of the survivors of the massacre at the temple had fled. Ocelopan, still seemingly unnoticed, followed. A few of the Mexica warriors had managed to get to their weapons, but they were cut down without mercy by the Culhuas. The warriors charged inside. Sounds of slaughter came from within; from every doorway fleeing Mexicas appeared. Ocelopan watched a fleeing maid, a teenager, who was overtaken by one of the Culhua warriors and sliced almost in half at her waist by a swing from his macuauhuitl. A group of priests came running out one door and were met with a hail of darts, thrown from the Culhua warriors' atlatls; all fell with the short spears piercing their bodies.

No quarter was being given. Everyone was being massacred. Except for Ocelopan, who began to wonder if he had somehow become invisible.

A Culhua warrior appeared at the doorway of the temple. He had captured the Tlatoani's daughter, Ixtona, and was pulling her along by her hair. She was naked; Ocelopan did not know whether she had been found that way or had been stripped by her captor. The warrior, seeing Achitometl standing nearby, brought the girl to him.

"The daughter of the Tlatoani of the Mexica," he said. He took her arm. "Perhaps I should take you back to Culhuacan." He pulled her closer to himself. "Perhaps you can replace my daughter, whom your people have so brutally killed." He looked down at her face; she said nothing at all, and she did not struggle with him. "You think you can replace my Butterfly? Do you?" Unseen by Ixtona, he'd drawn out the flint knife he carried at his waist.

And, keeping his arm close to his own side, he plunged the blade into her lower abdomen, driving it in with such force that she was bounced upwards. Her face registered nothing more than shock, and her only reaction was to grab his shoulders. He stabbed his knife deep again, bouncing her upwards again.

"I do not," he said as he plunged the blade deep a third time, "think so."

He let her go then, and she sank to the ground. Her hands clutched at his robes, but she had no strength, and eventually she ended up sprawled on her back, blood streaming from the wounds in her lower side. Achitometl walked away, leaving her squirming on the ground. Her death might have been long and agonizing, but another Culhua warrior came along carrying one of the weapons they called a tepoztopilli, a long-shafted spear with a heavy obsidian head. He looked down at her for a moment, and she, breathing hard, looked back up at him.

Then, almost casually, he drove the lance into her above her navel. She came up almost to a sitting position, grabbing the shaft with both hands, her legs flexing violently. The warrior drove the obsidian point in further; blood burst from her mouth and boiled up around the lancehead, and she fell back, her body twitching and thrashing without coordination. By the time the warrior drew the spear out of her, she was dead.

The Mexica, all of them now alerted by the tumult, took up such weapons as they could and, pushing their families ahead of them, began a chaotic retreat into the lake. The Culhua pressed on, and already reinforcements were starting to arrive from Culhuacan. Ocelopan, feeling like a ghost, wandered alone and unarmed along the line of engagement. Only a few of the Culhua were being killed, but the Mexica were dying like flies, the lake was running red with their blood. They were pushed further back into the water, and the desperate wails of the women and children, now encountering deeper water, filled the air. This seemed to give new determination to the Mexica warriors, and they managed to mount a frantic counterattack, hurling spears and even sticks at the Culhua until they fell back a little. Taking full advantage, the Mexica regained the dry ground and fled along the lakeshore in the direction of Itzapalpa, which was to the west of Tizapan. The Culhua continued their pursuit; the massacre proceeded. Again the Mexica were forced into the lake, now at a place a few miles from Tizapan, a small village called Acatzintitlan. While some of them held back the raging Culhua, others constructed crude rafts, using even their spears as floats. When they were completed, they took to the lake on these. Many of these makeshift rafts sank, many died by drowning, but the deep water here finally stopped the furious assault of the Culhua. They sailed on to a place where the water was at least shallow, a place where the rushes grew in profusion, and they hid themselves among them, fearing that the Culhua would bring their canoes and pursue them further.

Somehow--he wasn't sure how, he vaguely remembered swimming beside a raft carrying a number of women and children--Ocelopan had reached the swampy island along with the survivors among his people. So, to his great surprise, had Cuauhtloquetzqui. After dawn, the old priest gathered the Mexica around him and told them that Huitzilopochtli had informed him that they would be safe here, and that they should stay here for the moment. As near as Ocelopan could tell, the Mexica had lost about half their population; the remainder were wet, exhausted, miserable, and disheartened.

As was he; it was not until then that he realized how utterly fatigued he was. Propped against a thicket of rushes and ignoring the biting flies that were feasting on him, he slept. And as he slept, he dreamed of Xochipapalotl. She came to him dressed as she had been when they'd left for the marketplace, offering him that irresistible smile. And she told him that it had been her influence that had caused the Culhua not to notice him, causing him to be very sure that this dream was no ordinary one.

"Henceforth," she told him, "as Huitzilopochtli speaks to Cuauhtloquetzqui, I will speak to you," she told him. "Your people, wet and unhappy as they are now, will in times to come build the greatest of the cities in the Anahuac. Huitzilopochtli was right; by having me killed, by using me to provoke this conflict with Culhuacan, he has caused your people to be expelled from Tizapan, where they would have forever remained vassals to the Culhua.

"But in distant futures their pride and their arrogance will make them hated in the Anahuac and far beyond. Strangers will come from out of the sunrise, bringing with them terrible plagues, and the peoples of the Seven Tribes and others will follow them in laying the Mexica low. Huitzilopochtli will roll on the floor in disgrace, his weapons broken and useless, and he will be teotl no more."

"This is a terrible prophecy," Ocelopan said. "What can be done?"

She shook her head. "Nothing. It will be."

"What can I, Ocelopan, priest of the Mexica, do?"

"For your people, nothing," she told him. "But the events of which I speak, Ocelopan, are far in the future, long after the days of your life have run their course. In the days to come, your people will make peace with the people of my father, the Culhuas, and indeed a Culhua noble will ascend the throne of the Mexica--although it will be a man, not a woman, as no Culhua noble would ever again trust the Mexica with one of their daughters. In this peace you will be instrumental, as you will be the voice of the Mexica in Culhuacan." She smiled and touched him lightly. "And I will be with you, whenever you need guidance."

Then she was gone, and he awoke. Feeling remarkably refreshed considering what he'd been through, he rose. The Mexicas were already hard at work, clearing away the rushes and constructing a temporary sweat-bath. He started looking around for Cuauhtloquetzqui; he had a very clear notion in his head for a name for the place, a name they could take pride in, the first place to bear their own name--Mexicatzinco.

He wasn't at all surprised when the old priest told him that there were already plans for a peace and a reconciliation with Culhuacan, or that he, Ocelopan, had been chosen to be the emissary to that city...

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1. Achitometl's words on this occasion are quoted from Deigo Duran, The Aztecs. New York: Orion Press, 1964. p. 27.