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robe with short sleeves, and a multi-coloured sash tied
around her waist. She sat on the cushion looking up at
Autloc, who stood in front of her.
‘You have been taught the code of the good housewife
and committed it to memory?’ the High Priest asked.
‘I have,’ Susan replied.
‘Let me hear it.’
‘Tend well your nurseries and your flowerbeds. Keep
clean your pot and stewpan,’ she recited, ‘do not spend
recklessly, do not destroy or cheapen yourself.’ She
hesitated, thinking about the word ‘destroy’ and Tlotoxl.
‘You will never have –’ Autloc prompted as Tonila came
into the cell.
‘Oh, yes. You will never have a house or a home of your
own if you live like that,’ she rattled off. Tonila nodded
approvingly and remarked that Susan had learnt it
diligently. Susan wondered if the Priest of Knowledge
would like to know about Einstein’s theory of relativity.
Autloc praised her as a good pupil who used her
intelligence and then introduced Tonila. Susan stood up
and went to shake hands.
‘You do not greet your elders in such a manner,’ Autloc
reproached her, ‘you stand still, not looking around. Your
eyes see only the person to whom you are being
introduced,’ he made a small gesture with his posy, ‘unless
you are meeting for the first time your prospective
husband, in which case you keep your eyes down-cast.’
‘But how will I know?’ Susan was intrigued.
‘Know what, child?’
‘That he’s to be my husband.’
‘You will be told,’ Autloc stated very matter-of-factly.
‘Told!’ Susan exploded. ‘No one’s going to tell me who
to marry.’
Tonila was taken aback. ‘What say have you in the
matter?’
‘It’s my life,’ Susan’s voice was full of indignation, ‘and
I’ll spend it with whom I choose, not someone picked out
for me.’
Autloc was perturbed by her outburst. Young Aztec
women accepted arranged marriages without question but
if, as Yetaxa’s handmaiden, Susan refused, that meant their
traditional behaviour was contrary to the Gods’ wishes. If
this were so, then in how many other ways might they also
be so acting? The seed of doubt was sown.
The Doctor was weeding a flowerbed when Ixta came into
the garden. He strode over to the Doctor and identified
himself as the grandson of Chapal, the man who built the
temple. The Doctor straightened and looked at Ixta, who
wore an ordinary warrior’s loin-cloth and cloak, as well as a
plumed battle-mask which concealed the upper half of his
face.
‘Ah!’ the Doctor said, and expressed his admiration of
the pyramid. ‘The entrance to the tomb of the High Priest
Yetaxa is a particularly fine piece of work.’
‘Only the temples my father’s father built have similar
vaults,’ Ixta replied.
‘A secret design. All the best architects have one,’ the
Doctor remarked.
‘A drawing exists,’ Ixta said, adding that as his father
and his grandfather were with the Gods it was in his
possession.
‘Would it be possible for me to see it?’ the Doctor
enquired.
‘Can a humble warrior deny the request of Yetaxa’s aged
servant? I shall show it to you after sunset if the Gods are
willing.’
‘Why shouldn’t they be?’
The Doctor was curious and Ixta explained that he had
to meet another warrior in combat just before the sun set.
‘Not to the death, I trust?’ the Doctor asked anxiously.
‘No, but defeat would mean disgrace,’ Ixta replied, ‘and
I would be confined to my quarters and no one might look
upon me or speak to me for many days.’
The Doctor gave the problem his consideration.
‘My opponent has been selected,’ Ixta continued. ‘I
know his name and I fear defeat.’
The Doctor asked what weapons would be used.
Ixta spread out his hands. ‘These alone, and my skills lie
with a spear, sword or club.’
‘Oh dear,’ the Doctor sighed, ‘and I really wanted to see
the drawing.’
‘No more than I desire a victory.’
The Doctor studied the scratch on the back of his hand.
‘Then let us assist one another,’ he said, and led Ixta to the
maguey cactus plant. The Doctor broke off a thorn and
then a shoot from the herb beside it. He began squeezing
the sap from the stem onto the tip of the thorn.
‘With this I shall win?’ Ixta asked.
‘Be careful not to scratch yourself with it,’ the Doctor
advised.
‘The aged servant of Yetaxa proffers poison?’
‘Not to kill.’ The Doctor squeezed the last drop of sap
onto the thorn. ‘But used properly it will drain away your
opponent’s strength and he will sleep. Scratch here.’ The
Doctor drew it across the inside of his wrist and then
handed the thorn to the Chosen Warrior.
‘I thank you.’ Ixta smiled.
‘You won’t forget the drawing, will you?’
‘I shall be here after sunset.’
‘So shall I.’
Ixta strode away and the Doctor sat on a bench thinking
that a little knowledge of horticulture could, on occasion,
take one a very long way.
Under Tlotoxl’s appraising eyes, Ian stood in the middle of
the courtyard swinging a cudgel in circles around his head [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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