as he was reluctant to inform Tizoc, wishing to spare him any additional duress.
“Is it Ahuitzotl?” Tizoc insisted on knowing.
“We will recommend him,” replied the minister. Contrary to what he had expected, there was no sign of objection in Tizoc.
“Is he also part of—of this?”
“Indirectly, Lord. He promised he would seek no retaliation against us.”
“But he did not contrive this… death.”
“No, Lord.”
“That’s good,” Tizoc winced as the headaches began. “He will make a better ruler than I have been. He is… much…. stronger.”
His speech became sluggish as a dryness enveloped his mouth. Headaches now pounded his brain violently in heavy, painful throbs; he felt his throat burning and he was nauseous. For Huactli this presented conclusive proof that the poison was acting on Tizoc. “He is dying,” he said. “Our work is done. Let us leave him.”
Cihuacoatl was immobilized in his compunction. When, after a moment, Huactli’s words took hold of him, he arose to depart but was held back by Tizoc who clutched at his cloak.
“Help me..to..my… quarters,” Tizoc begged of his minister.
“Yes, Lord,” Cihuacoatl answered, his practiced sense of obligation overriding all other considerations, and he motioned for Huactli and the others to go.
“You’re not coming?” Huactli resisted.
“No.”
“But you’ll be seen.”
“My meeting with him is already known. I shall say I found him becoming ill as we engaged in it. They will believe me—I have served him loyally. Now go!”
They left without hesitation, requiring no pursuasion to dally at the scene of this obvious misdeed, while the minister raised Tizoc’s arms over his shoulder and half-carried him into the palace where astonished servants ran to assist him. They carried Tizoc into his private chamber and lifted him upon layers of mats, covering his shaking body a blanket.
“I’ll fetch a physician,” an attendant said to Cihuacoatl.
“No!” Tizoc muttered, “Please… let… me… see… Tla….”
“He asks for Tlalalca,” Cihuacoatl told the attendant, “Bring her here—quickly!”
At near panic, the servant raced frantically through the corridor for the other end of the palace and barged into an interior courtyard where Tlalalca was employed in her afternoon chats with her ladies; he startled everyone.
“My Lady,” he panted, “Lord Tizoc. He is gravely ill.”
Abject fear gripped Tlalalca and, leaving her group in stunned confusion, she immediately followed the valet back to Tizoc’s chamber where she saw him lying in bed quivering under his cover.
“Tizoc!” she cried out in horrified shock, tears coming to her eyes, “Oh, my Lord!” She rushed up to him, embracing his trembling body while weeping uncontrollably in her despair.
Tizoc gazed at her and strained to say something but was now no longer able to speak; he wanted to wipe the stream of tears from her cheeks but was too weak to lift his arm. So in his last moment he beheld Tlalalca’s lovely face contorted in its anguish; his eyes shone for one more brief instant, and then they closed as he lapsed into a coma.
The bereaved empress could not be consoled. Sobbing hysterically, repeating his name over and over, she clung tenaciously to him, refusing all attempts by Xoyo, who had followed her to the chamber, and the others to wrest her from him, and while she so held fast to him, his breathing stopped. And thus, in the arms of his adored Tlalalca, did Tizoc end his life.
Cihuacoatl staggered from the palace a broken man. Torn between his years of dedicated servitude to Tizoc and the desperation that drove him into being the instrument of his murder, he must have questioned the forces which led him to this. Devastated by feelings of intense guilt over having been responsible for selecting that young man to the kingship and then inflicting on him the ultimate penalty when the office proved too much for him, he knew he could never escape his own complicity in this and would forever carry this burden with him. Fainthearted while he lived, Tizoc exited from the world with wholesome dignity, casting a shadow of doubt over the necessity for his end and adding greatly to the minister’s commiseration. As he came to the front steps, his legs weakened and he paused to rest. He sat down and, for the first time in his recollection, openly wept.
XXI
Word of Tizoc’s death did not imbue the people of Tenochtitlan with the same depressing sense of loss as had marked the passing of previous monarchs. To a large extend, Tizoc’s personal habits contributed to this, for in his fervor for a private life which gave him greater leasure in working his garden than in attending to his ministers, he isolated himself in his palace more and more. As a result, he became an incrementally remote figure to them. During his last year, and especially following the Toluca campaign, he was rarely seen in public, appearing only when ceremonial duties required his presence, which made a majority of the populace easily susceptable to the circulating rumors claiming that Tizoc had long been ill. After all, this explained his frequent absence from them. There was thus no undue difficulty in reconciling that he had died as a consequence of his ailment.
There remained the tarnish of Tizoc’s cowardice which greatly detracted from his character and rendered him a figure of derision and public scorn. Not one individual resided in Tenochtitlan who had not learned of the monarch’s performance at Toluca; it stood as a hot topic discussed repeatedly by many warriors, and after every retelling was magnified to more pronounced dimensions until anyone hearing of it could only react in an outburst of angry revulsion or shame. Tizoc had therefore become a singularly unpopular leader among his subjects; for many there was acute embarrassment in admitting that he was their Revered Speaker. Some may have actually believed that providence saw to his untimely end so that they no longer had to endure further indignity and humiliation. Even the priests, whose reaction was so greatly dreaded, seemed to uniformly accept the explanation offered.
Although disfavored, Tizoc nevertheless had been a Revered Speaker and this required the appropriate funeral rite; protocol demanded it, even if it was to be subdued. It fell upon Cihuacoatl, Vice-Ruler, to announce Tizoc’s death, and he summoned the principal lords, magistrates, ministers, commanders, and ambassadors to the assembly hall on the following day and confirmed what most of them had already heard from unofficial sources.
“It is my umpleasant duty,” the minister soberly told his assemblage, “to inform you of the truth behind the rumors circulating our city. Lord Tizoc died unexpectedly of unknown causes yesterday afternoon. It is believed that he had been ill for some time, although he never spoke to anyone about this, and that the sickness had finally taken its toll on him. Send messengers to your cities to notify your rulers of this unfortunate event.”
A respectful show of silence for the departed monarch encompassed the gathering; there were some in attendance for whom the news was received with genuine sorrow, but for most it was met as not perticularly disturbing. Then Cihuacoatl continued.
“Inform your lords that they are enjoined to participate in the funeral rites as is customary. We are aware this notice is short, and if they cannot themselves attend, their representatives will be acceptable. Also inform them that the interclan council will meet afterwards to take up the matter of naming a successor. This concludes my announcement.”
Accordingly, the personages departed to make their preparations and reflect over the situation. Most concerned themselves with the meeting of the interclan council, for its decision was of more immediate importance to them. The prospect of a new Revered Speaker had an appealing, and yet apprehensive quality to it: it portended changes and, as had been the case in Tizoc, these may not necessarily be for the better.
In the House of the Dead, Tizoc’s body was being readied for its final ceremonial function.