Lord. Drink this.”
“And if I refuse?” Tizoc asked in a broken voice. “You cannot be so cruel as to extend your crimes to my family.”
“Drink it!” Huactli demanded, becoming irritated over the delay. Cihaucoatl placed his hand on Huactli’s shoulder to indicate his annoyance over the interruption.
“Know our position, Lord,” the minister explained. “We are desperate men and have nothing to lose by whatever measures we take, for we are doomed if we fail here. It is to be your life alone or that of your entire family. Have courage, Lord, and take the reasonable option. You will enter Tlalocan, the South Heaven, a much better place than is in store for us who will most likely go to Mictlan for having committed this heresy. Take the cup and drink.”
With his hand trembling, Tizoc reached for the goblet but stopped before taking a hold of it.
“No! I will not drink it.”
Cihuacoatl glanced at Huactli and readity discerned what he was thinking. “He is a coward to the end,” Huactli sneered. “What sort of man would have his wife and children die with him?”
“He will drink,” Cihuacoatl assured him. “Give him a little more time to ponder on it.”
“I have waited long enough. Let us kill him now!” Huactli said as he pulled a knife from under his cloak.
“Wait!” Tizoc cried out. Huactli replaced his weapon.
The game was over for him. At last, no longer seeing any possibility of relief, Tizoc resigned himself to the inevitable. Tears of anguish came to him as he clasped the goblet with his shaking hands; he trembled uncontrollably and felt as if his heart would stop under his duress.
“Will it be painful?” he uttered weakly.
“For a short while,” Cihuacoatl answered. suddenly overcome with remorse.
“What will happen to Tlalalca?”
“She will be taken care of, as will your children, but only if you retain your silence about us after we leave you. I promise you this.”
Tizoc gazed straight into the minister’s eyes and, despite his intense nervousness, seemed to sense the sorrow which had struck Cihuacoatl. In his acuity, he apprehended how troubling this step must have been for him, and his dismay that the minister was part of this conspiracy left him. “I believe you,” Tizoc told him. Then, with no more hesitation, he brought to cup to his lips and drained it while the conspirators held their breaths.
Cihuacoatl was so deeply touched by Tizoc’s expression of faith in him, even though he had betrayed his lord, that he could scarcely hold back his tears, and as he watched his pitiful monarch empty the cup, he had to repress urges to intercede on his behalf by calling for help. When Tizoc had finished, and it was too late for any countermeasure, Cihuacoatl felt as if his heart would break.
Feeling faint over the knowledge of his imminent death, Tizoc had to sit down on one of the stone slabs he so abundantly emplaced through the garden while the conspirators remained about him awaiting an appearance of the first symptoms like vultures hovering over a dying animal. He knew why they stayed, and if he withheld any hopes of getting to a physician, they were shattered as effectively as the world which had collapsed on him this afternoon. Still he retained some concern over what was to come.
“Who will reign after me?” he asked Cihuacoatl in a somewhat calmer voice than earlier.
Cihuacoatl delayed in his response 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,
