carrying their batons and insignia, the kings, nobles, kinsmen, and ambassadors chanted sacred hymns for the fallen monarch, some even weeping for him. Behind them walked the servants and slaves who would be sacrificed to die with their lord so that they might accompany him in his afterlife.
By the time they arrived at the temple, laborers under the direction of priests had already completed erecting a pyre for the body, and the litter was set upon it along with the many containers of gifts. An altarstone had been temporarily positioned in front of the mound around which stood the usual five priests required to perform the operation. After Cihuacoatl assumed his stand directly behind the block, the four slaves and five of the monarch’s favorite household menials took up a single line to await being reunited with their lord. Cihuacoatl addressed them.
“My sons and daughters, highly honored to continue in the service of your lord. May you happily reach him in the other life which will greet you with its richness and all the delights of the world. Do not lose the things that belonged to your lord, but deliver them safely to him so that he might enjoy them in his new life. May you relish with him the blessings of this paradise.”
One by one, they removed their garments, setting these in the hands of a priest, and assumed their place upon the stone while Cihuacoatl cut out their hearts and put these in a receptacle held by a subordinate to be later fed to the Death Goddess. Their bodies, along with their clothing and adornments, were stacked next to the monarch’s on the pyre and, this completed, Cihuacoatl then signalled the torch bearers to light it. In minutes it roared forth fully ablaze and all the bodies and gifts that had been cast upon it were engulfed in the flames while the votaries and dignitaries stood quietly by watching their donations comsumed therein.
After the pyre had been finally reduced to a glowing, smoldering heap, Cihuacoatl thanked each of the tribal rulers for having attended the rites and gave them their leave. They would now fast in their respective cities for a number of days as an act of individual bereavement for their departed monarch. With their departure the funeral of Tizoc came to a close.
Later that night, two soldiers rapped on the door of a house along one of the city’s side streets. They wore eagle-crested helmets which extended over their eyes and noses making it impossible to identify them. An elderly man, looking haggardly from just having been aroused from his slumber, came to the door, opened it, and was startled to find himself facing the masked figures.
“What is it? Why do you wake me at this time of night?”
“Are you the physician, Alotl?” asked one of the soldiers.
“Yes, I am Alotl.”
“Take him!” the soldier said to his comrade.
They pushed the bewildered physician against one of the upright posts supporting the roof and while one of them pinned him there by wrapping his arms around the beam, the other pressed his free hand over the physician’s mouth to muffle any screams as he plunged a dagger deep into his chest, penetrating the heart. They held him fast until he grew weary in their arms, then let him fall to the floor dead. As furtively as they had come, the soldiers then disappeared into the darkness.
That night seemed darker than usual in Tenochtitlan, and the braziers lit before the steps and tiers of the temples and palaces cast an eerie glare upon the masonry, bathing it in a glimmering subdued light. The city was shrouded in stillness, and through it could be heard the rustling of a wind sweeping the lofty trees and whistling out its song to whoever might have remained awake to listen. But in the royal palace, the solitude was periodically interrupted by the piercing shriek of a singular lonely voice crying out in despair within the empty, gloomy corridors. Always it began as a loud painful wail which then drifted into muffled whimpering sobs, and anyone who perchanced to hear it would have felt his heart torn by its mournful protraction. The cries arose from Tlalalca, crouched upon her empty layered mats, overcome in her grief and giving expression to the loss of Tizoc through her flowing tears. Although living, she felt as if she had died with her husband and during those long, horrible hours of her anguish, no one could have told her that such unbelievable sorrow would eventually pass.
One Revered Speaker’s reign had come to an end; the world awaited the beginning of another’s.
PART 2
THE OUTRAGE
“This will be your indispensable food, this you will live by, so that you proceed striking terror. The payment for your breast and heart will be your conquests, your overrunning and destroying the common people, the dwellers in all the places you reach, and when you take captives you will cut open their chests with a flint on the sacrificial stone and you will offer their hearts to the Brilliant Movement in the sky. As soon as the heart, rich with blood, is thrust out, you will offer it in the direction of Huitzlampa, the Thorn Place, as a sacrificial object, and the blood too, and the bloodiness. And when you have done this, I shall be there. Towards Tlaloc also, and then to all my friends, those gods known to you. And you shall eat the flesh unsalted. You may add to it only a little cooked maize, so that it might be eaten.”
~Huitzilopochtli’s instructions to the Mexica from Nahua texts. Cristobal de Castillo, Historia*
I
Four days after Tizoc’s cremation, the nation’s leaders were gathered in the royal palace to make their determination who would succeed him as Revered Speaker. A serious conference was in session: the situation was grave for them as five years of rule under Tizoc had left the realm unsettled, its policies in confusion, and its predisposition towards conquests ill-defined. In addition, whenever there occurred a change in Mexica leadership, many subjugated states experienced a restiveness and their natural proclivity for throwing off the conqueror’s yoke came to the forefront and manifested itself in numerous rebellions. With the death of Tizoc, this activity was heightened under a general perception that the power of the Mexica was entering a declining phase which would carry over to his successor. The occasion was a momentous one: they could not afford another mistaken choice as in the case of Tizoc.
The Tlatoani, speakers of the member clans, were represented, among them Nezahualpilli, Chimalpopoca, and Cihuacoatl, the presiding official. Even before the official proceedings had started, their council was already divided into two distinct camps with each one strongly opposed to the position of the other. There were those who favored having an older, wiser man appointed the Revered Speaker; Chimalpopoca sided with this group and became its chief spokesman. Against them stood those who held to the customary passing of the throne within family lines in order to secure the royal descendancy; for them there existed but one choice, Ahuitzotl, and Cihuacoatl advocated their cause. Nezahualpilli leaned toward Ahuitzotl, but was open to hearing the opposition, and with their demarcation thus drawn, the council began to hear the arguments presented by each proponent. Chimalpopoca spoke first.
“As we all know, we have endured a less than satisfactory five years which have created many problems for us, and the fault for this ought not be blamed entirely on Lord Tizoc, but rather should be placed on his youth and lack of experience in handling state affairs. He was simply not alert to the devious ways in which such affairs are conducted because he was too young to know. We therefore urge the council to consider someone who is older and more venerable who would be held in greater esteem by rival lords. Even great and revered Motecuhzoma Ilhuicamina was over forty when appointed Revered Speaker.”
“This is true,” Cihuacoatl said, “and we have never had so able a ruler. But we must accept that such a man is a rarity in any age and should ask ourselves if there is one here today who could serve us as well. I, for one, do not know of anyone. We should recognize that no matter who we appoint as ruler, we cannot expect the
