Jaguar Princess by Clare Bell Read Free Book Online Page A

population of that city for its ruler’s lack of compassion.
    Quietly he said, “Yes, the plans are done. The work will begin on the day of Five-House.”
    Ilhuicamina’s eyes brightened. “It will be wonderful to see good fresh water rush into the city and spew up out of a fountain. The prices demanded by those who sell water by the jug are burdensome to my people and so they must mix it with the bilge of Lake Texcoco. Your name will be greatly praised.”
    Wise Coyote said nothing, wondering if it was indeed greatness of heart or the Deer’s cowardice that had shaped his reply.
    As Ilhuicamina turned away, he added, “I will expect you in Tenochtitlan for the sacrifices to Hummingbird on the Left. After you have had sufficient time to mourn, of course.”
    “I am grateful for such favor,” Wise Coyote muttered beneath his breath as Ilhuicamina and his retinue departed from the palace.
    He went to his chamber and sat alone, running the bloodstained garland through his fingers. He was no stranger to those means by which kings sought and held their power. Had he not sent Homed Mask, Ant Flower’s previous husband, to his death in the War of Flowers so that hemight marry the lovely girl and make her his queen? Hadn’t he pursued the Tepcanecan tyrant Maxtla into the round steambath house, where Maxtla had taken refuge, dragged him out, cut the heart from his body and lifted it as a sacrifice to the gods of war?
    Who was he to speak of mercy?
    Perhaps it is that llhuicamina is more honest in his cruelty than I am .
    And Wise Coyote bowed his head and mourned bitterly, not only foe his son, but for llhuicamina and himself as well.
    Two years passed and Mixcatl continued to live in the calmecac, doing the simple tasks that she had been given. Though Maguey Thorn still grumbled about her appearance, the matron was grudgingly satisfied with her work. There was no more talk about selling her.
    Summer had come again and the day was bright and hot. Eight-year-old Mixcatl, her hands still wet from the morning’s wash, stepped into the courtyard. Her head was still full of Maguey Thorn’s banter and she didn’t stop to see if the courtyard was clear before she entered.
    Immediately she saw her mistake. A class was in session, listening to their teacher-priest recite from a fan-folded book that spilled across his lap. He was speaking so loudly that the noise had covered up the sound of the copper bells on the door flap, and Mixcatl thought she might slip back through without being heard. As soon as she took a step in that direction, the priest’s voice sank down to a sibilant whisper as he dramatized his recitation.
    Instead of trying to leave as she had come, and risk the betraying noise of the copper bells, the girl slipped along the inner wall of the courtyard and crouched behind a ceramic pot containing an agave plant. The teachers often plucked its spines to punish lazy or disobedient students. Mixcatl hoped that the boys would all be on their best behavior so that their teacher would not need to visit the agave.
    From her refuge behind the pot, Mixcatl could see the end of the sacred book as it sprawled from the priest’s lap like a great flattened python. Unlike a python, the manuscript was formed in segments, each stiff page bound to the next so that the entire text stretched out in a long strip. With her sharp eyes, she could make out some of the larger figures. Fascinated, she leaned out as far as she could from behind the agave without risking discovery, and squinted across the distance at the codex. The shapes of warriors and kings, dressed in elaborate costumes and headdresses, marched across the page. She saw the form of a temple split by an arrow, then flames curling up about a bundle of reeds.
    What did the figures mean? What story did they tell? She was consumed by a desire to know. And a memory came to her of an old hand, veined and wrinkled, dipping a brush into a pot of color and drawing elaborate figures